Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland Read online

  Sena bumped her shoulder into Lark’s and grinned. “I think Edwinn liked you as well. Did you notice the sparkle in his eye whenever he looked your way?”

  She also noticed a certain something in Sena’s tone. “I think, moreover, you are rather fond of him.”

  Though she laughed, Sena’s gaze darted away. “Foolishness. I admire him greatly, but some things will never be. Dreaming of them is useless.”

  “Words I know well…but it never stops us, does it?”

  Her friend’s sigh rivaled the wind. “No, it never does. I admit I have entertained a fancy or two, but that is all it is. All it can be.”

  Lark turned her face toward Church Circle. She could see little of it through the buildings between, but even had she been closer, there would be little to meet her eyes. They had walked past it on their way to the Calverts’ temporary home on West Street, and Sena had already shared the history of St. Anne’s parish. The original church had been too small and had been torn down—right before the war.With all the supplies used for Fort Severn instead of the new church, the circle named for it sat empty, little but a foundation and piles of snow-covered scrap to show where the only church in Annapolis belonged.

  The congregation met in the theater now, and they were saving the money to begin construction again. But in the meantime, God’s house was only a vision.

  Perhaps that, too, was a metaphor for life, like the Liberty Tree and Bladen’s Folly. Sometimes man’s best-laid plans resulted only in shambles. Sometimes pursuing a worthy vision resulted in losing what one had to begin with. She had no doubt a new St. Anne’s would eventually be built. But in the meantime…

  Eventually, Sena would find the right match. Eventually, Lark would find a new path. But in the meantime…

  “Did he fight for the crown?” Lark asked as they turned up North West Street. “Is that how his leg was injured?”

  “Edwinn? Oh no. He had a riding accident when he was a boy, before Kate was even born—he is eleven years her elder. He could not fight at all. Some say that is why he made the choice he did, that since he could not fight he aligned himself with England because she was the presumed victor. It is not true, of course.”

  “No?” Lark pulled her cloak tight and bent her head, hoping the brim of her bonnet would protect her from the wind.

  “No.” Sena’s voice went soft. “He believes in our nation, Lark, think not otherwise. He loves Annapolis, loves Maryland, loves the entire country. He just could not justify revolting against his lawful ruler. Papa tried to talk him into joining the Patriot cause, even if he could not join the army, but he kept quoting that verse from one of the epistles…you know the one, it speaks of obeying one’s rulers, even if unjust, because they were put over you by God. He thought we ought to find our independence through political channels, not with muskets and bayonets.”

  Though the bite of the wind made her eyes water, Lark raised them so she could meet Sena’s gaze. “But politics achieved nothing.”

  “Papa pointed out as much.” Sena’s lips twitched up. “Edwinn insisted that, though they may treat us ill, it was the Lord’s place to punish them for it, not ours.”

  Lark halted again and buried her hands deeper into her muff. “So what, then? He thinks all those who fought for our independence were sinning? He would judge them all—my brother, your father”— Emerson, too, though she would not mention his name—“for standing up for their land of birth against a tyrant?”

  Eyes sparkling, Sena chuckled and motioned her onward. “On the contrary—when asked that question, he quotes that part of another epistle which says something of how one must obey one’s own convictions, or one sins, though another may not be convicted of the same thing. He has never once accused others of sinning by fighting. He only maintains it would have been wrong for him to disobey the king. But of course, no one listens to that. They insist he is a cowardly traitor, selfrighteous and judgmental.”

  A frown creased Lark’s brow. It might have been her first reaction, but pondering it…that supposition did not at all fit the genteel man she had met. “What of Kate? Did she support her brother?”

  “Well of course she supported him, though this being Kate, she never once voiced her opinions. Her silence on the matter was enough to keep Papa from growing angry with her, but he and Edwinn have not spoken—other than one heated argument when the Calverts returned to Annapolis—since the war began. Which is a shame. Edwinn was one of Papa’s prized pupils, one of his favorites and friends. Only your brother has rivaled their closeness.”

