Touch the Sun Page 4
The door beside her was pulled open then and Lion handed Priscilla in, eyeing Meagan in perplexity.
From her vantage point she could see all of their feet as they stood clustered on the drive: Martha's silk toes showing from under her skirts, Washington's high black boots, and Madison's silver-buckled shoes. In the distance, the children called to each other in high, happy voices. The door was pushed shut and there was a chorus of good-byes as the carriage rolled away toward the Potomac.
Chapter 5
It took several hours for the yellow post-chariot to travel the nine miles from Mount Vernon to Alexandria. The road was in terrible condition—an omen of worse things to come. They jounced over the rutted, muddy thoroughfare, stopping constantly to open and then close the gates which had been built to regulate the local pigs and cows.
Meagan said a prayer for the concealing darkness as they drew up outside the familiar Wise's Tavern. Lion was in poor humor over their progress and took it out on the tavern keeper, providing Meagan with the ideal distraction to slip away to her room. Priscilla joined Lion downstairs for supper, pleading illness as Meagan's excuse. After her fiancé disappeared into the barroom to smoke and drink with the other men, she went back to the kitchens to procure a tray of hot food for Meagan. Both girls were too tired to talk or worry and slept side by side in the feather bed until Lion rapped on the door the next morning.
"It's time to wake up!" he ordered. "Dress as hurriedly as you can. It will be a long day and we need an early start."
Meagan wondered at the harsh tone of his voice as she rubbed her eyes in the darkness and stumbled out of the deep, warm bed. Pausing at the window, she found the reason for his ill humor. It was sleeting. Large, wet frost flakes were falling thick and fast through the night sky, while the barest suspicion of light illuminated the rooftops of Alexandria's handsome brick houses. Meagan felt ill at the prospect of the day's travel ahead, and worse yet when she remembered Priscilla's childlike fear of bad weather. With a sigh she padded around to the other side of the bed and shook her awake, steeling herself for the long hours of fretful whining that lay ahead.
* * *
Several times during the few days that passed before they reached Baltimore, Meagan expected Lion to kill Priscilla with his bare hands. If the truth were known, she came close to doing it herself more than once.
Either snow or rain fell the entire way, and because of it Lion insisted on traveling from dawn to dusk in an effort to regain a portion of their lost hours. As it was, they had lost a full day by the time they reached Spurrier Tavern.
Even Meagan, who had known and tolerated Priscilla's childishness all her life, could scarcely believe that she could behave so badly. She worried and complained every mile of the way in a shrill voice, then whimpered pitifully every time someone spoke sharply to her. The situation wouldn't have grown so serious if Priscilla could have exerted some control over her emotions in Lion's presence, but she seemed to be even worse when he was within earshot.
The tenuous hold he had exerted over his patience finally snapped as they were being ferried across the Potomac to Georgetown, Maryland. The storm-filled winter had combined with the latest onslaught of snow and rain to transform the river into a swollen, swirling tide which made even the usually fearless Meagan a trifle uneasy. Since they had left Alexandria a few hours earlier, Lion had ridden his horse in spite of the chill, blustery weather. Now, as the ferry tipped out onto the Potomac and Priscilla began to wail with fear, he opened the carriage door and climbed in. His clothes were sodden, and the air grew frosty with his presence as he leaned back in the narrow seat across from the girls and pulled off his bicorne hat. Priscilla was momentarily surprised into silence and Meagan, who could read the fatigue in Lion's expression, prayed that she would hold her tongue.
However, no sooner had he reclined against the cushions and closed his eyes than Priscilla nearly screamed, "How can you be so rude and inconsiderate? Have you no concern for my feelings at a time like this? This is a nightmare!" The pitch of her voice rose so high that Meagan expected the glass beside them to shatter. "I am your betrothed, and I am frightened out of my wits by this ordeal that you have subjected me to! I demand—"
Lion's voice, menacingly quiet, cut her off. "My dear Miss Wade, if you say one more word I shall toss you into the river."
