Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland Read online

  “So you were not kissing my cousin when you are betrothed to my sister?”

  “I…” Emerson’s face went red, and he motioned to Penelope. “She…”

  “Threw herself at you? I have no doubt of that, but you made no effort to fight her off.”

  Penelope huffed, all show of demureness gone. “I did no such thing. I only responded to his advances, and while it was foolhardy, it is hardly my fault. Though now…” In a show worthy of the stage, Penelope flushed and dipped her head, her breathing fast and irregular. “I am shamed to think of how I let him touch me—”

  “She is lying, Wiley. Nothing more happened than what you saw!”

  “How can you say such a thing?” Tears clouded her eyes now. How could she summon them at will like that? “You cannot deny what happened. Oh, I am so distressed. I must go speak with Mother—”

  “Don’t even consider it.” Wiley gripped her by the arm when she made to walk around him. “You think I cannot see your plan? You will tell some exaggerated tale to your mother so she cries out for him to marry you instead of Lark.”

  “Well he must, now!”

  Wiley could all but see the blinders fall from Emerson’s eyes. His face turned to a hard mask of fury. “You conniving little doxy!”

  She tried on the pout again. “One can hardly blame me for trying to win you, Mr. Fielding. The moment I saw you, I knew in my heart—”

  “Nonsense. You only decided you wanted what was Lark’s, as Wiley said.” Apology now flooded Emerson’s expression. As if it weren’t too late for that. “A useless maneuver, Miss Moxley. I am marrying your cousin.”

  He felt Penelope vibrate with rage. “You cannot!”

  “In that much she is right.” Wiley regarded his friend steadily. “You will not marry my sister now, Emerson. But you, dear cousin, will not shame her by letting it be known why.”

  Ah, there was the snake, eyes gleaming and lips ready to hiss. “You cannot keep me silent on something of this magnitude, Wiley, especially while you are away.”

  “Consider my trip canceled.” He turned his face toward hers and prayed she had the wit to see he would do whatever it took to achieve her silence. “I will stay right here, and I will keep my gaze steadily on you. Breathe a word of this to anyone, and I shall be forced to confess I am the one with whom you were dallying. I whom you shall be forced to marry. I who shall see you pay for your disloyalty for the rest of your life.”

  She paled under the powder on her cheeks. “You would never. You detest me.”

  “Yes, I do. But not as much as I love my sister. So what say you, darling cousin? Is it worth the risk of being under my heel for the rest of your days?”

  She jerked her arm away and sneered. “You are a wretch. You are all wretches, every one of you!”

  He let her spin away, satisfied she would hold her tongue. She would have no desire to find herself wed to a man who saw right through her. A good thing, because he had no desire to wed a creature so selfish—though he would do it, if it would save the family this other, worse scandal.

  “Wiley.” Pain dripped from Emerson’s tone and undoubtedly lined his face.

  Wiley refused to be budged by it or even acknowledge it with his regard. He turned away. “You made your choice, Emerson. Perhaps someday we can repair our friendship, but you will not be my brother.”

  “Wiley!”

  He strode from the room, ran up the stairs. Lark would need him. Having never seen her as furious as she had been in the library, he had no idea how she would handle this blow, but one thing was certain—she would not handle it alone.

  Not bothering to knock, he let himself into her room. And halted.

  Lark flew from her armoire to her bed, where a trunk rested at the foot, while their mother moved calmly about the room and Father leaned against the wall, arms crossed and frown deep.

  “What is going on?”

  Lark barely glanced at him. Mother offered a small, strained smile. Father straightened and cleared his throat. “Your sister informs us she and Emerson have had a falling-out and she wishes to call off the engagement. We cannot accept so rash a decision, of course—”

  “But she obviously needs a bit of space and time to examine her heart,” Mother finished for him. She put an encouraging hand on Lark’s shoulder. “She will go with you to Annapolis after all, Wiley. She can stay until the first of February, then she must come home in time for the banns to be read.”

  Lark gripped a gown so tightly Wiley doubted the wrinkles would ever come out. “They will not be read, because there will be no wedding.”

