Touch the Sun

by Wright, Cynthia

  * * *

  May fourth was a glorious day. New York had quieted down as the visitors left the city, and now there was a residue of hope and friendliness in the spring sunshine.

  St. Paul's Chapel bordered Broadway on the west, but the west porch faced the Hudson River and all that separated the church from the glistening blue water was a series of grassy slopes. Although there was no spire, the building was an excellent example of the Georgian style with a handsome columned portico. Farther down Broadway stood the charred ruins of Trinity Church, a victim of the fire of 1776.

  Anxiously, Meagan waited in an anteroom. Smith, who had been summoned by a rider well-paid by Lion, stood behind her arranging the fragile, Belgian lace veil. Meagan positively glowed. Her gown was simple, fashioned of soft ivory muslin with a lace-on-silk sash that merely served to emphasize her natural beauty. Her skin had never looked creamier, her hair glossier, or her cheeks more becomingly rosy. Impulsively, she turned to embrace Smith.

  "Thank you so much for coming. You have been such a loyal friend. I am only sorry I couldn't tell you the truth about myself—or Lion."

  "Don't worry about that!" Smith admonished. "All's well that ends well... and besides, I never felt any reason to pry into your personal affairs. All I ever wanted was to see you happy."

  "No one in the world could be happier than I am!" exclaimed Meagan.

  "Will you be returning to Philadelphia soon?"

  "Yes, but only for a short while. As much as I hate to be away from Markwood Villa, Lion is determined that we should spend some time at Pecan Grove. He is paying off all of Father's debts, so the plantation remains in my name. Lion wants to see it and take care of whatever work needs to be done."

  "What about his political ambitions?"

  Meagan wrinkled her nose. "He claims that it is no longer important—that when he thought he had lost me because of his ambition, it just withered away. But I know better. He just needs a rest. At least he has learned to be patient, and I am certain that after a few months he will begin to crave politics again." Her eyes danced as she leaned closer. "Actually, I am rather set on the idea myself. I got quite excited about the new government—enough to leave Lion so that he might have his chance—and I hope that one day he will be able to serve. I know he would be brilliant!"

  "I'm sure you are right," Smith agreed, smiling. "With you by his side, he cannot lose."

  "Oh, it's good to hear you say that! I've worried so about this mess he's made of his private life..."

  "Don't be silly!" A voice chided from the doorway. It was Priscilla Reems, lovely as usual in bottle-green silk. "It's been a fortunate end for us all. Meagan... I've been wanting to apologize to you for... everything."

  Feeling warm toward the world, Meagan went and hugged her oldest friend. "Never mind. As Smith says, 'All's well that ends well.' Are you happy?"

  "Oh, yes. Happier than I could have been with Lion. He despised me, Meagan, because I stood between you two and he knew it was his own fault. Marcus explained to me. He says, 'Whatever you cannot understand, you cannot possess.' I was miserable with Lion because I couldn't begin to understand him."

  "And Marcus?"

  "Marcus is good to me. He likes me, I think, and he wants the life I want. We rather think alike."

  Meagan grinned in relief. "Good. You know, we are going back to Fairfax County for a while, so Marcus will have a clear field until Lion returns."

  "I'll tell him," Priscilla smiled. "Perhaps when you two return, you can pay us a visit. Our new summer home isn't too far from—what is it? Markville? At any rate, I see no reason why Marcus and Lion shouldn't be good friends, just like you and I. I would think that they would have a great deal in common!"

  "Well, that may be the problem. Perhaps they have too much in common," Meagan smiled ironically. "By the way, don't you think you can woo Bramble away from me while we are gone, because she and Wong will be coming with us!"

  "Anne is the person who will be hatching that scheme! You'll have to tell her; she's right outside in the chapel."

  Meagan's mouth dropped open in surprise, just as there was a knock at the door. Smith opened it to admit Flynn. He was dressed in his best tan suit, blushing and holding a small bouquet of flowers.

  "Kevin!" Meagan exclaimed in delight. "How sweet of you to come all this way!"

  "I just wanted to tell you congratulations, Miss Sayers." It was killing him, remembering how he had kissed her on the Binghams' lawn. "The captain asked me to give you these."

