by RITA GERLACH
She did look concerned. “Your wound, is that it?”
“It is not my wound. That has healed.” He nudged the horse with his knees and moved closer to the window. “I was on my way to see you. We should talk.”
“I’m afraid I cannot delay.”
He swallowed hard at her answer. Or it may have been how her eyes caught the light and sparkled. “Don’t you think it is important we come to an understanding?”
A moment's pause and she looked at him with loving eyes. “I cannot wait,” she said softly, and lowered her gaze. “I am on my way north to visit my aunt. She is not well and is expecting me.”
“Then I’ll ride alongside.”
“Please, do not.” Juleah fastened her hand over the window frame. “Besides, it is too far. Aunt Issy lives in Congleton, in Cheshire, more than two hundred miles away.”
Running! He frowned.
“How long shall you be gone?”
“A month, perhaps longer.”
“You’re leaving without saying anything to me? Did you think it would make any difference?”
Her gaze, full of sadness, turned away. “I cannot explain.” She leaned outside the window. “Driver, move on.”
“No, driver. Stay as you are,” Seth ordered. He looked back at Juleah. “Avoid me if you must, but do not be a stranger to my sister.”
“I will write to her every day. Now, I must be on my way.” She drew back inside the security of the coach, her face hidden.
Seth backed his horse away.
The driver snapped the reins and the horses plodded on. He wanted to hurry after her, fling open the coach door, and pull her out and into his arms. But it would look foolish. Instead, he turned his horse and watched the coach disappear down the shady road. He’d wait—and hope she would come back to him.
Juleah reached her destination three days later. She peered out of the coach window and saw Little Moreton Hall. On a plain of green grass, its black and white walls look subdued under a gray sky. Its crooked chimney puffed a bellow of smoke into the air, and Juleah thought of the hearth fires that she’d welcome at her aunt's home. Four more miles down the road, she leaned out to observe the bleak country house before her. It was a grand residence of two stories, made of gray wintry stone. Five years had drifted by since she had last seen her aunt. Still the house was silent and lonely, just as she remembered
The housemaid escorted her through the door to a sitting room cluttered with glossy dark furniture. In a high-backed chair sat Juleah's elderly kinswoman. Upon her lap was an orange cat. The dimness of the room could not conceal the wrinkles on her face, which were more plentiful than Juleah recalled. It came as no surprise that her aunt wore the same style of clothing she wore ten years ago, black taffeta gown, lace cap and shawl, black lace gloves. She was asleep, and the housemaid, a wisp of a woman no more than five feet tall, touched Issy on the shoulder.
Startled, the old woman's eyes shot open. “What do you mean? You wish to frighten me to death?” Aunt Issy, her name shortened from Isadora, shuddered in her chair. The maid apologized and pointed to Juleah.
“Hello, Aunt Issy. It is I, Juleah.”
“My niece?” Issy shifted in her chair. Taffeta crunched against chintz. Her gray eyes stared at Juleah in disbelief. “You appear nothing like her. Come closer and let me have a look.”
Juleah did as she was bid. Issy picked up her eyeglasses and looked her up and then down. Soon her scowl turned into a delicate smile. “On my soul, it is you. Take off your hat and gloves. Lay them aside, then come kiss my cheek.”
With a gentle smile, Juleah untied the ribbon under her chin, took off her hat and gloves and handed them to the maid. She walked over to her aunt, leaned down, and kissed the wrinkled cheek, the skin soft, thin as oiled paper, scented with rosewater and rice powder.
“You look well, Aunt.”
“You mean to flatter me. If you speak of my disposition, I agree. I have not changed that in the least. But in body? Thin and gaunt is what I am. Old.”
“Only by a few years.”
“ ’Tis long enough, though it seems like yesterday I last saw you. Your mother agreed to allow you to stay the winter?”
“Yes, but no longer, I am afraid. She was remiss to have me away through Christmas, but did not want you to be so lonely. You know it is only a week away.”