  “You are overwrought, darling.” Mother smoothed a wisp of dark hair from Lark’s cheek. “Once you have some time to cool your temper, I am certain you will see the wisdom of keeping the wedding plans intact. One cannot call off a long-standing betrothal because of one quarrel.”

  “One quarrel?” Lark pulled away and tossed the gown into her trunk. “It is far worse than that, Mamma.”

  “Well then tell me what it is. Tell me why you fought.”

  His sister shook her head and strode to the secretaire, where a pile of boxes stood. If he weren’t mistaken, they were the ones the Fielding jewels had always been delivered in.

  She slid the emerald ring off her finger and put it on top of the boxes. “Just promise me you will not tell him where I go. Promise me.”

  His parents both sighed, exchanged a look. Nodded.

  Wiley swallowed and glanced at each of them. While he applauded his parents for taking such quick action in getting Lark out of Williamsburg, he suspected Emerson would eventually sway them to his side. They were too determined to avoid the scandal of a broken betrothal.

  “I will make sure of it, Larksong.” He offered a tight, mirthless smile when her wide-eyed gaze sought him. “You will go with the Thomases tomorrow in my place, and I shall send a note to Mr. Randel posthaste letting him know of the change in plans. I will stay here and make sure Emerson does not discover your whereabouts.” And ensure that Penelope held her tongue.

  Mother sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “Wiley—”

  “You will not sway me, Mother. Lark will be well cared for with the Thomases. I will see after her wishes here.”

  Father was shaking his head before Wiley even finished. “Be reasonable, son. It is too long a trip for her to take alone, in winter.”

  “The Thomases will be fine company and will certainly keep her as safe as I could.”

  “That is hardly the point!” Father paused, drew in a long breath. “If I am to send my unmarried daughter to Maryland so near Christmas, I will send her with someone dear to her.”

  Wiley arched his brows Lark’s way.

  Her hands clenched and unclenched; her nostrils flared. Then she moistened her lips. “As much as I would like to have Wiley’s company, I would feel better knowing he was here with Emerson.”

  Father tugged rather forcefully at his waistcoat. “Absolutely not. Wiley will—”

  “Now, just a moment, dear.” Contemplation on her face, Mother came over to place a hand on Father’s arm. “I’m certain Lark will feel more lonely without Wiley.” She gave Father a pointed look. “And assuming Emerson did err, Wiley could certainly do good here, talking with him of it.”

  Wiley found his mother’s motive rather too obvious, but he would take agreement in whatever form it was offered. “Exactly right, Mother.”

  Mother turned back to Lark. “But you must at least write him a letter, Lark, explaining why you have chosen to leave.”

  She raised her chin. “No. Let him wonder.”

  Wiley chuckled, even as he spotted the note she had already penned. It might do Emerson good to know what she really thought of him. “If you have everything packed, Lark, we had better see you to the Thomases tonight. They want to get an early start, and if you mean to attract no attention…”

  Father looked pained. “I suppose that is best—we ought to keep it quiet as possible, and thank Providence
arrangements have already been made with a family as respectable as the Thomases.” She looked at him even as she fastened her cloak. He held her gaze firmly. “You must be sure. You have never been away from home, and if your brother will not be going…well, there is no turning back.”

  Her smile might not have been as bright as usual, but it was braver, and more determined. “I am done with turning back, Father. I want only to go forward.”

  Wiley hefted her trunk and motioned to the door with his head. “Then let’s be gone.”

  * * * * *

  Emerson probed the bruise on his jaw, his wince more from guilt than the physical throb. He had hoped to wake up and find the whole incident a nightmare.

  He ought to have known the worst ones were always real.

  What was the matter with him? Something, surely, or he would not have been such a fool. Had he really thought an evening’s flirtation would mean nothing to Miss Moxley? He had barely stopped to think about it. It had been enough that she was pretty, attentive…that she reminded him so acutely of Elizabeth.

  His eyes slid shut. That should have been his first warning.

  “Here you are, Mr. Emerson.”

