Spring Fires (16 page)

"I know the marquis," Nicholai replied. "I admire his efforts to bring about change through moderate means. This growing extremism, which embraces farcical trials and executions, eats like a cancer at all the noble ideals that gave rise to the Revolution. Sir, you have never known such a twisted group of men as those who struggle for control in France—both Jacobins and Girondists. Each man is slightly insane in his own fashion, and because of this, scores of people who committed no crime save that of gentle birth are spilling their blood in the Place de la Revolution."

"I have heard that cattle refuse to walk there because of the blood," whispered the president

"I assure you, Mr. President, that no words can convey even a fraction of the revulsion and horror one experiences if he lives in France."

"Are you against the Revolution, then?" queried Washington, his eyes sharp. "Would you favor England's side?"

"No! I
believe in the original concept of revolution in France. The system was horrendously unfair—the poor lived in squalor while the king spent thousands of pounds on shallow pursuits and luxuries. Revolt was inevitable, as you well know, though I am proud to say that I managed my own estate in a democratic manner. I would even suggest that I am alive today because of the loyalty and affection of those who labored in my vineyards. They were never bitten by the rabid discontent which has been cured only by the murder of the resident aristo."

"In your opinion, Mr. Beauvisage, how do you expect it will end?"

"I hope that eventually sanity will rear its head and the madness will unspool.
But
,"
Nicholai added in a bitter voice, "I fear that more blood has been shed than can ever be covered over. The stench and stain will cling to democracy in France forever... and I hope that is the case. If, in the future, people can learn from the dark blot of the Revolution, I might believe it wasn't all meaningless."

"Mr. Beauvisage, if you were in my place, what would you do?"

"I would keep America's meddling fingers out of the mess in Europe. There is no right side. We must continue to hope that democracy and liberty will triumph in France, but we cannot condone the slaughter going on now. At this point, I pray that the Revolution succeeds—for if it were to collapse under the pressures of war, all the death and despair would be completely without meaning. However, the chaos was created without aid from America and I am convinced that France must see her own way clear."

"Are you aware that we have signed certain treaties which obligate us to provide forms of assistance to France should she become involved in war?"

Nicholai made a derisive sound. "Mr. President, you know as well as I that, since the king's execution removed all traces of the old government, men currently in power could never hold you to those treaties."

Splaying his fingers, Washington let the tips of right and left hands bounce against one another. "Have you heard that the new French minister, Genet, is on his way to our shores? Some people urge me to ignore him, since receiving him could be construed as an acknowledgment that those treaties we made with Louis are still binding."

Nicholai lifted both brows. "I am acquainted with Citizen Genet, and I believe you will find him difficult to ignore. He is very—ah—
visible,
a man of oft-voiced opinions that are usually quite unorthodox. He has been connected with the royal family for years, but it was his troublemaking past that allowed him to find a place with the new government. Mr. President, if you refuse to receive Genet, he will make an ungodly fuss here in America... and you know how much pro-France sentiment exists."

"The situation calls for careful handling," Washington said, smiling.

"No more than your usual tact, sir," Nicholai replied with a grin.

"I fear I shall need an extra supply tomorrow when the cabinet convenes. If I cannot convince those men, with their monumental differences of opinion, to unite and support my decisions, I shudder to think of the various disastrous possibilities."

"It is unfortunate that the weight of this must fall on you, Mr. President, rather than on Congress."

"I wish there were
time
to reconvene the Congress, Mr. Beauvisage. However, we have a crisis, and it requires immediate action. In less than a week, there would be so many Americans outfitting privateers to help the French that any declaration of neutrality from me would come too late."

They chatted on for another hour. In spite of his tired appearance, Washington was involved deeply in this conversation; he apparently deemed it more important than a solid night's sleep. Finally, when Tobias Lear peeked in to mention that it was eleven o'clock, the president bade Nicholai and Lion a reluctant good night. He stood and walked down the hall with them, telling Lion that he wished him to attend the cabinet meeting the following morning. Then, he paused at the stairway and grasped Nicholai's hand. His deep-set eyes studied the younger man's face for a full minute before he spoke.

