Wright, Cynthia

by Touch the Sun

  "Missy Meagan, you feel all light?"

  Lion's clothes were heaped in Wong's arms so that only his face was visible.

  "Oh—oh, yes. I was just... thinking."

  "You want something?"

  "Yes!" She searched her memory. "I need to know whether Mr. Hampshire will be dining at home tonight."

  "He not tell me. You with him all the time before he leave—you should have asked!"

  Wong gave her a reproving look which he had been waiting to use for four days, and, after attempting to raise an eyebrow in imitation of his master, he started toward the hallway. Unable to find fault with this blunt logic, Meagan felt duly chastised. She gathered up the ewer and razor case and followed him down the stairs, but was thankfully diverted in the entryway by a knock at the door.

  Still helplessly spontaneous, she went to answer it with her hands full, balancing the ewer against her hip with an elbow.

  Smith stood on the front step, looking incongruous in a dark blue pelisse. The hood was up to protect her hair and face from the biting wind, but there was no mistaking those round pink cheeks or the hazel eyes that shone above them. Meagan could not have wished for a more welcome visitor.

  "Oh, Smith! Have you come to see me? Come in! How did you know? Here, let me put these things down and I'll take your pelisse."

  The ewer and razor case went directly to the rug and she reached out impulsively to hug her friend. It seemed years, rather than days, since she had seen her face. Happily, Meagan led Smith back to the kitchen where she assembled a meal of creamed soup, cold chicken, biscuits, and tea. When they were settled at the gateleg table by the fire, Smith patiently answered all questions.

  "I spoke with Mr. Hampshire this morning; in fact, he made a point of searching me out when I was alone. He seemed concerned that I should know what had become of you and I'll admit I am grateful to him, for I truly feared for your safety. Mrs. Bingham was very vague about the whole affair—"

  "She sent me off with that hideous Major Gardner!"

  Smith nodded over her teacup. "So I had heard. It seems curious now, but Mr. Reems of all people told me that first day that you had been sent to work at the major's house! He seemed to be taking great pains to be casual. Stranger still, Mrs. Bingham never said a word even when I asked roundabout questions! And she didn't tell Mr. Hampshire when he arrived, even though you were really his servant. I was pouring tea during their conversation and grew quite angry when I realized she didn't mean to let him know." Smith looked embarrassed by this show of emotion. "So, before he left, I told him. Lord! He was furious. Thank Heaven he was good enough to come to your aid.

  "I don't know what happened to cause Mrs. Bingham to do that to you and I don't want you to divulge the story to me. It is no affair of mine, after all! Certainly you are spirited enough to look out for yourself." Then, as an afterthought, Smith asked quickly, "You are all right here, aren't you?"

  "Oh, yes!" She could not suppress a faint, guilty flush. "Did you know I am housekeeper?"

  "Mr. Hampshire mentioned it. I'm certain that you are a charming addition to his household."

  "Well, no doubt I could do with a bit more dignity, but Li—Mr. Hampshire appears satisfied." Hastily she tried to cover her slip. "He is in desperate need of help now that he is in permanent residence... and about to be married, of course."

  "He did speak to me about Bramble." Smith smiled slightly, as if in recollection. "He sounded rather dubious..."

  "Well, I know that she has a narrow mind and a sour disposition, but she cooks like a dream!" Lowering her voice, Meagan continued, "This Prudence is something short of artistic in the kitchen, and I am convinced that no small amount of natural talent must be involved. Prudence, no doubt after much practice, has learned to make wonderful croissants full of raisins with a sugar icing, and Lion is most impressionable in the morning."

  Pausing, she heard his name hang in the air and realized that she could not retrace this misstep. Smith smiled easily while Meagan's cheeks grew redder and redder.

  "My dear, do not be embarrassed. Nothing you could say or do would lessen my regard for you. I understand that you are outgoing—engagingly so. You traveled with Mr. Hampshire and Miss Wade for many days on your journey to Philadelphia and I am sure that you had occasion to become his friend as well as his employee. I would worry about you now if you referred to him in a formal way because you only remain distant from people you don't like."

