His spine went straight again, his hands clasped behind his back. “I thought we were talking about your current romantic interests, not my past ones.”
She lifted her brows.
He sighed. “’Tisn’t all that much to tell. I was young, and as much an idiot then as later. Her brother was a classmate, and he invited me to his home on several occasions. My reaction was predictable.”
And yet hearing of it made a ball form in her chest. “She was beautiful?”
He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Very, though I later realized it went no deeper than her skin.”
A snort slipped out. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
He grimaced. “Very much like.”
The ball inside thumped against her rib cage. “You have a weakness for that type, then?”
“I…” After a moment’s debate, his face went hard. “We shall discuss your cousin in a moment. For now, Elizabeth. She never seemed anything but sweet, at first. There was already ample tension between the English and the ‘insubordinate colonists,’ as her father called us, and her parents were never welcoming of my presence. I thought her willingness to disobey them meant she genuinely loved me. I thought I was the one she wanted to marry and her other beaux were a show for her father.”
Lark watched the old emotions roll through his eyes. The hope, the faith, the fondness…followed by the hurt, the betrayal, the brokenness. All of which echoed within her, dissonant and unsettling. “If she is truly akin to my cousin, then obviously not.”
“I question whether she was capable of loving.” His eyes clicked back to blank. “I asked her to marry me, and she made as if she would, as soon as she convinced her parents to send her to an aunt’s for a holiday, giving us a chance to run off together. As it happens, war was declared at that juncture, and I had to hasten home. So I asked her to come with me.”
His silence said much, yet Lark couldn’t allow the story to end there. “She did not.”
A dry laugh slipped past his lips. “She could not bring herself to do it…given that she was carrying the child of another of my friends.”
How could she help but wince for him? “Oh, Emerson.”
“It was a blessing, though I did not realize it at the time. All I felt then, of course, was the anger and misery. But the Lord spared me what would have been a terrible marriage. She has apparently shamed the whole family since then by running out on her husband and children with some actor.” He drew in a long breath. “Still. I suppose part of my mind viewed those days as idyllic. Before the war, before all the horrors that came along with it. Wiley asked me about her on your birthday, inquiring if I was still in love with her, and…I suppose it made me think about the days before I realized her nature. So when your cousin arrived, looking unnaturally like her, acting unnaturally like her…”
All emotion seemed to wash away, leaving her empty. Hollow. “You forgot the ending and thought only of the joys of the beginning.”
Guilt looked to rest heavily on his shoulders as he nodded. “I am sorry. It is no excuse—even though it had nothing to do with your cousin, I was still not thinking of you when I ought to have been.”
Lark wrapped her arms around her middle and made no reply. Perhaps she could forgive that—hadn’t she, too, dwelt on thoughts of him even after their disastrous break? But it pierced. It proved yet again he had wanted anything, anyone but her. While her silly heart wanted no one but him.
She pushed off the tree. “The Randels appear ready to go.”
“Lark.” He caught her arm again. “Please. I know I hurt you every bit as much as she hurt me, but don’t—don’t fall into the trap of thinking the pain will vanish if you focus on another. It would not be fair to anyone.”
“I am well aware of that.” She stepped away, hoping he would take the hint and let go her arm.
Instead, he moved with her. “That Calvert fellow—he is obviously fond of you. You ought to tread carefully with him.”
The suggestion at once eased the tension inside her and yet struck her as mistaken. Perhaps some of Mr. Calvert’s comments had bordered on flirtatious, but she had seen the way he stared at Sena yesterday, as if all the answers of the universe rested with her. Lark pulled free of Emerson’s grasp. “Do not presume to know anything about that. ’Tis no business of yours.”
Obviously the wrong thing to say. His expression went from concerned to determined. “Of course it is. And I daresay your parents would consider it their business too—and you know as well as I how they would feel about you accepting a suit from a Tory.”
She spun around to face him. “If after all you have been through you can still look at a man and judge him on nothing but his association, then I pity you greatly, Emerson Fielding. Now good day.”
She stomped away. But the fact that Emerson didn’t follow her this time did nothing to soothe the frustration now boiling inside.
* * * * *
Emerson handed his cloak to a bewigged manservant and stepped into the massive entryway of the Lloyd house. He couldn’t help but look around with admiration. A magnificent staircase rose in front of him, graced upon its landing by elegant Palladian windows before it split into two perpendicular rises. Mahogany doors stood open, spilling music from their depths, and silver glinted everywhere in the golden candlelight.
Lark had certainly entered straight into the heart of Annapolis society. It had taken all his resources to secure an invitation to this holiday celebration, and he now owed several old friends a favor.
He could only pray it would be worth it.
Passing through the Ionic columns, he moved into the room that looked to be the center of activity. Here laughter rang out to vie with the music, dancing took up half the floor space, and rich colors met his eyes.
It took him only two seconds to locate Lark—and when had that become a talent of his? She was dancing, dressed in a gown of ivory and gold that drew out the luster in her unpowdered hair and the roses from her cheeks. Or perhaps such radiance could be attributed to her beaming smile, her laugh as her partner swung her around.
