Forever Elle (Regency Romance)

by Heather Chapman

  “You’re right, Elle; you’re nothing like the other girls,” he blurted, leaning toward me.

  I searched his face for any indication of pretense. Was he in earnest, or was this just another one of his games? His downturned eyebrows spoke of sincerity, and his lips lacked their usual curve. Was it possible he cared, truly cared, for me?

  “Which is why Daddy is sending me away,” I said.

  He took me by the arm and pulled me into an embrace. His lanky arms encased me, and he rested his chin against my head. “I’m sorry.” He pulled back just enough to meet my widened gaze.

  Green. How had I not realized how beautiful his eyes were before? A lifetime of fighting, and only now I realized how bright and captivating he truly was.

  “Do you think you’ll come back?” George asked. His jaw clenched, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

  “I hope so,” I said, studying his hands resting at my sides. “I mean, of course I will after my schooling. Mama won’t let me stay away forever.”

  He dropped his hands and cleared his throat. “Right, after your schooling. You and Clara will return?”

  And Clara. My heart sputtered to a crawl. It took all my effort to keep from crying. How had I allowed myself to hope George cared for me? It was always Clara, and it would always be Clara. I was too young and unfit; I was not a true lady. Yet.

  “Goodbye, George.” My lips trembled, but I had conditioned myself long enough to pretend around George. He could not ever know how close he had gotten to my heart.

  He flinched. His lips parted, but he paused, seemingly speechless. He brushed his hands through his hair and kicked his shoe against the dirt. “Goodbye, Elle.”

  Chapter Nine

  VIRGINIA, 1902

  SUN POURED INTO THE PASSENGER WINDOW and the reflection of water sent silver shards against the glass. I clutched the map to my chest and squinted.

  Mama had given the map to me before kissing me goodbye. “It always helps to know where you are and how much farther you have to go,” she had said.

  Rolling hills stretched in all directions, and trees dotted the landscape like puffs of paint against a canvas. So many trees, I thought to myself, and so very different. Gone were the pines and evergreens and aspens. Gone were the mountains and snowcapped peaks.

  I looked about the car. The train had been my home the past week. I had seen more of the country than I ever dreamt possible—sagebrush and buffalo, cornfields and desert, cliffs and forests. If only I had been able to explore the world I’d seen beyond my window.

  I sighed.

  Clara’s eyes fluttered open.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said, putting an X over the last station along our route. I added a sketch of the pond and folded the map. Tucking it in the pages of my book, I turned to face her.

  She watched me, her fingers laced. “How many more stops?” she asked.

  “One,” I said. I offered her a tight-lipped smile, wiping at my wrinkled skirt. “We used to speak about traveling across the country together. Do you remember?”

  She shrugged, pulling her gaze away.

  I took that as a no. “Well, in any case, I know you will be excited to stand on solid ground once more, as will I.”

  Clara managed a small smile. “Yes.” She pointed toward the book on my lap. “Can I see it?”

  “My map?”

  She nodded.

  I handed her the bundle. It was worn at the creases, evidence of its frequent handling that week. “It’s mostly just my scribbles,” I said.

  I watched her spread the map over her lap, tracing the path we had followed across the country with a gloved finger. “It seems strange,” she finally said, “how far away we are from the valley. Do you think it will be as horrid as I imagine?”

  I shook my head. “Not likely. Things will look up; you’ll see.” I didn’t know if I was trying to convince myself or Clara more.

  She turned to the window, folding the map with less care than I had. Her head swayed with the rhythm of the train, but I thought I saw a tear roll down her cheek. “Here,” she said, holding it out to me.

  I took the map from her, wishing she would say more. My heart ached from the distance, the change, that had so clearly arisen between us. I had thought my sister’s distress upon hearing of our departure would fade, but it had only grown, transforming her into someone I hardly recognized. Clara had slipped deeper and deeper into her sadness and, as a result, further from my grasp. How could I help her when all she did was push me away?

  We would finish the train ride the way we started—silent and separate. I leaned against the seat. The boards were rigid and cold against my neck. I winced. It felt no different than the girl seated across from me.

