Spring Fires (33 page)

O, never say that I was false of heart,

Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.

As easy might I from myself depart

As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie...

For nothing this wide universe I call,

Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

SHAKESPEARE

Chapter 29

May 10, 1793

Descending his elliptical staircase, Nicholai breathed deeply
of the sun-drenched spring air that filled the house. His lean fingers rose to touch the breast pocket of his coat, where a long cream-colored envelope reposed.

"Good morning, Master Beauvisage," Oliver said smoothly from the vestibule. Tall and imposing, he was a butler who concealed knowledge of every aspect of the house behind an impassive facade.

"Good morning, Oliver." He smiled, and added for the five-dozenth time, "I wish that you would not address me as master."

Oliver tried to repress a grin. "Yes, sir."
He stood at the entrance to the elegant dining room. "Your breakfast is ready, sir."

"I'll just have coffee," Nicholai wished he could leave the house without stopping. He found it rather embarrassing to have servants existing for his pleasure, and still hadn't learned to dismiss whatever efforts they made on his behalf. Pausing at the table, Nicholai lifted the cup of steaming coffee just as Welcome appeared in the corner doorway with a tray of fragrant croissants, eggs, and a wedge of melon.

"Oh, no!" he protested. "I appreciate all your efforts, but I have an errand to run—as soon as possible." Extracting a watch from his waistcoat pocket, he checked the time and whistled softly. "It is nearly ten o'clock! I've grown soft, my dear Welcome, and I'm counting on you to do something about it. You share that breakfast with Oliver and your lovely daughters and consider what measures should be taken to expel me from my bed at a more respectable hour."

At the front door, Nicholai paused to face the ever-faithful Oliver.

"Are you sure your shoulder will be all right, sir?" asked the butler.

"You know, I can hardly feel it today. This is the first time I have worn a complete set of clothes in more than a fortnight!"

Oliver allowed himself a broad affectionate grin as he appraised his employer. Beauvisage was clad in knee boots and buff breeches, a cream-colored shirt and crisp muslin stock, and a double-breasted moss green coat cut away at the waist. Just yesterday, the barber had visited the house, apparently at the instigation of Antonia Beauvisage, and now Nicholai's hair was trimmed into somewhat neater ruffled negligence.

"Sir," Oliver said sincerely, "you look splendid. Very handsome, if you don't mind me saying so."

Nicholai's face lit up, a mixture of amusement and delight. "Really? Do you think so?"

Somehow, Oliver sensed the reason for his master's relieved pleasure. "Mas—that is,
Mr.
Beauvisage, I don't think that any female alive could possibly resist your charms today."

"Thank you, Oliver!" He shook the butler's mahogany brown hand. "You are expert at bestowing compliments... and today, I need every ounce of encouragement."

"Well, sir, I could summon
much
more if you seriously—"

Nicholai choked on real laughter and opened the arched front door. "I think that will suffice."

After a fortnight of bed rest, Nicholai welcomed the chaos of Philadelphia on market day. Spruce Street teemed with carriages, farm wagons, phaetons, sulkies, and chaises; the dust and clatter from their wheels clouded the air. He walked briskly toward the Delaware River that shimmered in the distance, feeling the stiffness stretching out of his thigh muscles with every step. Under the sunshine and clear blue sky, he found it difficult to worry about the encounter he would soon pursue with Lisette Hahn, that most unpredictable and enchanting of ladies....

"Good morning, Mr. Beauvisage!" chorused sweet feminine voices.

Nicholai looked over to find a chaise containing the young Misses Oswald and Chew slowing near the footpath. He gave them a rakish smile and sketched a bow in their direction. "You ladies are looking especially lovely today."

"It is wonderful to see you up and about, Mr. Beauvisage!" exclaimed Miss Chew. "You'll never know how everyone has worried!"

"I am grateful for your concern, ladies. Your visits during my convalescence raised my spirits more than you can imagine."

