CHAPTER 1
The Potomac Heights, Maryland
1797
She'd been warned not to venture far from the house, norgo near the river, nor climb the dark shale bluffs above it.But Darcy Morgan had inherited an adventurous spirit thatcould not be bridled. It had been her favorite place to retreatsince the age of nine, when she had discovered it one morningwhile trekking with her cousins over the ridge that shadowedthe Potomac River.
Bathed in sunlight, she stood at the bluff's edge and gazeddown at the water as she had done a hundred times before.She looked at the sky. Pink and pearled, speckled with whitesummer clouds, it looked heaven-like in the glow of a goldendusk.
Mottle-winged caddis flies danced in hordes at the brinkand Darcy paused to study them. How could such delicatewings flit so high without turning to dust in the breeze? Itcaressed her face, blew back her dark hair, and eased throughher cotton dress. She breathed deep the scent of wild honeysucklethat traveled with it. Drowsy warmth hung everywhere,while the birds sang evening vespers.
With closed eyes, Darcy listened to the water tumble overthe boulders and rocks below. Stretching out her arms, sheturned in a circle and soaked in the majesty of creation.
"Darcy ... Darcy Morgan ... Where are you, you adventuresomepixie?"
Turning, she spied her uncle, William Breese, as he lumberedalong the ridge toward her. With caution, he steppedover rocks and between roots of great trees, a barrel-chestedman with stocky legs. His eyes were pale green against his swarthyface, his head framed in a nimbus of white hair. Darcy'sfather, Hayward Morgan, had been his half-brother, and Darcywondered if her father's eyes had been like her uncle's, for shecould not remember his face. Breathless, her uncle glanced upto see her, and she skipped down the path toward him.
When she reached her uncle, he put his hands upon hisknees to catch his breath. "Your aunt has been fretting allafternoon, wondering where you had gone off to."
Regretting she had caused her aunt such uneasiness, Darcybrushed back her hair and halted before him. "I am sorry,Uncle Will. I should have told her. I did not mean to causeAunt Mari to fret."
"Ah, the woman has had a nervous constitution from birthto forty and two. She fears that one of her girls, and you, Darcy,could be injured or lost, fall from the bluffs, or be swept into theriver and drowned. She goes so far as to believe that one of youcould be carried all the way to the Chesapeake and then outto sea."
Darcy giggled. "It would be an adventure to survive such anordeal, to perhaps be rescued by our Navy."
He shrugged. "Only you would think so. Your aunt wringsher hands and paces the floor every time one of you venturesout-of-doors. Think of me, dear girl, what I've had toendure."
Darcy smiled and put her arm around him. "Are you angrywith me?"
He smiled and wiggled his head. "I could never be angrywith you, Darcy. I like your drive for exploration. Just look atthat patch of sky. Only God can paint a picture like that."
She raised her face to meet the sunlight. "I've been watchingit for hours, how the light mellows the clouds."
"I wish your aunt were more attentive to the things ofnature."
"To console you, Uncle, I have seen her pause to admirethe flowers she brings into the house."
"Indeed, and now she has news and is eager for you tocome home." Mr. Breese looped Darcy's arm through his andproceeded to walk with her down the hill. "She has the girlsgathered in the sitting room and refuses to read a letter until Ibring you back and we are both present."
"I imagine she is cross," Darcy said.
"She would have forbidden you at this late hour. Next timetell me." He threw his free arm out wide. "I don't mind, andmost likely will join you."
The house belonging to Mr. Breese was modest by well-to-dostandards, but affluent for a Marylander living miles awayfrom the cities of Annapolis and Baltimore. Darcy loved it,with its broad porch and dark green shutters. Its meadowsfilled with Queen Anne's lace. Its forests thick with ancienttrees and wild lady slippers. Above all, she loved the river andthe creeks that flowed into it.
She stepped down the path between rows of locust trees,aiding her uncle along, for he was not strong in the legs at histime of life. The windows glowed with evening sunlight. Thefront door sat open, allowing the breeze to flow free. A shaggybrown dog slumbered on the threshold with his head betweenmuddy paws, and when he heard her whistle, he lifted his headand bounded up to her and her uncle.
When Darcy entered the cool narrow hallway of the house,she pulled off her broad-brimmed hat and shook back her hair.Even with a bright sun that day, she had not worn it on herhead, but let it hang behind her shoulders. She set it on ahook beside the door and paused when she heard her aunt'svoice in the sitting room.
"Darcy," Mari Breese called.
She stepped inside with a smile. "I am here, Aunt Mari."
"Where on earth have you been? I have worried."Mrs. Breese fanned her face with the letter, set it on her lap,and fell back against her chair. Accustomed to her aunt'smelodrama, Darcy dismissed her troubled tone of voice.
"I was out walking." She kissed her aunt's cheek.
"Walking, walking. What is so grand about walking? Onmy word, I do believe there are still Indians roaming aboutwho would be pleased to snatch away a beauty like you. Theymight lust for that lovely hair of yours, I dread to think."