“Indeed, I know of it. We shall attend church and not make a fuss … have a goose for supper. Perhaps invite a few neighbors.”
Juleah lifted her brows. “It would do the house good to have some holly about.”
Issy pressed her lips together in a crooked smile. “Do as you wish, girl. How are your parents?”
“Well. They send you their love.”
“And your brother and sister?”
“They are also well. I’ve brought a letter from Mother.”
“Give it to me later.” Issy waved the note away from Juleah's hand. “I am glad you’ve come. Your mother said you needed time away. I imagine it is over a man.”
Juleah smiled lightly. “Is that what she told you?”
“Not in those exact words.”
“She worries over me.”
“And why shouldn’t she?” Issy's eyes enlarged. “Young women these days read too many novels. I hope you have not read that outrageous novel by Burney.”
“You mean Evelina?”
“Yes! That is the one.” Issy shook her head and clicked her tongue. “So called The History of a Young Lady's Entrance Into the World. Bah.”
“I admit I am guilty of it, and without shame.”
Issy lifted a hooked finger and shook it. “Books like that give a young woman wrong ideas, not what the real world is about. They lead to disappointment. You’ll find no such books in this house. You don’t draw silhouettes do you?”
“No, but I would like to learn.”
“They are a waste of time.”
“May I read to you in the evenings?” Juleah inquired. “From a book of your choosing?”
“I suppose that would be acceptable. I prefer Shakespeare and the Bible.”
It took some time, but Issy stood from her chair. Her cat jumped down and curled up near the fire. Issy was the same height as Juleah but thin. Her clothes hung loose and shapeless.
That evening, while they dined, Juleah could not help but notice how little her aunt ate. Perhaps, she would eat more if the food were better. Boiled fish and bland stewed apples were not the most enticing of foods.
“I do not believe in hearty conversation at evening meals, Juleah.” Issy picked up her fork and pushed the food around on her plate. “It is bad for the digestion—puts off sleep.”
With their meal concluded, Issy retired and left Juleah alone with her thoughts. For a time, she sat at the table that faced the window, glad the curtains were left open. Moonlight played over the lawn. The clock ticked away in the hall, seconds passed, never to be retrieved. The dishes had been removed, but the scent of the fish lingered, along with the cedar fire that burned low in the hearth.
She stood and loneliness gripped her. She wished to deny it, wanted to suppress the feelings, her longing for Seth. Pressing her hands against the table, her throat tightened and a sob escaped her lips. She could bear it no longer and retreated upstairs to her room.
When she opened the door, cold smacked her in the face. The fire in the hearth burned low, and her hands trembled from the cold. She stirred the coals, and soon the room glowed in an amber light.
The bed was old with a worn quilt. In the corner sat a dressing table and an ironstone bowl and pitcher. That was all there was to it.
When she woke in the morning, her feet and hands were frozen. The fire had gone out during the night. Wrapped in the quilt that she drew over her shoulders, Juleah swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards were as cold as blocks of ice when her feet touched them. She hurried over to the clothes cupboard, slipped on a pair of wool stockings, and finished dressing.
At
breakfast, her aunt eyed her from the other end of the table. “You mustn’t flee from your troubles,” she told Juleah, while she dipped her spoon into her plate. “Running away will add to them.”
“I have not said I am running away, Aunt.”
“No, you have not. But I know just the same.” And she went on to eat her boiled egg in silence.
Weeks drifted by slowly. Sir Chester Bottomly rode over to the house from his estate four times in one week. He was older than Juleah, talkative, and the stoutest man she had ever seen. He had great whiskers along his jaw that he fluffed with his fingers. Then came two other gentlemen Aunt Issy had extended invitations to—a wealthy banker who smelled of tobacco and an untidy merchant with a lord's title, who was too thin and too pale to catch any woman's eye. All were bores to Juleah, their attentions insincere. They sought a wife, and she hated how they all wanted her.
