The grizzled butler turned pink under his sunburn and very nearly smiled himself. "Well, mum... I suppose I could tell him that."
"We'll wait in the parlor," Natalya said firmly, setting the basket of strawberries on a carved Pembroke table.
As they crossed the entrance hall and watched Fedbusk mount the flying staircase, Caro murmured, "I do adore this house. Sometimes I would almost prefer living here to Belle Maison if only for the pleasure of going up and down the stairs all day long."
They entered the parlor and seated themselves on the chair-back settee that Caro had ordered from Ephraim Haines in 1807. Over the next few minutes Natalya managed to chat with her mother about the furniture, but her mind was running frantically upstairs after Fedbusk. Was Grey there? Would he come down to greet them? It seemed an eternity since she had said good-bye and left this house in the company of her father. Her feelings about Grey had undergone changes since that night, and it seemed reasonable to assume that his may have, too. Was that why he hadn't come to Belle Maison? Was he avoiding her? Did he regret what had passed between them? Or was he occupied with the mysterious woman Fedbusk had sighted on the street?
Questions and fears danced together in Natalya's imagination, while a flush stained her cheeks. She wished there were a mirror. Did she look pretty? When she and her mother had departed from Belle Maison, there had been no thought of seeing Grey, and in consequence she had worn a simple gown of ecru muslin with gold ribbons. Perhaps it did not suit her. Was her hair mussed? What if—
"What a pleasant surprise." Grey spoke from the doorway, and Natalya's heart leaped in response. He looked stunningly handsome as he crossed the parlor, the long muscles of his thighs flexing under his buff-colored trousers. His linen shirt was snow white, his cravat impeccably tied in the mathematical, and he wore a waistcoat of dark blue velvet that set off his silver-gray eyes and black hair.
"Mrs. Beauvisage," he said, bending over Caro's hand, "I am sorry that you had to seek me out. It is I who should have paid a call upon you before today."
"You must call me Caro, for we do not bother with such formalities in our family." Dimples winked at him when she smiled. "Talya and I have simply brought you a basket of strawberries and our regards. And I wanted to see for myself that you were comfortable here. If you need anything, you have only to ask."
"Strawberries! I love them better than anything. You and your family make me feel completely at home in Philadelphia, Caro, and I appreciate your kindness more than you know." He drew up a chair, sat down, and looked at Natalya. "Can I offer you ladies some refreshment? Lemonade, perhaps? Or—strawberries?"
Natalya was dismayed by her own shyness. She felt exactly as she had at fourteen, when she had been certain she was in love with Nathan Raveneau during a family visit to Pettipauge, Connecticut. She longed to search Grey's eyes for some sign of his feelings but could not summon the courage to meet his gaze. It seemed impossible that they had once been so close, quarreling across France, kissing in the back of a carriage in London, laughing over a picnic lunch on the Rover's quarterdeck, and lying together naked, touching, kissing, making love....
"Talya?" Caro nudged her gently. "I said that it's time for us to go. Hyla will have dinner prepared, and your father will begin to worry if we don't start for Germantown now."
"Oh—yes!" Blushing, she glanced up and found that Grey was looking at her, his eyes unreadable. "It's nice to see you again... Grey."
He gave her his hand, careful to keep his touch light as she rose from the settee. "I'm sorry that you two have to rush off, but I do understand."
As they walked into the entrance hall, Caro inquired, "Will we see you at the Hampshires' party on Saturday?"
"Nothing could keep me away," Grey assured her. His gaze wandered to Natalya, who was walking in front of him, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to brush a rebellious curl from her brow. She gave him only a fleeting glance as good-byes were exchanged, and then he was alone again.
Grey returned to the parlor, staring pensively through the parted curtains as a young coachman helped Natalya and her mother into the handsome carriage. Staying in this house was driving him mad, but he knew that he had no choice, just as he had no choice regarding Natalya Beauvisage. He had to keep her at arm's length, both physically and mentally, until the matter with Francesca was resolved. Again he reminded himself that he was still a married man, and nothing must interfere with his revenge against his wife....
