Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland Page 21

  The parallel was too obvious to miss. “I should have shown him from the start I could be like that too. Instead, I cowered in a corner for years, too afraid of losing him to truly win him.”

  And yet the same fear was still there, nibbling away at her innermost self. It was one thing to be rejected by a man who was a stranger to her true self. But if she showed him all of who she was, and still he tossed her aside for another, how much worse would it hurt?

  Kate gently squeezed her shoulder. “Lark, fear is not of the Lord. Trust me, I know this better than anyone. Never does He work through discouragement and apprehension, but rather through peace and edification. It seems to me God is doing a great thing in both of you, something you might not have seen or embraced without going through what you did. But in order to find His perfect will for you, you must seek it. Seek the perfect love of our Father, not the affection of man.”

  Sena grinned. “She is as able as Reverend Lake. And though her sound advice is always hard to follow, in this case you ought to do well. I am all but positive you have secured the affections of your man this last week anyway.”

  Kate smiled. “He does seem set on capturing your heart.” After removing her hand, Kate leaned her shoulder companionably into Lark’s. “Do you love him, Lark?”

  The question of the week. “I don’t know. I thought I did, but…did I? Do I?” She could only shrug.

  One of many questions for which she had no answer these days.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You are going.”

  Edwinn ignored Randel and kept sharpening his quill.

  “Calvert, this is a monumental day. For the entire country, to be sure, but also for you.” Randel leaned over Edwinn’s desk, as he had done many a time back in his school days, and glared. “The treaty will be ratified. Peace, true peace, at long last. Official, legal peace—and with it, the promise to restore your estate. How can you not be there to witness it?”

  “Because I know well they will not honor it. Not that part.” But he put down the feather with a sigh. “I will not be welcomed in the State House.”

  “They have said anyone might witness.”

  At that, Edwinn loosed a dry laugh. “By ‘anyone,’ they did not mean me.”

  “Hence why it would be a statement.” Randel straightened again. “You will never succeed in your goals by sitting here in this rented study and writing letters. Stand up and come do something for once.”

  Edwinn shook his head in wonder. “And this is how the dedicated scholar made the transition to an army commander. You are a study in contradictions, my friend.”

  Randel picked up Edwinn’s cane and held it out. “Now, or I shall rap your knuckles with it.”

  “Have it your way.” Edwinn took his cane and used it to help him stand. Perhaps afterward he would visit at Randel House, manage a few moments with Sena. Assuming he lived through the first order of business. “If you have to defend me against a mob, you have only yourself to blame.”

  Randel rolled his eyes and plopped his tricorn back onto his head—he hadn’t even bothered taking off his cloak. “Have you a blade hidden within that thing, at least?”

  “No, but it can double as a club in a pinch.” He followed Randel out the door of his study and went to collect his cloak and hat.

  The moment they gained the outdoors, the cold worked its way into Edwinn’s leg. He had long ago given up coddling it, but this winter had been a terrible one for pain. “Did the missing delegates brave the snow for the occasion, or will it be ratified by only the seven states, rather than the nine needed for quorum?”

  Randel grinned. “The express riders Jefferson sent out on the third did their jobs. The delegations from New Jersey and Connecticut both arrived yesterday, and Beresford made it this very morning. We have the full nine votes, praise the Lord. Now we have to pray for safe passage back to Paris.”

  “I envy not the couriers the trip across the Atlantic this winter, for certain.”

  Randel shuddered. “Franklin writes that it is as terrible a winter in Europe. Bizarre, but he has a hypothesis about it being tied to the volcanic eruptions in Iceland.”

  “Really.” Edwinn let that swirl through his mind as they reached the corner of West and Church Circle. “I have never heard of such a theory. Something about all the gases released, perhaps? I have read much of Northern Europe is still experiencing toxic fogs associated with Mount Laki’s activity.”

  “’Tis an interesting possibility, at any rate. There is surely something to explain this winter. I have never experienced the like. It has been enough to make a man want to move to the South.”

