A More Perfect Union: Emily's Vow Part 8

"Naturally. Cynthia has been a good friend for many years. I trust her to do her best in all things." Emily's father put his hands on his hips. "However, I sought you out because I've been requested to go on a short sea voyage."

"For whom?" Emily folded her hands and laid them in her lap. "Isn't that risky with the many enemy s.h.i.+ps at anchor?"

He shrugged at the question. "I received the request at the town meeting this afternoon. The British have stepped up measures to locate those in town who aid the patriotic cause in a last-ditch effort to punish this town. Frank will return to the house soon, of course, to look after your safety. Prudence requires caution."

Ignoring the burst of anger coursing through her, setting her teeth on edge, Emily approached him. "Yes, Father. But a voyage? For how long?"

"A few days, perhaps a week. I don't want to miss telling my famous ghost stories, after all."

"Or infamous." Emily tried to recover her good humor with an effort of will.

Samantha shook off the concern in her eyes and grinned. "Perhaps we should ask Amy to dream up some new stories."

He feigned horror at her suggestion, then laughed. "Only if they prove spookier than mine. I'll not have any happy ghosts in my house."

Glad to finally reach the outer bounds of Charles Town, Frank sighed. Returning home to Emily and Tommy made his trip away tolerable. He'd slipped out of town with the excuse of researching the validity of a news item, but in truth to rendezvous with an aide to General Greene. He reined in his horse as he approached the sentry, watching the young British lieutenant in the pendulum-like plodding that served as guard duty. After exchanging the requisite formal credentials, Frank paused at a sound behind him. A dusty pair of grays with black manes and tails pulled a light carriage bearing two women up to the guard and halted. He recognized the carriage as well as its occupants.

"Why, Mrs. Abernathy and Miss Amy, you've returned at last." Frank urged his horse over so he could greet them properly.

Amy scrutinized his face but only smiled. Odd, she usually returned a greeting more rapidly. What had they been up to on their little excursion to the Abernathy plantation? His suspicion hummed at the intriguing question.

The lieutenant sauntered over to Amy's side of the carriage and grinned up at her, tipping his hat in greeting. "Ladies. Your papers?"

Mrs. Abernathy handed over the scrunched doc.u.ment with a rueful pout. "We arrive tardy for when we expected our homecoming."

"Late?" The young man looked at her with raised brows, then peered at the page.

"We should have returned yesterday, but it couldn't be helped." She shrugged, a slight lift of shoulders.

"I'm not authorized to permit anyone with an expired pa.s.s." The sentry's shoulders drew back as he straightened his spine and fingered the paper in his hand.

Frank smothered a sigh. The officious lieutenant obviously planned to adhere to the regulations today. Why the heightened awareness of procedure? Mayhap something had changed for the British and not for the better. Amy didn't seem to notice, or hid it well.

The lady in question grimaced and shook her head. "It's hard to imagine that so many ill-timed events could happen in such a short span." She let her breath out in a rush, her eyes searching the soldier's face.

Frank gentled his high-spirited mount and hid a smile. Amy could spin fascinating stories, as their circle of friends well knew. Discerning fact from fiction provided much entertainment for her avid audiences at parties.

"Indeed?" The soldier didn't look as though he believed her, but still listened.

Another dramatic sigh and then she continued. "My poor granny felt better after a dose or two of our good doctor's medicine. Too good, perhaps, because she decided she wanted to sit on the front porch and breathe some crisp fall air."

"Amy, please." Mrs. Abernathy frowned. "The lieutenant has no care for our misfortunes."

Despite the frown, Emily's aunt seemed to hide a grin. Frank stifled his own reaction. This should be interesting. Frank's horse s.h.i.+fted beneath him, the leather tack creaking with the movement.

"She had just sat down in her favorite rocking chair when a hornet-you know, one of those that sound like a whole swarm of bees chases you? Well, it buzzed past her, startling her so she rocked backward violently. The chair overturned, throwing her to the floor. Unfortunately in all the fl.u.s.ter and tumble she sprained her ankle and broke her wrist." Amy twisted in her seat and leaned closer to the young soldier, inviting his attention to where a lace kerchief nestled in the plunging neckline of her golden gown, tantalizingly hinting at creamy mounds beneath the fabric. Her eyes crinkled as she followed his gaze. Fanning herself with one hand, she succeeded in redirecting his attention back to her face. "We sent for the small town doctor because he lived closer and he patched her up as soon as he could, but not soon enough that we could return yesterday as scheduled."