  Since my dismissal from school two months before, I had tried to convince myself I wanted to be rid of the valley and the town of wagging tongues. But who was I fooling? Teton Valley was the only home I knew. Every morning, whether snow or shine, the first sight out my window had been that of the peaks—the Grand’s formidable steep, Table Mountain’s plate of snow.

  Perhaps it was Daddy I wished to leave. I had grown tired of trying to please him. I met defeat each time I tried.

  Clara brushed her fingers through her blond waves and closed her eyes again. What would it have been like to be her, always having Daddy’s favor and affection? I knew better than to consider it, but I did. I always did. I hungered for that affection, that acceptance.

  I pressed my lips together and turned away from Clara’s face. As much as I hated to admit it, I knew I would keep trying for Daddy’s approval. Tears collected on my lower lashes. If only that wish, like the valley, would disappear. But like the home I left, wanting Daddy’s affection was all I had ever known.

  “I’m going to the dining car,” I said, lifting my chin. “Seems a pity to meet our relatives on an empty stomach. I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else.”

  Clara nodded. “Do eat something.”

  I stood, passing through the aisle. By this point, I was used to the other passengers staring. It was highly improper for my sister and me to be traveling unaccompanied. The irony brought a smile amidst the tears. Daddy had sent us away to become proper.

  I took a seat at an empty table and ordered a lemonade and pastry.

  Mama was my champion. Her smiles aimed for me, her arms outstretched for mine. She wanted me home more than anybody. I didn’t blame her. I couldn’t blame her.

  Daddy was right. Boarding school would change me into a lady. It would, even if it killed me. And seeing how Clara had developed a malady of spirits, I could not count on her to help me. I had to do this alone.

  But do it I would.

  I took my map out one last time to add the horizon in the distance—the sunlight peeking over the rolling hills and bushy treetops. I smiled. It seemed the perfect welcome party. I much preferred beautiful scenery over relatives I couldn’t remember.

  The train car rolled to a stop and the whistle sounded. I lurched forward to look at the station below. It was small, barely a few benches lining the rectangle building.

  “We’re here,” I said to myself, shaking my head. “I’m here.”

  She was five years younger than Mama, but I knew Nora right away. Her hand grasped the arm of the man beside her, presumably my uncle, and she wore a violet dress and polished black boots. There was not a speck of dirt to be found on her, and even from beneath her brimmed hat, I could see that she was beautiful.

  Nora appraised me with a single glance and smiled. “Oh, Elizabeth, how you resemble your mother. I daresay, I wish she could have come.” She pulled me into an embrace and pressed her cheek against mine. “My darling nieces, I am so glad you are here; I have wished for this day since the moment I left Salt Lake eight years ago.”

  My heart warmed at her words and expanded with her gentle touch. I hardly remembered my aunt, yet my shoulders lightened. The slant angle of her cheeks, the gleam in her brow
n eyes, the floral fragrance—there was an undeniable familiarity I could not name. “Aunt Nora,” I said, kissing her cheek. “Thank you for having us.”

  Nora laughed, pulling back. “Thank goodness you have both made it. I could hardly believe it when Louisa informed us that you would be traveling alone.” She turned, reaching for Clara’s hand. “And you, Clara, practically a woman already. My, how lovely you are, and how you favor your father.”

  “It is kind of you to have us, Aunt,” Clara said, offering a stiff curtsy.

  “Nonsense,” Aunt Nora said, flicking a hand at her. “Just call me Nora, and really, girls, it is our pleasure to have you. Your uncle’s position at the school put us in quite the perfect position.”

  Uncle Johnny stepped closer, bowing his head. He was tall and lanky, his dark hair peppered with gray. “Welcome to Riverton,” he said. His lips split into a smile, revealing a set of straight teeth. “I shall endeavor with all my might to please you both. I have always wished for a daughter, and now that we are commissioned with the care of two lovely nieces, my heart is entirely full.” He took Clara’s arm in his, then mine in his other.