"Will you return to France, Mr. Beauvisage, or remain here with us in America?"

"I cannot say, sir. My feelings for France are mixed. She is like a woman whom one loves blindly and believes to be good and true—then one day she betrays you. Yet, there is a mystical bond that connects me to France, to my land and my home which I love as you love Mount Vernon. The day may come when I will be drawn back whether I choose to be or not."

Washington had planned to urge Nicholai to stay in Philadelphia, thinking that he had the kind of intelligence and insight needed in their government, but instead he only nodded. "I understand, Mr. Beauvisage. I wish you peace, whatever choice you make."

* * *

Nicholai and Lion rode slowly down High Street. The heart of town was quiet and they passed few people except for the watchmen who stood on the well-lit footpaths.

"How is your lovely wife?" inquired Nicholai after a long silence. "I understand she is expecting a baby."

"Yes." Lion's smile was thoughtful. "Meagan isn't quite herself these days, I'm afraid. She's had to curb her activities—a difficult order for a high-spirited girl who is used to being my full, visible, and vocal partner."

"Has she suffered any of the maladies common to women in her condition? I remember that when my mother was expecting Katya, we were never able to predict what she would say or do."

"You cannot imagine..." Lion sighed . "She cries, she pouts, she is alternately restless and lethargic. I feel as though I am living with a stranger."

"Well, I understand those symptoms fade away after the first few months, so take heart, my friend."

"I must confess, I haven't helped the situation much. Meagan begged me to take her to our country house, and after the president left for Mount Vernon, I resolved to leave the preoccupations of government behind and spend a few weeks alone with my wife."

"I can guess how that has turned out—since this business about the war in France has come up."

"With the Congress in recess, I could not avoid being drawn in. The devil of it is, I cannot confide in Meagan beyond the sketchiest explanations of what keeps me in Philadelphia. Thank God our relationship has such a solid base of trust."

They drew up before Nicholai's house and reined in the horses. Dismounting, Nicholai handed his borrowed horse over to Lion so that he might return it to his Pine Street stable.

"Cheer up, Lion! Tomorrow the cabinet will meet, and with luck, all will go well and you'll be free to confide in your wife."

"I hope you're right. For now, I must return this horse and ride for my villa. It's nearly midnight, which means I am seven hours past the time I said I would be home."

Nicholai laughed sympathetically. "Good night, Senator.
"

"Again, my thanks for meeting with the president."

With that, Lion nudged his red roan with his knee and they started off toward Pine Street, leading the other horse. Nicholai went into the house with a sleepy yawn. Shrugging out of his coat and loosening his cravat, he walked first to the study. Of course, Lisette was gone; it
was half-past eleven, after all, but what surprised Nicholai was the prickle of disappointment he felt. The fire had gone out; only a few reddish embers remained to cast their glow on the half-empty wineglass she had left behind.

Upstairs, his bedchamber was dark. When Oliver was at home, he lit a candle or two, turned back the counterpane, and placed a brass bed warmer beneath the quilts. The queer pang in Nicholai's chest intensified as he closed the door and undressed in darkness. For a moment, walking naked across to his bed, he wondered if loneliness caused his bleak mood. The thought was dismissed quickly... how could he be lonely when in truth he could scarcely snatch a moment of solitude?

After drawing the drapes to shut out stray moonbeams, he groped for the bed and slid beneath the cool silky sheets. He groaned, stretched, and burrowed into the down-filled pillow. It felt as though fingertips were on his back, skimming from lean-muscled buttocks to the hair that curled over his nape. A chill rushed up, then back down his spine.

There was another hand now, turning his face from the pillow. He could see nothing in the darkness. Full breasts touched his chest; a tongue flickered at his mouth; the fingers slid lower, sending a shock through Nicholai when they touched him intimately.

"Good God, Lisette! What's come over you? I cannot
believe
—"

"Believe what, Nicky darling? Don't you want to finish your thought?"