"How horrible for her." The lieutenant's gaze drooped again to where the pulsing slip of lace obscured the valley between Amy's b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Amy bobbed her head in agreement, her mouth twisting into a wry grin. "We thought so too at first. Then the doctor turned out to be a school chum she hadn't seen in ages." Amy shrugged. "Who knew they'd end up rekindling an old crush from way back then."

"That's one way to renew a friends.h.i.+p." Frank chuckled. "Will you be seeing Emily upon your return?"

"That depends on this young gentleman giving us entrance." Amy adjusted her skirts and fluffed the lace at her bodice. She peered into the young man's eyes, batted her lashes once, twice.

The lieutenant followed her movements with a slight frown. When he licked his lips, Frank cleared his throat, startling the infatuated soldier.

"Well, sir, will you grant them leave?" Frank's horse dipped his head to scratch his nose on one leg, nearly unseating Frank with his sudden downward movement. Gathering the reins more firmly, he pulled the stallion's head up.

"I don't suppose fine ladies such as you could be any trouble." The lieutenant handed back the pa.s.s. Tipping his hat once more, he waved them through. "Travel safe."

With a slap of the reins, Mrs. Abernathy set the carriage rattling into motion. n.o.body spoke until out of earshot of the smitten lieutenant.

"Now that's to bed, what has you out of town, Frank?" Amy asked.

"News printing business." The less they knew about his clandestine activities, the better for everyone. However, he wanted to confirm his thoughts about their activities. "I do hope your grandmother is feeling much better."

"Grandmother?" Amy blinked twice slowly and grinned. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

"As I thought." Frank laughed with the ladies as they rode back into town. Amy's stories always proved entertaining. The open question was how long before Miss Amy landed in hot water for her fictions.

Chapter 8.

Frank braced his tired hands on the heavy leather ap.r.o.n hugging his hips and stretched his screaming back muscles. He had spent hours hunched over the metal trays of letters, ones reset three times already and still not aligned properly. Having to place the letters in backward so they printed right side up and reading left to right when his mind kept drifting to Emily's face, her scent, her laugh, frustrated him on many levels. He slammed a hand onto the thick wood table.

A folded paper glared accusingly at him from one corner of another table set at right angles to the first. He had found the pages when he unlocked the door. The pages were signed by Penny Marsh. He did not recognize the name, which was downright mysterious. British guards ensured the town remained closed to comings and goings at night. So who might it be? Someone wanted him to be at odds with the entire community, not just part of it. He slammed his hand down again to hear the satisfying thump followed by the high, tinny sound of the metal tiles wavering in their slots. Suggesting men sold women via marriage into bondage as often as they sold slaves would see him shot. Or worse, hung. Marriage did not equal slavery. His parents had demonstrated that to him through their love and caring for each other.

He considered his marriage to Elizabeth, forced on him by his own sense of honor. He had not wanted to marry anyone at that juncture in his life, with the war all around, but could not abandon his brother's child or the woman having it. His conscience had balked at walking away from his responsibility. Nor could he let an innocent child endure the shame of being labeled a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The war may take the boy's father away, but his uncle would see to it he grew up proper and with pride.

Scrutinizing the small square metal tile with a raised E on it before shoving it into its s.p.a.ce on the iron composing stick, he allowed that what the essayist claimed held a measure of truth in it. A woman enjoyed the protection of her father until she married, then trusted her husband to protect and provide. She relinquished her claim to any property in the agreement, exchanging any former sense of freedom. But marriage still did not equate to being bought and sold like slaves. Not at all.

Dare he print this inflammatory essay? He wiped a rag across his beaded forehead before the sweat dripped onto the waiting galleys of set type. The wooden trays marched up the table, the painstakingly set tiles secured in place. He selected an A and placed it next to the E, cursing when the edges refused to meet squarely. Yanking it out, he threw down the stick.

d.a.m.nation, this business served only to tie him down in one place. Yet his duty to the general to masquerade as a loyalist meant he needed an occupation acceptable to the British. The broadside enabled him to communicate with his patriot counterparts easily, though the job felt like his own version of slavery. He took a deep breath and frowned at the rows of compartments before him, each holding a different style and shape of letter.