  I breathed a sigh of relief; they were both kind.

  “Let us get you girls home, and then we can get more acquainted,” Nora said. “Makes little sense standing at this dusty train station, my dears.”

  Johnny took our bags—for we each had only one—and handed them to an assistant at the back of the carriage. “Allow me,” Johnny said, helping Clara and me into the carriage.

  My eyes widened at the sight of the velvet-lined seats and gold-trimmed windows. I was used to an open-air buggy or a hay-hauling wagon, both of which were far from the luxury before me.

  Nora seated herself across from me. She was sturdier than Mama, and her smile lines ran deeper. But the resemblance was strong. I could only imagine the pair she and Mama had made. There was loveliness and laughter, to be sure.

  “I believe you’ll find the town friendly enough,” Johnny said. “Most of the girls board at the school, but Nora and I hoped you’d wish to stay with us in town. Whatever you decide, I’m sure you’ll get along wonderfully with the other girls.”

  My stomach dropped. I hoped so. My dismissal from school replayed in my mind—Miss Ellison’s rebuke, Beth’s laughter, Toby’s realization. I swallowed. I longed for a new beginning and chance to make friends, but what if Virginia was no better than the valley?

  Nora touched my arm, and her eyes twinkled. “Of course they will get along. Elizabeth and Clara will do quite well for themselves. And I tell you what, tomorrow morning we shall have the girls fitted for new dresses and anything their hearts desire.” She straightened, giving me a mischievous grin. “I am determined to spoil you.”

  She giggled, and my heart swelled.

  Never had I imagined my aunt and uncle to show this much kindness and familiarity upon our greeting. I scratched my chin and smiled. This was a dream. Nora and Johnny were a dream I’d never known to wish for.

  Chapter Ten

  MY STOMACH TWISTED AND TURNED, AND my scant breakfast threatened to make an appearance once more. I swallowed. One foot in front of the other, I reminded myself. I expected the first day in a new school to grate on my nerves, but this was beyond reason. Sick with anxiety, I was barely able to eat more than five bites of the breakfast spread. And now—even with Johnny and Clara beside me—the task in front of me seemed insurmountable.

  The school was impressive, frightfully so. The white stone stretched four stories high, and each window rested beneath a sculpted arch. Chimney stacks arose from the angled roofline, and the center dome was proof of the academy’s prestige and wealth. Johnny had given me a guided tour the day before, but I wasn’t any less intimidated. If anything, I felt more unequal to the task in front of me.

  I ran a finger through my curls one last time before stepping across the grand entrance. Nora’s maid had fashioned the top half of my hair into a charming braid and the bottom in tight ringlets. I hardly recognized the girl in the mirror. Good. I inhaled. No one knew me here, and so my transformation would begin.

  “Are you nervous?” Johnny asked, leaning toward me.

  It had only been a week, and already he could read my expressions. I pursed my lips. “A little.”

  He gave an encouraging smile. “The nerves will fade, as soon as you see you are no different from the rest of them.”

  At the sight of Johnny, the girls strewing the halls straightened. Many curtsied and offered a meek “Good morning, Mr. Larsen.”

  My schedule began in what Uncle Johnny called my “home room.” It was history, and Clara took the seat next to me. I was glad to have her beside me, at least for the first hour. It was the only course we had together; she was a full two years older and more advanced in all her studies.

  A map of New England was placed next to the blackboard. It was scattered with pins and colored flags, ships, and pictures of Washington and the other Founding Fathers. The Trail to Freedom, read the heading. Essays were strung along the room, each with finer penmanship than I was accustomed to seeing.

  All this planning and pretending—believing that I could be a true lady. But now that I was there, now that I could see what I was up against, my resolve wavered. Would I ever make my daddy proud? I wanted to cling to Clara, beg her to tell me everything would be fine. But I didn’t. Instead, I wrung my hands and fought the urge to cry. “It’s so different from the valley,” I whispered.

  She smiled. “Yes, quite.”

  I took comfort in her smile; she was beside me. Perhaps she was as anxious as I was. Perhaps we could help each other through this unknown.

