by RITA GERLACH
“Romantic?” Mrs. Breese clicked her tongue. “A sad turn of events, shrouded in mystery is hardly romantic, Dolley. There were things said and done we will never know … never.”
Darcy grew silent, for she had nothing she wanted to say that would reveal her own thoughts and feelings on the subject. But within her, emptiness remained.
Her aunt reached over and patted her hand. “Never mind, Darcy. You should not think on such sad things. I’m sorry for mentioning them. Let us return to the Rhendons’ invitation instead. I wager you will catch the eye of many a young man at this event. Perhaps even find a husband.”
Darcy shook her head. “Oh, not me, Aunt.”
“Why not? You are just as pretty as Lizzy and Martha, and I dare say even Abby and Rachel. Dolley is yet too young.”
Darcy disagreed. She thought her cousins were far more attractive. They were enamored with fashion, wore their hair in the latest styles, and always wore stockings and shoes; whereas she cared little for what was in and what was out, wore her hair loose about her shoulders, refused to wear stockings in hot weather, and loved going barefoot in summer.
She stood up and, going to the window seat, leaned on the sill and drew in the air. “If you could have your way, Aunt, you would have us all married by Saturday eve.”
Her aunt sighed. “Well you should have married a year ago. Lizzy and Martha should be married by the year’s end. I was sixteen when I married Mr. Breese.”
Mr. Breese looked over the rim of his spectacles. “Thank you for the reminder, my dear.”
She gave him a coy look in response. “Now, girls,” she went on. “We should look at each one of your dresses to see if they are in acceptable condition for this affair. If they are not we shall see if we can make subtle repairs or changes to them, perhaps add or subtract where needed.”
“Can we not make new dresses? Or go into town and buy new ones?” Lizzy gazed over at Mr. Breese with a demure smile and batted her large blue eyes. Darcy had seen it many times— Lizzy’s attempt to twist him around her finger.
“For all six of you?” Stunned, Mr. Breese lifted his brows. “I am not a rich man, Lizzy. You must make do with what you have.”
The girls pouted in unison, but Darcy rose to her feet and swung her arms around her uncle’s neck. “We shall make you proud of us. Our clothes are just as good as any others, and we should not be judged by what we wear. French fashion is out, since their gentry are wearing sackcloth and ashes these days.”
Mrs. Breese brushed her handkerchief over her neck. “Oh, Darcy. I hope you keep opinions like that to yourself while at Twin Oaks. Many people judge a young lady by the clothes she wears. It says where you fit in.”
“Yes, Aunt.” Darcy wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger. “I hear they have fine horses at Twin Oaks. Do you suppose they shall let us ride?”
Astonishment spread over her aunt’s face. “Certainly not. It would be unbecoming.”
“But ladies ride all the time, Mother,” said Abby. She had not spoken until now, and Darcy smiled. Lately, Abby strove to break out of her shy nature and join in the conversation. She was the politest of young ladies, and in appearance the image of her mother. Horses were her passion, and the idea of possibly riding one at Twin Oaks caused her eyes to light up.
“I do hope the Rhendons allow it, for you especially, Abby,” Darcy said.
“Ladies should not ride horses at country picnics,” said Mrs. Breese. “I will not have my girls racing about the grounds like backwoods bumpkins.”
Lizzy had to inject. “What do you suggest we do, Mother? Sit all day fanning ourselves, melting in the heat, making eyes at the boys?” Each girl giggled, except for Darcy, who smiled.
“There will be other things to do,” said Mrs. Breese. “You older girls must strive to be noticed, dance with those who ask, and do all you can to win a heart or two.”
“Sounds boring to me,” Rachel moaned, “and too hot to do anything.”
“Then be sure to wear plenty of powder, and stay in the shade,” said Mrs. Breese.
“Anything else we should know?” Mr. Breese folded his paper again.
“Well, I have not finished reading the invitation.” Mrs. Breese held the letter up to her eyes. “It says young Mr. Rhendon has brought a party with him from England. It does not list the names, but it says he brings two ladies and a gentleman.”
“The English cannot keep themselves away, can they?” Darcy said.
