Page 6 of The Enchanted Land

Over fluffy omelets, oozing cheese, Morgan and Lacey discussed the ball. Or, rather, Lacey talked and Morgan listened.

After breakfast, each woman went to her own room to continue packing for the next day’s journey, the start of their long trip to Europe.

In the privacy of her room, Morgan began arranging things in the luggage. She packed a small trunk and one bag to be carried by hand, for the trip to New Mexico.

She had only the plain, too-large clothing that her uncle had commissioned a seamstress to sew for her. He had had her clothing from Trahern House taken away. The last item she packed was her recipe book.

At seven o’clock that evening, as they were sitting down to dinner, the Wakefields’ old servant announced, “A Mr. Colter to see you, sir.”

Morgan gasped audibly, and Horace and Lacey’s eyes turned on her, but she said nothing.

“Show him into the library, please, Roy. If you ladies will excuse me.” He turned one last puzzled glance to Morgan, then left the room.

“Is that the nice Mr. Colter you danced with last night?” At Morgan’s silence, Lacey continued, “I thought he was taken with you. I wouldn’t doubt but that he is here to ask permission to court you.”

“In Europe?”

Lacey looked down at her hands and was silent. She had been at the reading of the will. She knew why Horace was taking them to Europe.

Morgan regretted her comment and walked to Lacey’s side and patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Aunt Lacey. You’re probably right. Maybe he is here to speak to Uncle Horace about courtship.”

Lacey smiled and resumed her chattering. Morgan paced the room and watched the clock, hardly aware of Lacey’s words.

Forty-five minutes later, the door opened and Horace entered with Seth. Seth had a slight smile on his face, but Horace was grim and his voice cold.

“Get your things and go.”

It was Lacey’s turn to gasp. “Horace…” she protested weakly.

At the sound of his wife’s voice, Horace turned. His face lost some of its hatred, and his voice became softer. “It seems that Mr. Colter has come to take our Morgan away.” He paused. “They are to be married tonight at Judge Stevenson’s.”

Morgan’s eyes widened. What in the world had Seth done to get Uncle Horace to consent to the marriage?

Lacey hugged the stunned Morgan. “Oh, Morgan! An elopement! How very romantic. What ever will you wear? We must pack. There is so much to do.”

Seth stepped forward and took Morgan’s arm. “We must hurry, my dear.” He led Morgan into the hall. He dropped her arm and his manner changed. He stepped back and looked her up and down with a mocking expression. “If the two articles of clothing I have seen are a correct indication of your wardrobe, leave it all here. I will purchase more suitable clothing for you—at least something that fits.”

Morgan was about to forget her good sense and tell him what she thought of his manners, when Horace and Lacey came into the entryway. Morgan turned on her heel and went up the stairs to her room.

She returned in a few minutes with only her small bag. In it were a few pieces of jewelry, her cookbook, her nightgown, and a few toilet articles. She would leave her carefully packed trunk upstairs.

After a tearful farewell to Lacey and a cold goodbye to Horace, she and Seth entered the waiting carriage.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Then Morgan spoke. “How did you do it?” she asked.

“How did I do what?” He turned toward her.

“What did you do to get Uncle Horace to allow me to leave?”

He smiled. “I just mentioned a few names and asked if he thought it was quite ethical to spirit you away, not allowing you to try to find a husband who could help you to fulfill your father’s will.”

She waited for him to say more, but he turned his head again and seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts. As they rode in silence, Morgan began to feel uncomfortable. She had never been alone with a man before, at least not with a man so near her own age.

“It just happened so differently than I imagined.”

He turned, startled, seeming for the first time to realize her presence. “And how did you imagine it?” His tone was condescending.

She felt like a child about to be reprimanded. “I…” she started, “left a light in my window…”

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