Touch the Sun (21 page)

"You want cape now?"

"No. I believe I'll have a brandy in the library before I leave. I could use one before facing the crowds again." Silently, he added, And another evening with Priscilla.

They went downstairs together, Wong inquiring about the Powels' reception of the day before.

"I enjoyed seeing the new congressmen and was lucky enough to have a conversation with James Madison. Do you know who he is?"

"Father of Constitution!" replied a proud, beaming Wong.

"That's right! Wong, you really have been studying!" Lion exclaimed in surprise. "Well, Mr. Madison is currently working on a plan for a Bill of Rights—amendments to the Constitution. Understand?" They were entering the library and Lion looked over his shoulder to see that Wong appeared confused. He smiled, splashing brandy into a glass.

"The additions would spell out clearly what rights the American people are entitled to. Some men don't think they are necessary, but Madison makes an excellent case. In the
Federalist Papers,
he writes that the amendments will 'fortify the rights of the people against the encroachments of the government.'" Lion was looking past Wong as he spoke. "Beautiful words, aren't they? Splendid plans—"

"What would lights be?" asked Wong hesitantly.

"Oh—rights more precious than diamonds. Freedom of speech and the press, the right to a speedy and public trial, the right of peaceable assembly, prohibition of cruel and unusual punishments. Do you understand?"

Wong nodded, entranced.

"That's only the beginning. Madison is already hard at work on the list; after the inauguration, he'll present the plan to the House of Representatives."

"And they vote yes?"

Lion laughed
at
this earnest question. "I wish it were that painless, but no one ever agrees so easily in America. That's why I wish I were going to New York now, as a representative! Christ, how I long to add my voice to such a vital agreement." He had moved to the window, staring out over the dark garden. "To me, the cause of American liberty and rights is sacred—almost holy. Can you understand that?" His voice had dropped to a near whisper; he seemed to be talking to himself, or to someone else Wong could not see.

"Yes, Missa Lion, I understand."

A long minute of silence stretched out. Wong finally turned, intending to slip away, but Lion spoke up.

"Wait! I meant to tell you... I had an encounter with Meagan South yesterday. You were right. She
is
irked with you! I relayed your apologies, but I fear you'll have to prove yourself to her. The sooner you realize that your usual serving hall repartee does not find favor with her, the safer you'll be."

"She some strange maid, Missa Lion!"

"Would that they all were as strange." He started to pour himself another drink, but stopped in mid-air, smiling ruefully. "No, for once I must recant. If all the serving-girls were like Meagan, the American aristocracy would be lost."

As he thought of her, his eyes took on a newly familiar expression of mingled amusement, bewilderment, and pain.

* * *

In her room at Mansion House, Meagan was working furiously on her new gown. She somehow hoped that if she forced all her concentration on her sewing, the nagging thoughts of Lion could be kept at bay.

She was humiliated and angry with herself for keeping the gift he had brought her, yet every time she decided to relinquish it, her fingers would caress the rich silk and her eyes would drink in the perfectly embroidered flowers. Her conscience was beaten. All her life she had shunned the beautiful clothes which filled her armoire in brilliant profusion, but now that she had none...

Meagan reached for the scissors to clip a thread and then sat back in her chair for a moment, allowing her thoughts to take her. It hadn't been the fine silk that lured her back to the storeroom yesterday, she mused, but her own curiosity—to know if he had left it there after all. Her lovely mouth turned down. If the rogue had offered her burlap, she doubted that it would mean any less.

She began to rethread the needle, anxious to escape from the reality which pursued her, afraid to turn and face it. As the needle flew in and out of the silk, Meagan remembered Smith's expression the evening before when she had shown her the contents of the bundle, asking her to help with the measurements and cutting. She had explained it as a gift from the lady at a neighboring plantation in Virginia, given as a remembrance when Meagan left for Pennsylvania. Smith had seemed somewhat perplexed by the situation, but accepted Meagan's explanation and cheerfully agreed to help. She even brought out a box of patterns for her to choose from and supplied all manner of sewing necessities.