Her aunt grew frustrated by Juleah's indifference. She summoned her to her chamber one night in the fourth week of her stay, before drifting off to sleep. Earlier in the day, snow had fallen, covered the ground, spread over trees, and deepened the chill of the house. Drifts lay against the foundation and the Roman walls in the fields. The landscape lay white, dotted with the bare blackness of trees. The fire in the hearth crackled and hissed. Warmth reached out in waves that quivered against the floor of the bedchamber.
Issy sat up in bed with a heap of bedclothes over her. She glanced up from her Bible when Juleah entered the room. “Why are you not more attentive to the gentlemen that visit this house, Juleah?”
“I am not rude to them.” Juleah tucked in the sides of the covers beneath her aunt's mattress. “They ask questions and I answer.”
“Yes, my dear, but that is all you do. Can you not smile or pay a compliment?”
“I do not know what to say. I find no reason to smile at them. That might give them ideas I do not wish them to have.”
Issy marked her Bible and set it beside her. She sighed. “You are ungrateful. Here I have taken you under my wing and invited the finest gentlemen of my acquaintance to meet you. Though reluctant, I had hopes of helping you find a husband.”
Juleah flopped down on the edge of the bed. “These gentlemen are amiable, but they are not for me. Besides, I did not come here for that reason.”
Issy pressed the thin line of her lips together. “Well, why did you come?”
“To see you.”
“I don’t believe it. A girl of twenty-one has no time for elderly aunts. You are running away from something.” The wrinkles beside Issy's mouth folded up like an ivory fan. “I’ve become a haven, haven’t I?”
Juleah smiled in return. “Perhaps.”
Issy dropped her hands upon her lap. “Is there a man among those whom have called that you like? Is not there one you would consider for a husband?”
“You would not want me to marry where I do not love.”
“But you do love someone, don’t you? A man has declared his feelings for you, and that is why you are running away.”
Juleah lowered her head. “I suppose so.”
“Do you love this man?”
“I believe I do.”
“Then you must allow him to pursue you. Do you understand? Now I must write to your mother and apologize for my hard words. I was angry at first that she had sent you. I told her it was her responsibility to see you married, not mine. But I’ve seen the light.”
Juleah leaned over and kissed her aunt's cheek. She turned to go, but when she reached the door, she paused.
Issy opened her book of Shakespeare's plays and lifted the lace marker from off the page. “Is there something more?”
Juleah nodded. “I have not told you everything.”
“I thought so. You may if you wish, otherwise go to bed.”
“The man is an American.”
Issy's book fell from her grasp. The pages turned, and her place was lost. “An American, you say?” Her voice hissed in a somewhat humorous manner.
“Yes, from Virginia. He has inherited Ten Width.”
“Has he? So this American is Benjamin Braxton's grandson and Caroline's brother. How interesting. I have never met one, and I cannot say I have heard good things about Americans, except that the men are more amorous than English gentlemen.”
“He is a good man, Aunt,” Juleah assured her.
“God-fearing?”
“Yes, Aunt.”
“Do your parents know him? Are they aware of this attachment?”
“Father likes him a great deal. My mother doesn’t care whom I marry as long as he's wealthy and has a good name.”
“Any letters from him?”
Juleah felt her cheeks flush. “Two.”
“Two is good. I hope he spoke of more than the weather.”
“He did.” She glanced down at her hands and felt a strange sensation flutter within her. “Caroline and I have been writing
“If it were not for the fact this Braxton is of English descent, I’d insist you see him no more,” Issy interrupted “But, he does have the blood of nobles in his veins. Oh, it is a confusing matter.” Isadore threw up her hands. “I shall leave it up to you.”
Juleah was indeed surprised. “You do not disapprove?”
“I am not remiss in remembering my first amour, who was a Frenchman. Time will tell whether this is right for you or not.”
10
At an hour when the light of day painted the sky magenta, a man on horseback rode through the gates of Ten Width. His hat shaded his face, and the tall black horse beneath him gave him the appearance of being taller than he was.
