He seemed to gaze straight through her light tone and down to that last thread of uncertainty. But he nodded. “Yes. For now it will.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Edwinn knew the moment he winced it was a mistake. The female chatter he’d been ignoring died away, and two concerned gazes bore through him.
He sighed and put aside his book, stared down first his sister, then Sena. “Will the two of you desist? Yes, my leg hurts. Just as my leg always hurts when it is cold and damp, as it has been incessantly this winter. But I am not dying, I am not in any more pain than usual, and I wouldn’t have dared wince had I not been sitting too long in one position for fear that if I moved, your clucking would start again.”
Kate’s lips twitched into a smile. “You needn’t be testy, Edwinn. We are only attentive because we care.”
“Attentive I appreciate. Obsessed and coddling is insulting.” That last part he directed to Sena, who had come by every day since the State House incident. Oh, she was all innocence and pretended to come only to see Kate, but he was no idiot. She had obviously heard about the scuffle. And while he had thrilled at the devotion in her eyes, it didn’t change the fact that he was tired of being watched like a child.
Sena narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps if you would be honest with us instead of hiding your every feeling and pain behind a wall of stoicism, we would not have to obsess over each wince and movement.”
“Forgive me.” Perhaps his tone didn’t convey any apology, but after a week of them jumping every time he flinched, what did they expect? “Like every gentleman of worth, I was raised not to show discomfort to company.”
Sena let out a huff of exasperation. “So after all these years, I am still considered company?”
Obviously that had been the wrong thing to say, though he couldn’t think why. “Ah.” He looked to Kate for help.
Kate’s eyes flew to the clock. “Oh, look at the time. No wonder I feel peckish. I had better see if Mrs. Haslip will have our luncheon ready soon.”
“Very subtle maneuver, Kate,” he called as she scurried out the door.
Sena wrapped her arms around her middle. The uncertain gesture was so out of character that Edwinn pushed to his feet and crossed to sit beside her before he could think better of it. “Sena…I know not what I said, but I did not mean to hurt you by it. You must realize that.”
She wouldn’t even look at him. “Of course—Edwinn Calvert would never hurt anyone.”
He frowned. Was that emphasis the key to her upset, then? “You are more than ‘anyone.’ You know that, do you not? So if I call you ‘company’—”
“I do not want to be company.” Her arms released her middle, her gaze flew to his. “I want to be family. I want you to trust me with your hopes and fears, with your pains and feelings.”
Given the glistening depths of her eyes, he had to assume she didn’t mean she wanted to be his sister. Strange how her declaration at once exhilarated and weighted him. He reached for her hand and held her fingers lightly in his. “I do trust you. But I also want you to respect me—”
“Prithee, Edwinn, do not be a fool.” She clasped his hand and covered it with her other one. “I respect you more than anyone else in the world.”
He sighed and wove their fingers together. And, yes, noted how well hers fit in his. How small and delicate they seemed, though he knew it an illusion. “I don’t know how you can, Sena. I have lost everything—”
“Why this self-pity lately?” She shook her head and drew in a fast breath. “Edwinn, you are still a Calvert. You still have a family to be proud of, and a sister who adores you. You have a roof over your head and a plantation to your name. If you want to see someone who has lost everything, look at Alice. Yet she is happy with her lot.”
The arrow hit its mark. Was he putting too much stock in regaining Calvert Hall? In spite of all the times he told himself he would leave it to the Lord, did he still identify himself by his home?
He raised her hands, pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “You are right, of course. I am fortunate. I have all I need, and then some.”
Sena held his gaze for a long moment. “And yet…?”
One corner of his mouth pulled up. “And yet I worry. There are still those who refuse to buy the Briers’s crops because of my allegiances. I have to keep enough sterling set aside to sustain it if profits are down or this winter stretches too far into the planting season. I must also be certain to maintain a legacy for Kate. In short, Sena, so long as my greatest asset is in the hands of the state, the rest of them are in peril. I…I am afraid of what the future holds for me.”
“I had not thought of all that.” She looked down at their hands and seemed to fight back great emotion. When she looked up, her eyes shone with unshed tears. “But I would face it with you. I know ’tis unseemly for me to say such things when you have shown no interest, but Edwinn, I love you. Please do not keep me distant any longer.”
“Darling Sena.” He put an arm around her, pulled her close. Slid his eyes shut when she rested her head on his shoulder. “I dared not show interest. You deserve better than me.”
She splayed a hand over his racing heart. “If there is a man better than you, I have never met him.”
He must have done something right to be given so precious a gift as her love. He covered her hand. “My heart is yours, Sena. But I have a feeling your father would agree I must have my affairs in better order before I can have the honor of making you a Calvert.”
She straightened with a growl. “I hate politics.”
“As do I.” He grinned and smoothed a curl away from her face. “But whether they like it or not, our leaders have signed into law an agreement that they will either return my house or pay me its value within a year.”
“A year.” To see the dismay on her face, one would think those twelve months to be sixty.
