Thorns in Eden and the Everlasting Mountains (8 page)

“I’ve
acquired land and must return.”

“Have
you found a wife? Pray tell me. Is she here with you?”

He
smiled. “I’ve no wife, Lavinia.”

“Well,
I suppose in a way I’m pleased. I want you to meet my cousin. She’s over there
with Sir Cecil Lanley. He plans to marry her. Father has been very insistent
upon the match.”

Rebecah
stood beside the churchyard fence. That popinjay with her hovered about like a
love-struck schoolboy. She moved away, averted her eyes as he spoke. Lanley
held her hand against his lips, and she drew it back. 

“They
don’t seem suitable.”

“I
agree. Ever since the day she arrived at Endfield, I’ve thought how perfect she
would be for you, Jack.”

Were
all the women bent on marrying him off to the woman of their choosing? He
wanted to be left alone.

“I’m
not looking for a wife, Lavinia. Do not try to push us together. It would only
complicate my life and hers.”

She
sighed. “I suppose if there’s a Revolution you will be fighting and…oh, I
understand how things would be. But meet her at least.”

“Not
today.” 

“Come
on, Jack.” Lavinia tugged on his arm.

She
hurried him along, calling out to Rebecah. Lanley turned and looked at Nash and
Lavinia. He bowed his head. Nash returned the gesture, thinking how childish
this whole thing was.

 “Rebecah,
Sir Cecil. May I introduce Mr. John Nash, Sir Rodney’s son from America?”

 Lanley
stepped forward. “America? What is the name of your estate?”

“Laurel
Hill, Sir Cecil.”

“It’s
where exactly?” Lanley lifted his hand and waved a handkerchief in front of his
nose. Nash thought he looked absurd.

“In
Maryland, near the Potomac and Monocacy rivers.”

Lanley
pursed his lips. “I’m unacquainted with those places. You are a settler in the Colonies?”

“If
you prefer to call me that, yes.”

“I
assume you live in, what is it they call them, a log cabin?”

A
corner of Nash’s mouth twitched. “Not exactly.” Disliking the way Lanley
treated him, Nash decided not to describe his house.
Let him wonder.
He
could tell by the look in Lanley’s eyes it would drive him crazy not knowing.

Rebecah
raised her eyes. The mention of a faraway land captured her attention.

“The
Monocacy flows into the Potomac, does it not?” she asked. “And the Potomac
separates Maryland and the Virginias, flows from the mountains in the west, and
pours into the Chesapeake. Am I correct?”

Impressed
by her knowledge, Nash smiled. “Yes, on all points.”

“My
father had an atlas in our library. I would sit for hours looking at it. I…we
would love to hear about your life there.”

“Are
you extending an invitation?” he dared to inquire.

Lavinia
bounced on her heels. “Yes, Jack. You must come to Endfield. Tell us
everything.”

With
one brow raised, Lanley moved closer to Rebecah. He posed a question, Nash
knew, meant to affront.

“Will
you take up arms against England when this wretched war begins? Or have you
returned to stay?”

Lavinia
pouted. “Must we discuss politics?”

Lanley
drew back his shoulders. “Why not, Miss Lavinia? Revolution is the main topic
of discussion these days.”

“Let
us hope our differences are resolved without the shedding of blood,” Nash
replied.

Lanley
narrowed his eyes. “If the shedding of blood means England will keep what is
rightful hers, then so be it. The Americans will be on the receiving end.”

A
muscle in Nash’s cheek jerked. He wished he could silence Lanley’s sarcastic
mouth. But for the sake of the ladies, as well as his parents, and that he
stood on church grounds, he gave Lanley a steely glare instead.

Lavinia
set her hand against her head. “Sir Cecil, will you be so kind to escort me to
our coach. I’m feeling a little faint.”

Under
Nash’s shadow, Lanley put Lavinia’s arm through his. He hesitated a moment,
then turned and walked off.

Rebecah
moved from the fence onto the gravel path leading to the Brent coach. “Pay no
attention to Sir Cecil. He speaks his mind without thinking first.”

“And
you’re engaged to such a man?”

“It
wouldn’t be appropriate for me to discuss my situation with you, Mr. Nash. We
just met.”

“Forgive
me. I spoke out of turn.”

