It had been more than a year since Lion had left for Cathay and he was alarmed by Franklin's apparent deterioration. The wispy fringe of hair that brushed his shoulders was visibly thinner. So was the Doctor himself. His back was bent, and chronic pain had etched hundreds of new lines in that famous face, but the warmth in his smile and dark eyes was undimmed.
"Right to the point, as always, eh? Well, I've been better. My body may be withering away, but I find that the energy in my mind remains undiminished. The conflict which ensues between my mental and physical abilities is mighty frustrating!" He paused as though to rest. "I can see how you are! You're looking splendid; the sea air must agree with you."
They conversed at length about Lion's experiences in China and the latest developments in America until Sally Bache returned with Lion s brandy. Apparently, there was some crisis involving Franklin's grandson Benny that she wished to discuss with her father, so Lion leaned back in his chair and let his thoughts wander.
Sipping the brandy reminded him of the enormous amount of the stuff he had bitterly consumed since his return to Philadelphia three days ago. How was he to tell Dr. Franklin what was really on his mind? It was the old man's fault, after all! Persuading him to attend the Constitutional Convention on a permanent basis... including him in the elite group that met almost nightly in the dining room at Franklin Court. Washington, Madison, Robert Morris, not to mention Franklin himself. It had turned out to be the sort of experience that left Lion with a craving for more, a burning desire to be one of these men whose brilliant minds and courage were shaping the new, idealistic nation of America. Day after day in the stiflingly hot East Room of the State House, Lion had been unaware of the changes taking place inside himself; he only knew that he loved every moment of debate, even the longest, most pompous speeches.
There had been no choice in his mind when the time came that autumn to return to the Orient. It never occurred to him that his experience that summer would have any permanent effect. He had always loved the sea. After fighting in the Revolution and receiving a degree at Harvard, he had chosen the new China trade as a means to amass a fortune and lead an adventurous life at the same time. Where other ships seemed continually plagued by hostile men-of-war and destructive storms, he had found that as a captain he led a charmed life. Now, at thirty-two years of age, he was both wealthy and successful.
And satisfied... until this last voyage.
Taking a large swallow of the brandy, Lion looked up to find that Mrs. Bache had gone, and Dr. Franklin was watching him with an uncomfortably penetrating gaze.
"You seem pensive," the old statesman commented casually. "Is something bothering you? A woman?"
"God, no!" Lion replied vehemently. "Would that it were so simple! Do you really want to know? Are you certain?"
Franklin was taken aback by this outburst from a man who was usually so cool and cynical. "Why, of course, if—"
"Then I'll tell you, and you can have a good laugh! I ran into a storm off Macao on my way home that delayed me so much that I missed the elections for the First Congress!"
Totally bewildered by now, Franklin inquired, "Should I understand what that means?"
"It means that I intended to return in time because I hoped for a seat in the Congress!"
"Am I hearing correctly? I could have sworn that you said—"
"Yes! It's all your fault, you know. I became addicted during the Convention! After a few months at sea, I was a man obsessed. Lord, how I longed to be back at the State House, listening to Madison discuss the Virginia Plan. I tell you, it's in my blood and now I've missed my chance! What the hell are you going to do about it?" Lion was leaning forward, his shoulder muscles outlined against his tailored coat, blue eyes blazing.
"I?" Franklin echoed. "My dear boy, I do hope you have not directed all your ferocious rage in my direction! I am an old man and very weak..." His eyes were twinkling, and Lion relaxed in spite of himself.
"God damnit, I've got to blame someone," he muttered, repressing a smile.
"That's better. You know, this is quite a shock, though I must admit I suspected your interest even then. I did not, however, dream that it would reach such proportions!"
"Neither did I," Lion growled.
"At any rate, your frustration is not necessary. You would never have been elected anyway. That is not to say that the men who will make up the Congress are any better than you, for they are generally a sorry lot. I am simply afraid that you have too many strikes against you at this point in your life."
Lion's amazing blue eyes flashed. "Such as?"
"A well-known temper," he returned with bland amusement, lifting his eyebrows for emphasis. "Your age, your background, your marital status, your reputation as a womanizer and an adventurer—even your looks."