Oh, Meagan groaned inwardly, to what have I reduced myself? First I become a servant, to Priscilla Wade of all people, then I allow myself to be used like a common tavern wench by the man betrothed to her! Finally, I accept expensive gifts from the same man and to cover my tracks, I have begun telling lies! Desperate tears sprang up in her eyes, but she wiped them away as a knock sounded at her door.

"Who is it?"

"'Tis only me, my lady. Kevin."

Meagan hurriedly stuffed the white silk into her bureau drawer before opening the door.

"Have I disturbed you?" he inquired politely, taking in her drawn face.

"No, not really. What—"

Encouraged, he relaxed into an easy smile. "'Tis bold of me to ask it, since you gave me your afternoon just a day ago, but I wondered if you might share some refreshment with me."

Her expression softened. "I think that might be just what I need. Thank you." She turned back to blow out the candles which burned near her chair. "I mustn't remain long, for I have a great deal of... mending that must be done."

Flynn made idle, cheerful conversation as they walked toward the serving hall. Tentatively, he offered her a glass of wine that she accepted immediately, taking a chair near the hearth as he left the room to procure the bottle and glasses. Her eyes burned from the long hours she had spent laboring with needle and thread and she closed them now, soaking up the enveloping warmth of the fire.

"Heavens! I am so relieved to have found you!"

Meagan's eyelids fluttered open, almost unwilling to see the person who had entered the room. It was Clarissa. She was wrapped in an elegant blue pelisse lavishly trimmed with silver fox. Her perfect oval face was framed by the fur, the only part of her that was visible, for even her hands were concealed inside a huge fox muff.

Speechless, Meagan stood up, and Clarissa hurried over to her. Her large blue eyes were sparkling with some emotion that Meagan could not identify.

"Miss South, I am asking—
begging
—for your assistance!"

"Whatever for? I don't understand—"

"There is an emergency. I have desperate need of Lion Hampshire and I want you to take a message to him immediately."

"Me? But—"

"No time can be spared for explanations. I trust you—and know that you alone can persuade him to meet me." Momentarily, her eyes narrowed almost malevolently, but it passed so quickly that Meagan wondered if it were her imagination. "By
that,
of course, I mean that Lion trusts you also," Clarissa finished hastily.

"Well..."

"Thank you! This means so very much to me. Go now to Dr. Shippen's house and instruct Lion that he must meet me at once, at our usual spot."

Meagan flinched slightly at the words, yet she felt compelled to do Clarissa's bidding. "As you say, ma'am. But, where does Dr. Shippen live?"

"His house stands on the corner of Fourth and Locust Streets, barely a square away. Now, do fetch your wrap and make haste!"

* * *

Polished silver cutlery clattered against fine Wedgwood china as, up and down the long table, well-known dinner guests divided their attention between the sumptuous meal and high-spirited discussion. Few houses in the world could have boasted such an assemblage; the dining room nearly burst with stimulations for any mind and eye. Such handsome people! Their clothing was the finest, the richest to be found, their faces were among those best known in America, and all lesser citizens longed to be privy to conversations such as were taking place among them.

Lion smothered a yawn and knitted his burnished eyebrows as he listened to the familiar sound of William Bingham's voice reaching its fever pitch.

"Would you, my dear Mr. Madison, demean our highest office before the rest of the world? All other countries have
kings!
Would you lessen their respect for our own supreme leader by giving him such a plain, common title?"

Across the table, Chief Justice Thomas McKuan gave a snort of agreement. "Mr. President, indeed!"

James Madison remained unruffled as the target of their arguments. His clear, intelligent eyes held the hint of a smile as he replied evenly, "My good friends, do we not agree that what we seek is a new direction? We fought a long and bloody war to free ourselves of a king and all the pompous posturings that word implies. I believe that the title of 'Mr. President' will lend that new office a purity of strength and dignity." He coaxed them gently. "Might we now join in a toast to our new leader, uniting in our common hope for a bright future as free Americans?"

Lion warmed under Madison's prose, silently renewing the strength of his own ambition to someday work beside such a man.