Mrs. Breese gave her a sidelong glance. “It says here, the gentleman is an exceptional rider and will make inquiry into Captain Rhendon’s thoroughbreds.” Again, she set the letter down on her lap and sighed with delight. “How interesting is that, my girls? Two ladies and an English gentleman.”
Mrs. Breese folded the invitation and set it on the side table next to her.
Darcy went from the room out into the hallway. She stepped out the door, sat down on the stone stoop, and stroked the dog’s ears. What would happen if she caught the eye of some gentleman at this gathering? He would have to have excellent qualities for her to like him, and she doubted if there was such a man alive, for her expectations were much too high.
She wanted a man like her uncle, kind, generous, with a sense of humor that matched his sense of duty. Could there be such a man searching for a girl like her?
She listened to the chatter coming from upstairs where the girls had gone to sort through their clothes. Missy, their housemaid, came down the stairs with an armload of frocks, stockings, and laces, all in need of washing and repair.
Her aunt appeared on the upstairs landing. “Darcy, come look at your gown. It is important.”
She did as she was asked, and when she drew out the best dress she owned from the armoire, she held it out before her and looked it over. Her aunt stared at it, tapped her forefinger against her chin, and huffed, “It will have to be made over.”
The gown in question opened down the back and closed with hooks and eyes. The bodice seams were piped with narrow cording of matching fabric, and the deep hem was faced with heavier fabric to protect it from wear.
“I think it is fine the way it is, Aunt. But if you think it needs altering …”
“Oh, indeed it does. We will alter the sleeves and add ribbon and trim. And we should remove the lace. It is so out of fashion.”
“Seems like too much work for one day’s outing.”
Mrs. Breese took a step back and squared her shoulders. “I dare say, Darcy, I have never known you to have a lazy bone in your body. Believe me, altering this gown shall be well worth your time. Besides, the cloth was too dearly acquired to abandon, and too many hours went into the original stitching to cast it off.”
Darcy agreed. She was not in the least bit slothful, but sewing made her fingers sore. Yet, she would follow through. “I did not mean we should cast it off, Aunt. I just happen to like it the way it is.”
“Then keep it as it is, if it pleases you.” Slapping her hands together, her aunt let out a little giggle. “I am so happy that full skirts and tight bodices are out of fashion, as well as highdressed hair and painted faces.”
Darcy smiled at the image in her mind. “I cannot picture you with your hair piled high and powdered, or your face painted.”
“Never!” said her aunt. “A tight bodice yes. But the rest, I cared not. For it was so vain and made a woman look clownish.”
Expecting such an answer, Darcy laughed. “Then I, too, am happy.”
Her aunt leaned toward her. “Now, we have four days to complete our tasks. Saturday shall be here before we know it.”
“Yes, Aunt.”
“Missy shall take care of the rest of the chores so you girls can work without interruption. Now you should be glad for that. No feeding the chickens. No collecting eggs. Isn’t that grand?”
“I like feeding the hens and collecting eggs.” She glanced at her aunt with insistence. “I can still do my work and finish my dress.”
“Let us
not put that to the test, Darcy.” And off her aunt went through the door, leaving Darcy to stand in the middle of the room with her dress in hand. She held it against her body and gazed into the mirror.
“It will do just as it is.”
With that resolved, she put it away and headed downstairs. She took up a willow basket from beside the kitchen door and went off to the hen house.
2
Along the country road, summer thrived, and the breeze blew dogwood petals onto the ground. Wild raspberry bushes drooped with succulent blood-red fruit along dusty hedgerows, and the songs of goldfinches echoed through the woods.
The Breeses owned one wagon, which doubled for family transport when needed. Mr. Breese had applied a fresh coat of black lacquer to it and painted the wheel spokes bright red.
“I wish we owned a carriage.” Mrs. Breese frowned. “People will stare and think very low of us.”
Darcy moved closer to speak to her aunt. “Just think, Aunt Mari, no wagon of this kind has ever rolled down the lane at Twin Oaks before, or along the river road for that matter. People will admire it, you’ll see.”
