Elizabeth Meyette - [Love's 01] (9 page)

“Emily Wentworth, sir. And may I present my brother, Andrew.”

Randy bent and kissed her hand, then shook Andrew’s. “I am pleased to meet you. I am Randolph William O’Connor.” He bowed low. “You are George Wentworth’s children?”

Emily nodded.

“I met your father. He was a fine man. I was sorry to hear of his death.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Connor.”

“Randy, please. All my friends call me Randy.” He slapped Jonathon on the back. “Jonathon does, too.”

“A rascal he is and be warned,” Jonathon countered. “I am anxious for news, Randy. The rumors I have heard sound ominous.”

“Aye, things are moving, Jonathon. Come have an ale and some supper.”

Conversation was light over a supper of hearty stew, warm rye bread and ale. Talk centered around plantation life, births, deaths, and marriages. Local politics were alluded to, but Emily sensed beneath it all an urgency to move on to important events that would require more than a light skimming over. The two men, she suspected, would be up the better part of the night delving into discussion, perhaps plans, of a serious nature. Sensing their impatience, and noting Andrew’s yawns, she rose to retire. The men rose also, and she took Andrew’s arm and bade the other two good-night.

Emily’s suspicions proved correct; Jonathon knew exactly where to go to learn the current state of affairs, and the two men joined others and lively discussion ensued. Unfair taxation by parliament in the Stamp Act and the Townshend Acts was the subject of animated debate, and some enthusiastically recalled the answer the colonies had given. The House of Burgesses, Virginia’s legislature, was bubbling with unrest and claiming their sole right to levy internal taxes. Thomas Jefferson was writing stirring essays on the God-given rights of man, a concept completely foreign to British rule. And the Royal Governor, Lord Dunmore, had again dissolved the Burgesses who reconvened in the conviviality of the Apollo Room at the Raleigh Tavern, whose motto was written on the mantel:
Hilaritas sapientiae et bonae vitae proles
(Jollity is the offspring of wisdom and good living). The vigorous debate lasted into the early hours of the morning.

• • •

Dawn was streaking the eastern sky when Emily awoke to a tapping on her door. “Wake up, Emily. We want to get an early start,” Andrew called softly.

Emily washed and dressed, noting that the day was already warm and humid. She donned a light silk dress of palest blue with white lace at the bodice and elbow-length sleeves. Brushing her hair, she pulled it up in combs to keep it off her face and neck as much as possible.

This was the day she would meet Jonathon’s family. All the doubts and fears that had kept her tossing and turning the night before crept over her again. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her skirts, straightened her shoulders, and went downstairs.

They ate a hurried breakfast of cold ham, cornbread and fruit and soon were on the road. The countryside was still the flat, green land of the tidewater, but after a time it gave way to gently rolling hills.

As Jonathon told them of plantation life and of his family, Emily’s nervousness increased with the miles. Jonathon pointed out places of interest and plantations of friends he had known all his life in this society of the gentleman planter. They stopped to dine at a quaint inn and again ate hurriedly, each anxious either to arrive or to get the dreaded moment over with.

Emily noticed Jonathon’s silence after a while and, looking across at him, caught the intense scrutiny with which he was studying the landscape. His eyes glowed with pride, and she knew they had reached his land. For a moment she felt uncomfortable, like someone who has intruded on an intimate moment. But Jonathon turned shining eyes upon her and said simply, “We are home.”

Finally the coach turned down a road, and Emily craned her neck to catch her first glimpse of Brentwood Manor. After a time, they broke out of the trees into a circular drive that curved gracefully along lush, green lawns and swept before a stately manor.

Emily caught her breath. “Oh, it is beautiful,” she whispered.

Jonathon beamed at her. “I knew you would like it, Emily.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Andrew remarked, “You did not do it justice, Jonathon.”

The three of them laughed remembering all the times he had described Brentwood Manor — always in superlatives.

Majestic catalpa trees lined the drive and sculpted shrubs hugged the mansion. Made of red brick in the Flemish–bond style, it had two enormous chimneys equidistant from the center of the roof; a pair of large windows flanked either side of the central entrance and five smaller windows lined the upper story. A wing with a slightly lower roofline extended out from each end of the main structure. It was beautiful in its simplicity of design and bore an elegance of time and tradition.