  And talking of scientific theories was far preferable to thinking about the welcome Edwinn would soon receive. He deliberately kept the subject on climate and volcanoes until they stepped onto State House Circle a few minutes later. At which point, he let silence reign.

  As it was, no one paid any attention to him as they made their way inside and to the senate chamber. Fielding was already there and waved them over to a few feet of floor he had reserved. He offered a smile. “Randel succeeded in convincing you, I see.”

  Edwinn faced forward, where the congressmen were milling about. “Only after he threatened to cane me. With my own cane, no less.”

  Fielding laughed. “He does excel at ironic punishments.”

  Randel took off his hat and slapped Edwinn on the arm with it. “Watch yourselves, you mouthy pups, or I shall let neither of you through my door again. And given the young ladies I have under my roof…”

  “He has also mastered the art of effective threats,” Calvert said in a stage whisper to Fielding.

  Fielding nodded, but Mifflin called the congress to order, so they all fell silent.

  As a matter of course, the president read through the articles of the treaty, which took a good while. Edwinn paid strict attention, though, especially when Article Five was reached.

  Mifflin read that section in the same even voice as all the rest, but there were a few snorts through the audience, and some of the members exchanged amused glances. As if the very inclusion of the provisions for Loyalists were only a joke.

  He shouldn’t have come. His presence here today would accomplish no more than his letters. These men would not grant him the rights they had fought for, the ones they had espoused in their Declaration of Independence. How was he to pursue happiness among men who considered him a traitor? Where was his liberty? How many of them would even take from him the right to live?

  Maybe he ought to give up the fight and content himself with a quiet existence. Let the officials forget about him so he didn’t bring trouble upon his or Kate’s head.

  At long last the reading was complete, and with great flourish the congressmen signed it on behalf of their states. Mr. Jefferson took the floor. “Mr. Dunlap will be printing thirteen copies of a Peace Proclamation that will include these articles, to be sent to each of the states. This proclamation will also stress that each and every sentence was approved by us, by whose authority the people’s existence as free men is bound up. Hence,every stipulation must be obeyed.”

  He looked at some of his colleagues, his friends, then glanced at the audience. Did he look at Edwinn, or was it his imagination? “I move Congress pass a resolution immediately, earnestly recommending each state comply with all provisions, especially those concerning restitution of seized property.”

  “There, see?” Randall mumbled around his smile.

  “No, but I shall believe it when I do.”

  While Congress returned to the matter at hand, some of the audience began drifting out. Edwinn motioned toward the exit. “I am heading home, Randel. You?”

  “Not just yet.”

  Edwinn nodded and sidled through the crowd. Though he thought he glimpsed Fielding exiting too, he didn’t hold up. Not right now. He wanted only to go home, out of the cold, and pray. Turn this mess over to the Lord yet again.

  He made it outside and down the steps be
fore someone recognized him.

  “Hey! You there, Calvert. What the deuce are you doing here?”

  To stop, or to keep going? He debated a moment, before the option was taken from him. The acquaintance who had hailed him leaped in front of him, practically snarling. “You came to hear your precious king acknowledge us, did you? Well good. Now that you have heard once and for all that we are right and just in our independence, perhaps you shall pack up and return to England where you belong.”

  Edwinn sighed and leaned on his cane. He recognized his accuser but couldn’t recall his name. “I beg your pardon, sir. I rejoice in the independence of these United States along with everyone else, and am, most of all, glad the hostilities have ceased, as that is what I took issue with to begin with.”

  “Ah, right.” The man held out his arms and laughed. “He is a hater of war, that’s it. A turn-the-other-cheek sort. Well then, Mr. Righteous, let us give you something to forgive.”

  Before Edwinn could shift away, the man’s foot flew out. Edwinn felt the impact on his cane, felt it shudder and slip as if time had slowed. In that fraction of a second he wished, willed, prayed it would hold firm. But the icy bricks betrayed him, as did his support. He went crashing down, his bad leg screaming as it struck the cold, hard pavement.

