Spring Fires (3 page)

She flushed. "No! Really, you say that as if you believe me rendered witless! Do not smile that way! I was thinking about Caroline, my sister-in-law. She and Meagan Hampshire stopped at our house today, and they plan to come here."

"Whatever for? Mrs. Hampshire cannot join her husband. Those men wouldn't allow even a senator's wife to intrude on their private refuge!"

"Caro wants to speak to you. I know you have had a busy few weeks, with President Washington's birthnight and inauguration festivities, so perhaps I should warn you... She is planning a party for Lion Hampshire and means to ask your help."

Lisette groaned good-naturedly. "Not another party!"

"Caro and Sacha are good friends of the Hampshires and feel they deserve a chance to shine."

"I do like Senator Hampshire—and I suppose one more party won't kill me, though I
may
go insane!"

They laughed together at this, then Lisette continued, "I have heard that Mrs. Hampshire is expecting a child."

"Yes! I understand it is due the end of August. Although, as delighted as Meagan must be, I'll wager she feels like a fish out of water. She is so full of energy, somehow I cannot see her as an expectant mother."

The back door swung open again as Chastity and Purity came in from the courtyard garden with a basket of fresh herbs. Lisette rose to check a kettle simmering over the fire.

"Pepper pot?" Katya guessed, inhaling appreciatively.

She nodded, turned the chopped vegetables into the pot, then went to fetch the ingredients for gallons of lemonade. Just then, Katya cried out.

"God's name! I almost forgot! Did you hear about the king of France?"

"Why—no! What is it?"

"Caro says he was guillotined! Of course, it happened more than two months ago, and heaven knows what has transpired since."

"Katya, isn't your brother living in France? Is he in danger?"

"Nicky lives in our ancestral chateau and controls a huge expanse of vineyards, so I suppose he is suspect. No one there is behaving very rationally—I mean, killing the king! So..."

"How old is your brother now?"

"Oh, let's see... thirty-two or more, I suppose. Goodness, that is hard to imagine. I was a little girl when he left, but I remember him as handsome and fun-loving.... I can't imagine he's changed very much. He must think they are simply
mad
over there."

"Well, aren't they?"

It was Caro, speaking from the doorway. At her side was Meagan Hampshire, who was already slipping out of her plum-colored pelisse, smiling to break the tension.

"I hope you don't mind this intrusion," she apologized, walking over to offer Lisette her hand. "I have heard such lovely things about you from everyone, including my husband. I'm Meagan Hampshire."

It was Lisette's first close look at this legendary beauty. Everyone knew the story of her aristocratic Virginia background and the masquerade she had practiced on Lion four years ago. Hoping to secure a seat in the first Congress, he had become betrothed to Priscilla, a southern girl of respected lineage who was also Meagan's friend. Since Meagan's parents had just died and she was about to be shipped off to an aunt, she posed as Priscilla's lady's maid and accompanied her to Philadelphia. Of course, Lion had fallen in love with Meagan instead! The shallow Priscilla had gone on to marry his villainous rival, Marcus Reems, but tragically died in childbirth at the age of nineteen.

Deciding that he loved Meagan better than politics, Lion had renounced his dream. In time, however, and encouraged by his wife, he had recently run for office and was now a new senator.

"I'm happy to meet you, Mrs. Hampshire." Lisette smiled. "I have heard a great deal about
you,
also! Senator Hampshire is a fine man."

Was it Lisette's imagination, or did Meagan's smile falter for an instant before she replied, "You must call me Meagan! My, but that pepper pot smells heavenly!"

"Her tortes are even better," hinted Caro, launching into a carefully prepared speech that built slowly into a plea for Lisette's help with the party.

"Ladies, I'll make as many tortes as you need, whatever kind you like. I am honored to do this for the senator."

Caro gave a happy cry and turned to Meagan, who tried to match her smile.

"I'm very thankful. I know Lion will be, too, and speaking of my husband—Lisette, might you coax him away from the men? I need a moment of his time."

Lisette nodded cheerfully, slipping off of her stool. She untied the kerchief and Meagan watched as long curls spilled down her back. Off came the apron, revealing her lovely figure. Meagan swallowed, feeling the swollen abdomen that made her stylish gowns fit tighter by the day.

While Caro and Meagan chatted politely with Mr. Hahn, Katya started to make the lemonade. Soon, the door to the public room opened to reveal Lion Hampshire, laughing down at Lisette. Meagan paled as she observed her dazzling husband. At thirty-seven, he was in his prime: tall, hard, and tanned, with tawny hair and an easy white grin.

Lion went to his wife. "What do you require of me?" he asked lightly, bending to kiss her glossy black curls.

"I thought you might be able to come out to an inn for luncheon with me," she whispered. "The sun is shining, and it seems so long since we just walked together...."

"There's nothing I would like better, but I have responsibilities now! I'm meeting today with several important gentlemen. You
do understand, don't you?"

Meagan was looking past him to Lisette, who had returned to her duties. "Will you be home for supper? Please
,
Lion!"

"Of course. I will see you in a few hours." He ran a dark finger along her chin and smiled before turning toward the public room. Meagan sadly watched him pause to taste the lemonade, laughing with Lisette the way he used to laugh with
her
.

Chapter 3

March 25, 1793

It was a beautiful, clear starlit evening at Belle Maison. Caro and Meagan dressed for the party upstairs before joining their husbands in the library. The strains of music drifted up to greet them as the two couples descended the wide staircase together.

Caro, lovely in cream satin embroidered with seed pearls, was relieved to see Pierre DuBois hurrying toward them from the dining room.

"Madame, I have delivered Lisette Hahn to the kitchen building," he informed her, "And–"

"Oh, thank goodness! I'd begun to fear that you'd had a carriage accident."

