A putrid cloud of raw stink wafted to them from the south side of the creek. Lily produced her hankie, covered her nose, and stood.
“The skunk has found us.”
“At least part of him has.” Mac didn’t see the creature anywhere, but its presence could not be ignored.
He coughed and followed Lily off the stone bridge and up the creek bank. To the distant right, Blake shoved his squeeze-box into its sack while Mrs. Gunther and Lily’s brothers deposited leftovers into the picnic basket while holding their noses. By the time Mac and Lily reached the picnic spot, Jonah and Jed were carrying the picnic basket away as fast as their feet could take them.
“We’ll see you at supper then.” Mrs. Gunther waved a hand in the air. “Dreadful creature, the skunk. Why God breathed them into existence, I know not.”
“The cap’n and I’ve smelled worse.” Blake tossed a glance Mac’s way. “Ain’t that right, Cap’n?”
“I can’t rightly say.” Mac’s eyes were beginning to water. While the skunk didn’t directly spray them, the wind seemed to carry its stench over hill and dale.
Lily turned to Mac. “See you later, friend.”
He replied with a gracious bow and then watched her cross the meadow with her golden curls bouncing freely.
I smell something utterly dreadful.” From his place at the table betwixt Jed and Jonah, Mr. Everett gave his vegetable chowder a whiff.
“It is not my soup, sir.” Aunt Hilda glared at the man. “If you must know, a skunk made an appearance near our picnic this afternoon, hence the lingering odor blowing in the wind from the creek.”
“Picnic?” Mr. Everett sat ramrod straight, but his frown seemed reserved for Lily alone.
“It was such a fine day—”
“Not even Sunday afternoon.” He punctuated each word while glaring at Aunt Hilda, and then at Lily. “Did you not have work to do?”
“Yes, but we’d finished by noon.” After she’d replied, Lily wondered why she felt the need to explain herself. She and Aunt Hilda were not in Mr. Everett’s employ, nor were they his slaves.
How had Lily ever thought the man had their best interests at heart, or even honorable intentions? Clearly, Mr. Everett looked out for his holdings, not her family. Were Papa still alive, he’d despise his longtime comrade’s behavior.
Mr. Blake finished his soup with a slurp that caused Jonah and Jed to snicker. “Tastiest vegetable chowder I’ve ever eaten.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” Aunt Hilda looked pleased.
“I admire a woman who knows her way around a galley … er, I mean kitchen.” Despite the harmless misspeak, Mr. Blake’s compliment pinked Lily’s aunt’s cheeks.
“Again, I find a picnic on Friday quite extraordinary.” Mr. Everett’s frown seemed permanently etched into his aging face.
“I’m afraid you’re correct, sir.” Captain Albright—Mac—lifted his napkin to his lips. Any lingering food vanished, but his lips quivered with obvious amusement. “Some of us purposely neglected our work and enjoyed the summer day.” His gaze touched on Lily from where he sat beside Mr. Blake. “However, I did decide where I shall build my house, and I plan to call it Fairview Manor.”
A thrill passed through Lily. She’d never known a man to take her suggestions to heart. “I drew a sketch for you.” The words vaulted into the air before she could think twice about sharing them. Surely Mr. Everett would scold her for doodling her time away.
“A sketch?” Mac arched a brow.
“Of your house. Rather, of the one I fancied as a girl.”
“I look forward to seeing it.”
“It’s time to put away childish things, my dear Lily.” Mr. Everett spooned the tiniest bit of soup into his mouth.
“Of course you’re correct, sir.” She’d expected the harsh remark, but it deflated her nonetheless, mostly because he spoke the reprimand in front of guests.
“It’s thought to be quite prestigious for young ladies to spend considerable time sketching, drawing, painting, and the like,” Mac said. “Appreciating the arts is a subject taught in finishing schools all over Western Europe. I know because I have younger sisters.”
“Ah, then you’re something of an expert with young ladies, hmm?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to claim that, Mr. Everett. I am, after all, still a man.”
And a fine-looking one too. Kind and compassionate …
As if she’d spoken the words aloud, Mac sent her a smile that caused her heart to skip.