Meagan stared at him with reluctant admiration, believing he actually meant it. Priscilla's pretty chin dropped, and for one long, blessed minute she was speechless. Under them the ferry lurched wildly, sending a wave of icy water against the carriage, and suddenly Priscilla burst into tears. Meagan was horrified. This was a ploy she had seen her friend utilize countless times over the years when she failed to get her own way, but this time Meagan could scarcely believe that she would dare it. A quick glance at Lion told her that the situation had grown dangerous, for his jaw was set and she saw his strong hands clench warningly. When she met his eyes and saw the look in them, she knew she had to act. With one hand, she grabbed Priscilla's left arm and with the other she slapped her full across the face.
"For God's sake, be silent!"
* * *
Spurrier Tavern provided a welcome haven for the edgy, exhausted travelers. Since the episode on the ferry, any pretense of amity which had existed between Lion and Priscilla had vanished. She seemed to take pleasure in irritating him and he responded with a coldness bordering on disgust. Meagan, caught between them, was feeling rather miserable herself.
When their carriage bumped up the muddy road to Spurrier Tavern, the prosperous appearance of the inn caused her to sigh a little in relief. The gray, cloud-laden sky was darkening quickly as night approached, and Meagan was painfully hungry.
The greeting they received from the jovial tavern keeper led Meagan to believe that Lion had probably stayed there on his way to Virginia. As Joshua, the coachman, brought in their baggage, the man declared that they were the first travelers he had seen all day. "I've been looking for Mr. Madison!" he boomed. "Hope nothing's happened to him! After all, Congress convenes in barely a week—"
Lion, with little patience for small talk, started toward the stairs. "Mr. Madison has decided to remain at Mount Vernon a while since it seems the weather will delay everyone's arrival in New York. Now—if we might see our rooms?"
Lion barely paused long enough at Meagan and Priscilla's door to set a time for supper before disappearing down the hall. Meagan absently watched his retreating back, surprised to feel an odd prick in her breast when he put a brown hand up to rub the knotted muscles in his neck. Hastily she turned away, closing the door, and surveyed this latest lodging place.
The room was lovely. There were two beds with matching red and white printed coverlets as well as a large dressing table and two Windsor arm chairs. Everything looked clean and fresh, a welcome contrast to their lodgings of the night before.
A serving-girl arrived with fresh water and a taper with which she lit the candles around the room. As Meagan pulled the pins out of her hair, she observed Priscilla sitting on the edge of one of the beds. Her full lower lip was thrust out sulkily, and Meagan realized that she had scarcely spoken during the past hour. It was odd deportment.
"Priscilla, you had better hurry and wash. At this point we can ill afford to keep Captain Hampshire waiting!"
"As far as I am concerned, that man could wait all night for me and I wouldn't be a bit sorry for him!" she said spitefully.
Meagan was unable to repress a small smile. "Somehow, I cannot imagine him keeping an all-night vigil. More likely, he will go off to supper and leave us here if we are not downstairs at the assigned minute!"
Priscilla squirmed peevishly. "I shouldn't doubt it! He is the rudest man I have ever met. I detest him."
"Well, why ever are you going with him to Philadelphia? Why not return home?"
"Because I want to live in Philadelphia! Everyone says it's going to be the capital city after General Washington becomes President—the center of the social wo
rld! I could be a great hostess—"
"But what about your marriage?"
"He'll come around once he realizes how many other men want me," Priscilla replied, waving a slim white hand. "In any case, I don't really care a fig if I marry Lion Hampshire or not. I'll vow that there are plenty of rich, influential gentlemen in Philadelphia who would be simply honored to call me their wife."
Meagan could think of no polite reply to her companion's immodest speech and she was tired of haggling with her. "It's your life, and I daresay that Lion Hampshire is old enough to know what he is doing. Do hurry now; I am famished."
Her friend affected an attitude of nonchalance as she lay back on her bed and replied, "Hurry yourself. I am not going."
She froze in the midst of washing her face and turned around slowly. "I'm sure you don't mean that. You must realize that I cannot sup with Captain Hampshire alone, Priscilla."
"Then you may eat in the kitchen with the rest of the servants."
