the plantation house along its shady drive. Clouds of rust-colored dust whirled about its wheels. When it came to a halt at the front of the veranda, swarms of people gathered around.
“Look, it is Daniel Rhendon and his party.” Martha said. Darcy’s cousins straightened their backs and lifted their heads to get a better glimpse of the English guests.
Lizzy sighed. “He’s handsome.”
“Yes, but too young,” Martha said. “I prefer an older man.”
Lizzy laughed. “Very well for me then, for I like him. Unless you are interested, Darcy.”
Darcy glanced over at her cousin and smiled. “I will not interfere with your pursuits, Lizzy. But prepare yourself, for one can see he has designs on the lady he is helping down.”
Darcy watched on as the ladies were handed down. Two were lovely, their posture regal, and their clothes the finest summer gauze. The third woman was older and dressed like a servant. Her matronly attire matched her figure, her posture stiff as starch. Darcy’s gaze shifted to the man who had given his hand to a lady. He held her fingers firm until her pink satin shoe reached level ground. Then he let go.
Her first impression of him rang of prejudice, he being British. But she liked how he dropped the lady’s hand and moved back. Perhaps such a woman had no power over him. The lady glided away and at that moment, his gaze turned toward Darcy. Their eyes met and held. Darcy looked away.
Mr. Breese placed his lady’s hand over his arm and proceeded toward the veranda. Arms linked, the girls followed. Anxious young men gathered on the porch fixed their eyes upon them.
“Why do they stare at us?” Martha whispered to Darcy.
“They are looking at you and Lizzy, because you are so beautiful.”
“You leave yourself out, Darcy?”
“I do. I am plain next to you.”
“That is not true. You are so lovely, especially your hair. You know I’ve always envied it.”
“You are sweet to say so, cousin.”
“You caught the Englishman’s eye.”
A corner of Darcy’s mouth lifted. “I doubt it.”
“He is very handsome.”
Darcy hugged her cousin closer. “Do not be deceived by the outward appearance, Martha. There is no telling what kind of rogue is beneath that skin.”
She looked back over her shoulder. The English gentleman turned his eyes and held Darcy’s gaze, then turned away, his brow gathered. Had she intruded upon him?
His dark brown hair touched the edge of his collar. The cut of his coat, his black leather boots, and his white linen neckcloth were simple attire compared to some of the other men’s. Either he was rich and preferred not to flaunt his position, or he was a man of modest means.
Martha pulled her along, and as they reached the top step, Captain Rhendon and his wife welcomed them. His neckcloth, snowy-white and looped about his neck, looked too snug. His hair, gray and brown, whisked forward along his forehead and temples. Mrs. Rhendon, a head shorter than her husband, stood beside him.
A glimmer of envy was noted in her aunt’s eyes when she laid eyes on their hostess’s gown. Darcy did not care in the least what Mrs. Rhendon wore, but she did admire the color of the fabric. Pale yellow looked striking against her flawless skin.
“My dear Mr. and Mrs. Breese, so good of your family to come.” Mrs. Rhendon held out her hand. “We’re all about to gather out on the lawn. I hope the food meets the taste of Marylanders.”
Mrs. Breese smiled. “I’m sure it will. My, what a beautiful home you have here.”
“These are your daughters?” Mrs. Rhendon glanced over at the girls. Each curtsied prettily and smiled.
“Indeed they are. This is Martha our firstborn, hopefully the first to wed. And this is Lizzy. Her artistic talents are unsurpassed. And Abigail here has the voice of a nightingale.”
Appearing intrigued, Mrs. Rhendon’s brows arched. “Oh really? Perhaps she will entertain us with a song later.”
“She’d be glad to. Won’t you, Abby?” Mrs. Breese squeezed Abby’s elbow, and Abby nodded. “Rachel is an accomplished musician and plays the pianoforte very well. She and our youngest, Dolley, are with the other girls their ages. So you must excuse them.”
Darcy was last to be introduced. Her uncle, looking assertive, drew her forward. “And this is our niece, Darcy Morgan.”
Captain Rhendon lifted his chin. “Morgan? Not of River Run, I hope.”
His reaction to her hurt, but she tried not to show it by maintaining her smile. “I was born there, sir.”
Captain Rhendon spoke something beneath his breath,