"We don't want to keep you," Miss Oswald colored prettily before adding, "Will you be able to attend the receptions for Citizen Genet when he arrives next week?"

"Will you ladies be present?" It was fortunate that they were several yards away in their chaise, so that they couldn't see the mocking gleam in his green eyes.

"Perhaps!" Miss Chew dared to reply.

"In that case, I will look for you there.
Au revoir
."

They bade him a tittering farewell and the chaise rolled off in the opposite direction, leaving Nicholai to shake his head in relief. What a pleasure it would be to see Lisette! Her unadorned beauty, guileless manner, and clear-witted conversation would be a splendid treat.

The misunderstanding and rash anger that had marred their parting at Markwood Villa had eaten at him. He had brooded for the past three days, trying to make sense of Lisette's actions—and his own. The words
if only
seemed to begin all of his thoughts. He blamed himself for the stupid way he had allowed his passion to override concern for her feelings that last morning in bed. After all the care he had taken to be patient in winning Lisette's love, he had undone her trust at the first opportunity! Then, if only his mother hadn't chosen that particular hour to visit—and that particular conversation to have with him when he and Lisette were quarreling.... Of course, Lisette had contributed to the tangle herself with that incomprehensible announcement about returning to the CoffeeHouse.

Nicholai had too much faith that their love was genuine to worry that it might be damaged beyond repair. He had decided to take Antonia's advice. He would court Lisette slowly, taking his time to win her complete trust. Together they would build a relationship with a solid foundation that would withstand any test. The thought of going through life with Lisette filled him with a euphoric warmth and buoyed his spirits.

"Why, Nicholai, hello!"

Nicholai blinked at the sound of a familiar voice. A hand touched his arm; it was Mary Armstrong, smiling up at him, her blond curls framed by a pert chip-straw bonnet.

"Mary! It's wonderful to see you." They embraced briefly. She still smelled of roses, and Nicholai felt a momentary pang at the memories her scent evoked. "How have you been? Truly, time has improved on your loveliness, Mary."

The tender expression in his eyes made her want to weep. How handsome he looked! Putting a hand up to Nicholai's lean tanned cheek, she murmured, "I heard about your duel with Marcus Reems. I've been praying for you, and I would have come to see you but I was afraid that Timothy wouldn't understand. He knows how much I once cared for you... and I think he has been rather worried ever since you returned to Philadelphia."

"I am fine now, thanks to the care I was given by Lisette Hahn. Do you know her?"

"Well—yes!" Mary realized instantly that Nicholai felt for Lisette Hahn what he had never felt for her. Tears stung her eyes. "Are you on your way to see her now?"

Nicholai laughed when he saw that they were standing less than a dozen feet from the CoffeeHouse; he had been so engrossed in thought that he might have passed it completely if not for Mary. "As a matter of fact, I am. I've a letter to deliver to her that she apparently left at Markwood Villa by mistake."

"I see. She must be an extraordinary woman." She felt a bittersweet pang. "I am sorry that I don't know Mistress Hahn better."

He glanced back down at her sweet face. "I will make a point of properly introducing the two of you one day." Nicholai cupped her small chin in his hand. "You are quite extraordinary yourself, you know. Our lives have changed, but all that we shared remains alive in our memories."

Mary couldn't breathe. She tried to suppress her tears, but her eyes filled instantly. "Oh—Nicky... I—" Helplessly, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

"You mustn't cry, sweetheart! What if Timothy should discover us?" Smiling, Nicholai ignored the people who passed on either side of them and bent to gently kiss the salty tears from her cheeks. "I still care, Mary. I'm so sorry if I hurt you."

Smiling bravely, she insisted, "I am just feeling sentimental. Don't imagine that I am pining for you still, because the truth is that my marriage to Timothy is very happy. We have so much in common—and we are best friends. Honestly, I am blessed."