Meagan held her breath until she gained control of her temper, realizing that Priscilla was obviously still bitter about the slap on the ferry.
"Whatever you say, dear," she said in the sweetest voice she could muster. Quickly she changed into her last clean gown, a lilac muslin quite unsuited to the climate. Brushing her long raven hair until it shone, she pinned it so that a cluster of loose curls fell down her back, then appraised herself in the undulating mirror which hung over the dressing table. The girl who looked back at her had all the charm of a gamine on the brink of womanhood, and she smiled a little, wondering at the glow in her large violet eyes.
"Have an enjoyable evening," she called to a frowning Priscilla and went into the hallway feeling oddly elated. She realized she was alone for the first time in three days and wondered how she could spend the evening.
If only I could find someone to have a card game with! she thought as she fluffed out her skirts and ran down the stairway. When she rounded the corner at the bottom, she nearly fell over Lion Hampshire, who sat in a wing chair against the wall. He looked impossibly fresh, his cravat pure white against his tanned face, and his hair burnished in the candlelight. He was reading a book which he put aside to steady her.
"Always in a hurry, aren't you? I knew when I heard that clatter on the stairs that it had to be you." There was a sparkle in his blue eyes that Meagan dared to believe was the beginning of a smile. "Dressing in skirts hasn't altered your behavior a bit!"
Meagan swallowed an inappropriate retort, dropping her eyes instead. "I beg your pardon, sir."
Now he laughed in reality, and she stole a glance at his handsome face. His laughter was rich with an irrepressible humor that Meagan had not seen since the day she had run into him in the entry hall at West Hills. His features were transformed from cool perfection to irresistible splendor.
"You really chafe under subservience, don't you?" he said at last, meeting her eyes. "I wonder what you'd say to me if you dared..." Without waiting for her response Lion continued, "Well, where is the queen? Her court awaits her and is damned hungry."
"Miss Wade is not coming," Meagan said bluntly, unable to bring herself to make excuses.
Lion's eyes narrowed a fraction, then he smiled suddenly and stood up, his broad shoulders even with the top of her head. "That's the best news I've heard in days. Come with me."
When he put his hand around her elbow, Meagan's protests died on her lips and she found herself running along to match his strides as they crossed into a private dining room adjacent to the large public one. Cream-colored walls were bathed in the yellow light given off from the paneled fireplace, and Meagan saw that covered dishes of food were already being set on the table by two well-scrubbed serving-girls.
When the tavern keeper appeared with a bottle of red wine, Lion told him, "Miss Wade will not be joining us. You may remove the third setting."
As if by magic, Priscilla's place disappeared along with the servants, and Meagan realized that she was quite alone with Lion Hampshire. Shyness suffocated her and she wondered at it.
Lion reached across the table to pour her wine, his mouth curving in silent amusement. Blood rushed up Meagan's cheeks, and as she stared down at her napkin, she mentally shook herself. When she raised her chin to look at him, her shoulders were squared and her eyes sparkled like amethysts in the soft light.
Casually Lion began to lift the covers from the dishes, allowing their heady aromas to escape. Meagan forgot everything, including her manners, as she arched across her plate to get a better view.
A serving-girl appeared from the kitchen to ladle out the steaming okra soup, and silently, eagerly, Meagan began to eat. Each spoonful was crowded with tomatoes, okra, corn, rice, and lima beans, and flavored with bacon, vinegar, and fresh pepper. She was in ecstasy as she rolled her tongue around the rich broth while Lion watched her with detached amusement.
"I gather this dish must be a delicacy compared with the fare served in the Wade kitchen," he remarked at last.
Meagan looked up in surprise, the wide silver spoon poised near her open mouth. She had almost forgotten his presence; now she was confused by his words. As the meaning became clear, she let her spoon descend back into the bowl and her impish mouth turned up. The irony was laughable to her as she recalled only too well the sumptuous, excessive meals of her past life. Memories of heavy creamed soups and spinach souffles came back to her and she laughed out loud.
"I'll admit, sir, that this dish is an improvement over what I'm used to. The flavor is simply splendid! I'm particularly fond of okra."
