Rebellious Heart (13 page)

“Then it’s settled,” Ben said. “I’m going to propose to Hannah Quincy tonight.”

Parson Wibird squinted. “If you really think this is what the heavenly Father is leading you to do.”

Ben sat back in the desk chair of his law office—a small office at the back of his parents’ home. His eyes returned to the paper on his desk, to the drying ink of the letter he’d penned earlier to Susanna and the scrawling script at the top:
Dear Diana . . .

Diana. Yes, she was indeed a dark, spirited goddess of the moon. But why had he written
dear
? She wasn’t dear to him.

And yet, even as he tried to deny his right to claim any affection for her, his heart stirred like it did every time he thought about the crushing pressure of their lips together.

She hadn’t been afraid to kiss him back. She’d been every bit as ardent as he’d expected.

Ben tore his attention away from the letter he’d written in response to the one she’d given him yesterday at Arnold Tavern, after the storm, after they’d crawled out of the cellar.
She’d given it to him reluctantly, her eyes overflowing with accusation and doubt. All the trust that had glimmered there earlier was gone.

If there had ever been a flicker of hope that Susanna Smith might care for him, the revelation of his clandestine activities had snuffed it out.

“The truth is, Parson,” Ben said, “I don’t know what God wants.” Even after talking with the parson most of the morning, his thoughts were tossing like a vessel upon the waves of a stormy sea.

Parson Wibird scratched the back of his neck and closed the pages of Benjamin Franklin’s
Reflections on Courtship and Marriage
. They’d spent the past hour reading through selections together.

“You know I’m striving to improve my situation and my reputation,” Ben continued, “and Hannah Quincy is the perfect match for a man like me.”

“Sometimes what God wants is clearer than we realize. It’s merely obscured by our own selfish desires.”

“So you’re saying my desire to marry Hannah is selfish?”

Parson Wibird grinned, revealing his crooked and discolored teeth. “Maybe you first need to evaluate why you’re chasing so hard after improving your situation and reputation.”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying to better oneself.”

“But at what cost?”

Ben crossed his arms behind his head and watched the raindrops splatter against his office window. The waft of freshly baked bread had crept under the door from the big kitchen where his mother worked hard day after day, a place he could never imagine Hannah Quincy working.

As much as he loved his parents and being with them again, the little saltbox house wasn’t the type of dwelling Hannah
would ever want to live in. She’d have a large enough dowry to afford something bigger and newer that would suit her tastes.

The steady tap of his father’s hammer came from the kitchen, where he’d set up his shoemaker bench, having sacrificed his workspace so that Ben could have an office in which to meet with clients.

Ben sighed. His father was always sacrificing for him.

Surely now it was his turn to do whatever he could to repay his father for his kindness over the years. And if he hoped to do so, he needed to propose to Hannah Quincy—tonight. Her attention was starting to fade, and she’d already begun to show interest in several other admirers. He needed to make the most of her ardor while he had it.

Parson Wibird stood and returned Benjamin Franklin’s book to the shelf lining the wall across from Ben’s desk. “Is it fair to Miss Quincy that you marry her for what she can do for you with no thought of what you can do for her?”

“You know I’d do my best to give her my utmost devotion.” But even as he tried to justify his aspirations, a sliver of guilt pricked him. He hadn’t been faithful to Hannah yesterday when he’d pulled Susanna Smith onto his lap and kissed her. Even if the kiss had been for the benefit of Lieutenant Wolfe, Ben couldn’t deny how much he’d enjoyed the brief passionate encounter.

But passion wouldn’t get him where he needed to go. He couldn’t let emotions dictate his decisions. He needed to stay sensible about the best course of action for his future.

“I know you’ll make any woman a fine husband,” Parson Wibird said with kindness in his squinted eyes. “But if you marry for ambition, will it only be the first of many compromises you make for the sake of improving your reputation?”

Ben couldn’t find an answer. He wasn’t sure he
wanted
to find the answer.

The parson rocked back and forth on his heels.

For all the parson’s quirks and his craggy appearance, the man had more wisdom than all the reverends of Massachusetts Colony put together. He’d seen old Joe Sewall’s innocence. He’d never once condemned Joe like everyone else and was offering the man shelter when no one else cared.

Ben knew he couldn’t find a better, more honest and wise friend than Parson Wibird.

Yet, today, the parson’s words didn’t seem quite as wise as they usually did.

Surely God didn’t disapprove of his trying to make a better life for himself. Surely He wouldn’t find fault in him for marrying a woman of means, not when so much good could come of it, for him and for his family.

And what of Cicero’s words?
“The first way for a young man to set himself on the road towards glorious reputation is to win renown
.
”

Ben knew he was living in a society where one’s status and reputation were counted above everything—even intelligence and hard work. Marrying Hannah Quincy would be one more step down the road toward finally gaining the respect of the many men who’d always regarded him as inferior.

Yes, he would propose to her tonight at the party at Mount Wollaston.

He glanced back at the letter he’d written to Susanna.

She’d likely be at the party too. He’d deliver the letter to her, but that was it.

He’d keep his distance. Not that she’d want to be around him anyway, not after discovering the secret tunnel and the smuggling ring.

In fact, after the loathing written all over her face yesterday, he had the feeling she’d make it easy for him to stay away since she wouldn’t come anywhere near him now.

Susanna wanted to escape from Elbridge’s clammy grip and sneak away to a secluded spot to read. Even though she’d already devoured nearly every volume in Grandmother Eve’s house, she still preferred burying herself in a book—here, without the worry of Mother catching her and trying to make her stop.