  What a strange thought. Her brother and Mr. Calvert, so similar in their master’s affection, yet ending up on opposite sides of the most crucial of fights. Had they ever met? Were they perhaps at school together?

  They came to the corner of North West and Tabernacle Streets, and that impish grin possessed Sena’s lips. “Would you like to see Bladen’s Folly? I found a way inside.”

  “Inside?” Despite sound reason—and Mr. Randel’s instructions to come straight home—Lark followed after her. “It looks positively ramshackle. Is it safe to go in?”

  “Of course not. What would be the fun if it were?” Laughing, Sena took off at a run.

  Lark had little choice but to lope after her. Heavens, she hadn’t run down a public street since she was a child.

  They sprinted past a gentleman who only arched his brows and called out, “Good day, Miss Randel. Miss.”

  Sena craned her head without slowing. “Good day, Mr. Boone. Give Mariah my greetings.”

  “Do at least watch your step, there are still patches of ice and snow.” The gentleman shook his head and kept on.

  Lark struggled to pull in a deep breath. Her stays did not assist in the effort. “Why do I have the impression this is a normal activity for you?”

  Obviously not having any breathing troubles of her own, Sena laughed. “There is nothing as glorious as running. There it is. Hurry, there will be less wind inside.”

  Well. If she fell through a rotten floorboard, at least it would be an interesting story to tell.

  * * * * *

  Wiley stood at the rear of the ballroom and looked with disinterest at the festive gathering. Most of the holiday balls would take place in the month following Christmas, but a few had started early.

  He was in no mood for a celebration, but his parents had insisted he come. He hadn’t the heart to refuse them. They were missing Lark, and he must do what he could to ease their hearts—otherwise they might insist on calling her home prematurely.

  Her letter had arrived that morning, and he had been every bit as relieved as his parents to see that she was well. Winter had borne down upon them with unprecedented ferocity since she left, and worry had been inevitable.

  But she was safely arrived and already enjoying her hosts. He hadn’t met Randel’s daughter in recent years to know if they would take to one another, but apparently they were fast friends.

  Excellent, and exactly what Lark needed. A friend unrelated to Emerson, a town that had not known her since birth. New ideas, new experiences. By the time she returned, she would be her own person. He knew her well enough to imagine the results, and the thought brought a smile to his lips.

  “And why are you grinning at that particular set of blond curls, Wiley Benton?”

  Wiley blinked and looked to Isabella Fielding, who had appeared at his side. “Hmm?” Directing his gaze back where it had been, he realized cousin Penelope was within his line of sight. “Ah. Only because I enjoy dissecting her choice of victim, I assure you. Have you noticed which men she flirts with?”

  Isabella cocked her head so her carefully arranged curls cascaded over one shoulder. “The wealthy ones.”

  “Not just that—the wealthy ones who are only visiting Williamsburg. She intends to find a husband, I think, who will take her far away from us.” Apparently his cousin took his threat seriously. The thought did wonders for his humor.

  Isabella grinned and edged an inch cl
oser. “Well, it is good to see you have not decided to pursue a family alliance, Mr. Benton.”

  He chuckled. Isabella was every inch the flirt Penelope was, only she managed it with a sanguine disposition. “Did the thought make you jealous, my dear Miss Fielding?”

  She had one of the most fetching grins. Obviously he must flirt back, to give her the chance to flash it regularly. “More like concerned, dear sir. She is obviously a sly sort, and I should hate to think of you falling for her tricks. But given how little we have seen you lately… why, my brother is in the pits of despair over how much you have kept at home, and during the first respite from bad weather in weeks!”

  Ah, so that was her game. Wiley sighed. “Emerson put you up to this, did he?”

  She gave an exaggerated bat of her black lashes. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Benton? Can I not speak to the most handsome man in the room without an ulterior motive?”

