Love in Three-Quarter Time

by Dina Sleiman

  Bravo! Constance thought, until she recalled the pronouncement was not to her liking.

  “Please, Robbie, please,” Molly begged from beside him, her brown corkscrew curls bobbing as she tugged on his arm.

  “Oh yes, please, Robbie.” Dolly batted her long eyelashes over big doe eyes from across the table, a habit she no doubt learned from her mother. An appalling, manipulative habit Constance must forsake once and for all. Compassion stirred in her chest for Mr. Percy, and she regretted her treatment of him. This plantation house with its space and luxuries had already caused her to slip into her old Gingersnap ways. She must reestablish the new prim and proper Constance Cavendish firmly in place at once.

  Robbie held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Fine, I’ll stay. For a week, and that’s all. You may have me in the evenings, for I will be working my farm during the days.”

  “Plantation!” They all said the word in unison and then fell into laughter at their inside family joke, to which Constance was not privy.

  “Fine. In the evenings.” Mrs. Beaumont nodded her head in affirmation. “So, let us discuss next week’s dance. We shall invite a few close family friends. Perhaps the Sugarbakers and the Pattersons. Mary, oh, Mary!” The woman bustled in from the kitchen.

  “Yes, ma’am. You don’t need to be causin’ such a ruckus, ma’am. I’m right in the kitchen as always.” Mary must have been twenty years older than the woman Constance met on the front lawn, although she appeared similar in size and mannerisms. Perhaps a relative.

  “Mary, remind me to hire musicians for Saturday evening the twelfth.”

  “You have a dinner with the Smiths on the twelfth.”

  “Oh dear, what about midweek?”

  “Mr. Beaumont will be gone.”

  “That’s correct. Make it the eighteenth. And we’ll need to send invitations to the Sugarbakers, the Pattersons, and, and…”

  “Mother, that’s nearly two—”

  She continued as if Robbie had never spoken. “Oh, and Lorimer is due that week. Yes, that would be perfect.” She clapped her hands together prettily.

  “Mother.” Robbie growled the word this time. No doubt he dreaded every second he would spend with Constance.

  Her heart sank as she thought of two weeks’ dancing in his arms. Then it sank even lower as she considered the option of not dancing in his arms. She longed to dash from the room and all the way back to Richmond. This was a mistake.

  “Miss Cavendish will have plenty of time to prove her skills as a teacher by then. Isn’t that right?”

  From somewhere, Constance found the strength, and the accent, to answer. “I shall strive to cover some basics by that time, but…” She wrung her napkin in her lap. Could she bear so many days in the same house with Robert Montgomery? She began to question the entire plan now. Surely the Lord would not ask so much of her. Surely she had not been that evil.

  “Precisely.” Mrs. Beaumont patted her coiffed hair. “It is perfect. Mr. Beaumont, you will return by the eighteenth, I’m sure.” Her smile tightened as she said it.

  “Well, I suppose I can cut the trip short one day. Of course, darling.”

  Her smile became genuine, and she offered her husband her hand for a kiss. This woman was a true genius at her art. If Constance hadn’t given up on society and all its false ways years ago, she could have learned much from this one.

  Then again, Constance was once a master of this game herself.

  “Oh, and Miss Cavendish, have I told you my most brilliant plan?”

  “Plan, madam?” Other than to turn her daughters into simpering flirts, a plan already mostly accomplished?

  “Why, yes. We are to introduce the waltz to Albemarle County!”

  “Mother!” Robbie protested.

  “Now, dearest,” her husband said.

  “I’ll hear no more on it.” Mrs. Beaumont waved away their hesitations. “This is not Richmond with its stuffy society. If the Beaumonts say the waltz is proper, so it shall be. If it’s good enough for the Prince Regent, it’s good enough for Charlottesville. Don’t you think so, Miss Cavendish?”

