Pattern for Romance: Quilts of Love Series
Page 12
Widow Lankton placed her palm against her cheek and gazed down. Of course. He should not have mentioned Emily’s age, though it was of consequence. “I regret I was unable to welcome one of the Sutton boys into our family as a nephew. But the matter is done, and the new Mistress Leach is settling into her new life.”
An awkward silence filled the space.
Joshua stared at the ornamental design of his new shoe buckles.
“That is a fine pair of buckles,” Widow Lankton said.
“A gift,” he said, looking up. “From my sister Anne.”
“How nice of her. How is Anne?”
“She is enjoying motherhood.” Joshua’s neck warmed, and he loosened his neck handkerchief. “You should ask mother about Anne’s news.”
Widow Lankton clasped her hands and smiled. “Indeed, I shall,” she said knowingly.
“How is your mother?” his hostess asked.
“Well, thank you.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” The woman took another sip of her coffee.
Joshua did not know if he could survive either another lull in the conversation or more of this excruciating discourse. But he opted for one over the other. “Is she happy? Emily, I mean.”
“One can hardly tell.” Widow Lankton angled her straight posture toward the door. “I believe she is here now. You may ask her yourself.”
Emily presented at once, all ruffles and ruches, her panniers filling the doorway, despite her petite figure. “Aunt Eunice, forgive me for having been detained.” Her head pivoted in Joshua’s direction. “Joshua!”
As Joshua jumped to his feet, the chair scraped against the floorboards. He bowed. “Emily . . . Mrs. Leach.”
Emily glided into the parlor. “There is no need of formality with me, Joshua. For heaven’s sake, we were once almost married.”
“About that—”
Widow Lankton rose. “I have company to ready for, so I shall leave the two of you to your privacy. Emily, I will be in the other room, have you need of a chaperone, though I trust Joshua to maintain all propriety.” The lady regarded Joshua with a mix of warning and concern.
Emily circled about the room. She met Joshua’s gaze and arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
Joshua squeezed out the insincere words. “Please allow me to offer my best wishes on your marriage.”
Emily cupped her hands loosely in front of her waist. “Thank you. Although by the grimace on your face I am not sure you mean it.”
Joshua took a few steps away and halted. He found his resolve and spun around. “I am concerned about your hasty decision to marry Mr. Leach.”
“I had nothing holding me back. You and I were not officially engaged.”
“But it was understood.”
“Joshua, you never wanted to marry me. You were only pleasing your parents, as was I.”
“And have you pleased your parents now?”
“I have.” She cast aside a somber glance. “Very much so.”
Joshua eyed her attentively.
“It was a matter of necessity.”
His eyes widened. Were the rumors true? Did Emily need to get married?
“Oh, dear.” The color is her face heightened. “Nothing like that.
“It was a business arrangement between families, and more beneficial than the one previously intimated between our own,” she said. “Father would have lost everything if we hadn’t acted immediately.” She retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket as a mist of tears pooled in her eyes.
“I wish you had told me.” Joshua’s brow tensed.
“Father forbade it. He wanted no chance of the scheme being interrupted,” Emily said.
Joshua released a deep breath. “That is why you obtained the special marriage license.”
“It is,” she sniffled, and turned to rest her hand on the mantle.
Joshua had incorrectly assumed her coquette ways, her flirtations with he, and Andrew at times, were simply a young girl seeking attention. Her attempt to make light of a future she had little control of. “I hoped you could marry for love. I planned to tell you that, and encourage you to pursue a life you were worthy of.” He moved beside her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You are a sweet young woman, I see how loving you are. You sacrificed much for the benefit of your parents.”
“Someone had to. I couldn’t bear to see them suffer overlong.” She hesitated, letting out a little sigh. “Truth be told, Mr. Leach shall never love me. At least I know you would have tried.”
“Perhaps in time, he will learn to—”
“He detests me. It is a marriage in name only.” She turned toward Joshua, the light inside her fading.
It pained him to see her so distraught. He never held romantic affection for her, but yes, he would have tried to love her, had she been his wife.
