by RITA GERLACH
Eliza smiled lightly. “I have not yet learned the customs in America, when it comes to dress.” She then looked at the ornate frame that surrounded the doorway. “Twin Oaks is beautiful, Mrs. Rhendon. It reminds me of home.”
“Which is where, exactly?” Amelia asked in her finest Southern drawl.
“Well, home is River Run. But Derbyshire before that.”
Amelia snapped open her fan. “As it was for our ancestors here in Virginia. But more specifically, Mrs. Morgan. Where were you born and raised? What are your family connections?”
“I am from the Hope Valley, ma’am. My father was a vicar, my mother a gentleman’s daughter.”
Eliza’s hostess raised her slim brows again. “A vicar, you say? How interesting.”
“If you please, Mrs. Rhendon, I would be grateful if you would educate me on the customs of His Majesty’s Colonies. I know so little, and . . .”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and heads turned. The gentle pressure of Hayward’s hand around Eliza’s fingers signaled she should say nothing more. Mortified, she felt heat color her cheeks.
However, the good-looking gentleman who leaned against the wall nearby smiled. He looked quite amused at Eliza’s comment, and fastened a pair of dark blue eyes upon her. So long did he stare that she grew agitated, all her muscles tensing.
Then she heard the words, “to Hades with King George.” A swift chill raced through her. She glanced at Mrs. Rhendon. “I . . . forgive me. I believe I have said something wrong, or may have spoken out of turn.”
“Your husband will explain,” said Amelia. “You will excuse me. I must attend to my other guests.” With a proud lift of her chin, she sashayed away.
Hayward leaned near Eliza’s ear. “You mustn’t refer to the Colonies as belonging to King George. As you can tell, the majority of the company here would prefer to hang him rather than kowtow to the inane monarch.”
Eliza placed her hand against her lips. How could she have made such a blunder, embarrassed him and offended her hostess? “I am sorry, Hayward. It was a mere slip of the tongue.”
“Take care of what you say from now on.” He turned from her, and soon they were separated. Convinced she had disappointed him, his departure grieved her.
Captain Rhendon patted her hand. “It will take some time to acquaint yourself with our ways.”
She lowered her head. “Thank you, sir. Whatever my husband’s politics are, I shall keep to those.”
“Very wise, and a sign of true devotion, ma’am.” Rhendon took her a few steps past the door and held his hand out to her. “Now come along. I wish to introduce you to someone.”
13
The gentleman whose face had caught her eye earlier, stood with arms folded and turned when Captain Rhendon hailed him. Eliza could not help but notice how broad his shoulders were. His hair, the blond color of a buckskin stallion’s coat, fell between his shoulder blades in a neat ponytail secured with a crepe ribbon. He wore a suit of buff linen, and riding boots. Hayward would never allow mud to remain on his boots like this man, Eliza thought.
“Halston, may I introduce Mrs. Eliza Morgan of River Run? She is newly come to our country from England and is in need of friends—she and her husband, whom you shall meet in a moment when he rejoins such a lovely wife. I believe you are close neighbors, on the other side of the river.”
Halston dropped his arms and bowed. His eyes locked onto hers.
“My young cousin, ma’am,” said Captain Rhendon. “Jeremy Halston. He knows more about horses than anyone I know— besides myself.”
Halston reached for her hand, then kissed it. “Your servant, ma’am.” Quick as she could, Eliza withdrew her fingers from his.
At that moment, Hayward returned to Eliza’s side, and he and Halston were introduced. “Halston recently acquired land on your side of the river, Mr. Morgan,” Captain Rhendon said, “and that fine blacksmith shop along the road. If I didn’t have a good smithy of my own, I would take my horses there to be shod.”
“I am familiar with Old Benjamin, sir.” Hayward directed his comment to Halston. “I hope you kept him on.”
