by Dina Sleiman
He rose and gazed into her eyes with those crystal blue pools. “In that case, I would be honored to accept your flirtation, ma’am.” His gaze held its own mischief and swirling intelligence.
What had Constance—or rather Gingersnap—gotten herself into now?
* * *
Several days later, Lorimer sat diagonally across from Constance in the Beaumont’s large carriage. When they had climbed in and discovered the elder Beaumonts on one side and the twins crosswise to the other, it had struck him as odd, but Mrs. Beaumont insisted she must tell Constance tales of Jefferson along the drive. And true enough, after many miles of travel, she still droned on, keeping him from conversation with the lovely young lady.
Constance caught his gaze and bit down a grin at the ridiculousness of it all. He had been the one to receive the invitation, largely on her behalf. They’d planned to ride in his wagon until the Beaumonts insisted their carriage was large enough for everyone to travel together. No harm, he supposed. He made small talk with Molly about her coming out and with Mr. Beaumont about his crops.
The situation did seem suspicious, though. Lorimer couldn’t help but wonder if the Beaumonts separated them on purpose. They’d served as attentive chaperones over the past few days, not even allowing Constance and him to walk the path to the servant’s quarters without Martha in tow. Of course, Martha didn’t mind getting out of a few chores to come along.
Constance had been nothing but friendly and forthright with him all week. She’d collected a list of questions from her Bible reading, which shocked him with their depth and intelligence. Here was a young lady who knew her own mind. But Lorimer couldn’t wait to see what she had planned for Robbie tonight.
Perhaps Lorimer should have talked her out of it. But he saw no real deception involved. A bit of exaggerated playacting, perhaps. Still, she’d been straightforward with him about that. He had observed the pain in her eyes when she spoke of her history with Robbie, and he was happy to see Constance taking Robbie’s confusing behavior in stride and having a bit of fun with it.
In fact, he suspected if any wrong motivation was involved, it was on Robbie’s part. He had told Robbie he would back down if the other man showed interest in Constance, and it looked like Robbie planned to take advantage of that concession with no real intention to court the girl.
Robbie would be in for a surprise.
Lorimer liked this impish side of the woman. God had instilled her with more than her fair share of wit and personality. Lorimer wouldn’t be surprised if her designer found some comedy in the situation as well.
The lovely lady in question stared out the window as the tree-laden mountain made way to the rolling plantation. “It’s magnificent. Just as I imagined.”
“Wait until you see the house.” Mrs. Beaumont turned her gaze out to the lush scenery as well.
“Do thou suppose Mr. Montgomery will arrive on time for once?” Constance asked, falling into her thicker Yorkshire speech as she did on occasion.
“For dinner with the Randolphs?” Mrs. Beaumont said. “Of course. His manners only grow lax with the family. In fact, until this year he was always such a punctual boy.”
“Excellent.” Constance sent Lorimer a mischievous grin.
CHAPTER 20
Constance had never experienced anything like the entry hall of Monticello, which was more a museum for curiosities than any sort of proper foyer. It held maps, artwork, Indian feathers and artifacts, even a wall covered with antlers. The double-faced clock featuring a system of weights to track the days of the week was nothing short of a scientific marvel.
She had thought the interior architecture would be similar to White Willow Hall because the brown brick exterior with white columns and dome seemed to match. But this home featured soaring ceilings and balconies unlike White Willow’s more basic two-story construction—Jefferson’s fascination with light, space, and time evident throughout. As she toured the statues and the griffin frieze, she clung to Lorimer’s arm.
Robbie bounded through the front door, full of energy for the first time in weeks. “Good evening, all,” he called.
At that moment the elegant, dark-haired Patsy Randolph, daughter of President Thomas Jefferson and hostess of Monticello, entered through a side hallway into the enormous two-story room.
“Welcome to Monticello. Mr. Beaumont, Mr. Montgomery, Lorimer.” She offered her hand to each of the gentlemen for a kiss and then turned to embrace the ladies.
