Touch the Sun (43 page)

The sun was beginning to rise; a golden-pink glow lightened the library. Meagan pressed her hands to her temples and forced herself to think.

One painful conclusion was clear. After what Lion had told her last night, she could not hope to be his wife. The reasons for his "respectable" marriage were apparent now. She thought, I should have known he could not be so cold-bloodedly ambitious without a reason! All the things I have thought and said were so unfair and cruel...

The only question remaining was whether the love they shared might be of greater importance than his dream of government service. What would Lion decide to do if she revealed her
own
past to him? Was there any chance at all that his reputation could survive the scandal of a broken engagement on the eve of the wedding?

Later she would wonder at the twist of fate which left the book by Thomas Paine on Lion's desk, only inches from her hand. It was well-thumbed and marked with a scrap of newspaper. She opened it to that page and read a passage that seemed to shout directly at her:

We have it in our power to begin the world again... 'Tis not the concern of a day, a year, or an age; posterity are virtually involved in the contest, and will be more or less affected to the end of time by the proceedings now. Now is the seed-time of the Continental union.

The words had as much effect on Meagan as her first view of the State House. Tears stung her eyes as she reread the eloquent paragraph, feeling smaller and more insignificant with each line.

* * *

Kevin Flynn was feeling more chipper than he had in weeks. The memory of his humiliation the night on the Binghams' lawn was painful, even for a man with a nature as resilient as his. Meagan was a perfect rose in a field of wild flowers, so perhaps it should not have surprised Flynn that not only did she fail to succumb to his charms, but that Lion Hampshire would have designs on the girl himself.

Since the night Hampshire had knocked him out cold with one punch, Flynn had made a few false starts at tracking Meagan down. It did not take long to learn that she was living at the captain's Pine Street house; the question was: what did it mean? Kevin had idealized Meagan to the point where she seemed incapable of loose conduct, and he knew Hampshire well enough to feel fairly certain that he would not ravish her against her will.

It was a month today since their last meeting, since Meagan had left Mansion House. Flynn thought of her every day, wondering and wondering until his mind seemed tied in knots. This morning, he had learned that Lion would be accompanying Priscilla Wade to Gray's Ferry. Mr. Bingham had given him the day off so that he might attend the festivities, but Kevin, caught in a holiday mood of impulsive bravery, decided to pay a visit to a certain house on Pine Street instead.

All I want to do, he thought defensively, is to find out what her feelings really are. Then, if she truly doesn't care for me, we might be friends...

He dressed in his best brown suit with its waistcoat of green and gold figured silk. His hair was powdered for the occasion, his shoe buckles polished. After watching Captain Hampshire drive away with Priscilla, Flynn set off on foot at a near trot for Pine Street, stopping only long enough to purchase an armful of pink azaleas from a flower vendor.

The sun was bright in the clear blue sky and the streets were nearly deserted except for a few distant vehicles heading west toward Gray's Garden. Flynn could hear his heels click on the brick footpath and the cadence of his breathing, which quickened as Hampshire's dwelling came into view. So total was his nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing Meagan again, that he failed to note the lone black coach opposite the house or the three pairs of eyes that watched from inside as he knocked at the door.

* * *

If anything, Flynn thought, she looks like the lady of the house—more beautiful than ever.

Meagan wore an elegant gown of black-and-white striped silk, edged with crisp white ruching. Her shiny curls were pinned up carefully; only one long ringlet escaped down her back, a perfect white hot house rose pinned at its source.

She seemed pleased to see him, if a trifle preoccupied. How different she looks! thought Kevin. The gown and neat coiffure made her appear older, but the animated serving-girl Kevin had known remained in all her gestures, smiles, and candid remarks. They sat at the table in the kitchen as she poured his Madeira and he tried to see past her guard.

Meagan drank tea as he downed two glasses of wine. She spoke of Mansion House, of Smith, and of how fondly she remembered Kevin and his many kindnesses. When the tall-case clock in the entry hall struck the hour, she went pale.