Lion raised a hand to his cheekbone. "My looks? What the hell is wrong with my looks?"
"Absolutely nothing, and that is the problem. You look too spectacular to have any serious intelligence."
"That's absurd!" he exploded, coming halfway out of his chair.
Franklin held up a veined hand, smiling. "I never said that I subscribe to the theory, my boy. Yet I fear that it is quite widely held. In your case, however, I would say that the other points I mentioned are more important. If you are serious about being a member of Congress, Lion, you will have to put in some time and build a name for yourself. Not that you don't have a name of sorts now, but..." He smiled at him, eyes dancing behind the gold-rimmed spectacles.
Lion sat back in his chair, raking a hand through his burnished hair. "I'm not used to playing waiting games," he sighed at last.
"It is not a simple thing to turn one's whole lifestyle around overnight. I realize that you are used to getting what you want, but perhaps you have reached a point where you will have to compromise. My advice to you is to cultivate some patience and lay your plans carefully. However... there is one thing you might do to speed up the process of achieving respectability."
"What's that?"
"Get married."
Lion looked as if he'd been struck. For a moment, speech failed him, but finally he managed to choke, "What? You say that as if it is in the same category as ordering a new coat from the tailor!"
"It can be."
"Are you mad? A wife? Me?"
Franklin merely reached for his teacup, arching a faded eyebrow in a way that told Lion he had never been more lucid.
Chapter Three
Morning sunshine streamed into the dining room where Lion was sharing a late, leisurely breakfast with his host, Dr. Elisha Dick. The two men had not seen each other for thirteen years, since their days together at the Academy of Philadelphia, and were pleased to find their friendship intact. Dr. Dick had chosen the quieter life of a dedicated physician and family man, but was not surprised to hear that, for his devil-may-care friend, the intervening years had been crammed with adventure.
"I can't tell you how happy I am that you searched me out last night!" he repeated for the dozenth time. "It's amazing that you remembered I was here! I am especially pleased since I am sure James Wade must have been most anxious to have you stay at West Hills."
Smiling, Lion lit a cheroot. "That is putting it mildly! It was all I could do to persuade him to travel on to Virginia ahead of me. He wanted to wait and show me the way. I was afraid that if I stayed at his plantation he might chain me to his sister! Besides, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to look you up. I had a feeling you would not have strayed far from your family homestead." He paused to sample the fresh coffee. "Good friends are rare these days. I'm sure that we would never have lost touch if the war hadn't turned our lives upside down."
"Lion... I know that you have plans to ride out to West Hills this morning, and I don't want to make you late, but—" The doctor's sensitive face reflected his search for the right words. "I don't mean to pry, but I know the Wades quite well, and this news concerning you and Priscilla comes as quite a shock!"
Lion's smile wa
s wry. "Because I've never met the girl?"
"Well, of course... and then there is the matter of Priscilla herself!"
"Don't tell me she's ugly! Her brother described her beauty to me until, to my great relief, the port he was swilling did him in for the evening."
"No, no, she's a lovely creature—well-bred and all—but supremely shallow and narcissistic. I am simply at a loss to understand how all this came about! For God's sake, Lion, I expected you to marry the most charming, delightful female on earth... and Priscilla is less than endearing."
"Shallow, you say? Splendid. Perfect." Lion grinned enigmatically, white teeth flashing against bronzed skin, before taking pity on the curious Dr. Dick. "Don't worry so, Elisha; this entire affair is my idea. James Wade just happened to arrive in Philadelphia a month ago at the moment when I needed him most. We met at the Indian Head Tavern; he learned that I was, ah—eligible, and proceeded to make me an offer that was tailor made to my current need."
"Which is?" Dick prompted, his courage mounting.
"An ornamental wife. You needn't look so baffled! My motive is quite simple—and timeless. Ambition. I intend to become a congressman, or even a senator, within the next few years, and in my case a wife seems to be one of the prime prerequisites. You see, it suits me that the arrangement not be complicated by the question of love. Meeting James Wade was a stroke of luck, for it seems that Priscilla would use me as impersonally as I am using her. She will gain wealth and position in Philadelphia; I will gain the well-bred, beautiful wife that I need."