Chapter 23
May 15, 1814
Natalya stared at herself in the Queen Anne looking glass that hung on her bedroom wall. Her chemise-style gown, the loveliest of Madame Henricot's creations, was fashioned of thin pale pink jaconet muslin over a champagne-tinted taffeta slip. The bodice was daringly décolleté, and the sleeves puffed out at the shoulders, then fit close to her arms, covering the backs of her hands with two buttons undone. Straw-colored kid slippers peeked out from under the gown's lace-edged hem, and there were matching gloves on the bed next to a pink-and-champagne-striped parasol.
"Maman, are you certain I look all right?" Natalya inquired of Caro, who stood in the dressing room door.
"You are exquisite, love," she confirmed. "Your great-grandmere's choker is an ideal finishing touch. She would be so happy if she could see you today."
Natalya touched the pearl choker that encircled her graceful neck. Its rosy cameo centerpiece coordinated perfectly with her gown. "I adore it. Thank you for letting me wear it."
Caroline walked over and slipped an arm around her daughter's waist. She wore a simple, elegant gown of pale yellow muslin with primrose accents, and in the old, slightly hazy looking glass they appeared more like sisters than mother and daughter. "The choker is a gift, Talya, from Papa and me and your great-grandmere. She would want you to have it."
"Oh, Maman," she whispered, her eyes misting. "You are too good to me."
"You're my daughter and I love you." Caro fussed a little with the satin ribbons that wound through Natalya's artfully loose, upswept curls. "I want you to be happy... today of all days."
Natalya's mind and heart were full of Grey and the knowledge that she would see him today at the garden party. Lying awake during the night, she had realized that she was badly in need of advice, and now she took a deep breath and prepared to confide in her mother.
"Caro?" It was Alec, clad only in dark blue kerseymere trousers and a pleated white shirt. He stood on the threshold to the dressing rooms, a neckloth in each hand. "Aren't you coming back? I can't remember which cravat I'd decided to wear."
His wife laughed girlishly and shook her head. "Is this the same man who would not allow a woman to touch his clothes when I met him?"
Grinning at Natalya, Alec countered, "It's a plot, you know. A clandestine plot among wives! Somehow, we gullible husbands are hoodwinked into believing that we can no longer match colors or trust ourselves to know if a coat hangs properly once we've taken marriage vows. Before we realize what has happened, we've dismissed our valets because we don't want them poking about the bedchamber at odd hours, and we find ourselves depending shamelessly on our wives. It's a source of secret embarrassment to grown men, I can assure you!"
Still laughing, Caroline took Alec's arm to lead him back into the dressing room. He gave his daughter a wink in parting. "You're a vision, Talya," he called before disappearing. "It's clear that I'll have to spend the afternoon protecting you from frothing would-be suitors!"
"Thank you, Papa," Natalya replied, with a giggle. Then, gathering her gloves and parasol, she went across the hall to see if her sister had finished dressing. She wanted to put in a good word for Hollis Gladstone before they left for Hampshire House.
Meanwhile, Caro helped Alec choose a cravat and watched him tie it, her eyes pensive. He brushed back his white hair, slipped on a waistcoat of gold-and-blue figured silk, then sat before his shaving stand and drew her down on his lap. "Where have you gone, cherie?" he murmured. "Your thoughts are miles away
."
"Years, actually," Caro amended, with a catch in her voice. "I was thinking back to the weeks after I first came here, not even knowing who I really was. I see myself in our darling Talya and remember when I slept in her field bed and dreamed of you across the walls. Oh, Alec, how quickly the years have sped away from us!" She gazed into his turquoise eyes and touched the face that was so dear to her. "It seems such a short while since I used to visit darling Grandmere in her cottage. How she loved to surprise us by appearing through the secret passageways." A tear slipped down Caro's cheek, and Alec kissed it away, holding her securely in his arms. "I remember our first Christmas, when you declared your love for me at last. What good times we had, dancing in the garden under the moonlight, ice-skating on the Delaware River, riding our horses over the meadows in the spring..."
"Darling Caro, we still do those things!"
"Yes, but there is something special about experiencing such things when you are young... and falling in love. The years pass so quickly. How can it be that we have been together more than three decades, that our son is now a father, and our daughters past twenty?" Her voice throbbed with emotion. "I want to tell Talya that she cannot afford to put her own needs and dreams aside. Each day is a precious gift that must be embraced, even if it holds challenges that are difficult to face!"
