The water in the river receded and revealed the deeper boulders and rocks scattered on the muddy bottom.
In the afternoon, when a hazy sun settled above the treetops, a courier upon a brown gelding galloped down the river path toward River Run. Eliza saw him from the porch and stood with her hand above her eyes to block the sun’s glare as he approached. With a sweep of his hat, he dismounted in front of the house and handed Eliza a message sealed in scarlet wax.
Wrought in the most elegant hand were the words To Mr. Hayward Morgan and Mrs. Morgan on the front. Beneath, the slender hand inscribed in decorative scrolls Twin Oaks, Virginia. Along the Potomac.
Eliza, thinking Hayward would indulge her curiosity, broke the seal and unfolded the invitation, and read what she believed would be a turning point in their social life. She stepped into the sitting room, where the sunlight shone bright through the windows, and sat down across from Fiona.
“Promise not to tell Addison I am sewing him a new shirt.” Fiona slipped a needle through the coarse linen fabric. “ ’Tis a surprise. The man has such tattered clothes, not that a laborer like him minds, but a man should have at least one good shirt to wear to church on Sundays and to social affairs—barn dances, no doubt in his case.”
Smiling, Eliza picked up a length of rich apricot silk from the wicker basket beside the chair. She ran her hands over it, relishing the sleek feel of the new cloth and imagining the finished product. She only needed to add a bit of ribbon along the bodice and finish the hem. “You have a kind heart, Fiona. But beware: when a woman makes a shirt for a man, it gives him cause to fall in love with her.”
Fiona hooted and waved her hand. “Oh, go on with you, Eliza. He’d never do that. We are past our years.”
“You are not yet fifty. You are never too old for love. I shall keep your secret about Addison’s shirt, Fiona. And you are to keep mine . . . Still, it is kind of you. I think you like him and do not want to admit it.”
A wave of rose blushed Fiona’s cheeks, and she wiggled in her chair. “Oh, he is a bother. Pesters me like a lad running about my feet.”
Eliza laughed lightly. After a pause she said, “Hayward and I have been sent an invitation to a gathering at Twin Oaks. At last, I’ll have the chance to meet our neighbors on the other side of the river.”
Fiona set her sewing on her lap. “Do you feel well enough? You have seemed tired of late. It may be wise not to go.”
“You are overly protective of me. I am feeling well.”
“But Mr. Morgan may decline. You’ll have to accept his decision.”
“Oh, he will accept . . . I can finish the gown in time, if you will help me.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious, Eliza. A gown of that shade in summer?”
“The color is beautiful. It will be the best gown I have, and I intend to wear it.”
“Women wear light colors in lustring and muslin this time of year. You will raise some eyebrows, I guarantee.”
Despite Fiona’s warning, Eliza pulled thread through a needle. “Why should I look like everyone else? I shall tell them it is the fashion in England.”
Fiona paused, needle held high in the air. “Your good nature is due to your faith, my girl. But wherever you got your impulsive streak, I never could tell.”
“Such rules are meant to be crossed when they are not praiseworthy,” said Eliza. “If I had no compulsion to follow my heart, I may not have won my husband.”
When she heard Hayward dismount outside, she stood and hurried out to meet him in the hallway. He drew off his hat, and she handed him the invitation. In the cool, shadowy foyer she waited while he looked it over.
“I could not resist reading it first. I knew by the handwriting it was an invitation.” She pushed back a curl that brushed over her cheek. Why did Hayward have to look so serious? “I hope you are not angry.”
“No, I’m not angry. It was
In the afternoon, when a hazy sun settled above the treetops, a courier upon a brown gelding galloped down the river path toward River Run. Eliza saw him from the porch and stood with her hand above her eyes to block the sun’s glare as he approached. With a sweep of his hat, he dismounted in front of the house and handed Eliza a message sealed in scarlet wax.
Wrought in the most elegant hand were the words To Mr. Hayward Morgan and Mrs. Morgan on the front. Beneath, the slender hand inscribed in decorative scrolls Twin Oaks, Virginia. Along the Potomac.
Eliza, thinking Hayward would indulge her curiosity, broke the seal and unfolded the invitation, and read what she believed would be a turning point in their social life. She stepped into the sitting room, where the sunlight shone bright through the windows, and sat down across from Fiona.
“Promise not to tell Addison I am sewing him a new shirt.” Fiona slipped a needle through the coarse linen fabric. “ ’Tis a surprise. The man has such tattered clothes, not that a laborer like him minds, but a man should have at least one good shirt to wear to church on Sundays and to social affairs—barn dances, no doubt in his case.”
Smiling, Eliza picked up a length of rich apricot silk from the wicker basket beside the chair. She ran her hands over it, relishing the sleek feel of the new cloth and imagining the finished product. She only needed to add a bit of ribbon along the bodice and finish the hem. “You have a kind heart, Fiona. But beware: when a woman makes a shirt for a man, it gives him cause to fall in love with her.”
Fiona hooted and waved her hand. “Oh, go on with you, Eliza. He’d never do that. We are past our years.”
“You are not yet fifty. You are never too old for love. I shall keep your secret about Addison’s shirt, Fiona. And you are to keep mine . . . Still, it is kind of you. I think you like him and do not want to admit it.”
A wave of rose blushed Fiona’s cheeks, and she wiggled in her chair. “Oh, he is a bother. Pesters me like a lad running about my feet.”
Eliza laughed lightly. After a pause she said, “Hayward and I have been sent an invitation to a gathering at Twin Oaks. At last, I’ll have the chance to meet our neighbors on the other side of the river.”
Fiona set her sewing on her lap. “Do you feel well enough? You have seemed tired of late. It may be wise not to go.”
“You are overly protective of me. I am feeling well.”
“But Mr. Morgan may decline. You’ll have to accept his decision.”
“Oh, he will accept . . . I can finish the gown in time, if you will help me.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious, Eliza. A gown of that shade in summer?”
“The color is beautiful. It will be the best gown I have, and I intend to wear it.”
“Women wear light colors in lustring and muslin this time of year. You will raise some eyebrows, I guarantee.”
Despite Fiona’s warning, Eliza pulled thread through a needle. “Why should I look like everyone else? I shall tell them it is the fashion in England.”
Fiona paused, needle held high in the air. “Your good nature is due to your faith, my girl. But wherever you got your impulsive streak, I never could tell.”
“Such rules are meant to be crossed when they are not praiseworthy,” said Eliza. “If I had no compulsion to follow my heart, I may not have won my husband.”
When she heard Hayward dismount outside, she stood and hurried out to meet him in the hallway. He drew off his hat, and she handed him the invitation. In the cool, shadowy foyer she waited while he looked it over.
“I could not resist reading it first. I knew by the handwriting it was an invitation.” She pushed back a curl that brushed over her cheek. Why did Hayward have to look so serious? “I hope you are not angry.”
“No, I’m not angry. It was
Similar Books
