Love in Three-Quarter Time

by Dina Sleiman

  The entire room seemed to let out a collective gasp. Including Robbie, who had not known this lurid detail. He’d guessed Mr. Cavendish misused his female slaves, but for such stunning proof to exist…He struggled to collect his thoughts.

  Patience’s face blanched and tears filled her eyes. Felicity sat with her mouth agape.

  Mrs. Cavendish rose and began to pace the floor, tearing at her gray hair all the while. “I should have known. I guessed as much, but I’m just a country girl from England. What am I to understand of such matters? He said to leave it to him. He’d handle everything. He knew best. Oh what a fool I was. I might have prevented it all, but I was too much a coward. Oh! Oh!” Her face went ghostly now and her breaths came in quick spurts.

  Robbie grabbed her from behind by the elbows. “Dear Mrs. Cavendish. You must calm yourself before you faint.” He settled her back on the settee beside Felicity, who now gazed at him with resignation.

  “Martha, run and fetch my smelling salts,” Mrs. Beaumont commanded, and the servant took off in a flash.

  “I think I knew as well,” Patience muttered eerily from behind the settee, staring at nothing in particular over the fireplace.

  “You weren’t to blame, Mother,” Constance said. “Father’s evil caused this. You are not to blame, and I am not to blame. Even Robbie is not to blame. Such wickedness comes with consequences.”

  Lorimer stepped forward. “But the time of those consequences is finished. The season for redemption is now. You can let this night destroy you, or it can be the start of something beautiful and new.”

  Martha dashed back in and waved the salts beneath Mrs. Cavendish’s nose.

  The woman pushed them away and endeavored to sit up straight. “No need, Martha. Mr. Lorimer is correct. We must let this be a night of healing, a new beginning. We’ve no choice.”

  Patience swiped at her tears. “I agree, Mother. By all means, this can go on no longer.”

  Mrs. Cavendish directed her attention to her youngest daughter at her side. “Felicity.” The girl took her mother by the hand.

  “There will be no more talk of hanging.” Mrs. Cavendish’s voice grew stronger with each syllable.

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course. I didn’t know when I said it.” Felicity stared at her lap.

  “Mr. Montgomery, although your actions might be considered illegal, I see in your eyes that your heart is pure.” Mrs. Cavendish looked up at him, her own eyes filled with a mixture of pain and determination. “You were young and rash. Perhaps you might have done better, but we all could have made different choices that might have averted tragedy that night. And truth be told, given all the heartache my husband had wrought, perhaps nothing could have prevented it at all.”

  Robbie’s heart turned an odd somersault in his chest. He’d not allowed himself to dream of such an outcome to this wretched evening. “So might you forgive me, Mrs. Cavendish? I swear to you I have paid my penance a hundred times over in losing your beautiful daughter from my life.”

  Mrs. Cavendish closed her eyes for a moment and opened them again. “Aye, somehow I will find the strength. I shall endeavor to dwell on those of us you saved—the five Cavendish ladies and all the precious servants.”

  “Do you forgive me as well, Mother?” asked Constance, still on her knees before the woman.

  “Of course, dear.” Mrs. Cavendish managed a small chuckle to prove the ludicrousness of such a request. “I can’t fathom that you blamed yourself. I suspected about Sissy all along. Nor are you at fault for Robbie’s actions.”

  “Maybe we should count it all as the fallen state of mankind and move forward,” said Lorimer. “No more casting blame. What’s past is past. And might I suggest, Mrs. Cavendish, that you send emancipation papers to any escaped slaves we can locate? I believe that would be a way to finally put this matter to rest. A sort of reconciliation. Relinquish them to God and the past along with them.”

  What was the man thinking? Mrs. Cavendish was no abolitionist. She had never once showed such leanings. Although Robbie realized, now that Constance had declared her affections, he felt rather fond of Lorimer once again.

  “I…I…” Mrs. Cavendish looked wide-eyed at the circuit preacher.

  Lorimer nodded his head in that strong, charismatic sort of way he had.

  “I would never have thought of it…” Mrs. Cavendish patted her chest. “But it sits well in my soul. And I certainly have no need of them now. Nor would I feel comfortable reaping profit from their sale.”

  Robbie’s mother sat forward as if to speak, her gaze locked directly upon him. A few muted squeaks squeezed through her lips, then she leaned back again with moisture shimmering in her eyes.

  “I think what my wife wishes to say,” Mr. Beaumont stood, “is that we’re proud of you, son. You are a man of your convictions. What parents could ask for more?”

  A heavy iron weight of five years—no, of the seventeen years since his father died so disappointed in him—floated away from Robbie’s shoulders in that instant. As Mr. Beaumont took him in a strong embrace, he felt like a lad of nine years again, but this time loved and accepted. His mother sobbed and rushed to join the hug. And his sisters completed the circle.