Darcy and her cousins sat together in the rear, while her aunt and uncle sat in front on cushions. A hat made of tightly woven straw shaded Darcy’s face. Her plain gown paled among the pink and blue calicos her cousins wore. Their hats were trimmed with matching ribbons, and each girl wore tan gloves and pale yellow shoes.
“Gloves are out of the question on such a hot day.” Darcy slipped them off and set them beside her. Her aunt turned with pursed lips.
“Dear me, Darcy. No gloves? What will Mrs. Rhendon think? At least keep your hat on until we enter the house.”
Darcy smiled and adjusted the wide ribbon under her chin. She brushed away a few petals that had found their way into the folds of her gown and settled back. Pulled by two dappled horses, the wagon rolled over the river road under a canopy of tall trees and then crossed the creaky bridge into Virginia. Crossing the bridge frightened Mrs. Breese, and she looped her arm through her husband’s and shut her eyes the whole way over.
When Twin Oaks came into view, Darcy put her hand above her eyes to study the large house with white porticoes and a wide porch. Embowered in wisteria, it stood at the end of a broad drive lined with sugar maples, with two oak trees out front. Farther back in the rear stood a stable, a smokehouse, and an icehouse constructed of whitewashed stone.
Locusts trilled, and warm air drifted through the trees. To the right waved wheat fields, to the left an apple orchard. At first glance, Twin Oaks appeared a pretty picture, but Darcy wondered how appealing were the lives that dwelt within its massive walls.
Out front were a number of carriages and saddled horses. “Many guests have already arrived,” commented Mrs. Breese, nodding back to the girls. “I’m glad we are not the first. I just hope we are not the last.”
“I hope they have lemonade.” Dolley fanned her face with her hand.
“And cake,” Rachel chimed in. “I adore cake.”
Martha nudged Rachel’s shoulder. “How can you think of food on a day like today?”
Abigail and Lizzy joined in to chastise their sisters, each chattering away at the same time. Darcy sighed and gazed up at the lush umbrella of limbs overhead. How misty the streams of light looked as they filtered through the trees. It made her heart swell. Why could her aunt and cousins not see such beauty and soak it in the way she did?
Dolley and Rachel sat on each side of Darcy and she looped their arms within hers. “Just look at the light coming through the branches above us. Is it not lovely?”
Dolley huffed. “Oh, Darcy. Must you grow poetic? We’d rather see tables full of cakes and pies and …”
“I am certain they shall have food and lemonade in abundance for you and Rachel to enjoy, Dolley. Your sisters are older and have no interest in the food at such a gathering as this. For there are other distractions.”
“Darcy is right,” Martha said. “Just look at the men gathered on the porch. Have you ever seen such gallants as these?”
“Are they not fine?” Abigail sighed.
“We are not close enough to tell,” Darcy said. “Besides, they may all be taken.”
“Still there are plenty to dance with,” finished Lizzy.
After they alighted from their wagon, a carriage rumbled toward the plantation house along its shady drive. Clouds of rust-colored dust whirled about its wheels. When it came to a halt at the front of the veranda, swarms of people gathered around.
“Look, it is Daniel Rhendon and his party.” Martha said. Darcy’s cousins straightened their backs and lifted their heads to get a better glimpse of the English guests.
Lizzy sighed. “He’s handsome.”
“Yes, but too young,” Martha said. “I prefer an older man.”
Lizzy laughed. “Very well for me then, for I like him. Unless you are interested, Darcy.”
Darcy glanced over at her cousin and smiled. “I will not interfere with your pursuits, Lizzy. But prepare yourself, for one can see he has designs on the lady he is helping down.”
Darcy watched on as the ladies were handed down. Two were lovely, their posture regal, and their clothes the finest summer gauze. The third woman was older and dressed like a servant. Her matronly attire matched her figure, her posture stiff as starch. Darcy’s gaze shifted to the man who had given his hand to a lady. He held her fingers firm until her pink satin shoe reached level ground. Then he let go.
Her first impression of him rang of prejudice, he being British. But she liked how he dropped the lady’s hand and moved back. Perhaps such a woman had no power over him. The lady glided away and at that moment, his gaze turned toward Darcy. Their eyes met and held. Darcy looked away.
