Spring Fires (55 page)

"I have been quite occupied these last years in the war for independence."

"Oh—of course!" Caro felt something click in her mind, but even though she squeezed her eyes closed, she could not catch it in time.

"Do you remember anything about the war?" Alec queried, looking down at her face.

"Yes, I seem to, though I hadn't thought of it until you said the words. Suddenly now, I can remember it all but rather indistinctly—the deaths, and women all alone, and living with hardships. But I simply cannot see faces in my mind, or recall names."

They were silent for a moment, then Caro, eyes wide with frustration, blurted:

"I don't even know where we are!"

"That is easily enough answered. We are in Connecticut, nearing its western border and the Hudson River. We will follow that to New York town, and then journey on south to Philadelphia."

"But, if you are a man of means, why are you here in the woods with only a horse? Isn't the war over now?"

"Yes, it's over. And, Caro, you mustn't let Ivan hear you speak of him as though he were of no consequence!" He had lowered his voice conspiratorially. "You see, he believes he is absolutely the finest horse ever born—the superior of any man." He paused. "Except me, of course."

"Of course!" Caro giggled, and Ivan peered at them suspiciously from the other side of the fire. Alec squeezed her shoulder and continued:

"To answer your question, I was inspecting a farm I recently acquired in northern Connecticut. It was left to me by one of my comrades who died at Yorktown. I am used these days to traveling light. It's been a pleasure to be responsible to only myself; to go at my own pace and to enjoy the woods in autumn before returning to city life. Besides, I have friends in this area that I enjoy visiting. We'll be staying with them in the Hudson River Valley, and I'm hoping to borrow a horse for you."

"We will go on horseback all the way to Philadelphia?"

"No, my coach will be meeting us in New York."

"I have only one more question. Who will you say I am?"

Alec smiled with satisfaction.

"Actually, it all fits together brilliantly. You are the poor orphaned daughter of my friend from the war. Much to my surprise, you came with the farm! You'll be my ward, and it will all be cozy and respectable."

Caro felt her eyelids drooping and she smiled to herself contentedly, snuggling against Alec's broad chest.

"Well," she murmured drowsily, "I suppose I shall have to trust you...."

Excerpt from

Touch The Sun

Special Author's Cut Edition

A Beauvisage/Hampshire Novel

by

Cynthia Wright

Chapter 1

January, 1789

Winter sunlight glanced off the last bits of melting ice that hung on the pecan trees like diamonds. Meagan Sayers, astride her horse Laughter, rode under the dripping branches and on into the open fields beyond.

The ground was muddy but Meagan rode every day unless the weather threatened the footing of her horse. She insisted that it was for Laughter's sake, but in truth, she grew more restless than the dappled gray gelding when forced to stay indoors, and these past weeks had yielded an unbroken procession of rain and snowstorms.

Pecan Grove was one of the largest Tidewater plantations in Virginia and boasted the area's finest mansion, next to Mount Vernon. However, by no stretch of imagination could Meagan fit anyone's conception of a Southern belle. The picture she made now, galloping across the soggy meadow astride Laughter, was typical. Since childhood, she had kept in the stable a cache of boys' clothing that she had begged from the young grooms and which she had changed into whenever she had an opportunity to ride.

Meagan's parents had always reveled in a world of foxhunts, horsebreeding, dancing, card-playing, and travel. She had seldom seen them, and when she did, they merely patted her on the head while passing in the hall. Early on she had put their inattention to good use, growing up a free spirit who rode with the skill and daring of any man, her raven hair flying freely like a banner. She eluded her governesses, choosing to take books from the library, and spent her afternoons reading under a pecan tree in the meadow.

The summer of 1788 had been like all the rest. Russell and Melanie Sayers had sailed to France to cavort at Versailles and Paris, but their daughter had pleaded to remain at home. With guilty sighs of relief, they agreed, for Meagan fought them every step of the way in their intermittent efforts to civilize her.

Now, galloping out into the waterlogged meadow, Meagan's mind returned to the October afternoon when she had learned of the shipwreck. James Wade, a lifelong neighbor, had ridden over to break the news of her parents' deaths and she had found herself reacting more strongly to his repellent, "brotherly" embraces than to the tragedy of losing both mother and father in one blow. Since then, she'd waited for the grief process to begin, but to no avail. Meagan felt a tightness in her breast at the realization that she had not loved her parents enough to mourn their deaths. And yet, her intuitive common sense told her that affection must be earned, and it was not for her to feel guilty because they had not known how to love anyone but themselves.

A voice was calling from the shelter of the pecan trees, and reluctantly Meagan reined in Laughter, turning him back toward the house. She found one of the stable boys waiting for her.

"Mr. Wade and his sister are in the big house, ma'am."

Meagan made a face, but knowing they would sit and drink tea until she arrived, decided to get it over with. Sliding from Laughter's back, she handed the reins to the stable boy and ran off toward the imposing Georgian brick house.