  He had thought tonight would be the beginning of the end. That he’d be hanged for certain. Instead he’d been set free, just as Marcus proclaimed. Only one issue remained to be addressed.

  He untangled himself from the knot of his family. “Before we adjourn the meeting, there’s one more matter.”

  “Good gracious, no!” shrieked his mother. “No more, please,” agreed Mrs. Cavendish.

  “I must, but it’s not so terrible…I hope.” He tugged Constance from the floor, looped his arm about her, and leaned over to kiss her hair, that liquid fire. “I know it’s too soon and probably far too much to ask, but, Mrs. Cavendish, when you’ve had time to forgive me, would you please consider allowing me to marry your daughter?”

  Mrs. Cavendish blinked in wonder. “Constance? This is why I must forgive him. You love him too. You’ve loved him all this time.”

  “I’ve tried for five years to cease loving him, Mama, and I simply can’t.” Now Constance began to cry.

  “You’ve been a specter of yourself.”

  “I know.”

  Mrs. Cavendish took a deep breath. “You may marry her anytime you like. She needs you, Mr. Montgomery. And the past ends tonight.”

  “Oh, how wonderful!” His mother found her voice at long last. “I couldn’t wish for anything better. Mrs. Cavendish has become like a sister to me. Now you all shall be family.”

  “And on that,” Lorimer said as he clapped two times in quick succession, “I think everyone needs sleep and time to process our thoughts.”

  The gathered family began to stir.

  “Wait!” Constance called. “Yet one more matter, and a good one this time. I promise.”

  “What, darling?” Robbie asked. What could possibly remain?

  “While we’re all still collected, I’d like to request a gift to celebrate our union.”

  Mr. Beaumont smiled. “Splendid idea, my dear. Anything you wish.”

  “That’s my sister for certain,” Patience teased. “Gingersnap Cavendish back in fine form tonight. Thinking of presents already.”

  Constance stuck out her tongue. “I would like ownership of Martha and her beau, Josiah, from the Sugarbaker plantation to take with me to Montgomery Manor.” She began to giggle.

  “Mercy!” Martha fanned herself with her hand. “Now that sure would be one fine present for all of us.”

  “Perfect!” shouted Mr. Beaumont. “I will see to the arrangements at once.”

  Everyone stood to offer hugs and kisses of congratulations before heading off to bed.

  Once the room had emptied, Robbie leaned down and whispered directly into Constance’s lovely, shell-shaped ear. “And I suppose as soon as they’re ours, you plan to set Martha and Josiah free.”

  “Naturally.” She wrinkle
d her pert little nose, and he dropped a kiss upon it.

  On this night more than ever before, Robbie valued freedom.

  EPILOGUE

  Montgomery Manor, October 1817

  Constance brushed her dusty hands on her apron and retied the headscarf she’d borrowed from Martha. How had Robbie let the place fall into such disrepair in only a few months? But after a day of Cavendish magic, her soon-to-be home gleamed and smelled of beeswax. She surveyed the spacious but simple plantation house from the hallway in the center. A parlor filled with moderate furnishings, a dining room, a library, and a sitting room. Plus the five bedrooms upstairs and sprawling attic. Perfect for growing a family.

  Patience entered the back door, coming from the kitchen outside, and scurried past her with a tray. “Come join us on the front porch. I’ve made lemonade.”

  Although her family, Grammy included, now resided in their own little home in Charlottesville, they’d come to help her and Robbie open the plantation house. With the wedding a week away, they needed all the assistance they could find.

  Constance joined them on the porch just as Robbie strode up the steps. He gave her a quick kiss on her cheek, and as always, she tingled at his touch.

  Mother rocked on a chair, her gaze sweeping across the rolling hills. “Ah, it’s almost like coming home.”

  “Please do consider it your home, Mrs. Cavendish. Come visit anytime you like,” Robbie said.

  “That I will.”

  Felicity perched herself on the railing and peered at the forest to the right. “What’s that?” She shielded her eyes and pointed toward the horizon.

  A band of shadowy figures emerged from the trees and headed their way. Constance could not make out faces with the sun to their backs, but one broke free and ran toward the house with a familiar gait. Before long, the fringe of her short dress came into view.

  “Sissy?” Constance remained frozen on the porch.

  “Ginger!” the woman called.

  Constance waved but could not convince her feet to move.

  By the time Sissy had nearly reached them, Constance could make out more of the group. Hulking James walked beside a wagon with a child attached to each leg and along with others she recognized from the Black Indian tribe.

  Sissy ran up the steps and flung herself into Constance’s waiting embrace.

  Constance took her by the arms. “What are you doing here?”

  “Lorimer told us everything.” Sissy turned to offer Mother a melancholy grin.

  “Aye, and we know about your little Red Bird.” Mother reached out her hand, and Sissy clasped it. “You are all welcome here nonetheless.”

  “I never wanted to hurt you none, Mrs. Cavendish.”

  “I understand. Let’s not speak of it again,” said Mother.

