Oysters. His lips felt like wet, slimy oysters. Ironically, oysters also made her feel like she was going to retch. Elinor held her mouth tight against the assault on her lips, trying to breathe through her nose despite the noxious odours emanating from his person. She stared at the wall, wondering how this could have happened. She should be safe from unwanted advances in a school of all places! How could she get out of this as quickly as possible and not hurt his feelings?
Elinor felt a cold shiver and began to sweat. She had to stop this immediately before she lost all control. She placed her hands on his chest and gently pushed.
“Mr. Wilson, please! This is hardly appropriate behaviour for friends.” She hoped that got the point across, because she felt the tell-tale signs of clamminess and rapid heart rate beginning.
“But Miss Abbott, you must know how I feel about you! I want you to be my wife!” He slid his hand over his few remaining strands of hair atop his shiny pate, a gesture he made when nervous.
“No, sir.” She paused and shook her head. She spoke more calmly than she felt. “I truly did not know. I am quite flattered by your feelings, but I am afraid I have no desire to remain more than friends. I sincerely apologize if you misunderstood my affection for you to be more than platonic.”
Oh no, here they come: the stages of rejection.
Denial. The wide eyes, the mortified look, the shaking head.
“Surely you jest, Miss Abbott. I cannot be so mistaken, surely. You spend so much time here.”
“I assure you, I would not jest of such a thing.” She was here for the children, not him!
Anger. The red face, the veins pulsing at his temples and throat.
“But you must marry me! How could I have been so mistaken in your feelings?”
“Again, I assure you that nothing was intentionally done.”
Bargaining. He began to pace the room, and threw his hands in the air.
“What can I do to change your mind? There must be something! Think of the children!”
“Sir, please.” Grovelling was so unbecoming. What else was there to say?
Acceptance. His hands dropped and his shoulders drooped, his eyes on the floor.
Well, hopefully acceptance would come later, because she was not going to wait around for that. She ran toward the door, trying not to faint. “Sir, I do apologize, but I cannot stay. Take care, Mr.Wilson.” She made her escape as fast as she could, stopping only to empty her stomach in the bushes behind the stable.
Elinor threw her leg over her mare and took off as if the hounds of hell were after her. She knew she should be flattered that Mr.Wilson had offered for her, but it infuriated her instead. She shuddered as she recalled the feel of his disgusting lips and clammy hands upon her person as he declared himself to her. What happened to the old-fashioned method of using words first? She had to stop thinking about it or she would retch again. Why did she keep finding herself the centre of unwanted attention from men?
She finally turned back toward River’s Bend, the plantation her father had bought only a few miles outside of Washington, across the Potomac River in Alexandria. As she rode astride across the open fields from the village to the manor house, she began to feel the panic subside. The feeling of the wind in her face and hair whipping around were a welcome comfort. She truly felt ill from her interactions with Mr.Wilson. Would there ever come a time when she could be touched by a man and not grow anxious? Would she be able to recapture her free spirit that now seemed to be trapped inside?
Elinor lowered her body down against the horse as they made their way into the trees. An afternoon shower provided little relief from the muggy August afternoon. She ducked some low-hanging branches as their leaves dripped large droplets onto her face, without slowing her pace. As she wiped the water from her eyes, she saw a man standing dumbstruck right in the middle of the path. There was nowhere for her to go with trees on one side, the riverbank on the other. She pulled up on the reins as hard as she could, and Athena reared up on her hind legs. Elinor lost her grip and flew off the back of the horse.
“Ouch.” Elinor managed to get that word out while struggling to catch her breath. Now she understood what it meant to have the breath knocked out of you. She wiggled her hands and toes, still able to feel everything, and looked up to make sure Athena was unharmed, when she heard a man’s voice ask if she was all right. She stood up ungracefully and wiped at her mud-covered skirts, then began to chastise the stranger.
“Of course I am not all right! Why were you standing in the middle of the path? You must have seen me coming!” she shouted with her fists balled up at her side.
The stranger stared at her from under his hat, and she caught sight of a pair of brilliant blue eyes flash at her. “I was not the one riding like a hellion!” he shouted back at her.