  He forced a smile for his stable hand and took the reins to his prized mare. “Thank you, Tommy.” In one smooth movement, he mounted and urged the horse along the familiar trek to Endover.

  Every time he blinked, Lark’s horror-stricken face haunted him. He had seen tragedy enough in his days—men torn apart by ordnance and bayonet, ravaged by frostbite and starvation, broken by disease and exhaustion—but this was worse. When she had stepped into the library last night, it was as if he had seen her for the first time, and what met his gaze was a broken heart.

  She had loved him. For the first time that struck him squarely, and only because he knew she did no longer. He had seen the death of her affection in her eyes seconds before anger had obliterated it. With its loss he had to wonder that it had ever been his. He had done nothing to deserve her affection, her devotion.

  But he deserved the wrath and consequences. Still, he prayed God would grant him mercy and one more chance. Just one. He would do it honor this time. He would make things right, do what he ought to have done ages ago. Salvage the reputations of their families.

  The mile between their homes seemed to stretch for eternity, yet when he arrived at the familiar columns of the Bentons’ Great House, he wished it had taken longer still. He had not allowed himself to consider Wiley’s wrath—hadn’t wanted to. He’d seen it enough in the war, aimed at others. It was all the more disconcerting because it stood in such marked contrast to his usual amiable humor.

  Would his friend truly have canceled his trip? Would he be there, barring the door? Or might he allow Emerson in to make his apologies to Lark and beg her forgiveness? For that matter, her parents had obviously been told there had been some kind of disagreement, given their avoidance of his gaze last night after the incident. They might themselves forbid him entrance.

  He handed the reins to a servant, jogged up the few steps to the door. It opened before him, but the visage of the old servant holding it told him all was not well in Endover this morning. “What is the matter, Asa?”

  The man shook his gray head. “Mr. Benton said you’d likely be by. They waitin’ for you in the breakfast room, sir.”

  “Thank you, I shall head that way.” He spared no time for passing off his cloak and hat, just charged in the appropriate direction until he entered the room.

  Wiley indeed sat within, grim-faced and angry-eyed. His parents both occupied their usual seats, solemn and silent. Lark was nowhere to be seen, nor were any of the Moxleys. Clearing his throat, Emerson swept his hat off his head. “Good morning.”

  “Emerson.” Mr. Benton stood, tugged down his waistcoat. “We imagined you would be by. Please, sit. We must speak with you.”

  In spite of his nod, Emerson couldn’t convince his feet to budge. “What is it? Lark? I know she is angry and upset, but if I could have a moment to speak with her…”

  “I am afraid that will not happen at this juncture. Emerson. Son.” Benton drew in a deep breath and met his gaze. “She wishes to call off the engagement. We will not allow such a rash decision without due consideration, but we have granted her the time to contemplate it. She has left Williamsburg.”

  A stone of dread sank to the pit of his stomach. She had left? Left him alone to face the embarrassment of a broken engagement? “She…but sir, we can mend this. Where has she gone? She cannot yet be far, I will go after her.”

  “You will not. That is precisely why I have stayed here, to make sure of it.” Wiley pushed forward an all-too-familiar pile of boxes. Onto the top he tossed a piece of stationery, folded but not sealed. “She left this for you.”

  He ignored the continued babble of Mrs. Benton, the low mumbles of Mr. Benton, as he reached for it. With his blood pounding he could barely hear them anyway. It was all he could do to hold the paper steady enough to read it.

  I want only to be known, to be loved. Why, my darling Emerson, is that so much to ask? Is there something wrong with my person? With my company? If there is, why did you ever speak for me and give me hope you could love me? I see clearly now you cannot. Do not, at the least. Ought I to relinquish all my dreams, all my affections, and set a different course? Or resign myself to a life of loneliness with you?

  Yet I will not give up hope—hope that if not with you, I can find my purpose elsewhere. If that is what I must do, then so be it. I shall bid you farewell.

  His insides twisted. She had been so willing to love him selflessly, in spite of his showing her his worst. Now he had surely lost her, a young woman any man should be proud to make his wife. There was only so much she could forgive, and he had used up his allotment through the past two years of neglect. She would never allow him to discover what he had been blind to.

