by RITA GERLACH
“Yes, that is the problem.”
“You think too hard on such things.”
Darcy looked in disbelief at her cousin. “And what is wrong with that?”
“Our brains were not made to ponder so deeply such strenuous issues.”
Darcy balked. “Where did you hear such nonsense, Martha? Uncle Will never taught us such a lie. And a lie it is, for God made us just as smart as men, if we desire to be so. And I do not mind saying that slavery is an evil we must not abide.”
Martha looked back at the boys fanning the tables. “You are right to say so. I imagine those boys would rather be swimming or fishing on a day like today.”
Darcy sighed. “Instead they are enslaved and will stay that way until the day they die. Let us be kind to them.”
“Well, I shall find the cake,” said Abigail rising, “before Rachel devours every last crumb.”
They all hurried off and left Darcy alone. Above her, the oak spread out in a parasol of green to shade her. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the waxy leaves that twisted in the breeze.
“Your opinion of slavery is much different from that of some others in your country. Are you permitted to voice it to people other than your own family?”
She jerked her head around to see Ethan leaning up against the tree, the sole of his right boot pressed against the trunk. She gathered her dress about her knees and glanced up at him. She could not help feeling the flutter in her chest upon seeing him. His eyes were warm as they met hers.
“Forgive me,” he said, pulling away from the tree. “I’ve startled you again.”
She turned her head away with a lift of her chin. “Not at all.”
“And my question?”
She smiled back at him. “My uncle encourages us to speak our minds.”
She looked away toward the porch. Her cousins were busy, along with the other guests, filling their plates with the milk and honey of Virginian hospitality.
“My family welcomes my opinions. As for strangers,” Darcy said, “I did not know anyone else would overhear my comments.”
He inclined his head. “I beg your pardon. I was walking this way without the intention of eavesdropping. Will you not follow your cousins to the tables?” He put out his hand hoping she would take it.
She ignored his offer. “I am not hungry. And it is too hot to eat.”
“I agree …”
She gave him a haughty look. “I believe you are a lady’s escort.”
“How did you know?”
“We saw the carriage drive in, and you gave your hand to one. Won’t she be angry that you are speaking to me? It is rude of you to leave her alone.”
“She hasn’t even noticed I’ve gone. She has a swarm of men surrounding her and is getting plenty of attention.”
“Is she not engaged to you?”
“No, only assumed to be.”
“I see. She is beautiful.”
“Yes, but beauty fades.” With his eyes fixed upon Miss Roth, Ethan’s voice fell into a tone that hinted upon disappointment. In those large blue eyes belonging to Miss Roth thrived no sign of love, only possession and disapproval that he spoke with Darcy. She headed in Ethan’s direction once she broke free of the men around her.
“Pray, Ethan, present me,” she said.
“Miss Roth, may I present Miss Darcy …” and he hesitated.
Miss Roth leaned against Ethan. “Perhaps she hasn’t a last name of any importance. Shall we join the others? I have an appetite now.”
Then, with a regal lift of her head, she held her hand out to him.
Darcy glanced at Ethan, watched the anger bank in his eyes. She wondered if Miss Roth saw it too. If she did, she cared not a whit. “Will you walk back with us, Miss Darcy?”
“Yes, I think I will. But I will have to join my aunt. She is motioning to me.”
Giving his arm to Miss Roth, Ethan led her across the grass to the stairs, to the cool shade of the veranda. Darcy was mortified by how the snobbish Englishwoman had treated her. She detested the sanctimonious smile, the critical eye that Miss Roth had cast upon her, as if she were one of her servants.
Yet, I feel sorry for her. How exhausting it must be, demanding the attention of others, striving to be something she is not.
When she glanced at Ethan and saw his eyes turn in her direction, but never catching them, her breath held and she looked at him with a yearning to make him think better of her than what Miss Roth had made certain to plant within his mind. Or had she?