Although he was eager to see Caroline, he slowed the horse, reined in at the front of the house, and glanced up to the window above. With a brilliant smile, he drew off his hat and waved it to the lady behind the glass. He watched her with a quickly beating heart. She returned his smile and lifted her hand in greeting.
“Caroline!” he called. “Come down and welcome me.” With a kiss, he hoped.
When she hurried away, he dismounted and paced. Will came out of the door to take his horse. “Welcome to Ten Width, sir. Been a long time.”
“Too long.” Michael Bray glanced over the front of the house. “What have you done to the old place? It looks changed.”
Will squared his shoulders. “The new squire and I been fixing things up.”
“I did not know you were such a craftsman.”
“Nor did I, but it got me out of the stables.” Will moved off with Bray's horse.
Through the door rushed Caroline. Her skirts floated above her ankles. Her eyes glowed as she thrust out both arms in greeting.
“Caroline.” Bray hurried forward and kissed her hands. “You haven’t changed at all. Still pretty.”
She stood a moment gazing at him. “Michael, I have thanked God the war did not take you from us. When we heard no word, we thought you were lost to us. Have we not been as close as family?”
“You know we have.”
“And yet not a single letter from you all this time?”
“After I left America, I went to Paris on business for my uncle. I confess my negligence. Say you will forgive me.”
“I will, but I’ll not let you forget how you have kept me worried and wondering.”
“I should have written. But I thought your husband would object.”
Her smile settled at the mention of Jeremy. “My husband died almost two years ago. My little son has died also. My heart is so broken over losing him, I dare not count the weeks since.”
Bray stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Caroline, deeply. I did not know.”
She looked at him, her eyes forlorn. “I shall tell you about it later.” She gripped her hands around his forearms and looked up into his face. “I know what you did for my brother. He would be dead if it were not for you. How can I thank you?”
He smiled down at her. “A hot mug of cider and conversation will be enough.”
Rounding the corner, Seth looked at
the man who talked with his sister. His hands held hers. He was attired in a buff coat instead of a scarlet uniform. Seth remembered him as a lean man. Now he looked well-fed.
Seth waited, marked his sister's expression, a loving look that surpassed friendship. Bray glanced over at him and strode quickly across the lawn. Holding out his hand, Seth grasped Bray's and shook it.
“Seth, it is Michael Bray. Can you believe it?” she said.
Bray laughed and gave Seth a brotherly touch on the shoulder. “I had every intention of visiting Ten Width. But I must say I’m surprised to see you here in England, far from Virginia.”
“Grandfather died, Michael,” Caroline explained. “Seth inherited.”
Bray's brows pinched into one line. “I’m sorry. I liked the old man.”
“He lived a full life and died peacefully.” She linked her arm in his and led him inside.
Bray spoke of France and the troubles that brewed across the English Channel. “I felt uneasy there, being English and well-off.” He set down his riding gloves. “The poverty in France is reaching a crisis, and the king is too stubborn to do much about it. I’m afraid another revolution will grip the world, poor against rich, the lower classes apt to shed the blood of the upper.”
“I hope you’re wrong.” Seth led the way to a sitting room. The sunlight spread through the windows, fanned across the floor.
“Well, aside from that, I’ve brought other news,” Bray said.
“Good news? Since I arrived the wind has blown with nothing but bad,” Seth told him.
“I heard in town that Benjamin's widow, hearing of his death, disappeared from her house near the coast, and when found she attempted to throw herself off a cliff into the sea. She has gone mad, they say.”
Could grief have driven Benjamin's widow to such lengths? Seth had not yet met her and doubted he ever would. He had seen what the sting of losing someone had done to his sister, and thanked God that Juleah had been there to help her through.
Caroline's eyes narrowed with pity. “Though she was never warm toward me, I am glad someone prevented her.”
“I believe a local man held her back in the nick of time.” Bray breathed in through his nose and looked pleased. “Do I smell English beef?”