Before the Scarlet Dawn

12

Twin Oaks rivaled the finest plantations along the Potomac, encompassing one thousand sprawling acres of rich, green pastureland. The oaks that gave the estate its name could be seen atop a hill from the riverbank. The furthest point to the south and west stretched to the branch of the Shenandoah River, where it converged with the Potomac near Harpers Ferry.

It was on of the first estates in this part of Virginia, and the house, erected in 1724, had replaced the log cabin built by Thaddeus Rhendon, the grandfather of the current owner, Captain Rhendon. Abiding with him were his wife Amelia, two daughters, and his infant son, Daniel.

Hayward knew of the prosperity of Twin Oaks; Rhendon’s ownership of twenty slaves, ten of which were indentured from England; and the splendid thoroughbreds that rivaled any racers in the Potomac lowlands. “One day River Run will be great,” Eliza responded when he described Rhendon’s good fortune with a hint of jealousy in his voice. “It will take time and hard work. Do not envy what Captain Rhendon has inherited.”

Hayward lifted his hand away from his chin. “I suppose you will say it is a sin. You are your father’s daughter, after all.”

“It shall only bring you sorrow if you covet what is not yours. Be happy for your friend instead.”

“He is not quite my friend. Merely an acquaintance.”

“Is his wife an amiable woman?”

He laid his hand over his knee and looked out the carriage window. “I imagine so. I have not met her, but they say she is pretty, and Southern through and through, from an old Williamsburg family and one not to debate with over Southern ideologies.”

“I see. That is a pity.”

He glanced at her, his brow severe. “Eliza . . .”

“Never fear. I am passionate on many subjects, but for your sake I shall hold my tongue and behave. Besides, it is unseemly for a woman to debate in public.”

“Humph. You would debate if you were prodded enough, I wager.”

She smiled broadly. “You have gotten to know me so well, Hayward. But I promise to rein in all temptation to let loose on any subject that comes up.”

Pleased to hear she would behave, Hayward fastened his eyes on his wife’s youthful face. A hint of powder graced it, but nothing more. Her eyes sparkled from the flickering sunlight that danced through the trees as their carriage passed along the road.

When they crossed the bridge at the point closest to the river, Eliza leaned toward the window. He saw she had no fear as it swirled below. The quick rise and fall of her breathing caused the gold cross she wore to flash at her throat.

He wondered why he had still not fallen deeply in love with the woman behind the eyes, behind the flesh he so desired. What prevented him? What held him back from opening up his heart? The gentle curve of her mouth and the glint of her expression spoke of her kindness, her virtue, and her goodness, all things that thrived beneath the outward appearance. But her flesh meant more to him than the whole of her.

He stared, studying the inquisitive expression on her face as she admired the passing landscape. It was then he decided he had to make an effort.





A scarlet-clad footman assisted Eliza down. Eager and nervous, she gazed at the crowd of people that moved up the broad marble steps to the veranda lined with white portico columns. So much did the house resemble the Georgian manors of England that she smiled at the irony. They talked of breaking free from England, yet did not mind the architecture of Britain’s most prominent aristocrats.

Greeting guests by the door stood Virginia’s nobility. The Rhendons looked as regal as any blue-blooded couple Eliza had ever seen. Beside them stood a gentleman whose way of standing out in the crowd caught her immediate attention. His proud expression mirrored Hayward’s—yet not so handsomely. At least that is what Eliza told herself to stave off a quick flutter of the heart.

Hayward held his arm out to her, and she coiled hers through it and laid her gloved hand over his forearm. Her wide-brimmed hat shadowed her face. The ivory-colored ribbon that held it hung loose along her throat where her necklace dangled and sparkled. The gold cross pressed against her skin, and she thought how faith had brought her to this point—faith in God, faith in herself to be strong enough to carry out His plan for her life. She sensed she would need it tonight, and decided she would always wear the necklace to remind her of where she had been and where she was going.

