Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland Read online

  The young lady laughed again, and they pulled each other to their feet, Mr. Thomas and a plump, gray-haired woman lending a hand. Miss Randel dropped a polite curtsey. “What a way to meet someone. I am Miss Sena Randel, in case you missed Mrs. Green bellowing it.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Randel. I am—”

  “Tut!” The plump woman—presumably Mrs. Green and most likely the housekeeper, given her dress—raised a hand and furrowed her brows. “I recognize those features, sure as day. You are Wiley Benton’s sister, the Miss Lark Benton we have been expecting.”

  “Quite right. My brother’s letter preceded me, then?”

  A new figure emerged from the house, this time a gentleman. Mr. Randel, if her brother’s descriptions could be trusted. He had fair brown hair pulled back in a queue and wore breeches and a jacket of excellent quality—but rumpled. He smiled much like his daughter. “Indeed it did, and we are much pleased to have your company. Now—our housekeeper has a memory better than any in these United States, but she seems to have forgotten to invite you in out of the cold.”

  “Oh, do forgive me! First the young miss flies out the door like a heathen, then the two of you go sprawling—it must have dashed my wits. Come inside, you poor dear.” Gentle hands gripped Lark’s elbows, though Mrs. Green scowled at Miss Randel. “And Sena, you will come too, after such an atrocious introduction, and I shan’t hear another word of argument. Dashing off yet again without a proper escort… And no pouting—as Poor Richard says, ‘If you would have guests merry with cheer, be so yourself, or so at least appear.’”

  Miss Randel’s lips twitched up. “Well, I shan’t argue with Mr. Franklin, to be sure. It never gets me anywhere with so staunch a devotee as you defending his every word. Lead the way, Papa.”

  Mr. Randel held open the door, his gaze fastened on Lark. “Your brother’s letter said we could enjoy your company at least through the end of January, perhaps longer. Have you a set schedule, or might we persuade you to remain with us through spring? Sena is in need of another young woman to keep her from trouble.”

  “No, I—that is, yes…” Lark sighed to a halt. “My parents gave me permission to stay only until the first of February, as they want me home in ample time for my March wedding. But I, in fact, have cried off the betrothal and hope they will come to accept that in my absence. If I must stay here through the proposed wedding date to assure it, I will.”

  “Indeed?” Mr. Randel motioned Mr. Thomas in as well, then shut the door on the biting wind. He turned back to her with a grin. “To Mr. Fielding? Well. While I do not condone running from one’s problems in general, I am in full favor of avoiding that particular gentleman wherever one may. We shall make every effort to shelter you from such a dreadful match and anyone in favor of it.”

  Miss Randel gasped and clutched a hand over her heart. “Oh, how thrilling! A fugitive in our midst. I imagine any day now the infamous Mr. Fielding will come banging on our door, demanding the return of his beloved. For once a little excitement will visit us!”

  Lark felt caught between a grin and a sigh. “I am afraid that is unlikely, Miss Randel. For though I may have been his betrothed, I was never his beloved.” After a week of sloshing through winter mud and dismal, cold rains, she had come to grips with that. His pride might sting when her family returned his jewels, but he would recover. And undoubtedly not waste a moment of concern over her, much less go through the trouble of finding her.

  Her young hostess gaped as if such news were beyond comprehension. “Quite impossible, Miss Benton! My father cannot have been so right about him, especially concerning so lovely a lady as you.”

  Her father laughed and shook his head. “You ought not take it personally, Miss Benton. I have observed many a time Mr. Fielding is capable only of duty. Duty brought him to King William’s School, duty sent him to Oxford, duty brought him back to the war. But there was never anything behind the duty, neither passion nor conviction to deepen it. He did only what was expected,because it was expected, which means he never excelled but rather was content to exist. I’ve little use for a man like that, and you surely deserve better as well. Say good riddance to him and enjoy the holidays here with us.”