But she couldn’t leave, not yet. Not after Mary and Mr. Cranch had just announced their engagement. He’d discoursed with Father privately earlier in the day. Then he’d proposed to Mary in the parlor shortly after he’d arrived. And they’d decided to get married in November in just a month’s time.

Across the dining room, Mary hung onto Mr. Cranch’s arm. Her smile rivaled the sun in its brightness. Then again, Mary
was
the sun. Susanna couldn’t begrudge her sister the glory she radiated.

“Maybe we’ll have another engagement soon.” Elbridge patted Susanna’s hand and then adjusted it more snugly within the crook of his arm.

“Perhaps we shall,” Grandmother Eve said through a bite of one of the tiny cakes the servants had passed among the guests after dinner. Her plump cheeks were rosy and her eyes twinkled.

“All in due time.” Elbridge glanced at Susanna in an altogether familiar manner, one that made her want to pull away.

“I have a feeling the engagement will be sooner rather than
later.” Grandmother stared openly at Ben Ross as he hovered near Hannah Quincy.

Although Susanna had done her best to avoid him for the past hour, she’d at least expected him to look at her, even sneak a peek in her direction. But he’d been too focused on Hannah to see anyone else.

He’d hung upon her every word, jumped at her every beckon, and practically groveled at her feet.

Irritation wound through Susanna.

Weren’t there any men who cared about the beauty of a woman’s inward qualities rather than her outward appearance and qualifications?

Elbridge looked around the room and stiffened at the sight of Ben guiding Hannah away from the group. His eyebrows arched high on his forehead near his powdered wig. “You don’t think Ross will attempt to propose marriage to my sister, do you?”

Grandmother Eve gave a weak laugh. “I’ve heard rumors we’ll have another engagement tonight.”

Against her wishes, Susanna found herself staring at Ben’s broad shoulders as he led Hannah out of the room.

Would Ben really marry Hannah?

A momentary twinge of panic urged her to rush after him and stop him. But the panic made no sense. Why should she care whom Ben Ross married? It wasn’t any of her concern.

Elbridge’s attention was riveted to the retreating couple. “Mrs. Quincy, are you insinuating that Ross is proposing to Hannah this very evening?”

“I’m not insinuating. I’m quite positive he’s planning to ask her. He told me so himself when he arrived.”

Elbridge frowned and quickly extricated Susanna’s hand from his arm. “Excuse me. I shall be back shortly.”

He strode across the room toward the door, obviously intending to follow his sister and Ben.

Grandmother Eve’s smile widened.

“Do you think Elbridge will disrupt Ben’s plans?” Susanna was surprised that she secretly hoped he would.

“Why else do you think I told him?”

“Grandmother Eve!” Susanna feigned indignation. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

“Because Benjamin Ross is falling in love with someone else.”

“He is?”

“Of course he is. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

The voices of the guests around her seemed to fade away. What other woman could claim Ben’s affection if not Hannah Quincy?

Susanna swallowed a tight lump. “Are you sure? I haven’t seen Mr. Ross with anyone else.”

Grandmother Eve turned to Susanna, and her eyes twinkled. “I’ve seen him with
you
, my dear Susanna.”

Did Grandmother Eve think Ben was falling in love with her? Susanna shook her head. “You’re quite mistaken. Ben doesn’t like me any more than I like him.”

Grandmother Eve pinched Susanna’s cheek. “Come now, darling. I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And he’s never come close to looking at Hannah that way.”

“It doesn’t matter if Ben has some fondness for me or not,” Susanna said. “He’s not the sort of man I can associate with.”

“Oh, you silly wild colt. He’s exactly the sort of man you need.”

“I’m not sure Mother would think so.”

Grandmother Eve’s smile disappeared. “Ah, Susanna darling. As much as our dear mothers love us, sometimes fear can hold them back from seeing the good in others.”

Sadness crept across Grandmother Eve’s features, and her eyes took on a distant look as if remembering an occasion with her own mother. It was hard to imagine that her cheerful, easygoing grandmother had ever had any conflicts in her life.

“’Tis exceedingly easy,” Grandmother Eve said, “to get caught up in the way things have always been done and never question if that’s the way they should continue.”

Before she could question her grandmother or find the words to explain why she could never harbor affection for Ben, the shouts from the parlor across the hallway stopped her.

Ben’s voice rose in tempo, followed by Elbridge’s.

Mr. Cranch broke away from Mary and started toward the commotion as did several other guests. And although Susanna wanted to rush after them, she decided she’d better make use of the distraction to escape the party.

It didn’t matter what her grandmother thought about Ben. She doubted the dear woman would be matchmaking if she knew the truth about Ben’s illegal involvements. Instead she’d ban Ben from coming to her house ever again.

Susanna made her way down the hallway past the parlor. She slipped into her grandfather’s study. And after several moments browsing his shelves, she picked a volume of Shakespeare she’d already read a dozen times.

She wrapped a knit blanket around her shoulders and settled in the hard desk chair. The dustiness of the books and the spiciness of her grandfather’s rum were comforting scents. The rhythmic ticking of the mahogany wall clock soothed her as it always had.

Her grandfather didn’t complain often, but he’d grumbled about how much the clock had cost. Of course, the polished wood with its scalloped pediment and its front opening door made of real glass was not the kind of item most people
owned. Even so, her grandfather had one of his rare moments of consternation at the exorbitant price of the British imported clock.

Susanna perused the small study, suddenly wondering how many other items her grandfather had purchased from the British and at what cost. The shelves of books, the framed map of the world, the painted porcelain vase, even the tasseled carpet covering the wood floor—all of it had been imported and quite expensive.

They were the kinds of items ordinary colonists couldn’t afford. But would they be able to buy more if the British didn’t have the monopoly and charge higher prices and taxes?