He lifted one slashing brow. "Perhaps you'll have an opportunity to sample even more sophisticated foods in the future."
"I rather hope not," she returned, striving to repress a giggle.
Lion leaned closer in the candlelight. He had the distinct feeling that she was not the least bit impressed with him; worse, he suspected that she was on the verge of laughter. Meagan dropped her eyes before his scrutiny and turned her attention back to the now lukewarm soup. He watched her eat, frankly curious.
Sipping his wine, he thought back over the past three days. His preoccupation with the weather and their progress had coupled with his extreme irritation with Priscilla, leaving him little time to notice Meagan. Now he remembered clearly the way she had slapped her mistress that day on the ferry. Thinking back, it seemed now that she had done a great deal to keep Priscilla going. Lion could recall seeing Meagan leading her by the arm, her eyes conveying a stern message. Now, as the serving-girl filled their plates with molasses-cured ham, mashed carrots and parsnips, and hot rolls, Lion said, "I gather that you have been with Priscilla for a long time."
Meagan met his sharp blue gaze, her own eyes smoky in the firelight. "Yes."
"You seem to know how to deal with her."
She took a sip of wine, measuring him, then gave a sudden smile. "It is an acquired art, sir, and one that is impossible to perfect." Her smile widened enigmatically before she turned to her meal.
Lion continued to watch her as they ate, wondering. Her speech patterns were distinctly refined and her delicate, intelligent features had an aristocratic quality.
"Have you always been a servant?" he asked suddenly.
Meagan stared at him in astonishment, and for a brief moment he thought she looked alarmed. "I can't imagine why you should ask such a question, Captain Hampshire. But since you have—the answer is no."
"Would you tell me the reason?"
"My parents died."
His burnished brows drew together, shading his eyes in the half-light. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be prying into your affairs. I know how irritating that can be." He leaned back in his chair, staring off into space as he sipped his wine.
Meagan watched him as she ate, glancing out from under her lashes. There was a hard, bitter cut to his profile as he gazed into the fireplace. Meagan saw the pain flickering in his blue eyes and for the first time since she had seen him outside West Hills she felt prepared to be his friend.
The remainder of their journey north took nearly ten days, and Meagan wondered frequently if it would ever end. Or, more to the point, if they would live through it. The weather grew worse the farther they traveled, and Lion's mood darkened with the ominous clouds that dogged their progress.
The night at Spurrier Tavern had formed an odd, unspoken alliance between Meagan and her friend's betrothed. He came to realize that she could keep Priscilla's tantrums in check, while she managed to convey to him that the less he was seen the fewer scenes there would be. To Lion, the silent bargain was a good one, for his daily battles with the elements were exhausting enough; he had no desire to take on his whining bride-to-be as well.
The master and servant learned to communicate with their eyes behind Priscilla's back as Meagan reassured him that she had everything under control. There was little opportunity for further conversation. The days were long and tiring and Meagan began to eat her nightly meals in her room with the pouting Priscilla. She regretted her unguarded behavior during her dinner with Lion Hampshire and had no wish for a repeat performance to further arouse his curiosity. Her performance that night had been unskilled; she had committed the blunder of dropping her guard and showing him herself. She knew that he had been intrigued by her and now she was panicky at the thought of getting herself in any deeper. So she played the role of lady's maid to the hilt, staying out of Lion's way and dropping her eyes when he came near. She could feel his mocking smile as he watched her, and her cheeks burned with the indignity of her position. But she refused to let down her guard again. If he discovered the truth, he might send her home to Virginia in his anger.
When she wasn't preoccupied with Lion or Priscilla, Meagan found herself actually enjoying the long hours of travel. The country was new to her and she longed to see it in the rich verdant garb of spring. Baltimore was a lovely surprise. Half the size of Philadelphia, it was a quaint, charming town perched on a hill that sloped down to Chesapeake Bay. Meagan tried to visualize the spacious streets under blue skies and sunshine, with the numerous dovecotes filled with singing birds. Lion told them that the townspeople believed the doves and swallows would bring prosperity, but none were in evidence as the carriage clattered down the sleet-swept streets.