Oh, what was the matter with her? She’d thought of him and little else since they parted earlier in the afternoon. Mac succeeded in charming her more so than Oliver Ashton ever had.
Jed slurped his chowder, causing Lily to wince. How often had she reminded the boys to sip and never slurp? She sighed and forced her shoulders to relax. It seemed Mr. Everett’s chiding nature had rubbed off on her. God forbid! However, she would not do as he did and reprimand the boys in front of guests. Never again would she wound their spirits that way.
Mr. Blake lifted his bowl and drank the remaining liquid. Mr. Everett appeared horrified by his actions. But then Jed and Jonah emulated their guest and he groaned aloud.
“Lily, honestly, these boys must be taught better table manners.”
“Why, sir, they cannot help it.” Her cheeks warmed. “They enjoy my aunt’s tasty chowder.”
“And tasty it is too!” Mr. Blake dragged his napkin across his mouth.
“You’re too kind.” Aunt Hilda stood and surveyed the table. “Since most of you are finished, I’ll bring out our main dish.”
“The soup is adequate fare, Mrs. Gunther.” Mr. Everett’s frown deepened, if such a thing were possible.
“Speak for yourself, sir.” Mr. Blake moved his stout frame back against the chair and belched. “I’m just getting started.”
Chuckling happily, Aunt Hilda made her way to the kitchen.
Lily blinked, amazed the man could hold so much food. Perhaps he’d come back from the war half-starved.
She decided on some polite conversation. “Do you have family, Mr. Blake?”
“No family to speak of, miss. I’ve been on m’ own since the age of fourteen.”
“Not much older than me.” Jonah perked up and, once again, Lily had to force herself not to correct his grammatical error in front of others. She would work extra hard with him on his book learning.
“That’s right, Master Jonah, and I hired onto a ship docked in London and never looked back.”
Unease spiraled through Lily. She wished Mr. Blake would not encourage Jonah’s grandiose notions.
The old seadog cocked his head to one side. “But, you see, I didn’t have any family who loved me and missed me like you do.”
The tension pinching Lily’s shoulders eased. She looked at Jonah. “I would miss you most of all, I think.”
“Aw, sissy …”
Lily smiled at his brightening cheeks.
“So are we to assume, Mr. Blake, that you are British?” Mr. Everett narrowed his gaze. “You certainly sound British.”
“Born a Brit, but I’m as American as Independence Day.” His wide chest puffed out with obvious pride. “During the last conflict with England, I was prepared to die for my new country. Of course, I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”
Aunt Hilda returned, carrying a pan of cornmeal and mutton cakes. “I’ll bet you’ve never tasted this fine dish, Mr. Blake. Our family enjoys it.” The older woman’s gaze found Lily. “Isn’t that right?”
“Quite right, Aunt.”
The guests helped themselves, and Mac held the tray while Lily forked a cake onto her plate. His manners were impeccable and, combined with his charm and good looks, Lily figured his days as a bachelor were numbered. The unmarried ladies of Middletown would see to that, and he’d best look out for Cynthia Clydesdale.
She lowered her chin, but watched him surreptitiously. With Aunt Hilda’s blessing, their guests had removed their frockcoats, as th
e house had grown uncomfortably warm in today’s late summer sun. And, in addition to dining in his waistcoat, Mac had rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, allowing Lily full view of his muscled forearms.
Mac glanced her way, and Lily quickly removed her gaze from his powerful-looking arms. She thought over what they’d discussed before the skunk so rudely interrupted them. Certainly, Mac would love again, no matter how deep his wound from losing Mary. Wouldn’t he reconsider the idea of marriage, especially once his home was built? Papa always said a woman made a house a home and a man presided over both.
Of course, Papa never ruled with fists of iron, and she suspected Mac was not a man to do so either. Mr. Everett, on the other hand …
Lily vanquished the unwelcome thoughts of the man. Ever since she’d learned Mr. Everett sold off Laughlin land, she’d lost a goodly amount of respect for him. However, she couldn’t blame Mac for purchasing it. After all, he’d had no idea of the land and owner’s history.
