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I rose. “Yes, you’re right,” I said, taking in her words. “And I’ll need your help.”
Chapter Six
Exhausted and spent, I entered the mansion foyer one evening and was immediately greeted by my mother. She had what appeared to be an invitation in her hand.
“It’s time, Thomas.”
I looked at the small envelope. “I’m not interested in spending time with people I hardly know,” I said, tossing the invitation on the hallway table nearby.
Mother was aghast. “Elizabeth is hardly a stranger. She’s your cousin.”
“Whom I haven’t seen in years.”
“She was at the funeral.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily call that a reunion.”
“She wants to see you.”
“She also wants a husband.” I started to walk away but my mother grabbed me firmly by the arm.
“And what’s wrong with that?” she said, not hiding the edge in her voice. “Think about the way you left here. Your reasons for leaving, right or wrong, didn’t ease her pain. You broke her heart. You owe her at least an evening of your time. And you can’t use distance as an excuse. She lives less than twenty miles away.”
“Mother...”
“No, I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she said. “You can’t hold onto Jeyne forever. The future must be considered, and soon.”
My mother turned abruptly on her heels and left me standing there, lost in thought. I looked at the invitation again knowing full well what it meant. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Elizabeth much since my father’s funeral and I was being pressed to take action.
Elizabeth Marie Cunningham was no longer that young, silly schoolgirl I used to dismiss. She was a woman now. More than anything, I knew she would want to know why I, the man she had been betrothed to, had left her without so much as a letter or goodbye.
Yet, taking a wife just for the sake of it did not appeal to me. I was also loath to give up my independence – and peace. The details of the plantation had been keeping me quite busy but this didn’t stop the steady flow of invitations to all the balls and socials in town. Initially, my presence wasn’t expected, but more than a year had passed since my father’s death and the parents of young, unmarried daughters were clamoring for my attention. I was not only an eligible bachelor, I was rich.
Chapter Seven
Perhaps my mother was right. In my tireless efforts to find Jeyne, I had closed my heart, leaving little room for anyone else, even to Isabelle, the woman whose heart I had broken in a million pieces following a moment that pushed the boundaries of two people who had believed themselves to be in love. Of course, there was no greater heartache than when I lost Jeyne. In the days following my arrival to Boston, my grief had only seemed to heighten.
In just a few short weeks, it was clear that I was going deeper and deeper into myself. Releasing my emotional burdens to my Uncle David and Haydon had helped but it was not enough. My melancholy became so severe that I began to fear for my sanity. I could not eat and suffered from constant headaches. Nightmares came upon me frequently and it was all I could do to function day to day. The lack of food made my already tall frame look even thinner. This worried my Uncle David immensely and took me to the best doctor in Boston, but all he could do was advise plenty of bed rest, hot beverages and at least an hour of sunlight each day.
Over time, I regained my strength and managed to lead a semblance of a life without Jeyne. Helping out in Uncle David’s law practice aided in distracting my mind, but it was his involvement in the Abolitionist Movement that really captured my attention. Soon, I was reading various form of abolitionist literature, and narratives of ex-slaves, not to mention memoirs of reformed slave traders. I attended meetings of the American Anti-Slavery Society and even wrote articles forFreedom, the organization’s official newspaper.
In time, I managed to establish a name for myself within the Boston Abolitionist circles, making no apologies for my Southern background. My energy and passion for the abolition of slavery was boundless. The Movement was the one thing that kept me sane. It allowed me to focus and provided me an authentic outlet with which to vent my anger.
Yet, being a well-connected abolitionist did not help me in my quest to find the woman I loved. I had access to ex-slaves who had run away or been freed, but the sordid business of the slave traders had opened my eyes too much. I was dismayed at what I found and realized finding one slave in the midst of thousands was close to impossible.
Now, I was in Louisiana with no idea as to when I would return to the North, if ever. And as the years had shown, finding my beloved had proved to be impossible. These feelings for Jeyne, I knew, had to be suppressed somehow. I had to begin building a future even if it meant doing it with someone else.
Chapter Eight
When Elizabeth entered the living room of the Cunningham estate, it was all I could do to not stare. Elizabeth had always been pretty, even as a child, but as Jeyne begin to take over my heart, Elizabeth became invisible to me. But seeing her now was mind-blowing. Her beautiful, green eyes stood out as did her lean, supple body. I felt the blood rush to my head as I stood up to greet her. This wasn’t going to be a casual evening affair. At the funeral, Elizabeth had been cloaked in black, her features subdued. In my grief, I didn’t notice her long, blond tresses which were now held back with blue, silk ribbons.
“What a pleasure it is to see you again, Cousin,” she said, embracing me with a warmth I hadn’t expected. “How are you?”
“I’m doing my best,” I admitted.
I saw the genuine concern in her face as she sat next to me and politely offered her condolences at the passing of my father. I thanked her for her thoughtfulness as she took my hand, making it abundantly clear to the others in the room that her attention was reserved only for me. Her mother, my Aunt Rachel, looked on with delight as Elizabeth and I talked and fell into an easy conversation with one another.
“Your presence has caused quite a stir among the ladies in New Orleans,” she said with a coquettish grin before reaching for a glass of wine offered by a slave.
