Elizabeth Meyette (11 page)

Andrew’s face fell. “I see.”

“Let me see, there is my dearest friend Amy, my cousin Charlotte, whom I count as a bosom friend, and then my lifelong neighbor, Mary.” She hid a smile.

Andrew looked at her closely and sensed her mirth.

“I am not very practiced at subtlety, Jenny,” he confessed. She smiled and patted his hand.

“If you mean do I have a beau, no, Andrew, no one has captured my heart … ” she paused.

Andrew blushed and hated himself for it. Looking up, he saw tender humor in her eyes, not mockery.

“I am so glad you have come to Brentwood Manor, Jenny,” he said.

“I am very glad, too, Andrew,” she whispered.

He reached across and took her hand, glancing at her for acquiescence. She smiled and squeezed his hand.

“You are a mystery to me, Jenny. You bring about sensations I have never experienced before. When you enter a room, it is as if the sun entered with you. When you laugh, it is as though angels sing. I am befuddled by the feelings that somersault through me when we touch like this.” He stopped. “But I confess too much. I am not learned in the ways of wooing, but, Jenny, I seem unable to stop these words from tumbling out.” He dropped her hand and rose. “I suspect David would frown on my frankness, especially since we are unchaperoned.”

Jenny rose and stood before him, the breeze catching errant strands of ebony hair and tossing them around her face. Her eyes shone with happiness and her lilac scent made Andrew dizzy. She reached out and again took his hand.

“Andrew, I am honored that you trust me enough to bare your feelings. You have a similar effect on me, and I am often at a loss when you are near.”

“You never seem wanting for conversation, and you listen to others with such focus and intensity,” Andrew replied.

“Yes, often I pretend quite well when all the while, I am conscious only of where you sit or how you move. Gracious, this is unseemly of me, but I have never felt so free with anyone before,” Jenny said looking at the ground.

They stood together, hands clasped. Slowly, Jenny raised her eyes to his, and unable to resist any longer, Andrew bent and slowly brushed his lips across hers. Fire spread through him at the taste of her, and desire spread through his body. His arms went around her tiny waist and he drew her toward him. Jenny’s arms encircled his neck as her lips moved against his. Feeling her soft curves against his body inflamed him even more. Moving instinctively, he parted his lips and gently passed his tongue along her lips, which parted as she answered with hers. Deidre’s voice shot through his head again, and he abruptly backed away. Jenny, caught off balance, swayed and stepped back.

“What is it, Andrew?” she asked.

“I do not … I do not … ” he stammered suddenly feeling unsure of himself. “I think we had best start back to the manor,” he said in a hoarse voice. He felt confused. No, he did not have the experience of which Deidre spoke, but never had he felt as confident as when he was holding Jenny in his arms a moment ago. He had felt as though he could conquer the world. So why did Deidre’s voice haunt him, stripping him of all self-assurance?

“Jenny — I,” he started.

“Dismiss it from your mind, Andrew,” Jenny snapped. “Perhaps I am not as desirable as your Williamsburg women.”

“No, Jenny, that is not it. I mean, there are no — Jenny I just need time,” Andrew said.

“Time for what, Andrew? Time to decide whether I am good enough for you? Time to decide whether you might have a more alluring alternative?” Jenny slammed the remnants of their meal into the saddlebags.

“No, Jenny. None of those things. Time to — never mind,” he shot back. Grabbing the blanket he wadded it up and flung it over his saddle. How could he explain to her the doubts that Deidre had raised in him?

Jenny mounted Shadow without his assistance and galloped off the way they had come. Swearing, Andrew launched himself onto Neptune and pursued her, barely catching up. They flew across the landscape, each fighting voices that railed in their heads, fears that railed in their hearts.

• • •

Deidre sat on the terrace watching the two riders approach the stables. Judging by their speed, they were anxious to return to Brentwood Manor for it was not the leisurely pace of lovers reluctantly returning from a tryst. She observed that Jenny did not wait for Andrew to assist her dismount, as a smitten girl would do, yearning for any chance of touch. Instead, she led Shadow to the stables without even a glance in Andrew’s direction. He, in turn, dismounted quickly and followed her several paces behind.