He felt a shift within, a redirection of his determination. Until now, he hadn’t bothered asking for the house’s value, because it was the house itself he wanted. And the house, he suspected, the politicians didn’t want him to have, as it was such a symbol within the town. But a future with Sena was worth more than Calvert Hall. “Perhaps they will act more quickly if I settle for the monetary restitution.”
No wonder he loved her, given the sadness that flooded her expression on his behalf. “But ’tis the house your grandfather built. Your family home.”
“Ah, but ’tis the family that makes the home.” He smiled and held her close again. “Your father invited me again to the gentlemen’s gathering this evening. I shall come this time, my love, and try to win their favor. And as soon as I have it—or enough of it, anyway—”
She silenced him with a kiss.
* * * * *
Emerson listened partially to the familiar story of Gulliver in Brobdingnag, but more to the melodious sound of Lark’s voice as she read. And if he paid more attention to the delight that lit her features as she laughed at a humorous line than to the line itself, he figured no one would blame him. Gulliver’s Travels he had read before—her face while she read it was new and fascinating.
He sat as close to her as he dared. If he scooted so much as an inch nearer, Randel would lower his Gazette and glower at him. All well and good. If the warmth in her expression were any indication, she would marry him one of these days. Perhaps she would need a bit more time than their seventh of March date would allow, but he could wait. However long it took, he would wait. So long as eventually he had the guarantee they could spend all their days together, and no one would mind if he leaned over and kissed those perfect lips.
Those lips that now paused in their reading, attempted a firm line, yet quirked up in the corners. “Mr. Fielding, you seem to be paying more attention to me than to the book.”
He grinned and met her amused gaze. “You are far more interesting.”
She somehow looked both put out and pleased. “Then why did you ask me to read it to you—nay, in fact forbid me to
read it but when in your company?”
“Ah.” He lifted a finger, as if presenting an argument in class. “Well you see, I am greatly enjoying your enjoyment. And I have this nefarious scheme, that you will become so enthralled in the story that you will seek out my company all the more so you might continue reading.”
Eyes twinkling, she lifted her chin. “Perhaps if I am so caught up I shall read in secret, after you leave.”
“Well, what would be the fun in that?”
The rustle of newspaper drew Emerson’s attention to Randel, who arched a brow their way. “I believe I preferred it when you two did nothing but argue.”
Emerson chuckled. “Should you not be starting classes again soon, Master Randel?”
“How I wish it were so.” He flipped a page in his paper. “None of the students are traveling in this weather, it seems. Though let it be noted none made a fuss about going home through the snow. And how they expect me to believe them unable to reach Annapolis when you made it here easily enough…”
Emerson leaned toward Lark and spoke in a stage whisper. “He is warming up to me.”
She laughed. “How can you tell?”
“He used to ignore my presence altogether, then insult me the moment I left. Now look at him—he cares enough to insult me to my face.”
Randel made as if to reply, but the slam of the front door interrupted. He sighed. “My daughter must be home.”
A moment later she burst into the room, still whipping her cloak off her shoulders. Emerson glanced at Lark; he appreciated spirit, but he was yet again reminded of how much he preferred her version.
“Papa, something must be done.”
“I do agree.” Randel went back to his paper. “The manners of the youth these days are simply atrocious. Parents ought to make better use of the rod.”
Miss Randel sent her father a scowl. “Well, if you want me off your hands, I know the way to do it. We must convince the governor to give Edwinn his house back.”
“Unless you intend to then take it from him, I fail to see how that will result in my being relieved of you.”
“Papa.” Obviously not affected by Randel’s banter, she went to perch on the arm of his chair. “I am going to marry him.”
“Are you?” He didn’t sound surprised by the suggestion, though Emerson’s jaw dropped. “Strange, I have not been approached on the subject, and I believe my approval is necessary, as you are not yet twenty-one.”
“You and Calvert?” Emerson shook his head. “Why did no one tell me things leaned that way? I wouldn’t have wasted my time being jealous of his attention to Lark.”
Lark put a marker in the book and sent him a high glare. “Who says it was wasted?”
Randel grunted a laugh and turned another page in his paper. “Sena, my sweet, I still fail to see what young Calvert’s intentions have to do with harassing my friends.”
“Then you are not thinking, Papa, because ’tis clear as that ice I slipped on earlier. He is uncomfortable speaking to you before he knows where he stands with his holdings, and with one of his greatest assets in the hands of the state and the other facing loss because of sentiments against him…”
Randel actually put down his paper. “I do see his point. But there is no need to fret over it, dear; the Treaty of Paris has been ratified. They now must return to him what is his.”
Miss Randel stood again and paced the length of the room. “Must they? What if they say they are not bound to uphold the articles until King George ratifies it? And what if it is late getting to Paris because of this wretched weather, and the king refuses altogether? What then? Will they keep it indefinitely?”
Randel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sena—”
“No, Papa. ’Tis wrong what they do to him, and even if they begrudgingly do what is right, how long will it take? Am I to wait forever to marry the man I love?”