Proud of her locks, Mari Breese tucked her mouse-brownhair, peppered with gray, further into her mobcap. Her eyeswere dark blue, close to the shade of ink that stained the lettershe held. The rose in her cheeks heightened, not from theheat in the room, but from the excitement. Darcy wished shecould calm her. Everyone would be better off.
"Uncle Will said you have news, Aunt. May we hear it?"Darcy sat next to her cousins, who were seated with perfectposture in a row upon a faded settee.
"Yes, Mama. You said you would read it once everyone washere," said Darcy's cousin Martha.
Her eldest cousin possessed a flawless row of pearl-whiteteeth and eyes like her papa's. She and Darcy were the sameage, and their resemblance to each other caused people tothink they were sisters. She wore her hair in a loose chignontoday, silky and dark brown, accenting her fair skin. Darcycould not tolerate the style, and each time Martha urged herto try it she exclaimed it gave her a headache.
"We have been patient," Martha reminded her mother. Theother girls—Lizzy, Abigail, Rachel, and Dolley—chimed in.
"If your father would be so good as to sit down, I will begin.It involves all of us."
Mr. Breese drew his pipe out from between his teeth. He satin a chair beneath the window, picked up the newspaper, andproceeded to look it over.
"Will, your attention please." Mrs. Breese slapped herhands together.
"Here's an interesting article, girls," he said. "In March, agentleman by the name of Whitney invented a machine thatremoves the seeds from cotton. Calls it the cotton gin. Fancythat!"
"More than likely it will add to the South's sinful institutionof slavery," Darcy said.
"I hope not, Darcy. But with an invention of this kind ..."
Mrs. Breese stamped her foot. "Husband, do you wish tohear this or not?"
He set the paper down on his lap. "What is so important,my dear?"
"We've received an invitation. I must say, I have beenanticipating this, and now we have something to break theboredom we endure in this wilderness."
"Boredom, my dearest? With this lot, how can you bebored? And it's hardly a wilderness anymore, not with townsand villages springing up everywhere. It is no different herethan in New York."
Mrs. Breese huffed. "New York indeed. New York is a city.This is the end of the earth as far as I am concerned."
"No different from where you were raised, then."
"Indeed that is true. This invitation reminds me of when Iwas young. You girls shall benefit from this."
Darcy's cousins pleaded for her aunt to reveal the facts. Shesat quiet, her mind summing up all the things this invitationcould be. A ball? A dinner party or picnic? She thought ofthe few neighbors they had, and not a one seemed given tohold such events. But on the other side of the river were largeplantations, and the Virginians were noted for gatherings ofall sorts. She'd never been to the other side of the Potomac,and the chance excited her.
Mr. Breese lifted his paper and glanced over it. "Are yougoing to keep us in suspense, my dear?"
"I shall read it when I am ready ... I am ready now."
"I am glad to hear it, my dear."
"Which do you wish to know first, who it is from or whereit is from?"
"I suppose you will tell us both, whether I want to know ornot."
"It comes from Twin Oaks. A country picnic and danceis to be held this Saturday in celebration of Captain andMrs. Rhendon's son's homecoming." She wiggled and hermobcap went awry. The girls were bursting with smiles andexclamations.
"How thrilling." Mr. Breese yawned.
"It says here that Daniel Rhendon has returned from along stay in England and wishes to celebrate. I imagine everyonehas been invited. Meaning those of good social standinglike us."
"Why do you suppose that, Mother?" Rachel winked at hersisters, her blonde curls, amid a wide blue ribbon, topplingover her slim shoulders.
"Because, my dear, we are people of quality, and it is onlyproper the Rhendons would invite us."
Darcy wondered, Why now? "They never have before, notin all the years we have lived here."
"That is true. Perhaps an acquaintance mentioned us."
Mr. Breese blew out a breath. "It would displease your deardeparted mother to know you approve of the Rhendons, mysweet."
Mrs. Breese arched her brows. "How so, my dear?"
"Have you forgotten, she was a loyalist during theRevolution?" Darcy's cousins turned their heads in unisonand looked at him with wide-eyed interest. "Their neighborsconvinced your papa to join the militia at a ripe old age.Remember?"
Mrs. Breese shrugged. "I do. And Mama said rebellion wasan evil thing. She grieved that Papa thought differently andtook up arms against the King. I recall her wails that he'd behung by the neck along with the rest of the traitors—whichmeant the Patriots."
This sparked Darcy's interest. Her aunt shared so littleabout her family. "Did their difference of opinion cause themto love each other less, Aunt?"
Mari Breese shook her head. "Not one whit. Mama sworeshe would not abandon Papa for his misguided politics, andshe never did. His stint in the militia did not last long. He wastoo old to cope."
It pleased Darcy to hear that love had won out over allodds. If only it had been that way for her parents. She knewsomething dark had happened between them, with the littleshe could remember, but she had never dared to force theinformation from her aunt and uncle. They never offered toreveal anything. And so, she left well enough alone.