Smiling to herself, Deidre was sure that the seeds she had planted in Andrew’s mind had taken root and were sprouting. It would be quite simple to take that boy, she imagined, for he had lost all self-confidence in his abilities as a lover. But she would train him, coach him, have him and then crush him. And then she would gloat in watching Emily’s horror when all of it was revealed. And was that not her goal? To hurt Emily in any way possible?

But she must take care, for her ultimate plan must be in place before she seduced Andrew.

• • •

Jenny flung herself across her bed at last releasing the tears that had been threatening all the way back to the manor. She would not let Andrew see her cry! Gracious! What magic had this man wrought upon her? Used to being self-assured, skilled in conversation, gifted with intelligence, and aware of her effect on the opposite sex, all of this confidence had flown out the window around Andrew. In his presence, she had to focus all of her concentration on the conversation at hand lest she stare at him, a gaping fool.

Oh, how she warmed at his touch. She brushed her fingers across her lips, still burning with his kiss. Closing her eyes she pictured him bending toward her, every nerve in her being crying out for his touch. She remembered how it felt to be against his body, strong and muscled, and yes, obviously desiring her.

But what had happened? Why did he pull away? Did her kiss displease him so? Was there another who had already captured his heart? It was obvious he did not want her. Never one to suffer from insecurity, Jenny found herself wondering if she were desirable enough. She rose from the bed and sat before her mirror. Eyes brightened by tears gazed back at her, gray and cloudy in their sadness. Her mouth turned down with her despondency, hiding the dimple that usually signaled her mirth. Pallid and wan, her skin lacked its usual rosy glow. This was no encouragement for her, neither was her lack of vibrancy.

She returned to the bed, crawling under the counterpane. Yielding again to her tears, she cried herself into a deep, but restless sleep.

• • •

Andrew stirred from the chair in his room when he heard the supper bell. How he dreaded facing Jenny across the table tonight. Perhaps he should visit her room and talk to her there. Oh, he had really muddled things today, all because of his damned insecurity. But what if Deidre were right; what if he should bumble his way along and make a fool of himself? Beautiful and intelligent, Jenny deserved a man of equal measure. Andrew did not feel he measured up, especially in the art of love, having had no experience there.

Pacing, he recalled the sensation of her body pressed to his, her lips against his and responding with desire. She seemed to want him as he wanted her. Damn! It was he who complicated the moment. Perhaps Deidre was right. She could coach him in the art of loving a woman. No! What was he thinking? He wanted no woman but Jenny. If it meant he appeared a bumbling fool, so be it. Resolved that he would be hers alone, he pulled a brush through his hair, straightened his cravat, smoothed his jacket and went downstairs to the dining room. But disappointment followed disappointment for Jenny was not there.

Andrew greeted Emily, Joanna and David as he took his seat. He glanced at Jenny’s empty place.

“How was your ride this afternoon, Drew?” David asked.

“Fine,” Andrew answered as Deidre entered the room. Looking up, he saw her watching him as she made her way to her chair; he looked away.

“The weather was perfect for a ride,” Emily said.

“Yes,” Andrew answered noncommittally. Emily and Joanna exchanged a look. Andrew glanced at Jenny’s empty chair.

“Jenny was not feeling well enough to come down for supper. She has a headache,” Joanna explained.

“Oh,” Andrew replied staring at his plate. Deidre hid a smile as she took a sip of water.

“Well, uh, shall we say grace?” David suggested.

All bowed their heads as David led the brief prayer. Throughout the meal, conversation centered on plantation business and speculation about Jonathon’s whereabouts. Andrew played with the food on his plate and excused himself early.

Silence followed him as he left the room, but he did not notice. His thoughts were full of Jenny.

Jonathon felt the yearning to return to Virginia as profoundly he felt the surge of the sea beneath the
Destiny
. Somehow he would discover a way to return to Brentwood Manor, for he could no longer bear to be parted from Emily. Calling for full sails, he sent men scrambling up the riggings to ensure their fastest speed. Gates watched him with amusement tinged with caution for he knew how deep Jonathon’s passion for Emily was, and he knew the many obstacles they had overcome thus far.

