Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland Page 14

  Emerson held up a hand. “One moment. I need to…”

  Josiah helped him to a seat, clucking like a mother hen, and set out some dry clothes. A hot bath sounded just the thing too, but that would take time Emerson was unwilling to waste. He settled for changing into the fresh garments and then plodding back down to the parlor.

  Henry had apparently been to work on the fire, because it crackled and snapped in the hearth and sent out blessed waves of heat. Emerson collapsed on the couch solely because it was closest to it.

  After a short span, rustling in the hallway snagged his attention, and Emerson looked toward the door. Lark was led in by the proprietress and urged to a seat beside him.

  “Allow me to fetch that coffee now. You two sit and thaw out before you turn right to ice.”

  “Thank you, madam.” But Emerson didn’t look at her. He was far too busy tamping down a grin at the way the coarse brown dress hung on Lark like a sack. She all but disappeared within its folds, which emphasized the delicacy of her frame and made him want to gather her close and keep her from making any other foolish moves.

  As if she would allow that.

  She sat on the edge of the cushion, huddled in on herself and straining toward the fire. Her cheeks were white as the moon, her lips purple-tinged. Emerson lifted a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over her shoulders.

  Her hair was no longer dripping but now hung free around her to dry. Between the sunlight from the window and the firelight from the hearth, it gleamed deep and rich as a fine port. He had never noticed the shine of it before.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, pulling the blanket around her. “And thank you for saving me.”

  “I expected rather you would berate me for being the cause of your new acquaintance with the bay.”

  Was it his imagination, or did her lips twitch up? “You were not. Not directly, anyway. Though I suppose it was hiding from you that resulted in my running into the slave auction, and that is what propelled me toward the bay.” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing in seeming pain. “That was the second one I have seen since coming here. Why do we do it, Emerson? Is the coin it saves worth the cost of another’s freedom?”

  He opened his mouth but could find no reply beyond the trite. “It is a complicated matter.” He cleared his throat and angled himself toward her. Best to change the subject. “Has rescuing you earned me the right to apologize?”

  Lark let out a long breath. “I am hardly going to run again now. But Emerson.” Her eyes looked both tired and determined. “Apologizing will change nothing. It cannot alter facts.”

  “I know that, but…” He halted when the proprietress rushed in with a tray of coffee and sweets.

  “Here you are,” she said cheerfully. “I put a dollop of brandy in it already, to warm you the faster. Not much, mind, just a nip.”

  She scurried out again even as they thanked her. Emerson poured a cup of steaming brew and handed it to Lark, then a second for himself. He took a fortifying sip and sighed. “Lark, I have no excuses for my behavior. I ought not to have acted as I did, and I certainly ought not to have flirted with your cousin. I have been a buffoon, and I can finally see that.”

  Lark cradled the cup between her palms and stared into the fire. “Your biggest mistake was not Penelope, nor the past two years.” She turned her face, leveled him with a glare as piercing as a musket ball. “Your biggest mistake was ever asking for my hand when you had no warm feelings for me.”

  “Lark—”

  “I knew you did not love me. How could you have, when you had been at war and away at school before that?” She shook her head and took a drink. “But I thought, when you asked, you must at least be fond of me. I thought our betrothal would see us draw closer, come to truly know one another.” She shook her head again and returned her gaze to the fire.

  Emerson stared into the black coffee in his hand. “I killed a friend of mine. In the war.”

  Her gasp was the only sound for a long moment. “Accidentally, you mean?”

  “No.” He breathed a laugh, though amusement had no place in it. “He was a Tory. We met on the battlefield. I might never have realized it was him had he not gasped my name as my bayonet…”

  “Oh, Emerson.” She shifted, and he looked up to see sympathy in her gaze. “I cannot imagine. But I don’t see what—”

  “It did something to me, Lark. The war in general, and then that—it was at Yorktown. We came home directly afterward, your brother and I, but that only meant there were no other images in the fore of my mind. No other battles lost or won, no other moments of excitement or dread as fresh in my memory. I dreamt of it every night. Every night.”

