Touch the Sun (41 page)

"I suppose you are going to be married any day now, hmm?" she inquired with a motherly smile. "You must know that we were all most charmed by your intended."

Lion winced inwardly at her innocent reminder of the mire of quicksand in which he had immersed himself.

"Ah—I agree that she is a lovely girl." A neutral statement; no more lies.

On the stairway, Lion was astonished to feel his hands go clammy at the thought of the long confession he was about to make to his mentor. When he paused on the landing, an encouraging voice called out:

"My boy, are you ill or merely slow? I have better things to do than listen to your halting approach."

Lion was caught off guard by the sight of him, as he had been on the occasion of their first meeting. This time, Dr. Franklin was reclining complacently in his custom-made sitz bath. The tub was shaped like a great copper shoe; Franklin sat in the heel, while his pale legs nearly reached the toe. A convenient rack had been fitted in the instep to hold his books.

Apparently spring had proven to be an effective medicine, for not since the warm autumn of 1787, when Lion had left on his year-long journey to the Orient, had he seen Franklin looking this well. Of course, he appeared thin and weak, but there was reassuring color in his face.

"Doctor, I am pleased to see you looking so fit! That is, if you haven't been rouging your cheeks on the sly."

Franklin chuckled, extending a hand for Lion to clasp. "Sit down, my boy, and pour me a bit of that tea." He closed the book on his rack and slid it to one side. "No, I haven't been rouging my cheeks... I may love the French, but I can't say I agree with all their fashions!" After sipping gratefully from his cup, he continued, "I am feeling rather better. It's been a while since I had any attacks of the stones. My only complaint is this damned weather; it's giving me a chill I cannot be rid of."

Lion raised both eyebrows in perplexity. He thought the room stiflingly hot and had been on the verge of opening the windows.

"Well, I'm happy you've had relief from the pain. Have you given any thought to venturing out when General Washington arrives? If not to Gray's Ferry, perhaps you might attend the dinner at City Tavern—"

"Don't tempt me, Lion. Sally would horsewhip you if she heard such words from your mouth!" His eyes were twinkling, yet sad. "As they say, the spirit is willing...."

"I'm sorry I mentioned it. It is difficult for me to know what you are capable of, since you seem to be so able verbally," Lion smiled gently.

"Quite true. My tongue is the equal of any man! But, since you ask, physically I am capable of traveling downstairs on a good day, after a large dose of laudanum. If I am feeling exceptionally adventurous, I might sit in the garden and share tea with a guest or two." Franklin paused, staring at his bony knees, and let out a ragged sigh. "To be honest... for my personal comfort, I should have died two years ago."

Those words, void of his usual humor, wrenched Lion so that he could not speak or move. Finally, he bent beside the copper tub and took the old man's hand. It was cold; the skin was white and flabby against Lion's lean, dark fingers.

"It's selfish of me to say, but I must tell you how thankful I am you did
not
die two years ago. If you had, we would never have met—our association has changed my life."

"Time will tell if your outcome will be favorable or not!" The weary eyes were dancing again. "My boy, would you help me up? I should like to dry myself and return to bed. We can chat until you work up the courage to challenge me at cribbage."

They were silent for a few minutes as Lion assisted him back to bed, then sat tensely in a plush wing chair nearby. There seemed to be no easy way to confess his problems, so the conversation focused on the older man for nearly half an hour. Relaxed after the interlude in his sitz bath, Franklin spoke at length, candidly, about his current activities and feelings.

Lion learned that he had finally heeded the urgings of his friends and begun work again on the autobiography. Benny, the oldest of the Bache children and his grandfather's adoring protégé, had been taking down the newest installments when Franklin was in too much pain, or too tired, to write.

"The account has passed my fiftieth year now," he confided, "but I worry about the quality. Somehow, I fear that I am not saying the right things in the right way..."

"Ridiculous! I have never heard you voice an insecurity before today."

"My boy, after eighty-three years of perfection, there
is
the possibility that certain of my abilities might erode."

"You spend too much time imagining the worst."

"On the contrary." His eyes moved to gaze out the window, as if seeing beyond time and space. "I would rather think of anything but my own decline. I dwell on the past, the decades of challenge, other cities and countries..." He smiled. "Even during my catnaps, I dream of wonderful women. Daily I yearn for my dear Madame Helvetius and her thousand sofas..."

"Doctor Franklin, if your attachment to her was so great, why did you leave France?"

"I felt an instinctive wish to draw my last breath in America; to see my Philadelphia again." He drained his second cup of tea. "So! Since we speak of women, tell me how your lovely Priscilla fares. What great good fortune for you to have found such an enchanting minx on pure chance!"

Lion smiled miserably, searching for the right words. "Ah—actually, I do want to talk to you about this. You see—" he loosened his cravat "—the fact is, the girl you met was not Priscilla. I mean, there
is
a Priscilla and we
are
betrothed, but I don't love her. Worse, I can barely endure her company."

Franklin's pale brows were raised in his high forehead; his expression combined gentle, amused tolerance with sharp concern. "I gather that you
can
endure the company of the mysterious young lady I met?"

Lion began to pace. "I did not set out to deceive you in this matter. I meant to introduce her to you correctly, but you assumed... and she seemed to cheer you up..."

"She was delightful." There was a meaningful pause. "Who was she?"

Lion clenched his fist. "Her name is Meagan South. She was Priscilla's lady's maid. She traveled with us from West Hills."

Slowly, then, Lion divulged the truth, one painful fact at a time, until the whole story was made known to Dr. Franklin. He finished by relating the events of the past week.

"Somehow, it has changed. The bargain we struck, I mean. The anger and determination are gone... I'm certain that she loves me, and it's as if she's resigned to it, but I am uneasy about the way she behaves."