“I will never be with the one I truly love, all hope is gone.” She wrung her hands and pulled them to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I have forsaken him, destroyed him, yet he loves me still.”
Joshua tipped her head up, and stared earnestly into her face. “Who, Emily? Who?”
She collapsed against his chest in racking sobs, trembling. “Your brother.”
“This way,” the manservant said. “Widow Lankton and Mrs. Wadsworth shall join you shortly.” Honour stepped into the parlor of Widow Lankton’s grand home.
She sucked in a deep breath, clutching the folds of her gown, utterly shocked at the scene before her. Joshua’s arms enveloped Mrs. Leach, who huddled against his stalwart form. He stroked her hair and spoke in low murmurs as ragged breaths permeated the space between them.
Joshua pulled away, spinning his head toward her. Horror bolted across his face.
Emily stepped back, smoothing her rumpled gown. “Miss Metcalf!” She briskly wiped her flushed face.
“Honour!” Joshua called after her as she fled from the room.
She exited through the front door and ran around to the rear yard. She ran past the gardens to the refuge of a weeping willow. Honour tripped and collided against the old tree, the rough bark pressing into her palms. She turned and girded her back against the pillar, attempting to catch her breath. Honour burst into tearless sobs. She crumpled to the ground, hugging herself as moist drops streamed down her cheeks. How could Joshua engage so inappropriately with a married woman? Yet, this time Emily returned his affections. She pounded the grass with her fists.
Her long tendrils hung loose around her face, and she brushed them away from her eyes, lifting her head. Long, willowy branches dangled to the ground, surrounding her beneath the shelter of the tree. Andrew’s words mocked her. “Like a willow, weeping.” Did he feel sorry for her? For himself? “I would never intrude on your ladylove . . .” he’d said to Joshua.
Ohh . . . Andrew was jealous. He loved Emily, but could not have her because of Joshua. Neither could Joshua have her for his own.
Yet, Joshua claimed her, despite it. The very thought of it made her nauseous. Pain gripped her middle. Her whole being longed for him, though he caused her such agony. She let out a deep sigh, finding his name upon her lips. “Joshua.”
“Honour.”
Joshua emerged through the tangle of willow, coming toward her without reserve.
He held her linen cap in his fists, the black ribbons dangling, and clutching it as if it were his last hope. His earnest gaze pleaded with her. “You must allow me to explain.”
She shook her head. “Must I?”
Joshua reached to her to help her up, but she jerked away. “I was only comforting her.”
“Aye, I see she found great comfort in your arms.” Venom spewed from Honour’s lips. “She has a husband for that, does she not?”
The muscles in Joshua’s jaw pulsed. “My brother loves her, not I.”
“I realize that, but I saw you kissing her. Apparently you have no qualms with impropriety.”
Joshua raked his hand through his hair. “On my honor, I was not kissing her.”
“Honor? Hmmph! I do not want to hear you say the word . . . or my name.”
He lowered himself to the ground, leaning on one knee. “Please. Believe me.”
“My senses do not deceive me.” She looked at the ground, toying with some willow fronds. “I saw you kiss her the other day in the alley. I heard you profess your love to her.” Honour cast her gaze up. “Emily asked me not to tell, but it matters not now.” She eyed him cautiously, as he drew nearer.
His voice grew raspy. “It was him.”
“Him? It was Andrew?” Honour’s eyes widened.
Joshua nodded.
“He sounded, he looked—” Thoughts rushed to her of the times she noted their similarities. Could it be?
Joshua’s mouth curved into a tentative grin. “We are brothers. People often confuse us.” He stroked the side of her face, tracing his finger beneath her chin. “But you shall never confuse me with him again.”
“Never?” she whispered.
“Never.” He pressed his lips below her ear and gentle kisses found their way to her mouth.
She accepted the tender affection he offered her as he moved closer and slipped her into the cradle of his arms.
He whispered her name, “Honour . . . Honour . . . Honour.”
He deepened his kiss and she felt his warm hand at her waist. She winced. He drew back.
He looked deep into her eyes with an ardor she’d never known. “Do you believe me now?”