  Yes, that was exactly Emerson’s problem—she had been only a duty to him, never anything more. She nodded, grateful to Mr. Randel for putting words to it. “I shall, at that.” When he grinned, Lark knew immediately why her brother liked this man so much—they were of a spirit, Mr. Randel and Wiley. Except that Wiley tended to look beyond the actual and search out the potential in a person—perhaps why he liked Emerson. Mr. Randel must be rooted more in reality.

  Mr. Thomas shifted behind her and stepped back into the entryway. “Shall I bring in your things?”

  “My man and I will assist you,” Mr. Randel said. “Sena, why do you not introduce Miss Benton to your mother before the boys return with all their enthusiasm?” The two gentlemen headed out, a manservant behind them.

  Miss Randel grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. Her bright green eyes sparkled with excitement. “How marvelous it shall be to have a friend with me for the holidays! I cannot tell you the thrill it gave me when we received your brother’s letter. I think Papa had hopes of saddling your unsuspecting brother with me, but this is far better. A new friend! You must call me Sena, of course, and I hope you shall allow me to call you Lark.”

  “I would like that. Thank you, Sena.”

  Sena whipped her cloak off, and Lark followed suit, handing it to Mrs. Green. A moment later she followed Sena up the staircase. The ascent gave her a view of the bottom floor of the house, showcasing the lovely plasterwork and gleaming wood. Much smaller than Endover, but beautiful. “I cannot thank you all enough for having me.”

  “Oh, ’tis hardly a favor.” Sena grinned over her shoulder. “Having another young lady in the house will be pure pleasure. I’ve three younger brothers, you see, and my dearest friend rarely ventures out. Nor does Mamma these days.”

  Cheerful company might be the perfect medicine for her as well. Lark smiled. “I know what you mean—my sister married five years ago, and it has been considerably more boring since then.”

  “I imagine you have friends in Williamsburg who will miss you, though.”

  A rueful chuckle slipped out. “Yes—but unfortunately, they are all Fieldings.”

  Sena linked their elbows when they reached the second floor. “You will have to provide me with an exaggerated tale of this broken engagement. I want only the boring details spared and every interesting one magnified. Have you someone to make a proper villain of? If not, I shall help you create a monster from some poor, ignorant neighbor.”

  How could Lark help but laugh? “I think you shall be satisfied with the villainy of my dastardly cousin Penelope, who tried to steal Emerson from me.”

  Sena’s eyes went wide. “I despise her already. Here we are.” She stopped before a partially opened door and knocked lightly upon it. “Mamma, are you awake?”

  “Come in, Sena.”

  With another smile at Lark, Sena nudged open the door and stepped in. “I have brought you a gift.”

  Lark moved into the room too, which was bathed in soft golden light and a warmth that went deeper than one made by fire. Immediately at home, she drew in a peaceful breath and sought out the lady of the house.

  Mrs. Randel rose from a settee, her smile as bright as Sena’s, her round stomach proving why she didn’t go often into society. “Oh, a guest! How marvelous. I am Martha Randel. You must be young Mr. Benton’s sister.”

  “Lark Benton, madam.” She dipped a quick curtsey and smiled.

  Mrs. Randel approached and held out a hand for Lark to clasp. “How delightful. We were beginning to fear the weather would detain you forever. You are staying at least a month, are you not?”

  Sena nodded. “She is escaping a betrothal with the infamous Mr. Fielding, you see, so must hide from him here. Hopefully through spring.”

  A glance at
the matron showed she was amused at her daughter’s theatrics. Lark smiled all the more. “For certain until February, hopefully into March as well.”

  When Sena clapped, Mrs. Randel chuckled. “See there, Sena dear. You asked for a sister for Christmas, and Providence provided—no matter what this baby is or when he or she arrives.”

  Commotion in the hallway drew them all out. Misters Randel and Thomas tromped up the stairs with wind-pinked cheeks, servant behind them. Her host smiled. “We shall have to put you in with Sena, Miss Benton. I do hope that poses no problem.”

  “’Tis quite fine, Mr. Randel.”

  “’Tis perfect, in fact.” Sena ran ahead of her father to open the door to what must have been her room. “It shall provide us a means to giggle and dream without restriction.”