"How I love you," her husband murmured, kissing her. "As for Talya, take heart. Perhaps today will be the day our child summons the courage to embrace her life. You don't need to tell her; she's watched you do that very thing since the moment of her birth."
"You always say just the right thing...."
"Do I?" He brightened. "That's encouraging. I fear I'm too old to change even if you insisted on it."
Caro rested her cheek against his. "I love you just as you are, Alec. Besides, you will never be old."
He was chuckling when two female voices chorused from the hallway, "Maman! Papa! It's time to leave for Hampshire House!"
* * *
Laughing, Lion Hampshire reached out to grasp the back of his wife's gown as she rushed past him. "Slow down, fondling. You don't want to look harried when you greet your guests!" He glanced over at Stringfellow, who was carrying a tray of miniature almond cheesecakes toward one of the garden tables. "I love that word 'harried,' don't you? Splendid word."
Nodding thoughtfully, Stringfellow replied, "Splendid indeed, sir. May I add that it's a pleasure to hear it used in conversation?"
Meagan turned to face her husband, arms akimbo and violet eyes twinkling. "Have you two been into the Madeira? No, I see that you are teasing me. Well, that's all well and good, but you must promise not to carry on this way in front of our guests."
Although he had recently celebrated his fifty-eighth birthday, Senator Lion Hampshire looked and felt much younger. There were silver strands in his tawny hair and lines etched in his tanned face, but he remained a remarkably attractive man. His eyes glinted now with desire as they swept over Meagan. Her gown was reminiscent of the one she'd worn twenty-five years ago to President Washington's inauguration in New York. Fashioned of cream silk overlaid with gauzy lilac muslin, it was accentuated by a silk ribbon marking the gown's fashionably high waist. Around her neck she wore the necklace of three exquisite amethysts he had given her after their triplets were born, and sprays of lilac had been woven into her ebony curls.
"You grow more beautiful with each new day," Lion told her softly.
Meagan knew he meant it and glowed in response. "You are looking very handsome yourself, Senator, but don't let it go to your head!"
It was nearly one o'clock and there wasn't time to worry further; the guests would soon be arriving. Gazing around the garden and into the spacious parlor, Meagan smiled. The parlor in particular was always a source of pride to her. White-and-dove-gray paneled walls complemented the blood red moreen chairs and draperies, while the blue, gray, and cranberry Kuba rug and brass accent pieces harmonized perfectly to complete the effect. Today, the garden doors were thrown open and Meagan herself had labored over the exquisite floral arrangements. A trio of soberly clad chamber musicians sat near the garden doors, quietly tuning their instruments, and in the far corner of the parlor reposed a graceful cherrywood desk. Meagan planned to have Natalya sit there and inscribe the copies of My Lady's Heart that Mr. Thomas had promised to bring from his Chestnut Street bookshop.
The garden was in full spring bloom. Pink and white dogwood and apple tree blossoms scented the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of violet wisteria that cascaded over the arbor wall. In the formal gardens near the house tables with embroidered cloths were arranged. Bramble, their ancient and dour cook, and Nancy Stringfellow had labored all week over the food, most of which now covered the tables in gay profusion.
There was a beautifully carved Virginia ham, iced oysters garnished with lemon and horseradish, a smoked turkey, and a huge Chinese bowl filled with spiced shrimp.
Accompanying the meats were dishes of Carolina red rice, succotash, sliced carrots, and sweet-and-sour red cabbage. Another table was arrayed with neatly sliced loaves of bread: rye, Anadama, potato, raisin, and Sally Lunn, with dishes of sweet butter and an assortment of Bramble's famous preserves.
"Lion," Meagan scolded when she saw him reach for a slice of raisin bread, "you'll spoil the symmetry!"
He gave her a look that suggested she was carrying things too far and began to eat the bread. "I'm hungry. Show your husband some mercy."
Smiling indulgently, Meagan surveyed the other tables. A colorful variety of cut fresh fruits were arranged on platters. One entire table was devoted to desserts, including a Williamsburg orange cake, blueberry betty, cocoa cake, and the almond cheesecakes.
