by Joan Hohl
“Dear, dear Aunt Caroline,” Alycia whispered, leaning forward to embrace the older woman. “You ease my pain simply by breathing. Thank you for being alive.”
What might have turned into a teary-eyed scene was brought to an abrupt end by Patrick’s appearance in the dining room. At his heels bustled a small, heavyset older woman with a pug nose and a mouth that tended to twist to one side. In one hand she held a cup, in the other a pitcher of water. The woman was introduced to Alycia as Christiana Campbell, the owner of the tavern.
Having determined to set Caroline’s anxiety to rest, Alycia drank a few swallows of the refreshingly cool water and pretended to have an amazing recovery. Claiming she was starving, she politely requested lunch. Mrs. Campbell immediately hustled the trio to the solitary table that stood by the window in the small room.
Allowing Patrick the gentleman’s prerogative of ordering for the ladies, Alycia was at first leery, then pleasantly surprised by his choice. He ordered salmagundi, which didn’t sound especially appetizing but proved to be a delicious combination of mixed salad greens with Virginia ham, some type of fowl, hard-cooked eggs, pickled gherkins, celery hearts, and anchovies, with an oil and vinegar dressing. And although she hadn’t felt the least bit hungry, Alycia amazed herself by finishing not only her salmagundi but also the warm apple turnover with nutmeg sauce, which Patrick insisted on ordering for dessert.
Throughout the meal, while occasionally joining in the light general conversation, Alycia surreptitiously studied Patrick, noting the many similarities and few differences between him and Sean. Both men were of an equal height of some four inches above six feet. The facial features of both were strong and sharply defined. Their eyes were the same shade of blue and danced with the same dry humor. This man’s broad shoulders, slender waist, and well-shaped legs were too similar to Sean’s to be believed.
The differences were minimal. Patrick’s hair was a shade darker than Sean’s, more auburn than russet. His face was an edge more rugged. His body was more slender, with the whipcord leanness of a military man. He was a product of his time, a combination of old world elegance and frontier rawness; Sean was also a product of his own time, a combination of ageless intelligence and twentieth-century sophistication.
A small smile teased Alycia’s lips, and she hid it behind her teacup as she slid her gaze over his body, noting the most obvious difference between the two men. Though she felt certain that, like Sean, Patrick could dress with the best in sartorial splendor, he appeared as comfortable in the buff-colored long and belted buckskin jacket and breeches of the Virginia Rangers as Sean did in tight jeans and a long cable-knit pullover.
Growing introspective, Alycia turned to gaze through the window. It was at once apparent that the small dining room was located on the second story of the establishment, facing the pathway to the capitol. The path was crowded with people coming and going, gathered in pairs and groups, conversing, laughing. The road was congested with carriages, wagons, and solitary horsemen. To Alycia, the scene was like a Hollywood version of a Colonial setting of the Revolutionary War period, with fine detail accorded to the costuming.
It all seemed so unreal, and for a tiny moment Alycia convinced herself that it was indeed make-believe. The low sound of Patrick’s laughter, and his phrasing as he responded to what had obviously been a sally from Caroline, brought reality crashing over Alycia. Pulling herself together, she forced her attention to the sound of Caroline’s voice issuing a gracious invitation to the man.
“It grieves me to think of you rattling around in that large house on your own, now that your dear father is gone. We would be most honored to have your company at the plantation for the duration of your leave.”
Leave? Alycia glanced sharply at Patrick. But of course the man was on military leave, she chided herself. Hadn’t Caroline proudly informed her that he was a major in the Virginia Rangers? Alycia held her breath as she waited for his reply. She didn’t have to hold her breath very long. Patrick swept a swift but encompassing glance over Alycia before turning his head to smile at Caroline.
Displaying a litheness and grace of movement that spoke silently but eloquently of years spent in glittering ballrooms, and even more years spent noiselessly blazing forest trails, he rose to his feet and, stepping back, made Caroline a low, sweeping bow.
“And I will be most honored to accept the company of two such lovely ladies.”
* * *
Chapter 9
Lettie fell into step behind Alycia as she stepped onto the pathway in front of the tavern. Turning slightly, she frowned at the tall woman.
“Have you eaten?” Alycia asked suspiciously.
“A most excellent luncheon.” Lettie’s dark eyes glowed with affection. “For which I most humbly thank you, mistress.”
Realizing she’d be faced with shocked gasps and stares of disbelief should she request Lettie’s presence at the luncheon table, but determined her friend should eat as well as any of the other patrons, Alycia had quietly but firmly instructed Mrs. Campbell to serve Lettie any dish she wished from the midday bill of fare.
“My desire was to see you fed,” Alycia murmured, her lips twitching with amusement. “Not humbled.”
“I know.” Lettie’s full lips reflected Alycia’s amusement. “And that is why—” She got no further, for at that moment Caroline called to them to stop lollygagging and enter the carriage.
Standing in the road, Patrick was handing Caroline into the carriage when Alycia and Lettie hurried to his side. He turned to gaze at Alycia from hooded eyes as she came to a breathless halt.
“Mistress Alice,” he said with the correct degree of politeness, which didn’t quite conceal an undertone of masculine interest “If you will allow me?” He offered her a soft smile and a strong hand.
