The Courier of Caswell Hall (22 page)

“He is looking this way,” the woman next to her whispered.

When Sarah looked up again, Grayson’s eyes found hers. And locked on them.

Then the governor was beside him, and Grayson turned away to shake the man’s hand.

Sarah lifted her skirt. She must leave here before someone introduced them. Others might be able to hide their feelings, but she could not.

Major Reed raged behind Lord Caswell’s desk, his face the same powder-white color as his wig. Three officers faced him, and the major’s fury silenced them along with the entire Caswell family. Not even Hannah spoke.

His men had knocked on their chamber doors in the middle of the night, demanding that the family join the major in the library. Standing in her robe and nightcap, Lydia felt exposed, but she was more worried that the men would expose what she had done. If they found out she was the one who sent the message about the Patriots’ supplies, they would hang her and perhaps her entire family.

The major’s gaze wandered out the window to the night, as if someone might be listening to their conversation from outside. Then his eyes snapped back to her father. “Do any of your slaves sympathize with the rebels?”

“Of course not,” Father insisted.

The major’s hand slammed into his fist. “Someone talked.”

His eyes searched each face in the room, stopping on Lydia.

“Talked about what?” she asked, widening her eyes in feigned distress.

He and his officers scrutinized her and her family members as he explained that the rebel supplies were no longer at the shipyard.

Father stepped forward. “No one in this family has any contact with rebels.”

“I do not suspect your family,” Major Reed said. “But one of your slaves—”

“Our Negroes have had no opportunity to speak with rebels.” Father was clearly angry at the accusations. “No one leaves this plantation unless they are traveling with me or my family, and we have not gone anywhere since we attended church services last Sunday.”

Major Reed sat in a chair. “I know you are loyal, Charles.”

“You’re damned right, I am.”

“Is there anyone else—?”

“Everyone in my household is as loyal to Britain as King George himself.”

Major Reed studied him for a long moment before he spoke. “One of my men must have discussed our raid outside this house.”

Father bowed his head slightly. “I would not accuse anyone.”

He stood. “Leave my job to me, Charles. I do not tolerate treason.”

The major’s eyes rested on Lydia again. She felt as if she were about to melt from the heat of his gaze, but she didn’t falter. “As you should not,” she said.

“I will find the traitor among us,” he declared. And then he departed the room.

She sank into a chair, pleased that Nathan had received her message in time to save the ammunition and food of the Patriots. It was one thing to deliver information to save her family—and quite another to enjoy its success.

Had she become a rebel in her heart as well as a traitor?

Major Reed would probably be more cautious with his discussions at the house.

And she would have to be more cautious, as well, about distributing the information.

It took the entire night for the shipyard to burn.

When the King’s Men discovered that the rebel supplies had been moved, they retaliated by burning the whole place down. Hidden behind a tree, Nathan had watched them light piles of wood, the wharf, and the deck of an abandoned ship.

The ships docked here would never again travel up the river. Not that the Continental Army could win the war with these ships, but their privateers or French allies could have used them. Though now that the Tories held Charles Towne and Norfolk and New York, even the French ships had trouble penetrating the British lines.

His uncle must arrive soon, or the rest of Virginia would be taken as well.

He sank into the river, the cool water cleansing him. It was much nicer to take a swim here in the summer.

The ships might be gone, but thankfully Lydia had saved the ammunition and other supplies for their army. He would have to find General Washington and his men soon to tell them about the supplies, but before he left, he must pay Lydia one more visit.

He massaged his temples. It would be dangerous to speak with her again, and he didn’t want any harm to come to Lydia or her family. Yet if they lost the war now, terrible harm might come to her. He wanted to see her again—he couldn’t deny it—but he would never put her at personal risk because of his selfish desires.

It would be the last time they would meet. From now on, she would be well-prepared to carry on her work without ever seeing him again.

Sarah had hardly slept. She’d promised herself she would never run again, and yet she had done it last night. Instead of remaining strong and composed, she’d fled from the ball.

Over the past four years, she’d often thought Grayson might be injured or deceased, or that he had sent letters that never arrived. But he was here in Philadelphia, healthy and well, not bothering to write or return home to visit her.

Grayson had surely seen her just as she had seen him, and yet he hadn’t offered even the simplest of greetings. The unmarried women likely spent the evening fawning over him, and how could he not enjoy the attention? He had probably been glad to see her run away.

At first, Aunt Emeline had tried to coax her back into the ball, but when she saw Sarah’s tears and disheveled hair, she went to offer their apologies for leaving early.

It was the last ball Sarah would attend in Philadelphia.

At half past seven in the morning, Aunt Emeline knocked on her chamber door before she slipped inside. “Louisa will bring breakfast to your room.”

Sarah nodded.

Clutching the pearl handle of her lorgnette, Aunt Emeline studied Sarah’s face. “You still look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I believe I have.”

Aunt Emeline sat on the window seat. “Pray tell?”

“Why hadn’t you told me Grayson Caswell was in town?”

Aunt Emeline looked concerned. “Who is Grayson Caswell?”

“The man who came late to the ball.” The man who’d made her run.