  He thrust the nosegay into her hands and Meagan saw that the flowers, mixed with baby white roses, were blue forget-me-nots. Oh, Lion! she thought, then turned to kiss Flynn's cheek.

  "Thank you, Kevin. You're a special friend, and I don't want anything to change that. No matter what my surname is—South, Sayers, or Hampshire—you must always call me Meagan."

  The organ began to play then and everyone rushed around the room at once, while Meagan laughed. Smith checked her veil, then the three visitors hastened back to their pews. The chapel was nearly empty, but the guests that were present made an impressive group. The Jays were there, the Hamiltons, the Powels, James Wade, David Humphreys, Charles Thomson, Madison, and Randolph, as well as assorted relatives of the guests. Priscilla slipped into a space between her brother and William Bingham.

  "Where's your precious Marcus Reems today?" James hissed.

  Priscilla gave him a haughty glance, immediately rising to her own defense. She was certain that James thought her a fool for allowing Lion to escape, and she was determined to prove him, as well as Anne Bingham, wrong.

  "He wanted to come, of course, but he and Lion are not the warmest of friends. I shouldn't be telling you this, but... I think he is out arranging a surprise for me. He is so good—a thousand times more attentive than your precious Lion ever could be! I just feel sorry for Meagan..."

  "What's this grand surprise?" James prompted skeptically.

  "Well... I think he is having some jewelry made for me. I saw him counting something last night when I came in to dress for dinner, but he hid them in a handkerchief in his drawer. I confess I peeked, and what do you think was inside? A half-dozen of the sweetest little rubies! I'm certain he is going to buy some other larger ones and then have a necklace or bracelet made—possibly an entire parure! It would be just like him!"

  James, shocked and delighted by this revelation, opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment the music intensified and all heads turned to seek out the bride.

  Meagan stood at the far end of the center aisle, looking enchantingly radiant, one tiny hand resting on the arm of President Washington. Clad in the same brown broadcloth suit he had worn on Inauguration Day, he appeared solemn but for the gentle twinkle in his deep-set eyes.

  At the end of the aisle, Lion waited, and Meagan's heart turned over at the sight of him. The elaborate pulpit and surrounding columns were white and gold and made a perfect backdrop for Lion. He wore a dove-gray frock coat with a cream-and-gray striped vest and snow-white shirt and cravat. His hair gleamed against bronzed skin and he had never looked more splendid. The morning sun poured like fire through the stained glass windows, and when Meagan reached Lion's side, she looked up at him and smiled with all the love that burned within her heart.

  President Washington stood back as Lion reached for her hand.

  The End

  Excerpt from

  Caroline

  Special Author's Cut Edition

  Beauvisage Novel #1

  by

  Cynthia Wright

  Chapter 1

  One could hardly imagine a more perfect October day, for the autumn of 1783 had painted the Connecticut landscape in her most glorious colors. The low mountains were a riot of flaming oranges, reds, and yellows which contrasted sharply with the clear azure of the sky. The air had a clean chill to it, and Alexandre Beauvisage, winding his way between the trees astride a handsome stallion, felt very good indeed. He had been brimming with a rich eu
phoria for over a month now—ever since the final Peace Treaty had been signed in Paris. The last eight years of war had been long but victory made all the bloodshed and tragedy seem worthwhile. The cost of freedom had been high, but that shining prize belonged to America at last.

  Granted, it had been two years since the British had laid down their arms to General Washington at Yorktown. Only the most sporadic fighting had occurred since then, and the majority of the American soldiers had been able to go home to their families long ago.

  Alec grimaced when he thought back over his own life during the past two years. All through the Revolutionary War, he had only occasionally played the part of soldier; his had been a unique role tailored especially to his talents and background. He had been a mixture of spy and scout, given the trickiest and usually the most dangerous assignments. After Yorktown, Alec had been able to return to his home and business at intervals, but just as he would settle back into a normal pattern of life his services would be needed again.

