She glided toward the door and swallowed down a wave of apprehension. She hadn’t told Lizzie that in addition to her aversion to matchmaking, she disliked conversing with strangers one on one. Making pleasant conversation with someone she didn’t know was akin to wearing a corset. Both left her uncomfortable, sweaty, and breathless.
In the upper hallway, the soft strains of a string quartet caressed her ears. She paused a moment to let the soothing tones wash over her. She had no aptitude for music, but she luxuriated in the sheer beauty of its sound. Her eyes drifted closed as she imagined putting the notes to canvas. She would paint them as dragonflies darting through the dappled light near the river with every color reflecting from their gossamer wings.
A small shriek roused Emily from her musings. A young woman a few years her senior stood in the hallway, brunette hair twisted in an elaborate upsweep and voluptuous curves clad in wine-colored silk. The woman’s hands clasped dramatically at her heart. “Emily, you look radiant!”
“Sophia!” Emily exclaimed and embraced the young woman. She should have known her old friend and former neighbor would search her out before the festivities began. Sophia had married in the spring, and the girls had not seen each other since the wedding. “It’s been so long. Are you staying with your parents?”
“For two whole weeks. I insist we get together for tea. I have so much to tell you!”
“What’s it like being Mrs. Matthew Buchanan and mistress of your own plantation?”
Sophia’s eyes sparkled. “You must see for yourself. Will you come and stay with me after the holidays?”
“I would like that very much.”
“I’ll have Matthew speak to your father.” Sophia held her out at arm’s length. “Just look at you! Remember how we dreamed of being the belles of the ball as little girls? Now I’m married, and you’re a debutante!”
Emily smiled. Sophia had spent every minute of her childhood yearning for her first social season. Since Emily was younger, she usually went along with whatever Sophia dreamed up.
Sophia leaned in and lowered her voice. “I overheard James O’Neil tell Brady Thompson that he saw you in Charleston with your father in September.” She grinned conspiratorially. “He was astonished at how you’ve grown up. I think he’s taken a liking to you. Just wait till he sees you in this!” She gave Emily’s hoopskirt a poke. “He’s set to inherit the largest estate in Georgetown, you know. I’ll make sure you receive an introduction. Do you have your dance card?”
Emily held up the small booklet dangling from a cord at her wrist.
“Then come along. Your public awaits.”
She steadied her nerves and allowed Sophia to tug her toward the curving stairway. A murmur of voices now rode the undercurrents of music. She fought the impulse to jerk away, flee down the servants’ stairway, and retreat to the stables until the evening was over. Cowardice would not serve her ambitions. Instead, she fixed a smile onto her face and descended into the sea of humanity.
For a moment, she was able to observe her guests unseen. Most of them were neighbors—planters, small farmers, and businessmen from the nearby towns of Summerville and Ladson. But she also recognized a few friends from Charleston. Dr. Malone and his wife were in attendance, as was Mr. Ingersoll, the owner of the jewelry store her mother frequented. They would stay overnight and return to the city in the morning.
Jovie Cutler spotted her first. She stood near enough to see the green flecks in his eyes brighten but let her glance skitter away as if she hadn’t noticed. She didn’t hold much fondness for Sophia’s twin. He and Jack had usually been in league in their mischief—often at her expense. She hadn’t missed either of them when they started at the College of Charleston last year.
A few more faces glanced up at her and the room filled with polite applause. Emily fought to keep the smile plastered to her face when Jovie met her at the foot of the stairs. “Hello, Emily. May I have the honor of your first dance?”
She was rescued by her father. “I’m afraid that honor belongs to me.” William Preston tucked Emily’s hand snugly in the crook of his elbow. “Happy birthday, daughter.”
Her smile grew warm. Ignoring the watching eyes, she pulled free and threw her arms around his neck. She revered her father. William Preston was the kindest, gentlest, most endearing man she’d ever known. A former assemblyman, he had returned from a series of political meetings in Charleston the evening before, especially for her birthday. She missed him fiercely when he was gone.
Marie Preston stood at William’s side, poised and graceful. Accustomed to her husband’s frequent absences, she had planned the entire ball single-handedly. She raised a gloved hand to Emily’s cheek. “Have a wonderful evening, honey.”
In that instant, Emily adored them both. The reception had been given with the very best of intentions. “Thank you, Mother. Thank you, Papa.”
“Shall we?” William asked.
She allowed him to lead her past the refreshment tables exuding their glorious aromas and straight to the dance floor. With a nod at the musicians, her father began the Grand March, the first promenade of the evening.
Emily moved carefully, her feet following the steps she had rehearsed. She breathed in the music and concentrated on this special moment with her father. He was still a handsome man. Of medium height, with an erect bearing that made him seem taller, he maintained a healthy physique. Unlike most of the guests, his face was clean-shaven. His longish curls, just beginning to gray, were parted on one side and allowed to climb over the top of his crown.
“I’m glad you made it home on time, Papa.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “But you do know I can’t save you from every young man who would dance with you tonight,” he teased.
“Of course not.”