  “George! Henry!” Robbie now dashed off the porch toward the others.

  “We done come home, Mr. Robbie.” The man named George held out his hand for Robbie to shake. Robbie ignored it and pulled him into an embrace as well.

  “It’s a hard life out there,” said Henry. “We had our taste of freedom, and Montgomery Manor is lookin’ mighty fine right about now.”

  “Truly?” Constance asked Sissy.

  “Yes’m. And now that Lorimer done brought us our papers, we figured we was free to join them. We’ve come home too, Miss Ginger, if you’ll have us.”

  Constance clutched Sissy to her once again. “And this time, there will be no reason to run away.”

  “This time can’t nothin’ make me leave you.”

  As rounds of greetings and giggles continued, Constance stood back and watched in awe. Robbie took her hand and dragged her from the porch down onto the springy grass. Until that moment, she’d forgotten she left her shoes in the parlor. He spun her in a circle and caught her in a hold, leading Constance into the gliding steps of the waltz.

  “What are you doing, you crazy man?”

  “I’ve nearly doubled my work staff today, and more important, everyone is home where they belong.” He tossed back his head and laughed. “What better reason to dance?”

  Constance abandoned herself to the motion, expressing her joy in full measure, allowing the gingersnaps to fly at will, igniting the air with her bliss.

  As Henry broke into a lively tune and George pounded upon the rail in three-quarter time, the others paired up and joined them for a spontaneous ball right there on the front lawn of Montgomery Manor.

  * * *

  Lorimer, astride his horse, adjusted his hat as the reunion in the distance unfolded before him. The copper hair of one feminine form particularly held his gaze. Constance and Robbie had done it. They had learned to live freely and lightly in the rhythmic flow of the Holy Spirit. And somehow in the process, Lorimer had ended up alone, observing from the tree-covered ridge.

  But it had never been about him. It had always been about God.

  At least Lorimer could find some small comfort in the fact that there still remained two unattached and very lovely Misses Cavendishes.

  HISTORICAL NOTES

  Although I used primarily fictional characters and settings, the general history, culture, and geography of this story are correct to the best of my understanding. The Monticello scene with the Randolphs should reflect a factual representation of the plantation. I included details down to furnishings, slave names, and even a quote attributed to Jefferson. While many facts about Patsy Randolph are true, the scenes depicting her are my own creations.

  I don’t know when the first waltz was danced in America and doubt that Jefferson was in attendance at the ball. It was well accepted in England by 1816, however, and in the States by 1835. And, of course, it had to start somewhere. I’m also not certain that the phrase “belle of the ball” was used quite this early, although it is reasonable to suspect it was.

  The Regency era waltz was quite different than the boxy American waltz performed today. I illustrated the style of that time throughout the book. I used a more well-known waltz hold in the prologue, however, to not jolt the reader or bog down the beginning of the book with encumbering details.

  Another aspect of the story that interested me was the Black Indian tribe. The most famous Black Indians were a Monacan tribe near Bear Mountain in Amherst County in Virginia. I moved my village slightly north to facilitate my story; the Monacans, however, did reside throughout the Shenandoah Mountains, and I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of touring a historical Monacan village in Natural Bridge.

  I had a fun time fusing the Southern plantation, frontier, Native American, and Regency cultures for this book. I hope you will forgive me if I ever let my imagination run away with me and that you enjoyed my Scarlett O’Hara meets Jane Austen novel.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to offer special thanks to everyone who helped make this book possible.

  My agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, encouraged me to give historical romance a try, helped me pick a setting, and guided me as I fine-tuned the final product.

  Thanks to my family, who put up with my incessant writing schedule as I worked on the rough draft.

  Thanks to all the members of Inkwell Inspirations, HIS Writers, and my local ACFW group, who laughed, cried, and prayed with me over the years through this crazy journey.

  Thank you to my editors at Zondervan First, who had faith in me as their launch author and made the process so enjoyable.

  A shout-out to the wonderful ladies who critiqued this novel: Angela Andrews, Roseanna White, Christine Lindsay, Debra Marvin, Susan Diane Johnson, and Gina Welborn. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  And finally, thank you to the still small voice of the Holy Spirit that sparked this whole idea by whispering the awesome title to my heart.

  About the Author

  Dina Sleiman writes lyrical stories that dance with light. Most of the time you will find this Virginia Beach resident reading, biking, dancing, or hanging out with her husband and three children, preferably at the oceanfront. Since finishin
g her professional writing MA in 1994, she has enjoyed many opportunities to teach literature, writing, and the arts. She was the overall winner in the 2009 Touched by Love contest for unpublished authors. Her debut novel, Dance of the Dandelion, was released by WhiteFire Publishing in 2011. Join her at www.dinasleiman.com as she discovers the unforced rhythms of grace.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  “The Waltz,” Lord Byron, 1813

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Historical Notes

  Acknowledgments