The nerve of the man! “I can see you are not hurt, so kindly remove yourself from our property!”
With that, she turned on her heel and marched over to her horse, which was eating grass. Once mounted, she managed to spray the stranger with mud as she urged her horse forward, taking all her frustration out on this man, knowing she was behaving abominably, but beyond caring at this point. She was so distracted, she did not even give thought to who he was or why he was at River’s Bend.
Elinor rode until she felt the wind carry away some of her frustration. Finally, she slowed the horse to a walk as she reached the stables. She brushed and fed the horse before feeling composed enough to encounter others.
Elinor stopped at the door and took a few more deep breaths before entering the house, still in disbelief. She tossed her soaked bonnet on the table in the mud room off the kitchen, kicked off her muddy boots, and thrust her feet into some slippers. She went through the kitchen, drawn in by the smell of her favourite biscuits. Those always cured what ailed her. Elinor swiped a few of the treats and kissed Cook on the cheek with a half grin.
The cook looked askance at her, eyeing Elinor’s sopping wet, muddy self from head to toe, but did not scold—verbally anyway. There were few things that piqued Elinor, so the staff stayed out of her way, merely handing her a towel and acting as if everything was normal. She heard Cook mumbling something about “indulged and let run wild” and “needing a man to tame her.”
That actually brought a smile to Elinor’s face as she walked off because she knew that was one of the ways Cook expressed fondness. Partially dry, Elinor continued on into the study where she found her papa sitting behind the large mahogany desk, absorbed in a letter. Their old spaniel lying at Sir Charles’ feet, pried an eye open to see who the intruder was, then promptly went back to his nap.
Elinor stood and observed her papa from the doorway, finishing her biscuits while allowing a sense of calm to seep in. His hair was silver along the temples and receding back from his face, showing the lines of an easy smile. She walked over to where her mother’s treasured tea service was laid out and touched the pot to see if it was still warm. Satisfied, she poured herself a cup and refilled her father’s cup. He finally looked up, and she placed a kiss on his cheek. “Ah, there you are dear.” He smiled at the apple of his eye. He must have noticed that look on her face. “What is the matter? Was something wrong with one of the children at the school?”
“No.” She frowned. “Am I so obvious?” So like her father not to notice how dirty she was, or ask why, but instead notice her agitation.
“I am afraid so.” Sir Charles put his work down and watched her begin to walk back and forth across the carpet, her panic now turned to vexation. He waited patiently for her to divulge her pent-up words.
“I received another offer!” she said in frustration and threw her hands out as if to ask why.
“You are supposed to be flattered, my dear,” Sir Charles commented with an amused look at his daughter, while calmly sipping his tea. “Was it the schoolmaster?”
She nodded. “Why must they always offer? I thought we were friends, Papa. Am I doing something wrong that they mistake my feelings? Assume I am besotted? When I realize they—they like me in that way, it makes my skin crawl!” As if on cue, she shivered at the thought. “Then, I feel guilty for rejecting them!”
Sir Charles went and sat on the sofa and patted the spot next to him. She sat, trying to minimize the damage to the sofa, and he put his arm around her and snuggled her to him. These were the times she desperately missed her mother. Her papa did not always know how to handle these situations, other than to hold her and pat her back. Elinor often lacked feminine polish, and though she had gone to a finishing school for young ladies, it still did not come naturally to her.
“Do not stop being yourself, Elly. Just be honest and kind about your feelings. When the right man comes along you will not feel disgusted by his offer.” His eyes twinkled at her, but at least he did not laugh out loud.
“Hmph,” was all Elly could reply. She knew this feeling would never stop happening around men. At least she could talk to men now and be friends with them. Or so she had thought. “So it does not bother you that I have not accepted anyone? What if I did choose to settle here? Would that bother you? You did say eventually the plantation would be mine, did you not?”
He sighed. “No dearest, I am in no hurry for you to marry. I only bought this plantation as an investment. I had not planned on staying here so long, Elly. I know you are comfortable here, but I think you should give England a chance once more before you make up your mind.”
