"Now, Meagan, I wouldn't go that far—and I didn't! Let's keep this in perspective!" Lion was smiling again, and now he lifted both brows. "By the way, where in the world did an innocent like you acquire that word?"
"From books, I assure you. Certainly not from personal experience!"
"Shh," he admonished, laying a brown finger across her lips. "You will make me laugh and then we'll be caught."
"You deserve it!"
"I'll not argue that. The question is—do you?"
Impulsively he reached across the sill for Meagan's hands and kissed the small, cold palms. Even in the darkness her ready flush was not lost on him. Belatedly, she pulled her hands from his.
"You must be deaf, sir! I have asked you most plainly not to touch me again! If you and Priscilla Wade choose to ruin your own lives that is your affair, but I'll not be drawn into your games. Perhaps Clarissa and all your other dimwitted females don't mind being made fools of, but I do. Goodnight!"
Leaning forward, she grasped the casement with both hands and pulled it shut so forcefully that Lion had to jump aside to avoid being hit. Even after the white-gowned figure had disappeared from his view, he remained there under the chestnut tree, rubbing his jaw and wearing a bemused smile.
Chapter Eleven
Delicious cooking smells filled the roomy, well-equipped kitchen and Meagan lifted her head to inhale them from time to time, smiling dreamily. Three plump chickens were roasting on a spit over the fire, turned by a vacant-eyed serving-girl, while the aroma of baking bread wafted out of the oven.
Meagan sat at the sturdy table with Wickham, Smith, and the long-limbed loose-tongued cook, Bramble. Three of the servants were polishing the Bingham silver, while Bramble simultaneously directed the activity of the rest of the kitchen help and sliced potatoes with amazing speed. She was also a self-righteous gossip, keeping up a nonstop dialogue punctuated only by the sizzle of chicken fat dripping into the fire.
Smith and Wickham sat together on one side of the table, letting their hands touch from time to time. Meagan had guessed their feelings for one another the first time she saw Smith look at Wickham. There was a radiance in her gentle hazel eyes that was unmistakable. They said little except to each other so Bramble directed most of her conversation at Meagan.
"If you were to ask me, I'd say it's a disgrace!" she exclaimed, and Meagan glanced up quizzically.
"What's that, ma'am?"
Bramble leaned closer, pursing her narrow lips.
"The theater!" she hissed. "I'm told the Assembly passed the bill two days ago, making it legal here again. 'Tis a sin! This city has been known for its purity of spirit, but this be the first step to its ruin. Mark my words!"
Meagan attempted to change the subject. "My, those chickens smell wonderful. I do so admire your ability in the kitchen."
" 'Tis only hard work," she sniffed. "I believe in it. Not like some people hereabouts. There are times when my conscience cries at me for working for people like these."
"The Binghams?"
"What other? They are bad enough, for there is no condition worse than that of quality people letting themselves fall away from virtuous lives. I am truly sickened, however, by the class that is beginning to make itself at home here..." Her knife paused for only a moment before she resumed the rapid slicing. "I do not believe in spreading tales, but of course, it be common knowledge in any case."
"Pardon me?"
"Marcus Reems. A despicable, godless man. I only say this with the hope that as her maid, you may be able to help Mistress Wade."
Meagan had the feeling that some portion of the conversation had escaped her. Marcus Reems and Priscilla? Was this woman unbalanced? Two days had passed since Lion Hampshire had taken her away from Mansion House. Since then, she had become painfully aware of the realities of her new life; all the excitement had gone from the masquerade. She was a common servant, working from dawn to dusk and on into the night, with no time or opportunity to discover the latest news from Priscilla. In any case, her former friend showed no inclination to confide in her. Meagan was beginning to believe that Priscilla had forgotten they were ever sisterly companions, for Priscilla's attitude toward her had become as condescending as Anne Bingham's.
Contributing to Meagan's flagging spirits was the fact that she had not had so much as a passing glimpse of Lion Hampshire since their late night conversation at the garden window. Was it possible that he was taking her at her word? Meagan told herself that she was delighted to be rid of him, reminding herself that she found him insolent and presumptuous. Still... all her senses remained alerted to some signal of his presence —his step in the hallway, his scent in the air, the sound of his amused, dry voice, or the sight of his bright golden hair. Worst of all, when she slept, Meagan could feel his arms holding her and his mouth against hers. The dream would continue until she reached the limits of her endurance, then she would awaken, feverish and consumed with a strange longing that she was learning to despise.
