Caroline (44 page)

(A Beauvisage/Hampshire/Raveneau Novel)

by

Cynthia Wright

Spring Fires brings back beloved couples from CAROLINE, TOUCH THE SUN, and SILVER STORM! The story centers around the independent beauty, Lisette Hahn, who owns a CoffeeHouse in 1793 Philadelphia with her ailing father, and dashing Nicholai Beauvisage, who has lived in France for a decade and lately has been embroiled in the bloody revolution in Paris. This excerpt opens with a party being given by Alec and Caro Beauvisage in honor of the newly-elected Senator Lion Hampshire. Lisette has agreed to provide desserts for the party and has come to Belle Maison's kitchen in spite of her father's worsening health.

March 25, 1793

It was a beautiful, clear starlit evening at Belle Maison. Caro and Meagan dressed for the party upstairs before joining their husbands in the library. The strains of music drifted up to greet them as the two couples descended the wide staircase together.

Caro, lovely in cream satin embroidered with seed pearls, was relieved to see Pierre DuBois hurrying toward them from the dining room.

"Madame, I have delivered Lisette Hahn to the kitchen building," he informed her, "And–"

"Oh, thank goodness! I'd begun to fear that you'd had a carriage accident."

"There is a reason we were late. Her father has taken a turn for the worse and she was reluctant to leave him. But, because she had given you her word, she did come, and she is making the tortes. I promised to bring them over to the main house when they are done."

"I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Hahn! Lisette really didn't need to come; we certainly would have understood. Pierre, you'll tell her, won't you? I was going to invite her to join us, but I can't imagine that she would care to do so..."

Alec wandered closer to capture his wife. "Caro, are you ready?"

Servants were posted in Belle Maison's entryway to greet the guests and take their wraps before they proceeded into the stairhall to greet the host, hostess, and the guests of honor.

Among the first to arrive were Alec's parents. The dashing Frenchman's Russian bride had come to him as pirate's plunder over forty years ago. Although their love remained deep, their life was quieter now. With the latest dark developments in France, both Jean-Philippe and Antonia seemed to move under a cloud of worry.

Caro kissed them and asked, "Is there news?"

"We have no word of Nicky," her mother-in-law replied. "I can think of little else."

They went on into the brightly lit parlor just as William Bingham entered with his beautiful wife Anne, who was known as "Queen of the Republican Court" now that Philadelphia was America's capital.

"I hope you do not mind that I brought a guest?" Anne inquired a trifle haughtily, pulling forward a pale, birdlike girl. "This is my cousin, Ophelia Corkstall, who is visiting us from England. Ophelia, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Beauvisage and Senator and Mrs. Hampshire."

The girl tittered nervously before offering her hand. She stared, first at the dark, rakish Alec and then at the dazzling new senator.

"Ah, here is Samuel Powel," murmured Alec with relief, turning to greet Philadelphia's mayor and his wife. The Powels were followed by President and Mrs. Washington, a fact duly noted by Meagan and Caro. Gossip was thick concerning the close friendship between the coquettish Eliza Powel and the aging president. No one cared to suggest they were lovers, but they enjoyed each other's company to an unseemly degree.

Musicians were tuning up and people milled about, spilling into the south parlor and the huge dining room where food was already being arranged. As the late arrivals tapered off, Alec and Caro took the Hampshires to join the party. When they appeared in the parlor, the musicians began to play and the harmonious mixture of harpsichord, violins, flute, and harp set the tone for the lighthearted evening ahead.

* * *

Belle Maison's kitchen was large, occupying its own building behind the main house. All evening, the wooden floor had been tapped like a drum by the feet of dozens of servants who carried the meticulously prepared dishes over to the house. A mammoth fieldstone hearth spanned one wall and Lisette sat at a nearby table to do her work.

Surveying the seemingly endless cake layers and filling bowls, she sighed heavily and pushed back her unbound golden hair. Mixing and baking the tortes had taken hours and now she struggled to assemble them into beautiful desserts. She was exhausted and sick with worry for her father. What a terrible night it was!

The last of the servants had disappeared into the house. Lisette sat alone in the kitchen, suffused with a melancholy that stole through her body in uneasy waves.

Music and laughter drifted back from the house and each window was ablaze with candlelight. Looking down at her simple sky-blue frock and the full-length white apron that covered it, Lisette wondered what the elegant women guests were wearing tonight. Were their upswept curls studded with jewels? Did they smell of jasmine or gardenias?

Wearily, Lisette pushed loose tendrils from her brow, set down the wooden frosting spoon, and closed her eyes. Images flickered through her mind of the richly garbed people dancing, laughing, and chatting with witty sophistication.

I don't envy them,
she reminded herself,
but tonight... it
would
be nice to feel beautiful, to be free of worry and responsibility, to feel alive... even to be in love.

The last thought was so out of character that she smiled at herself and what she decided must be utter fatigued. She opened her eyes, blinked in disbelief, then took a second look.

A strange man stood in the doorway. Actually, he leaned indolently against the frame, regarding her with emerald eyes that sparkled like real jewels.

