Freedom's Ring (Sisters of the Revolution Book 3)

by Diana Davis

  For that fraction of a second, he let himself imagine that gesture meant everything he wanted it to. They were more than friends getting fresh air. She was more than a bearing tutor. She was touching him for more than correction.

  “Shall we see if we can find Sibbald?” Temperance asked.

  The moment, such as it was, shattered. “Yes.” Owen hoped she didn’t notice how hollow his voice sounded.

  He simply had to endure what he’d agreed to and steer clear of her from then on. He guided Temperance through the crowded room and found his client at a table with friends. The other men with him didn’t look rich and powerful — they looked sordid. “Sibbald,” Owen greeted him, offering a hand.

  “Lawyer!” Sibbald exclaimed. “You made it.”

  Temperance had given him half a dozen simple ways of asking for an introduction with self-possession. He didn’t care to remember any of them; he simply wanted his duty to her done. “I was hoping to meet your family.”

  Sibbald pointed toward the punchbowl. “That’s my boy Godfrey.”

  Temperance poked his side, hard. He knew that wasn’t good enough.

  Fine. She was so desperate to meet the man, Owen could make that happen. It wouldn’t be the way she wanted, but would she really care as long as they accomplished her design? Owen marched her across the room to the punchbowl. “Godfrey Sibbald?” he guessed.

  A doleful stare clapped on him. If anything, the portrait on the wall was too generous. If he’d worried Temperance was interested only in appearances, pursuing Godfrey Sibbald proved she wasn’t. His cadaverous visage nearly put Owen off his plan.

  “What?” Godfrey asked.

  Owen introduced himself, then stepped aside to give Temperance room to join them. He introduced them without preamble and nearly turned away — but Godfrey did instead.

  Owen looked to Temperance, whose features echoed his own sentiment of shock. Had that skeletal scoundrel just walked away from Temperance Hayes?

  “Get us punch so we don’t look like fools,” Temperance hissed.

  He obeyed, and they retreated to the far side of the ballroom, keeping an eye on Godfrey. The briefest glance at Temperance showed she was already scheming for her next attempt.

  Owen could only pray it didn’t involve him.

  Temperance sank into a gilded chair and set aside her punch cup. At least Constance and Verity were having a good time on the dance floor. Owen took the seat next to hers. She tapped Owen’s shoulders and he straightened. “Remember that in court,” she murmured. “It’s half the battle.”

  “Preparing for my cases is far more than half.”

  “Oh? You already have other cases?”

  “Yes.”

  Temperance beamed at him. “Oh, Owen, that’s wonderful! Sibbald’s friends, or —”

  “No, these aren’t related.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Not related?”

  “No, from before I took on Sibbald.”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “I would be happy to help you prepare for those if you’d like.”

  He began summarizing a case for her. She recognized the defendant’s name. In under a minute she held up a hand to stop him. “Antony Cooper?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why, he’s a penniless old man.”

  “Yes.”

  Temperance frowned. “He’ll never be able to pay you.”

  Owen stared down at his empty cup. “I know.”

  “Then you must have someone else take his case.”

  “He can’t afford anyone else.”

  “You can’t afford to take his case,” she countered.

  “You have no idea what I can’t afford,” Owen muttered.

  She patted his knee. “Come now, I’m sure you have other cases.”

  He listed them off: “Wiscombe, hasn’t made a cent since he was arrested, three children at home. Schmidt, farmer who’s barely feeding his own family. Nelson, hasn’t a fixed residence.” His expression seemed to challenge her, as if he meant to continue listing his charity cases.

  Temperance sat back in her chair, trying to push away a memory. Of being a little girl. Of a poor, dirty young father, hat in hand, begging for help. Papa saying yes. Going to bed hungry that night and every night that cycle continued.

  “You can’t do this,” Temperance said, her voice as hard and brittle as ice.

  “I’m sorry?” Owen said.

  “You can’t take on every charity case that comes to your door. You need to make money, too.”

  “Oh, really?” he snapped. “I was planning on being paid in smiles and best wishes.”

  Had she ever drawn his ire before? She couldn’t recall, but her own temper rose to match it. “No,” she retorted, “when you take on a client like that, you’re planning on not being paid at all.”

  Owen scoffed. “And money is the only thing that matters?”

  “Are you going to argue it doesn’t matter? Am I wrong to want to live in security?”

  “I wouldn’t know what that was like. Forgive me if I’d like to find out.”

  She folded her arms. He was proving her point. “If you’d like to find out, stop taking charity cases.”

  “People have a need —”

  “And you can let other lawyers fulfill it, ones who are already providing — enough.”

  Owen stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “You think I don’t want to provide for my mother and sisters?”

  Temperance pulled back. For every bit of ice in her voice, Owen’s held fire.

  “You have no idea what we’ve gone through since your father got rich and my father died. Don’t pretend you can dictate to me what I need to do for my family.”

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what it was like to be poor.”

  “You left. Your family left. The rest of us never will.”

  Temperance prepared to spring to her feet, but before she could, a heavy-set man tripped in front of them, falling toward them. Owen pulled her close, shielding her with his own body.

