Spring Fires (2 page)

March 17, 1793

Smoky-rose dawn light was filtering through the third story windows of Hahn's CoffeeHouse when Lisette Hahn paused to knock at her father's door.

"Papa? Are you awake?" Peeking inside, she saw Ernst Hahn sitting on the side of his bed, still clad in the banyan he'd slept in. He had once been tall and erect, with sandy hair and sensitive, determined features, but now all of him seemed to droop. "How are you feeling?"

"If only I could will myself back to health."

Lisette crossed the small room to stir the embers in the fireplace and pour water from an exquisite red-and-silver pitcher into a matching bowl. She came to sit beside him on the bed.

"Papa, whenever I see these, I think of Mama. I have a vivid memory of watching her pack them for our voyage from Austria to the Colonies. How excited she was!"

"You were very young, my dear. That was seventeen years ago!" His faded blue eyes brimmed with tears.

Neither wanted to reminisce further, for that had been her mother's last spring. Their ship had been attacked by an English brigantine and the family's money and treasures were lost. Lisette's distraught mother sickened with a fever and died before ever setting eyes on Philadelphia.

Penniless and grief-stricken, Ernst Hahn and his daughter had arrived alone in a foreign world. The long years since had been crammed with numbing work, but the fruits of their labor were visible in the CoffeeHouse they owned. Since Philadelphia's designation as America's capital in 1790, it had become an even greater success.

"I should go downstairs to the keeping room," Lisette said, searching his face. In the past, her father had been the one to roust her out of bed, but his health had begun to decline in recent months and now the responsibilities of running the CoffeeHouse had been transferred to her slender shoulders.

"I'm not much help to you,
liebling
. I'm sorry."

"Nonsense. It's my turn to help you," she declared, and kissed his cheek. "I'll have hot tea made soon."

With pride, Ernst Hahn watched his fair-haired, willowy daughter leave the room. As the years had passed, Lisette's beauty had blossomed apace with her skill as a cook. Because CoffeeHouses were cherished havens of male society, she was a sweet diversion, and her combination of charm and inaccessibility frustrated and tantalized her admirers. In an atmosphere where men bragged of their conquests, there was not one who dared claim to have sampled Mistress Hahn's tempting favors.

Downstairs, Lisette came into the huge sun-dappled keeping room and shook out a fresh apron. A long day of work lay ahead of her, but she was undaunted. Even if her father could only help her with his wisdom in the future, she was determined to keep the CoffeeHouse. It was a bold and unconventional plan for a woman, but no one understood how hard she had worked for this success.... and Lisette swore that she would never surrender any part of her life simply because she was a female.

* * *

North of Philadelphia off Germantown Road sprawled the grand estate known as Belle Maison. Its master and mistress came slowly awake as morning sunlight broke through an opening in their bedhangings.

Alexandre Beauvisage blinked against the glare and rolled in the opposite direction only to behold his wife. Caroline's honey-colored curls were spread across the pillow, haloing a face that was lovely but faintly annoyed. She wrinkled her nose and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut just as Alec slid muscular arms around her and pressed warm lips along the line of her throat.

"Mmm." Caro protested halfheartedly, and was answered by a low chuckle from her husband. As she fit herself to him, a hesitant knock sounded at the door.

"Papa?"

"Argh!" said Alec to his wife. She supressed a giggle as he shifted over to his own pillow. The door swung open to reveal two of their three children. Eight-year-old Etienne held the hand of five-year-old Natalya, whose tiny chin quivered warningly.

"What the dev—" Alec began testily, cut off by Caro's hand over his mouth.

"What's wrong, you two?" she inquired gently.

As a fat tear rolled down Natalya's plump cheek, Etienne explained, "It's my fault. I called Talya a name."

"P-p-potato face!" she supplied, then ran straight to her father, who cradled her close and glared at his stalwart son. The boy was his double, while Natalya resembled a tiny Caroline.

"Etienne, why would you say such a thing?"

"I'm truly sorry, Papa. She tore a page in one of my books and it just slipped out!"

"Oh, Alec," Caro interceded softly, "he's awfully good to admit it. Talya shouldn't be encouraged in these tantrums."

"The entire episode sounds ridiculous to me!" He patted his daughter's honey curls. "Henceforth, I expect you two to settle these matters between yourselves, and do not come crashing in on us at such an early hour!"

"Yes, sir," quavered Etienne.

"Don't call me sir!"

Talya giggled at this and slid off her father's lap. Her brother grinned in relief, caught her hand, and the two of them scampered off, closing the door as they ran.

"Children!" Alec growled.

"Charming, aren't they? Shall we lock them up somewhere?"

He grinned wickedly. "A brilliant idea! Can we do it this morning and go off alone?"

"I am going into Philadelphia to meet with Meagan Hampshire about the party."

"Party?" he echoed warily.

"The party we are giving for Philadelphia's newest senator, Lion Hampshire! Honestly, your memory. I spoke to you about this several times last week."

A finger touched her cheek and Caro glanced over as warm lips captured her own. Alec drew her intimately against him and she melted as their kiss deepened.

"M'sieur?" a voice queried beyond the door. "I have your coffee."

"Oh, for God's sake!" shouted Alec. "Go away!"

When Pierre replied, his French-accented voice was choked with embarrassment. "I beg your pardon, m'sieur! The children—they told me you and Madame were astir." The valet coughed, stalling. "I
do
have news of some importance..."

Grumbling, Alec returned to his pillow once again and readjusted the covers. "Come in, then!"

The impish, earnest little Frenchman did as he was bade, scurrying to the bed with a silver tray bearing a fragrant coffeepot and a plate stacked with cranberry muffins.

"Give us this earth-shattering news then!" Alec declared.

"They've killed the king. Louis the Sixteenth has been guillotined. The middle of January."