“I see their eyes following our movements. And I cannot blame them. You are the very image of your mother at your age. Stunning.”
Her cheeks grew warm, and she didn’t begrudge the steps that spun her away and saved her from replying. The dance required no talk, just polite smiles and a measure of concentration. She traveled the room three times before circling back to her father. As the last note of music faded, he drew her into an embrace. “Just relax,” he whispered, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Enjoy your evening.”
Emily was immediately approached by Sophia’s husband, Matthew Buchanan, who brought along the son of the Georgetown rice planter. Sophia had wasted no time arranging the introduction. Emily danced the next number with the young man. When they parted with an exchange of pleasantries, the following four lines on her card were promptly filled. Forty minutes later, she was warm, breathless, and ready for a respite.
Jovie approached with two glasses of punch. “For you,” he offered, placing one in her hand.
She sipped at it delicately then tipped back the entire contents.
“Would you like mine also?”
She glanced up sharply at the amusement in his voice. “No, thank you.”
He tipped his head to one side. “You’re not pleased to see me, are you?”
“Should I be? I’m half afraid you’ll slip a frog down the back of my dress.”
His eyebrows lifted. “That was seven years ago!”
“I could list a dozen more grudges I haven’t forgotten.”
He fidgeted, wiping condensation from his cup. “The cocklebur under your saddle?”
“And the poison ivy in my stockings, the worm in my milk, the beetles in my bed linens…”
He winced. “I was a regular barbarian, wasn’t I?”
She smiled crisply and turned away, her eyes sweeping the room.
He placed her empty cup and his full one on the tray of a passing attendant. “You must allow me to atone for my sins.” He winked. Taking her hand, he dropped to one knee. “Please accept my most sincere apologies.”
His actions attracted a few curious glances. “Jovie, get up.”
She tugged at her hand, but he gripped it tighter. “Will you forgive me?”
“You’re being ridiculous.” More heads were turning in their direction. She jerked her hand free and moved away from the watching eyes.
He gave chase, intercepting her in the grand entryway just outside the ballroom door. “Emily, please listen to me.” Catching her elbow, he turned her to face him. “The apology was sincere. As a child, I never gave a thought for the young woman you would become. An oversight I now sorely regret. I didn’t know how to demonstrate my affection any other way.”
“Your affection? Is that what you call it?”
He hunched his shoulders and let them drop. “Why do you think I spent so much time thinking up ways to attract your attention?”
She searched his face. Jovie no longer looked like the boy who had tormented her. In the year since she’d last seen him, he had lost the soft chubbiness she remembered. His body was lean beneath the black dress coat, his dark hair cut short. The planes of his face had turned hard and strong. Perhaps he had outgrown his delinquency as well.
He sensed her weakening. “I’ll have you know, I itched for two weeks after planting that poison ivy.”
“Serves you right.” The faintest of smiles traced her lips.
“If you accompany me to the garden, I solemnly swear to remain on my best behavior.”
She narrowed her eyes. “No frogs?”
He inverted both of his palms. “No frogs.”
Twilight lingered, quiet and dim. Emily welcomed its coolness. They meandered through paths lush with holly and camellias. “It’s good to be home,” Jovie stated when silence lengthened between them. He drew in a long breath. “The city lacks the freshness of the countryside.”
“Do you miss Fairview when you’re at school?”
“Of course. But I enjoy living independently.”
“You’re hardly independent.” She stopped to admire a single, hardy bachelor button. “I’ve seen how much money my father sends to Jack every month. I dare say your father does the same.”
Jovie paused beside her, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ve met plenty of classmates who have to spend their free hours laboring as clerks, dockhands, or tutors. I can’t say I’m sorry not to be among them. I simply meant it’s been good to escape my parents’ shadow.”
Her lip twisted in a sardonic smile. “Yes, I could take a guess at some of my brother’s unchaperoned activities.” She marked the bachelor button’s location and strolled on.
“That isn’t what I meant.” Jovie frowned, falling in beside her. “In his case, however, your guesses are probably accurate.”
“But your behavior is above reproach, of course.”
“I didn’t say that, either. But I’ve had to,” he paused to consider his words, “put some distance between Jack and myself.”
“You share a flat.”
“Emotional distance.”
“You were thick as thieves growing up.”
He glanced at her to make certain the observation wasn’t another veiled reference to his prior behavior. Apparently satisfied, he answered, “Jack’s…activities…don’t leave a lot of time for study. I can’t match his marks without a good deal of effort.”
“What do high marks matter to you?” she asked frankly, stopping to gauge his reaction. “You’ll inherit Fairview with or without a certificate of graduation.”
“I suppose. But I’d like one thing that is justly earned and not handed to me by my parents.”
“You don’t want Fairview?”
He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration, a habit Emily recalled from their younger years. “You keep twisting my words. It’s not that I don’t want Fairview. I’m simply trying to find my own identity.”
She gave him an appraising stare. Before she could question him further, Jack approached with another young man in tow. Emily immediately recognized the stranger from the stable. Apparently he remembered her, too, for he grinned conspiratorially.