  Meagan relaxed, but the guilt lingered. She could not have concocted a more plausible explanation herself and somehow she felt worse hearing it from Smith.

  "It would be easy for people to leap to some nasty conclusion..." she murmured, trying to phrase her words in a way that reflected truth. After all, nasty was one adjective that could never describe what existed between her and Lion. "It just happens that we are quite—ah—congenial. I think that he finds me amusing, but in spite of his teasing, he likes me. Gradually, I have learned that I may speak my mind and not be tossed into the street. So, I do enjoy being here; I am not as confined by my station."

  Smith noticed the way Meagan avoided making direct eye contact when she spoke and felt a twinge of apprehension.

  "Well, I am happy then. You must be greatly relieved to express your feelings out loud, and I know that Mr. Hampshire is quite a witty scamp at heart. I imagine that you provide a welcome respite from his new, respectable existence."

  The conversation was beginning to probe perilously near some raw and sensitive truths. Meagan feared that a few more sentences in this vein and Smith would see the puzzle pieces fall together.

  "I don't know about that," she laughed nervously. "He finds me quite troublesome much of the time— like the other day when I was locked away in Major Gardner's dungeon. I almost hit Lion over the head with a bottle of wine!" Meagan's eyes were radiant and full of laughter until she became conscious of her own expression and Smith's soft, watchful eyes. "So! What is new at Mansion House? I have been wondering whether anyone was aware of my whereabouts; do you suppose Miss Wade knows, or cares?"

  "I'm not certain, but my impression is that she thinks you are at Major Gardner's, as I did. I heard her mention your name in the same breath as his two or three days ago, and Mr. Hampshire gave me the feeling that he is not attempting to keep it from Miss Wade, but he will probably not make a point of telling her, either."

  "How do you suppose I got my clothes?" Meagan wondered, a frown puckering her brow.

  "I couldn't say. I packed them myself and Mrs. Bingham had the trunk sent off—I presumed to Major Gardner's house."

  "I don't know... I'll wager she knows where I am well enough. I can't imagine that the major kept quiet... unless, of course, he was too humiliated." She grinned impishly. "I did a rather thorough job on his swelled head—figuratively and literally."

  They were silent for a few minutes then, spooning up the last of the lukewarm soup. Meagan artlessly lifted her bowl to let the last stubborn drops trickle into her mouth, and when she lowered it, Smith's eyes were on her.

  "Brown has been asking after you. He seems quite upset, besides being curious. More so when he saw me leaving today and I refused to let him drive me. I suppose he must suspect that I was off to see you."

  "Has he heard that I went to Major Gardner's?"

  "I don't think so. He was rather unwell for a day or two after you left, so he missed the first rush of rumors. He's quite in the dark. As a matter of fact, I saw Brown collar Mr. Hampshire when he first came looking for me in the serving hall. I don't think he gave him a hint; I heard Mr. Hampshire say that he was certain you would make contact when you were ready. The whole exchange appeared quite hostile to me!"

  Meagan smiled. Poor Smith was not at all prone to gossip or speculation and obviously was feeling like a spy.

  "I appreciate your news. I know that you do not like to talk about people who aren't present."

  "Well, this is different; you are so dear to me. I want to help if I can. I would
n't see you hurt for anything, Meagan... You're like a bright little songbird and just as tempting to the hungry cats in this world."

  "What would I do without you? If not for you, I would have been a freak at Mansion House, or gone mad."

  "We all need someone to keep us in touch with the real world and life's true virtues. The existence there can become so deceptive, like Mrs. Bingham's chairs —bright gilt covering warm, beautiful wood. I have been fortunate to have someone who reminds me that I am a person and not an ornament." Her hazel eyes shone. "I feared from the first that all your lovely, natural joy would be tarnished in time at Mansion House. I am glad that you have left."

  Meagan was moved by this soft, gentle speech. Smith was the nearest thing to a saint that she had encountered; a tide of affection rose in her and she grasped the hand that rested nearby on the table.