In truth, he wished he could board the next s.h.i.+p for anywhere across the ocean. The thought forced his gaze to the double windows at the front of the little shop. Outside, the bay s.h.i.+mmered in soft moonlight. The moon hung low in the sky, a luminous disc suspended above the sleeping town. He'd sent Sawyer home hours before, knowing it might take all night for him to finish his clandestine task. The one he dreaded each week. Setting the letters in line after line of text remained the least appealing aspect of the printing business. Sawyer then ran the press the following morning, while Frank inspected and prepared the papers for distribution. Another day chained to the shop. If he remained a printer after the war, he'd hire more lads to a.s.sist. For now he meant to keep the number of people aware of the specifics of his activities to a minimum.

Sighing wearily, he retrieved the composing stick from the table. Best to continue or he'd not sleep tonight. Too many nights awake, thinking about Emily, turned him into a grizzly bear by day. For once he'd make himself sleep after he finished this blessed ch.o.r.e. He bent his weary back to the task.

Not more than a quarter hour later, the sound of footsteps on the street made him raise his head. The person walked purposefully toward the shop's door. Mayhap word of some emergency had roused some other unlucky soul from a good night's sleep. He stretched his back and headed for the door, feeling satisfying pops as his spine released the tension that built within while hunched over his work. Few people ventured about town after dark, the fear of drunken British soldiers enough to keep them locked safe inside their homes. The light footsteps neared, a shadow pa.s.sing the window before the person paused. He stared at the k.n.o.b as he crossed the room, waiting for it to rattle and wondering who hazarded to be about town at this time.

The shape of the woman's silhouette pa.s.sing the window finally registered in his mind, and he knew.

Could it really be her?

A paper slipped under the wooden door, the gleaming surface blocking his ability to identify the late-night visitor. The mysterious Penny, surely. He must know for certain.

Dropping the stick, he took three long strides to reach the door, twisting the key in the lock as he yanked it open.

d.a.m.nation. Alarm raced through him. "Emily?"

Emily stood ready to flee, one hand at her throat as she stared at him. Dressed in a flowing black cloak and matching bonnet, her pale face glowed in the moonlight. She looked fragile as she lowered her hand to clutch the dark fabric closed tight against her chest.

Rage and fear blended into a feeling so intense his heart nearly escaped the confines of his chest. All the perils she recklessly courted raced through his mind. He grabbed her hand and hauled her inside the store, slamming the door behind him. "Are you daft? Do you not understand the danger?"

She continued to stare, her mouth opening and closing like a catfish in the Cooper. He noticed her trembling and felt the anger build when he needed it to dissolve.

"I am fine," she blurted out.

"No, you most certainly are not. Look at how you tremble in your shoes." He scowled at her, shaking his head. "Your father should tan your hide for defying his express orders."

She raised her chin and glared at him. "He should not treat me like his slaves. Nay, his slaves are allowed to come and go freely from the house. He has imprisoned me in my own home."

Her words echoed those in the mysterious essay, confirming his suspicions. "Do not-" Frank held a hand up before her, noticing with growing dismay glistening tears in the corners of her eyes slowly slip free and course down her porcelain skin. One tear tantalizingly paused at the edge of her ripe mouth before she swiped it away with her palm.

She sniffed, retrieving a kerchief from her purse to dab her eyes. Eyes that brimmed with anger. He blinked. What right did she have to be angry with him? His hands clenched into fists at his side. She, who flaunted her father's wishes, parading about town as if enjoying a church picnic.

"My apologies." She glared at him, no hint of remorse in her posture or her voice. All trace of tears vanished like so much spilled water on a hot summer's day. "I know how you despise any sign of emotion. Do not take that att.i.tude with me, though. I shall not stand for it."

She did not need to be rude. Of course he did not mind emotion. People emoted all the time around him, and he did not care. He-no, more to the point, he and her father were only looking out for her and the rest of the family. Frank straightened. See now, even he was emoting.

"Do not attempt to avoid the bald fact that, number one, you have absolutely no business being out of the house at this time of night." Frank held up one hand and pointed at a finger as he counted off his very valid reasons. "Number two, you're alone, for goodness sake! Have you absolutely no regard for your father's feelings? How would he feel if something disastrous befell you?"

He held a finger to her lips when she dared to open her mouth to speak, ignoring with difficulty the sudden intense desire shooting through him. Grimly holding on to his anger to distract himself from the heat pulsing in his groin, he detected an echoing s.h.i.+mmer of awareness reflected in her wide eyes. This flagrant disregard for her well-being could not continue. "I'm not through."

She closed her mouth, pressing her ruby lips together into a mutinous pout, and he nodded. The desire to kiss her speared through him, but he grimly continued his harangue.

