know that you will always be welcomed in our home if you should ever journey to Maryland.”
Langbourne’s eyes narrowed. He clenched his teeth and gave her a look so cold it caused her to shiver. “I have lost you, but have inherited a fortune.”
After Langbourne left, she went to her husband. Was it too late to mend such a breach? Could Hayward leave with this weighing on him—weighing on her? She ran her hand down the sleeve of his coat. “Go speak to your father. Do not let him leave on these terms. The fact that he traveled so far to find us shows he cares.”
“He has made his choice.”
“Yes, but you can change his mind, if you hurry . . . and . . .”
“You would have me lower myself? You would have me cower and beg in order to gain his forgiveness?”
It was too late. Outside the riders galloped off.
Hayward nodded farewell to the stunned couple standing behind the wedding anvil, then picked up his hat and placed it firmly on his head. The power of his father’s rejection shone in his eyes. His jaw clenched, and his hands flexed. Placing his hand on Eliza’s back, he moved her to the door and down the path. Eliza gazed at the sky. There were no clouds to hinder a darkening sky, where a gibbous moon hung alongside Venus.
“You love me, do you not, Eliza?” Hayward looked keenly into her eyes; his were the deepest and most soul-searching she had ever seen.
“Yes, I love you, Hayward. I have since I was a little girl. And I will until the day I die.”
“That is all that matters to me.” He took her hand and led her to the carriage. “Let us leave this place. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
8
T hey traveled on and slept their first night together at a carriage inn, after dining on roasted chicken, freshly baked rolls slathered in creamy butter, potatoes, and carrots—a hefty meal in comparison to what she was accustomed to. She came to him softly, and he held her in his arms through the night.
In the morning, they made their way to the port along Solway Firth. Boats of various kinds and sizes were moored there, and the docks were cluttered with people, crates, horses, and barrels. In Eliza’s imagination, tall ships were a thing of luxury and beauty. As she stood on the deck of the Isadora May , she took in the height of the masts and the soft swell of the sails as they were lowered and billowed in the sea breeze. The ship made its way out to the Irish Sea in a lusty wind. The planks of the deck quivered with the throng of people. Passengers and crew mingled around her—men, women, and children, all bound for a new land.
With Hayward in the lead, Eliza and Fiona were escorted through a doorway to the deck below. A small cabin, providing room for only one occupant, with very little space to maneuver in and less fresh air to revive the body, would be Eliza’s for the duration of the voyage. With a single cot, a small writing table, and a folding canvas chair, disappointment overwhelmed her when she stepped inside. She turned to her husband and sought the reason why their accommodations were so lowly and not together.
Hayward leaned against the opening. “I do not think I have ever seen anyone look as dejected as you do right now, Eliza. I am sorry our conditions are as they are, but I am right next to you. Fiona’s little hovel is even smaller. I had no idea it would be this way.”
“The ship you arrived in was not like this?”
“Much the same, I am afraid. I was expecting better this time.”
She used humor to bear up under the weight of disappointment. “I suppose we can whisper good night to each other through the wall.”
“I suppose we can. And there is no reason to be confined down here the entire time. We will take walks up on deck as often as you wish. Wait until you see the glory of the stars out at sea.”
Eliza sighed and drew near to him. She coiled her arms around his waist and laid her head against the breast of his coat. “I shall like
Langbourne’s eyes narrowed. He clenched his teeth and gave her a look so cold it caused her to shiver. “I have lost you, but have inherited a fortune.”
After Langbourne left, she went to her husband. Was it too late to mend such a breach? Could Hayward leave with this weighing on him—weighing on her? She ran her hand down the sleeve of his coat. “Go speak to your father. Do not let him leave on these terms. The fact that he traveled so far to find us shows he cares.”
“He has made his choice.”
“Yes, but you can change his mind, if you hurry . . . and . . .”
“You would have me lower myself? You would have me cower and beg in order to gain his forgiveness?”
It was too late. Outside the riders galloped off.
Hayward nodded farewell to the stunned couple standing behind the wedding anvil, then picked up his hat and placed it firmly on his head. The power of his father’s rejection shone in his eyes. His jaw clenched, and his hands flexed. Placing his hand on Eliza’s back, he moved her to the door and down the path. Eliza gazed at the sky. There were no clouds to hinder a darkening sky, where a gibbous moon hung alongside Venus.
“You love me, do you not, Eliza?” Hayward looked keenly into her eyes; his were the deepest and most soul-searching she had ever seen.
“Yes, I love you, Hayward. I have since I was a little girl. And I will until the day I die.”
“That is all that matters to me.” He took her hand and led her to the carriage. “Let us leave this place. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
8
T hey traveled on and slept their first night together at a carriage inn, after dining on roasted chicken, freshly baked rolls slathered in creamy butter, potatoes, and carrots—a hefty meal in comparison to what she was accustomed to. She came to him softly, and he held her in his arms through the night.
In the morning, they made their way to the port along Solway Firth. Boats of various kinds and sizes were moored there, and the docks were cluttered with people, crates, horses, and barrels. In Eliza’s imagination, tall ships were a thing of luxury and beauty. As she stood on the deck of the Isadora May , she took in the height of the masts and the soft swell of the sails as they were lowered and billowed in the sea breeze. The ship made its way out to the Irish Sea in a lusty wind. The planks of the deck quivered with the throng of people. Passengers and crew mingled around her—men, women, and children, all bound for a new land.
With Hayward in the lead, Eliza and Fiona were escorted through a doorway to the deck below. A small cabin, providing room for only one occupant, with very little space to maneuver in and less fresh air to revive the body, would be Eliza’s for the duration of the voyage. With a single cot, a small writing table, and a folding canvas chair, disappointment overwhelmed her when she stepped inside. She turned to her husband and sought the reason why their accommodations were so lowly and not together.
Hayward leaned against the opening. “I do not think I have ever seen anyone look as dejected as you do right now, Eliza. I am sorry our conditions are as they are, but I am right next to you. Fiona’s little hovel is even smaller. I had no idea it would be this way.”
“The ship you arrived in was not like this?”
“Much the same, I am afraid. I was expecting better this time.”
She used humor to bear up under the weight of disappointment. “I suppose we can whisper good night to each other through the wall.”
“I suppose we can. And there is no reason to be confined down here the entire time. We will take walks up on deck as often as you wish. Wait until you see the glory of the stars out at sea.”
Eliza sighed and drew near to him. She coiled her arms around his waist and laid her head against the breast of his coat. “I shall like
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