Lisette's heart quickened. The man could not be a guest, for he wore a soft leather coat over a casual dirt-streaked shirt, fawn breeches, and riding boots that were mud-spattered. His face and hands were deeply tanned, dark hair curled where his shirt was open at the neck, and his flashing smile was as rakish as a pirate's.

"Bonsoir,
mademoiselle," he said in a husky voice that unaccountably sent a delicious shiver down her back.

"Are you employed here, sir?"

He seemed to find this question highly amusing. "No, I am not."

Lisette wondered with a start if he was a highwayman or a criminal of some sort. Perhaps he meant to rob the guests at Belle Maison of their valuables—he might even do her physical harm.

"I must insist that you tell me who you are," she commanded, "and why you are here!"

Slowly, with graceful strength, he crossed the kitchen's planked floor. In the firelight, Lisette could see that his hair was a dark chestnut color. It was not queued, but cut into ruffled layers that grew away from his face and curled negligently over his collar. There was a long fresh gash across one dark cheek. In spite of the dusty condition of his clothing, Lisette realized that the man beneath was quite clean. Tall, lean, and muscular, he smelled pleasantly of salt water, horses, and night air. To her surprise, the stranger reached out to catch her flour-smudged hand, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that startled her by its sensuousness.

"Nicholai Beauvisage, at your service, mademoiselle," he said with wry jauntiness.

Lisette was stunned as she tried to absorb this news.
"Nicholai Beauvisage?"
she echoed. "I—but—why, I don't believe you!"

"You don't?" Both eyebrows flew up. "I am devastated to hear you say so. And, now that we have that matter settled, I believe it is
my
turn to insist that
you
identify yourself."

Seated, Lisette felt at a disadvantage. The man towered over her, seeming to mock her somehow, so she wiped her hands on her apron and stood up. It was disconcerting to find herself only even with his wide shoulders, for Lisette was taller than most women.

"My name is Lisette Hahn."

"Hmmm... that seems to—" He broke off, snapping his fingers in amusement. "I have it! Hahn's CoffeeHouse. I was there tonight for a jug of ale and I was surprised to learn that I could get supper as well. The stew was like ambrosia after the food I ate at sea. Are you one of
those
Hahns?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. I am pleased that you enjoyed my stew, sir."

"Why the devil are you here?"

"As a favor to your alleged brother and sister-in-law. I made these tortes for this party tonight." When he moved to the window, gazing toward the house, Lisette persisted, "I still don't believe you are Nicholai, but
if
I did, I would want to know how you came to be here tonight."

He looked down at the lovely girl who stood at his shoulder. Moonlight streamed in through the window, shooting her long pale curls with silver lights. He was unaccustomed to seeing a female in public with her hair loose and flowing this way, and there was a direct, intelligent glint in these blue eyes that he found intriguing. She smelled of vanilla and butter, yet was utterly appealing: slender and graceful, with an exquisite neck and soft rose-tinted lips...

"It is quite simple, Lisette. The situation in France has become rather uncomfortable, so I decided the time was ripe for a visit home. My ship docked tonight. Since my house in town is closed up, I went to my parents' to see them and fetch the key, only to learn they had come
here.
So, I procured a horse and rode out. When I saw the light on back here I thought I might find some soap and water before venturing into the fray –" He gestured toward the lights, music, and laughter. "Where are Mrs. Forbes and Pierre and all the rest?"

"They've all gone to the main house. Dinner will be served momentarily, so they are busy with that. As you can see, I'm left with the last course—and I had better finish up before Pierre returns to fetch these."

Nicholai's eyes lit up at this. "Pierre is coming?
Bon Dieu,
it will be wonderful to see that old elf. Do you know, I've been gone ten years... and it suddenly seems a lifetime."

She regarded him from the corner of her eye as she assembled the last torte. He certainly did sound authentic. "I don't think you will find your family much changed. Have you been in touch?"

"Letters, yes—until a few months ago, when I was forced to leave my chateau for Paris. I've been duly informed of all the births, weddings... and Grandmere's death." He perched on the edge of the table and stared into the fire. As she spread orange icing, Lisette's eyes wandered over Nicholai Beauvisage. There was a chiseled strength about his profile that was very unlike the description Katya had given of her brother. Fun loving, easygoing, vulnerable—those were the adjectives people had used in reference to the younger Beauvisage brother. But if this was indeed Nicholai, it was obvious that the decade he had spent in France had carved out a very different man. The lines of his body were steely; muscles and tendons showed in his bronzed neck and were outlined beneath the clothes that concealed the rest of his body. All outward signs of a harder inner man, Lisette thought.

"You are staring, mademoiselle," Nicholai told her sardonically. "Do you find me odd looking?"

The last torte was done; Lisette put the wooden spoon into an empty bowl and gave him a wry smile. "Not at all, Mr. Beauvisage. I was thinking that, although you may not see many changes in your family, I'll wager that they will be surprised by the transformation
you
have undergone!"