The sun dipped low along the horizon, and a butler dressed in scarlet stepped out among the guests gathered on the porch. With an elegance that matched that of an English herald, he lifted his head, his white-gloved hands motioning to all before him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, attention if you please.” His voice rang mellow and deep, and it caught Darcy’s ears. A memory forced its way to the surface. She had once before heard a voice such as this—long ago as a child. A face she could not see, but she remembered a pair of hands, calloused and sinewy, picking her up, placing her on a swing, and pushing her with gentleness on a midsummer day.
She blinked the memory back and watched the butler bow low to the assembly and sweep his hand toward the door. “The musicians have tuned their instruments, rosined their bows, and gathered around their sheets of music, and they await your pleasure. If you please, follow me into the great hall, where your host and hostess bid you to dance.”
With an elegant turn, he proceeded through the entryway. The guests followed him with excitement in their steps. Mrs. Breese drew Darcy and her older cousins close to her. “Come, girls. Remember what I taught you. A graceful figure gathers attention.”
Once inside the house, Darcy glanced over the trappings. The entrance to the dance hall was a carved frame painted pale yellow, with a bower of blood-red roses set above it to scent the room. Paintings hung on the walls. Chairs of blue velvet lined the perimeter. Tall French doors stood open.
Darcy’s heart raced at the sound of violins. The music struck up and gallants gathered up girls and drew them out onto the floor. A long row formed, gentlemen on one side, ladies on the other. They weaved up and down the line, ending with their hands touching a partner’s.
Pulled into the fray of dancers, she scanned the room for Ethan. A moment more, and there he was, standing near the entrance. Miss Roth opened her fan and sat down in the chair near him, followed by Miss Byrd. Their heads were held high, and they sat with their backs straight as broom handles.
Darcy thought it a shame to live day in and day out with a face covered in powder and rouge, to be confined to a life of boredom, of social gatherings where one’s rank ruled supreme. She felt sorry for Miss Roth. But then their eyes met, and Miss Roth gave Darcy a cold stare.
The slow turn of her body, her hair loose about her shoulders, the elegant music seeping through her pores, brought Darcy back and made her feel happy to have lived the life God gave her. She smiled as she glided, going from one gentleman’s hand to another’s.
But never Ethan Brennan’s.
5
Ethan looked out into the crowd of dancers. Amid the laughter and happy voices, one would think he would have joined in the merriment. But Miss Roth held him near and refused to partake in the Americans’ country-dance. She pleaded he not leave her side, but allow her to sit awhile until an oldfashioned gavotte played.
“It is vulgar the way Americans strut and whirl,” she said. “These are the cream of their society, yet they glide and trip like the lower classes back home. There is no grace, no elegance. It must be due to their bloodline.”
It did not show on his face, but Ethan was annoyed at her narrow-minded remark. “Why should bloodline have anything to do with dancing, Miss Roth?”
“A talent for dance is inbred, sir. I doubt any of these people descended from English nobility but rather from indentured servants and headstrong rebels.” She then snapped her fan shut and sighed. “Therein lies the answer, I
believe.”
“Your prejudice fails to flatter you, Miss Roth,” Ethan told her.
“Oh, it is not prejudice, Mr. Brennan, but simple observation of what is true.”
“Observation is jaded by prejudice.”
“Is it? Well, you shan’t catch me whirling and leaping about like a common herd-girl.”
“No doubt I shall not. You are too tightly wound.”
Miss Roth’s mouth fell open. “I hope you meant that as a compliment, sir. Or shall I think otherwise?” She leaned over to her friend seated beside her. “Miss Byrd, you heard what Mr. Brennan said. Have you an opinion on the matter?”
“I am sure Mr. Brennan means to be kind, Miss Roth,” Miss Byrd replied. “To be tightly wound, as he put it, means you are dignified.”
Miss Roth sucked in her cheeks. “You think so?”
“I know so. That is how it has been explained to me.” She smiled, her teeth the color of old ivory, her lips thinning out as she spoke.