"Oh! Dear lord..." breathed Caro. "I pray that Nicholai is safe! Alec—?"

The scowl had vanished from her husband's face. His vivid eyes were focused at a point on the far wall, mirroring his shock and a growing tide of worry for his brother.

"Nicky's been living in France for a decade," he said at last. "He'll know how to fend for himself."

"Your parents have already been so worried. This will be a terrible shock for them!"

It was true. Frightening rumors had been crossing the Atlantic ever since the bloody revolution in France had begun. Even though Nicholai had been living not in Paris but in Touraine, they had all been concerned for him because the last male Beauvisage to inhabit the chateau, their grandfather, had been a marquis. Still, it had seemed impossible that any harm could befall the carefree, quick-witted, and charming Nicholai. He was a Beauvisage, after all!

"I can't pretend the king's murder doesn't make the situation even more horrifying," he whispered. "The entire country must be quite mad..." Alec blinked, suddenly conscious of the pressure of Caro's hand on his taut forearm. "It won't do any good for you to carry on about Nicky,
cherie.
You can take comfort in the fact that he is neither a royalist or an aristo, strictly speaking. If he keeps his wits about him, he'll emerge unscathed."

Caro nodded, but her expression remained pained and anxious. After all, Nicholai had been such a sweet and trusting boy, always more easygoing than Alec. All too human, she feared.

Chapter 2

March 17, 1793

The keeping room for Hahn's CoffeeHouse was located in
the rear of the large brick building. Lisette loved the long hours she spent there, for the room was buttery gold with firelight and rich with heavenly aromas and conversation.

Every inch of space seemed filled. There were rough-hewn shelves above the hearth crowded with stoneware, baskets, and assorted copper vessels. A medley of cooking tools hung on hooks, and fragrant bunches of herbs dangled from the beamed ceiling. Beyond the double doors sprawled the public room with its patchwork of heavy scarred tables and bow-back chairs, tin chandeliers, and two giant hearths. By mid-afternoon, the room would reverberate with animated masculine conversation.

Hyla Flowers, a woman of strength and raw charm, was in charge in that noisy "jungle," as Ernst Hahn called it. She had been a lady of the evening during the war, but after a bad experience with two Hessian mercenaries who had beaten and robbed her, Hyla had turned to more honest work. After fifteen years at the CoffeeHouse, she clucked like a possessive mother hen around Lisette. The two serving girls, sisters named Purity and Chastity, helped Lisette cook in the morning and filled orders for the rest of the day.

The cage-topped bar was the domain of James Stringfellow, an irrepressible and gregarious Englishman who had come to Philadelphia two years before with an acting company. One night he had stopped in the CoffeeHouse for a jug of ale and hadn't left since. His dark-haired, wiry good looks combined with an engaging smile and quick tongue to make him well loved and respected by all.

In the past, Ernst Hahn would have overseen all the workings of the CoffeeHouse but now he occupied his favorite comb-back chair near the kitchen hearth, pale hands clasped over the stomach that had once been generous and hearty.

A long sawbuck table, bleached, stained, and piled with vegetables, stood in the center of the room. Lisette labored over it perched on a rush stool, her curls tied up in a kerchief.

"Papa?" she ventured softly. "Perhaps you should take a short nap—"

"Please do not say those words. Do you wish that I should pull up my blanket and wait for my death?"

Horrified, she could only stare.
The expression on his dear face made her want to weep with anguish.

The rear door swept open, letting in a blast of cold, sunny air and a pretty dark-haired young lady. Katya Beauvisage crossed the wide-planked floor, bending to kiss Mr. Hahn's cheek, then reaching Lisette. At eighteen, Katya was the charming baby of the Beauvisage clan. She was keenly intelligent, and Lisette's closest friend since their school years.

"Randolph is in the public room," she confided, peeling off her dark blue pelisse and kid gloves before taking a stool. "He is having coffee with Lion Hampshire."

"The new senator has been here more and more often since his election," Lisette passed a knife and some carrots to Katya.

"That's not surprising. More politics is discussed here than in government sessions!"

"Is Randolph thinking of a new career?" Lisette teased. Katya had abandoned her books to become the lovesick fiancée of Randolph Edwards, a young attorney.

The two girls chatted on, but Katya was thinking of a conversation she and Randolph had shared while walking to the CoffeeHouse. He had remarked on Lisette's beauty but wondered
why
was she still unattached at the age of twenty-one? Was she peculiar?

Katya had denied and dodged, but the questions had reminded her anew of the heart-to-heart talk the two girls had shared that winter. After some probing questions from Katya, Lisette had finally confided the reason for her lack of interest in men: a broken heart.

At eighteen, she had been wooed by a dashing congressman from the South. Naive and romantic, she had spent long hours talking of books, politics, and far-off places with her new love, becoming so lovesick that she even neglected her duties at the CoffeeHouse. Lisette told of the nights she had lain awake, spinning fantasies of the future and dreaming about her sweetheart's kisses.

The dream had been shattered one spring evening when the congressman had taken her to his house on Vine Street. Supper had been prepared and Lisette drank more wine than usual, succumbing to his ardent advances.

"He stopped in the midst of unfastening my gown and confessed that he had a wife and two babies back home! I had been so certain! I trusted him, I thought I knew him, but the lesson was well taken. Listening to the men who come here, I've daily reaffirmed my conviction that most men are vain, shallow creatures. They put us under a spell that drains away all our spirit. I'll not be bewitched by any man, ever again!"

The married congressman had been defeated in the recent election and had returned to his family. Lisette's stubborn determination had not waned but was so well masked that she continued to captivate the CoffeeHouse patrons.

Glancing up, Katya found Lisette's beautiful eyes watching her. "Are you mooning over Randolph?" she asked playfully