Flora, the large black cook, frowned as Meagan came into the kitchen but refrained from scolding. The girl was disheveled, her breeches grimy and her hair loose and windblown. Yet, who could resist her? Petite in stature, Meagan exuded energy and good health with glowing cheeks, an impudent, winning smile, and sparkling eyes of deep violet. She marched right through the kitchen, down the hall into the parlor where four generations of Wades and Sayerses had shared tea.

Priscilla and James were beyond surprise at the sight of Meagan's scuffed figure in the doorway. They had known her all their lives, and despite the efforts of her mother, she had rarely been seen in a proper gown in all her eighteen years.

"Well! I see you are taken care of!" Meagan exclaimed, noting James's generous portion of brandy.

The Wade siblings, ever proper, smiled at their hostess, who dropped into a wing chair.

Slinging a slim booted leg over the rose velvet arm, she grinned. "To what do I owe this honor?"

James, dark-haired and pudgy, squirmed slightly. "Meagan, you act as if nothing has changed. We have been worried about you and only wish to be reassured concerning your state of mind..."

She softened somewhat; her gaze traveled from the lecherous James to his willowy, auburn-haired sister. The two girls had been incompatible friends since infancy, yet Meagan's heart warmed maternally toward Priscilla.

"I don't mean to seem flippant, but you two certainly are aware that my existence doesn't depend on Mother and Father! After all—"

"Meagan!" warned Priscilla. "You must learn to show respect—"

"Oh, pooh!" she broke in, resisting the desire to use a stronger word. "I happen to feel that honesty is a better virtue. Priscilla, you know perfectly well that you and I have never agreed on anything. I cannot believe that you continue to preach to me now! I have thought at length about Mother and Father, and I feel satisfied with the answers I have reached. I need no advice from you!" Meagan had lifted herself partway out of the chair and James watched her breasts strain against the boy's jacket she wore.

A servant appeared with the teapot and a fresh cup and saucer for Meagan, giving the room's occupants a chance to cool down.

"Have you heard any news concerning your father's estate?" asked James when the girl had gone.

"Nothing very encouraging. Mr. Bumpstock, Father's solicitor, has written to me saying that my father appears to have been in debt. Of course, he insists on keeping me in suspense. The final word will hopefully arrive before the end of the month, but knowing Mr. Bumpstock's tendency to putter..."

James was downing his brandy—rather piggishly, Meagan thought—and licked his lips, savoring the last drop.

"My dear, I do hate to rush off, but there are some matters I should attend to. I am traveling to Philadelphia tomorrow, but I simply could not depart without seeing you again to be certain you are well." He stood up and crossed to her side, bringing his face so close that Meagan wrinkled her nose at the odor of brandy that enveloped her when he spoke. "If you should need me before tomorrow, I would gladly rush to your side at any hour."

"I will keep that in mind, James dear, but don't lose sleep waiting for my summons." These words were delivered with her sweetest smile, a tactic that never failed to confuse the recipients of her sarcasm.

"I'll be going then. I am sure you two have a great deal to chat about, so I'll send the carriages back later. Good day!"

When he was gone, Meagan looked curiously in Priscilla's direction. "Philadelphia! What takes your charming brother there?"

"In truth, he's going on my behalf. He hopes to arrange a match for me."

"Oh? Do go on. The suspense is excruciating!"

Priscilla preened. "If all goes well, I should be the wife of a wealthy man by spring. Isn't it exciting? I shall be one of Philadelphia's social leaders!"

"For heaven's sake, you goose, James hasn't even left yet! Do you imagine he can simply go into a shop and pick out a wealthy husband for you?" Meagan's voice sharpened with irritation as she jumped up to pace the Oriental rug. She fumed silently at James Wade. Priscilla was too frivolous to realize it, but Meagan knew that James had been squandering the Wade fortune ever since their own father died. He had drunk and gambled and traveled to excess, somehow believing that West Hills could run itself. And now, Meagan could clearly see that he intended to sell his sister the way he had already sold paintings, horses, and precious land.

"Goodness, Meagan, you should know that James would do anything for me. He says that I should have a position in life to equal my beauty. Isn't that sweet?"

"Sweeter than I can stomach," Meagan muttered, then turned to look straight into her friend's eyes. "Are you truly happy about this? Do you wish to marry a
stranger?"

"James wouldn't pick someone horrid, and after all, there are more important considerations than
love.
I wasn't aware that you were particularly romantic." She eyed Meagan's breeches and unruly curls. "I wouldn't be surprised if you are jealous. I don't seem to recall any marriage proposals coming your way lately."

Meagan tensed like a kitten ready to pounce. "I could answer that in a dozen different ways that would doubtless send you into a faint, but from years of experience, I know that nothing reaches through that
lovely
coiffure of yours."