Hannah Dick appeared at that moment to ask if the men needed more coffee.
"No, thank you," Lion replied, grinding out his cheroot as he stood up. "The breakfast was delicious, but I must be going now. I wouldn't want to keep my bride-to-be waiting!"
Hannah beamed at his words, but Elisha was all too aware of the mocking glint in Lion's blue eyes. He felt stirrings of the old worry that had characterized his feelings toward Lion when they were young, but he forced himself to stifle them. After all, Lion was a grown man and so far, for all his recklessness, had never met with anything but success. Right now, illuminated by a soft, yellow beam of sunlight, he seemed larger than life and quite invincible.
***
"I cannot believe your capacity for immobility!" Meagan exclaimed as she pulled aside the wine and rose brocade bed-hangings. Priscilla opened one large green eye and moaned convincingly. Sunlight flooded the cold room when Meagan opened the heavy curtains, turning back to the bed with a frown. "It is past ten o'clock, you dolt, and your fiancé arrives today!"
"Well, I want to look my best, don't I? Sleep is a very important part of beauty."
"If that is the case, then you must be the most spectacular woman alive!"
Priscilla failed to hear the sarcasm in her voice and merely smoothed her auburn curls with a pleased smile. "Why, thank you, Meagan. You know, you could stand some beauty sleep yourself, if you don't mind my saying so. You look altogether wild!"
Meagan tossed her glossy black hair irritably as she threw herself down on the window seat. "My looks are of no importance to me whatever, Priscilla. Some of us have more pressing worries than the color in our cheeks."
"How tedious," the other girl yawned, critically taking in Meagan's tangled curls and mud-spattered breeches and coat. "I can't imagine why you persist in wearing those horrid boy's clothes. It's not as if you didn't have any gowns."
Meagan dismissed her words with a wave of her tiny hand, which she then thrust down the front of her waistcoat, withdrawing a crumpled sheet of parchment. "I received this letter yesterday from Mr. Bump-stock."
"Who?"
"Father's attorney!" Her voice took on a desperate note. "It's all been settled. The plantation and all the slaves, furniture, everything, will be sold to pay the debts and I'm to be packed off to Boston."
"Boston? Whatever for?"
"Mother's maiden aunt Agatha lives there. As I'm underage I shall have to live with her. Mr. Bumpstock informs me I have no choice!" Meagan shuddered and scrambled to her feet, pacing across the carpet. "I only met her once; she was shriveled and deaf and smelled of musty air. I shall go out of my mind!"
She was realizing today just how unprepared she had been for the reality of her father's financial position, even after the trail of hints dropped by Mr. Bumpstock since the shipwreck. Growing up at Pecan Grove, in a lavishly furnished mansion, Meagan had never questioned her family's wealth. However, the attorney's letter had shown her the truth in transcripts from those frustrating ledgers; Sayers had overextended himself repeatedly. Although the profits from the plantation had been sizable, they were far exceeded by the cost of her parents' extravagant lifestyle. Meagan thought back with bewildered horror to the sumptuous dinners and balls, her mother's silk and satin gowns, the expensive furniture, and the custom-made wigs. Her bitterness left little room for forgiveness, especially when it became clear that everything would have to be sold to meet the debts, leaving her homeless.
The crowning blow was the news that she would be moving to Boston and Aunt Agatha; Meagan's mind rebelled at the injustice of her fate. Her violet eyes smoldering with defiant resentment, she paced at the foot of Priscilla's four-poster bed.
"I don't know..." Priscilla remarked as she accepted a cup of chocolate from her maid Lily, "Boston might be just the thing, Meagan. If your aunt is rich, you will doubtless be exposed to some very prominent men. Actually, your opportunities would probably be better there than here in Virginia where all the boys know you are—that is—"
"Oh, do be quiet, Priscilla. I've got to think of some way out of this mess."