After a few moments of pondering that statement over another biscuit, she dismissed it. They had already had many discussions about her not wanting to go back to England. She changed topics as she noticed a parchment sitting open on the desk. “Who is your letter from, Papa? Is that why you wished to speak to me?”
“Yes, yes. The War Office in England. It seems negotiations are being commenced.” He rose and made his way back over to his desk.
“That is wonderful news!” Elinor clapped her hands together with excitement, for she prided herself on being well informed on political goings-on.
“Yes, but it means I will be away for some time. The meetings are being held in Ghent.” Her excitement faded as quickly as it had come. She frowned.
“Why are the negotiations being held in Belgium? The war is between America and Britain!” Elinor exclaimed, exasperated. “It is so far!”
“Since when did logic ever enter into political negotiations? Especially Belgium being a neutral party and all,” her father countered. Elinor smiled despite herself as her father tried to make light of a subject she knew he dreaded approaching her with. “Dearest, I must go. This war must be stopped, and if I can help them see how pointless it is and return the countries to their prior arrangements, then life here can be peaceable again.” He paused, knowing she would dislike his next statement. “I want you to go to your grandmother while I am away.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Next thing I know, you are going to say I need to have a come-out Season in London!”
An awkward pause ensued. He looked at her questioningly. “Actually, yes, I was going to suggest it. I presumed all girls longed to dress like a princess and dance at balls. Never mind that you push the word dress to its limit.” He eyed her muddied, split-legged riding costume as he spoke with a twinkle in his eyes.
So he had noticed her dress. Ignoring his jibe at her attire, she said, “I am not disagreeing that you should go help make peace, merely that I must go to England while you do so. I have no desire to have a fancy come-out London Season amongst a group of idle, immoral, self-indulgent aristocrats, especially while there is a war going on here! How could I pretend to be happy while immersed in frivolity?”
“I believe you must have missed an adjective or two. Perhaps vain, greedy, arrogant…and it is because there is a war going on here that I insist you go.” Sir Charles shook his head. He never envisioned when they came to America several years ago, for him to serve as a diplomatic minister to the King, that Elinor would transform into a fiercely independent American, almost anti-English.
Elinor smiled. “Perhaps that was a bit excessive, but you know how I feel about useless titles and people who feel work is beneath them.” Her father had earned his ‘Sir,’ so that was different, of course. “I do not need to have hundreds of dresses by the finest modistes and dance at a ball every night to feel respectable. Here I have the injured soldiers, the vicarage children and the plantation to keep me usefully employed. This is my home now.”
“Why, Elly, you would look beautiful in a potato sack,” Sir Charles replied, shaking his head at her tenacity. “However, England is your heritage, and your mother always wanted a London Season for you.” And a nice English husband, Elinor thought to herself. “Besides, all society is not as you describe. There are plenty who champion worthy causes and strive to do right by their tenants and the needy. If you look for the good, you will find it—just as you have here.” He paused thoughtfully, wondering the best approach to take with her. He could tell she was clearly not moved thus far. “You have not been to visit our family since we left; it might be your last chance to see your grandmother.”
Elinor sighed, but nodded her head, not wishing to argue. Her grandmother was the one argument that would always work. It would also be nice to see her older sister, Sarah, and brother, Andrew. Her brother was in the army, and had been fighting Bonaparte. However, she heard that Bonaparte had been exiled, so she hoped she might see Andrew.
Elinor knew she was being unreasonable about going to England, but she was beginning to feel her world crumble beneath her. Change was not her favourite thing, but she could not tell her father the real reason she did not want to ever go back to England. Her father hugged her and kissed the top of her golden blonde head.
“As long as you promise I can return here when I do not find Prince Charming at the end of the Season,” she said resignedly.
“Of course. I pray these negotiations will be over quickly and I can join you to see what a toast you are.” He winked at her. She rolled her eyes playfully and tried to flutter her eyelashes.
“Father, I said I would go. You did not say I had to be an actress!”
