The Wedding Dress(11)

“You knew when we met who I was, where I came from, and what expectations might be upon me.”

“Yes, but I thought I met a girl with a mind and will of her own. One who would choose a life and husband she loved.”

With mustered courage, Emily stepped into him. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. There’s more to marriage than college memories. More than rib-splitting laughter and juvenile affection.” Surely he knew a girl like Emily had to consider social standing, her privilege, wealth, and education. Her family.

“Is that all we were? A good time? Tell me, are you in love with him?” Daniel’s voice wavered ever so slightly as he backed toward a tan and black mustang tied to Father’s hitching post. Father’s bay had poked her head out the stable window, curling her lip at Daniel’s pony, flirting.

“Daniel, I—” Emotion rose from some hidden room of her heart. “Yes, I love him, whatever that means. Love is a subjective sort of thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No, I would not. It’s an action verb.” Daniel jerked forward, reaching up to slip his fingers along the curve of Emily’s face. “One I’m willing to do. Love you for the rest of your life. I’m willing to speak to your father right now, Emily. I’m a man he can trust with his daughter. I’ll prove myself more worthy than Saltonstall.”

She stepped away from him, a cool ire mingling with her hot tears. “I can’t do that to him.”

“But you can do it to me?” Daniel’s feelings displayed on his high cheeks and square jaw. Even a few paces away, she could see the rise of his chest, sense the beating of his heart.

“You left me. I had no other choice but to move on or go crazy loving you.” Emily gritted her jaw and confessed, “It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

“I’m here now.”

“No, Daniel. We are over. Phillip is a wonderful man, kind and considerate, well-spoken and well-read, educated and respected in this city.”

“Respected? Saltonstall?” He laughed, low and cold. “I tell you what he really is, Em. Phillip Saltonstall is a—” Daniel halted, pressing his lips into a taut line. “He has many . . . he is quite the—”

“He’s quite the what?” Emily crossed her arms, the breeze cooling her skin but not her heart. “Say what you have to say, Daniel. You seem to know so much.”

“I have nothing to say.” He backed away, one step, two steps, slowly at first, then faster. “Good-bye, Emily.”

But instead of racing across the lawn, he surged forward, gripped her shoulders, and kissed her, passionate and tender.

Hot emotion brewed on Emily’s lips and in her heart as she watched him sprint toward his mount and ride off. The clip-clop of hooves echoed in the hollow chambers of Emily’s heart . . . the places where she’d once believed love for Daniel Ludlow bloomed.

She reached for the fir tree branches, bracing herself, not caring if the needles bit into her palm. “I’m sorry, Daniel,” she whispered, praying the wind would carry her words and comfort him. But he was too late. Emily had committed her affections, her mind, to marrying Phillip Saltonstall. It was all for the best, really.

Daniel Ludlow was simply too late. Too late.





Chapter Four



Emily stood at the kitchen sink, pumping cool water over her fingers, the last of her tears dripping from the edge of her jaw into the sink and swirling down the drain.

The five o’clock sun draped reddish-gold ribbons through the trees and left thin, dark shadows on the ground. A warm honeysuckle breeze blowing through the open window did a jig with the curtains.

Splashing water on her face, Emily rubbed her eyes, washing away the heat of tears and the image of Daniel. How dare he come back and interrupt her life? Phillip was expected for dinner soon and she must compose herself.

She snapped a towel from the bar below the sink and dabbed her face dry. If Daniel sent her letters, what happened to them? Where did they go?

“Here ye are, miss.” Molly entered the kitchen from the outside, her apron loaded with tomatoes. “I’ve been searching for ye. Where’d you get off to after the meeting? What’d ye think? Are ye ready to march for the vote?”

“I don’t know, Molly. It all seems rather . . . Has Mother been looking for me?” Emily kept her back to the kitchen maid and cook, composing herself. “It’s warm today, isn’t it?”

“A broiler. Yes ma’am, a bee-roil-er. Umm hmmm.” Molly’s singsong words alerted Emily. The woman had a secret. “Yer mother’s not been looking for you.”

“Molly, did you see me just now?” Emily folded the hand towel and draped it over the dowel rod.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Molly dumped the tomatoes into the sink. “Do ye think I have time to stare out the window so’s I can catch you kissing a young man that ain’t Mr. Saltonstall?”

“Oh, Molly, you did see.” Emily came around the worktable to face Molly. “He kissed me. I did not kiss him.”

“Sure looked like you were kissing him to me.”

“I wasn’t kissing him. He just . . . grabbed me.” Emily slapped her palm against the thick board where Molly worked. The woman was five years older, and at twenty-seven, she was more like a sister than a servant.