How had it escaped him all these years how beautiful she had become? She was no longer the child he had remembered, awkward and plain. Over and again he had heard comments about Violet being the beauty of the Benton family, but had all of Williamsburg perhaps continued to think so even after Lark came into her own, without stopping to examine the woman she had become?
Because seeing her now, moving about with such grace and energy that she put the other young ladies to shame, he couldn’t help but think the perception mistaken. And it was a misconception obviously not shared by these Annapolis men, many of whom watched her as closely as Emerson did.
Which wouldn’t do at all. He started toward the dancing floor.
“Emerson? Emerson Fielding?” A vaguely familiar laugh rang out a second before a vaguely familiar man stepped in front of him, jovial grin in place. “Well, what do you know? What brings you back to Annapolis? I have seen neither hide nor hair of you since our school days.”
“Ah.” He shook the proffered hand, returned the cheerful smile, and searched his memory until a name presented itself to go along with the face. “Good to see you again, Litchfield. Are you still living here?”
“I wouldn’t go anywhere else, and rarely have since the war.” He stepped to Emerson’s side and surveyed the gathering as if it were his own. “Are you in town for the rest of the holiday season? There are parties planned almost constantly, making the most of Congress’s presence.”
“I imagine I shall be, yes.” His gaze went back to Lark. At this point he couldn’t be sure he’d have her home before the wedding at all—certainly it wouldn’t happen by the end of January.
Litchfield followed his gaze, chuckled, and elbowed him. “I see that, as always, you are quick to spot the belle of any gathering. If you think to steal Miss Benton from us, though, you shall have a fight on your hands.”
Emerson shot his old friend an
arched glance.
Litchfield had never needed much by way of encouragement. He motioned toward Lark. “She is visiting from Williamsburg. Wiley Benton’s sister, I finally realized—do you remember him? He was in our class. The two of you were friends, if I recall.”
“We still are, yes.” And Litchfield’s memory obviously failed before he recalled they were also neighbors.
“She is staying with Master Randel and is fast friends with his daughter.” He pointed to where Miss Randel also danced, a few paces ahead of Lark in the line. “A beauty herself, of course, but impossible to pin down. All of us have tried, but she refuses us with such wit it takes days to realize we have been dismissed. You ought to test out your charm on her.”
Emerson chuckled. “And leave Miss Benton for you, you mean?”
“And why not? You may be just the man to convince Miss Randel to settle down. Miss Benton, on the other hand, is not at all your sort of girl.”
His hand fisted. “What makes you say so?”
Litchfield leaned in, elbowed him again. “Because she is my sort.”
Emerson chuckled again because it was expected, but he also recalled why Litchfield had never been more than a passing friend. “I wouldn’t be too sure, Litch. She is Wiley’s sister, remember, so she has a brain.”
Litchfield held out his arms. “I admire that in a lady! So long as it isn’t her only attribute, anyway. Come, this set is ending—let us see which of us she prefers for the next one.”
Competing for his own betrothed. Divine justice for his treatment of her, he suspected. It undoubtedly served him right. And she would undoubtedly prove it by refusing him a dance.
He edged and slid his way through the crowd. The music went into its ending cadence, the dancers came to a halt, and Lark finally glanced away from her partner. Her gaze arrowed into him and held. At the smile he sent her, she looked more resigned than pleased.
Yes, divine justice. He recalled being the one feeling resigned on many an occasion as he made his way to her at a ball to claim his expected dances. Much as he still didn’t love dancing, his pulse quickened now as he drew near to her, and hope battled the expectation of disappointment.
He and Litchfield were not the only gentlemen to gather near Lark and Miss Randel. Shouldn’t most of them be giving their attention to the scads of young ladies without partners that lined the room? And thereby leaving his alone?
“Good evening, ladies.” Litchfield at least had boldness on his side, which managed to part the company around them. Apparently because most of the gentlemen were his friends, and they welcomed him eagerly.
Come to think of it, several of them looked familiar. More classmates.
Before he could be caught up in renewing acquaintances, he sidled over to Lark with what he hoped was a charming smile. “My apologies for missing our customary first dance. Might I have this next one in its stead?”
She sighed. “No need to feel obligated, Mr. Fielding. I know how such expectations always taxed you.”
Litchfield broke off his conversation with another young man—was that Woodward?—and sent Emerson a good-natured scowl. “Would you like an introduction, Fielding?”
“No need. I am Miss Benton’s b—”
“Brother’s dearest friend.” Her interruption was pointed, her glare a warning. “And neighbor.”
Litchfield’s eyes went wide. “Of course! I had forgotten you came from the same town. Obviously you and Miss Benton have met.”
She gave a sweet smile. “A time or two.”
Emerson extended his hand and arched his brows. “For Williamsburg’s sake?”
Her lips pursed, but there was a hint of amusement sparkling in her eyes. With a sigh, she placed her fingers upon his. “For Williams-burg’s sake.”
Litchfield chuckled and elbowed another friend. “I do believe that is the least enthusiastic acceptance old Fielding has ever received.”
