Touch the Sun (34 page)

Chapter 28

The following day was replete with sunshine and a pleasing, perfect warmth. After breakfast, Lion sought Meagan out and asked if she would join him as he attended to some errands on foot. She had been up since dawn, dragging a lethargic Prudence through the market crush and now felt quite weary as she drew up menus for the next three days. However, Lion was a powerful intoxicant, and she was conscious of a strong desire to strengthen the bond that had been formed during those minutes of silent communion the day before.

While changing into a fresh gown, Meagan thought, smiling, I could have been on my deathbed and I'd have managed to struggle off to spend an hour or two with him. And he knows it, the scoundrel.

In spite of the pretty picture she made in the lilac muslin, only the thought of her soon-to-be-delivered new wardrobe kept her from frowning at her reflection. It seemed that he had seen her in this dress a thousand times.

Lion's eyes, when Meagan appeared in the stair hall, gave no hint of this. They were warm with affection. He grinned, opening the door with a flourish, and lightly caught her elbow as she passed him.

The flagstones of Pine Street were sun-splashed, the air seemed fresh, and Meagan's raven curls gleamed and danced.

"God, it's a glorious day!" Lion burst out suddenly after minutes of silence.

Surprised by this unaccustomed exuberance, she smiled back.

"Ha!" he laughed. "You look as I must when you start verbalizing your
joie de vivre!"

"Your behavior
was
rather out of character. Perhaps you've been near me too long?" Her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the opportunity to tease him. Lion's hand moved to hook her waist and he held her close for a moment before she succeeded in struggling free.

"You think you can soften such a hardened cynic?" Deftly he recaptured her, lifting her off the ground so that they were eye to eye. "Have away, little one. Do your worst!"

Meagan wriggled in his iron grasp. "For heaven's sake! Would you have us seen? Loose me!"

With a grin he obeyed, but appeared amused for the next quarter mile, and Meagan knew that he had done it purposely to set the tone between them for that day. The frantic stimulation made her blood rush and restored her energy; she easily matched his pace and was piercingly aware of his hand on her arm, the richness of the sunshine, and the salty breeze that drew them toward the waterfront.

The scene that met them there was fittingly animated and colorful. Magnificent ships lay close alongside one another, many a hundred feet or more in length with main masts of over seventy feet. Sailors swaggered across the docks, mingling with bales and boxes, ropes and pungent tar.

"That's the
Canton,"
Lion gestured toward a stunning vessel, raising his voice to be heard over the din of boisterous shouts. "It began the China trade for Philadelphia and I made my first voyage on it with Thomas Truxton as captain. The next year, I had my own ship."

"Goodness," Meagan breathed, truly awed by the sight before her. Men were calling greetings to Lion and he paused to speak with a few of them, apparently delivering some information.

"I have never seen such ships!" she exclaimed at last, when his attention returned.

"You are not alone; they are splendid. Already these China Traders built in Philadelphia are being called the most beautiful ships on the seas. Notice the figureheads? Several were carved by William Rush, reason enough for the China Traders to be charmed."

A dark, well-dressed man hailed Lion, who excused himself to confer with him. Meagan watched the activity on the waterfront, lost in the elemental panorama as she had been on her first excursion to the market, not even realizing when Lion returned until he took her arm. As they meandered up Front Street, she inquired, "May I ask who that man was? No spy for Anne Bingham, I hope."

Lion chuckled. "No, that was Mordecai Lewis, one of my former backers. I promised William that I would do what I could to help prepare their new ship for sailing since I left him rather flat last month."

They passed some inns; then, as the Crooked Billet came into view, Meagan let out a shout. "Lion! What is
that?"

Out on the Delaware, among the larger boats, puffed an unquestionably strange contraption which belched smoke and seemed to crawl in the water. Lion laughed in surprise, shading his eyes as he gazed out on the sparkling river.

"By God, if it isn't
Fitch's Folly!
I admire that man's persistence!"

Meagan's expression grew more bewildered. "Don't talk in riddles!"

"It's a steamboat, or so John Fitch has named it. I first saw the thing two summers ago, during the Constitutional Convention. Everyone stood out here on the docks and laughed at him then; the damned thing seemed about to explode! But he's kept at it, trying to perfect this steam engine of his. The first one employed inept mechanical oars, but Doctor Franklin told me that he's got paddle wheels now." He was smiling in the sunshine. "According to Doctor Franklin, Fitch's backers hope to start a steamboat service. They plan to charge five shillings from Philadelphia to Trenton."

"Do you think it will ever happen?" she asked doubtfully, watching the steamboat being passed again and again by other ships.

"Why not? The man is determined and that's half the battle. He has spent close to five hundred pounds since 1785."

"I would say that there is a lesson to be learned from such patience, wouldn't you?" Meagan's eyes belied her conversational tone. "Goals worth reaching are worth waiting for, aren't they?"

"Do you mean to instruct me? I tremble before such subtlety as yours."

His sarcastic tone made Meagan bite her lips to keep silent. There were moments when she, in her impulsiveness, failed to remember how cold Lion's blue eyes could become.

Fitch's Folly
forgotten, they turned onto Chestnut Street and walked, not speaking, to the corner of Third. Meagan had to nearly run to keep up with him. Close to tears, she finally caught the sleeve of his coat.