Stringfellow had arranged the beverages on a table in a sheltered corner of the garden near the wisteria arbor. Bottles of various wines stood behind pitchers of iced ciders and tea and one large bowl of champagne punch with raspberries. Meagan had provided him with a chair, and he was now at his station, feet propped on a large rock.
Bramble wore one of the black, old-fashioned gowns she had owned since working for William and Anne Bingham twenty-five years ago at their legendary Mansion House in Society Hill. No one knew the cook's exact age, but it had seemed to Meagan that she was excessively old when they first met in 1789.
Meagan had come to Philadelphia from Virginia after her parents died and she had been informed that she would live with her fusty Aunt Agatha. Instead she had chosen to masquerade as a ladies' maid to her friend, Priscilla, who was traveling to Philadelphia to marry Lion Hampshire. Priscilla and Meagan had stayed with the Binghams', then the city's richest and most socially prominent citizens. A great many changes had taken place since then. Meagan and Lion had fallen in love and married, Bramble had come to work for them, and Priscilla had died in childbirth at nineteen after marrying another man. The government had moved its capital from Philadelphia to Washington in 1800, uprooting the Hampshire family and many others. Yet Meagan knew that she would see familiar faces today, and despite the changes wrought by time and progress, Philadelphia herself was much the same.
"Your guests be coming," Bramble muttered to Meagan. Although the old cook was bent and appeared frail, she refused to give in to age, working as she always had and eschewing rest.
"Bramble, why don't you sit down?" Meagan urged as she started toward the parlor. The cook's only response was a snort of disgust.
Nancy Stringfellow had already welcomed the Beauvisage family, and now Lion and Meagan met them in the parlor. Even though a year or more might pass between visits, their friendship remained warm and constant. Greetings were exchanged all around, compliments were given and received, and then Lion stepped to the foot of the Chinese Chippendale staircase and called his daughter.
A door upstairs burst open and Susan Hampshire hurried down the steps, pausing midway to strike a pose for the benefit of her father. "Well?" She rested a hand on one hip and tilted her chin upward. "What do you think?"
; Lion smiled up at her, delighted as always by his daughter's style. She was a lovely creature, with hair the color of sunshine and eyes of ocean blue. Petite, winsome, and headstrong-like her mother, Lion reflected wryly—she looked deceptively angelic today in a simple gown of white muslin accented with daffodil-yellow ribbons. "You are a picture of springtime," he told her, holding out his hand.
Susie fairly ran down the remaining steps and kissed her father's cheek. "Thank you, Papa. Another perfect compliment!"
She then hurried over to greet Kristin Beauvisage, who was a vision in a lace-edged chemise-gown tinted pale azure. Krissie's raven hair had been wound into a high Grecian knot that emphasized the classic beauty of her face and graceful neck, and her thick-lashed eyes seemed more vividly turquoise than ever.
"I vow, Kristin," Susan exclaimed, "I shall never attend another party with you. I labor for hours striving for mere prettiness, and then I encounter you! It's so discouraging!"
These complaints were belied by the affectionate sparkle in Susie's eyes. She turned to kiss her mother, chatted with Caro and Alec, and fussed over Natalya, whose book she had read and adored. Finally, as other guests began to arrive, Meagan pried the guest of honor away from her daughter.
"Many people wrote to me, in response to our invitation, to ask if you might inscribe copies of My Lady's Heart during the party," Meagan said, leading Natalya toward the corner desk. "Mr. Thomas has agreed to bring his entire stock—ah, there he is now!" She waved to the diminutive, balding gentleman who was entering the parlor followed by a clerk loaded with books.
As she greeted Mr. Thomas, whose bookshop was one of many she had frequented with her parents since childhood, Natalya knew a vague sense of discomfort. Would people think her vain and self-important if they found her holding court at her own desk in the Hampshires' parlor? On the other hand, it might be fun to bask in her own accomplishment, which was, after all, unique and considerable. As Mr. Thomas's clerk stacked copies of My Lady's Heart on the desk, Natalya felt herself respond to the drama inherent in the situation. People were already looking at her and the books, and she felt special.
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