  She opened her mouth but closed it again without speaking.

  Emerson sighed. “It must seem to have nothing to do with you and me, but it has. My mother thought marriage would cure me of all that ailed my spirit.”

  Lark stared openmouthed for a moment then surged to her feet, moving closer to the fire. “I suspected it was her idea. Why me, then, Emerson? Why not some pretty, clever girl you had a hope of sharing interests with?”

  Emerson ran a hand over his wet hair. How could he possibly answer that? His vow to be truthful filled him, but he knew it would hurt her. Still, he could hardly push her any further away. “I…I know this will sound terrible, Lark, but…I did not want involvement. I was willing to grant my mother had a point, but I had no desire to do anything to achieve it. Or to open myself up.”

  Silence. When he finally risked looking at her, her face had turned hard as stone. “So you chose me because your sisters would have told you I fancied myself in love with you, and you knew I would accept your proposal without a courtship first. You chose me because you did not care about me.”

  He was worse than a buffoon. He was an ogre. A monster. And he couldn’t even refute it.

  Lark placed her cup on the mantel with more deliberation than the action called for. “It would seem, though, that while that was reason enough to propose, your better sense kept you from going through with the marriage those two years. Why, then, did you not agree to end the betrothal on my birthday? You are surely healed by now. Go, fall in love. Marry someone else.”

  “No.” He set his cup on the table at his side and stood. “I do not want to marry anyone else, Lark, I want to marry you.”

  “You do not.” She spun as if to make for the door but then pivoted back to him. “’Tis only pride speaking, and perhaps guilt. You cannot abide the thought that I would run from you, that I would refuse you. And you feel terrible for the way things ended. But that is no more a reason to wed than your first one.”

  He shook his head. “Perhaps pride played a factor before. And perhaps guilt opened my eyes. But that is not what brought me here.”

  “No?” Incredulity dripped from her tone as the bay water had dripped from her hair.

  Dare he take a step toward her? He made it slow, sliding, in the hopes she wouldn’t notice. “No. I came because of what I saw once the blinders were removed.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling the blanket tighter with the action. “I fail to guess what you think you saw concerning me at that juncture, given I was nowhere nearby when the alleged removal of blinders took place.”

  His lips quirked up. Yes, she had certainly been in Randel’s company—that sounded straight from one of their classes. “I saw a good deal more than I ever had before. Wiley gave me that letter you wrote.”

  For a moment she looked at him blankly, then her eyes went wide. “He what?”

  “I think he wanted to be sure I understood what really drove you away. And he succeeded. Lark, I—”

  “I have heard enough.” She whipped the blanket off her shoulders and folded it with a series of sharp, angry motions.

  He stepped between her and the door. “This particular anger is more for Wiley than me, isn’t it? I had no way of knowing you did not intend me to read it. So if you would like me to deliver
you home to Williamsburg so you can berate him—”

  She slapped the blanket onto a chair. “I will stay right here, thank you.”

  Her anger was clear, yes. But more, there was stony determination beneath it. “You mean it. Even knowing how your family misses you—”

  “Perhaps if my family had respected my wishes and canceled the wedding plans, then I would not have to stay away.”

  He studied the upward slant of her chin, the fierce burning in her eyes. She would not be budged. Which meant he had two choices. He could give up and go home, convince their families the betrothal was off. If he chose that option, then he would in effect being saying goodbye to her once and for all. Giving her her wish, which might be the gentlemanly thing to do.

  But the light caught the depths of her hair, and her eyes shone like moonstone. Her dress hung in total disarray, but her spine was straight and strong.

  Emerson dragged in a long breath and cast his lot on the second option. “If you will not come home, then I shall stay here.”

  She blinked, as if uncertain she had heard him correctly. “You… why in the world would you do that?”

  His smile felt wry upon his lips. “Because if you are the woman I begin to see you must be, then you are worth the world.”

