Brown, utterly stupefied, stared after her.
***
An hour later, Meagan was beginning to relax. She had given an explanation to Brown which seemed to satisfy him and had been kept so busy herself that the hard knot of panic in the pit of her stomach finally began to ease.
There had barely been time for her to wash and change into her formal black dress and white apron before being notified that her mistress had returned from the Powels'.
The women planned to rest in their rooms before dinner, and Meagan was ordered to take tea on a silver tray up to Priscilla. At first, she looked around nervously, frightened of meeting Lion—or one of the Sayers's family friends—in the hallways, but when she passed the library on her way upstairs, the sound of male voices and laughter rang out from behind a heavy oak door. With a sigh of relief, she hurried up the marble steps and down the hallway to Priscilla's darkened room. There, she helped her undress, listening anxiously to the names of their mutual friends who had been present at the reception.
"You know," Priscilla told her as she sat back against her satin pillows and accepted the tea cup held out to her, "most of them will be leaving after the dinner at Dr. Shippen's house tomorrow night. I know for a fact that Mr. Madison plans to be on his way then, so perhaps you can stop dashing around looking so rattled." She gave a large yawn, which made her breasts swell above her thin chemise. "Why don't you run along now? You might take a moment to do something with your hair. You have all sorts of stray curls."
Priscilla closed her eyes and Meagan left, but not before putting her hands on her hips and clicking her tongue in disgust.
Descending the back stairway, she suddenly felt drained and decided that after returning the serving tray to the kitchen she would try to steal a few minutes' rest. As she rounded the corner next to the great stone hearth, Meagan pulled off her mobcap, letting her raven hair fall down her back. Oh... she thought, how wonderful that feels. She set the tray on the long wooden table and extended her fingers, running them through her hair with a loud sigh.
"You appear tired, my dear," a deep voice said from across the room. Meagan's back stiffened instinctively before she turned her head to seek him out. As always, the sight of him in a room made her breath catch and the strength went from her legs.
Lion sat half-veiled in shadows, with his sturdy bow-back chair tipped against the wall, gleaming boots propped negligently on a stool. Meagan saw that he was smoking, and he looked so much at ease that a stranger would have thought he belonged here in the kitchen.
She twisted her mobcap until it was taut. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was a hiss.
Lion's teeth flashed white from the dimly lit corner. "Certainly you can do better than that, sweeting," he chided mockingly. "Anyone would think you were not glad to see me!"
Reminded of the public nature of the room, Meagan glanced over her shoulder hastily, then made her way across to him.
"Sit down," he offered genially, indicating the chair to his right.
"Thank you, no," she replied stiffly. Lion grinned again, obviously enjoying himself, and Meagan felt an unsettling current of warmth as she met those twinkling azure eyes.
"Now, Meagan, I can't believe that you would intentionally disobey your employer. Especially when he is so kind and charming."
"Goodness! When did this radical change in his personality take place?" she retorted sarcastically. Just to be on the safe side, she did drop into the chair, but not without murmuring, "I do seem to be a bit tired."
Lion caught her hand lightly, rubbing his thumb absently across the palm. "My, my, but we are certainly cutting today," he smiled.
"Are we? We didn't intend to be."
"Meagan, I get the distinct impression that you don't like me anymore! Tell me I'm mistaken."
"I'm not a very adept liar, but since you insist... sir, you are mistaken." The last words were spoken in her best wooden voice.
Lion was laughing, his head tipped back and his chest shook. "God, Meagan, how I love these conversations—the verbal duels—with you!" he choked at last. "You are just delightful! That little face of yours is so animated and I love the way you put me in my place. How fed up I am with flattering females."
"I'll agree that is one thing I'm not," she replied dryly while attempting to disengage her fingers from his. Lion merely tightened his grip.
"I know you'd be content to sit here with me all evening, sweetheart, but I do have a limited amount of time, so I must get to the point." He grinned as she shot him a withering look. "Wong seems to have the idea that he might have offended you at the market today, so I have come bearing his apologies."