  And once again, she was thrust back into her memory, Owen as a child, shielding her, protecting her —

  “Let me go,” she demanded, pushing against his arms.

  “I’m sorry —”

  She wriggled free of his grasp and gained her feet, practically running away from him.

  Hopefully fast enough to outrun the memory.

  Temperance searched the entire party until she found Godfrey and immediately inveigled an invitation for the next dance. She didn’t look back to see if Owen had followed. She didn’t look back to see if Owen was watching her. She didn’t look back to see the little boy who had saved her.

  That was the past. She could only control her future. And she would. She would get exactly what she wanted.

  Nearly a week after Sibbald’s party, Owen still regretted going. He shuffled his papers across the table in the office, then rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t even supper time yet, and he had been working for nigh on twelve hours today alone — and he still had much to do. He was barely caught up on the Cooper case, and just moments before Vanost’s lawyer had delivered his pretrial materials, a stack a foot high.

  Footsteps descended the stairs. His little sister descended from the Beauforts’, her eyes wide. In surprise, he hoped.

  “How is Miss Elizabeth?”

  “She’s a dream,” Rose said. “All she ever needed was a little routine.”

  “Ah.” Owen could well imagine Beaufort as an overly indulgent father, letting the baby attempt to set her own schedule. But right now, he was more concerned with his sister’s stunned expression. “Are you well, duckling?”

  “Yes, I —” She checked the stairs behind her. “I just received my first week’s wages.”

  “Congratulations!” It was probably more money than she’d ever held at one time. Little wonder she was so shocked.

  “Yes, half a guinea.�
�

  He chuckled. She couldn’t be serious. “How would you know a half guinea?”

  “Mr. Westing said it was.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a gold coin.

  Owen was on his feet and across the room in an instant. He took the coin from her and rolled it over in his fingers. GEORGIVS II DEI GRATIA read the edge around the profile of the late monarch. The back held a crowned shield and royal coat of arms. The value was indeed a half guinea.

  “There must be some mistake,” Owen insisted. That was nearly five times what Mother made in a week. “You had better go up —”

  “Mr. Westing was very specific.” Rose took the coin back and stuffed it in her pocket. “I am the fourth nursemaid they’ve employed in nine months, and the only one who’s had any success.”

  “Very well, then. Well done, Rosalind Randolph.” Owen glanced up the stairs, as if Beaufort would appear to explain himself. He looked back to Rose. The shoes, the cloak, the pins and stockings — but good food was the most pressing need. Knowing his sisters, they would only eat a bite to make sure he had enough. “You had better run to the market and buy some meat. Surprise Mother. And don’t worry about saving any for me.”

  Rose was practically out the door before he finished. He collapsed back into his chair. Half a guinea a week. If that kept up, they’d surely be able to keep their home warm and the girls fed and perhaps even think of finding a larger home.

  If.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs again. This time, Beaufort and his wife descended, even more elaborately dressed than last week. “Randolph!” Beaufort called. “Are you coming?”

  He had just told Rose not to keep supper for him, which would likely mean not eating at all tonight, and he’d worked through dinner. Much as he needed to keep working to put food on their table, he needed to eat very soon.

  But he couldn’t be sure there would be food wherever Beaufort was going. “Coming where?”

  “Reception at City Tavern. Congress adjourned today.”

  “Did you? Then you accomplished everything you needed to?”

  Beaufort hedged a moment. “Didn’t go as far as I’d like, but Hayes would probably say we went a bit far, so hopefully we’ve done Solomon justice.”

  “Will you join us?” Mrs. Beaufort asked.

  “I could never deny a lady.” Owen bowed to her with a tone of jesting. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Oh, we can wait for you,” Beaufort assured him.

  Owen rushed home even faster than he had the week before. The meat was already bubbling in the pot, and Rose was counting out her change into Mother’s palm. Without any tailoring necessary this time, he was back to the office quickly — apparently more quickly than the Beauforts had bet, judging by the embrace he walked in on. The Beauforts laughed off their embarrassment, and they walked the few blocks to the tavern together.

  He knew he should be trying to meet more of the rich and powerful people of Philadelphia who might need a lawyer, but his priority when they arrived was the food. The fare was not a proper meal, but it would be close enough.

  From the table of food, he surveyed the room and realized this was the Congress. The Continental Congress. The jam-packed room had to be at least half people from other colonies, up to five hundred miles away.

  Owen should have known better. He had had enough dreams die that he had no reason to believe in another. Even in all his borrowed — charity — finery, in another man’s coach and another man’s pay, Owen had never belonged.

  But as his association with Temperance had proven, he was nothing if not a fool of a dreamer. Here he was in that same refitted finery at another party, wishing for the right introduction, the right association.

  Owen slumped into one of the chairs ringing the room to eat. Tonight he’d settle for staying fed and awake. All week he’d worked all hours on all his cases, trying to make sure they all moved forward. All he’d succeeded in doing was digging himself deeper.