From snatches of Priscilla's conversation and that of the other household members, Meagan was aware that Priscilla was seeing much more of Lion. Perhaps he had fallen in love with her after all?
"Bramble, whatever does my mistress have to do with Marcus Reems? Surely you know that she is betrothed to Mr. Hampshire?"
Bramble laughed humorlessly, showing long teeth.
" 'Tis of no consequence to people like these. I saw her with that Reems man today. Arm in arm they were, and Mr. Hampshire weren't so much as on the grounds."
"I don't understand!"
"What be there to understand? Tis a breed apart, South. Fidelity and righteousness mean nothing to these people!"
Meagan turned her eyes on Wickham and Smith. "Is this true? Is Miss Wade carrying on with Mr. Reems?"
Smith flushed a little, exchanging looks with Wickham. "It is true that he was here today... and Miss Wade entertained him. As far as anything else—"
"It be only a matter of time!" Bramble declared. "Marcus Reems be a hard man—a cruel one to my mind. And he has but one ambition in life."
"What's that?"
"To eclipse Mr. Hampshire."
Meagan let the spoon she was polishing fall to the table. Again she looked to Smith.
"I am so confused! Can you tell me what she's talking about? What an odd word to use—eclipse!"
"I shouldn't," Smith began with a sigh, "but Bramble may be right. Perhaps you could offer Miss Wade some advice. Of course, she has no way of knowing, but Mr. Reems and Mr. Hampshire have been rivals—perhaps enemies—for a long time now."
"Mr. Hampshire despises Mr. Reems with good cause," Wickham said tersely.
"We aren't certain of the reason," Smith continued in her soft voice, "but there have been some general, obvious causes. Marcus Reems is quite a nasty man, and somehow he got it into his head that he didn't like Mr. Hampshire."
"Jealous," grunted Wickham, and Bramble nodded in emphatic agreement.
"Perhaps it began over a woman—who knows? But ever since, Mr. Reems has been trying to outshine Mr. Hampshire in every way. Unfortunately, it has grown worse since the China trade began. Mr. Hampshire has done so well and Mr. Reems wrecked his first ship —dashed it to pieces. Mr. Bingham won't give him the backing he gives Mr. Hampshire, so the bad feelings have increased. At any rate, his appearances here the other night and today seem to be signs of trouble ahead. Worse, Mrs. Bingham is charmed by the man and has given him an open invitation."
"In that case, Miss Wade must also find him charming," Meagan said dryly.
Wickham brought his black brows together. "That is what we all fear."
At that moment one of the downstairs maids burst into the room. "There's a guest for tea!"
"Heaven's upon us," muttered Bramble. "I'll prepare the cart." She jabbed a bony finger at Meagan. "Change that apron and you can serve."
Surprised, Meagan dashed along a back corridor to her bedchamber where she hurriedly discarded her gray-smudged apron, repl
acing it with a fresh one of stiff taffeta. She tucked rebellious black curls back under her mobcap while retracing her steps to the kitchen. Miraculously, Bramble had assembled an assortment of cakes on the tea cart, along with a steaming china pot and matching cups.
"Off with you," she scolded, "before the mistress arrives to see what's become of us."
Meagan pushed the cart out the door and along the hallway toward the east parlor. Her mind was so occupied with the clattering dishes that she was totally unprepared for the eyes that met hers as she came through the door.
It might have been a different Clarissa who sat there between Priscilla and Anne Bingham, so cool and composed was this girl. Only the faintest glimmer of recognition showed in her frosty blue eyes as she watched Meagan approach with the tea cart. Anne Bingham smiled coolly.
"Thank you..." she paused, reaching for the name and finding it with a note of triumph. "South. I will pour and you may serve."
Meagan waited, venturing a look at Priscilla, who acted as though she were a stranger. Meagan felt her cheeks redden with indignation—an emotion she found common these days.