"Oh, Lion, stop!"

Her heart was exposed on her face and he thawed at the sight, trying to ignore the soft fingers which touched his own.

"Devil take it, Meagan, will you never stop interfering with my decisions? Priscilla nags me on every other subject but this and then you make my persecution complete."

She tried to swallow the words, but they wouldn't stay down. "Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason you have such trouble? Could the original fault be your own?"

They stood there on the corner, oblivious to the curious people who passed, and stared so hard at one another that sparks seemed to fly. Then, slowly, his expression grew tender.

"I keep expecting to react to you the way I do to Priscilla when she begins to complain, but I never do," he said softly. "It is such a relief not to feel that overpowering disgust and boredom. When she irritates me, I cannot wait to get away... but when I get mad at you, all I want to do is make love to you."

Devastated, Meagan thought that her knees would buckle. She leaned against him, feeling faint with love and desire, until strong hands encircled her waist.

"Would you accept my invitation so readily and have us arrested?" He murmured against her hair. "You know how weak I am!"

Somehow she righted herself, but could not meet his eyes. As they continued down Third Street, the arm that Lion held shivered as if chilled.

"What if we were seen?" Meagan inquired at length. "Have you no qualms about being seen with me, no matter how innocently?"

"In a word—no."

"You're incorrigible, do you know that?"

"Lovably so, I hope."

She had to shut her eyes against the smile turned down at her. Had the devil no mercy?

At that point, she was saved from total collapse by their arrival at the shop of Robert Bell, bookseller. It was a perfect distraction. The sign which hung outside proclaimed: "Jewels and Diamonds for Sentimentalists." Inside the door was a notice that read: "The Provedore to the Sentimentalists will exhibit food for the mind, where he that buys may reap substantial advantage, because he that readeth much ought to know much."

"Loquacious fellow, isn't he?" Lion whispered in Meagan's ear, amused by her astonished expression.

Robert Bell appeared then on his way out, but paused long enough to deliver Lion's copy of
The Power of Sympathy
by Anonymous.

"I wish I could stay to chat, Captain Hampshire, but it's stop I must at the
Packet
to place a grand new advertisement with Dunlap. You will come to the next book auction, won't ye? I would be pleased to converse at length any other day." He opened the door and looked over one shoulder, adding in his Scottish burr, "Ye've heard, I'll warrant, who the author is of that book?" Although they were alone in the shop, he lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper, eyes twinkling. "'Tis William Hill Brown, neighbor to Perez and Sarah Morton...
and
her late sister, of course! Isaiah Thomas fears that he may be forced to cease printing once the word is out, for the Mortons are sure to be in a fury.

"Good fortune to you and your intended, Captain Hampshire!" With a last impish grin, Robert Bell disappeared out the door.

"What a unique man!" Meagan exclaimed.

"He is that!" laughed Lion as he fished out nine shillings to leave for the book's payment.

"Is it true? That
The Power of Sympathy
is about the scandal with the Mortons and her sister?"

"Meagan, for God's sake, how do you know about that?"

Oh dear, she thought, I've done it again. "Never mind how I know. Is it true?"

He eyed her curiously before replying, "So I have heard. Bell should know."

"May I read it? Please?"

"It's rumored to be singularly depressing, but if you want to, you are certainly free."

"If it is so depressing, why did you want it?"

"Incest and suicide are not my favorite subjects, but it
is
the first published novel by an American and I felt that alone made it a valuable addition to my library."

Turning to the bookshelves, they both were soon lost in Bell's extensive collection which covered history, theology, general and polite literature, jurisprudence, medicine, and even household works.

Lion bought her a copy of William Blake's first published volume of poetry,
Songs of Innocence,
but pretended not to see the humor in the two books Meagan had chosen. After pronouncing them "ideally suited" to his needs, she revealed the titles:
Married Libertine
and
Suspicious Lover.

Chapter 29

The weather in Philadelphia, notorious for its unpredictable fluctuations, was behaving itself as March drew to a close. It was unfashionable to take exercise; people enjoyed the outdoors by sitting in front of their houses or going for carriage rides in the country. Lion, however, spent more and more time walking about town and taking his roan for heart-pounding gallops along the Schuylkill. He was filled with dark energy which he attempted to vent through physical activity, even shedding coat and cravat to work beside the seamen during visits to the waterfront. Only when Meagan was near did he taste life's sweetness or feel inclined to laugh, but she was busy managing his house and could seldom be persuaded to ignore her duties. Lion suspected that she was running from him, throwing herself into work to escape her emotions.

What of me? he wondered bitterly while starting up the Binghams' drive one morning. I have surely been running too, but there's no place to hide.

He had avoided Priscilla, avoided even thinking of her, postponing his responsibilities toward her always just one more day. As April appeared on the horizon, Lion could feel the net begin to close around him. The wedding was supposed to take place before they left for New York and Washington's inauguration; three weeks grace was the most he could hope for. He could already imagine how Anne and Priscilla would leap upon him when he came through the door, demanding explanations and appropriate apologies for his rude absence, then battering him with plans and details. Teas, assemblies... and then the dire event itself.