Fragile, cut-crystal goblets were raised, catching the glittering rays of light from the chandelier, and voices rang out in spirited unison. "Long live our President!"

Lion grinned at William Shippen, who sat at an angle from him, and took a long drink of wine. A tap on his shoulder interrupted that pleasure and he set down the goblet, turning his head curiously.

Cyrus, the family's butler, stood there looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Mister Hampshire, there is someone in the hallway who insisted I fetch you. I hope I've done right."

In the entryway, Meagan waited nervously. There were more possibilities for discovery here than she dared count. Even Mrs. Shippen loomed as a potential traitor, for she was originally a Lee from Virginia. Meagan had met Alice Shippen at the Lees' Stratford Hall more than once.

At any moment someone could come into the hall... Meagan jumped, eyes wide, as a tall figure strode through the arched doorway. "Lion!" she gasped in relief.

Bathed in the golden luster from the lantern-like chandelier overhead, he towered above her. As she gathered her wits, Meagan perceived that an amused smile tugged at the corner of his handsome mouth and when he spoke, laughter infected his voice.

"My sweet, yesterday you struck a powerful blow to my confidence with your cruel words and actions, but to know that you have missed me so sorely as to seek me out
here
lightens my heart more than I can say."

As his words sank in, Meagan's eyes narrowed and she set her hands upon her hips. "You conceited fool, the day that I can destroy your confidence will give me much cause to rejoice!" Taking a step away from the powerful force of his attraction, she admonished, "Now be serious. I have not come here to trade quips with you!"

"I accept your apology," he grinned. "You may explain this happy visit."

With an effort, she repressed an urge to put him in his place, but his last words returned the worried frown to her brow.

"I had a visit tonight from Clarissa." She cast an uneasy glance toward the dining room entrance as a chorus of laughter swelled from within. "Could we talk outside? I shouldn't like the Binghams to see me here—"

"Of course. I am as anxious for a moment alone in the moonlight as you are."

She swatted his arm lightly as he opened the front door, and Lion chuckled aloud.

"What a dull evening it was before you appeared, my minx!"

The house opened onto Locust Street, and Lion drew her over against the iron railing which ran around to the garden gate. Meagan was noticing his handsome garb, admiring the rich smoky velvet and the way it flattered him. She saw that he watched her, one brow lifted as though he read her mind, and she snatched her hands from his and scolded, "I am not your minx!"

"My mistake," he grinned, folding his arms across his chest. "Well?"

She backed against the Flemish bond bricks of the house, plucking nervously at the ivy which clung there.

"Your dear Clarissa bade me fetch you to your 'usual spot'," her eyes were purple with venom. "She made a great show of distress, but Lion, I only took her message in the hope that I might dissuade you from going."

"As jealous as that?"

"Do stop! I am serious! I have a feeling—and you may laugh at my instincts at your own risk, sir! She means you harm."

In her desire to make him listen, she came out of the shadows to lay her hand on his arm. He put his own over it, caressing its softness with his thumb.

"Meagan, do you doubt my ability to defend myself against a righteous female who imagines herself scorned? You must not judge me much of a man!"

She sighed in frustration. "It's not that—"

"I think it is time this mystery you have concocted around Clarissa was solved. I would not have you spending sleepless nights worrying over my safety!" He brushed a dark curl from her temple and she went weak at his touch. "I will let you know that I am well. I will come to your window at midnight."

She longed to deny her concern, but the words would not come. Instead, she implored, "Please, don't go."

For a moment, the world was forgotten as their eyes met and held. The quarter moon slid from behind a luminous cloud, recasting the spell in stardust.

Meagan somehow pulled her eyes from his brilliant blue gaze, but relented to her heart enough to touch slender fingers against his cheekbone. "Take care."

A reckless grin spread across his face, gleaming in the darkness, and he turned against her hand so that his mouth grazed its tender palm.

"So, little one, you would not have me gone so far from your life as that?"

She blushed at the reminder of her words spoken the day before. "I would never wish you harm, sir."