In spite of her anger, it was impossible for her not to be aware of the combined beauty of the three women seated together. Priscilla was looking more and more like Anne Bingham, imitating her coiffure, her gestures and even her speech. The two of them flanked Clarissa like perfect bookends, the girl seeming even more exquisite than Meagan remembered. Her gown was fashioned of sky-blue velvet, setting off her creamy ivory skin and golden curls.
Why is she here? Meagan wondered at last, suddenly puzzled. After serving the tea and cakes she was dismissed, but she could not resist stopping in the hallway. The conversation she heard left her more bewildered than ever, for Clarissa was impeccably gracious, declaring that she was certain she and Priscilla would be the best of friends.
Lion's name was never mentioned.
***
Meagan made several false starts at counseling Priscilla during the next two days. It was difficult to find her alone, even in the morning, for Anne Bingham fluttered near her like a butterfly. Finally, an opportunity presented itself when Priscilla sent for her after a noon meal. Priscilla had an engagement to go riding in Marcus's new carriage and was alone.
Meagan found her seated at her dressing table, clad in a lace chemise, and staring into the mirror.
"Oh, Meagan, it's you," she murmured distractedly, not bothering to look up. "I am certain I can see a spot here. Look."
Meagan rolled her eyes and bent closer. Priscilla was pointing to a pink blemish the size of a pinprick located above her right eyebrow.
"Your vision is exceptional," she remarked. As usual, the perfectly proper words were underlaid with sarcasm that went undetected by Priscilla. "I am certain no one else could possibly see it."
"Well, perhaps if you add some extra powder..."
"Priscilla—" Meagan bit her lip as she pulled a footstool around to sit on. She leaned nearer in an effort to catch her eye. "We have known each other a long time, and even though circumstances have altered, I still care about you."
Priscilla yawned, critically examining her lacquered fingernails. "I will be glad when you master the art of the manicure," she commented.
"Are you listening to me?"
"I don't have time to think about the past, Meagan. As I've said before, you made the choice to change your position in life, and I find matters much simpler if I refrain from dwelling on other days."
"I'm not asking you to 'dwell on other days'! I have no wish to discuss my situation. You are the one I am worried about! I have heard things about Marcus Reems—"
"Meagan, if you stop this right now, I will try to forget your outburst." Priscilla was looking into the mirror again, her lovely mouth set stubbornly. "I do not need advice from my maid—especially when she is openly trying to entice my fiancé!"
Meagan bolted from the stool, cheeks burning furiously. "Priscilla! How can you think—"
"I'm certain you don't mean to use such a familiar form of address, Meagan. Now, do fetch my bronze silk. Marcus will be arriving any moment now, and I am so anxious to see his new carriage!"
Meagan backed up toward the armoire, staring at her one-time friend in angry, stunned disbelief. You pretentious goose! she raged silently. You deserve to make a mess of your life!
Her teeth were clenched against the words that threatened to spill out; instead, she turned to pull the silk gown from the armoire. An hour later, Priscilla was being assisted into Marcus's carriage, along with Anne, cast in the role of chaperone.
By the third afternoon, the carriage rides had become a part of Priscilla and Anne's schedule, and Meagan was hearing Marcus Reems's name spoken more often than Lion's.
***
One day in early March, Priscilla and Anne left the house for a full day of dress fittings. Many delegates to the new Congress had arrived in town by this time and the Binghams were planning a party for later in the month. The bad weather had managed to delay the start of Congress in New York indefinitely and no one was in a hurry to get there anymore. There was a festive, holiday mood through the town, heightened by the now-legal theater. The Gazette was announcing a performance of The Roman Father, a hornpipe by Durang, and a "celebration over the victory of the theater." For the fist time in fifteen years in Philadelphia, the American Company published its cast for the evening "By Authority." Meagan heard the excited plans being made for attendance, aching inside to be able to participate in the fun.
Smith seemed to sense Meagan's despondency and took pity on her, perhaps because of her own happiness in love. The day that the women were away for their fittings, Smith found her ironing Priscilla's chemises in a corner of the kitchen.
"Not a very cheerful task on a pretty day like this," she offered.