“And you must be the Miss Cavendish. I’ve heard so much about.” Mrs. Randolph had a warm, motherly air about her.
“All good, I hope.”
“Of course.” She smiled to Lorimer and then reached to hug Constance as well. “My condolences on the passing of your father.”
“Thank you.”
“I trust your family is being well cared for despite his, shall we say, errors in judgment.” Mrs. Randolph’s kind support surrounded her like a comforting cloak.
Constance bit her lip. “It was difficult for a time, but things have been better since I’ve arrived in Charlottesville.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. If I can ever be of assistance, even in the smallest sort of way, please let me know.”
She liked this woman, very much. And felt at ease with her. “Well, since you mentioned it…” Constance turned her face away from Robbie, tilting her head so that her hair covered her features. Lowering her voice, she said, “This is a small matter indeed, but I wondered if you might go along with a little joke I wish to play on Mr. Montgomery tonight.”
Mrs. Randolph’s eyes glimmered. “I would be honored.”
“Anything you might say in support of Lorimer would be of great assistance.”
“I do recall your father mentioning you were quite a handful,” Mrs. Randolph chuckled.
“Never fear.” Constance touched her fingers to Mrs. Randolph’s arm. “I assure you Mr. Montgomery has earned this tonight.”
“I see.” Mrs. Randolph glanced at Robbie, then turned to Lorimer and spoke in an exaggerated volume. “She’s as lovely as you described, Mr. Lorimer. Hair like a glowing sunset, indeed.”
Constance snuggled closer into Lorimer’s arm and looked to see if Robbie observed.
He did, and he appeared none too pleased. Robbie strode to them. “Mrs. Randolph, did you know that Miss Cavendish and I have been acquainted for years? It’s been such a pleasure to rekindle our friendship. And I must say, I’ve always imagined her hair more a river of liquid fire.”
As the implication of him imagining her hair flowing free settled over them all, Mrs. Randolph cleared her throat and looked to the floor.
Red seeped from Robbie’s cravat toward his cheeks.
Constance suppressed a grin and then turned her face up to Lorimer. “I’m afraid I’ve never seen a river of fire, but I always have been stunned by the beauty of a majestic sunset.”
“Well said, Miss Cavendish.” Mrs. Randolph watched Constance with her keen eyes before she assessed the men. “Mr. Lorimer, I’m so glad you suggested I invite our charming newcomer tonight.” The statement held an undeniable implication that Lorimer staked claim to Constance, at least for the evening.
A large group of adults and older children entered the room. Mrs. Randolph introduced them to Constance, and her head spun as she attempted to recall the names. A Virginia and a Mary mixed among the bustle. Molly and Dolly claimed them and took them to an alcove to whisper and giggle.
Constance surveyed the surrounding museum again. The eclectic furnishings. The ingenious inventions. One of the most famous families in these United States. She could barely take in the wonder of it all. Thank goodness the former president himself was not in residence; it might well be too much all at once. Clutching Lorimer’s arm, she looked into his eyes for support. His smile soothed her to her toes.
The butler, in elaborate gilded livery that would put Samson’s to shame, walked through the archway with Samson’s same air of regal authority. He cli
cked his heels together and lifted his chin. “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you, Burwell,” said Mrs. Randolph.
Burwell led them through the archway to a large dining room at the right of the parlor. Cheerful, yellow paint glowed from the walls. The tea room beyond featured huge, paned windows that filtered the warm, evening sunshine and overlooked the exquisite countryside.
Mrs. Randolph nodded to the table. “You may seat yourselves. We’re all family here tonight.”
Lorimer led Constance to the far side and pulled out a chair for her, but before she could be seated, Mrs. Beaumont wedged her considerable girth between them. “Mr. Lorimer, if the twins and I may sit by you tonight I would be greatly honored. We’ve had some theological issues we’ve been wishing to discuss with you.”
Constance wondered at her reasoning. She’d had hours to ask any questions in the carriage.
“But, Mother…” Dolly protested, motioning toward her friends with her head.