Ethan took in a breath, bored with their shallow assumptions and senseless comments. He gazed over at Darcy, and then looked back at the snobbish Miss Roth. Why people ever thought he had considered the lady as a potential mate was beyond all reason. She was dull, critical, and slighted the religious—qualities he scorned in a woman. His father would not have approved. “Consider the words of Solomon, my son,” he would say. “Find a wife whose price is far above rubies.”
Now his eyes beheld a girl with both virtue and spirit. Her passion for life sparkled in her eyes, illuminated her face, and echoed in her laughter.
“It is shameful,” Miss Roth went on. “The girls here expose their ankles on every turn.”
Ethan refused to comment. Why should he? If he were to voice to Miss Roth what he really thought, it would give her more reasons to insult each and every girl in the room, for she had a jealous nature.
“Ethan?” Miss Roth stood and tapped his arm with her fan. “Ethan, why do you continue to stare at that girl? What is she to you?”
He leaned close to her ear and said, “You are overly jealous when you are not the center of attention. A trait that is unbecoming in a woman. Try to behave yourself.”
Affronted, she pressed her lips together. “It slipped my mind, sir, that some of your ancestors were rebels. Is that why you show such favoritism?”
He smiled. “I thank you for the reminder. I am not ashamed.”
“Perhaps that is why you are attracted to Miss Darcy.”
“She is different, I will admit.” He would not be surprised if Darcy were to kick off her shoes and dance barefooted. In a way, he hoped she would.
“I cannot understand why you are attracted to her.”
“Whether or not I am, it should not alarm you.”
“It does, for I thought we had an understanding.”
“If my interest in others has offended you, or breached any inkling of an understanding, have I stepped over the line? Your envy is unseemly.”
“And you are blinded by a pretty face, sir. I must open your eyes.”
Miss Byrd, along with their chaperone that sat behind them, sucked in a breath. “Miss Roth, you will remember your manners,” whispered her chaperone. “You will be seated.” And she yanked at her sleeve.
“Leave me be.” With a lift of her head, Miss Roth moved closer to the line of dancers. Darcy stood close enough to hear Miss Roth. “I would not doubt that every man in the room has already exhausted Miss Darcy’s mysteries.”
Ethan twisted his mouth. “That is too low even for you.”
The lady’s face flushed. Her eyes glistened with self-pity. She stared at him, raised her face, and then lowered herself with a sweep of her gown to the chair. Ethan stepped away and removed himself as far as possible from a woman whose mouth was like a continuing dropping of rain upon his brow. He strode toward Darcy when he saw how pale her face had gone, and how sad her expression.
After hearing what Miss Roth said, Darcy’s hands dropped from the man who held them and she stood stunned. She lifted her eyes to the gentleman and excused herself. Then she caught the venomous glance of Miss Roth and the proud look that spread over her face. Darcy wanted to confront her, but no good would come of it. She would not lower herself to Miss Roth’s level.
She should not care what Miss Roth thought of her. What did her opinion matter? The lady had nothing to do with what course her life took. Ah, and she was freer than Miss Roth to be who and what she was. She would wear her locks as it pleased her, dress in simple clothing, wear hats that she and her cousins made from the reeds cut from the riverside. She would wear what she wished even if it were secondhand, speak to whom she liked whether rich or poor, and not take anything Miss Roth said to heart.
If only it were so easy.
The heat in the room grew as oppressive as Miss Roth’s words. Whispers rose and she heard the name Morgan pass from person to person. People stared—some with disdain, others with curiosity. She questioned why. Had she done something to deserve such looks? Why had her last name drawn this kind of attention, along with Miss Roth’s rude comments?
And so, Darcy slipped between the dancers and headed toward the door leading to the terrace outside. Before she could pass through it, Ethan stepped in front of her.
“It is too fine an evening to leave, Miss Morgan.”
“You will excuse me, sir.” Her voice trembled and the tears that swelled in her eyes burned.
“Once again, I have intruded. I only want to help.”
