“Don’t trouble yourself. I can’t stay long.” He twirled the straw hat between his hands. “You look . . . lovely.”
She was wearing the everyday mourning gown without a bit of adornment. “Thank you.” That was the polite thing to say, but she wanted to ask a thousand questions. Did he wonder why she’d left for Charleston so suddenly? Could she even explain it? Was she the woman who had broken his heart? Was that why he’d come here today? She wanted to ask every question that had crossed her mind over the last four years but couldn’t manage to say a thing.
“Your aunt is well?” he inquired.
“I am perfectly fine,” Aunt Virginia called out.
Elizabeth started. She had not been aware that anyone was near, least of all her aunt, who hurried toward the house at a prodigious rate. With each frenzied stride, she gasped for breath.
After Cook let them both in the gate, Aunt motioned her toward the cookhouse. “You, go on.” Once Cook had left, Aunt turned on Elizabeth. “I was only gone a moment, and look what you’ve done.”
Rourke descended the stairs and extended an arm to assist Aunt. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.”
Though Aunt accepted his assistance, she withdrew her hand the moment she reached the top step. “I’m very sorry, Captain, but my niece has much to do and cannot entertain any visitors.” She held out a hand. “Come, Elizabeth, you must prepare for tonight.”
Rourke bowed and backed away. Then he gave Elizabeth the most wonderful smile. It spoke of love and a future and everything she had dreamed about for years. She watched him walk down the street, ignoring Aunt’s fussing. He’d felt the connection between them. Without words, he had washed away the sins of the past and welcomed her into his future. His smile offered hope that turned storm clouds to sun.
“Come along, Elizabeth. We must prepare for Mr. Finch. Your father has great expectations for this evening.”
In a single moment, Aunt snuffed out that hope.
9
Aunt Virginia dragged Elizabeth into the dining room. After Rourke had disappeared from view, Aunt yanked the oleander from Elizabeth’s hair and tossed it out the side window.
Elizabeth raced to the window in time to see Nathan accidentally step on it on his way to the front porch, broom in hand.
“Why did you do that?” she cried. “It was only a flower, and now it’s ruined.”
“You are in mourning and should not flaunt pink blossoms.”
Elizabeth rounded to face her aunt. “You might as well have thrown me outside. That bloom reminded me of Mother. Oleanders were her favorite.”
Aunt’s expression softened a little. “Helen always was sentimental, but she would have wanted you to present the proper image, not accept flowers from a stranger.”
“He is not a stranger.”
“One meeting does not constitute an acquaintance. Now, let’s get down to business.”
Further protests would have fallen on deaf ears, so Elizabeth dreamed of Rourke while folding napkins. She envisioned him seated at the table when she arranged the place settings. The candles would cast his chiseled features in a warm glow. He would smile at her. She would blush and avert her gaze until Father wasn’t looking.
“Nicely done.” Aunt Virginia’s rare compliment drew her from the daydreams. “Yes, this should impress Mr. Finch quite nicely.”
Percival Finch. The silver and crystal would not touch Rourke’s lips but those of Mr. Finch. Instead of garnering Rourke’s smiles, she must suffer through those of Mr. Finch. The thought sat upon her like lead.
When Father returned early from the office and Aunt followed him to his study, Elizabeth retreated upstairs. That conversation did not bode well. Aunt would tell Father that Rourke had called. Father would reprimand Elizabeth and command her to give Mr. Finch her utmost attention.
She stared out the window, longing to run to the harbor like she had as a girl. On a night like tonight, she would have shinnied down the tamarind and escaped. Instead she must endure Mr. Finch.
“I think I shall go mad,” she whispered.
The tamarind leaves rustled in response.
By the time the supper hour approached, Elizabeth decided not to encourage Mr. Finch in the slightest. She did not change from the everyday mourning dress she’d worn all day.
Aunt Virginia frowned when Elizabeth descended the stairs. “You could at least wear the crape mourning gown that you wore on our passage. Anything would be better than that plain old thing. Why, it has dust on the hem.” She ordered Florie to brush the gown.
Elizabeth countermanded the order. “If this is an ordinary supper centering on business, then a finer gown would look out of place. You can return to the cookhouse, Florie.”
“Yes, miss.” The girl jerked into a little curtsey and hurried down the hallway.
Aunt Virginia was not done. “At least have that maid of yours curl your hair. And don a cap. You look more like a servant than mistress of the house. Anabelle!”