  The woman had already developed an alarming habit of putting Constance in tricky situations. But as she observed the inner workings of this household, she realized her agreement would be only a formality. She glanced toward Robbie. Constance could never bear to waltz with him again for as long as she lived. He must share her feeling. Why else would he protest his mother’s plan to introduce the waltz? She doubted he would otherwise care. But how could she deny Mrs. Beaumont now? “Of course it is all the fashion in London, but I—”

  “You see, I told you I would find the best dance teacher in Virginia. And with Robbie’s expertise, having been so recently to the continent—”

  “Don’t draw me into this, Mother.”

  So he had been abroad.

  “Why not? I’ve longed to see my son cutting such a dashing figure on the dance floor. But we shan’t introduce it yet. No, no. That will be for August’s coming out ball.”

  For the ball. Hmm…that meant all the attendees must learn the steps as well. An idea began to form in Constance’s mind, an idea that would make it worth the trouble of staying. “As I consider it further, Mrs. Beaumont, I think it a brilliant plan. And I am quite familiar with the waltz.”

  “I hoped as much with your European background,” said Mrs. Beaumont.

  Constance nodded despite her dubious heritage. “I say why should not a new dance be embraced in the burgeoning civilization of Albemarle County?” A somewhat barbaric countryside with its trappers and Indians and dirt-encrusted gentlemen farmers, she thought, but Constance would never say so aloud. “They are in want of just such a cultural experience.”

  Mrs. Beaumont clasped her hands before her. “Precisely. And I’m certain President Jefferson would approve. We’ll see to it that he comes, Mr. Beaumont. He’s always been the most fashionable fellow.”

  “The former president of the United States of America is busy planning an institution of higher learning.” Robbie tapped his temple. “I highly doubt he worries himself with dance trends.”

  “A man of innovation. As I said.” Mrs. Beaumont returned to her dinner, and so it was declared. The girls continued chatting about waltzes and dress fabrics for their coming out.

  Constance’s thoughts, however, ran toward the many Charlottesville residents who would need to add the waltz to their repertoires. She would wait to broach this issue with Mrs. Beaumont until the plan was well settled in her mind. Once they could no longer turn back, Constance would mention the necessity of her teaching the steps to their wealthy neighbors. And by August, Constance Cavendish would be the established dance instructor of Albemarle County.

  With all attention elsewhere, Robbie shot her a questioning look down the table. She would have to deal with him soon enough. He could yet ruin everything. Why on earth had she let Patience convince her to use that ridiculous accent? She continued to wonder as she struggled to eat the extra-large piece of pie she’d been promised when she arrived that morning. Delicious as it was, dread over the impending conversation had stolen her appetite.

  * * *

  With dinner finished, the women prepared to retire to the drawing room.

  Constance pushed away from the table.

  Robbie stood as well. “Miss Cavendish, if you please, I’d like to take you for an evening stroll.”

  “Oh?” His mother’s raised eyebrow indicated she did not approve.

  “Yes, Mother. Don’t you recall Miss Cavendish and I were acquainted when I stayed with the Rutherfords in Prince George County?”

  “Why, no, I did not remember.” Mrs. Beaumont glanced back and forth between Constance and Robbie, at a loss for words for once.

  “Just a few moments to catch up on old times.”

  Mrs. Beaumont frowned. “You may take a few moments to catch up on old times, I suppose.”

  Constance glanced out the window. The sun had nearly set and the sk
y grown dim. “Perhaps a short walk through the gardens, and then we can take some evening refreshment on the verandah,” she suggested out of long-held habit. Immediately, she could have kicked herself. How could her feet be so nimble and her tongue so clumsy? Refreshments would mean yet more time in his company.

  “Yes, perhaps we’ll all join you and Robert for some tea shortly,” said Mrs. Beaumont.

  Robbie took Constance’s arm before his mother could protest further and propelled her toward the carved double doors at the front of the house.

  Once they passed through the soaring columns and down the stairs, Robbie led her along the lane in the direction of the gated entryway.

  “But the garden—”

  “But the garden is far too close to the house for the conversation I have in mind. We might try to play at society out here in the wilderness, but the rules aren’t so strict as to forbid a stroll at dusk. And if I rightly recall, you had somewhat…shall we call them flexible… standards on such issues anyway.” He patted Constance’s hand, which rested in the crook of his arm, in a rather patronizing manner.

