1798

I wake with the sun, despite getting little sleep the night before. It was almost impossible with Charlotte next to me. She insisted on going over every detail of the party, listing the names of every man she interacted with, remarking on their character flaws both on and off the dance floor. Much to my dismay, she spent far too much time listing the merits of Martin Cissell. It was hard to listen to her go on and on about a man I found to be so insufferable, but she didn't stop chattering long enough to ask my opinion, and I certainly wasn't going to offer it.

She also passed along some gossip before we went to sleep: apparently Levi's uncle, Charlie, got caught by one of the servants with the very married Mrs. Henderson in the second-story alcove. Charlotte couldn't help gushing over how handsome Charlie was, and how he was wasted on Mrs. Henderson, who, in her opinion, was practically ancient at twenty-three.

In exchange for her gossip, I told Charlotte about seeing Nora Potter come out of the cellar right after a man; but, despite her lengthy interrogation I maintained that I hadn't seen the gentleman in question. There was so little excitement in our lives that it didn't seem right to ruin her fantasy about Mr. Cissell this early.

I throw off the covers and walk over to the basin, already filled by an invisible housemaid while we slept. As I wash myself off, I glance over in dismay at the faded blue cotton dress I arrived in yesterday, lying out on Charlotte's chaise. After wearing the borrowed dress last night, I'm ashamed to have Levi see me in that old thing.

For a moment I contemplate waking Charlotte and borrowing something to wear, but that would only lead to a lot of questions, none of which I'm prepared to answer right now. I could have told her about Levi last night, but at the last minute I decided to keep it to myself. It's not that I don't trust Charlotte; it's just this is all so new and I'm not sure I'm ready to have anyone pick it to pieces yet.

Begrudgingly, I slide my old dress over my head, recalling Levi's sudden coolness when he discovered that the necklace I wore last night wasn't mine. He now knows that I'm not part of the town's elite, and yet... he still asked to escort me home.

I study myself in the mirror, my own bewildered expression staring back at me. There is no need to add any color to my cheeks, which are already rosy from nerves, but I do take the time to run Charlotte's heavy silver hairbrush through my curls.

When I'm finished, I tiptoe out of her bedroom, shutting the door behind me, careful not to wake her. It's early, but the rest of the house is already busy with activity. Servants flurry about, cleaning up from last night and preparing for the oncoming day.

I creep down the staircase and make it across the foyer to the front door, but as soon as I place my hand down on the brass knob a shrill voice from the dining room stops me.

"Eleanor!"

My stomach drops.

It's Alma Aberson.

Slowly, I remove my hand, disappointed at how close I was to escaping without having a run-in with Charlotte's mother. Straightening my dress, I slap on my most pleasing smile, and reluctantly enter the large dining room on my right.

Alma sits at the head of the large wooden table with mountains of food laid out before her. There's a large bowl of porridge, a loaf of warm bread, and a pitcher of cider. My stomach growls at the aroma rising from the platters, but I'm not offered anything, nor am I foolish enough to ask.

"Tell me, was your plan to just sneak out of my house without even a thank you?" Alma lifts the pitcher, filling her mug, and not bothering to make eye contact with me.

I've played this game with her before. Just because she's asked a question doesn't necessarily mean she wants an answer. I learned this the hard way when I was younger.

"Is Charlotte still asleep?" she snaps.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She takes a sip of cider and the silence between us stretches. I shift in place, unsure if I should stay.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" she finally asks, putting down her mug, and patting her perfectly coiffed chignon.

I nod, but only speak long enough to thank her.

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "Charlotte insisted."

Her eyes fall over my tattered dress and her face twists in disgust. "Eleanor, your mother can't continue to send you to my home dressed like this. It's an embarrassment. Even the servants are better attired than you."

I drop my eyes and nod. "I'll speak with her," I promise.

It's lip service though. We're both know this. She's seen my mother at church. She knows that what I'm wearing is the last thing on that poor woman's mind. It's certainly not something I plan on bothering her about.

Alma pushes her chair back, rising gracefully and gliding towards me. As always, I'm astounded when I actually stand next to her; somehow, her presence always has me forgetting how tiny and petite she really is. Her personality is so domineering that she always seems larger than life, and that much more formidable.

"The whole town has been talking about your family." She casts her judgmental glare upon me and lifts a thin eyebrow. "My husband has made me aware of your father and the debt he has on his land. And, of course, everyone has been discussing your mother. Her behavior at church has had us all quite concerned." She pauses, letting her words sink in before she speaks again. "I'm sure you understand how I'd prefer Daniel and Charlotte's names not be dragged into all that nonsense."

The nonsense she's referring to is my life, but that small detail doesn't seem to dawn on her.