Her gaze locked on his—entreating, affirming.
Joshua pulled away from her, the strain of it like the taut threads on a loom. He rose, carefully bringing her with him to her feet, though she could scarcely feel the weight of them. “Come, the others shall be worried. But I am glad Emily convinced them to let me find you on my own.”
Honour smiled demurely, feeling lightheaded.
Joshua reached for her hand, but she froze.
“Joshua—” Honour bent forward clutching her abdomen and moaned.
“Honour, what is it?”
“My wound.” She pulled her hand away from her skirt, her palm soiled with blood.
14
Streams of color encircled Honour, swirling by like the ribbons of a maypole. Visions of Mum, Poppa, Thomas, and Wesley, dancing by to the tune of a fiddle, waving as they went, faded into the sweet faces of Temperance, Abigail, and Sarah. Soon Maisey and Mrs. Wadsworth joined them, along with Mr. and Mrs. Sutton, Deborah, Anne, their husbands, and Andrew and Joshua. The country dance continued, and smiles all but disappeared, except for those of Andrew and Joshua, with Emily now joining them. Hand in hand they gamboled around the pole until Joshua reached out for Honour. As she took his hand, the others stole away, leaving Honour with Joshua, alone in a glorious whirl of warmth and laughter. The ribbons transformed into the wispy branches of a weeping willow, surrounding them with fronds of joy. Joshua took both of her hands in his, and the pole disappeared, nothing separating them at last.
Honour’s eyes fluttered open and the scene was gone. She met the concerned gazes of Mrs. Wadsworth and the Widow Lankton, who sat nearby with needlework in their laps. “I was dancing,” Honour said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“There shall be no dancing for you, for some time yet,” Mrs. Wadsworth chided.
Widow Lankton tucked her chin. “Heavens no! You’ll not move from that bed until the doctor gives his consent.”
“For how long?” Honour asked.
Honour tried to sit up, but Mrs. Wadsworth called out, “Stay!” She went to Honour’s side with a few short steps, holding her hand out above Honour’s covers. “You must lie still, dear, as to not reopen your wound.”
Honour instinctively glanced toward her abdomen and felt the light weight of something atop her incision. Mrs. Wadsworth pulled back the bedcoverings and adjusted the lawn shift Honour wore for modesty. How strange it felt to be in bedclothes in midday, in the house of someone with whom she was little acquainted. How long had she been here?
“Thank the Lord Widow Lankton’s housekeeper grew some Lady’s Mantle in the doorway garden. The woman made an astringent with some fresh root to help stop the bleeding,” Mrs. Wadsworth said. “Now let’s see how it’s doing. We may have to exchange the Lamb’s Ear for some new.”
“My housekeeper, Mrs. Hall, is quite adept at medicinal herbs, Honour, dear. Her swift ministrations kept you with us until Doctor Westcott arrived. He was pleased with the results.”
“You lost a good amount of blood.” Mrs. Wadsworth carefully pulled off the large silvery leaf. “We shall need to replace this. It looks clear of infection, but care must be taken to allow the wound to heal completely.”
Honour arched her neck daring to take a look. “It was foolish of me to run. I managed to trip, but did not know I had reinjured myself until—” Had she really been embracing Joshua underneath the willow tree?
“Doctor Westcott found an abscess. ’Twas little you could have done to avoid it. He gave you some new silk stitches. He expects you to recover in a fortnight,” Mrs. Wadsworth said.
Honour’s sleepy eyes widened. “A fortnight? What am I to do until then?”
“You shall stay right here in my guest chamber and recover, my dear,” said Widow Lankton. The elderly woman set her tambour work down and stood from her wingback chair. “I shall fetch the housekeeper so she may change your dressing.”
Mrs. Wadsworth drew the covers over Honour with care, looking down at her with a meek smile. “You had us all very worried.”
“Tempe?”
“She doesn’t know. She has been safely at Deborah’s the past two days. When we sent word, the dear replied not to worry. She will keep Temperance as long as necessary and only tell her what happened when it is fitting,” Mrs. Wadsworth said.