  "We simply can't trust anyone else to carry off this plan without being detected, Beauvisage. You are a master!" the officer in charge would declare. Alec had to admit that despite the terrible aspects of war, there was a certain thrill in the role he played. He had roamed the swamps of South Carolina with Frances Marion, captained a sleek privateer, and drunk cognac with Washington and Lafayette on the banks of the Hudson. He had been required to put his ingenuity and intelligence to full use, and the constant danger had been stimulating. Perhaps the return to full-time everyday life would prove boring?

  A bright patch of color beneath a tree at the side of the trail caught Alec's attention, rousing him from his reverie. Gently, he brought his horse, Ivan, to a stop and dismounted, walking back to investigate. It appeared to be a packet of garments drawn hastily together inside a piece of bottle-green silk. He hunkered down among the crisp leaves, preparing to open the bundle, when a soft moan rose from the trees to his left. His head came up, instantly alert, and then he was off as lightly as a cat in the direction of the noise. Soon he spotted its source—a small form lying at the foot of an oak tree about twenty-five feet away. Cautiously, Alec drew a pistol from his belt and moved forward. From a distance, he perceived the figure to be that of a young boy, clad in ill-fitting gray breeches, a loose white work smock, and a green tricorn hat that seemed to cover his entire head. Drawing alongside the boy, he replaced his pistol and knelt down beside the still form. His dark brows came together at the sight of two suspicious shapes outlined against the loose shirt. Tentatively, Alec placed a hand over one of the mounds, which proved beyond a doubt to be a beautifully formed breast.

  "What the hell?" he muttered in bewilderment while drawing the green hat off. Lustrous honey-colored hair spilled out over the rusty leaves and Alec let out a low whistle as he bent over the girl's face. She looked little more than eighteen, and for a moment he felt that he must be dreaming. The girl had the face of an angel. Her eyes were fringed by long lashes that brushed her creamy skin. Alec's gaze took in her tiny nose, and came to rest on appealing lips. Gently, he raised her head and cradled it in his arms. Almost instinctively, he tipped her chin up with his forefinger and covered her mouth with his own.

  When he felt her lips move gently in response, he drew back, thinking, Who do you think you are, Beauvisage—a damned Prince Charming? Involuntarily, his mouth twisted in a smile of cynical amusement. What do you suppose I've got myself into this time? he wondered, and grinned in spite of himself.

  * * *

  The girl felt as if she was gliding down to earth from a great height, and seemed to touch ground with only the smallest jolt. She opened her eyes slowly and looked up into a most remarkable face. It was brown and lean, framed by shining raven-black hair drawn casually back and tied at the neck. The man wore a short beard, but it failed to disguise his charming half-smile or the contrast of his gleaming white teeth with tanned skin. Above a straight nose sparkled eyes of an amazing turquoise color which held her own almost against her will. As she became more fully conscious she realized that she felt no fear, although he held her in his arms and his muscles were hard against her cheek.

  Alec, for his part, found himself looking into warm caramel-brown eyes flecked with gold. The girl was simply exquisite!

  "M'lady, I would, be extremely gratified if you could attempt to explain your presence here. I must confess to a curiosity that grows stronger by the minute!"

  As the girl struggled to sit up, Alec braced her with his arm. Gingerly, she raised her hand to touch what proved to be a large lump. Alec gently parted her glossy hair and looked closely at the swollen area. His forehead creased at the sight of the nasty bump and a patch of dried blood.

  "Tell me now, what has happened here? What is your name and where do you come from?" His deep voice had grown sharp with concern.

  The girl covered her eyes as though collecting her thoughts. Then, slowly, she drew her hand away, her eyes brimming with sudden tears.

  "Oh, sir—I don't seem to be able to remember! I cannot recall a thing—not even my own name!"

  * * *

  Several minutes of questioning brought Alec no closer to the truth. He surmised that the girl had probably been riding and caught her head on a low-hanging branch. Perhaps something had frightened the horse, causing her to lose control. At any rate, the steed was gone, and Alec was left with an injured woman-child dressed in boys' clothing who had no memory of her past.