Her thoughts still heavy, Lily cut into her mutton cake. She smiled when Mr. Blake praised Aunt Hilda for another scrumptious dish. Both he and Mac helped themselves to another cake while Mr. Everett ate his soup ever so slowly—and without a single slurp.
The meal ended and Jonah coerced Mr. Blake into regaling him with more sea adventures. Aunt Hilda requested a few lively tunes on the squeeze-box. Mr. Blake claimed he could oblige them both, although he preferred to sit outdoors. Aunt Hilda led the way. Mr. Everett, too, left the house to smoke his pipe. As she walked to the parlor beside Mac, Lily decided to take advantage of her time alone with him. It seemed the perfect opportunity to show him the sketches she’d drawn.
“Please, sit and rest yourself.” She fidgeted with the ribbon in her hair. “May I show you my sketches?”
“You may, of course.” Mac dropped down onto one side of the settee.
Lily slid her drawings from the folder which she’d hid in a drawer of the corner writing desk—one of Papa’s favorite pieces of furniture. She could still see him in her mind’s eye, sitting there, writing letters or figuring his accounts.
She focused on her guest once more. “You’ll find these quite amateurish, I’m afraid. But at least it’ll give you a better idea of what I attempted to describe earlier today.”
Mac’s expression reflected his obvious interest, but Lily had a feeling he was merely being polite. Handing him the sketches, she took the seat beside him.
One by one Mac inspected them and Lily wished he’d say something.
“See how I included a rooftop poop deck for entertaining?”
“Yes, I noticed it immediately.” He tapped the paper with his forefinger. “I even noticed the captain’s wheel at one end.”
Lily smiled, praying she hadn’t been too presumptuous. “Of course these are pictures from my imagination. I wouldn’t dare expect you to emulate them. It is, after all, your land and your home.”
“Finally warming to the idea, are you?” Wearing a hint of a smirk, he sent her a wink.
Lily looked away, reminded, again, of his wicked sense of humor.
Mac set the first drawing aside and perused the second one. “The square, saltbox design is quite popular. I see it everywhere I venture. However, instead of a sloping roof, you’ve drawn a flat one to accommodate my … poop deck.”
“That’s correct, sir.” She watched his expression. “But you may have other ideas. As I said, it will be your home, not mine.”
“So you have.” Mac’s dark gaze seemed to slice right to her soul. “And what of the indoor layout of this house? I’ve seen the dining room and parlor …”
“Would you care to see my father’s study and the sewing room?”
“I would, indeed.”
“Then I shall give you a tour.”
Lily stood and led the way out of the parlor. They walked through the central hallway from which each room could be accessed. Decades ago, they’d welcomed various important guests and politicians, but after Mama died, hosting parties here at Haus am Bach came to a halt.
Reaching the back of the house, Lily stood in the center of a long hallway. “Down this way is the sewing room, which also serves as the ladies’ drawing room, although it hasn’t been that in many years.” She explained why and appreciated the way Mac paid attention. Why, he even appeared interested in what she had to say.
She led him to her father’s study. The walls had been painted a masculine shade of blue. At one end, two wide bookshelves stood on either side of the limestone hearth. Two well-worn leather armchairs faced it, and an elegant Hepplewhite round table and two chairs filled the space on the right side of the room.
Mac paused to stare out the curtain-framed windows, his hands clasped behind him. With his feet spread apart in a wide stance, he looked very much like the sketches of sea captains that Jonah looked at for hours.
If only her brother would attack his studies of reading, writing, and arithmetic with such gusto.
“I like this room,” Mac said, glancing at Lily from over his shoulder. “It’s comfortable and has character, unlike so many men’s studies these days which seem … sterile.”
“Papa would be pleased to hear you say so. I can still see him sitting in the chair over there, warming himself by a blazing hearth. Even though the anniversary of his death will be soon, I still expect to see him in this room, at his writing desk, in the parlor, or at the dining room table.” Sadness washed over her.
Mac’s softened expression seemed to say he understood.
