Free You Belong to My Heart by Nan Ryan

not so sure. In subtle, hard-to-pinpoint ways, the blue-blooded Prebles managed to let him know that they would prefer a better match for their aristocratic young daughter.
    Clay couldn’t blame them. But he hoped that in time he could prove himself worthy of Mary.
    For now, they had to keep quiet about their undying love and their plans to marry one day. Had they dared let anyone suspect the truth about their intimacy, they’d surely be torn apart. They couldn’t risk that.
    So both were extremely cautious. Yet they managed to steal unforgettable moments of bliss in each other’s arms. The glorious summer went by far too quickly to suit the young lovers. It would, they knew, be twice as difficult to carry on their secret love affair in the freezing cold of a Tennessee winter.
    “But, Father, I don’t want to go to St. Agnes.” Mary Ellen’s tone was emphatic.
    It was a sweltering Saturday afternoon near the end of August. She stood in her father’s book-lined study, shaking her head, frowning at him.
    “You’ll change your mind once you’re there, dear,” he said confidently.
    John Thomas Preble sat behind his mahogany desk, leaning back in the burgundy leather chair, arms raised, hands laced behind his head.
    “I will not.” Mary Ellen was adamant. “I want to stay at Eugene Magevney, where all my friends are, and—”
    “You’ll make new friends,” John Thomas interrupted.
    “I don’t want new friends. I like the ones I have.”
    “Now, Mary Ellen…” Julie Preble broke her silence, rose from the long leather couch, and came to her daughter. Putting an arm around Mary Ellen’s narrow waist, she said, “We thought you’d be pleased.”
    “Why? Give me one good reason why I would be pleased.”
    “Well, the most privileged girls in Tennessee attend St. Agnes Academy for Young Ladies,” Julie told her. “Your father and I want the very best for you.”
    Mary Ellen sighed heavily. “I know you do, Mother. But why must I attend some stuffy old school with a bunch of stuck-up girls?”
    “It won’t be so terrible,” her mother said soothingly. Then: “You’re growing up, Mary Ellen. Sixteen already. Time you learn things that aren’t taught in public school. St. Agnes turns out some very cultured, poised young ladies.”
    “Who cares!” Mary Ellen made one last attempt. “Father, please—”
    “There will be no more discussion on the subject.” John Thomas Preble’s hands came unclasped, his arms came down from behind his head. He leaned up to his desk. “When the fall term begins in mid-September, you’ll attend St. Agnes.” He gestured toward the door. “Now, you may run along, child.” He fished a gold-cased watch from his waistcoat, looked at it, and added, “It’s after six and I have some work to do. Don’t forget, we’re due at the Simpsons for dinner at eight sharp.”
    “Father, you said earlier in the week that I didn’t have to go to the Simpsons, remember?”
    “Did I?” He looked from Mary Ellen to his wife.
    Julie nodded. “You did, John.”
    “Very well. I guess you don’t have to go.”
    “Thank you, Father.” Mary Ellen started from the room.
    John Thomas stopped her. “Wait a minute. Is Clay coming over here this evening?”
    Mary Ellen turned back. “He said he would.”
    Her father started to object, caught himself, and began to smile. “That’s nice. You won’t have to spend the evening by yourself.”
    “No,” she said. “Clay will keep me company.” And she left the study.
    Julie remained, closing the door after Mary Ellen. She turned and looked worriedly at her husband.
    John Thomas smiled at her. “Come here, pet.”
    Her skirts rustled faintly as Julie crossed the carpeted study. She reached him; John Thomas took her hand and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re worried. You needn’t be, my dear.”
    “John, suppose Mary Ellen continues to fancy herself in love with Clay Knight? What are we to do?”
    John Thomas raised a hand,