  He had to try. He polished off a ham biscuit and a cup of chocolate and strolled through the party. He found himself drawn to the dance floor and was hardly surprised to see Temperance in a quartet with Godfrey Sibbald. Her gown seemed to be made of spun silver with the way it attracted every light in the room. Every eye had to be upon her; she was luminous.

  “Randolph.” Beaufort appeared by his side and admired the castoff coat on him as if he hadn’t seen it already. “I didn’t ask; what do you think of the Continental Congress?”

  Owen watched the length of City Tavern’s largest meeting room, filled with over one hundred guests, the most illustrious men of the colonies, all celebrating the end of their Congress session. “What have you accomplished by all this?” Owen asked.

  “What?”

  Perhaps he was overtired, or perhaps it was seeing Temperance dancing with Godfrey, but Owen felt ever so slightly off balance. Reckless.

  What was Beaufort going to do to him? Take his old coat back?

  “What have you accomplished in your six weeks of talk of protest?” he asked.

  Beaufort folded his arms. “We drafted the Declaration of Rights. We rejected Galloway’s plan of having us crawl back on our knees and admit subservience. We signed the Continental Association.”

  Owen didn’t bother to put the question into words, merely arching an eyebrow to elicit an explanation.

  “It’s a nonimportation and nonexportation agreement.”

  Owen looked up sharply. They would stop all imports and exports? “What? Against our own country?”

  “Against Britain and the West Indies, yes. Starting December first, if Parliament doesn’t relent.”

  That was only six weeks away. “Not just tea, then?”

  “Everything.”

  “How will we survive without British imports?”

  Beaufort straightened. Had he offended his benefactor? “I’ve spent the last four years building up intercolonial trade here.”

  “Well, that’s helpful for Philadelphia, but will it be enough to sustain all the colonies?”

  Beaufort shook his head. “We’ll have to pull together.”

  “And if we don’t, we’ll assuredly pull apart.”

  A smile played at one corner of Beaufort’s mouth. “Very true. I’m hoping for the former. You?”

  Owen faltered. “I can only hope to feed my family,” he murmured.

  “Of course,” Beaufort said, his voice kind. “We all want that.”

  But they were not all as far from getting it.

  “Owen!”

  He didn’t have to look to know who addressed him. Temperance Hayes took his hands. Apparently whatever had made her flee him at last week’s party was long forgotten. “I wish we could dance,” she said.

  “Sorry,” he said, his tone short. “Gout.”

  In his peripheral vision, he saw Beaufort’s curious expression. “Our little joke,” Temperance informed him.

  “If you’d like to take a turn about the floor, I’d be happy to assist you,” Beaufort offered.

  “Dance with your wife.” Temperance’s tone was as short as Owen’s had been, but she softened it. “I’m afraid a married man and a relative wouldn’t suit my purposes.”

  Beaufort appraised her with a calculating look and glanced back at her last dance partner. “Hm.”

  “Nor would someone with an old war wound.” Owen pulled free of her and retreated to let her find a suitable partner — perhaps a Shippen or a Powel; Owen wasn’t familiar with all the finer families of Philadelphia.

  Owen surveyed the room and spotted Patience Hayes sitting alone in a corner. He’d always liked Temperance’s sister, even before she’d grown up to become a formidable legal scholar. He had taken a seat next to her before he noticed her face was bright red. “Did you just take a turn about the floor?” he asked.

  “Hm?”

  He pointed at her flushed cheeks.

  “Oh, no.” She cleared he
r throat. “Jenkins proposed marriage.”

  “The old clerk?” Owen scanned the nearby crowd for his former coworker. “Proposed marriage to you?”

  Her lips took on a wry turn. “No, to Princess Charlotte.”

  “He might want to wait until she reaches the age of majority.”

  Her high color finally faded. “He even begged a kiss after I refused.”

  “Shall I go defend your honor?”

  “My honor is intact. I’m not certain I can say the same for his dignity, however. Not the first time I’ve refused a clerk.”

  Owen couldn’t conceal his astonishment. “Do they do this often?”

  “Seems as though every one has. I’m not certain whether this is a wager or a rite of passage for them. It’s not as though they actually care for me. Or even know me.”

  That sounded rather humiliating, and he told her so. Patience sighed. “Perhaps if I respected them whatsoever, I might be tempted. Or at least flattered.”

  “You deserve better,” Owen said.

  “Pity you and I would never.”

  He waited until Patience laughed to join in. He could only imagine he saw Patience the same way Temperance saw him.

  “There you are!” Temperance appeared out of the crowd. “Come!”

  Owen glanced at Patience. Could Temperance actually mean him?

  She left no question when she took his hands and tugged on them until he stood. He looked back at Patience to apologize for cutting their conversation short, but in that brief glimpse, he saw she understood exactly what was going on.

  Including why he was allowing himself to be dragged into whatever this latest scheme was.

  Perhaps she could explain it to him one day.

  When she’d dragged Owen halfway across the long room, Temperance stopped abruptly, and he bumped into her. The room was so crowded that she couldn’t step away from him. Or perhaps she simply chose not to.

  He would not listen to that voice. He couldn’t.

  She started in on her plan. “All right. I’ve danced with Godfrey twice so far this evening, so I can’t do that again.”