"Meagan, did you want to go to Gray's Garden? Smith and Wickham will be there; we could make a celebration of it!"

Her smile seemed sad. "You are far too kind to me. And you've certainly no reason to be." Her small hand touched his arm across the table. "I am sorry, Kevin, about that night. It was my fault to a degree. I should have realized your intentions from the start and explained my own more clearly. I was self-centered and lonely. And, I know Lion is sorry for hitting you so hard; he has meant to mend things between you himself."

Flynn's chest burned when he tried to breathe. She talks as if I am some overeager boy and Captain Hampshire is her husband! he thought incredulously.

"It's true, isn't it!" he choked. "He's bedded you! And I suppose you'll let him keep you after Mistress Wade is his wife!"

Meagan's face went chalk white. "Kevin, I won't discuss it if you are going to fly into a fit. Whatever your feelings are, you have no claim on me or my affections. I had hoped we could be friends—" Unexpected tears welled in her eyes. "God knows I could use one today!"

His anger was dissolved by the expression on her face. When he went to her chair, Meagan let him hold and comfort her, and he breathed in the soft fragrance of her hair.

Suddenly, she straightened up and gained control. "Well, perhaps that will help me make it through the day. I have some time yet... Could we talk?"

Artlessly, she pulled her chair around the table next to Flynn's, and slowly revealed the outline of her relationship with Lion.

"No matter what you or anyone else thinks," she finished, "he does love me. This morning, before breakfast, he pinned this rose in my hair, and he gave me this ring." She extended her hand to reveal an exquisite, carved gold band studded with rubies. "It was his mother's—a gift on her fifteenth birthday. It even has her initials engraved in it."

Meagan paused, staring down at the ring. "I am leaving here today, Kevin. I don't mean to be melodramatic, but I have given it a great deal of thought, and I know it is the only way. Even if Lion were prepared to break off with Priscilla for my sake—which he is not—I have to think of him first. I've spent so many hours trying to weigh this question of what
is
best for Lion... a much-desired career in government or my love. This morning I read something that Thomas Paine wrote and it made me realize that more is at stake than just the two of us. The future of this country hangs in the balance, and from what I hear about this First Congress, they will need extraordinary men like Lion. He could make such a difference..."

"Aye," Flynn agreed softly. "But, where will you go?"

"Boston, I think. I—ah—know someone there." She tried to repress a shudder at the thought of Aunt Agatha. "I would like to stay out of the way for a time—until Lion's situation settles down. Then, well, time will tell."

"Meagan, I would come with you. I would take care of you—always." His black eyes were tragically hopeful, but Meagan only smiled bleakly and touched his cheek.

"No, that would not be fair to either of us. But I will always treasure my memories of our friendship... and perhaps we will meet again someday."

"How will you travel? On the stage?"

"No. That would be like leaving a trail! I'll take my horse—she's a gift from Lion. I have a suit of clothes belonging to Wong that I used to wear when Lion and I went out to the shops, and I plan to wear it. I play quite a convincing boy when I put my mind to it!"

"No!" Flynn's mouth slashed into a grave frown. "I'll not be a party to
that!
I'll go right home and get one of the Binghams' chaises. Your horse can pull it, and I'll pick a stableboy to go along for protection. The Binghams will be off tomorrow for New York, so they won't be around to miss the chaise
or
the boy."

Meagan laughed, obviously relieved. "You are so good! I am certain I could have made the trip safely, but this will make me feel less apprehensive."

"So, you aren't as brave as you let on?" Flynn teased lightly.

"When the need arises, I can summon up the courage to accomplish any task. My secret is that I truly believe that!"

* * *

Gray's Ferry was actually a floating toll bridge which crossed the Schuylkill River, but today it was barely recognizable. The rickety frame was hidden behind cedar branches, while a tall laurel arch stood at either end. Enormous crowds of people were gathered around the Philadelphia road, straining to see into the distance, each person longing to be the first to sight General Washington.

Lion was helping Priscilla to alight from his yellow post-chariot, some distance from the throngs near the bridge. They were both rather subdued, waiting for the chance to speak on matters of considerable importance. Lion looked startlingly handsome in polished black boots and a tailored coat of dove-gray over white breeches and a snowy white shirt.