“No, dear, never an actress!” They both shared a good laugh over the thought since they both knew Elinor was no typical London debutante, and being an actress, or even knowing one, was a forbidden thought for a lady in England.
“You will do well enough, lass. You will be a refreshing delight. I am afraid your life here has been much too serious. I never intended you to put so much upon your shoulders—it was not fair of me. Just promise me you will try to enjoy yourself and know you have here to come back to if you do not take, though I know that will not be the case.”
Elinor thought he might perhaps see his daughter’s charm in a different light from the high-sticklers of London society.
There was a knock on the parlour door and Abe, their butler, came in with a message. Sir Charles scanned the note with a concerned look on his face. Elinor waited to see if everything was all right. Sir Charles stared at the paper with a look of consternation.
“Is something amiss?” she asked because of the look on his face.
“I do not know, but this message is from Commodore Gordon. They are positioned right off the coast near Alexandria.”
“So what does that mean for us?” Elinor was fairly certain it would not be good news.
“I am not sure, Elly. I still hope this will end soon, but I am afraid it will get ugly first. He is sending a messenger later with details.” He pinched his fingers over the bridge of his nose, a sign he was worried, but she pressed on. “I should have suspected as much with the increasing presence of soldiers around town, only I expected more warning. We must prepare ourselves.”
“Why is there even a war? This war was fought once—the British lost. They need to leave America be and stop trying to control the world. If there were an evil tyrannical government here, I would understand. But these people left England to make a better life for themselves and are harming no one.”
“America declared war, if you recall. You know the British feel like they are justified in retaliating for the destruction of York.” He shook his head, not quite sure how to best handle his youngest when she got passionate about a cause. She was normally more even tempered.
“This is so pointless!” She threw up her hands and kissed her father’s cheek. “I will see you for dinner, Papa.” He nodded distractedly, so she escaped for the stables as soon as she could throw her boots back on. She desperately needed to get control over her emotions. Would today stop bringing unwelcome news? She had become an expert at hiding her real feelings from her papa. The one thing she could not bear was for her papa to know of her shame. What would he think of her then? She had hidden that awful time of her life away in her innermost depths, numbing herself to any intimacy of feeling other than with those closest to her in order to bear it.
With a heavy heart, Elly went through the motions of mounting her horse and took off riding as hard as her mare would go, while tears began to stream down her face. Once the initial dismay was out of her system, she slowed down to a trot until she reached her favourite spot overlooking the Potomac. She dismounted and inhaled the fresh scent of pine and rain, and listened to the water lapping the banks of the river below. She was thankful for the breeze off the water in the humid heat of the afternoon.
This had been her calm, her peace for six years. Would it still be here when she came back? How would she find escape in England? The prospect of facing him again was the worst thing she could imagine. She threw herself to the ground and stared at the sky, searching for answers. She closed her eyes as a fresh wave of mortification closed in on her.
She remembered feeling similarly six years ago before she left her childhood home to come to America. She had left everything that was familiar while in the midst of trying to cope with the attack and the deep sense of loss from her mother’s death. Now she could not imagine being happy back in England. In America, she had started over to find herself, not under the shadow of her past with constant reminders of her attack. She was free to be herself here. English society was much more rigid with unwritten rules. Would she still be English enough? Would her family understand that she could never marry—without her telling them why? Would they believe her if she did tell them why? How would she face her attacker again?
She had no idea, but that is what her father wanted, so she would try unless she could come up with a way to stop it. She had convinced herself that she could avoid ever going back. She could not even bring herself to relive that night consciously, though she did not have the luxury of controlling her nightmares. She was grown now. She could do this. She must.
Elinor sat up on her favourite rock on the riverbank, skipping rocks and thinking of how she spent most of her days and how fulfilling the work was. She helped teach the village children, and recently began helping nurse wounded soldiers at the school she used to attend in Washington, The Preparatory School for Young Ladies. She laughed out loud to think of her prim aunt’s expression if she saw Elly with blood on her hands from assisting the surgeon, or with a horde of ex-slave children at her feet learning their letters. No, she thought, she would never fit in polite society.