  "Oh, Smith, I wish that you could come here, too! If you feel that way about Mansion House, why don't you leave with Bramble and work here? I would gladly turn over my job to you... In truth, I will not be able to remain as housekeeper once Miss Wade becomes Mrs. Hampshire." Smith's eyes widened at this news, but Meagan rushed on. "I'll wager that Bramble would accept the new position much more readily with your persuasion. Do you think she will take it? Oh, it would be so lovely having you here. You bring out all the best in me; I feel strong and good when you are near."

  "Meagan, dear, you are sweet to say so, but it is better that you are not influenced by me. We are different people and you must follow your own inclinations. Besides, I cannot leave the Bingham residence. I feel so useful there; I sense that my little light helps in some small way to dispel the darkness. And... with all its flaws, Mansion House is my home and I am part of it. I derive great satisfaction from seeing it, in all its complexity, run smoothly, and I like to think that my touch helps to soften the hard edges of its splendor."

  "Oh, you are right—it does!" Meagan exclaimed.

  "Of course, there is another reason why I could not go away." Her cheeks pinkened. "I am sure that you are aware of my affection for Wickham... and his for me. My place is with him.

  "As far as Bramble is concerned, I could not predict her reaction! However, I do believe that she will be stung enough by this imminent displacement to wish to inflict a similar hurt on the Binghams. She is the proudest of women—"

  "And spiteful!" Meagan grinned.

  "That's true... So if Mr. Hampshire approaches her at the right moment, immediately after she learns the news—"

  "Will you be sure to let us know as soon as she is told? Will you help to convince her to accept him? I know that she thinks Lion is as sinful as the Binghams, but if you were to add a word of encouragement..."

  Smith considered this, touching a hand to her crisp mobcap. "One must proceed carefully with Bramble, for she is stubborn and unpredictable. Often she rebels from advice, suspiciously, but I will wait and watch to see if an appropriate moment arises. If it does, I shall certainly do what I can!"

  The tall-clock in the stair hall sounded half after one, distantly, but Smith was ever alert.

  "The time has gone so quickly, Meagan, but I must get back. I left them after luncheon was served, but when it is done, I may be missed. Besides, I saw Mrs. Bingham wheedle Mr. Hampshire into accepting a dinner invitation, so she may have some special plans for this evening."

  "Well, you've answered a question for me," Meagan observed, reluctantly following suit when Smith stood up. "I forgot to ask him whether or not he was dining here tonight, and now I know."

  With a sigh of double sadness, she put her arms around her friend and felt Smith hug her in return. "I can't tell you what your visit has meant."

  "I have said before that I am always here if you need me." As they started through the door to the dining room, she inquired hesitantly, "Meagan, do you have some word I might relay to Brown? He has seemed so taken with you—"

  "No!" The complication of Brown in her life, especially after that scene on the Binghams' lawn, was too much to contemplate. "I realize that you have hoped there might be some romance between us, but I fear that my heart feels no pull in his direction. That last night, when I put on my new gown during the party, the truth of it became clear. I had hoped that we might be friends, though I should have been more alert to the signs he gave me all along. I suppose I encouraged him, out of my loneliness, but I must not continue."

  "But, Meagan, you are very young and unschooled in the ways of love. Perhaps if you gave it a chance..."

  "No. I know enough of love to recognize the initial spark," she said enigmatically. "There is magic, the same magic that lights your face when you speak of Wickham. When I am with Kevin it is all quite ordinary."

  "If you are certain..." At the door they paused and Smith looked regretful. "You are made for love, so filled with warmth and joy. You need to give to someone who will cherish you in return."

  Meagan's smile was bittersweet, reflecting the pain and ecstasy of her internal passions.

  "I believe you are turning into a matchmaker! Don't fret, Smith. The worst thing would be for me to settle for less than the best, wouldn't it?"

  "I suppose you are right. Only you can recognize the right man... as long as you don't reach for the stars trying to attain that magic you spoke of. We're all hopelessly earthbound, after all. Only in dreams can we touch the sun, and we can't live on those, can we?"