  “I have no doubt you would have found a way regardless, my sweet.” He set down Lark’s bag and turned back with a lifted brow. “If you wish to pen a note to your family letting them know you arrived safely, I have a missive to send off to Wiley myself.”

  “Thank you.” Something akin to excitement, yet tinged with exhaustion, buzzed inside her. The Randels were more than she could have hoped for in conspirators. But oh, that no conspiracy had been necessary.

  * * * * *

  Emerson swept his tricorn off his head and stepped into the coffeehouse. Outside the sky was bleak and gray, the clouds swollen with impending snow. In R. Charlton’s, however, men’s voices raised in jest, rang out in laughter, and the smells of coffee and wood smoke lent the air a welcoming tang.

  He wasn’t in the mood for being welcomed. Especially since when he spotted his father and Mr. Benton at a table in the corner, they looked at him as though he wore a dunce cap.

  Wiley, yet again, was nowhere in sight. As he had remained for the past week, whenever Emerson tried to find him. Though supposedly intent upon watching him, his friend had apparently deemed it sufficient to do so from a distance.

  Or perhaps keeping Miss Moxley in line required all his attention.

  Emerson scraped a chair out and plunked onto it, nodding at Father and Benton.

  Mr. Benton’s lips thinned. “I know you are distressed, Emerson. I am uneasy myself, given the weather that has descended upon us since Lark left. But we must trust Providence to keep her safe and rest in the certainty that this time will serve to endear your memory to her.”

  Not likely. Not until he could speak with her. Surely he could convince Wiley to disclose her whereabouts…if Wiley ever made himself available for questioning. “Please, sir, I must go to her. This is not a squabble that will pass with a little time and distance. We must sit and address it. Face to face.”

  Benton exchanged a glance with Emerson’s father and sighed. “Mrs. Benton and I have discussed this at length, as have your parents, Emerson. No one will tell us what this disagreement of yours was about, but we cannot fathom it was anything so serious as to justify Lark’s reaction. Hence our decision not to cancel the wedding. So far as anyone else knows, Lark merely took a scheduled trip to visit an old friend and had to seize the good weather while it held.”

  What could Emerson do but sigh and nod?

  Another acquaintance hailed Benton, and he stood and took a step away to greet him. Father leaned in. “If I have learned anything through my years of marriage, it is that one ought not underestimate the stubbornness of an angry woman. I cannot convince Benton to tell me where she is, but you are right to think you must find her.”

  “I know. I will.” He just had no idea how. No one in town had seen her on the morning in question, and he couldn’t probe deeper without letting it be known he had no clue where his intended had gone.

  He plunged a hand into his pocket and wrapped it around the ring he had slid on her finger two years ago. The night remained clear enough in his memory—the Bentons had thrown a splendid gala to honor her eighteenth birthday. He had walked into the ballroom with the ring in his pocket, his decision made.

  Had he been ready to marry? No. Not with the war still so fresh in his mind, with the nightmares plaguing him every time he slept. Each and every night, a variation on the same theme. Rushing into battle, bayonet aimed at a random Redcoat…then the realization that the enemy he had just killed was in fact a friend from King William’s School or Oxford.

  It had happened in reality once. In his dreams, nightly.

  No, he was in no condition then to take a wife. But when his parents suggested it might help him move forward and heal, it had seemed a fine plan. And who better to wed than unassuming little Lark? She would love him without demanding anything in return.

  What a fool he had been. He had danced with her, made some compliment to her looks, though he had not spared any attention to what would have been a costly dress, hair that had probably taken hours to style just so. Had he even looked into her eyes as he led her to the quiet of the library and pulled out the emerald?

  He remembered the sharp intake of her breath when he proposed. The shock in her “Of course, Emerson.Of course.” The guilty relief when he ticked that item off his mental list of things to accomplish.

  “Emerson.” Mr. Benton had sat down again and leaned close, much like Father had done, his voice low. “Please, tell me we are not making a mistake by keeping the wedding plans in place. What happened? What did you do?”