Darcy shut her eyes and forced back one memory—that ofher mother lying still and pale. She could not see Eliza's face,only a flow of dark hair. She remembered the firm touch of herfather's hands, the sound of his voice, and the words—You'veheard of Hell, haven't you? Well, that's where your mama will be.
She had vague memories of her father, some that werenightmarish that she kept to herself, others of a loving parentwho pampered her. Her heart ached recalling him and hermother, whose faces were a blur in her mind.
"This gives me pause to think of your own parents, Darcy,"her aunt said. "Such negligence by your father to have left forthe West the way he did, leaving you with us without a forwardingaddress of any kind. But I should not have been surprised."
"I do not remember him well enough to know, Aunt.And I doubt there are forwarding addresses into the Westernterritories."
"I would say it was more that he did not wish the responsibilityof raising a girl," said her aunt.
You see, if you are a bad person and sin—that is where you willgo. That is where your mother is going ... forever.
Those words came back again, causing her heart to sink.She gazed at the evening light pouring through the windowand wished it could erase them from her memory.
Night was falling and the crickets in the garden were chirping.Aunt Mari stood and pushed the window wider to allowthe breeze to pass into the room. Then she sat back down andlooked over at Darcy. "Oh, it has troubled you for me to mentionthem. Would it help if I told you that your papa lovedyour mother? That much I can say with certainty, Darcy."
Darcy raised her eyes to meet her aunt's. "Do not worryyourself, Aunt Mari. I was so young and do not rememberthem. You and Uncle Will have been my parents, and I thankGod for it."
"I believe the truth is when Eliza died, Hayward went Westto lose himself in his grief," her uncle said.
"Oh, how romantic!" cried Dolley. Her winsome blue eyesglowed as she clutched her hands to her heart. Dolley heavedthe next two breaths while she brushed back her light brownhair from her forehead.
"Romantic?" Mrs. Breese clicked her tongue. "A sad turn ofevents, shrouded in mystery is hardly romantic, Dolley. Therewere things said and done we will never know ... never."
Darcy grew silent, for she had nothing she wanted to saythat would reveal her own thoughts and feelings on the subject.But within her, emptiness remained.
Her aunt reached over and patted her hand. "Never mind,Darcy. You should not think on such sad things. I'm sorry formentioning them. Let us return to the Rhendons' invitationinstead. I wager you will catch the eye of many a young manat this event. Perhaps even find a husband."
Darcy shook her head. "Oh, not me, Aunt."
"Why not? You are just as pretty as Lizzy and Martha, and Idare say even Abby and Rachel. Dolley is yet too young."
Darcy disagreed. She thought her cousins were far moreattractive. They were enamored with fashion, wore theirhair in the latest styles, and always wore stockings and shoes;whereas she cared little for what was in and what was out,wore her hair loose about her shoulders, refused to wear stockingsin hot weather, and loved going barefoot in summer.
She stood up and, going to the window seat, leaned on thesill and drew in the air. "If you could have your way, Aunt, youwould have us all married by Saturday eve."
Her aunt sighed. "Well you should have married a year ago.Lizzy and Martha should be married by the year's end. I wassixteen when I married Mr. Breese."
Mr. Breese looked over the rim of his spectacles. "Thankyou for the reminder, my dear."
She gave him a coy look in response. "Now, girls," she wenton. "We should look at each one of your dresses to see if theyare in acceptable condition for this affair. If they are not weshall see if we can make subtle repairs or changes to them,perhaps add or subtract where needed."
"Can we not make new dresses? Or go into town and buynew ones?" Lizzy gazed over at Mr. Breese with a demure smileand batted her large blue eyes. Darcy had seen it many times—Lizzy'sattempt to twist him around her finger.
"For all six of you?" Stunned, Mr. Breese lifted his brows."I am not a rich man, Lizzy. You must make do with what youhave."
The girls pouted in unison, but Darcy rose to her feet andswung her arms around her uncle's neck. "We shall make youproud of us. Our clothes are just as good as any others, andwe should not be judged by what we wear. French fashion isout, since their gentry are wearing sackcloth and ashes thesedays."
Mrs. Breese brushed her handkerchief over her neck. "Oh,Darcy. I hope you keep opinions like that to yourself while atTwin Oaks. Many people judge a young lady by the clothesshe wears. It says where you fit in."
"Yes, Aunt." Darcy wrapped a strand of her hair around herfinger. "I hear they have fine horses at Twin Oaks. Do you supposethey shall let us ride?"
Astonishment spread over her aunt's face. "Certainly not.It would be unbecoming."
"But ladies ride all the time, Mother," said Abby. She hadnot spoken until now, and Darcy smiled. Lately, Abby stroveto break out of her shy nature and join in the conversation.She was the politest of young ladies, and in appearance theimage of her mother. Horses were her passion, and the idea ofpossibly riding one at Twin Oaks caused her eyes to light up.
"I do hope the Rhendons allow it, for you especially, Abby,"Darcy said.