Meagan tried to smile. "Well, that's the price of being a working girl, hmm?"
"Perhaps, but there should be more to life than just work. You look a bit washed out to me."
Meagan said nothing.
"As the head housekeeper, I'm in charge in Mrs. Bingham's absence, you know."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I've decided it would benefit your health and performance if you would get away from the house for the afternoon. The sun is shining; why don't you go out and tell Brown to give you a horse."
The excitement that rose in Meagan's heart almost overwhelmed her; she looked at Smith with adoring eyes. Impulsively, she leaned over the hot iron and hugged her.
"You are a wonderful person!"
"Well, hurry up, then! Just be back here before the mistress returns for tea!"
***
Anne Bingham had regally christened the winding alley which led into the grounds and to the spacious stables beyond "Bingham Court." Meagan ran along it now, skirts lifted, radiant with the long overdue dose of sunshine and fresh air and smiling at the sight of the two fawns that grazed on the lawn. When she spotted Brown, she waved, laughing, and watched his eyes light up at the sight of her.
"I thought that Mrs. Bingham had rather overdone it with all those live birds she keeps throughout the house," Meagan told him when she drew near enough to be heard, "but I do believe that these fawns are the topper!"
Brown pushed back his bicorne hat, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief as he grinned at her.
"Truth to tell, Jacob Reads brought those to her from South Carolina not so long ago. People know that anything exotic will pleasure Mrs. Bingham, I'll wager. See those greenhouses over there? Right now they are filled with rows of orange and lemon trees that the gardener keeps in tubs. When warm weather settles in, they'll all be put out onto the lawn. And that's but a sample of the rare sorts o' shrubbery you'll see hereabouts in a few weeks."
Meagan laughed. "Well, if all these strange luxuries make them happy, I suppose that's fine."
"What sort of bloke wouldn't be? I'll swear I would!"
"You might be surprised, Brown."
; He shrugged amiably. "Tell me now, sweetheart, what brings you outside today?"
"Smith has told me that I may have a few hours of freedom. I have permission to go riding! Have you a horse that I may use?"
"Ain't you the lucky one! Wish I didn't have such a lot o' work to finish today or I'd go along with you." His eyes met hers, more serious than she remembered them. He wasn't wearing a wig this time, and his hair was very dark and thick, fastened untidily over his collar. "Do you know your way? Just ride out Spruce here and you'll reach the countryside. The road that runs south from there will take you out to Gray's Gardens. You'd find that a pretty ride, I'll wager."
Meagan beamed as he disappeared into the stables and returned leading a horse out into the sunlight. It was a beautiful spotted mare with soft eyes.
"Oh, Brown, thank you! She's wonderful!"
He put a sidesaddle onto the horse's back, then helped her up.
"Victoria, you behave yourself with this pretty lady. Hope you two have a nice ride."
His hand brushed Meagan's quite purposely and as he watched Victoria trot down Bingham Court, Brown remembered Mr. Bingham's warning. What made this little serving-girl so special that one of the most important men in America gave her his protection? What was his interest in her, or was Captain Hampshire the one who actually held the claim to her? A natural lover of all womankind, Brown was definitely intrigued by Meagan South.
Meagan could feel his eyes on her as she rode Victoria to the end of the Court, turning onto Fourth Street. Her discomfort vanished soon enough in the open air, however, for there was no space inside her for any emotion other than pure enjoyment. She felt more lighthearted than she had for weeks; since before her parents had been killed.
The streets were fairly crowded with other horses and vehicles; so for several blocks Meagan rode along slowly behind an open landau. Since it was her first view of the western sector of Philadelphia, she was quite content to take her time and look around. The farther she got from the center of town, the fewer houses there were and the worse the roads got. After she passed the Pennsylvania Hospital at Eighth and Spruce Streets, the city dissolved completely into countryside. Gently rolling fields and orchards were spread out on all sides, lovely in spite of the fact that the trees were starkly bare and the grass still withered and brown. Overhead, the sky was a bright azure blue and a sweet, friendly breeze ruffled Victoria's dark mane. The horse broke into a sedate canter and Meagan closed her eyes, smiling against the wind and feeling as though they were alone in the world.
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