Meanwhile, in the public room of the CoffeeHouse, Lisette Hahn stood behind the twelve-on-twelve paned window that faced Spruce Street. A dusting cloth hung limply from her hand as she watched Nicholai kissing tears from Mary Barcroft's face. In a corner of her memory, she remembered a story that Katya had told her long ago about Nicholai and the sweetheart of his youth. As she recalled, Mary had loved him so that she waited for years, hoping for his return from France, before she finally surrendered and married Timothy Barcroft.

Lisette sighed, turning away from the sight of Nicholai kissing the petite blonde's hand. What a fool she had been to have imagined that such a man could feel differently about someone like her when there were so many other females waiting in the wings!

Her heart ached, as it had for the past three days. Sometimes, when the pain worsened and hot tears burned her eyes and cheeks, she imagined that she might be dying. Never had she known such agony. With all her might, she tried not to think of him, but the memories crept back all the same. Last night, Lisette had lain in bed, wide awake, while the afternoon they shared in the garden when she had begun to paint Nicholai's portrait unfolded once again in her mind. Each stirring kiss, each heady sip of wine, each one of his magical smiles came back to torment her....

"Honey!" cried Hyla Flowers, "I don't know what to do with you! I thought you'd perk right up when you got back to work here, but I'm beginning to wonder if you ain't sick." She put a plump arm around the girl and led her back into the keeping room. "Come on now and sit down here. Why don't I fix you a cup of tea? I can make tea that'd cure anything!"

Lisette smiled weakly. "That would be nice. I'll finish these pies for you."

Perched on her usual rush stool at the worktable, Lisette rolled dough to make top crusts for the delicious-looking turkey pies. She couldn't say that work was a pleasure but it did help to distract her from her heartache. As for the CoffeeHouse, it had changed and so had she. Bramble, the grouchy cook on loan from the Hampshires, had taken charge of the menu planning and execution that had always been Lisette's domain. It was clear that Bramble wanted to remain here until the Hampshires returned in the fall, but Lisette knew the two of them could never coexist for that long.

Meanwhile, Hyla was nursing a broken heart of her own and had been drinking heavily since Lisette's return. Pierre, the French valet from Belle Maison, who was considerably smaller than Hyla, had caused the flamboyant woman to fall desperately in love. According to Stringfellow, Pierre had enjoyed her attentions while he was there, but the day that Lisette returned he departed immediately for Belle Maison and hadn't been seen since.

"Men!" Hyla was declaring now as she placed a steaming mug before Lisette. "They're all alike. If you'd asked me, honey, I coulda told you. Never trust 'em; they'll only hurt you in the end."

Lisette finished crimping the edges of one piecrust and wiped her hands on her cotton apron. "Live and learn, hmm?" she replied archly.

Hyla was too busy gulping down her own tea to respond, but she did watch as Lisette lifted her cup and gingerly tasted the contents. "Whew! What did you put in here? You must have given me the wrong cup!"

"No, it's the right one. I made 'em the same. Good for what ails you—a bit of sugar and lemon and a driblet of the darkest rum." Beaming, Hyla drained her own mug and contentedly licked rouged lips.

Lisette took another sip, welcoming the warming sensation that seemed to ease the tight ache that made breathing so difficult. "A driblet?" she repeated, smiling indulgently. "More like a
deluge,
I think!"

"It's put the roses back in your cheeks, my darling. I even see some sparkle in your eyes again."

"In that case, I don't suppose that your 'cure' does any harm—just this once!" She finished another pie and slid it in Hyla's direction. "Why don't you put these in the oven now, then see to the tables? It will be noon before we know it."

The older woman gazed regretfully into her empty cup, then sighed. She had just deposited three pies in the top oven and was halfway to the door when it opened from the other side, causing her to gasp and lurch back against the table.

"I don't think that tea agrees with you, Hyla," Lisette remarked as she frowned at the hole her finger had put through the dough when the table quaked. "Next you'll be dropping trays if someone exclaims unexpectedly."