Her father sighed. “Sena, a protracted engagement is no great cause for distress.”
Emerson looked to Lark as she looked at him. She gave him a small smile, but it faded as she focused on her friend again.
Miss Randel drew in a sharp breath that spoke of tears. “There is cause for distress. A grave injustice is being done to a perfectly good man, and no one will lift a finger to help him. Even his supposed friends.”
She stormed from the room, pounded up the stairs. Randel sighed and stood. “Sena!” He took three steps to the door and then spun to them, pointing a finger and a glare at Emerson. “I will be back directly, and you had better be on your best behavior in the meantime.”
He held back his grin. “Yes, sir.”
Lark didn’t look to be in the mood for stolen kisses anyway. A crease scored her brow. “Poor Sena. But surely she is right that something can be done. Mr. Randel is friends with those who have the power to change things.”
Emerson sighed and took her hand. “Those men are the ones who led the fight for independence, darling, who shed blood and tears to win our freedom from Britain. They cannot be expected to feel favorably toward a man who told them they were wrong to do so.”
She turned tempestuous blue eyes on him. “But that is unfair. He only held himself to the standard Paul gave the Romans, to submit oneself to one’s rulers.”
“And if he remains here, then his rulers are these men Miss Randel would have her father oppose. By his own argument, ought he not submit to them?”
The rhetoric did nothing to soothe the irritation in her eyes. “And so he does. He will bear whatever yoke they strap upon him. But that does not mean ’tis right for them to treat him this way, and they surely know that or they wouldn’t have put stipulations for Loyalist property into the treaty.”
“They included it because they had to.” He sighed and stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “Darling, they are good men. They will do what they must.”
“What they must.” She moved her gaze to their hands and stared at them for a long moment. “What if that is not enough?”
“It will be. We must have faith in their honor.” He tilted her face back up with a finger under her chin. “These men founded a nation. They deserve our respect and trust.”
“I know they do.” She leaned into his hand for a moment then sighed and stood up. “They are noble, honorable men. But what is one to do with noble, honorable men when they are not acting so nobly or honorably?”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “They will eventually forgive, and they will keep their word.”
“Will they?” Her chin quivered a bit as she stepped over to the window. “Would you?”
Emerson stood too, moved over to stand behind her, and watched snow swirl down outside the pane. Heavy clouds had obliterated the afternoon light, bringing evening before its time. “Of course I would, if I were them.”
“When?”
“Pardon?”
She turned her face toward him, her fingers gripping the windowsill. “When would you move forward and keep your word, Emerson? When the first opportunity arises, or when you are forced into it by that very bond you put your name to?”
A gust of wind blew the snow into a feverish dance against the pane. “Are we still talking of the statesmen and the Calverts’ plight? Or of my failure with our engagement?”
The shake of her head wasn’t encouraging. “You seem to understand them well, to look up to them even when they act the parts of fools. Even when they deliberately put off what they promised they would do.”
Emerson spun away, though that did nothing to cool the frustration burning inside. “Yes, I understand them. What is so difficult to grasp? They have lost the luxury of being idealistic, Lark. They have fought a war, they have had to try to turn philosophy into a system that will run a country. Do you suppose that to be easy? Do you think it simple to come back to society after six blasted years in the field and blithely pick up where you left off? We may call it a Glorious Cause all we like, but that cannot change the horror of war. And it cannot change the f
act that nothing—nothing—is the same when we come home.”
She looked caught between the desire to comfort and the desire to fight, to reach out or to shrink away. She sighed and made no move whatsoever. “You certainly know that better than I. But if nothing is the same when you come home, ’tis because those of us at home went through our own kind of war. The fear of losing all you have, all you are. Of falling into enemy hands, or never seeing those you love again. Of being powerless, completely powerless.” She shook her head and folded her hands over her chest. “I cannot fight these men, they would never listen to me if I tried. But I wish I could. I wish I could take such a stand, make such a defense. I wish someone else would do it where I cannot.”
Wished he would, she meant. Wished he would endanger his standing—their standing—for this cause not their own. He pointed toward the door, toward the problems waiting beyond it. “They are your friends, and I know you want the best for them. But we must stay out of it.”
She extended her hands out at her sides, let her arms fall against her skirt. A gesture that at once spoke of helplessness and the rejection of it. “Is that how it will always be, Emerson? Will my thoughts, my beliefs be forever subjugated to your duty and pride?”
For a moment he stood there, mouth agape, and stared at her. “You make me sound like a tyrant. Have I not proven since coming here that I respect your opinions?”
With an incredulous breath of a laugh, she shook her head and strode from the room.
He was quick on her heels. “Lark, stop. We have not finished talking about this.”
“Yes. We have.”
“No.” By the time he caught her arm, they were in the entryway, dim from the lack of lamplight and the snow, howling now outside the windows. “You cannot run away every time you come up against something you don’t like.”
She pulled free of his grasp, eyes ablaze. “I do not—”
“Twice, Lark, you have fled rather than face me. Twice.”
Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland Page 23