"Finally, it was you writing those missives of dissent you call essays?" That new comprehension set his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "What will your father say when he learns of this betrayal?"

"Betrayal?" Emily frowned at him, her lovely eyes clouding. "I have not betrayed anyone. You dare to betray me with your lack of insight and understanding. 'Missives of dissent' indeed!"

Emily actually came near to shouting in her intensity. The trembling he'd noted earlier transformed into quivering resentment, pulsing toward him as she glared at him through narrowed eyes.

She'd gone too far now by traipsing about town after all he and her father had said to impress on her the risk to her person. He needed a fitting punishment to force her to comply.

"Emily, please, hear me." He stalled for time as he racked his brain for an appropriate response. Despite her current agitation, she possessed a captivating golden beauty, with dark blonde locks, eyes that drew him in, and rosy lips begging for his kiss. No wonder the d.a.m.n soldiers paid so much attention to her.

"Does this mean you will not print this one either?" Emily waved at the paper on the floor neither bothered to retrieve. "Is this the end or the beginning of my writing?"

She wanted the farce to continue? Her father's reputation hung in the balance of Frank's words as surely as hers. Yet the controversy could serve to bolster the circulation of the paper, which meant it would be easier to continue his secret communications.

"If it's going to raise as much of an uproar as I suspect-" Frank hesitated as an idea dawned. Yes, that would work. "I will on one condition."

Wary hope replaced the anger in Emily's gaze. She clutched her purse, her chest quickly rising and falling as she waited.

"Condition?" she whispered, then swallowed.

Frank nodded at her awareness of the import of his next words. "I wish to court you, Emily."

"Court me?" she parroted.

The glimmering hope in her eyes changed to worry. She glanced away from him, her gaze flitting from one object to another around the room like a bird suddenly caged.

"Yes, I do wish to court you properly. And you must agree to wait for me to escort you, no excuses. This is for not only your safety but for my peace of mind." Frank closed the distance between them. He laid her purse on the counter behind her and gently enfolded both her quivering hands in his. "You can't deny you're attracted to me as much as I am to you."

Emily tugged on her hands, and he let them slide out of his. The departure of their warmth left his empty and cold.

"If I say no?" She raised her chin, her hands grasping her upper arms in a defensive gesture, barring him access to her. "What then?"

"Simple, my dear. I tell your father what you have been doing."

She gasped. As he knew she would. Surprise, worry, and finally resignation worked across her features.

"You leave me little choice," she said evenly. "You must know this is blackmail. And more importantly, I shall make no commitment to do more than wait for your escort. Though it goes against my desires."

He tapped an ink-stained finger to his stubbly jaw as he contemplated the light blush rising up her neck to color her cheeks. Desires indeed. She did care for him, her expression said as much.

"Actually, I do want to say one more little thing regarding that." Feeling like a cat about to pounce upon a bird, Frank stepped forward. He wouldn't bite, but the game did entertain. "You must at least pretend to enjoy my company, which I believe will be easy for you to do."

"Why would you presume so?"

"I know you, my dear."

Her bow-shaped mouth pursed as she watched him, one foot tapping the wooden floor. "I have a condition as well." When Frank raised a brow in silent question, she continued. "You must agree you will not censure the content of my essays. I shall have free rein to write on whatever subjects I choose."

"Within reason, yes, of course," he said easily.

"Whatever I deem reasonable." She folded her arms more snugly across her well-endowed bosom. A challenge glittered from under her furrowed brows.

When she wet her lips with a dart of her pink tongue, she won. Marrying anyone other than her had torn his heart, nearly killed him inside, but he had upheld the obligation to the child. He'd do it again if necessary. Though, thank goodness, now she was agreeing even if reluctantly that he could pursue the quarry he desired. His feelings for Emily had continued despite her apparent reservations. He need only convince her of his sincerity. Perhaps allowing her to write what she pleased took a big step toward his goal.

"Very well. I grant you free rein with your topics," he said, "and in exchange you shall permit me to court you."

"Agreed." She reached for her purse, then let her hands fall to her sides as she regarded him.

He took her hand in his and kissed the back lightly, then caught her gaze. "We shall have a magical time together."

She huffed but said nothing. Good. His hastily constructed plan worked. He would win her over to him. It might take patience, but patience he had.

Emily sighed. "I do not wish ill of you, Frank. In fact it is not you in particular, but men in general I wish to avoid." She turned from him, preparing to leave. She bowed her head and stood still, her breathing ragged, as though fighting her own emotions.