He had broken off at the sight of the shadow-blurred face next to his. Pale skin, the smudge of lashes, indistinct mouth—and hair much blacker than the night that served as its backdrop. Of course, the moment she spoke, his confusion was dispelled.

"Christ, Amelia, it's
you."
He sounded as though he'd been hit in the chest.

"I apologize, darling, for giving you such a fright. Silly of me not to realize there are any number of doxies who might be waiting in your bed this way! I'm such a vain creature."

"Amelia—"

"Oh, my, don't apologize! No doubt an occasional bruise is good for my ego."

He let out a harsh sigh and fell back on the pillow. Briefly, he'd been caught in a web of exquisite, torturous desire—but the instant he realized the true identity of his seductress, the sad emptiness swelled up again in his heart. Amelia was an expert at saying just the right thing to paint herself the victim and make him feel like the most coldhearted of beasts.

"What the devil are you up to? I thought you weren't going to be able to escape Clarence tonight."

"Well, I did!" She turned openly petulant. "I came over to surprise you—"

"Wait!" Nicholai's head jerked up; he tried to discern her expression. "Was there someone here when you arrived?"

"Why,
no
—in fact, I had to let myself in! You are so lax with those servants of yours, darling. They will lose all respect for you." The words came out in a flurry. "I would think you'd be so pleased I waited here all this time for you to come home. I had a long heavenly bath before supper..." She rubbed against him like a cat. "Do you smell the bergamot, darling? I've been begging for a vial of scent to surprise you. Here—just inhale—"

Nicholai's nerves were strung tight with frustration and a dozen other conflicting emotions. He was annoyed with Amelia, and angry with himself for being so galvanized by his yearning for Lisette... Now, as Amelia nuzzled his neck, then flicked her pointed tongue against his mouth, he wanted to shove her away. Yet a voiceless instinct suggested that, once she was ejected from his bed, his house, he would be left alone with no outlet for his aggravation.

Amelia moved so that her breast brushed Nicholai's lips, furious that he had not groaned in surrender. Suddenly, he pulled her down and proceeded to kiss and caress her bruisingly. She was shocked; Nicholai had always been so skillful and civilized in bed. As much as she adored this rough treatment, a tiny part of her was detached enough to realize that this was not love play. He was angry. It might as well be a weapon that he drove up into her with such force. Amelia cried out with mingled passion and alarm, trying not to wonder how that proud yellow-haired chit figured into Nicholai's mood.

* * *

Nearly a half mile northeast of Nicholai's house on Spruce Street, someone else was holding angry frustration in check. Lisette Hahn, veiled by wavering candlelight, sat alone in her tiny bedchamber above the CoffeeHouse. She pulled her brush through her tumbled curls with a vengeance.

Damn Nicholai Beauvisage! That conceited defiler of maidens! She would gladly carve out his lying tongue and serve it in tomorrow's stew! Amelia Purdy could go in as well—whole and dressed, for all she cared. How Lisette had longed to claw out her adulterous eyes tonight in Nicholai's study.... She seethed at the memory of Mrs. Purdy's brazen admission that
she
was Nicholai's mistress.

"He makes love to me until I think I shall die of rapture," Amelia had purred. "We have waited for tonight with such anticipation... Hadn't you better run on back to that CoffeeHouse? There must be
one
man out of all those dozens that frequent that
place who would do whatever it was you needed Nicky for."

Now, in her fury, Lisette could take a moment's satisfaction in the memory of her own flawless performance. She was certain her expression had betrayed no hint of the humiliation and outrage that made her ache inside. The epitome of frosty contempt, she had fixed her most intimidating stare on Amelia Purdy before replying.

"Don't imagine that you have frightened me away, madame... I've simply a low threshold for tasteless people and petty conversation." Aware of the elegant line of her slim neck, Lisette had held her head high as she swept past Nicholai's mistress. "Good evening."

As the memory crumbled, she stopped brushing her hair and restlessly crossed to the narrow window. A street lamp flickered over the cobbles of Front Street. Lisette pushed the casement open, arching her throat to accept the night breeze's caress.