“The wind is teasing us, Gates. One minute a gale from the west, the next a zephyr from the south,” Jonathon groused. He was in ill temper today as the early June winds seemed to play tricks.

“We are ahead of schedule, Captain. We should arrive in Yorktown within the week,” Gates replied grinning. “If the winds had the power of your lust, perhaps we would be there this evening,” he teased since no crewmen were within earshot. “In any event, Captain, what can you do once we reach port? It is far too dangerous for you to return to Brentwood Manor, and Mrs. Brentwood should not travel all that way to see you.”

“I will find a way, Gates. I must return to her. Besides, I promised I would be there for the birth of our child, and I hold that as a sacred vow.”

“Your child is not due to arrive for two months, Captain. We will probably be called upon to sail again before that. It would be impossible for you to make such a dangerous journey and return to — ,”

“I will find a way,” Jonathon avowed, his eyes flashing.

“Aye, Captain,” Gates replied, tipping his cap. Jonathon watched his friend stroll away and regretted the harshness that he had used with him. He turned and looked out to sea. The churning water mirrored his emotions. Gripping the rail, he cast his mind back to the last time he held Emily, watched her tease him, felt the silkiness of her skin. He burned to know that she was safe and that their baby was well. Despite Deidre’s promise, he didn’t trust her for a minute; the look in her eye was unlike any he had seen before. The memory of their encounter caused his stomach to turn over and the blood to run cold in his veins. Squeezing his eyes shut he rubbed them and shook his head to rid his mind of that memory, but he knew it was useless. It came to him in the darkness of the night bringing shame and regret. But what could he have done? He was convinced that had he refused Deidre, she would have harmed Emily and their child.

“Blasted witch!” he cursed into the wind. He had to see for himself that they were safe and in no danger from Deidre’s jealous scheming.

• • •

As the morning sun streamed in, Emily sat beside the window embroidering the edge of her baby’s gown. The crisp linen felt cool against her fingers, and the needle slid smoothly through the fabric. Soon she would put this very garment on her child, hold him in her arms and kiss his sweet face. Would she have a boy or a girl? She vacillated from day to day believing the child to be one sex one day and the opposite the next. While she dreamed of a son who would resemble Jonathon with warm brown eyes and thick brown hair, she also dreamed of a petite girl, perhaps with blue eyes and tawny hair like her own. She loved playing with Will and laughed at his boyish rough-housing, delighting in his imagination that turned every object into a toy drum. But a girl would be gentle and long for poppets. While Will allowed cuddling as he drifted off to sleep, usually he wished to be exploring and running. Perhaps a girl would allow more cossetting, which Emily would love as much. Sighing, she gazed out the window knowing that it mattered not the sex of the child; she would love the baby utterly. This child was a part of Jonathon and a product of their loving. Glancing down at her rounded middle, she smiled and ran her hand along the curve of her belly.

The parlor door opened and Andrew entered. Seeing that Emily was alone, he crossed over to her, bent to kiss her forehead and sat beside her.

“Emily, may I ask you something?” he said softly.

“Of course, Andrew.”

“Emily, when you and Jonathon discovered your feelings for one another — that is when you knew you were special to each other — what I mean to say is … ” he paused.

Emily waited and took his hand in hers.

“Andrew, I love you, and I long to help you in any way I can. You can trust me to keep a confidence and to withhold judgment of any kind,” she said, smiling at her younger brother.

“Em, Jonathon was quite a bit older than you, and he had experienced many … um … experiences in his life before he met you. He knew things that … uh, you perhaps did not know yet … ” his voice trailed off.

His meaning began to dawn on Emily. Of course, Andrew did not have the benefit of his father’s advice about matters of the heart, for he had been only fifteen when George Wentworth died at sea. Jonathon was not here to mentor him in the art of wooing at a time when the attraction between Andrew and Jenny was obvious to all, and since David was Jenny’s uncle, it would be unseemly to ask his counsel. Emily smiled and patted his hand.

“Is this about Jenny?” she asked.

Andrew blushed furiously and nodded.

“How can I help?” Emily asked.

“Em, I do not have any … well, experience in courting a woman. I do not know even where to begin. How do I — that is, where do I — I mean to say … ” his voice trailed off.