Wright, Cynthia

by Touch the Sun

  "Isn't he delightful!" she laughed when the door swung shut.

  "Not particularly," Lion replied dryly. "Let us go into one of the parlors. I want to talk to you."

  "I couldn't! Mrs. Bingham would faint if she saw me in one of her Gobelin chairs!"

  Lion realized that this was probably true, so he drew her over to sit down on the stairway.

  "Now, tell me where Priscilla has gone and why she went out when she knew I would be arriving before noon."

  Meagan avoided his sharp blue gaze. "I know that she and Mrs. Bingham went shopping for her new wardrobe, but as to the other..."

  "Meagan, look at me and don't play the idiot. You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

  Her heart thumped against her breastbone and in her memory she heard his voice laughing, "We are friends, aren't we!" She had been furious and disgusted with Priscilla earlier, and now she thought, at least he hasn't ignored me now that we're in Philadelphia and my status as a servant is so clear. He treats me more fairly than my supposed friend who even knows the truth about my breeding!

  She looked up to meet his eyes and said hotly, "No, I wouldn't he, and certainly not for such a dishonest cause! She went out purposely, at Anne— that is, Mrs. Bingham's urging. They feel that this is some sort of clever game to increase your interest."

  Lion raked a hand through his pale gold hair and let out a low whistle. "Leave it to Anne to play on all of Priscilla's weaknesses. So, they expect me to run this obstacle course with a smile on my face?"

  "Apparently. I tried to make Priscilla see how horridly she was behaving, but I don't seem to have much influence with her these days."

  "A pity. I was counting on a large quantity of that from you."

  "I'm afraid that Priscilla is only listening to Mrs. Bingham right now. She's quite impressed."

  "She would be. The ideal wife—a carbon copy of Anne Bingham," he muttered sarcastically.

  They were silent for a long minute, then Meagan began, "Mr. Hampshire, I really should go back to work. I have to finish unpacking the trunks—"

  "The hell you do." He reached out to catch her wrist, pulling her back down beside him. "Neither of us is going to be used today. You'll take your mistress's place and come out with me."

  "I couldn't! No! I have so much work—"

  "Let her do it herself. Have you forgotten who pays your wages? I am your employer and I am ordering you to go and change your dress. The sun is out and we're going to enjoy it!"

  Chapter Nine

  There was a dreamlike quality about the entire day for Meagan; in her heart she was Meagan Sayers again, the winsome, fun-loving daughter of a wealthy Virginia planter. All her life she had dreamed of the excitement she felt at this moment, walking along Third Street and listening to Lion Hampshire laugh. During the entire two weeks of her masquerade as Meagan South, lady's maid, she had never had more difficulty remembering her new name and station; for, in truth, she longed to forget. Just a few hours, she thought recklessly, wondering if Lion were part of her dream. Could he forget, too? Would he allow her to?

  Meagan would have been surprised to know Lion's own thoughts, for they were remarkably similar to hers. He could not recall the last time he had felt so relaxed. He had been startled by Meagan's appearance. She looked absolutely exquisite and had managed to achieve this transformation in barely fifteen minutes. She chose her least drab gown—the same lilac muslin she had worn the night they had dined together in Spurrier Tavern. The color made her skin look creamy and brought out the darker violet of her black-lashed eyes. Lion studied her delicate, animated features in the bright sunlight and found himself charmed. There was a contagious excitement that showed not only in her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, but in her voice and the energetic way she walked.

  "Do you always take your servants out for a daytime promenade?" she inquired now, revealing dimples when she smiled.

  "I've been known to," he laughed. "Unfortunately, most of my employees are men, so it doesn't happen very often."

  Meagan cast him a sidelong glance, liking the way the smile lingered on his mouth and the way the lines crinkled out from his sea-blue eyes when he laughed. It was a beautiful day.

  "You know, I've never been to Philadelphia before," she remarked.

  "That's hardly surprising. It's a good distance from Virginia. Have you even been out of the state before this?"

  "Oh, yes," Meagan smothered a giggle, thinking of the journeys she had made with her parents to Boston, New York, London, and Paris since the end of the war.