  “That was years ago, Mr. Montgomery. I hope you will let me prove to you that I have changed. This endeavor is ever so important to your mother.”

  “Mr. Montgomery now, is it? And I suppose that, Miss Cavendish, was your attempt to win my silence.”

  Constance fought the urge to look up at him with big, sad eyes as she would have in her previous life. “I simply think it would be in our best interests to put history aside and focus on the needs of your sisters and your mother at this time. I promise I shall not let them down. I was indeed taught by the best.”

  “Dancing? Ah, if it’s dancing to which you refer, I can’t disagree for a moment. Never was there a dancer such as Gingersnap Cavendish. No, I have no concern about your ability to teach dance—although I do have serious misgivings about your ability to consider anyone but yourself.”

  Constance bit her lip against the pain inflicted to her gut by that last statement, but she would not cry. “Well then, rest assured in this. It is in my own interest to become the best dance instructor Charlottesville has ever seen. So whether for my benefit or theirs, the result shall be the same.”

  He laughed, this time a sincere laugh. “That won’t be difficult. I’m not entirely sure Albemarle County has seen an actual dance instructor before today.”

  Constance smiled as well, but then the solemnity of the situation took over. “I wish you would give me a chance, Mr. Montgomery. I’ve been through much these past years, as well you know. I’m not the same careless girl you—” She had been about to say fell in love with, but then thought better. “I’m not the same careless girl you remember.”

  “I believe you. More than you might expect. For starters, the girl I knew spoke plain English. Would you care to explain how you suddenly acquired a Yorkshire accent?”

  “It is not sudden.” Constance stopped, turning to look up at him. “I spent the last few years…much of my childhood…I only suppressed it for…” Each of the lies died upon her lips as she gazed into his eyes. In the moonlight they shimmered like deep blue pools. She dared not let her mind wander to the last time she’d gazed upon him under the moon. “Patience thought your mother would hire me if she thought me British.”

  Constance turned down her head in shame. Frog croaks sounded from the fishing pond to their left. He started to shake beside her. How angry was he? She went to tug away. But then a hearty belly laugh exploded from the man. She pulled apart from him, this time in disbelief, and watched as he tossed back his head. He buried his fingers in his gleaming hair. Then his head fell forward as he continued to laugh and slapped his knee.

  Finally, he stood straight and wiped tears from his eyes. “That is so true! And it worked, so who am I to naysay you? It shall remain our secret, my clever girl, but don’t blame me if I smirk when you use it. You sound like a shepherdess one moment and abandon it entirely the next. You’d think Mother would hear it. But then again, Mother has a tendency to hear what she wishes.” He dissolved into laughter again.

  Constance’s ears burned. She had so tried to maintain the correct intonations, but had been caught off guard again and again over dinner. “I’m glad you find such amusement in my discomfort.”

  “It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” They’d reached the gate now, and the sun had sunken beneath the horizon, leaving streaks of orange, red, and purple in its wake. Robbie turned her around.

  “So we agree that you shan’t tell your mother about my questionable British heritage? I actually did spend a summer there, you know.”

  “Aye, we ’ave an agreement. I mun’t tell my mother.” He flattened his own vowels in imitation of her accent, then pulled her hand back to his arm. His demeanor softened. “How is Grammy, by the way?”

  He remembered. Tears pricked Constance’s eyes. She cleared her throat. “Well enough, I suppose. A bit wheezy in the winter. Matters…” How much should she tell him? Oh but it felt good to have a listening ear for once. “Matters haven’t been easy since we lost the plantation. We’ve found some work in Richmond, but not nearly enough.”

  He patted her hand, with sympathy this time. “My apologies. I was tired when I came in today, and shocked to see you. I’m afraid I let some anger build toward you after that last big fight. I should have thought to ask about your family. Forgive me.”