He was watching Meagan closely, noticing the way she swallowed twice and dropped her eyes.
"Never mind," she replied. "It's of no consequence, and besides, I should not have expected civilized behavior from a man in your employ."
His blond eyebrows went up. "Hmm... Wong must have really put his foot in his mouth! But Meagan, you mustn't be angry. He meant no harm. I realize that both of us can be quite unchivalrous, but our intentions are the best."
She looked up to find him regarding her tenderly, his eyes warm and penetrating. "Oh, Lion," she whispered and let out a long, gusty sigh.
He gave her a heart-melting smile. "That's much better." Bringing her hand up, he pressed his warm, firm lips against her palm, then against the pulse that fluttered at her wrist. "Just to be sure I've softened you up completely, I brought you a peace offering. From both Wong and me... to show you how sorry we are if we've hurt you." His expression was serious now and Meagan felt her face grow warm under his gaze.
With his free hand, Lion reached over on the far side of his chair to produce a neatly wrapped bundle.
Meagan was totally undone by this time, incapable of coherent thought or speech. "But..." she faltered.
"Open it!" he smiled, putting the package on her lap. When he freed her hand, Meagan felt some of her composure return.
Before she could untie the string, the door at the far end of the room swung open and Bramble strode in. When she spotted them, her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. "Excuse me."
Meagan's face was burning, but Lion merely nodded politely at the cook.
"I don't suppose that whatever it was you had to do could wait?" he inquired. "Miss South and I were just discussing Mistress Wade's impending birthday."
"Supper will not wait, sir," she told him imperiously and Lion met her disapproving stare with a grin.
"Well, perhaps there is somewhere else we could converse. Meagan?"
She could not look at Bramble as they got up and went into the hall. "How embarrassing!" she whispered heatedly.
Lion chuckled, "Don't let that old hawk intimidate you, little one. She's not your mother—or mine!"
He found a small storeroom and Meagan reluctantly allowed him to lead her inside. An assortment of odd chairs was crowded against the far wall; Lion pulled two of them around, dusting off the seat of one for her.
"Now then," he began cheerfully, "where were we?"
"You were trying to win back my friendship, and I was resisting all your efforts," she said firmly.
Lion arched an eyebrow appreciatively. "I don't remember it that way at all! As a matter of fact, I thought I had worn you down quite effectively!"
Meagan studied a wrinkle in her apron. "Obviously, you were mistaken."
"Well, we'll see. In any event, all my 'efforts' have not been put to the test yet."
Meagan looked up automatically, blushing, to meet his dancing eyes.
"My dear, your thoughts do me a grave injustice! I was referring to this package."
Back it went onto Meagan's lap, and this time she was able to undo the wrapping without being interrupted. The paper fell away to reveal yards and yards of beautiful white silk material sprigged with tiny embroidered violets.
"Oh!" Meagan gasped, her eyes so wide that the lashes seemed to touch her eyebrows.
"Do y
ou like it?"
"Like it? Why, Lion, it is exquisite! But—" He relaxed against the back of his chair. "Good. I'll admit that it may not make the most practical gown, but you deserve something really beautiful. I would have had it made for you, but it was impossible without you along to be measured." He smiled. "I didn't imagine you'd consent to that!"
"Oh, Lion..." she had found the delicate Belgian lace and pearl buttons that had been concealed within the folds of the material.
"I hope you'll let me see the finished product."
"But, I don't see how I can accept this. Don't you understand? It wouldn't be at all proper."
"Proper?" He laughed derisively. "You'd be a good deal happier, Meagan, if you'd forget propriety. Besides... if you won't take it, I'll be forced to offer your gift to Priscilla."
He spoke with studied nonchalance, watching her out of the corner of one keen blue eye.
Meagan automatically held the violet-sprigged silk against her breasts, her forehead puckering at his words. After a moment, she capitulated. "Blackmailer," she accused him, but a smile tugged at the corners of her pretty mouth.
"True." He reached for one of her hands, tracing the outline of her fingers with one of his own. "Tell me, what were you and Brown doing on the street today?"
