to be alone with.
"You look lovely, as always." Frank performed a half bow. His free hand lay briefly on top of her fingers where they curled around his elbow.
She strolled beside him, not bothering to acknowledge the compliment. Or the wayward caress of his hand. He represented everything she needed to avoid in order to pursue her true desires. Encouraging his attentions did not factor into her plans.
What she truly wanted in life remained out of reach for her due to social propriety.
Mentally she counted her heart's desires refused her. She shouldn't open a shop. She shouldn't write for the broadside. She shouldn't be a spinster. She shouldn't dislike children. But hadn't the birthing of children been the cause of losing both her mother and sister? Although she'd tried to speak with her father, his business activities consumed his time, leaving her bereft of a moment when she could approach him with her intentions. Her thoughts swirled like cream whirlpools in her morning coffee while Frank chatted on, filling the silence.
Minutes later she roused from her musings as they mounted the steps to the McAlesters' brick home. She loved the adorable quaint cottage nestled among its array of plants and trees Mrs. McAlester chose for their medicinal uses. However, Samantha's reputation far surpassed her mother's as a healer. Indeed, Samantha knew more about delivering babies and healing illness or bandaging wounds than either of the two Dr. Cunninghams, young or old. Emily tried to smile when Samantha opened the door, but apparently failed.
"Are you alright? I'm so glad you made it safely, what with Frank's requisite escort." Samantha ushered them briskly inside and gathered their cloaks as they removed them. "Mother and Father are in the sitting room."
"Have they been away?" Emily followed Samantha down the hall and into the sitting room. "I've not seen them around town."
"Mother and I have spent some time over the last few days tending folks in the Neck." Samantha paused in the door. "The slaves out that way had a time lately with the change of the seasons and the cold snap that gave them the grip something bad."
"Samantha, darling, surely this is not appropriate before-dinner conversation." Cynthia McAlester regarded them from her place beside the fire. "Come in, all of you. Would you like some sherry? Aaron, darling, pour our guests a drink, will you?"
Mr. McAlester, dressed like the distinguished gentleman he was, tilted his head in acknowledgment of the request. He crossed from where he sipped his brandy by the mantel to the decanters arrayed on a sideboard.
"Emily, dear," Mrs. McAlester continued, "where is your father?"
Accepting the crystal glass of amber wine from Mr. McAlester, Emily sat down in the chair across from Samantha's mother. "He had business that could not wait until morning. He will be along shortly."
"Such a serious businessman." Mrs. McAlester shook her head on a sigh. "It's a shame he pays more attention to business than family."
"He's a loving father." The woman's tone raised her ire. Good manners prevented her from saying more regarding the implication of the woman's statement.
Frank stood beside Emily's chair, swirling his brandy gently in the glass he held in long fingers. His presence so close to her, his sleeve brushing hers with each movement of the glass, increased the tension within as though he tuned a violin. Her nerves hummed with awareness. The tang of the brandy combined with his manly scent. She searched for an excuse to put distance between them without making the movement obvious.
"His poor wife thought so, may she rest in peace," Mrs. McAlester said. "Or she wouldn't have given him six children, now would she?"
"Six?" Emily shifted away from the masculine heat invading her senses to clear her head. "You must be mistaken."
"Four boys and twin girls makes six," Mrs. McAlester replied. "Oh, that's right, my dear. You wouldn't remember the fourth boy. The poor thing died as an
"You look lovely, as always." Frank performed a half bow. His free hand lay briefly on top of her fingers where they curled around his elbow.
She strolled beside him, not bothering to acknowledge the compliment. Or the wayward caress of his hand. He represented everything she needed to avoid in order to pursue her true desires. Encouraging his attentions did not factor into her plans.
What she truly wanted in life remained out of reach for her due to social propriety.
Mentally she counted her heart's desires refused her. She shouldn't open a shop. She shouldn't write for the broadside. She shouldn't be a spinster. She shouldn't dislike children. But hadn't the birthing of children been the cause of losing both her mother and sister? Although she'd tried to speak with her father, his business activities consumed his time, leaving her bereft of a moment when she could approach him with her intentions. Her thoughts swirled like cream whirlpools in her morning coffee while Frank chatted on, filling the silence.
Minutes later she roused from her musings as they mounted the steps to the McAlesters' brick home. She loved the adorable quaint cottage nestled among its array of plants and trees Mrs. McAlester chose for their medicinal uses. However, Samantha's reputation far surpassed her mother's as a healer. Indeed, Samantha knew more about delivering babies and healing illness or bandaging wounds than either of the two Dr. Cunninghams, young or old. Emily tried to smile when Samantha opened the door, but apparently failed.
"Are you alright? I'm so glad you made it safely, what with Frank's requisite escort." Samantha ushered them briskly inside and gathered their cloaks as they removed them. "Mother and Father are in the sitting room."
"Have they been away?" Emily followed Samantha down the hall and into the sitting room. "I've not seen them around town."
"Mother and I have spent some time over the last few days tending folks in the Neck." Samantha paused in the door. "The slaves out that way had a time lately with the change of the seasons and the cold snap that gave them the grip something bad."
"Samantha, darling, surely this is not appropriate before-dinner conversation." Cynthia McAlester regarded them from her place beside the fire. "Come in, all of you. Would you like some sherry? Aaron, darling, pour our guests a drink, will you?"
Mr. McAlester, dressed like the distinguished gentleman he was, tilted his head in acknowledgment of the request. He crossed from where he sipped his brandy by the mantel to the decanters arrayed on a sideboard.
"Emily, dear," Mrs. McAlester continued, "where is your father?"
Accepting the crystal glass of amber wine from Mr. McAlester, Emily sat down in the chair across from Samantha's mother. "He had business that could not wait until morning. He will be along shortly."
"Such a serious businessman." Mrs. McAlester shook her head on a sigh. "It's a shame he pays more attention to business than family."
"He's a loving father." The woman's tone raised her ire. Good manners prevented her from saying more regarding the implication of the woman's statement.
Frank stood beside Emily's chair, swirling his brandy gently in the glass he held in long fingers. His presence so close to her, his sleeve brushing hers with each movement of the glass, increased the tension within as though he tuned a violin. Her nerves hummed with awareness. The tang of the brandy combined with his manly scent. She searched for an excuse to put distance between them without making the movement obvious.
"His poor wife thought so, may she rest in peace," Mrs. McAlester said. "Or she wouldn't have given him six children, now would she?"
"Six?" Emily shifted away from the masculine heat invading her senses to clear her head. "You must be mistaken."
"Four boys and twin girls makes six," Mrs. McAlester replied. "Oh, that's right, my dear. You wouldn't remember the fourth boy. The poor thing died as an
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