In unison, heads turned. Women spoke to one another in whispers. They looked her up and down, judging her over a mere color, Eliza thought. Or was it over something else? And by the glances they gave her husband behind their painted fans, she knew they found him handsome. She was proud to be his wife, and admired how fine he looked in his new suit of clothes.

The breeze rustled the wisteria that grew along the lattice of the veranda. Her nerves were taut as they made the final step. Captain Rhendon offered a friendly hand to Hayward, and they shook. Hayward bowed to Mrs. Rhendon and kissed the top of her hand. He was gracious, having not become so much of a frontiersman that he had lost the courtly manner of an English gentleman.

As Hayward brought Eliza forward to introduce her, Amelia Rhendon looked down her long Grecian nose and measured her head to toe.

Assessing me, is she? Seeing if I am properly attired in the latest fashion? Oh, Lord, how shall I ever fit in with such wealthy people?

With grace, Eliza curtsyed. Captain Rhendon reached for her hand and grasped it. “It is a pleasure, Mrs. Morgan. My, you are as pretty as a peach, if you don’t mind me saying.”

His tone was kind, and she liked him. “Thank you for the compliment, sir.”

“You are welcome to more if your husband does not object.” With a jolly laugh, he turned to his wife. “Amelia, my dear, you have at last seen the elusive Mrs. Morgan. What do you think?”

Amelia arched her fine brows high. “Mrs. Morgan is the personification of what I imagine an Englishwoman to be. But I declare, is that the fashion in Britain these days, my dear, that a lady should wear such earthy colors this time of year? As you can see, the ladies present wear cooler shades.” Amelia swept out her hand to point out the crowd of maids and matrons.

Eliza smiled lightly. “I have not yet learned the customs in America, when it comes to dress.” She then looked at the ornate frame that surrounded the doorway. “Twin Oaks is beautiful, Mrs. Rhendon. It reminds me of home.”

“Which is where, exactly?” Amelia asked in her finest Southern drawl.

“Well, home is River Run. But Derbyshire before that.”

Amelia snapped open her fan. “As it was for our ancestors here in Virginia. But more specifically, Mrs. Morgan. Where were you born and raised? What are your family connections?”

“I am from the Hope Valley, ma’am. My father was a vicar, my mother a gentleman’s daughter.”

Eliza’s hostess raised her slim brows again. “A vicar, you say? How interesting.”

“If you please, Mrs. Rhendon, I would be grateful if you would educate me on the customs of His Majesty’s Colonies. I know so little, and . . .”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and heads turned. The gentle pressure of Hayward’s hand around Eliza’s fingers signaled she should say nothing more. Mortified, she felt heat color her cheeks.

However, the good-looking gentleman who leaned against the wall nearby smiled. He looked quite amused at Eliza’s comment, and fastened a pair of dark blue eyes upon her. So long did he stare that she grew agitated, all her muscles tensing.

Then she heard the words, “to Hades with King George.” A swift chill raced through her. She glanced at Mrs. Rhendon. “I . . . forgive me. I believe I have said something wrong, or may have spoken out of turn.”

“Your husband will explain,” said Amelia. “You will excuse me. I must attend to my other guests.” With a proud lift of her chin, she sashayed away.

Hayward leaned near Eliza’s ear. “You mustn’t refer to the Colonies as belonging to King George. As you can tell, the majority of the company here would prefer to hang him rather than kowtow to the inane monarch.”

Eliza placed her hand against her lips. How could she have made such a blunder, embarrassed him and offended her hostess? “I am sorry, Hayward. It was a mere slip of the tongue.”

“Take care of what you say from now on.” He turned from her, and soon they were separated. Convinced she had disappointed him, his departure grieved her.

Captain Rhendon patted her hand. “It will take some time to acquaint yourself with our ways.”

She lowered her head. “Thank you, sir. Whatever my husband’s politics are, I shall keep to those.”

“Very wise, and a sign of true devotion, ma’am.” Rhendon took her a few steps past the door and held his hand out to her. “Now come along. I wish to introduce you to someone.”