Her aunt’s eyebrows rose in question. “You mean Porter?”

Her head throbbed. “I do not know who I mean.”

“I did not realize you might know him.”

“He was my neighbor back in Virginia.” She swallowed. “Was he the pirate—the privateer—you were discussing?”

“Aye.” Her aunt paused. “Were the ladies as fond of him in Virginia?”

Her heart ached. “I do not know.”

“Excuse me, miss.” Louisa stood at the open door. “There’s a gentleman to see you this morning.”

“A gentleman?” Aunt Emeline exclaimed from behind Sarah. “Why on earth would a gentleman come calling at this hour?”

The maid shrugged. “He said his business with Miss Hammond was urgent.”

Sarah’s heart began to race. Had Grayson come for her after all? She threw back the covers from the bed.

“Please tell the gentleman that he may call at a more respectable hour,” her aunt said with a wave of her lorgnette.

“Aunt Em—”

“Assuming, of course, that you would still like him to call.”

Mist clouded Sarah’s eyes. “I believe so.”

“Good.” Her aunt turned back to Louisa. “Please tell him that we will be available at ten o’clock and he had better not be late. Miss Hammond has a very busy social calendar.”

Sarah managed a smile at her great-aunt, praying Aunt Emeline was right and Grayson returned. She ate a few bites of toast and drank two cups of coffee before Louisa helped her bathe.

Perhaps Grayson thought of her as a younger sister, a dear old friend. If he did, she would tell him that her sudden departure last night had been due to illness. All her letters to him had been lost in the fire. No one else knew what she had guarded in her heart.

At a quarter to ten, Louisa sprayed perfume on the front of Sarah’s pearl-and-dark-blue gown. Red had been Grayson’s favorite color, but even if she owned a red gown, she wouldn’t cater to him as the rest of
the unmarried women in the city seemed to do. He already knew almost everything about her. The only secret between them was her love.

She glanced again at the tall pendulum clock beside the window. What would she do if he didn’t come?

Minutes later the bell rang below, and her heart leaped. Louisa poured her a glass of water from the pitcher, and she took a long sip as she waited for Aunt Emeline to summon her.

When her great-aunt stepped into her chamber, she looked as smug as a lioness who had captured her prey. “Your friend has returned.”

Sarah stepped toward the doorway but then stopped. She had always known what to write, but after all these years, she had no idea what she would say to him.

“He wants to see you, Sarah,” Aunt Emeline prodded her. “There is no reason for concern.”

How could she not be concerned?

She shadowed her aunt to the parlor, and Aunt Emeline welcomed the man she called Porter to their house. Then she excused herself, leaving the door partially open behind her.

Sarah stared at the man standing in front of her, at his tanned face and dark hair tied neatly behind his neck. He’d matured since he left Caswell Hall, his rugged features even more handsome, his shoulders broader. No wonder the women in Philadelphia swooned. There were so many questions she wanted to ask of him, but she wasn’t certain she was prepared for his answers.

He tried to smile at her, but his lips shook slightly. Gone was the confidence he’d displayed last night as he paraded into the dance. He looked more like a nervous boy who had stolen something from her.

He took a step toward her. “I did not know you were in Philadelphia.”

She wanted to run again as she had last night, but she remained. He mustn’t discover the feelings she had for him. “I did not know you were here either.”

“I have not been here long.”

“Your family and I—we all thought you were dead.”

He nodded. “It was better that way.”

How could he say it was better? “You were—They imprisoned you for talking out against freedom.”

He shook his head. “I never spoke out against freedom, only the route proposed to obtain it.”

She clutched the table, trying to understand. Grayson was supposed to be a Loyalist like his family. Like her father. “But after your grandfather was killed, you said—”

His blue eyes clouded. “Those men who killed him were as tyrannical as King George.”

As tyrannical as King George?
When had he changed his views?

“I wish you would have told me what you thought.” Her words spilled out. “I wish you would have said good-bye.”

“I regretted it every day I was gone, but I could not place my family in jeopardy.” He stepped toward her. “Please tell me about them.”

She slowly released the table. “They are well enough in this war. Your parents have never given up hope that you are alive.”

He paced toward the window and then looked back at her. “Do they remain loyal to the king?”

“Immensely.”

“You see why I could not return.”

“I see why you could not return to
them
.”

He stopped. “I could not place you in jeopardy either.”

Was it possible he did care for her?

She joined him near the window, smiling in spite of herself. If only he knew how much jeopardy she’d placed herself into. Even as she wanted to keep her feelings walled up inside her, those walls were beginning to crumble. “You think you know me, Grayson, but you know nothing about me.”

His smile returned to reflect hers. “I would like to learn.” He reached out, taking one of her hands, and his touch sent a tremor coursing through her. Had he felt it as well?

His eyes met hers, and she saw the questioning in them. If only she could fall into his arms.

But she must force herself to remain the slightest bit aloof, at least until she found out where he had been and whether he felt as deeply for
her as she felt for him. She refused to be one of the women of Philadelphia who longed for a man who didn’t love her in return.

She stepped away, and his smile dropped.