  He had propped her up against a tree trunk and was pacing through the dry leaves. The girl was alternately investigating the contents of the green silk bundle and watching Alec stride to and fro. He moved with a natural grace and suppressed strength that were easy to admire. His fawn-colored breeches were close-fitting and showed the play of muscles in his lean thighs with each step he took. Leather boots, softly shining, rose to his knees, and a linen shirt split halfway down the front to reveal a hard brown chest.

  Suddenly the girl's soft voice broke the rhythm of Alec's rustling stride through the leaves.

  "Sir, you wouldn't be a pirate by chance, would you? Perhaps you're ashore to bury your treasure...?"

  He threw back his head and laughed with pure delight.

  "Why do you ask that, pray tell?"

  "You look the way I suppose pirates must look. Quite swashbuckling and adventurous, really. Rather unscrupulous, too." She found him grinning at her and blushed. "I'm sorry about that last. It wasn't a very nice thing to say, was it?"

  Alec strolled over to drop down beside her and clasped one soft hand between his strong ones.

  "Think nothing of it. I admire your candor and I must confess that I laugh in part because you hit quite near the truth. My father was indeed a pirate—a French buccaneer of the first water. If the war had not intervened, perhaps I would have followed in his footsteps!" Alec's smile held a hint of mockery, but there was warmth in his eyes. They darkened, however, as the problem at hand returned to his thoughts. Gesturing at the clothes which lay on the piece of green silk, he asked:

  "You don't see anything there that sparks your memory?" He had already been through the bundle himself, but found little that looked informative. There was another simple white smock, one of the loose shirts worn by Colonial men as part of their working attire. Also inside the bundle were a few items of well-made underclothing, a lacy fichu, and some dainty shoes. Lastly, there was a lovely gown, simple but pretty, the color of buttercups and trimmed in lace. Inside of it were wrapped a fine china hairbrush, two satin ribbons, and a bar of jasmine-scented soap.

  The girl looked up at Alec and shook her head in bewilderment.

  "I cannot place a thing. This is all so confusing—and frightening! Sir, what will you do with me?" Her brown eyes were wide and her tiny chin trembled. Alec reached out and gathered her into his arms. Although he was uncomfortably conscious of two ripe breasts pressing firmly against his chest, he managed to restrain himself so that he only stroked her hair in a brotherly fashion.

  "
What did you imagine I would do—leave you here alone in the woods? I may look unscrupulous, but I believe that you will find I have a definite streak of decency! You shall come with me back to my home and we'll find out who you are. In the meantime, perhaps you'll recover your memory."

  Impulsively, she hugged him, and Alec could smell the sweetness of clover in her rich hair. Her voice was warm with excitement in his ear:

  "You would do that for me? How shall I ever thank you?"

  He could think of a few ways, but feared that none of them would meet with her approval. He could not resist smiling to himself as the girl loosened her grasp on him to look up and ask:

  "Could you please tell me your name? And what shall mine be?"

  "Ah, yes! Forgive me for neglecting to introduce myself. I am known as Alexandre Beauvisage, but you must call me Alec. As for your own name, I think it should be your choice."

  A smile lit her face, revealing deep dimples. "What fun—being able to choose one's own name! And yours, sir, is wonderful and most fitting. 'Handsome face'!"

  He colored beneath his beard and bit his lip. "Yes, unfortunately, that is the meaning. A constant source of embarrassment to me, I assure you."

  "But why? Certainly it is perfect for you! It would only prove embarrassing if you were a homely man, I should think!"

  Alec relaxed and was chuckling softly when a sudden realization struck him.

  “You must have some education in the French language. You know, that's no small accomplishment for a female, especially one who has grown up during a time of war in a relatively undeveloped country. You must have come from a good family...." His voice trailed off and he frowned. "Why, I wonder, were you running away?"

  "Do you think that is what I was doing?"

  "My dear, that is the only reasonable conclusion I can draw from this rather inexpert disguise. Also, you were more than a little off the main road. To be precise, you were miles from the nearest house. I can't imagine what you were planning to do before you had this accident, and I feel certain that you were well on your way to being hopelessly lost." He paused. "I suspect that you were running away in great haste from someone or something. Your belongings were quickly assembled... and you were taking an escape route to which you could not have given much thought. As a matter of fact, you must have deliberately crossed over the Boston Post Road some miles back."