Her eyes sparkled like amethysts and her hair shone in the lamplight as she tied a crisp apron over her black dress. Her creamy skin was glowing, two smudges of rosy emotion brushed across her cheekbones.
I will simply leave this town and go elsewhere. A fresh start is what I need! As soon as I can save—
A sharp knock sounded at the door as Meagan was reaching for her mobcap. Instead, she hurried over to see who it was. A tall, starched kitchen maid stood in the hallway, her bony hand poised to knock again.
"Is Miss Wade back?" Meagan asked her.
"Yes, South, but they've gone straight to dinner, no time to change clothes, and she didn't request you until now. You're to go directly to the green parlor. They're having their wine, and—"
Closing the door, Meagan joined her in the hall and rushed on alone, only limping slightly, toward the front of the house.
At that moment, in the green parlor, Lion Hampshire was standing by the fireplace, one elbow propped against the elegantly carved mantel. Lazily, his clear blue eyes flickered across the room, resting on William, Anne, and finally Priscilla. She was looking particularly beautiful in an emerald-green striped gown, its bosom fashionably puffed out to accentuate her tiny waist. A green collarette encircled her long neck, while her auburn curls were dressed in the latest style, full on the sides, with a looped-up queue in back. The excessive coiffure only served to make her lovely face seem more fragile, her green eyes larger.
Out of the corner of one of those eyes, Priscilla perceived that Lion was watching her. Attempting a coquettish smile, she tipped her head slightly so that her best profile was visible to him.
Lion sighed inwardly as she finally started across the room after waiting in vain for him to make the first move. In spite of her physical beauty, which was now perilously near Anne Bingham's own, there was something about Priscilla that repelled him. She was affected, so shallow and vain... Lion took a long drink from his glass of brandy and looked down into the swirling umber liquid. Unbidden, Meagan's piquant face filled his mind and he felt a sharp twinge of longing, mingled with the now familiar guilt. She didn't deserve the treatment he had given her although until the moment he had seen that telltale blood on her leg he had not realized she was in over her head. Who had ever heard of a serving-girl as pretty and personable as Meagan staying a virgin? He couldn't imagine James Wade letting her escape his bed. Still... it was a relief. He knew he had no business feeling relief or any other emotion for an ordinary maid, especially in his position now. Yet, how uncommon she was! The stinging guilt returned as he remembered her ever-hopeful, strained expression that day in the twilight, the bright tears that shone in her eyes. I led her out into deep water, right over her head, and then I left her there, he thought bitterly, taking another drink of brandy. But, damn—how was I to know she'd never been swimming before? The analogy brought a grim twist to his lips.
"I declare, Lion Hampshire, you must be a million miles away!" Priscilla was at his elbow, her voice petulant. "I've been standing right here for a full minute!"
"Not a full minute! Milady, I humbly beg your pardon." The tone of his voice belied his words and Priscilla looked at him suspiciously.
"You are a puzzle to me, Lion. I never know what to think—"
"My dear, I am exactly what I seem. Do not invent mysteries where none exist." He sipped his brandy, glancing up to see Meagan come into the room. No longer the pale, tearful girl to whom he had said goodbye at the edge of town, she was now defiantly radiant. Seeing the naked emotion flash in Lion's eyes, Priscilla turned her head to follow his gaze.
For Meagan, the shock of seeing him there affected her like a hard slap in the face, and for a brief moment she faltered. He had never looked more handsome, and as always, he emanated an intangible charisma that made his mere presence in a room stimulating. Snowy white breeches fit against his muscular thighs and narrow hips, above which he wore a rich, dark turquoise velvet coat that emphasized his wide shoulders. Meagan saw the pleated frill of his cuff, so white against the sienna hand which held his drink. On his other hand, which rested on the mantel, a plain gold signet ring glinted in the candlelight.
She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. Her cheeks burned, but in her expression there was no trace of the vulnerability she had shown earlier. Her eyes were a smoldering violet, flashing with hostility, and Lion raised a sun-bleached brow in surprise. Obviously the minx had too much spirit to drown on his account!