  But he could not be content with this glimpse.

  He turned to face her family. Wiley glared at him with condemnation, Mrs. Benton with pleading, Mr. Benton with a simmering detachment. Emerson forced a swallow. “Will you not give me some idea where she has gone?”

  “We gave her our word,” Mr. Benton said softly. “Give her the time she needs, Emerson. We are confident she will make the right choice and wed you happily.”

  Wiley’s snort belied Mr. Benton’s confidence. Emerson met his gaze, but it seemed a stone wall, insurmountable.

  He sucked in a long breath. “I am afraid I cannot rest with this between us, sir. If you will not tell me where she went, then I will discover it for myself so I might hasten to beg her forgiveness.”

  He would, no matter what it took. He just prayed the Lord would preserve her person and soften her heart in the meantime.

  Chapter Four

  Annapolis, Maryland

  Lark clamped down on quivering nerves. As the Thomases’ carriage turned onto North Street, a biting wind gusted, slicing through the wooden sides, her cloak, and cutting straight to the bone. She moved her feet toward the once-warm brick, but it had been too long out of the fire and offered her toes no respite. Perhaps fleeing to Annapolis hadn’t been the best plan. Perhaps she ought to have gone southward instead. Surely Wiley had some friend in Georgia who could have offered her sanctuary.

  Mrs. Thomas shivered and pulled her fur wrap around her. “Why anyone would want to live upon the bay like this I can scarce fathom. That wind!”

  Her husband grinned and tapped on the roof. “’Tis a blessing in the summer months, I expect. And here we are, Miss Benton.” The man nodded toward the houses standing sentinel along the street. “Mr. Randel is at number 19, you say?”

  So said the note Wiley had sent with her, which was tucked into her embroidery pocket. She nodded and swallowed against the anxiety building in her stomach. What if the Randels were not at home? What if Wiley’s letter had not yet reached them? What if they were unwilling to take a stranger into their midst at this time of year meant for family?

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sp; Lark drew in a breath and forced her fears to a halt before they led her into thoughts of her own family, who were probably regretting allowing her to leave so near Christmastide. “I thank you again, Mr. Thomas, for seeing me safely here.”

  “Happy to do it, Miss Benton. We had the room, since your brother remained at home.” The moment the carriage slowed enough, he opened the door and jumped out, not waiting for his servant. “Shall we make certain they are within?”

  Lark smoothed a hand over the curls of their daughter, asleep beside her, and nodded. Mr. Thomas helped her down and poked his head back inside. “Will you wait here, my dear, or come in with us?”

  Mrs. Thomas smiled. “Given that Henrietta is still asleep, we shall stay here. Good-bye, Lark. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Good-bye. And I shall, thank you.” Beside Mr. Thomas, she headed up the brick walk.

  The door flew open, and a blur of blue and cream streaked down the steps. Lark heard a bellowing, “Sena Katherine Randel, turn back this instant!” right before the blur plowed into her.

  Her squeal blended with the shriek of surprise from the figure—presumably this Sena—as they tumbled together to the icy bricks. Not the reception she had expected, but at least she could be sure someone was home.

  “Oh my.” A gasp turned to laughter as the unfamiliar young woman sat up and pulled Lark with her, then dusted off a bit of snow stuck to Lark’s cloak. “I suppose this is why Mamma and Mrs. Green caution me not to run everywhere I go. I’m terribly sorry, miss. Are you injured?”

  “I am quite well.” Lark couldn’t help but smile into the laughing emerald eyes. This would be Mr. Randel’s eldest child, who was, she believed, a year her younger. The one everyone supposed would be a friend for her. Strange how no one had mentioned that Sena was every bit as beautiful as cousin Penelope. More so, given the spark of good humor that lit her countenance. Why was Lark forever relegated to being the plain friend? Ah, well. At least Miss Randel looked prone to good humor. “Though next time you bowl me over, you could toss a cushion to the bricks first, and I would not object. Or perhaps aim me at a snow pile.”