Read Online The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark by Lawana Blackwell - Free Book Online Page B

a threefold reply, expressions smug with the knowledge that they were being teased. Grace hiccuped again, and this time Aleda pushed her face into her own pillow with shoulders shaking.
    “We were just talking,” Laurel explained while a suspicious tint crept into her cheeks.
    “Hmm.” With a look at Julia, Andrew went over to Grace’s bed and motioned for her to move over so he could sit next to her. “Let me count those hiccups for you, Gracie.”
    She leaned up on her pillow. Within seconds another erupted in the silent room.
    “That’s one,” Andrew said. He held up two fingers. “Now, let’s hear number two. And quickly, please. We haven’t all night.”
    As she watched the girl screw up her face in concentration, Julia realized that she was holding her own breath. Aleda and Laurel stared from either side. But presently Grace shrugged her narrow shoulders and smiled.
    “They’re gone.”
    “Good!” Andrew patted her shoulder and returned to where Julia stood at the foot of the middle bed. “Then shall we pray now?”
    All heads bowed reverently. Laurel, the oldest, went first, asking God to bless and protect the family, including Elizabeth and Jonathan and their grandmother in Cambridge, as well as the servants. Aleda added the people living at the Larkspur to her prayer, which took a little longer. Grace’s prayer was almost word for word the same as Aleda’s except for the addition of an unusual postscript. Her hands pressed together piously and eyes shut tight, she concluded, “And please don’t let Laurel marry Ben, because I don’t want her ever to leave Gresham.”
    “Grace!” Laurel exclaimed, staring daggers at her, while Aleda sought refuge in the pillow again.
    “But I didn’t say anything about it ,” Grace defended.
    “What is it? ” asked Andrew.
    Laurel blew out her cheeks, her expression still stormy. “A poem Ben gave me after school today.”
    “He did?” Alarm and despair mingled in Andrew’s hazel eyes. “Little Ben Mayhew?”
    “He’s sixteen years old, Papa. Just like me.”
    “What kind of poem?”
    “Just…a poem.”
    Julia touched her husband’s arm. “Why don’t we allow them their sleep, dear?”
    For a second he stared at her, as if needing reassurance that everything familiar had not been taken from him. “Very well,” he finally agreed. Both went from bed to bed, kissing foreheads, and then Andrew put out the light before they went back out to the corridor.
    “Ben Mayhew?” he said as soon as the door closed behind them. “I’ve already lost one daughter, and now a boy with cheeks still too smooth for a razor is writing love poems to my Laurel?”
    “Sh-h-h. Let’s go downstairs.”
    He obliged halfheartedly, and it was only when they were standing inside the doorway of the parlor that Julia attempted to reassure him. “You can expect when girls and boys that age go to school together, they’ll have infatuations. It doesn’t mean they’re courting.”
    “But they’re both sixteen. And you were seventeen when you married.”
    Julia shook her head. “That was different, Andrew. I was smitten by an older man who knew how to charm me out of seeing his faults. Ben is a decent boy, and he’ll be off to university in another year, so I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”
    Finally he drew in a deep breath. “You’re right, of course. I suppose I overreacted a bit.”
    “I think you were just fine. After all, you didn’t demand to see the poem, did you?”
    “No, of course not.” He gave her a sad little smile. “But I would have if you hadn’t been there to calm me.”
    “Well, knowing Ben, it will probably have something to do with architecture.” Julia put a hand upon his arm and decided it was time. “Let’s go for a little ride, shall we?”
    “A ride? But it’s almost nine.”
    “Let’s visit Elizabeth and Jonathan. I’m sure they haven’t retired for the night.” How could they, with so much to