“Two days?”
“Yes. You have been asleep most of the time. The doctor felt it best to keep you from moving. You were a bit restless so he administered a tincture of laudanum, which we continued to give you at regular intervals.” Mrs. Wadsworth returned to her seat by the hearth.
“Mrs. Wadsworth?”
“Yes, dear.”
“What was our purpose in coming to Widow Lankton’s on Monday?” Honour asked.
Mrs. Wadsworth picked up her stitching. “We never got around to it, did we?”
“No, we did not.” Honour recalled they’d hardly arrived when she discovered Joshua and Emily together. Relief filled her to know Joshua did not love Emily. Joshua’s heart belonged to Honour, and hers to him. Honour sighed.
“Honour?” Mrs. Wadsworth’s voice interrupted Honour’s thoughts.
“Mmm, aye?”
“Why don’t you close your eyes again?” Mrs. Wadsworth said.
But before Honour could answer, she was drifting back to sleep, with the name of her beloved dancing delicately upon her lips. “—Joshua.”
Joshua stretched his measuring tape the length of Father’s back. Then he wrapped the marked tape around his father’s expanding girth. “Mother, was right, sir. You’ve need of a few new suits.”
“Bah, the laundress must have used hot water,” Father muttered.
“You have said yourself, I’ve a good eye.” Joshua took another measurement, and marked it down.
“That you do. I taught you well.” Father chuckled. “So why not let out the seams, use an old suit for a pattern. I haven’t the time for this.”
“They have been let out enough already, sir.” Joshua turned the knob of the rounded wooden case, rewinding the tape measure. “You do not want to continue going around town with puckered clothing. ’Twouldn’t make a good impression for a master tailor and clothier.”
His father faced him. “Egad, continue? We are running low on our textiles, I cannot afford to spend them on myself. I shall let you and Andrew play the macaroni. The pair of you have already garnered the attention of all the maidens of Boston.” Father tugged on the collar of his waistcoat. “I was quite the dandy when I was your age, you know.”
Father grinned and patted his belly. “’Tis all that good food your mother serves me. By the by, how is that young woman of yours fairing since her reinjury?” He frowned. “Pity, that. I have taken a liking to the girl . . . and I know you have.”
Joshua’s lips tightened. “I sent a note with Redmond and a request that he discover how she fares today. She has been unconscious the past two days, and they have done everything they could. Doctor Westcott says the outcome is promising, providing an infection doesn’t set in. The thought of it drives me mad and I hope Redmond brings word that I may see her soon.”
“Well, do keep me informed.” Father crossed his arms. “Now about the matter with your brother. Have you made amends?”
“He has been avoiding me . . . and I him, truth be told. Yet I’m certain we will work things out. ’Tis not our first scuff.”
“He is back in the workshop with the table monkeys sewing by the window. Awfully melancholy, but he won’t speak of it to me. Mayhap you can get to the bottom of it.” Father whooshed out an exasperated groan.
“I will speak to him.” Truth was, Joshua had already discovered what ailed his younger brother, yet he knew not what to do with it. ’Twas a weighty matter, indeed.
Father put on his frockcoat, buttoning the brass buttons. “Be sure to take it to the Lord first, son. ’Tis always the way.”
Joshua nodded. “All right. I shall do the same before I cut the bespoken cloth for your garments. Reverend Cooper says it is also a good thing to take the small matters to the Lord.” Joshua picked up the tape measure, and shrugged. “Small, or large. I’ll do the same.”
“You’d better pray for your soul with that remark.” His father chuckled. “I am glad to see you in good spirits, although Honour is unwell. Has something else transpired between you?”
“We have become closer.” Though Joshua did not truly know how she felt about him, she had willingly accepted his affection. What relief to have the misunderstanding concerning Emily resolved.
“Now that John Hancock. There’s a man who is in a sad state of affairs,” his father was saying, stirring Joshua out of his thoughts. “John Mein has published in his newspaper the ship manifests of those he claims are ostensible non-importers, including Hancock. Mein states that he imported linen when it was Russian duck, an exempt textile.”