Nodding as if everything's been settled, she saunters back to her seat, fluffing up her skirts as she sits down. Her eyes sweep over to me again as if she's only just realized I'm still standing there, and she sends me away with a delicate spin of her fingers.

"That will be all," she dismisses me, and with an ample amount of self-loathing, I obediently turn and leave the room.

Once I make it out the front door, I want to scream, overcome by the rage I was holding back, but I don't get the opportunity. Mr. Aberson, chooses that exact moment to come leisurely strolling around the back of the house whistling an offbeat tune as a young Negro boy trails behind him.

My body tenses, already on high alert.

Like his son, Daniel, Thomas Aberson is tall with chestnut hair and green eyes; however, the elder Aberson carries himself with an awareness of the money and power he has behind him. He's got a daunting personality and usually uses it to his advantage, but when he spots me standing there, a peculiar expression takes over his face. It's almost like he doesn't quite recognize me. I imagine I'm hard to place with neither Daniel or Charlotte by my side, so I wave politely and greet him.

"Good morning, Mr. Aberson."

With a quizzical expression, he takes me in, but then it all seems to click and he realizes who I am. "Oh, Eleanor. It's you. How are you today, my dear?"

Using a rag to wipe the sweat off his neck, he kicks up the gravel as he heads towards the porch I'm standing on.

"I'm well," I answer. "And you?"

He nods and throws the rag at the young boy. The child catches it in his hands and scurries behind the house faster than a cat caught in a rainstorm. I watch him leave, wishing I could follow. Unfortunately, I'm not in the position to.

Mr. Aberson surveys me with considerable interest. "Are you on your way home, my dear?"

"Y-yes sir."

Slowly, he strolls up the few steps separating us, and I find myself subconsciously edging further back, even though the house with Mrs. Anderson inside offers little refuge.

"And my wife, has she arranged transportation for you?"

"I- I was going to walk—"

"Ridiculous!" he cuts me off and throws his head towards the barn. "Go see Mr. Fields. Tell him I said to prepare a carriage for you. He'll sort it out."

I thank him politely, but have no intention of disturbing Mr. Fields, especially not when I already have plans to meet up with Levi.

Thomas's gaze falls to my dress and his eyes linger over my breasts. The material has never felt more threadbare, and I have to fight the desire to cover myself with my hands.

"Is this what you normally run around in?" His voice drops an octave, and he reaches out.

I inhale sharply, holding my breath as he slowly fingers the fabric on my upper arm, near my breast. His pupils dilate and the heat of my own mortification spreads over my entire body.

"You're seventeen now, Eleanor. It's time to start dressing more like the woman you're becoming." His snakelike eyes take their own personal inventory of my body and even though my skin is crawling, I continue to stand there.

Mr. Aberson abruptly stops what he's doing, as if he's suddenly remembered himself, and he pulls his hand back, curling it into a fist at his side. "I'll have Charlotte send you some things," he states, and, without another word, he brushes past me and charges into the house.

As soon as the door slams shut, my body sags against the railing. I've heard the rumors about my best friend's father. I'm aware of his reputation around town, but I've never experienced it myself.

A tremor works its way through me, and I wrap my cloak around my body. I can't imagine what would've happened if Mrs. Aberson or Charlotte walked out and saw him touching me like that. I'm not sure either of them knows about his affairs, and I'll be damned if I want to be the reason they find out.

The wind blows against my skirts and I hurry down the steps, but by the time I make it to the main road, I'm riddled with self-doubt. In a matter of minutes, I've been made to feel like a common harlot walking around in public in nothing but her shift. I can only imagine what Levi may think of me.

I'm about to change my mind and scrap the whole thing, but through the early morning fog, a coal-black horse emerges. My feet root to the earth as the animal lumbers towards me, shattering the silence with his untamed snorts, and scaring the birds from the branches they perch on. I stare up at the rider and, it's as easy as that; I forget all about what I'm wearing, and my cloak falls to my sides.

Levi on horseback is a splendid sight. His black hair is damp underneath his cap, and his muscles move beneath his thick, brown coat as he pulls the animal to an abrupt halt.

The horse exhales loudly, stomping its hooves, and sending a cloud of dust swirling up around me, but I hardly notice it. I'm completely entranced.

"Don't you own a coat woman?" He lets out a hearty laugh and reaches out for me. When I take hold of his hand, he swings me up onto the horse and places me side saddle in front of him. It takes a second, but I eventually get comfortable, and the horse begins to move.

"Let's get some distance," he says, and clicks us into a gallop.

I tighten my grip and close my eyes, holding on for dear life as we go racing off together down the quiet road.