  Lion decided to let her answer go, turning his attention to the sights around them. A pleasant-faced man emerging from a small two-story row house nearby called a greeting.

  "Good day, Mr. Hampshire! How are you this fine spring day? Allow me to offer my best wishes on the news of your impending marriage."

  William Wister beamed at Meagan politely, waiting. She eyed Lion from under her thick lashes and noticed that he looked more irritated than panicky.

  "Thank you, Mr. Wister. Is there any news from Grumblethorpe?"

  "All is well. II this fine weather continues, I shall journey there within the next few days."

  "Give my regards to your brother. I shall convey your greetings to my fiancée. Good day, Mr. Wister!"

  Meagan could feel the other man's eyes on them as they continued on along the footpath.

  Lion was grinning. "I probably just created the potential for a large problem there, but right now the expression on his face was worth it! Ha! Wait until he sees Priscilla and finds out that she is my fiancée!"

  Meagan glanced at him in puzzlement. "I don't understand..."

  It took him a moment to remember their situation. Briefly, he had allowed himself simply to exist and enjoy the company of this refreshing gamine, but now he was conscious once again of his position—and hers.

  "I didn't intend for you to understand," Lion said coolly. "Just keep smiling."

  They walked on in silence, Meagan lifting her chin into the cool, sun-washed air to inhale angrily. Well! He had certainly put her in her place! Why didn't he make up his mind? Was she to be friend and ally or docile slave?

  Lion stole a glance at Meagan, his sense of humor returning at the sight of her striding along beside him. Her black, gleaming curls ruffled back in the breeze, fully revealing the stubborn, indignant expression on her face. Lion noted the fiery sparkle in her purple eyes and the decided flare of her slender nostrils. He saw his chance to break the silence that lengthened between them when the cupola atop St. Peter's Church came into view.

  "Well!" he exclaimed. "Here is our famous St. Peter's Church! As a newcomer to Philadelphia, I'm sure you're suitably impressed?"

  Meagan looked at the handsome red brick structure, then turned suspicious eyes on Lion. "It's nice enough," she allowed.

  "Nice enough!" he gasped dramatically, pressing his hand to his shirtfront as if wounded. "This church is a masterpiece and the pride of Society Hill! You insult it at your own risk, for the residents nearby will not take it lying down!"

  "Oh, all right!" Meagan burst out, trying to sound more exasperated than amused. "It's a splendid building. I am speechless with admiration."

  "That's better." He stared at her until she looked up to meet his eyes. "Truce?"

  "It's not that easy, Mr. Hampshire. You went to great lengths to wear me down, convincing me to forget my role as a servant in your company. I won't let you use my position in life to suit your purposes—ignoring it and recognizing it at will."

  Lion stopped in front of the red brick wall that ringed St. Peter's Church, reaching for her hand. When he touched her, Meagan's skin burned and the nerves tingled all the way up her arm. Common sense warned her to pull away, but she seemed frozen.

  "You are right, Meagan. I'll grant you that. I promise never to patronize you again. Although, it's very obvious you don't approve of my actions, I must ask you to refrain from meddling in my private affairs."

  More angry w
ords rose in her throat, but she was unable to find her voice. Sheer panic overtook her when he lifted her palm and pressed his mouth against it.

  "You have lovely hands," he murmured. "Soft."

  To hide her recurring blush, Meagan pulled away and turned to look at the church, thankful for the wind that blew shielding curls across her cheek.

  "This really is a handsome church. Do you attend here?"

  He was grinning, his teeth white against tanned skin. "Very infrequently in the past. I imagine that the sabbaths ahead will find me in my pew, however."

  "Tell me, why do they call this Society Hill? Because of the rich people who live here?"

  "It seems so now, but I understand that the name originally was derived from the Free Society of Traders. A century ago it was formed and set up its warehouse and office over on the west side of Front Street—not too far from our Man Full of Trouble Inn. At any rate, the name stuck and eventually became quite appropriate. Even this church was built for the comfort of these affluent residents who grew tired of the muddy trek up to Christ Church on High Street. Wouldn't want anyone to get tired!"