Meagan ignored him from that moment until she left the parlor. She addressed herself only to Priscilla, who informed her that they were attending the theater later in the evening and she wanted her apricot satin gown to be aired. "You may attend me in my chamber at half after eight," she finished, her tone completely remote. One of Meagan's delicate eyebrows lifted slightly in silent revolt as she curtsied, bobbing her head mindlessly. Lion found himself grinning at her retreating figure, unaware of Anne Bingham's watchful eyes across the room.
Meagan stopped in the shadowy hallway, leaning against the wall until the trembling subsided. The powerful yearning to touch Lion, to press her face against his wide, hard chest and feel his arms around her, was something that she could neither control nor fathom. Tears sprang into her eyes as she thought, he takes his pleasure with me in the afternoon and pauses only long enough to change into his finest clothes before dining with his fiancée and escorting her to the theater! She fought back the tears and straightened her back, clenching her fists until her nails bit into her palms. Blackhearted cur! I won't let him win! I shall fight whatever demon has taken possession of my emotions; Lion Hampshire can have his precious Priscilla, but he can't have me. His friend! What a silly fool I have been!
When she turned toward the kitchen, she saw Brown's slight, dark-haired form coming around the corner. His puckish grin warmed and relaxed her and she found herself welcoming the distraction he provided.
"Hello, Brown! What are you looking so cheerful about?" She was surprised to see him blush in the dim amber light.
"The prospect o' seein' you, miss. Might I say that you are lookin' rare beauteous tonight?"
"Why, thank you. I don't believe you, but it's a lovely compliment all the same. And you mustn't call me 'miss' as though I live rather than work here! My name is Meagan."
"I'd be pleased to call you Meagan. If you'll pardon me again, you seem better bred than the richest women I've met." He flashed his disarming grin, black eyes dancing. "I'm famous for tellin' the truth, so you're obligated to believe me."
Meagan laughed, delighting in the lessening of the bitter pain in her breast. "You are too kind."
"I'd be honored if you would call me by my Christian name—Kevin."
"Kevin! The name suits you."
" 'Tis a long while since I've heard it."
"Not if the stories I've heard about you are true! I understand you have a bevy of girls."
They were walking slowly toward the kitchen and Brown halted at her words, clasping a hand against his chest with an elaborate grimace.
"Untrue! You see before ye a lonely man! Who has spread such slander?"
"Did you forget? It was—" The name died on her lips along with her smile, and Brown glimpsed raw suffering in her eyes. Quickly, in bewilderment, he fumbled for a new subject.
"Tell me, how went your ride today?"
Her face was a mask of pain, but she managed to speak in a husky whisper. "I would like a cup of tea."
Perplexed and alarmed, Brown steered a weak-kneed Meagan into the kitchen where she sank into a ladderback chair near the hearth. For a long minute she sat there like a statue, her face paper-white; then slowly Brown could see the sparks kindling in her eyes and the color returning to her cheeks. Relieved, he went to fetch a cup of tea from Bramble, who was none too pleased to be bothered in the midst of supper preparations. By the time he returned to Meagan's chair, he found her holding her hands out toward the fire and smiling quite cheerfully.
"Thank you, Kevin," she
said, accepting the cup with fingers that shook slightly. "I am so sorry. I don't know what took hold of me. Suddenly I felt so very cold..."
Brown had enough sense to stay clear of the subject of Lion Hampshire and Meagan's ride that day, whether or not they had anything to do with her sudden change in behavior. Instead, he coaxed her into a corner of the servants' dining hall where they sat down in facing Windsor chairs.
"Now," he began with forced gaiety, "I want to know if you have asked for a day or a night free yet, and I'm not talkin' about what time Smith lets you slip by with!"
"Well..."