Eager to change the subject, lest she dissolve into tears, Lily pointed upward. “On the second floor are four bedchambers. I won’t show them to you because they are … lived in.” A kind way to say the rooms were in slight disarray, especially the boys’ bedchamber. “There is one larger master bedroom, and three smaller, yet spacious rooms.” Lily and Mac ambled back to the parlor. “Presently, my parents’ bedchamber is unoccupied and used as a guest room, although our visitors have been few and far between now that Papa’s gone and Mr. Everett has taken over.”
Mac gave a polite smile in reply and, after reseating himself on the settee, resumed his study of her drawings.
Lily watched. Anticipation gathered inside of her like puffy white clouds in an azure sky. At last she could stand the suspense no longer. “Do you like them?”
“I think—”
“Or are my sketches so terrible they don’t warrant a response?”
Mac’s mouth opened.
“Give me your honest opinion.”
“If you allow me a chance to speak, I will.” He chuckled, and Lily’s face blazed with embarrassment. “I think you have managed to capture a unique style that’s very much suited to my personality.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.” Could that be appreciation in his gaze? “The style of the house is different enough that I shall, no doubt, impress my family and the scant few guests I plan to entertain. And, without the sloping roof, I’ll gain more space inside for the rooms on the second floor.”
“Exactly!” Lily almost giggled. “And, if you build the back of the first floor into the hill, you can build a root cellar off the kitchen in which to store your late harvests of potatoes, squash, and the like.”
“You mentioned that before. A marvelous idea. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” Lily felt like she might burst from jubilation. No other man except Papa had ever appreciated her artwork, and Papa most likely only made a fuss over it because she was his flesh and blood. “I’m so very glad you like the drawings.”
“So I gather.” Amusement flared in his eyes. “May I keep these?”
“Of course. Take them.”
“A most excellent gift, Miss Laughlin.”
“Lily, remember?”
“Lily.” His dark eyes shone like thick, polished obsidian for the briefest of moments before his expression turned more businesslike. “I’ll send these sketches off to my architect in Alexandria. These will give him an idea
of the house I want and he can take it from there.” Mac began rolling up the drawings.
“An architect?” Lily hadn’t gotten beyond that statement. “My sketches in the hands of a true architect?”
“Is anything wrong with that?”
“No. Only that I have an untrained hand.”
“Then you possess a divine gift.” He held up the drawings. “These are better than some I’ve seen from artists in Paris.”
“You flatter me, sir.” Indeed, his words sent a heated rush into her cheeks.
“But not falsely. I mean it.” He looked quite sincere. “You’re quite talented with a piece of charcoal.”
“Thank you.” She smoothed her yellow printed gown over her knees.
“May I ask a personal question?”
“Of course. We are friends.” Lily leaned closer to tease him. “And you do harbor two of my secrets already.”
The edges of Mac’s lips moved upward but didn’t quite form a smile. “It’s about the innkeeper.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the open window. Mr. Everett’s chiding tone blew in on the evening breeze. No doubt he was speaking to one of Lily’s brothers.
She sighed. “What about him?”
“May I inquire as to your relationship with him?”
Lily found the question somewhat odd, but couldn’t see any harm in answering it. “Why, he was one of my father’s best friends. I’ve known him all my life, and since Papa had no will, the magistrate appointed him our guardian now that Papa is gone.”
“Only your guardian?”
“Yes.” She tilted her head. “Pray, why do you ask?”
His brows furrowed. “I ask as a friend because you seem ignorant of Mr. Everett’s intentions.”
Unease tickled the back of her neck. “I know of them, and the very thought makes me ill.”
Mac leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. A lock of his thick, ebony hair fell onto his forehead, giving him a rakish look. “If it’s the age difference that troubles you, it shouldn’t. I can testify to older men marrying younger women. It frequently happens that way.”
“It is not his age, but the fact that I do not love him and I never will that makes me unwell in spirit.” Lily stood and began pacing in front of the hearth. Again, Mr. Everett’s voice swept in from outside, but this time Mr. Blake’s craggy reply followed.
My Heart Belongs in the Shenandoah Valley Page 7