  Meagan's face cooled down as he spoke and she looked back at him, laughing softly. "Heaven forbid!" As they began to walk again, she asked hesitantly, "Who was that man we met?"

  "William Wister? Nobody exceptional, but he's important enough, merely by virtue of his family name. The Wisters are well-respected in Philadelphia; they've been here seventy-five years at least. Daniel Wister, the other brother, owns a fine place north of here in Germantown that's called Grumblethorpe. Are you familiar with the flowering purple wistaria?" Meagan wrinkled her brow, then nodded. "It was named in honor of the family."

  Lion stopped in front of an L-shaped brick house, smiling at Meagan. She waited.

  "This is my home. Do you like it?"

  She was impressed but tried not to show it. Easily the handsomest house on the block, there was an aura of quiet elegance about it that lent it character. It was very large—three stories topped by three dormer windows and numerous chimneys. The first two rows of windows were bordered with clean white shutters; even the paint on the front door looked fresh. While Lion used the footscraper, she studied the two fire-marks that flanked a third-story window.

  "Those are the marks of the Green Tree and Hand-in-Hand fire-insurance companies," Lion explained, following her eyes upward. Meagan caught sight of a white marble stone under the eaves which read "1787."

  "So that's why the paint looks so new!" she teased. Lion smiled as he opened the door for her.

  "I bought the house less than a year after it was built. It's still almost unused, for I have spent little time in residence."

  The narrow entrance hall where they stood ran straight through to the garden behind the house. Meagan could see it through the arched doorway leading outside. "There is something about this place," she mused, "that puts Mansion House in the shade for all its opulence." Sunlight streamed through the fanlight over the front door, throwing triangular patterns across the paneled floor that led up to the stairway. At that moment, soft, quick footsteps were heard overhead, growing closer. A tiny, odd-looking man appeared on the landing.

  "Missa Lion, I so solly!"

  Meagan couldn't have been more startled by the appearance of Lion's butler. The man was more than a foot shorter than his employer, with distinctly Oriental features and yellowish skin set off incongruously by a curled white wig. There was nothing Oriental about his dress either, for he wore a plainly cut black broadcloth suit, a black-and-white striped silk waistcoat, a white stock, white silk knee stockings, and black shoes with gold buckles. Shiny teeth dominated his angular face as he grinned up at her.

  "Missy Priscilla, I so happy to make yoh acquaintance!"

  "Wong!" Lion broke in. "This is not Priscilla. This young lady is a new maid in my employ—presently in Miss Wade's service. Her name is Meagan South. Meagan, this is Wong Washington, my butler, who manages to meddle in affairs of mine that have nothing to do with the management of this house."

  Meagan could not restrain herself. "Wong Washington?"

  "I want to be American!" Wong declared, smiling. "So I choose new second name."

  "Well, that's certainly American!" she laughed.

  "Wong sailed over from China last year," Lion explained. "He attached himself to me when we were in port and Brown was ill. So I gained an extra valet whom I have been unable to lose since, despite valiant efforts on my part!"

  "He love me," Wong whispered loudly in Meagan's ear. "He lost without me!"

  Lion made no move to deny this, merely smiling over Wong's head at her.

  "Listen, Wong, I would like to discuss a luncheon menu with you. Meagan, why don't you wait in the library? Pour yourself a glass of wine and I'll join you in a moment." He gestured toward a door near the stairway, then turned in the direction of the kitchen, one arm draped across Wong's narrow shoulders.

  Meagan was feeling rather giddy with good spirits as she opened the paneled door to the library. Inside she was faced with a long wall of books, the red and earth-toned bindings glittering with gold letters. Oh, she thought, I could lose myself in this room! I could bury myself for days. Her eyes searched for a likely daybed or chair in which to hide, and it was then that she spotted the other girl. Afterward, Meagan would wonder how she could have stood there so long without noticing her, for her golden hair was as bright and shining as Lion's. Until the girl spoke, Meagan thought for a moment that she was not real, so complete was her physical perfection. Her face, framed by the sunny curls, was exquisite with its large, soft, sky-blue eyes, tiny nose, and rosebud mouth. Her complexion was peaches and cream, her neck graceful, and lovely, firm breasts swelled over the lacy neckline of her dress. Suddenly she moved, and Meagan could see the huge eyes pool with tears.