  He gripped the head of his cane as his throat closed off with anger. For nearly twenty years he had come to terms with the knowledge that he couldn’t fight even if he wanted to, but in this moment he was tempted to risk a sure thrashing just to demonstrate to this idiot that seeking war didn’t guarantee one would win it.

  Before he could do more than pull himself up to a knee, another figure charged forward and knocked the instigator back.

  “Fielding, unhand me!”

  Fielding? Edwinn blinked and shook his head.

  Fielding made no other move, just extended his arms to keep anyone from moving. “Have you not tired of fighting yet, Litchfield? The war is over. Let it rest.”

  Litchfield, yes, that was his name. He muttered a curse and waved a hand at Edwinn. “I cannot suffer it, Fielding. These cowardly Tories—”

  “Think of them what you will. But I cannot suffer you marring this day of peace with such behavior.”

  Another vaguely familiar young man rushed forward and placed a restraining hand on Litchfield’s elbow. “Fielding has a point, Litch. Leave it for today. Besides, there is no glory in thrashing a cripple.”

  Much as he wished he could leap to his feet and prove that word did not apply to him, the throbbing in Edwinn’s leg was too great.

  Litchfield looked about to argue but at length made a dismissive gesture and turned away. “You are right, Woodward. He is hardly worth it.”

  Edwinn waited for them to saunter away, thanked the Lord when their parting gift of spittle landed an inch from his boot rather than in his face, and only then struggled up, losing his cane again in the process.

  Fielding picked it up, held it out to him. Fearing what he might find in the man’s regard, Edwinn nevertheless met it. And sighed in relief. No pity, no apology. Just a nod, a simple understanding.

  Respect.

  It was enough to square Edwinn’s shoulders and give him the strength to withhold his wince until he had turned toward home.

  * * * * *

  Lark tilted her head to better examine the detailing on the miniature dress. She was passable with a needle, able to mend and stitch, but embroidery that fine made her miss the servant at Endover who was so very skilled at it. “I would never be able to duplicate it.”

  “Nonsense.” Alice peeked under the skirt of the fashion baby to see the back of the stitching. “’Tis simple enough. If you’ve a mind to add such embellishment to one of your dresses, I would be happy to help you.”

  “Do let her, Lark. Alice is brilliant with a needle and lacks the excuse to use it as much as she would like.” With a glance over her shoulder, Sena took the doll from the shelf and turned it over in her hands. “Though I maintain you could become a prosperous dressmaker if you put your mind to it, Alice. Marie Antoinette’s could not hold a candle to you.”

  Alice laughed and took the fashion baby from Sena’s hands, replaced it on the shelf. “I haven’t the time, not with Hugh and Callie and, Lord willing, more children in my future. Speaking of whom, we had better head back. I would like to be there when they wake up from their naps.”

  Though Sena loosed a sigh, Lark tamped down a smile. It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get Alice to accompany them to Market Place at all. She had finally been won over by Sena’s argument that her presence as a respectable married woman lent them the propriety everyone insisted she needed more of.

  As if anyone or anything could ever make Sena entirely proper. Lark certainly hoped not.

  “Very well. For the children.” With her usual energy, Sena led the way out of the aisle of fustian and then the shop entirely.

  For her part, Lark was content to remain a step behind, beside Alice, as their intrepid leader flounced through Market Place and headed up Fleet Street, back toward State House Circle. She couldn’t help but note that Alice’s countenance reflected a peace it hadn’t since she came to Randel House. “Have you heard from your husband, Alice?”

  “Hmm?” Alice looked her way, beamed a smile that no amount of homespun could make look common. “No. But I feel now that all will be well. Matty will come home. He must, if he wants to meet his next child.”

  “His next— Alice, I had no idea.”

  “I had been uncertain, until just the other day.”

  Sena held up to draw even with them, her eyes wide. “Did I just overhear what I think I did? Alice, what a blessing.”

