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.
Mrs. Rhendon replied. “He is well, thank you. You’ll meet him shortly.”
“We have met him already,” Darcy said.
“Where? When?”
“It was long ago. We were down at the river one Sunday, and he …”
Mrs. Rhendon stiffened. Darcy realized she did not wish to hear anymore about her son’s treks to the river—or hers. Her aunt touched her sleeve, a sign for her to rein in. “The English ladies and their gentleman companion must find Twin Oaks a rival to what they are used to back home, Mrs. Rhendon,” said Mrs. Breese. “I do not doubt they envy it.”
Mrs. Rhendon fluttered her fan near her chin. “No doubt they do.”
Mrs. Breese’s eyes blinked. “Are the ladies beautiful? I was unable to see them clearly from a distance. My eyesight is poor.”
Darcy drew in a slow breath and looked away. It was embarrassing to have her aunt dig for information, and she hoped Mrs. Rhendon would answer her in such a way that her mind would be satisfied. Their hostess craned her neck to look out among her guests. “Miss Byrd is a lovely girl with pretty eyes. But Miss Roth rivals her in beauty. I do believe she is Mr. Brennan’s intended, although he did not introduce her in that way. One would assume there is an understanding between them since she never leaves his side.”
“I imagine Mr. Brennan is a fine gentleman,” Mrs. Breese was so bold to say.
“He is, Mrs. Breese. You must excuse me. I have other guests.” And Mrs. Rhendon stepped away with a sweep of her gown.
Moving to the lawn, the girls sat under the shade of an enormous oak. Darcy looked out across the green that stretched to the top of a hill. Her romantic nature carried her away to it, and she wondered what beauty lay beyond.
She stood and put her hand over her eyes. “I wish to walk the grounds. The ride over stiffened my legs.”
“You’re always walking about, Darcy.” Lizzy sighed. “Can’t you sit still for five minutes?”
Darcy smiled down at her cousin. “No, not when there is such beauty to see.”
She stepped away, with her gown clinging to her limbs because of the breeze. With a graceful, yet eager stride, she strolled up the green expanse bordered by forest. When she reached the summit, she gazed down into a valley. In the meadow, deer grazed. They lifted their heads, sensing her presence. A stream curved through the vale and flashed in the sunlight.
Such beauty poured into Darcy with romantic passion. The land seemed to be a great barrier between her and some place that she would be called to someday. Where and when she did not know, but she yearned for it, for the adventure of it, the love that awaited her, and even the hardship and peril that would bring her closer to finding her heart’s desire.
She stood beneath a solitary maple so large she could not imagine how long ago the Ancient of Days had sprouted it from the earth. Heavy branches stretched high above her, and the cool shade fell over her. She shook back her hair and raised her face. Shutting her eyes, she drank in the world around her. Beneath her feet, she felt a vibration, soft at first, then stronger as if a hundred drums beat beneath the sod. The hard gallop of a horse grew louder, and before she could move from the rider’s path, he crested the hill. Startled, she turned and threw her back against the tree. The horse, black and large, reared and curvetted, having too been startled by her presence and the violent pull of its rider. It whinnied, blew out its nostrils, and pawed the mossy earth.
The rider swung down from the saddle and approached her. A thump in her chest snatched her breath and she placed her hands behind her to feel the safety of the tree.
“Are you all right?” Standing but a yard away, he breathed hard.
She nodded. “I believe so.”
“I was unaware anyone would be here.”
“I was unaware anyone would be riding so fiercely toward me.”
The regret in his eyes deepened. “Please forgive me. You could have been hurt.”
Darcy gazed at him, and then checked her winsome expression. “You did not know, sir.”
“That is no excuse for me not to have been more careful. At least allow me to take you back down. The horse may look fierce, but he is harmless.”
She glanced at the fearsome stallion. “By the size of him, and the way he behaves, I doubt your word.”
“Doubt it, but just the same, he is gentle. I am considering buying him from the Rhendons to take back to England.”
“His gentleness is not proven by how unsettled he appears. I hear they have a fine gray in the stable which would give no trouble.”
The gentleman’s countenance eased and he inclined his head. She knew what he interpreted in her comment—that his judgment was weak—and felt her face flush.
“I have plans to buy a mare as well. You could give me your opinion.”