The front door opened and a slender, dark–haired woman appeared, followed closely by a tall, blonde man. Each held a parcel as they stood on the bottom step awaiting the coach.

When Jonathon opened the door and stepped out, the woman jumped into his arms laughing gaily. She had the same warm, brown eyes and thick lustrous brown hair as his, although hers gleamed with auburn highlights. She resembled Jonathon, but her features were delicate, her movements graceful. The man with her shook Jonathon’s hand, and then pulled him close and embraced him, patting him heartily on the back. Then they all turned expectantly toward the carriage.

Andrew hopped out first; Jonathon reached up to assist Emily. As she emerged from the coach, she heard the woman gasp softly.

“Joanna, David — may I introduce the newest members of our family: Andrew and Emily Wentworth.”

Joanna’s eyes revealed a mixture of surprise and amusement. She held out her hand with David’s and said warmly, “Welcome to Brentwood Manor.” Then, a bit hesitantly, she handed a parcel to Emily and said, “We have a gift for you.” David handed a parcel to Andrew.

Emily and Andrew unwrapped their gifts; there was a moment of absolute silence.

In her hands Emily held a beautiful doll with a china head and a watered silk dress. Andrew held a hand-carved sailboat. Emily’s eyes rose to meet Joanna’s; she did not know quite what to say. Joanna’s mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“We were expecting you both to be quite a bit younger,” she grinned.

In that moment everyone burst out laughing and the tension was broken. Joanna hooked an arm through Emily’s.

“Come in, you all must be exhausted and hungry,” she said, and the ladies led the way in.

Their shoes echoed on the highly polished hardwood floor as they entered a high-ceilinged, airy hall. Turning right they came to the parlor. Flowered wallpaper of soft blue and white decorated the walls above the dwarf wainscoting, and Scotch carpet gathered the furniture cozily about the room. A beautiful bronze-skinned servant brought in a tray of tall, cool drinks and sweet cakes and set it on a mahogany drop-leaf table beside Joanna. Emily sat on the settee holding the doll in her lap.

“I am so sorry about your father’s death. Jonathon has told us what a wonderful man George Wentworth was,” David said kindly.

“Thank you,” Andrew replied.

“From Jonathon’s letter, we were expecting children,” Joanna explained, giving her brother a slight frown, betrayed by the twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh, the doll is beautiful, and I shall always cherish it,” Emily smiled.

“And the boat is carved splendidly. I would like to learn that craft myself,” Andrew added.

“David did that, Andrew. I am sure he would be happy to teach you,” Joanna replied. “Now, how was your voyage?”

They spent an amiable afternoon getting acquainted, and all the doubts and fears Emily had wrestled with melted under the warm and sincere friendship of Joanna and David. She began to relax and found herself enjoying the conversation. Finally Joanna rose and offered to show them to their rooms.

They ascended the broad staircase in the central hall and turned to the right. Emily’s room was spacious and cheerful, decorated in dusty rose and cream. The canopy bed curtains and window curtains were of rose chintz with darker rose brocade drapes pulled back on either side of the windows. An ivory bedspread decorated with crewelwork done in dusty rose and deeper pink lay across the four–poster bed, and a fireplace with a carved marble mantel matching the one in the parlor faced it. Emily’s things had already been put away and Joanna left her to freshen for supper.

Emily sat on the bed and looked around her new room, in her new home. She thought she should be feeling terribly lonely and resentful right now, but instead there was a tickle of anticipation that one would expect to feel when setting out on an adventure. She tried to conjure up loneliness and resentment, but contentment, even excitement, kept beating them down. David and Joanna were warm and welcoming, and she was afraid she would enjoy all this too readily.

She could not let Jonathon win that easily.

• • •

With the exception of trying to acclimate to the heat and humidity, Andrew and Emily slipped easily into the routine of Brentwood Manor. Emily loved to walk through the vast, manicured gardens. They matched the symmetrical design of the house, rectangular plots bordered by straight walks. Dogwoods, magnolias, and boxwood filled the garden, and azaleas and roses bloomed gaily, lending a heady scent to the air. Emily even enjoyed visiting the kitchen garden near the outbuildings behind the manor, where the invigorating smells of rosemary, chives, and sage vied for attention. These outbuildings housed the kitchen, blacksmith, meat house, stables, and other services necessary to the running of a vast plantation.