“No buts, darling; it’s not polite.” Mr. Beaumont rolled his eyes at his wife’s antics.
Once the fray settled, Constance found herself separated from Mr. Lorimer by Mrs. Beaumont and Dolly and seated across from Robbie. It seemed she was not the only one with a plan for the evening. But hers would not be thwarted so easily.
She made a point of tipping forward and waving to Lorimer past the obstruction of Mrs. Beaumont and a blue-clad twin. Mr. Beaumont snorted.
Their hostess took the seat at the head of the table. And the twins did manage to situate their friends nearby them. Everyone settled in for some polite dinner conversation.
Robbie leaned across the table and whispered, “You look alarmingly beautiful tonight, Miss Cavendish. I fear my heart cannot bear it. The yellow of your gown calls to mind buttercups in the field at springtime and brings out the roses in your cheeks.”
“Don’t be preposterous. I am most assuredly not vegetation, Mr. Montgomery.” She flicked him away with her hand and pressed forward again. “Is the weather down there as lovely as it is in my hemisphere of the table, Mr. Lorimer?”
“The light of your presence reaches even to the farthest corners of the earth, Miss Cavendish. I bask in your radiant glow.” He curved his lips into a lazy smile.
Constance giggled and batted her lashes at Lorimer. “You say the most delightful things. Little wonder you earn your living with that gilded tongue.”
“I only speak true praises of my heavenly Father and his most marvelous creations. Of which you are at the top of the list.”
“My, my.” Constance pressed a hand to her chest is if she might swoon.
“And may I say,” Robbie said as he ran his fingers through his thick silky waves, “that your skin fairly glimmers in this golden room.”
“Mr. Montgomery!” Constance hissed under her breath. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and patted her upper lip. “It is unmannerly to draw attention to a lady’s perspiration.”
Robbie clenched his jaw at her intentional distortion of his words.
“Ah, my dear,” said Lorimer, “I see nothing but the glisten of dew on a lily.”
“I do so adore flowers, especially lilies.” Constance replaced her handkerchief. “Like the lilies in the Bible.”
“Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these.” Lorimer winked.
Robbie pressed his hand to his forehead.
“So, Mrs. Randolph,” Mrs. Beaumont boomed to thwart the flirtation midstream, “have I mentioned our plans for the girls’ coming out ball in August?”
“Yes, I believe you have. I love a good ball. As Father always says, ‘Dancing is a healthy exercise, elegant and very attractive for young people.’”
“So we may plan on seeing you there. And your dear father as well, I hope.”
“Hmm…in August?” Mrs. Randolph gestured for the butler to begin serving dinner.
“The second Saturday. Everyone shall be there. The Madisons are finally home to Montpelier and might travel in for the event—although, of course, the Monroes will not be in attendance this time.”
Mrs. Randolph nodded to the servants with approval as they began placing the soup course on the table. “I do believe Father will have company visiting from Washington, DC, that week. Several political families.”
“Well, bring them along.”
“Splendid. We shall. Despite our illustrious neighbors, we have a difficult time convincing his metropolitan friends that we don’t live in the wilderness, and Charlottesville does indeed offer fine entertainment.”
“Indeed, and we intend to introduce the waltz, so we shall most certainly prove we are not provincial.”
“Wonderful plan, Mrs. Beaumont. I did so enjoy it while in France. Speaking of which, after our ‘Soup Monticello,’ we’ll be enjoying French chicken fricassee, compliments of Fanny Hern.”
“I heard your chefs were trained in France,” Constance sat forward, intrigued. “How progressive. And what a delightful luxury in the frontiers of America.”
“Where better to launch a grand new society, Miss Cavendish?”
“So true.” Constance bit her lip, but decided she simply must ask the question pressing upon her, as she still struggled over her role in Sissy’s betrayal and her family’s downfall. “Because you’ve already broached the subject, Mrs. Randolph, may I be so bold as to ask about your family’s views concerning the education of slaves in general? Do you restrict it only to practical skills such as cooking, or does it extend to the academic arena?”