Lifting his eyes away from Eliza, Halston looked over at Hayward. “He is too valuable to let go. His time of indenture has passed, but I was able to bribe him into staying with a yearly sum of fifteen pounds and an apprentice. I hope you will continue to avail yourself of Ben’s skills, sir.”
“Of course,” Hayward nodded.
A silence followed, and Eliza saw a spark of dislike grow between the two men, as if they had raised crossed rapiers between them. How stiff and cool Hayward had become. As for Halston, a look of challenge flared in his eyes.
Hayward set her hand on his left arm and withdrew with her through the door to a cavernous foyer, where twin staircases wound to the upper story. Two footmen, sentries whose eyes never met a guest’s and whose gloved hands were ready to open the door wider, flanked the ballroom doors.
Making their way amid the rustle of silks and a sea of quivering fans, Hayward brought Eliza to a chair beside a pair of open French doors. These led to a terrace that allowed the breeze to float indoors. The scent of roses from the garden reminded her of the rose vine that grew up the walls of the vicarage. She thought of her dear papa, felt the tinge of grief grip her, and forbade the careful smile that graced her lips to fade.
What would he think of her running off and marrying Hayward Morgan against his father’s wishes? What would he say if he knew how Hayward had broken his mother’s heart by leaving England, by wedding a girl below what she insisted he deserved? Would her papa share in her belief that her feet were set on this path by the Almighty?
Ah, but he would be proud I married for love, and be content that my needs are met by a husband of means.
Hayward left her to talk to Rhendon about matters best left to men. She knew what he meant—war, rebellion. Wives and husbands separated. Nevertheless, he promised to return shortly after a few pressing details were discussed that were on his mind. Feeling a bit lonely and out of place, she glanced over at Amelia and her bevy of ladies. Not a one acknowledged her. She might as well fade right into the walls. What she overheard nearby caused her to frown.
“Hayward Morgan could have had his pick of any unwedded woman in the room—in the whole of Virginia and Maryland for that matter.”
“He is so handsome. I am glad he has returned, even though he brought a wife back with him.”
“Yes, but was it necessary to go back to England to find a wife?”
“I saw her a moment ago on his arm. She is beautiful, and puts most of us to shame when it comes to our Southern good looks.”
“Is it true he had an understanding in England, with a lady of quality?”
“Rumor has it she rejected him, and out of desperation, and no doubt to quell embarrassment, he married a vicar’s daughter, not that a vicar’s daughter is any less than quality. But I imagine she does not stand up to the other lady socially.”
“I am not surprised he was jilted. So few upper-class Englishwomen would leave their comforts for River Run.”
“Hmm. A lack of fortitude, I would say. Well, we can at least give that to the Mrs. Morgan. She does not strike me as being snobbish, as I would have imagined.”
“But oh, that gown. It is not the fashion at all, and the neckline is too low.”
“Ladies.” Eliza heard Halston’s voice clearly above the others. “Mrs. Morgan is seated near. Perhaps you should ask her for yourselves all those nagging questions that are swimming in your pretty heads?”
In unison, four young women turned their heads in her direction. Eliza stood to face them. They curtsyed, and then each made her excuses. Halston remained where he was, his hands clasped behind his back.
“You must pardon their ill manners, Mrs. Morgan. They are only curious.”
“Thank you, Mr. Halston. You came to my rescue.”
He bowed. “It was my pleasure. Our ways must seem judgmental to you, and I a
m afraid they are.”
“Now that they have met me, I wonder what they are saying.”
“God is the only one who knows,” he said. “They are jealous, I can tell you that. Just look at them grouped together like clucking hens, their faces flushed and sweaty from the heat.”
The heat suddenly made her feel faint, and she drew in a breath. “It is quite hot, sir.”
“Why, you look cool to me, Mrs. Morgan.” He stood next to her as she lowered herself back into the chair. “I wonder. Did you inherit the deep color of your hair, those violet eyes, and your fine complexion from your mother?”