She gathered her gown in her hands. At every turn, Ethan met her. “I am in need of air, sir.”
“It is stuffy in here … much like my traveling companion Miss Roth.” He moved her to the open door where it was cooler. “I can tell you heard what she said. She was sure to say it loud enough. I am sorry. It was uncalled for.”
His words caused her to smile. “I must praise her that she is not afraid to voice her opinion. But for her rudeness, for speaking what she thinks of me in public, that I condemn.”
“And justly so.”
“I was told Englishwomen are reserved and take care of what they say and to whom they say it. So untrue this must be if Miss Roth is any kind of example of an English lady.”
“She is snobbish. It was wrong of her to insult you the way she did.”
“Indeed, for she does not know me at all.”
“Whether she knew you well or not, it is not her place to pass judgment.”
“She judges me solely upon appearance …”
“Which is lovely, if you do not mind my saying so.”
“Oh, not true, sir, for I am plain. I have not the elegance of your Miss Roth.”
“She is not mine.”
“Oh, yes. As you said before.”
“If you would observe her, Miss Roth’s beauty is pretentious.” He leaned down. “Lots of powder and rouge.”
Darcy’s palms grew moist and she wished she had worn her gloves. The caller announced the next dance. “Please form the set, ladies and gentlemen, for ‘The Flight.’ ”
She knew the tune, the romance of it. “May I have the honor?” Ethan held his hand out to her. And when hers became lost in his, he drew her beside him out onto the floor. Once they faced each other they stood a few feet apart, his eyes resting upon hers. The music drew them near and their hands reached out. His fingers touched hers, and then slid into her hand.
Darcy picked up where they had left off. “I suppose you think flattery will make me forget Miss Roth’s cruelty.”
“Not at all. Flattery does not cure the sting of false words.”
“Then you need not strive for it, sir.”
“Surely an honest compliment helps in some way.”
“I suppose it does. I am grateful God looks upon my heart, and not my outward appearance, and will do so even when I am old and wrinkled from head to toe.”
He faced her smiling, released her hands, and bowed in time with the other male dancers. “I admire your faith. But is it so
wrong for a man to marvel at a pretty woman? Are we not to regard God’s creations with awe?”
Darcy fixed her eyes on Ethan with wonder and did not reply. A sensation prickled over her skin and something whispered into her mind, he is the one. “I do not know what to think of you, sir.”
Ethan’s stare warmed. “I hope you will think of me as your friend.”
They were silent after that, and when “The Flight” came to an end, Darcy’s aunt came through and bumped into her—again.
“Darcy, we are leaving. I can no longer abide the heat.” Mrs. Breese turned to Ethan. “It was a pleasure to have met you, Mr. Brennan, though I must say Miss Roth was very rude to our Darcy, and I pray she eats her words one day soon, and that you change your mind about her.”
Ethan nodded in agreement. “May I pay a call upon your family before I leave for England? I promise to come alone.”
Mrs. Breese gave him a broad smile. “We’d be pleased if you paid us a visit.”
He looked at Darcy. “And you will be there?”
“Perhaps.” She gave him a coy look and left him in the stuffy, crowded room.
6
A week went by after the gathering at Twin Oaks. The day dawned warm, and by late noon the honeybees played over the zinnias in the garden. So absorbed in the small book of poems she was reading, it wasn’t until Martha’s shadow fell over the grass beside her, that Darcy closed the book and looked up.
Martha sat beside her in the shade. “Darcy, have you wondered if Mr. Brennan will keep his word and visit us?”
With a sigh, Darcy leaned back against the tree. “I have not given it much thought.”
“I do not believe you,” Martha laughed.
“I mean not much thought today.” Darcy ran her hands through her locks with a smile. “I want him to visit us—out of curiosity.”
“I dare not ask for an explanation,” Martha said. “I know he said he’d come alone.”
“I doubt he shall.”
“Surely he will not bring Miss Roth and her little entourage?”