  "Are—are you—the girl? The one he's going to marry?"

  "Me? Oh, no. My name is Meagan. I'm just one of the servants." The faintest hint of amusement touched her voice. "Actually, I'm lady's maid to Miss Wade."

  Crystal droplets rolled out to the ends of the beautiful girl's long lashes, flickering off onto her cheeks. "So —so—it's true!" Now she began to weep in earnest, but Meagan noticed with envy that her eyes did not puff up and her face remained pink and white.

  Meagan went over and gingerly perched on the edge of a chair across from her, wondering how to handle the situation. She was spared a decision, however, for at that moment the door opened and Lion entered, his blue eyes stormy.

  "Damn Wong! If his head weren't attached, he'd have lost it by now! Trust him to let me send you in here with Clarissa already—" His voice broke off as he became aware of Clarissa Claussen's ladylike sobbing. "What the hell! What's going on here?"

  Meagan watched with a twinge as Clarissa got up and hurried into Lion's arms. She saw all too clearly the way he held her to him, whispering against the wet pink cheek and gently caressing her flaxen curls. Meagan wished she could climb out the window.

  "Oh, Lion," Clarissa wept, "how could you do this to me? When I heard the news, I just wouldn't believe it, but I saw her today with Anne Bingham. I mean, I just assumed! I was on Second Street and I didn't even wait for my carriage... I ran all the way here. And then—then—Wong even admitted—"

  Lion glanced sharply at Meagan. "Wait for me in the parlor across the hall."

  She scrambled up and hurried past them, catching a glimpse of Clarissa straining upward to find and cling to Lion's mouth. There was a pain near her heart like the twist of a knife, but Meagan managed to convince herself that it was due to simple hunger.

  The parlor was utterly charming and elegant. Meagan moved around the room, touching the rich upholstery and warm, polished wood of the furniture. Lion's taste was flawless, if indeed he had decorated the room. The quietly elegant pieces were interspersed with priceless treasures from the Orient and Europe, but the total effect was never overpowering. Meagan paused before the handsome mantelpiece faced with gleaming marbl
e, wondering what was happening in the library.

  Then she heard the sound of a door opening across the hall and she caught a glimpse of two golden heads passing. More quiet sobbing, interrupted by Lion's firm voice. Meagan couldn't resist peeking out the window to watch them walking to the carriage he had ordered for Clarissa, but she dashed back across the room when he started back up the walk. His brown face was further darkened by a frightening scowl as he strode into the parlor. Silently he crossed the room and stopped beside her at the fireplace, slamming his fist down on the mantel. The force of the blow caused Meagan to jump involuntarily, her violet eyes like saucers, and suddenly Lion's mouth twitched. Laughter followed as he turned to look at her, but she was too confused and startled to join in.

  "Meagan," he choked at last, touching her cheek, "you are invaluable. I find it impossible to remain in a bad mood when you are nearby. I wish you could have seen your face!" More laughter. "Did you think I would gobble you up? Do I really appear to be such an ogre?"

  "Well..."

  "I have an idea that you would be perfectly capable of defending yourself if the need were to arise."

  The smile lingered at the corners of his mouth as he moved to fill two glasses—one with brandy and one with wine. After handing the latter to Meagan, Lion locked eyes with her and proposed a toast.

  "To the most refreshing female I have encountered in years." His expression was typically sardonic, but Meagan sensed a note behind the amusement in his voice that turned her knees to water.

  "It is a pity that Miss Wade isn't here to accept that compliment in person," she retorted, hoping that she sounded sufficiently prim.

  Lion laughed with frank delight. "Perhaps this day has possibilities after all, in spite of Clarissa's interruption."

  Meagan thought to follow him over to the settee but sat down in a large chair some distance away. A heady gulp of wine bolstered her courage.

  "She was certainly a lovely girl. If you'll pardon me for saying so, I can't imagine why you'd traipse all the way to Virginia to propose marriage to Priscilla Wade when that girl was right here and obviously willing—"