Mr. Breese placed his lady’s hand over his arm and proceeded toward the veranda. Arms linked, the girls followed. Anxious young men gathered on the porch fixed their eyes upon them.
“Why do they stare at us?” Martha whispered to Darcy.
“They are looking at you and Lizzy, because you are so beautiful.”
“You leave yourself out, Darcy?”
“I do. I am plain next to you.”
“That is not true. You are so lovely, especially your hair. You know I’ve always envied it.”
“You are sweet to say so, cousin.”
“You caught the Englishman’s eye.”
A corner of Darcy’s mouth lifted. “I doubt it.”
“He is very handsome.”
Darcy hugged her cousin closer. “Do not be deceived by the outward appearance, Martha. There is no telling what kind of rogue is beneath that skin.”
She looked back over her shoulder. The English gentleman turned his eyes and held Darcy’s gaze, then turned away, his brow gathered. Had she intruded upon him?
His dark brown hair touched the edge of his collar. The cut of his coat, his black leather boots, and his white linen neckcloth were simple attire compared to some of the other men’s. Either he was rich and preferred not to flaunt his position, or he was a man of modest means.
Martha pulled her along, and as they reached the top step, Captain Rhendon and his wife welcomed them. His neckcloth, snowy-white and looped about his neck, looked too snug. His hair, gray and brown, whisked forward along his forehead and temples. Mrs. Rhendon, a head shorter than her husband, stood beside him.
A glimmer of envy was noted in her aunt’s eyes when she laid eyes on their hostess’s gown. Darcy did not care in the least what Mrs. Rhendon wore, but she did admire the color of the fabric. Pale yellow looked striking against her flawless skin.
“My dear Mr. and Mrs. Breese, so good of your family to come.” Mrs. Rhendon held out her hand. “We’re all about to gather out on the lawn. I hope the food meets the taste of Marylanders.”
Mrs. Breese smiled. “I’m sure it will. My, what a beautiful home you have here.”
“These are your daughters?” Mrs. Rhendon glanced over at the girls. Each curtsied prettily and smiled.
“Indeed they are. This is Martha our firstborn, hopefully the first to wed. And this is Lizzy. Her artistic talents are unsurpassed. And Abigail here has the voice of a nightingale.”
Appearing intrigued, Mrs. Rhendon’s brows arched. “Oh really? Perhaps she will entertain us with a song later.”
“She’d be glad to. Won’t you, Abby?” Mrs. Breese squeezed Abby’s elbow, and Abby nodded. “Rachel is an accomplished musician and plays the pianoforte very well. She and our youngest, Dolley, are with the other girls their ages. So you must excuse them.”
Darcy was last to be introduced. Her uncle, looking assertive, drew her forward. “And this is our niece, Darcy Morgan.”
Captain Rhendon lifted his chin. “Morgan? Not of River Run, I hope.”
His reaction to her hurt, but she tried not to show it by maintaining her smile. “I was born there, sir.”
Captain Rhendon spoke something beneath his breath, so quiet, no one caught his words. But Darcy had no doubt it was an expletive. River Run had not been lived in since she left it. The last time she ventured near it, thistles and pokeweed smothered what had once been a green lawn.
“We had no idea, Mr. Breese, you were related to that particular family,” said Mrs. Rhendon.
Mr. Breese made no effort to explain, but simply said, “My half-brother, ma’am, was Hayward Morgan, a true patriot of our cause.”
Mrs. Rhendon snapped her fan shut and turned to Darcy. “Your mother was a beauty, Darcy.”
“You knew her, ma’am?”
“Yes. When your father returned here with her, they attended a similar affair here at Twin Oaks. I recall her gown was deep amber, which set her apart from all the other ladies. But I dare say you take after your father’s good looks.” There was a faint ring of sarcasm in her voice, but her eyes, so well trained, did not show it.
Darcy extended a polite smile. “Thank you for your kind words, ma’am.”
Mrs. Breese squeezed Darcy’s hand. “Is your son well, now that he is home?”
Darcy breathed a sigh of relief that her aunt was astute enough to change the subject. For a moment, she dwelt on why the Rhendons seemed repelled by her last name.