  The room had five rows of desks, seven in each line. One by one, the seats filled with accomplished ladies—the type I dreamed of becoming. I studied the girl in front of me. She spoke elegantly and tilted her head just so when she smiled.

  The bell sounded, and the room fell silent.

  A middle-aged man, a bit wide around the middle, stood at the lectern. His mustache hung over his lips, swooping to points and twitching when he cleared his throat. “Attention, ladies,” he said, without a hint of pleasure. “Our director, Mr. Larsen.” He gestured to Johnny and stepped away from the lectern.

  My uncle shook the man’s hand. “Ladies,” he said, dipping his head in greeting, “good morning, and thank you, Mr. Withers, for allowing me a moment to introduce our new students. I present Clara and Elizabeth Pratt, my nieces and two very fine ladies.”

  All eyes turned to us. Heat flooded my face, and I scratched at my collar.

  Clara stood, and I followed with hesitation.

  “They have traveled from across the country to be here. I hope you will make them feel welcome.” He turned toward the instructor. “I give full command back to you, Mr. Withers.”

  The man wrinkled a brow at Johnny, then glanced at his watch. “Yes, let’s begin with our weekend report. Miss Dorothy Skinner,” he said, tapping the lectern.

  Uncle Johnny was gone in a flash, and with him, all sense of comfort fled.

  My eye caught on a figure by the door—a boy sitting near the back. In truth, he was closer to a man. He was tall, evident by his long legs folded beneath the desk. He was dashing—black hair and dark eyes, lips that seemed to rest in a smile. What was he doing in a school for girls?

  I faced forward, determined not to be caught staring at a boy.

  Mr. Withers’s voice was low and scratchy, an unfamiliar drawl catching each word. “If one were so inclined to consider Thomas Paine the father of the Revolution, one might acquiesce that his contribution, precisely his valorous declaration in Common Sense, was the initial catalyst that eventually led to the proliferating ideology of independence.” He stopped, shaking his head and chuckling. “As if one man could have set a nation on such a momentous, and equally perilous, trajectory to the Revolution.”

  I swallowed. Was this how they spoke in Virginia? I took out a paper and began a list: Thomas Paine, Common Sense
, acquiesce, proliferating, catalyst, trajectory. I had a sinking feeling that my list would reach to the bottom of the page before the class’s end.

  A girl sitting a few rows ahead of me raised her hand.

  “Miss Everton?” the instructor said.

  “With all due respect, I disagree. It takes one match to light a fire, sir. It stands to reason that Mr. Paine was the tinder to the flame of revolution. His ability to capture and defend what so many were feeling at the time was unparalleled,” she said, her head full of curls bobbing up and down with each pointed word.

  The man laughed, a quick smile replacing his stern expression. “Very well, Miss Everton. A valid point, I concede, though I regard his work as a mere piece of tinder. The actual match might as well have been the preposterous tax on tea.”

  I scratched at my collar once more, meeting Clara’s eye. Was this how education was done here? The instructor’s advanced vocabulary and ramblings were one thing. But students debating an instructor? I sunk in my seat. I could barely recall the facts my teacher taught, let alone debate with the instructor.

  Clara seemed oblivious to my horror. She smiled. “Incredible,” she said underneath her breath.

  When Mr. Withers assigned the reading and discussion questions, I was startled by the realization that the hour had already ended.

  I gathered my books.

  “Good luck today,” Clara said before leaving.

  We were headed in different directions. “Thank you. To you as well,” I said, sensing her hurry to find her class.

  I walked to my arithmetic lesson, pitying myself. Beth Foster would have enjoyed seeing my certain demise. And under normal circumstances, I would rise to any challenge, but—here, all alone—I felt like shrinking into a corner. I scowled, then started when I felt a hand against my arm.

  “Julia Everton,” she said. It was the girl with beautiful brown curls from history.

  I smiled. “Elizabeth Pratt.”

  She smiled back. “Well, Elizabeth, welcome to Dalton’s Academy for Girls. Looks like our schedules match.”