On Sunday morning they rode to the small, nearby church that served the local plantations. The beauty of the land again caught Emily. Jonathon did not exaggerate when he had described it to her. Lush fields billowed out to the horizon along the road, and then gave way to thick forests that shaded their drive. The air was dense with summer dew, and Emily inhaled deeply to savor it. Jonathon had been watching her, and he smiled with delight when he caught her eye. Emily shifted in her seat and tried to appear unaffected by the wonder of his land.

It caused quite a stir in the church when Jonathon arrived with Emily on his arm. Heads turned then bent to a neighbor while whispered speculation ensued. Emily tried nervously to ignore the stares and whispers, and Jonathon squeezed her arm reassuringly.

As they approached the pew that David and Joanna were entering, Emily caught the cold, flinty glare of a woman seated just across the aisle. The woman’s gaze was so odious that Emily started and quickly looked at Jonathon who gave the woman a nod and a cool smile.

Throughout the service Emily was aware of many eyes upon her, but the eyes that had glared from across the aisle were burned into her mind.

As they left the church, people came up to welcome Emily and Andrew to Virginia. There was surprise on many faces when Jonathon introduced them as his wards. As Emily was chatting, she noticed the woman who had glared at her approaching. She was tall and slender and carried herself regally. Her golden hair was swept up away from her beautiful face, and she was dressed in a yellow linen gown that accented her shapely figure. She made an exquisite picture.

“Welcome home, Jonathon,” she said in a sultry voice. Her lovely green eyes looked deeply into his, then she turned them on Emily, disguising the loathing she had betrayed earlier. “And whom do we have here?” she purred.

“Deidre, may I present Andrew and Emily Wentworth, my wards. This is Deidre Manning,” he said to them.

Deidre’s eyes widened in shock. Quickly recovering, she laughed softly and said, “Come now, Jonathon, are you becoming domestic after all these years?” She turned sea-green eyes upon him again.

“Their father was my good friend; he died at sea. It was an agreement we made long ago.” He turned to the others, “Well, shall we return to Brentwood Manor for one of Dora’s delicious Sunday afternoon feasts?” Catching Deidre’s eye he added, almost reluctantly, “Would you care to join us, Deidre?”

“Why, thank you, Jonathon. That would be lovely.” She took his arm before he could offer it to Emily, and they led the others to the waiting carriages.

• • •

Dinner was indeed a feast. The aroma of freshly baked bread met them as they entered the dining room. After they were seated, Dora brought out plates overflowing with ham, sausage and meat pies still steaming from the oven. Bowls of fresh fruit, roasted vegetables, sauces, and pickles lined the table. When they finished the first course, apple fritters and raspberry tarts completed the repast.

After dinner they relaxed all afternoon on the veranda. The evening breeze was a welcome relief to the day’s heat. The sweet smells from the garden wafted over them in an intoxicating aroma and the stillness signaled the approach of night.

“The House of Burgesses is getting restless,” Jonathon told David. “They resent Parliament’s interference and are ready to act upon it.” He chuckled, “I heard the day of fasting and prayer proposed by the Burgesses was quite a sight; people marching to Bruton Church from all over to show their sympathy and support for the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Closing the Port of Boston in retaliation for their ‘tea party’ was a dire mistake by Parliament. It will serve only to unite the colonies and that is the last thing England wants.”

“The northern colonies are far more restless than Virginia,” David replied. “Some of them are talking about independence — ”

Emily gasped, “Independence from England?” It seemed unbelievable to her.

“Well, Virginia has not gone that far … yet,” Jonathon replied slowly. “But Parliament is pushing us to the limit of our endurance.” He turned to Emily. “We do not want to separate from the Crown, Em, but Parliament is forcing unacceptable legislation upon us. They are denying basic British rights to us here in America. And Parliament meddles — ”

“‘Parliament meddles!’ This sounds like treason to me, Captain Brentwood,” she cried indignantly. “If I had known I was being thrust into a hotbed of sedition, I would never have left England.”