"There is a reason we were late. Her father has taken a turn for the worse and she was reluctant to leave him. But, because she had given you her word, she did come, and she is making the tortes. I promised to bring them over to the main house when they are done."

"I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Hahn! Lisette really didn't need to come; we certainly would have understood. Pierre, you'll tell her, won't you? I was going to invite her to join us, but I can't imagine that she would care to do so..."

Alec wandered closer to capture his wife. "Caro, are you ready?"

Servants were posted in Belle Maison's entryway to greet the guests and take their wraps before they proceeded into the stairhall to greet the host, hostess, and the guests of honor.

Among the first to arrive were Alec's parents. The dashing Frenchman's Russian bride had come to him as pirate's plunder over forty years ago. Although their love remained deep, their life was quieter now. With the latest dark developments in France, both Jean-Philippe and Antonia seemed to move under a cloud of worry.

Caro kissed them and asked, "Is there news?"

"We have no word of Nicky," her mother-in-law replied. "I can think of little else."

They went on into the brightly lit parlor just as William Bingham entered with his beautiful wife Anne, who was known as "Queen of the Republican Court" now that Philadelphia was America's capital.

"I hope you do not mind that I brought a guest?" Anne inquired a trifle haughtily, pulling forward a pale, birdlike girl. "This is my cousin, Ophelia Corkstall, who is visiting us from England. Ophelia, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Beauvisage and Senator and Mrs. Hampshire."

The girl tittered nervously before offering her hand. She stared, first at the dark, rakish Alec and then at the dazzling new senator.

"Ah, here is Samuel Powel," murmured Alec with relief, turning to greet Philadelphia's mayor and his wife. The Powels were followed by President and Mrs. Washington, a fact duly noted by Meagan and Caro. Gossip was thick concerning the close friendship between the coquettish Eliza Powel and the aging president. No one cared to suggest they were lovers, but they enjoyed each other's company to an unseemly degree.

Musicians were tuning up and people milled about, spilling into the south parlor and the huge dining room where food was already being arranged. As the late arrivals tapered off, Alec and Caro took the Hampshires to join the party. When they appeared in the parlor, the musicians began to play and the harmonious mixture of harpsichord, violins, flute, and harp set the tone for the lighthearted evening ahead.

* * *

Belle Maison's kitchen was large, occupying its own building behind the main house. All evening, the wooden floor had been tapped like a drum by the feet of dozens of servants who carried the meticulously prepared dishes over to the house. A mammoth fieldstone hearth spanned one wall and Lisette sat at a nearby table to do her work.

Surveying the seemingly endless cake layers and filling bowls, she sighed heavily and pushed back her unbound golden hair. Mixing and baking the tortes had taken hours and now she struggled to assemble them into beautiful desserts. She was exhausted and sick with worry for her father. What a terrible night it was!

The last of the servants had disappeared into the house. Lisette sat alone in the kitchen, suffused with a melancholy that stole through her body in uneasy waves.

Music and laughter drifted back from the house and each window was ablaze with candlelight. Looking down at her simple sky-blue frock and the full-length white apron that covered it, Lisette wondered what the elegant women guests were wearing tonight. Were their upswept curls studded with jewels? Did they smell of jasmine or gardenias?

Wearily, she pushed loose tendrils from her brow, set down the wooden frosting spoon, and closed her eyes. Images flickered through her mind of the richly garbed people dancing, laughing, and chatting with witty sophistication.

I don't envy them,
she reminded herself,
but tonight... it
would
be nice to feel beautiful, to be free of worry and responsibility, to feel alive... even to be in love.

The last thought was so out of character that she smiled at herself and what she decided must be utter fatigued. She opened her eyes, blinked in disbelief, then took a second look.

A strange man stood in the doorway. Actually, he leaned indolently against the frame, regarding her with emerald-green eyes that sparkled like real jewels.

Lisette's heart quickened. The stranger could not be a guest, for he wore a soft leather coat over a casual dirt-streaked shirt, fawn breeches, and riding boots that were mud-spattered. His face and hands were deeply tanned, dark hair curled where his shirt was open at the neck, and his flashing smile was as rakish as a pirate's.

"Bonsoir,
mademoiselle," he said in a husky voice that unaccountably sent a delicious shiver down her back.

"Are you employed here, sir?"

He seemed to find this question highly amusing. "No, I am not."

She wondered with a start if he was a highwayman or a criminal. Perhaps he meant to rob the guests at Belle Maison of their valuables—he might even do her physical harm.

"I must insist that you tell me who you are," she commanded, "and why you are here!"

Slowly, with graceful strength, he crossed the kitchen's planked floor. In the firelight, Lisette could see that his hair was a dark chestnut color. It was not queued, but cut into ruffled layers that grew away from his face and curled negligently over his collar. There was a long fresh gash across one dark cheek. In spite of the dusty condition of his clothing, she realized that the man beneath was relatively clean. Tall, lean, and muscular, he smelled appealingly of salt water, horses, and night air.

To her surprise, the stranger reached out to catch her flour-smudged hand, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that startled her by its sensuousness.

"Nicholai Beauvisage, at your service, mademoiselle," he said with wry jauntiness.

Lisette was stunned as she tried to absorb this news.
"Nicholai Beauvisage?"
she echoed. "I—but—why, I don't believe you!"

"You don't?" Both eyebrows flew up. "I am devastated to hear you say so. And, now that we have that matter settled, I believe it is
my turn to insist that
you
identify yourself."

Seated, Lisette felt at a disadvantage. The man towered over her, seeming to mock her somehow, so she wiped her hands on her apron and stood up. It was disconcerting to find herself only even with his wide shoulders.