"He was kind enough to show me Peale's Museum," she replied cheerfully, failing to notice the edge of steel in his voice. Instead, she was thinking of Clarissa and Marcus Reems and was feeling mellow enough toward Lion to speak to him about her uneasiness.
"Now that you mention my outing," she began, "something happened while we were walking back that gave me cause for worry."
"Goddamn that Brown! What did he do?"
"Brown? Why, nothing. Lion, don't be silly." She laughed a little at the stormy expression on his face. "I'm talking about something I saw. It was your friend Clarissa. She was riding with Marcus Reems in his phaeton. Are they well-acquainted?"
"Not as far as I know, but I couldn't say for sure. They are both capable of most anything. What are you worried about?"
"I'm not certain... It's really more a feeling that I have." She couldn't bring herself to tell him about the figure outside the schoolroom at Markwood Villa. "I'm just afraid that Clarissa may be up to no good."
"Little one, I appreciate your concern, but I'm confident of my ability to handle Clarissa. At any rate, it's probably your imagination. You should confine your worrying to Kevin Brown."
Stung, Meagan lifted her chin. "Oh, really? Do you think he might take advantage of me? Besmirch my reputation—such as it is?"
Caught off guard, Lion felt a stab of raw guilt. "Meagan—"
She stood up. "Mr. Hampshire, I've said this before, but you seem to be rather slow to catch on. Stay out of my life!" Eyes flashing, she thrust the mass of silk and lace at him and ran out of the room.
Chapter Sixteen
Hard brown fingers made quick work of the starched white cravat while, higher up, Lion Hampshire appraised his own handiwork in the mirror. It would have been impossible to find fault with his appearance. Clad in ivory breeches, a blue-and-gray brocade vest, and a smoky-blue velvet coat, he was looking impeccably splendid. The snowy cravat made his face seem tanner, his eyes more vividly blue, while his unpowdered hair shone like polished gold in the candlelight.
Wong appeared in the doorway and grinned appreciatively. "You looking velly fine, Missa Lion."
"Spencer did an excellent job with this coat. It's the first one in months that hasn't been too small through the shoulders. I only hope the rest of them fit as well."
"You want cape now?"
"No. I believe I'll have a brandy in the library before I leave. I could use one before facing the crowds again." Silently, he added, And another evening with Priscilla.
They went downstairs together, Wong inquiring about the Powels' reception of the day before.
"I enjoyed seeing the new congressmen and was lucky enough to have a conversation with James Madison. Do you know who he is?"
"Father of Constitution!" replied a proud, beaming Wong.
"That's right! Wong, you really have been studying!" Lion exclaimed in surprise. "Well, Mr. Madison is currently working on a plan for a Bill of Rights— amendments to the Constitution. Understand?" They were entering the library and Lion looked over his shoulder to see that Wong appeared confused. He smiled, splashing brandy into a glass, and turned back to the Chinaman.
"The additions would spell out clearly what rights the American people are entitled to. Some men don't think they are necessary, but Madison makes an excellent case. In the Federalist Papers, he writes that the amendments will 'fortify the rights of the people against the encroachments of the government.'" Lion was looking past Wong as he spoke, his eyes flashing yet soft. "Beautiful words, aren't they? Splendid plans—"
"What would lights be?" asked Wong hesitantly.
"Oh, God—rights more precious than diamonds. Freedom of speech and the press, the right to a speedy and public trial, the right of peaceable assembly, prohibition of cruel and unusual punishments. Do you get the idea?"
Wong nodded, entranced.
"That's only the beginning. Madison is already hard at work on the list; after the inauguration, he'll present the plan to the House of Representatives."
"And they vote yes?"
Lion laughed at this earnest question. "I wish it were that painless, but no one ever agrees so easily in America. That's why I wish I were going to New York now, as a representative! Christ, how I long to add my voice to such a vital agreement." He had moved to the window, staring out over the dark garden. "To me, the cause of American liberty and rights is sacred— almost holy. Can you understand that?" His voice had dropped to a near whisper; he seemed to be talking to himself, or to someone else Wong could not see.
