Elizabeth Meyette by Loves Spirit

front of the manor, the coach stopped and the driver scrambled down, opened the door and lowered the steps. A young woman emerged and gingerly stepped down from the carriage, hopping over a puddle in the drive. Andrew hurried out with a large umbrella that he quickly held above the young woman. She raised her head and looked at him with gratitude, and he felt struck by her as surely as if a British soldier had run him through with a sword. Laughing gray eyes that tilted at the corners were ensconced in thick, black lashes. Looking up at him, their owner’s voice floated lightly on the sodden air, and Andrew was sure he was sheltering an angel.
    “I do love a storm, but this one seems a bit vicious,” she laughed.
    Andrew stood stock still, captured by this vision who looked at him with a half-smile.
    “Shall we go inside?” she encouraged him.
    “Oh, of course,” he said, regaining his senses. Offering her his arm, he led her up the steps to the front entrance of Brentwood Manor. Their shoes echoed on the marble floor of the front hall and left puddles where they stood. Andrew lowered the umbrella, unable to take his eyes off the girl. A wayward drop of rain slipped from the brim of her hat to rest on her full, soft lower lip. Andrew’s knees went weak. Laughing, she brushed a gloved hand across her lips to capture the errant drop, and Andrew felt a stirring deep within that left him dizzy. Slipping off her bonnet, she shook raindrops from jet black hair curly with the humidity. Tendrils framed her face and danced across her forehead softening her heart-shaped face. She took in the foyer with its curving staircase, tall windows and stately furnishings.
    “My goodness, Brentwood Manor is lovely!” she said. She turned back to him and offered her hand. “I am Jennifer Sutton, David’s niece.”
    Andrew took her hand and began to shake it, then half-bowed awkwardly over it refraining from kissing her hand lest he lose all control. He straightened, recovering his composure, and smiled at her.
    “I am Andrew Wentworth, and I do not know of a simple way to explain how I am related to David,” he laughed. Their eyes held for a moment, and then each looked away and moved apart. Glancing back at her, Andrew noticed how her cinnamon-colored silk waistcoat followed the shape of her figure, the stripes in the fabric gently curving around her bosom and narrowing at her waist. The ivory lace that trimmed the bodice delicately revealed the swelling of her breasts, though not buxom, shapely. He again felt that stirring that unsettled him throughout his entire being.
    Joanna entered the hall, arms outstretched.
    “Jenny! You are safely arrived,” she said as she wrapped the soaking girl in an embrace.
    “Aunt Joanna, you will get drenched,” the girl protested, laughing and trying to save her aunt.
    “No matter, dear, it is worth seeing for myself that you are here and safely arrived,” Joanna said. She stood back and took in the girl from head to toe.
    “My goodness, Jenny, you have grown since I last saw you! Why, you are a young woman now,” Joanna exclaimed.
    “It has been five years since we last saw each other, Aunt Joanna, and much has happened since then,” her niece replied. “Where is William? I am so excited to meet my new cousin. And where are Uncle Jonathon and his new wife?” Jenny glanced at Andrew, her eyes alight with humor. “I have met Andrew,” she said.
    Andrew felt a flush rise to his face unbidden as he stammered, “Yes … yes, we have met.”
    Emily entered, taking in the scene and subduing a smile.
    “You must be Jenny,” she said taking the girl’s hand. “I am Emily. How wonderful to have you here at Brentwood Manor.”
    “Thank you for allowing me to visit, Mrs. Brentwood,” Jenny replied.
    “Please call me Emily, for we are close in age and though not related by blood, certainly by our love for Joanna and David,” Emily replied.
    “When is your baby expected to arrive?”