Eliza did not know what to say. Part of her was flattered. But the wife in her felt affronted he would be so brazen as to compliment her. “Flattery, Mr. Halston, is not becoming when a man directs it toward another man’s wife.”
“I agree. I shall restrict my comments to the weather and horses from now on so that we may be friends.”
“Thank you. Nevertheless, I was told I took after my mother.”
He creased his brow. “Told?”
“Yes. She has been long in Heaven, sir.” To be reminded of her loss stung, and she lowered her head. “My father recently joined her.”
“You believe in such a place?”
Surprised by his question, she looked up at him. “You do not?”
“I am not sure of anything, except the present.”
“Then I am sorry for you, sir. Those who believe are not like those who do not. Without faith, one has no hope in this world.”
“I recall my father saying faith is the substance of things hoped for . . .”
“The evidence of things not seen,” Eliza finished.
Halston smiled. “Indeed.”
“It is something to ponder, Mr. Halston.”
“Perhaps you’re right, and I should explore it further. If I call upon you—and your husband—we could converse on the subject.”
“You would be most welcome at River Run,” she said. “But are you not leaving to fight the British as are most of the men?”
“I’m unsure on that account as well.”
Hoping he would not think her too bold, Eliza made him a promise. “I shall pray for you this night, sir, that you are given the direction you need so that you are certain which course to take.”
He looked stunned and gazed at her with a smile that trembled over the corner of his mouth. His eyes were fixed on her, almost as if she were the only woman in the room. “You have just now helped me see the path I’ll take, Mrs. Morgan. Your faith works quickly.”
She shook her head. “I do not understand.”
“I will not be leaving. Not for a long while. I will remain on my land, even if they call me a loyalist and a coward.” He leaned down. “A man must protect the things he holds dear. He must hold his ground against all who stand in his way.”
A wave of bewilderment struck Eliza. Never had a man spoken to her with such freedom, except for Hayward. She thought him audacious, but wondered if this was the way men behaved in the Colonies. Was it acceptable to speak honestly and with such flattery between the sexes here? Nonetheless, his admission that he must protect the things he prized flustered her as she realized his subtle implication. He spoke in a hushed tone and with a hint of passion.
Halston pointed out a lady on the opposite side of the room. “I am afraid I have caught the eye of Miss Lee. There, you see? She calls me over with a tilt of her fan.”
She glanced over at Miss Lee, a petite young lady with cascades of blonde ringlets and too much rouge. On the final word, Halston bowed and stepped away.
From the French doors, a cool breeze tousled the hem of Eliza’s gown. It felt heavenly and chased the heat away. Hayward stepped out of a side door with Captain Rhendon and several other gentlemen, two dressed in militia blue. Lifting her chin, she gathered her skirts and proceeded forward.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked, accepting her arm through his.
“I am lonely without you.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then drew her out onto the veranda to escape the closeness of the room.
14
A chestnut horse pounded down the lane at a brisk gallop, kicking up clods of dirt beneath its hooves. Everyone on the veranda craned their necks and looked in its direction. A dusty Express Rider on its back yanked on the reins, brought the steed skidding to a halt below the veranda stairs, leapt to the ground, and bounded up the steps. Catching his breath, he drew off his slouch hat, his brow studded with beads of sweat.
“I bring word from the North, gentlemen. Heralds of liberty are passing the news through the towns and plantations. We’ve had our first major fight with the British.”
Captain Rhendon motioned to one of his finely dressed servants. “Samuel, bring this man a mug of water, and have Lily fix him a plate of food.”
“I am grateful for that, sir. It has been a long ride. You’re Captain Rhendon?”
“I am.” Eliza noticed how proudly Captain Rhendon raised his head, as if he knew what was coming next.
“I have a packet for you, from Mr. Lee in Philadelphia.”
“My uncle!” shouted Miss Lee and shouldered her way through the crowd to stand beside Mrs. Rhendon.
“Where and when did the fighting start, lad?” said Captain Rhendon. “Give us all the details you can.”