"Yes, Missa Lion, I understand."
A long minute of silence stretched out. Wong finally turned, intending to slip away, but Lion spoke up.
"Wait! I meant to tell you... I had an encounter with Meagan South yesterday. You were right. She is irked with you! I relayed your apologies, but I fear you'll have to prove yourself to her. The sooner you realize that your usual serving hall repartee does not find favor with her, the safer you'll be."
"She some strange maid, Missa Lion!"
"Would that they all were as strange!" He started to pour himself another drink, but stopped in mid-air, smiling ruefully. "No, for once I must recant. If all the serving-girls were like Meagan, the American aristocracy would be lost."
As he thought of her, his eyes took on a newly familiar expression of mingled amusement, bewilderment, and pain.
***
In her room at Mansion House, Meagan was working furiously on her new gown. She somehow hoped that if she forced all her concentration on her sewing, the nagging thoughts of Lion could be kept at bay.
She was humiliated and angry with herself for keeping the gift he had brought her, yet every time she decided to relinquish it, her fingers would caress the rich silk and her eyes would drink in the perfectly embroidered flowers. Her conscience was beaten. All her life she had shunned the beautiful clothes which filled her armoire in brilliant profusion, but now that she had none...
Meagan reached for the scissors to clip a thread and then sat back in her chair for a moment, allowing her thoughts to take her. But it wasn't the fine silk that lured me back to the storeroom yesterday, she mused. It was my own curiosity—to know if he had left it there for me after all. Her lovely mouth turned down. If the rogue had brought me burlap, I doubt if it could mean any less.
She began to rethread the needle, anxious to escape from the reality which pursued her, afraid to turn and face it. As the needle flew in and out of the silk, Meagan remembered Smith's expression the evening before when she had shown her the contents of the bundle, asking her to help with the measurements and cutting. She had explained it as a gift from the lady at a neighboring plantation in Virginia, given as a remembrance when Meagan left
for Pennsylvania. "I nursed her through an illness," she had lied, cheeks burning, and added, "There has been no opportunity before now to begin a gown." Smith had seemed somewhat perplexed by the situation, but accepted Meagan's explanation and cheerfully agreed to help. She even brought out a box of patterns for her to choose from and supplied all manner of sewing necessities.
Oh, Meagan groaned inwardly, to what have I reduced myself? First I become a servant, to Priscilla Wade of all people, then I allow myself to be used like a common tavern slut by the man engaged to marry her! Finally, I accept expensive gifts from the same man and to cover my tracks, I have begun telling lies! Desperate tears sprang up in her eyes, but she wiped them away as a knock sounded at her door.
"Who is it?"
" 'Tis only me, my lady. Kevin."
Meagan hurriedly stuffed the white silk into her bureau drawer before opening the door.
"Have I disturbed you?" he inquired politely, his black eyes taking in her drawn face.
"No, not really. What—"
Encouraged, he relaxed into an easy smile. " 'Tis bold of me to ask it, since you gave me your afternoon just a day ago, but I wondered if you might share some refreshment with me."
Her expression softened. "I think that might be just what I need. Thank you." She turned back to blow out the candles which burned near her sewing chair. "I mustn't remain long, for I have a great deal of... mending that must be done."
Brown made idle, cheerful conversation as they walked toward the serving hall. Tentatively, he offered her a glass of wine that she accepted immediately, taking a chair near the hearth as he left the room to procure the bottle and glasses. Her eyes burned from the long hours she had spent laboring with needle and thread and she closed them now, soaking up the enveloping warmth of the fire.
"Heavens! I am so relieved to have found you!"
Meagan's eyelids fluttered open, almost unwilling to see the person who had entered the room. It was Clarissa. She was wrapped in an elegant robin's-egg-blue pelisse which was trimmed lavishly with silver fox. That perfect oval face was framed by the fur, the only part of her that was visible, for even her hands were concealed inside a huge fox muff.
Wright, Cynthia Page 15