Jack slapped Jovie on the back. “What are you two discussing so earnestly?” He wore a freshly pressed suit and his fragrance had quite improved. “Jovie, you aren’t making me look bad in front of my little sister, are you?”
“There isn’t a thing I could tell her that would surprise her.”
Jack barked out a laugh. “You’re probably right. But if you paint college life in too fair a light, Emily might take it into her head to become one of these women trying to gain admission. Can you imagine girls at school?”
The acid she sent his way nearly burned her eyes.
The stranger spoke up. “If they were all as pretty as your sister, I’m sure I wouldn’t take issue.”
“Emily, this is Thaddeus Black.” Jack drew the young man forward. Thaddeus had an athletic build, aristocratic features, sandy blond hair, and a bold stare. “He rents a room in our building. He’s from Savannah, so I invited him up for the weekend. Thad, my sister Emily.”
Emily curtseyed politely, a thousand questions about that morning swirling in her head. By the time she had worked up the courage to go searching for Jack to see if he was dead or alive, his companion had disappeared.
Thaddeus made a show of kissing her hand. “My pleasure.” His smile was confident. The shadow of a dimple revealed itself in the dim light, and she couldn’t tell if his eyes were brown or dark blue. The next moment she rebuked herself for wondering.
“Would you do me the honor of dancing the next number with me?” he asked.
“I am afraid I have already promised it to Jovie. Turning to Sophia’s twin, she said, “I believe I hear the music starting.”
Jovie masked his surprise. “Yes, of course.” Taking her elbow, he ushered her back into the house. “That was a rather cold reception,” he whispered. “Thad’s not a bad fellow.”
“Not cold. Just honest. I don’t want to give Jack’s friend the false impression that I care at all for his attentions.”
Jovie raised his eyebrows.
“Nor any man’s,” she emphasized.
“I see.” He paused. “What about the company of old friends?”
She allowed him the faintest smile. “No frogs?”
He chuckled. “I promise.”
She danced twice with Jovie and, with her boundaries firmly in place, found herself relaxing in his company. She even laughed at some of their reminiscences. For the next two sets, she participated in every dance. She called out a short greeting to Abigail Malone, the doctor’s daughter, who appeared quite pleased to be the momentary focus of Jack’s attentions. Then she found herself facing another neighbor, Micajah Northrup.
“Happy birthday, Miss Preston.”
Tall, with unruly hair and a heavily muscled torso, he’d been another of Jack’s accomplices. Though he hadn’t come by as frequently as Jovie, the mischief he initiated occasionally involved the sheriff.
She dispensed with formalities. “Hello, Cage.”
“I believe you promised me the last dance in this set.”
She forced pleasure into her face. “So I did.”
Cage and his father worked a small farm without the aid of slaves and supplemented their meager income by tracking and returning runaways. It was a skill that ingratiated them with many of the county’s planters, though Emily found them both repugnant. Lacking any sort of refinement, the Northrups seemed feral, maybe even a little dangerous.
Cage guided her over the dance floor. His hand was heavy, but he moved with quick, light steps. “You’re looking prettier than a speckled pup this evening.”
“Cage,” she said patiently, “I know you mean that as a compliment, but most women won’t find it flattering.”
“Why not?”
“Cage! A dog?”
His brows lowered slightly. “What’s wrong with a dog?”
“Nothing, except it’s an animal. That’s not exactly a charming comparison.”
Apparently, Cage had little use for charm. “A dog is useful, loyal, goo
d-tempered. They don’t talk back. They aren’t needy; you just throw ’em a bone now and again and they take it to their corner. I’d be lucky to get a woman half so good.” He met her eye. “Maybe my dog should be offended.”
She shook her head. “Don’t ever come calling on me.”
His lip curled. “One good whack will put a dog in its place. And if it gives you any trouble, you shoot it.”
That last bit was designed to get a rise out of her, but she wasn’t certain where his needling ended and his reality began. No wonder his mother had been in such ill health of late, poor woman. Emily made her escape as soon as the set ended, fleeing to a refreshment table where she squeezed between guests to snatch a dainty egg salad sandwich.
“Excellent party, young lady!”
Emily turned to find Sophia’s father munching on a chicken leg and beaming radiantly. A fruity smear marring his shirtwaist proved it wasn’t his first turn at the table. “Hello, Mr. Cutler.” She paused to catch her breath. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Is your wife here?”
He waved the chicken leg toward the back of the house. “Edna’s somewhere. When we arrive, she is always adamant about wishing to dance. Then she starts gabbing with the old women, and I,” he grinned triumphantly, “am left to my own devices.”
She laughed. “I see you are putting your time to good use.”
“Most assuredly.” He took another large bite.
Emily perched on one of the chairs positioned around the room to eat her sandwich. Her shoulders ached. Her feet ached. She wriggled her toes inside the satin slippers. They had done nothing to protect her feet from one fellow’s low-heeled boots. The moment of rest was most welcome. But just then, she spotted Cage approaching. With no wish for another disturbing conversation, she shifted to place a buxom old dowager between them and slipped into the dining room.
Ella Wood Page 2