  For a moment he thought he glimpsed tears in her eyes, but then she averted them, and he couldn’t be sure it was anything more than a reaction to the whiff of smoke from the chimney. Her hands fisted at her sides. “You have never lacked for lovely words, Emerson. But it is too late. Go or stay, it is no concern of mine.”

  He inclined his head. “Then with your leave, my dear, I shall stay.”

  With all the lack of concern of a British lady, she picked up her coffee and took a long drink. “Enjoy the town.”

  “I think I shall do so more this time than ever before. Given the company.”

  Her brows rose. “I know not what company you have in mind, but I promise you it shan’t be mine.”

  He pressed his lips together against a grin. “Then I suppose you shall stay hidden in Randel House? Because I assure you, darling, I still have friends enough in Annapolis that if you step out to a ball or fete, I will have secured an invitation to it as well.”

  She looked as though she would have liked to dash the cup to the ground. Instead she raised her chin. “Very well. Enjoy the holiday celebrations too. But if you call me ‘darling’ again, ’tis the plank for you.”

  A smirk sprang to his lips before he could stop it. “You have pirates among your new acquaintances?”

  “Scores of them.” She sashayed past him with a smirk of her own, leaning close enough to say, “And Cap’n Mobcap’s not one to be trifled with.”

  He let her by, mostly so she wouldn’t see his lopsided smile. Getting to know Lark Benton might be the most enjoyment he’d had in ages.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You failed to mention how devastatingly handsome he is.”

  “Did I?” Lark smiled at Sena and bent down to remove her slippers. “An oversight.”

  Sena chuckled from her place at the dressing table. “Oh, certainly. Admit it, Lark. Emerson Fielding looks at you, and you turn to pudding.”

  “Not under threat of torture will I admit such a thing.” But she laughed and peeled off her stockings. “And I can say in all honesty there was no such reaction today.”

  “No, it seemed not.” Sena sighed and turned away from the mirror to face her. “Still. I can see why you waited so long for him to set a date. ’Tis hard to let go of so fine a catch, hmm?”

  “Especially when there is no good explanation for how I landed him to begin with.” She sighed and rolled up the stockings for use tomorrow. The ones that had gone into the bay would have to undergo a serious laundering, but these she had only donned a short time before, after her hair had finally dried enough to walk home.

  Accompanied, of course, by the undauntable Emerson.

  Sena ran the brush through her hair one last time and set it on the dressing table. “I have no idea what you mean by that. You are a fine catch yourself. Lovely of face, graceful of figure, full of wit and verve, and from an excellent family.”

  Lark hummed and put on the thick socks she would sleep in. Her toes had yet to warm up. “But he admitted the only reason he ever wanted to marry me was because I was dull and silent.”

  Sena’s brows rose. “You? Silent?”

  Laughter bubbled up again. Naturally, Sena would take issue with that rather than with Emerson’s admission. “I thought the way to keep him was to obey all the lessons I’d had on propriety.”

  “I imagine if Mrs. Green were here, she would be able to provide some wisdom from Ben Franklin’s pen to either convince you of your folly or assure you your reasoning was sound, depending on his mood.”

  “Sena, dear?” Mrs. Randel’s voice came from the hallway. “Could you help me for a moment?”

  “Coming, Mamma.” She stood and pointed at Lark. “Do not dare think any pivotal thoughts about your Mr. Fielding until I return.”

  “I shan’t, I promise,” Lark said with a laugh. Then marveled at how much laughing she’d done about the situation this evening, when it had all seemed so dire and frustrating earlier.

  As Sena reached the doorway, Alice filled it, outfitted in her new maid’s attire. Strange how Lark barely knew the woman yet found the picture so very wrong. Sena, however, grinned and threw her arms around Alice with typical abandon. “Oh, you cannot know how glad I am to have you here! Are the children settled?”

  Alice’s scarlet curls danced as she nodded. “We will not stay here long, though—only until the roof is repaired. Which I would not have been able to afford to do, had your family not made this offer. I owe you much, Sena.”