“No
harm done.” They walked on through the gate, trailing behind Lanley and Lavinia.
“I’m glad my uncle is not here today.”

“May
I ask why?”

“A
discussion with him over politics is more insufferable than can be imagined.”

“I
may call at Endfield sometime as long as Lanley isn’t there. I don’t think I
could abide a conversation with him again.”

A
light laugh passed through her coral lips. “You would have to ignore him as one
disregards a spoiled child.”

When
she reached the coach, she paused in front of the horses. She ran her hand down
one mare’s nose. “Are all rebels like you?”

“I
don’t know what you mean, Miss Brent.”

“There’s
an air of bravery about you, yet you are restrained. You could have argued back,
but you didn’t.”

“There
was no point.”

The
coachman broke in. “Lady Kathryn wishes to hurry home, miss.”

Rebecah
lifted her skirts, as a footman open the door and helped her inside. Nash
lingered back as Lanley strutted past.

Lavinia
poked out her head. “See mother, I told you John Nash was here.”

Lady
Kathryn leaned forward and placed one gloved hand on the sill of the coach
window. “I never doubted my daughter, Jack. Your parents are overjoyed to have
you home. I’m happy as well.”

He
bowed to her. Little had she changed, but for a few lines about her eyes. She spoke
in the same refined voice he remembered.

“Have
you any reason to refuse an invitation if it comes from me?”

“None
that I can think of, my lady.”

“Then
we shall look forward to seeing you.”

The
coachman cracked his whip. Rebecah’s eyes caught his as the coach rolled away. Besieged,
he held them fast. Stepping away, he put his hat back on.

What
have I just committed myself to?

Evening fell and candles glowed in
the windows of Endfield. Torches swayed along the drive brightening the stone
facade. The moon hung in a vast sea of stars.

Guests were arriving. In the
courtyard, footmen in lavish livery helped ladies exit their coaches. In the
center directing activity stood Henry Carrow, his shadow spreading across the
lawn in the torchlight.

“Who
do you see, Lavinia?” Rebecah clasped a bracelet to her wrist.

Lavinia
looked out the upstairs window. “Sir Rodney and Lady Margaret have arrived with
their son.”

Lavinia
turned and drew Rebecah over. She gazed at Nash with a quickening heart. The
wonderful sensation confused her and she squeezed the lace of the curtain
within her hand. He waited at the foot of the stairs, his hat tucked beneath
his arm, dressed in dark blue. He looked up. A gradual smile eased over his
mouth.

“You
have a new admirer, Rebecah,” Lavinia sighed.

Rebecah
turned away. “He is not my
admirer
.”

“Ah,
but he is. Just how you will get rid of Lanley, I don’t know.”

“You
need not worry about me. You’ve your own set of problems.”

“I’m
not worried. David and I are meant to be together.” She moved away from the
window. “Do you not like John Nash?”

“I
hardly know him.”

Lavinia
looked aghast. “You make me want to scream.”

She
pulled on Rebecah’s shoulders. Rebecah gave her a look of resignation. “Yes, I
like him. He is…”

“Dashing?
Handsome?”

“Yes.”

“Rugged
and mysterious?”

“Yes,
that too. When he looks at me, I feel…Oh, I cannot find the words.”

“I
knew it. You’re in love.” Lavinia whirled Rebecah around.

“I’m
not. Falling in love takes time.”

“You
don’t believe in love at first sight?”

“No.”

A
burst of laughter rose from downstairs. “We must hurry; else we’ll miss most of
the fun.”

Dorene
entered the room. She paused at the mirror. “Make him wait, Rebecah. It keeps a
man interested.”

“I don’t
need your advice, Dorene.”

“What
a pity. For I do think he shall be put off by the color of your gown.” Dorene
stood back, snapped open her fan and brushed the white ostrich feathers across
her chin.  “It darkens your skin and heightens the rust in your hair.”

Rebecah
refused to look at Dorene. Agitated she pulled on her silk stockings. She had
been at Rebecah from the day she arrived. Rebecah had tolerated her.

“The
heart is everything. Beauty fades. Silks turn to rags.”

If
Dorene’s eyes were daggers, they would have drawn blood. Raising her head, she
glided over to the door in a huff. The maid hurried to open it. Dorene left the
room. 