Mrs. Beaumont shifted in her chair and crinkled her napkin.
“Of course you may ask, my dear.” Mrs. Randolph waved away any unspoken concerns. “Many of our house servants and skilled workers have managed to acquire a basic academic education. I think my daughters might have more to say on this issue than me, however.” She raised her eyebrows at the young ladies seated near Molly and Dolly. Virginia conspicuously looked at the ceiling.
Another whose name Constance did not recall made a comical face. “I’m sure I don’t know to what you refer, Mother.” Mary giggled. By the grin on the face of the servant placing ornate bowls upon the table, Constance deduced she might have much in common with the enterprising young ladies.
Robbie half covered his mouth with his hand and motioned toward them with his head. “The daughters taught the servants to read,” he whispered.
“Aye, Mr. Montgomery,” she whispered in return. “I am not a complete ninny.”
Mr. Beaumont must have caught that, for he chuckled.
Robbie pulled at his cravat. Constance offered him a smile to soothe the blow.
“Any word on the talks in Washington concerning slavery?” asked Lorimer as the servants placed the final bowls of beef soup with vegetables and herbs before them. “I had hoped once the international trade was banned, we would continue making strides to end it as the Europeans have.”
“Not that I’ve heard.” Mrs. Randolph reached for her spoon. “I’m afraid slavery is too ingrained in our culture to be easily disposed of.”
Constance nearly regretted mentioning the topic, but Mrs. Randolph’s eyes sparkled with a keen intelligence that said she could gracefully handle any situation. The beef and herb fragrance of the soup drew Constance, and she succumbed to the distraction. As she took her first bite, the flavor proved as exquisite as the scent had promised.
“And it will only get more and more deeply ingrained.” Lorimer used his best preacher voice. “Clearly people of African descent are intelligent human beings with eternal souls. Nowhere on earth is that more apparent than right here at Monticello.” He smacked the table, causing the crystal to quiver. “They are Americans as much as you and me. Until they share our basic rights, our constitution remains a mockery.”
Constance wondered if he might climb on his chair next, but Lorimer managed to remain seated.
“Matters will only get worse if we stand by now. We can’t let this opportunity pass. We must keep the momentum goi
ng toward freedom.”
Overcome by his passionate speech, Constance waved her spoon in the air. “Here! Here!”
“Such stimulating conversation is precisely why we keep inviting Mr. Lorimer to visit. I did not know you were an abolitionist as well, though, Miss Cavendish,” Mrs. Randolph said. “Little wonder these forward-thinking young men have chosen to fight it out for your affections at my dinner table like the Battle of Bunker Hill.”
Everyone burst into laughter. Although by the strained smile on Robbie’s face, he did not find it funny.
CHAPTER 21
As the men chatted after dinner, Robbie excused himself.
He moved to the attached parlor, where he found the twins oohing and aahing over the camera obscura with the Randolph girls. Constance sat with the adult ladies in one of the many window niches, talking about the upcoming dance lessons.
As Robbie approached, his mother reached out a hand toward him. “Robbie, why don’t you take Miss Cavendish for a tour? She’s seen so little of Monticello.”
“Splendid idea, Mother. My thoughts precisely.”
“I…uh…” Constance glanced to and fro—for Lorimer, no doubt.
“You simply must tour the grounds. Robbie, show her the walkways and dependencies,” said Mrs. Beaumont.
“Oh, and Mulberry Road,” added Mrs. Randolph.
“Of course,” Constance conceded. “That sounds lovely.”
“You needn’t bother the servants for your outdoor accoutrements,” he said, for he remembered well how Gingersnap hated them. “The evening is warm, and we won’t go far.” Robbie offered his arm, and they exited the house together through the parlor door and into the twilight.
As they made their way across the yard, Robbie pointed out the cellar level walkway, concealed by shrubs. He led her up the steps to the terrace, and they strolled along the wooden planks overtop the walkway and then turned to the right.