  At least it would be if the absent Mr. Mattimore returned. Assuming he returned with goods or sterling enough to keep them.

  Lark shook off those thoughts, determined to be as happy for her new friend as Alice obviously was. “Well, I think we know what our next sewing project must be. Forget the latest from Paris—we must dedicate ourselves to gowns of a smaller scale.”

  Talk of what blankets and gowns Alice would need kept them occupied from Fleet to Cornhill Streets, and as they stepped onto State House Circle. But when Lark spotted Emerson standing on the walkway, his posture tense and his gaze toward a figure limping in the distance, thoughts of Alice’s expanding family fled.

  “Emerson?”

  He spun, his expression softening into a smile, though his eyes still betrayed concern. “You mean to tell me you ladies were not eavesdropping on the assembly from the gallery?”

  “Not today.” Sena’s response lacked its usual good humor as she looked to the same place Emerson had been. “Is that Mr. Calvert limping so terribly?”

  The worry took over Emerson’s face again. “Litchfield accosted him a few moments ago. I stepped in, but he had already been knocked down.”

  If Lark had doubted Sena’s feelings for Mr. Calvert before now, she surely could not in the face of the fury and agony that possessed her friend. “Is he injured? I have never seen his limp so pronounced. If that idiot Litchfield… I must go to him.”

  “You must not.” Emerson stayed her with an outstretched arm. His gaze demanded understanding. “He was stripped of enough pride today at the hands of Litchfield. If you went to him now, Miss Randel, it would make him feel worse, not better. Let him salvage his dignity.”

  Sena glanced from one of them to another, obviously exasperated. “I cannot do nothing! He is in pain, he is—”

  “Hush now, Sena.” Alice stepped forward and wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. “Mr. Fielding has the right of it. What we shall do is repair to Randel House with all haste, and you and I shall make up a poultice. We shall then deliver it covertly to his staff in the kitchen, then go around front and ring for Kate. You know well she will tell us how he fares, but without further damage to his pride.”

  Sena let Alice lead her away, her silence speaking to the depths of her distress.

  L
ark watched them go, tucking her hand into the crook of Emerson’s arm. “You are a good man, Emerson Fielding. Guarding his pride as you just did, and stepping in with Mr. Litchfield.”

  Emerson sighed, though he covered her fingers with his own. “I did little enough.”

  She smiled up at him, an ember of warmth blossoming inside the portion of her heart that had long been his. “You did what you always do. You took the role of hero.”

  He led her along toward North Street at a slow, leisurely pace better suited for a warm spring day, but she made no complaints. Then he angled a grin down at her that had a hint of the rogue in it. “So Lark Benton likes a man who can play the hero once in a while, does she? You know, there was once a time I rescued a little girl from a sure fright when her brother tried to drop a frog onto her head.”

  Laughter tickled her throat. “Mmm, so you did. Though if recollection serves, you first gave the devious brother the idea for the prank by wondering how shrilly said girl might scream in such a situation.”

  He chuckled too. “You were not supposed to remember that part.”

  “It wouldn’t be nearly so dear a memory without it.” Memories of simpler days, of shared history. A reminder that their past was not only betrayal and heartbreak, but many golden days spent together as well. Perhaps, if she focused on those, then a shared future wasn’t so inconceivable Perhaps.

  Chapter Twenty

  Wiley barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the way Penelope pranced and preened, holding out her wrist at all times lest anyone lose sight of the sapphires that shackled her. She had been acting a complete ninny ever since Owens took her outside for a walk yesterday and then brought her back branded as his.

  Well, more a ninny than usual, that is.

  “I want a spring wedding, of course.” She twirled around and admired the blue gems. Again. “Spring in Savannah—which would be March, I suppose.”

  “Savannah?” Aunt Hester snapped to attention, her indulgent smile evaporating. “Why would you want the wedding to be there? Is it not enough you will be moving so far from me? You must wed near your family, either here or in Philadelphia.”