Lavinia
sat beside Rebecah. “Dorene doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Your gown is
lovely.”

Rebecah
stood and looked at the mauve silk in the mirror. “I should despise it.”

“Why?
You look beautiful.”

“I don’t
wish to look beautiful tonight. Lanley.”

“Forget
him. Your betrothal is not etched in stone.”

Despite
Lavinia’s encouragement, Brent’s words came back. Since that day in his study,
she prayed for a way to escape. The thought of being wedded to Lanley, made her
feel as though she were dying inside.

“If
only you knew the threats your father has made, and how difficult he has made
things.”

“I
know better than you think.” Lavinia headed for the door. “Tonight you need not
worry about my father or Lanley. Jack is here.”

*  *  *

Nash
felt out of his element with the new clothes and the scent of milled soap upon
his skin. And then there was Rebecah. He had seen her four times, in the
village or passing on the road, since they had first met. Their encounters had
been brief, always in the presence of others. Conversation had been limited to
the fine day, or the wellbeing of their loved ones. When he saw her standing in
the window, his heart pounded. Then she moved away and he bounded up the stairs
and stepped inside the house.

Lavinia
and Rebecah emerged from upstairs and his eyes lifted to see her, to watch the
way she walked down the runner toward the stairs.

“Is
that your cousin?” A girl dressed in blue damask, whose powdered face and black
patch made her look more like a harlequin than a young woman, moved beside
Dorene at the foot of the staircase.

He slipped
back, so not to be seen, listened, and watched how she vied for attention.
Dorene
has not changed at all.

Another
girl in the cluster tapped her fan. “I caught a glimpse of her in the market. I
thought no great thing of her.”

“I’ve
seen her in church,” spoke a third. “The men cannot keep their eyes from
wandering her way.”

“Is
it true Sir Cecil Lanley has asked for her hand?” probed the girl with the
patch.

“Yes,
and someday my cousin will get all she deserves.” Dorene proceeded into the
ballroom with her clutch of friends. Nash breathed a sigh of relief she did not
see him. A moment with the prideful Dorene surrounded by gawking females would
vex him.   

Samuel
Brent walked by, stopped and turned. 

“Sir
Samuel.” Nash bowed. “How are you, sir?”

Brent
looked him over with scrutiny. “I’m always in excellent condition. Come to
Endfield with your parents, have you? Rodney told me you intend to sell your
land and are seeking a buyer. Why?”

“I’ve
settled in America, and can use the money.” Nash took a step back to let a lady
and her gentleman pass.

“So,
have you become a traitor to king and country?” Brent leaned forward. “Are you
one of those
Sons of Liberty
we hear about?”

Nash
made no reply. Why get into a debate?

“You
are aware I’m in favor of hanging traitors.” Brent smiled in quick greeting to
his guests. “We’ve enough loyal Englishmen in the Colonies to squash a rebellion.”

“Yet
they should not underestimate the patriots’ fervor.”

Brent
frowned. Lady Kathryn drew beside him. Nash kissed the hand she held out to
him.

Rebecah
was coming down the stairs. Brent’s face flushed and Nash saw something
dreadful snapped in his mind.

Lady
Kathryn touched his arm. “What is it, my love?”

“You
don’t see it, do you? She is the image of her mother.”

“Slightly,
Samuel.” Lady Kathryn opened her fan.

 “You
will excuse me.” Pain and anger glazed Brent’s eyes. “I’m not good at parties.”

His
wife looked disappointed. “It would be discourteous, Samuel.”

“I don’t
care, Kate. This is my house and I shall do as I please.” He took his wife by
the elbow and led her down the hall. Nash heard the door click shut over the
din of people.

Brent’s
reaction to his niece troubled Nash. Was he over protective, or was there
something else concerning the past that caused this slight?

He
walked toward her. She gave him a hint of a smile. “I heard the roads were
filled with fog. I hope the journey was not too unpleasant.”

“The
hard ride was worth it now that I’ve seen you.” 

 “There’s
Lavinia, and David Harcourt. Perhaps you haven’t spoken to them and should?”

 “I’m
beginning to think you don’t like me, Miss Brent. Is it so difficult for you to
accept a compliment?”

“How
am I to know you are sincere?”

“You
must take my word for it. Perhaps it’s a matter of the two of us becoming
better acquainted.”