  As if he cared. If he had cared he would have married her then, taken them away from it all. He could have. Nothing stood in his way. But no, he deserted her and all her family. Nice as it might feel to cling to his rippling arm, it felt even better to cling to the comfortable shield of her anger and protect her heart as she had planned.

  She bristled and stood straighter. The words slipped out before she could stop them. “As if you care.” She hadn’t meant to speak them aloud. Gingersnap would have said something peevish like that. She attempted to settle her temper but met with only marginal success. “It hardly matters. This job will help. I don’t need your pity, although after all these years a bit of support would be nice.”

  Tension filled his arm. “You couldn’t expect…never mind. I’ll confirm your abundant amazingness, your majesty, demonstrate a few dances, and be on my way. I won’t trouble you much longer.”

  The temptation to draw her hand from his arm and stomp her foot, preferably on his toe, struck hard. But instead she took deep breaths and counted to ten as she matched her strides to his.

  You’ve changed, Constance, she told herself. She was no longer a hotheaded flirt. But she was doing no good job of proving it. “I’m sorry, Robert. I had resolved to keep my temper. Those memories…those days are not easy to recall.” Even as she said the words, images of Sissy and thoughts of her betrayal flooded Constance’s mind.

  “No, I’m sorry. We let our youthful passions run away with us, but we were never suited. I didn’t take time to realize that until it was too late. But I hope you will believe me that it wasn’t about your fortune.”

  Constance blinked a few times, recalling his grimy image from earlier that evening. “You work your own land?” she asked without preamble. “I thought you owned a plantation, but today you called it a farm.”

  “It’s a long story.” He sighed. “Suffice to say, I’m making some changes. I consider them improvements. Most people wouldn’t agree. I’m sure you wouldn’t agree. My parents certainly didn’t, but at least they’ve given up trying to deter me. Perhaps I should sleep there tomorrow. I hate to inconvenience the workers, but…I’m not sure we should stay in the same house. Then again I have to come for dinner and dance—”

  “Inconvenience?” The man made no sense.

  “Miss Cavendish. Robert.” Mrs. Beaumont called from the side verandah. “Enough of that cavorting in the dark. You’ll be a questionable example for the twins. Hurry and join us for tea.”

  Although the moon shone plenty bright to keep any “cavorting” from going on in the “dark,” Constance
let go of Robbie’s arm and hurried up the stairs. She did not for one moment wish to disappoint Mrs. Beaumont.

  Taking a cup, Constance settled into a chair. As the family chatter washed over her, her mind slipped away into the cool, cloudless evening. All these years she’d thought Robbie greedy and callous, but nothing she’d seen here confirmed that. He worked his own land, dirtied his hands. It seemed he even traded his plantation for a farm. What could it all mean?

  Perhaps she had somehow gotten everything wrong.

  CHAPTER 7

  Robbie rubbed a crick in his neck and wiped the sweat from his brow. He grew weary of plowing fields, but if they didn’t finish planting this corn soon, he would risk losing the entire plantation…rather, farm. Mr. Jones at the bank hadn’t been at all pleased to hear of his innovative plans. For years Robbie had let things run as usual, and Mr. Jones had been content to know his payments would arrive safely. But by Robbie’s way of thinking, these changes were long overdue.

  He had had every intention of freeing his slaves the moment he turned twenty-one and took over the operations from his mother, but then war had come in 1812 and the economy grew unstable. Then last year came with its freezing temperatures and failed crops throughout New England. Fortunately the States hadn’t been hit as hard as Europe, where many still suffered starvation. But matters such as emancipation must be handled with care. He couldn’t simply send his people out into the cruel world to fend for themselves during difficult times.

  Ever since childhood, Robbie had detested slavery—even risking his father’s wrath as a young boy by claiming he would free them someday. His schooling in the North only further embedded his distaste. But the day he rode to his plantation from White Willow Hall to find his childhood playmate, Jimbo, being beaten in the fields by the overseer had been the day Robbie vowed to make a change. Mr. Beaumont moved Jimbo to White Willow and replaced the cruel overseer, but that had not sufficed.