The spindly Negro maid was scurrying around the bedchamber, pouring water and laying out clothes, so Meagan retreated to the window seat. She casually pulled her knees up to her chest, ignoring the dust her shoes left on the cushions, and gazed outside.
January and half of February had gone the way of the two previous months, depressingly wet, but last week had brought a tremendous thaw, and a heavy dose of sunshine. The vast lawns of West Hills were brown, the ground soggy and black beneath, but the sky was clear blue and mild at last and Meagan sensed that the horrible winter was behind them. Soon the roads would be fit for travel and she would be on her way to Boston. Sheer misery overtook her momentarily and one crystal tear escaped, clinging to her thick lashes.
"I wonder what he'll be like?" Priscilla asked her reflection as she sat at her dressing table. Lily brushed the long auburn curls until they shot sparks in the sunlight and her mistress closed her eyes, letting her head drop back slightly.
"You mean your fiancé?" Meagan stressed the last word with meaningful irony.
Priscilla's eyelids fluttered, a smile curving her lush red lips. "Isn't it a lovely word? James says he's dreadfully handsome and so well off. Imagine him wanting to marry me with all those beauties in Philadelphia!"
"Yes," Meagan murmured dryly. "Imagine that!"
"Life will be so exciting there! James says the assemblies never end!"
Meagan sat forward suddenly on her knees, pressing her little nose against the glass. "Priscilla, I don't mean to interrupt your dreams, but I do believe your prince is arriving!"
A horse and rider had appeared between the huge oak trees that bordered the road leading to West Hills. It was the reflection of the sun against the man's gold hair that caught Meagan's eye, and she found herself staring at him in fascination.
His blond hair was caught neatly back at his neck, revealing a bronzed, obviously handsome face. He rode well, carrying himself with easy grace in spite of his size.
"Why is he riding a horse?" Priscilla fretted as she joined Meagan at the window. "I thought he would surely have a carriage! Oh, but do look at his coat. Such handsome green velvet, and so well tailored!"
Meagan rolled her eyes hopelessly, then turned back to watch as Lion Hampshire drew up to the mansion, handing over the gleaming chestnut roan to a stableboy. He smiled at the slave and slipped him a coi
n, then started up the broad steps to the front door.
Priscilla was moving faster now than Meagan ever imagined she could. With Lily's help, expensive gauze petticoats were layered over her long legs, followed by stylishly simple beige muslin skirts sprigged with green and orange flowers. The colors made a subtle backdrop for her rich auburn hair, ivory skin, and huge green eyes.
While Lily skillfully applied rouge to her mistress's high cheekbones, Meagan pulled up a slender rosewood chair and tried to get her attention.
"Priscilla, I think I'd better be getting home. I do have to begin packing, and I know it would be embarrassing for you to have to explain me to Mr. Hampshire."
"Meagan, dear, would I be overdoing it if I wore my emerald necklace?"
Meagan got to her feet, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "I can't believe that my opinion would matter to you." A loud knock interrupted her and she turned to answer it, adding, "Why not ask your brother? He's an authority on everything, after all. Good luck, Priscilla. How long will it be before you leave for Philadelphia?"
"Four days."
"Well, I'll be over again to say good-bye."
She opened the door to admit James Wade, whose close-set green eyes glowed with triumph over his coup.
At the sight of Meagan, his corpulent face split into a broad smile. "What a pleasant surprise, my dear. May I say that you are the loveliest little ragamuffin I have ever encountered? That smudge on your nose is particularly enchanting!" A perfumed handkerchief floated from his breast pocket and when she saw it coming toward her nose, Meagan ducked under his outstretched arm.
"Wonderful to see you as always, James!" she sang a trifle too sweetly and scampered down the hallway. Reaching the oaken banister, she leaned over the top to make certain her escape route was clear, then hurried down the broad stairway. Her speed was such that when she touched the last step and Lion Hampshire emerged from the parlor, it was impossible for Meagan to stop. Only Hampshire's surefootedness saved them from falling to the floor on impact, and Meagan found her face buried in the clean-smelling frill of his shirt-front. She was horrified to find her breath stuck in her lungs; even worse, she was trembling under his strong, sure grip.
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