“My reputation is forever tarnished.” He pitched his voice low, though he made no attempt to hold back his smile.
Lark laughed. “I think you shall survive it.”
“Perhaps, if you keep looking merry.” He stepped closer than necessary to her under the guise of squeezing past a few other would-be dancers. “You are lighting up the room with your smile tonight.”
She slanted a disbelieving look at him. “Resorting to flattery, are you, Emerson?”
“On the contrary—I have been struck by the truth of it.” He stopped them at the edge of the dance floor while the other couples ordered themselves. “How much begging must I do for you to promise me another set or two?”
For a long moment, she only stared at him. “You hate dancing.”
“But you love it. Yet thanks to me, you have rarely indulged in it these last two years. You ought to have stomped on my toes and demanded I take you out more.”
He feared bringing up the past would hang a cloud of gloom over her, but thankfully she grinned. “If I stomped on your toes, it would have given you an excuse to stay off the dance floor.”
He made a show of considering this as he led her to an open space in the line of dancers and took his place beside her. “You may be right. But you could have stood on a chair to snag my attention and then made your demands. I would have acquiesced just to silence you.”
Laughter spilled from her throat again as a minuet was struck up. His mother had made certain he knew all the dances so he could do his duty at a ball, but he had never really looked forward to one before. Now, though, he took the time to be grateful for the slower, elegant pacing. It showcased Lark’s grace every bit as much as the more boisterous set had a few minutes earlier.
And she smiled at him as they bowed to each other, which did strange, unexpected things to his heart. “I have never considered a chair—but I confess I may have tossed myself to the floor, had I not feared being mistaken for a rug.”
He took her hand, both of them facing forward now, and provided a pivot for her while she glided to the space before him. “I am glad you refrained. You would have made a lovely rug but been a bit of a tripping hazard.”
Mischievous grin in place, she curtsied and swung back around to place her other hand in his. “Seeing a certain someone sprawl flat on his face might have made the risk worthwhile.”
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “It would have served him right, certainly.” He released her hand again as she moved back to his side, then her other as he moved now in front of her. “I cannot fathom how you tolerated the dolt as long as you did.”
“I am a saint, don’t you know?”
He smiled but said nothing more, as some footwork was required. Simple enough, but he rarely tried to execute it while carrying on a conversation and didn’t trust himself to keep from treading on her toes.
This was why he detested dancing. As naturally as it seemed to come to some, he always feared making a fool of himself.
“I never noticed that before,” she murmured as they stepped to the side.
“Hmm?”
“You cannot dance and talk at the same time. I always assumed you just cared not to speak to me.”
His chuckle nearly made him trip. “My true incompetence is a welltended secret, and I thank you not to blab it. I have worked hard to hide it behind indifference.”
She leaned a bit closer. “You missed a step.”
And then she was moving away, toward the middle with the other women. Miss Randel was the one across from them, and so the one Lark now danced with. The young ladies whispered something as they pranced around each other, giggled, and grinned. Their friendship seemed to run deep for being so new.
He could hardly help but contrast them. The sparkle of their eyes had much in common, though their differences were easy enough to mark. Where Miss Randel greeted even these sedate steps with unnecessary enthusiasm, Lark combined spirit with delicacy. She was clearly not as dull and unassuming as he had let himself think, yet her vibrancy never overwhelmed. Like a vein of gold, on
e must know where to look for it, and then it would enrich the seeker.
And like a miner, he had been so close to these riches all this time, yet remained poor. He had given up his claim, only then to catch a glimpse of the fortune awaiting him.
Heaven help him, he must win her back.
She returned to his side long enough for another bow, then Emerson moved into the middle for the partner exchange and found himself facing a grinning Miss Randel. He offered a small smile.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Fielding?”
“I am, thank you. More than I expected to, as I feared Miss Benton would refuse to speak to me tonight.”
They danced around each other, her laughter ringing out. “Well, our Lark is a fair-minded girl. Especially since you left your horns and pitchfork in Virginia.”
“They are dangerous to travel with, you know. One unexpected bump, and…” He glanced over his shoulder at Lark. If her grin were any indication, she overheard without problem. He risked an unseemly wink and was rewarded with a blush and a glare.
Miss Randel chuckled. “So you are acquainted with Mr. Litchfield?”
Talk of his former classmates sufficed as they finished out that part of the dance, and Emerson drew in a breath of relief when he returned briefly to Lark’s side before she moved forward to meet Miss Randel’s partner in the middle.
It was several minutes later when all the trading-off was finished and they joined hands again. Emerson arched a brow. “Dare I beg you to promise me the next set as well?”
She inclined her head. “I don’t know. Emerson Fielding dancing so much all at once? I have never seen such a thing. I cannot be sure you can suffer it.”
“I know a way to find out.”
He half expected her to refuse, but instead the amusement toying at her lips led to a nod.
The music unfortunately turned more lively, and Emerson had all he could do to keep up with the hops and skips Lark performed so beautifully. Still, he had no qualms trying for more of her time when finally they came to a halt. “Another?”
Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland Page 17