"Would you care to walk for a few minutes? I have something I need to speak with you about and I find I cannot wait."

"I was just going to ask you for the same privilege!" Priscilla exclaimed, staring at him with a twinge of regret. He was such a man—but, unfortunately, beyond her ken. "Will you allow me to speak first?"

Lion nodded shortly, waiting as she opened her apple-green sunshade. It was made to match the leaves which sprigged her delicate muslin gown, but he barely noticed the soft pale curves of her breasts or the fragrance of cologne water surrounding her. Together they walked up a rolling hill that overlooked the decorated bridge and the crowds of waiting citizens. Priscilla paused beneath a chestnut tree, fingering the lace on her bodice.

"I suppose there is only one way to tell you. It is rotten of me to do it, but you've been quite rotten yourself, Lion Hampshire!" She looked at him challengingly, but he only nodded amused agreement. "Marcus Reems has declared his love for me—which is considerably more than you ever did! I have agreed to marry him."

Lion's ocean-blue eyes widened. It took all the will power he possessed to keep from shouting his joy and relief, but instead, he took Priscilla's hand in a warm grasp.

"My dear, you have every right in the world to do this. I have treated you shamefully and you deserve better than that." One brow went up in his chiseled face. "No doubt you and Marcus Reems will suit very well."

Suddenly, a shout went up from the crowd. On the crest of a distant hill across the river, a column of men riding horses came into view. At the head was a magnificent white stallion ridden by none other than the president-elect himself. Elegantly garbed in his buff and blue uniform, General Washington was solemn and erect, his simply arranged hair white against the bright sky.

"He looks rather sad," Priscilla commented as the white horse clattered onto the bridge.

"The feeling of not having control over one's own life would make any man sad" was Lion's grim reply.

Eleven banners, one for each state which had ratified the Constitution, waved cheerily in a row along the bridge's north side, while the flag of the American Union flew alone on the south side. As Washington passed under the near leafy arch, a young girl leaned out from above to hold a wreath of laurel over his head. The crowd intensified its cheers, and the general began to bow gravely in response.

Behind him followed the procession of honor guards, made up of Pennsylvania assemblymen and the City Troop of Horse. The latter group was resplendent in high-top boots, snowy breeches, and silver-bound black hats.

The mob of citizens crowded closer as their hero passed under the second arch and onto the dusty road lined with flags bearing such slogans as "The New Era" and "Don't Tread on Me." Washington continued to bow as hands reached out to touch him, smiling with a mixture of affection and melancholy. The crowd followed the procession toward the city where cannon were already beginning to thunder.

Lion and Priscilla remained on the hill, watching, until the dust had settled around the bridge.

At length, she asked, "What was it you wanted to say to me?"

"Hmm? Oh! Well, it doesn't matter now. There's no need. All I need to know now is whether or not you still wish to accompany me to City Tavern?" Lion's tone was the friendliest Priscilla had ever heard.

"Yes! That is, if you agree. Marcus is busy elsewhere today. Making arrangements for the wedding, I suppose."

Lion held her arm as they descended the grassy slope. "Thoughtful, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is!" Priscilla agreed, glancing up at the note of mockery in his voice. "I must say, you certainly don't seem very upset by all this. Marcus had visions of you challenging him to a duel!"

Lion laughed out loud at that. "Oh he did, did he? That's wonderful; it makes my day! Dear Priscilla, you must be sure to describe my cheerful demeanor to your new fiancé. I'm confident he will be greatly relieved to hear that I am not suffering!"

She waited until he stopped laughing before speaking again. "Would you do a favor for me as well? If I do not see Meagan before Marcus and I leave for New York, I would appreciate it if you could tell her how sorry I am for the way I've behaved. Perhaps the day will come when we can be friends again."

Lion was startled by this speech, but his good spirits were such that he did not pause to question it. Helping Priscilla into the post-chariot, he could think only of how superbly things were working out.