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  In the card room Lion and Priscilla sat side by side on a tapestry-covered sofa. Nearby stood a new Hepplewhite gaming table, strewn with cards, and four chairs with shield-shaped backs. The engaged couple had just finished three games of piquet, which Priscilla had lost badly. She had employed every feminine trick she knew to make him let her win; it became the primary game and the defeat of her charm upset her greatly. What sort of man would be so ill-mannered as to purposely beat a lady at cards three times in a row, especially when that lady was his fiancée? Had he no sense of gallantry, no desire to please her? Not even a shred of pride had been spared, for he had played each hand through with an efficient skill that Priscilla found quite ruthless. She may as well have been a child, so inept did she appear, and now her lower lip was thrust out in a way that enhanced that image.

  Feeling insulted and wronged, Priscilla thought to prick his conscience by refusing to speak. She was certain that when Lion realized how he had injured her feelings, he would apologize. Perhaps even a kiss might be offered. The infrequency of those was another affront to her ego; she soothed it, however, by reminding herself that he must hold her on a pedestal in his mind. Pure and untouchable. When the thought that Lion hardly seemed the shy and worshipful type nagged her, Priscilla conveniently pushed it away.

  She ventured a sideways glance in his direction and found that a copy of the Columbian Magazine had materialized in his hands and he was reading quite unworriedly. Momentarily she seethed, but decided that a new approach was in order. Let him resist this! she thought.

  After lowering the Italian gauze handkerchief which crossed her breasts, Priscilla edged nearer to Lion, moving with all the sensuousness she could muster. Tentatively she let her arm brush the smooth leather of his coat, then, more boldly, aligned their legs until the lean muscles of his thigh could be felt even through the filmy layers of her yellow gown.

  Lion looked up, one blond eyebrow curving high in his dark forehead in a wordless question.

  "I was feeling lonely so far away." Her voice oozed babyish, forlorn honey as she melted against his shoulder just in time to miss the distaste that flickered across his face. "Don't you feel even a tiny bit sorry for beating me at piquet?"

  "Is it my fault you can't play?" Lion could not keep an edge of irritation from his tone. "Did you want me to cheat?"

  "Why, what a thing to say! Didn't your mama ever teach you about chivalry?"

  He laughed harshly. "Definitely not! Besides, I am not so easily indoctrinated. For God's sake, Priscilla, we're both adults, aren't we? Can't we even
have a simple game of cards as equals, or must I treat you like some dim-witted child every minute of every day? Do you really expect me to continually take pratfalls in order to make you look good?"

  At what point had she taken a wrong turn? Never before had Priscilla encountered such astonishing obstacles in her dealings with men.

  "Marcus always lets me win," she retorted on impulse, pouting anew.

  "Marcus is a hypocrite... or possibly, even more dense than you are."

  Not listening, Priscilla missed the frank insult. "At least Marcus pays attention to me. He even tries to kiss me!"

  "Oh, he does, does he?" There was no jealousy in Lion's tone, only cold thoughtfulness. "Is this your coy way of extending an invitation?"

  The meaning of "coy" escaped her. After summoning her best demeanor of maidenly shyness, Priscilla turned her face against Lion's shoulder and gazed longingly into his eyes. The expression in their frosty blue depths was strangely familiar; it took her back briefly to the time she had waited for his kiss in the entryway at West Hills. There was something frightening, almost primitive, in those eyes and the set of his mouth and jaw. Cold, tawny fingers closed around her chin, tipping it back, and then he was kissing her.

  No one had ever kissed her this way before; she didn't know it was possible. Savagely, his lips twisted over her own, then his tongue was against her teeth and in her mouth. She choked under the brutality of his assault, gasping when the embrace ended, first with relief and then with shock as he devoured her neck and shoulders. The gauze handkerchief was yanked away and Priscilla felt her back bend across a steely arm. Fighting for breath, she realized that his hard lips were on her exposed breasts, scorching the nipples until an unexpected, intense chain of sensation built in her loins. What was happening? she wondered feverishly. How had this come about?

  With an abruptness that startled her, Priscilla was released, collapsing into a whimpering heap on the tapestry-covered sofa.