Touch the Sun

by Wright, Cynthia

  "Captain 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 Captain 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 Captain Hampshire in every way. Unfortunately, it has grown worse since the China trade began. Captain 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 Captain 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 will serve."

  Surprised, Meagan dashed along a back corridor to her bedchamber where she hurriedly discarded her gray-smudged apron, replacing 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, 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. 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—"

  "If you stop this right now, I will try to forget your outburst." She 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 gown. Marcus will be arriving any moment now, and I am so anxious to see his new carriage!"

  She 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 pale 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 Flynn 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, hur
ry 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 Flynn, 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!"

  Flynn pushed back his bicorne hat, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief as he grinned at her.

  "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, Flynn."

  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, Flynn, 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, Flynn 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, Flynn 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 became. 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 cornflower 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.

  Across the hillsides an occasional rooftop came into view, surrounded by a thick collar of trees. Twisting, ribbon-like roads broke off from the main thoroughfare to lead to the country estates, and Meagan was tempted to follow one of them.

  Reality made a sudden intrusion when Meagan became aware of the muffled sound of a horse's hooves approaching from behind. A quick glance over her shoulder gave her cause for mild alarm, for the animal and rider were both massively built and bearing down on her with suspicious speed. Meagan was horribly conscious of the total isolation of the area and of Victoria's ladylike nature. When a man's voice shouted to her, panic overcame all else and she veered off onto a side road, pressing her heels into Victoria's flanks to urge her into a gallop. Leafless trees bent over the trail, one branch reaching out like a gnarled hand to rip Meagan's hat from her head. She could feel her heart pounding in her stomach and throat at the same time and her hands went cold with sweat at the sound of twigs snapping behind her. Victoria had no racing skill, but Meagan begged her in a near scream to go faster, her voice dying completely as the other horse's shadow fell across her shoulder and she felt fingers like iron reach out to grip her forearm.

  "For God's sake, Meagan, what the devil is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?"

  Sheer relief made her head spin as she looked up into Lion Hampshire's chiseled face, shadowy under the brim of his hat. She laughed shakily.

  "I—I had no idea—I didn't recognize you..."

  "Did you think I was some ruthless highwayman out to rob you of your virtue?"

  The wry laughter in his voice made her see the humor in the situation though her heart continued to pound with emotion.

  "I'm not sure what I thought. It was my first time out alone in a strange place. It sounds so silly now, but all I saw was this huge horse and rider, chasing me..."

  "I suppose I simply never thought to see you panic."

  "Perhaps if I had been at home, in Virginia—on my own horse... This mare is so well mannered!"

  "You used to have your own horse?" he asked a trifle incredulously.

  "In a way. At any rate, that is all past. Now that I've gotten my exercise, I think I'll be going back. Somehow the fun has gone out of it..."

  Her eyes were averted, seeking a ray of light to mark the main road through the dense trees. Lion caught her chin with a brown hand, turning her face up to his. Helplessly, Meagan felt the hot blush stain her cheeks.

  "Have I truly ruined your day?" he inquired, obviously unrepentant. Meagan clearly saw mischief in his blue eyes as he watched her. "I could not go on with such a sin on my conscience. I insist on making amends."

  His mere presence stimulated her beyond belief and she hated herself for feeling so giddy when he touched her. Her common sense told her to say a cool good-bye and ride away, but it was impossible.

  "You're absolutely right, you know. You scared me out of my wits!" Meagan felt herself smiling back at him. "You deserve to provide recompense for my suffering. Shall I name the price?"

  Lion flashed a white grin. "That's an interesting idea, but not what I had in mind. I was thinking of doubling as your guide and bodyguard—since you are so unfamiliar with the area and so chickenhearted in the bargain. Now, Meagan, sheathe those claws! You see, I was out to inspect a country estate that is for sale and thought you might like to accompany me. It should be a rather interesting place and perhaps you will know if it is to Priscilla's taste."

  The last words stung Meagan unaccountably, but she attempted a casual shrug. "Why not? After all, how often do I get to escape from Mansion House? I suppose that even an afternoon with you is better than that indoor drudgery."

  She wheeled Victoria around toward the road before Lion could reply, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

  Part 2

  If the heart of a man is deprest with Cares

  The mist is dispell'd when a Woman appears;

  Like the notes of a Fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly

  Raises the Spirits and charms our Ears,

  Roses and Lilies her Cheeks
disclose,

  But her ripe Lips are more sweet than those.

  Press her,

  Caress her,

  With Blisses,

  Her Kisses

  Dissolve us in Pleasure, and soft Repose.

  —John Gay

  The Beggar's Opera (1728)

  Chapter 12

  The approach to Markwood Villa was badly neglected. Wild grass had grown over much of the rutted road, but Lion's roan seemed sure of his footing and Victoria did well by following him. Since turning off the main road, neither Lion nor Meagan had spoken. Meagan reviewed in her mind the half-hour ride south, warming when she remembered the way he had laughed so frequently and with such obvious enjoyment. They had talked and teased, but no mention was made of their past physical encounters, and she was grateful to him for that.

  Rounding the crest of a hill, they suddenly came into a large, open circular drive which led to the villa itself. Lion stopped, looking back at Meagan.

  "What do you think?"

  The house was much larger than anything she had seen in Philadelphia, yet different from the country mansions of Virginia. Its design was predictably Georgian, but instead of red brick it was a muted gray, its grooved stuccoed surface simulating stone masonry. There were handsome Palladian windows across the front, while the white doorway stood out, complete with pilaster, a fanlight, and a large pediment at the top. Yet, the shrubs which grew around the drive were in sad need of trimming and the house itself seemed shabby in spite of its magnificence.

  "It's a wonderful place... but who lives here?"

  Lion threw back his head, laughing in delight. Sunlight illuminated his handsome features and Meagan felt a familiar tingle run through her at the sight of his irresistible smile.

  "Ah, Meagan," he murmured fondly, "you are the most novel female!"

  She began to feel rather foolish and raised her chin at him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that it is rude to make fun of people? If I had a fan, I would swat you with it."

  Lion appeared to be on the verge of a fresh burst of laughter, but for her sake, he managed to restrain himself. She saw an odd warmth infuse his expression, and when he spoke, his tone was gentler.