"Aha! I thought not! Well, it's time you did. Your mistress comes and goes; to assemblies, balls, to the dressmakers and milliners, to the theater. I should know, I'm the coachman! So, you deserve a bit o' relaxation yourself. I happen to know that there is goin' to be a reception tomorrow afternoon at Mayor Powel's that will take the Binghams and Miss Wade out of the house. Bein' as that's next door, I'll not be needed to drive them and I'll have the time free. I'd be pleased if you would ask for the afternoon off as well."
Meagan was thinking, she'll be with him at the theater tonight and at the Powels' tomorrow! While I sit at home with nothing but a twisted ankle and a pain where my maidenhead once was! Her eyes flashed as she answered, "What did you have in mind?"
Brown smiled, confident of his charm. "Bein' as you are new to this city, I thought you might enjoy seein' Peak's Museum. Would you of heard of it?"
Meagan's expression was a trifle smug. "We Virginians are not entirely ignorant. I have not only heard of it, I happen to know that General Washington has sent Mr. Peale the French pheasants given him by the Marquis de Lafayette—one by one as they died." By now she sounded not only smug but snobbish—a trait Brown was unused to in his peers. His merry grin faded as she spoke, and Meagan hated herself. I sounded like Anne Bingham, she thought. Must I be so defensive?
At this point, Brown was as curious about her background as Lion. He leaned closer, searching her face before inquiring with a weak chuckle, "Are you certain you're the lady's maid? You sound like the lady to me!"
"Oh, Kevin, forgive me—" She broke off at the sound of a bell pealing outside. "What's that? Surely not a church?"
" 'Tis the butter bell! They ring it the night before market days—twice weekly. Ah, Meagan, Philadelphia's market is a sight, enough to cause a person to wish for wealth!"
"Oh, dear... I had completely forgotten. I am supposed to go along with Smith and Bramble tomorrow!"
Brown gave a laugh. "You'll need to retire early, then, for Bramble rises before five o'clock on market days. The stalls open at dawn."
Meagan groaned. "Perhaps I had better be on my way to Miss Wade's chamber, then. I should be airing that gown for tonight and she's expecting me to attend her at half after eight."
He put a hand on her arm. "Wait! I had best come more directly to the point before you slip away. It would please me if you would promise to accompany me to the Peale Museum tomorrow afternoon. 'Tis truly a rare spot—full of strange bones and stuffed animals of every description—even a waxwork statue of Peale himself. What d'ye say?"
His earnest expression made her smile. "I would like to go, and it's kind of you to ask me... but I wonder if I'll be allowed?"
Brown let out a snort of laughter. "I'll tell you this much, 'tis my belief that you'd be allowed most anything were you to but ask. Mister Bingham has given strict orders that you're to be treated gently." He watched her closely, but her surprise seemed genuine.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Truth to tell, Meagan, I was hopin' you could tell me! That's all I know; he told me right off that no one was to make 'brash advances' toward you or mistreat you in any way. 'Twas strange, for serving-girls and maids have come and gone by the dozen just since I came to work here but two months past, yet Mister Bingham never even remarked on any of them."
"But I don't even know the man! He's not so much as spoken to me!"
Brown looked surprised and bit his lower lip before suggesting, "Perhaps it could be Captain Hampshire's doing?"
All the color drained from Meagan's face as she quickly dropped her eyes, studying the hooked rug on the oaken floor. When she raised her head to meet Brown's penetrating gaze, her skin was revealingly flushed. "That's even more absurd," she protested shakily. "I'm inclined to believe it's all some sort of mistake."
"Must've been," Brown agreed, producing a broad grin that eased the tension in the air. "Mistake or not, I'll wager you get the night off if you ask. Only, wait till you can put your request to Mister Bingham himself."
"All right," Meagan replied absently, seething inside as she realized how Lion had tried to prevent the men at Mansion House from approaching her. The part that puzzled her most was the fact that he had done it when she first arrived, at a time when she had thought their relationship to be quite casual. "Kevin," she said aloud, "aren't you asking for trouble by attempting to be my friend?"
He laughed gaily. "So far, sweetheart, I'm hopin' I am safe. Am I guilty of advancin' brashly or mistreatin' you?"