"Are you worried that she still won't agree to be your mistress?"

"I don't know!" The hard muscular outline of Lion's back showed through his coat as he pressed his hands against the door frame. "She fought like a tiger the day of the storm. We had an argument. Christ, I was furious at some of the things she said to me! She was unfair, but I was worse, I suppose—I forced her, I wanted to teach her a lesson, but she wouldn't give in.

"Anyway, in the end, we spent hours together in that bed, waiting out the storm. After she quit fighting me, it was as if she were on fire. We both were. We still are—it's like being consumed by hell and heaven all at once." He looked back to the bed, turning tortured eyes on Franklin. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes."

"Well, for God's sake, what am I going to do?" Lion began to pace again, but the older man remained calm.

"Obviously, you are aware of your choices."

"I'm telling you that I am in no condition to analyze this situation objectively!"

"All right, then, let me assist you. First, we both know that in view of your own beginnings, it would be fatal politically speaking for you to marry a serving-girl. Could you give up your career dreams for Meagan? And I don't mean just for this month or year. Could you forfeit your plans for the rest of your life and not regret the decision or resent her?"

"Why don't you stop asking questions I can't answer and give me some advice, damn it! You are the one who pushed me into this fiasco with Priscilla!"

"Lion, you are certainly imposing, blazing like that over me, but you should know better than to try intimidating me into accepting the responsibility for your situation. You could have married any woman you chose, but you made the decision to avoid a love match, not I. Just because you had no proof of love's reality, you denied its existence. The lesson has been cruelly learned,
n'est-ce pas?"

Lion did not answer. His face was averted once more, his body absolutely taut.

"I would not make the same mistake again by giving you more advice. I can only help you see the questions you must answer before a choice can be made. Those answers, and the ultimate decision, must be yours alone."

Lion turned back and their eyes met. Compassion soothed pain.

Finally, Dr. Franklin spoke again, softly. "I cannot influence you, my boy. We are different people and you must not live your life by my rules or inclinations. There is one bit of wisdom I will pass on. This was written by the late husband of Madame Helvetius. He said that 'by annihilating the desires, you annihilate the mind. Every man without passions has within him no principle of action, no motive to act.'

"So, it is up to you to decide which of your passions is stronger; more important. Apparently, you will be denied the pleasure of satisfying them both."

Chapter 35

The scene that evening in the Binghams' card room was cozy and civilized—on the surface. Anne and William were engaged in a rare game of whist, but Anne's long fingernails clicked nervously on the table-top as she watched Priscilla.

Marcus Reems was watching her as well, seated on the same tapestry-covered sofa where Lion had kissed her so savagely. Priscilla was upset tonight; possibly just angry enough to act in haste. She moved agitatedly around the room, stopping at different windows, fingering the drapes as she peered outside. Marcus's tiger eyes were cunningly alert, glowing with pleasure as he perceived the last pieces of his plan falling so effortlessly into place. It was almost too easy...

Their game done, William and Anne left the room to kiss their children goodnight. Marcus was careful in his nonchalant silence, watching Priscilla take one last look outside.

"Were you hoping for a visit from Lion?"

She spun around, surprised and confused. "What? Why, no! At least—well, it would certainly seem proper! Even though I wrote him that I would be too busy to see him for a long time, he might have protested a bit, don't you think?" Her voice broke, and Marcus was on his feet silently, putting his strong arms around her as the first tear escaped.

"Darling Priscilla, how I despise him for treating you so shabbily! You deserve so much more. I could kill him for hurting you this way!"

Priscilla turned wet emerald eyes up to him and allowed her lower lip to tremble. His reaction was all she could wish for. "Oh, Marcus, I simply don't understand why he should be so cruel to me! What have I done?" She sobbed sweetly against his broad chest. "Do you know, tomorrow is his birthday and I have had a present ready for over a week. I bought him the handsomest pearl stickpin for his stock... I thought we could make up our differences if he would promise me to send Meagan away." She paused to sniffle delicately into Marcus's snowy handkerchief. "I could never admit this to anyone but you... but I have not had so much as a note from Lion for days and days. I was so certain that he would come tonight—that he would invite me to share his birthday—"

"My darling, it is wrong of me to say it, but I cannot help myself! Seeing you in such pain—all because of that villain—makes me wild with rage. My sweet, I cannot allow you to marry such a cad. I love you, Priscilla! I will soon be as wealthy as Lion. With you beside me, I shall overtake him immediately! Please—" He kissed her with studied tenderness. "Please, my love, say that you will be my wife. You deserve a man who loves you as I do... and Lion deserves the ruin this will bring to him!"

Priscilla was faint with emotion. She had tried so hard and long to make Lion respond to her as Marcus did. Such success at last was dizzying.

"Yes! Oh, yes, Marcus!"

They kissed for long minutes; Priscilla was lightheaded with power.

"It is terrible of me to do this to Lion, but as you say, he deserves it. Besides, he will have Meagan now. I'm certain she will finally come forward with the truth—"

"What truth?" Marcus nibbled on one soft alabaster ear.

"Why, the truth about who she is! But, that's right—I never told you! Why, Meagan's surname isn't South at all; it's Sayers!" Priscilla giggled, but Marcus's face had frozen to stone. She turned back to the parted drapes, seeming to see past the streets off Society Hill to the plantations of Fairfax County, her face softer than it had been in weeks. "You see, Meagan's papa was richer than mine and her blood is bluer. She's related to titles in England. But, Mr. Sayers spent his money by the bucket—not that he was any different from all the other rich men in Virginia. Meagan's mama had the best of everything; her parties were famous, her home was more beautiful than any I ever saw... except this one, of course!