“Boston. Breed’s Hill.” He gulped down water from the pewter cup handed him and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Our men were attacked. British soldiers stormed the hill. The order on our side—not to fire until we see the whites of their eyes.”
A gasp circled around the crowd. Eliza glanced at the faces of the gentlemen. They were stiff with anger, their eyes riveted upon the messenger. She looked at Hayward and saw a muscle in his jaw flex. She squeezed his hand.
“The Patriots let loose a volley of musket fire when the Redcoats got within fifteen yards. Once our boys ran out of ammunition—with only their bayonets and stones to defend themselves—the Brits took the hill. But they lost half their force—in all over two hundred killed and eight hundred wounded.”
Hayward took a step forward. “And the Patriots?”
“One hundred and forty killed, sir, including General Warren. You’ll find the details written down inside the packet, Mr. Rhendon.”
The news distressed Eliza, that those of her homeland had fallen along with the Americans, her new countrymen; and to sense her husband’s fury rise caused her heart to ache. All doubt vanished. He’d certainly be leaving her to fight for the Glorious Cause.
“General Washington has taken command of the Continental Army,” the messenger went on. “We have rallied seventeen thousand men.”
“Then the struggle for our liberty is on!” shouted one man. Others followed, and there boiled over a great hubbub of talk.
Halston stepped to the rail of the terrace to be seen. “Gentlemen, we must be calm and not rush off without careful thought. Captain Rhendon, you understand how brutal war can be. You served under Braddock. You saw things no man should have to see. Do you not agree we should persuade our leaders to use more diplomatic measures before engaging in a bloody conflict that is sure to bring great suffering to our country?”
“What good does diplomacy do when we are up against tyranny?” Hayward said, raising his voice above the others. Eliza heard him say beneath his breath, “coward.”
The Express Rider set his plate of food aside and raised his arms to calm the crowd. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Congress has sent the King a petition—an olive branch which expresses hope for reconciliation.”
“One last attempt at diplomacy?” one mocked.
“Aye, and the King will trample it under his boot heels,” said another.
“God bless our brave patriots!” went round.
Hayward broke away from Eliza and stood beside the rider. “I was born and bred in England by a father loyal to his king and country. I left to build a new life with my wife, and shudder to think
of our children living under a monarch’s rule. His power will overtake us unless we fight and win our independence. If it means bloodshed, then so be it. Future generations will thank us.”
He continued on, speaking with such conviction that it sent chills racing up her spine. Eliza had never heard him speak with such authority, and it almost frightened her to think where his convictions might lead him, where they might leave her. A widow in the wilderness? No, I cannot consider it to ever be so.
The messenger squashed his hat back on. “Be assured, good men, the Delegates have no intention of staying under the power of a tyrant. They will stand their ground if the King dashes all hope of foregoing a war. God bless our Glorious Cause.”
With a nod, he touched the brim of his hat and bid them farewell. Shoving his boot into the stirrup, he climbed back in the saddle, spurred his horse, and raced off. With excitement surging through her, Eliza watched the cloud of rust-colored dust rise behind his horse’s hooves. He was on to another vil- lage, another plantation, to spread the news. Some of the solemn crowd drifted back inside. Others lingered outside.
Eliza looked up at Hayward as he ran his hand slowly down her forearm. “This news is not good news. Let us go home.”
A lady, who had earlier stared with disapproval at Eliza’s gown, approached them. She slipped her hand into the crook of Hayward’s arm, drawing close as if she were a moth to flame. The rice powder applied to her face creased with her smile.
“You have not danced the whole evening, Mr. Morgan. There is talk, you know. For you left your wife sitting all alone to fend off the young men of our party.”
Hayward lifted his eyes from her and glanced at Eliza. “Let them gossip, Miss Stapleton. It is what women do best.”
Laughing, Miss Stapleton tapped his chest lightly with the tip of her fan. “Such an insulting rogue. What do you expect?”
“For people to mind their own business.”