  “Nonsense, it was pure selfishness.” Sena winked and sidled past. “I would do anything to keep my friends in my house.”

  Lark took Sena’s seat at the dressing table and picked up her own brush, though unease swept through her when Alice appeared in the mirror behind her. To any other maid she would have handed the brush without qualm. But this young woman should have been in a mistress’s position, not a maid’s.

  Yet Alice’s smile was pure serenity as she held out a hand. “May I? It has been ages since I brushed another’s hair, other than little Callie’s. My sisters and I once did this for one another every night.”

  Lark relinquished the brush. She and Violet had used to do so as well, the reminder of which made it seem more friendly. “How many sisters have you?”

  “Four.” The reflection of Alice’s smile went bittersweet. “Two older, two younger.”

  “Do you see them much?”

  She shook her head. “Not these last years, no. The family has all been forbidden to acknowledge me.”

  Though Alice showed no embarrassment over that, Lark felt it acutely on her behalf. “That must be difficult.”

  The brushstrokes hitched for a moment. “’Twas at first, yes. But I have grown accustomed to it. I knew when I made the choice to marry Matty that it would cost me my family.”

  Had her head not been anchored by Alice’s hand, Lark would have shaken it. “How then? How could you make such a decision?”

  Alice paused, met Lark’s gaze in the mirror. “Not lightly, I assure you. Sometimes—sometimes we must do the difficult thing, when we know it is right.” She broke the gaze and returned to brushing. “My father was in business with Matty during the war. He cheated him, and in a roundabout way caused the death of my husband’s first wife, leaving him with a babe to care for on his own.”

  Lark sat up straighter. “Callie? But I thought…”

  “I love her as if I had given birth to her.” The strength of Alice’s smile proved it. “But in spite of the romantic tale Sena is likely to weave about it, I was not so in love with him then. I was fond of him, I found him terribly handsome, but those would not have been reasons enough to make such a decision. Yet I could not shake the conviction that I was m
eant to make right their wrong. To mother this motherless child, to be a wife and helpmate to this honorable man. And I have not for a moment regretted my decision, especially given how deeply we have come to love each other.”

  Lark stared at the smooth, creamy plane of Alice’s forehead in the mirror, unlined with worry or sorrow. Who was this young woman? How had she seen beyond a life of privilege to a sailor and his babe?

  Never in her life had Lark felt so utterly selfish. She didn’t even know with whom her father dealt in business, much less whether all his transactions were fair. She had only an academic knowledge of the less fortunate in Williamsburg, recognized only the poor who sold her goods.

  Now everywhere she turned, she was faced with realities she had either ignored or been unaware of. Slave auctions and outcasts, ostracized Tories and social rebels.

  And where did she fit in all this? Where did her problems with Emerson rank on this scale of desperation?

  Alice hummed as she stroked the brush through a lock. “You have such lovely hair.”

  “Have I?” Startled, Lark frowned.

  Alice chuckled. “Why do you sound so surprised? Look at it, all dark gloss, and it curls so nicely. I always wished for hair like this, rather than this awful red of mine.”

  “Oh, but your coloring is enviable!” Lark took a moment to study her own and had to breathe a laugh. “Mine was blond as a child, though it began to darken when I was about ten years of age. For years it could best be described as ‘mouse brown.’ I tend to think of it that way still.”

  “’Tisn’t, though.” Alice brushed a length of it forward, over Lark’s shoulder. “Look, ‘tis so rich and dark now. Rather close to Sena’s, but with a touch of red to it, and more curl. You are so lovely.”

  Lark studied herself in the tilted mirror. Was she? Certainly she wasn’t hideous, not even ugly. And perhaps, if one didn’t know how beautiful everyone else in her family was, she would look appealing in a normal sort of way.

  Emerson had looked at her today, truly looked, and when she was in an ill-fitting dress with dripping, salt-encrusted hair. He hadn’t run for cover, but then, he couldn’t have possibly based his determination to woo her on the picture she presented. Good, in a way, but…