  “Certainly you can—but you have obviously sought out me for reasons most ulterior.” He glanced over her head and spotted Emerson easily enough. He stood glowering in the opposite corner. Watching them.

  Isabella’s coquetry fell away, leaving her face sincere and sweet. “I am worried for him. He will not say what happened that night, but obviously something did, for Lark to leave so suddenly. He is gone to pieces over it—and you, refusing to see him. You are his closest friend, a brother. Why are you angry with him?”

  For a moment he merely set his jaw and stared her down. Her eyes were without guile, her face genuinely pleading. His gaze flicked to where Penelope giggled across the room. He kept his voice low, as she had. “You want to know what happened? Lark and I caught your saintly brother in an embrace with my cousin.”

  She hissed out a breath. “What? Emerson, with that—that—?”

  “Precisely. Perhaps Lark could have borne it, had she been secure in his affections. Perhaps it would have been excuse enough to know Penelope instigated it. But after the way he has ignored her for years, and the thoughtlessness he shows her every time they meet… I could not bear seeing her in such misery. So we sent her away.”

  “I should think so!” She rolled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “If my idiot brother is going to act like that…well, let him enjoy a full taste of the consequences. I cannot believe he would—ooh.” Pressing her lips against a growl, she directed a piercing glare Emerson’s way. “How could he be so brainless? Does he not realize Lark is the most wonderful young woman to be found?”

  “Apparently not. But do tell him your opinion on the matter.”

  She raised her chin still more and spun away. “You can be certain I shall.” After one step, though, she halted. “She is safe? This weather…”

  “Safe and well.”

  “Good. Thank you, Wiley.”

  Watching her flounce away, he had to grin. No matter what Emerson had intended with that little ploy, Lark had one more ally.

  He almost felt sorry for his erstwhile friend. Almost.

  * * * * *

  Emerson clasped his hands behind his back as Isabella made her way through the crowd, exchanging a smile with one acquaintance, a laugh with another. Why didn’t she hurry? She knew how anxious he was; that was why she had agreed to try to charm some information out of Wiley.

  He was unsure what it meant, the two of them frowning and whispering. But Wiley had at least spoken to her, which was more than could be said for him. Surely—please, Lord—she had learned something.

  Finally she arrived at his side. And proceeded to hit him in the arm. Only a minor sting, but still. “What was that for?”

  “As if you must ask.” Leaning close, she seethed. “How could you be such a dolt? Penelope?”

  He winced, sighed. Why had he thought Wiley would keep it secret? “It was a mistake, Izzy, one I regret. But a fleeting one. It is she who followed me, she who—”

  “And you who had spent the evening flirting with her. I noted then you were acting poorly, and now?” She paused to huff. “Much as I want Lark for a sister, I cannot wish such a marriage on her. She would do well to stay away until our parents resign themselves.”

  That dagger sliced more acutely than the blade that scarred his side at Yorktown. He cradled her elbow and led her out of the ballroom. “Where is she? Please, Izzy. I cannot make things right if I cannot apologize.”

  “I daresay your words have lost their meaning, Emerson.” She pulled her arm free of his hand. “I did not ask, lest I be tempted to tell you once my anger has cooled. You brought this on yourself.”

  He raised a hand to his eyes, rubbed. “Yes. I know I did. But I must at least know she is well.”

  “He promises she is.”

  He ought to be grateful for that much. But it wasn’t enough. He must find her, must lay his heart bare before her and prove to her he was not truly the blockhead he had acted. “She needs to come home. It is Christmas, and she ought to be spending it with her family. She knows no one outside Williamsburg, so what must she be going through now?”

  For a long moment, Isabella only stared at him, agape. Then she loosed a breathy laugh. “Now you concern yourself with her feelings? Had you bothered to do so two years ago—”

  “I know.” It came out harsher than he intended. “Do you not think I realize that?”

  “At this point I’m not convinced enough of your brains to give you credit for any realizations.” With a well-placed stomp on his toes, she stormed back into the ballroom.