Meagan returned his grin, her own somewhat ironic as she thought, Lion is the only man guilty of those things. Brown lifted her hand to his lips and she let him, but then her face and heart froze as the sound of laughter drifted in from the hallway. The voices were mingled, but she could not mistake Lion's. He sounded horribly happy, and suddenly Meagan felt nauseous, her skin prickling with a sickening chill that swept her body. When it passed, Brown was still holding her hand, but the only thought in her mind was the realization that there was no fire, no magic in his touch...
Chapter Fourteen
At dawn, Bramble, Smith, and Meagan set out on foot for the High Street Market, accompanied by a young stableboy driving the cart which would later carry their purchases home. Bramble set a brisk pace, striding up Third Street to the narrow alley called Pear Street which would bring them out at the market. To the west, the sky was still midnight blue, but they walked toward the sunrise and it was a sight to behold. Through the houses, Meagan glimpsed the reflection of the blushing sky on the wide Delaware River, the water shimmering under the fiery new sun. The air was cool and sweet, holding a hint of dewy moisture, and she breathed deeply of it, welcoming its curative powers.
As they emerged on Second Street, she realized that her thinking that the three of them were the only people awake in the city had definitely been an illusion. Sleepy-looking women, bundled into their pelisses, were hurrying up the brick footpaths, each hoping to have first choice in the market. Vehicles and horses crammed the wide street, all heading northward, many of the wagons filled with goods and animals and driven by the German farmers who lived in the Pennsylvania countryside.
Bramble's sharp eyes were busily darting all about as she marched up the street and she rarely spoke, but Smith sensed Meagan's curiosity and took the time to explain the market to her.
"It really is quite a place. I do love to come in spite of having to rise in the middle of the night!" She pointed to the long market shed which consisted of brick piers supporting an arched, plastered ceiling and gabled roof. "Those are the permanent stalls. The entire structure is known as the 'shambles', but don't ask me why! The farmers who have stands under the eaves pay three pounds for the privilege."
Meagan looked questioningly at the carts and baskets that had been set up alongside the curb just ahead of them and Smith answered her before she could speak.
"These farmers come from New Jersey. They don't have to pay a fee, but they are continually risking the elements."
By this time, they were at the edge of the brick 'shambles' and Smith extracted a long list from her reticule. She and Bramble compared notes for a moment; then the gaunt cook turned back to speak to Meagan for the first time.
"Ye need not help this day, South. 'Tis task enough to learn your way about." And with that, she set off into the crowd.
Meagan stayed close to Smith most of the time, watching her as sh
e chose items, then bargained with the farmers and merchants with a forcefulness that surprised Meagan. First they inspected the fish, sold in single rows alongside the market. There was something for everyone, fresh and salted fish of every variety. Meagan was astonished to hear Smith click her tongue as she looked it over.
"It's not anyone's fault, of course," she explained after paying for her purchases. "Winter makes it hard for everyone. Wait a few months and you'll see such a change! The vegetables and fruits right now are almost nonexistent; most of them have been raised in greeneries."
The butchers were in the marketplace proper and the display of beef and pork in their stalls was magnificent.
Smith was smiling now. "You know," she said in a pleased undertone, "it's said that Philadelphia beef is the finest in the world, and I am inclined to believe it."
Bramble came up then and Meagan watched the two of them exclaim over the meat before turning her head to look around. What a wonderful place, she thought in delight. There was an overwhelming feeling of vitality in the air, of sheer, elemental life. The smells of fish, herbs, meat, oranges, animals, dairy products, and hard-living people assailed her nostrils, while her eyes were full of the patchwork color of the goods and the men and women who bought and sold them. Voices mingled together in wild confusion, spiced with the shouts of the bargaining arguments. This is the best experience I have had as a servant, Meagan told herself with a grin. Meagan Sayers would still be in bed asleep just like Priscilla and Anne Bingham are right now. Let them have their stuffy old theater and assemblies!
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