  He ran a thumb over the smooth, flat stone in his pocket, let the gold circle fit onto the top of his finger. “It is more what I failed to do, sir. I never took the time to know her as she deserved.” Surely if he had, that incident with Penelope never would have happened. Or if it had, she would have listened to his apologies.

  Her father frowned and shook his head. “Lark is not usually so given to frivolity. Why did she not realize there would be time for that after the wedding?”

  “I suppose she thought if I had not done so in the last two years, I wouldn’t in the next two.” With his free hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose. She was undoubtedly right. He might have told himself he would come to love her naturally over time, but he’d had no intention of making it so, not if it required effort. As with Newton’s Principia at King William’s School—he had never fully understood it, just learned enough to secure the marks he needed in class. It had all faded as soon as he left academia. He would have done the same with Lark, been content to merely appear devoted without ever opening his heart to her.

  Not now. Now if she gave him another chance, he would use it wisely. If she rejected him again, let it be for the scars within he would show her, rather than for the lack of showing.

  Chapter Five

  Lark gazed out the window, its edges laced with frost, and into the still morning. One lone wagon rattled down Tabernacle Street, but otherwise she could see no one out yet. From other windows in the house she could see the State House’s dome, but her current view afforded her nothing but the empty street and acres of snow-covered green across from it.

  Hunched in the cold fog was the crumbling silhouette of an abandoned mansion. From her brother’s descriptions of the city, she knew it must be Bladen’s Folly—the mistake the former governor was most notorious for. Given the hulk of the shadow, she could see how large it was meant to be. But now it stood broken and empty, naught but a vacant dream.

  Lark pulled her shawl tight and rubbed her hands over her arms. Perhaps Governor Bladen had overreached his budget in commissioning the mansion, but she could hardly condemn him for it. He had been the leader of the Free State—why would he not want everyone to see what he had attained? Yet decades later, everyone laughed at him.

  Just as everyone would laugh at her for thinking she ever had a chance at holding Emerson’s heart. She was as foolish as Bladen, building dreams that exceeded her allotment.

  “Trying to make out the Liberty Tree?”

  Lark spun around as Sena reentered the room in her dressing gown, wearing a smile. Lark lifted a brow. “Pardon?”

  Her new friend joined her at the window and pointed to a s
tretching shadow near the would-be governor’s mansion. “The Liberty Tree—there, on the corner of Bladen’s Folly’s lot. The Sons of Liberty met there to plan out our part in the Revolution. There they plotted the Annapolis Tea Party and the sinking of the Peggy Stewart. And before that, the first Methodist sermon in Maryland was delivered under its boughs by Joseph Pilmoor.” Sena let out a happy sigh. “The British destroyed all the Liberty Trees in the other states, but ours remained out of their reach. ’Tis the last one standing. A symbol of all our nation represents.”

  A symbol of liberty, so near one of folly? Lark drew in a long breath and nodded. Fitting. Perhaps she had made a mistake, but now she was free of it. Free of the bonds of what would have been a loveless marriage, free of her own insipid longings. “I would like to see it up close at some point.”

  “We shall walk that direction on the next fair day. But today…” Lark grinned as Sena twirled away from the window. “Today, I shall introduce you to my dearest friend, Kate, and her brother. You will adore them, Lark, and they you. Kate is a bit shy, but I know she will take to you. It is always such fun to be the means by which others become friends.” When a maid silently entered, Sena whirled to a halt beside her armoire and opened the door to it, pulled out a lovely striped dress in the Louis XVI style.

  Soon afterward they descended to the main floor of the house and toward the unmistakable sound of three young boys in the holiday spirit. Lark had met Johnny, Will, and Mark at dinner the night before and had not been surprised to find that the young men—aged thirteen, eight, and five—were even more mischievous than their sister.

  Life with the Randels ought not be dull.

  The sideboard boasted a few platters of steaming food, and Lark helped herself to a cup of coffee. Mrs. Randel was not within, but the patriarch sat at the head of the table, the Maryland Gazette before him.