  At least she had used the ball of her foot and not the heel. Small blessings.

  In no mood to return to the ballroom with its energetic harpsichord playing Christmas hymns and carols, Emerson headed for the verandah. Perhaps the cold evening air would soothe the flames of regret and shame.

  Stepping off the porch, he followed the shadowed path of crushed oyster shells. In the distance he could barely make out the dark slither of the James River, the acres of dormant fields before it. He’d been to this neighboring plantation often enough to know he might find a moment’s peace in its gardens. But when he stepped past the hedge, he spotted another already pacing the labyrinth.

  When he recognized the figure as Wiley’s, he sighed.

  His friend looked up and undoubtedly scowled. “Hunting me down again?”

  “No, actually. Will you stomp off if I come nearer?”

  There was just enough light from the hanging lanterns to catch the hint of a smile on Wiley’s mouth. “I may, if you say something insufferable. But at the moment my mood has improved a bit, after seeing your sister snarl at you.”

  “Yes, thank you for that.” He drew in a breath, marveling at how even this brief exchange made him feel better. Wiley might be behind this disappointment, but Emerson had no one but him to turn to with it. He stepped into the meandering labyrinth and traced its shape with his steps. “You probably missed her stomping on my toes.”

  Wiley chuckled. “I can well imagine it. You deserve every ache.”

  “I do. And not just to my feet.”

  From his spot deeper along the path, Wiley halted and sighed. “Your aches can be nothing compared to Lark’s. You crushed her, Emerson. You pushed and pushed for the past two years, then this last…” He shook his head and balled his fists. “She is strong. But sometimes strength requires pushing off from the cause of pressure rather than withstanding it.”

  What was he to say to that? He nodded, but Wiley would know he agreed only with the sentiment, not with the result. “I want to make things right with her, Wiley.”

  “And you can. When she comes home, after the proposed wedding date has passed. You can make things right—but you will not wed her.”

  Emerson looked from the last sliver of moon left in its phase to the decorative lanterns glowing where they hung around the garden. The one, natural but providing no light tonight, the other crafted with deliberation and illuminating the darkness. “We can mend things. We could still have a good marriage.”

  “No. You love her not.�
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  Emerson’s eyes remained locked on the flame within the glass and metal housing. “I will. I want to.”

  Wiley stepped over the plants separating their portions of the path and into the space before Emerson. “You had your chance.”

  “But—”

  “I say this as your friend.” Wiley’s face went intent, serious. “Let it rest. Help convince our parents the bond is severed, and move on with your life.”

  Did he actually expect him to do that? Emerson shook his head. “I cannot. She is my intended. I want to marry no one else.”

  Wiley’s eyes turned stony. “Then marry no one. You do not love her; you act only out of pride and expectation. For once in your life, Emerson, pay heed to your heart rather than your duty.”

  He forced a swallow. The accusation should have piqued him, but instead it resonated with something within. “For once in my life, Wiley, I am. Please. Tell me where she is.”

  Still and silent, Wiley held his gaze. After a brief eternity, he sighed. “I cannot. She wants nothing to do with you, and I will honor her wishes.”

  “If you but tell me where to find her, I will change her mind. Change her wishes.”

  A wisp of a laugh escaped Wiley’s lips. “And that, my friend, is why she does not want you to know her location. We all know you can be charming when you want to be. But charm is not enough for a sound marriage.”

  “Of course not.” Not that he had contemplated that truth before this disaster. “But if I can speak to her, we can work through this. Establish a foundation built on something sturdier.”

  Wiley sighed. “I will pass along your wish to apologize. That is all I will do—and you ought not expect acceptance from her. Her feelings would not have healed yet.”

  That was more than he had expected. Emerson drew in a long breath. “And what of you, Wiley? Have you forgiven me?”

  Wiley’s lips twitched. “Well, you have seemed genuinely miserable. Though I suppose if I forgave you completely, that would not please me so much.”