Alycia placed her palm against his and was immediately transported forward, into the apartment she had shared with Karla and Andrea, and into the arms of a man who looked like Patrick. Her palm tingling, helpless against the emotions running close to the surface, Alycia gazed into new but familiar blue eyes and felt her bones begin to melt. In that instant, she knew she could well lose her heart to a Virginia Ranger.
Patrick sensed at least something of her feelings. He revealed his knowledge by the sudden flare of awareness in his eyes, the stillness that held him motionless for a heartbeat in time, and the gentle tightening of his fingers around hers. And then, by necessity, the moment was over and he gallantly handed her into the coach.
Possibly due to Alycia’s bemused state, the ride back to the plantation seemed to require much less time than the earlier drive into the town. Her bemusement fractured into near panic when, as they entered the beautiful paneled entrance hall of the stately house, Caroline instructed Alycia to take special care with her toilette as Major Halloran would be arriving in time to join the family for dinner.
Patrick was coming to the house that evening! The thought sent Alycia scurrying, if in a decorous, ladylike way, for her room. Although she had heard Patrick accept Caroline’s invitation, she had somehow missed the later exchange, which had probably occurred while she and Lettie dawdled outside the tavern, wherein a day and time were agreed upon for his arrival.
Excitement sang through Alycia’s veins. She had to bathe. She had to ... Damn! Alycia came to a dead stop inside her room, her gaze slicing to the window. Though it was now late afternoon, sunlight still washed the landscape in golden illumination. It would be impossible for her to steal down to the river to bathe unobserved.
Alycia’s shoulders slumped as she heaved a long sigh of disappointment. It had been an extremely hot August day, and she had worked up a sweat by striding along briskly in an attempt to see as much as possible of Williamsburg in the hour Caroline had allotted to her. Nothing would do but a full all-over bath, Alycia reasoned, biting her lip in consternation as she gazed longingly at the river.
A scuffing, scraping noise drew Alycia’s attention from the window. The sight that
met her eyes brought a wide smile to her bite-reddened lips. It was Lettie to the rescue. Her dark eyes dancing with laughter born of understanding, a wry smile revealing strong white teeth, Lettie went about the business of directing three muscular field hands, each toting two buckets of steaming water, into the dressing room where the cumbersome metal tub was stored.
Lettie laid fresh garments out in readiness while Alycia wallowed in the tub, then attempted to help her mistress dress while Alycia fidgeted with her hair.
“Major Halloran is a fine figure of a man,” Lettie observed dryly, smiling into Alycia’s eyes reflected in the mirror.
“Yes,” Alycia responded in a tension-taut whisper.
“And from a well-respected Williamsburg family.”
“Indeed?” Alycia arched her eyebrows.
“Yes ... indeed,” Lettie replied, gently prying Alycia’s fingers from her hair to more competently complete the coiffure herself. “His mother was a descendant of one of the town’s first families, and his recently departed father was a professor of history at the College of William and Mary.”
“History?” Alycia whispered from a throat gone suddenly dry.
“Yes.” Lettie smiled. “Major Halloran is a student of history as well. I have been given to understand that he has been faithfully keeping a journal of the events of the war.”
“A journal?” Alycia frowned.
“Yes.” Lettie nodded. “I believe ‘tis the major’s intention to compile the facts into a volume of history when, at last, this war is over.”
Alycia had difficulty swallowing. “He ... Major Halloran aspires to be an historian?” she asked.
Lettie nodded once more. “Like his father before him. The major has also been offered a professorship at the college.”
“I... I had thought Major Halloran a professional soldier,” Alycia said haltingly.
Lettie’s smile grew sad. “In times of war, all men with love for their country are professional soldiers. And Major Halloran has a deep love for his country and his countrymen.”
Alycia’s eyes grew shadowed as she thought of Sean and of his love of history, particularly the history of his own country. Yes, she thought with aching tenderness, if war had come to his country when he was a young man, Sean would willingly have become a professional soldier.
Inexplicably, at that instant, Alycia finally accepted the truth that she would never see Sean again, never see his blue eyes darken to sapphire as they gazed deeply into her own, never see the smile that made her heart race, never experience the joy of having his body become one with hers, and never, never again hear his soft voice murmuring of his love for her.
Unable to meet or endure the questioning look of concern altering Lettie’s expression, Alycia slowly closed her eyes. Since the day she had awakened in the coach, even as she mourned for him, she had held on to the fading hope of seeing Sean again. He was not dead to her, Alycia had whispered to herself late in the night. He could not be dead.
And now she knew her self-reassurances were true. Sean was not dead to her; Sean had yet to be born. She was dead to Sean.
Warm tears misted Alycia’s eyes, but she realized the tears were not for Sean. All of life, all the bright new achievements waiting to be won, lay before Sean in the distant future. Alycia’s tears were for herself, because she wouldn’t be there to share it all with him.
“Mistress Alice?”
Alycia started and opened her tear-washed eyes at the sharp edge of fear on Lettie’s tone. The woman’s face clearly revealed her worry and affection. Slowly, Alycia raised her chin. She was finished with grief and self-pity. By some warp in dimension or fate, she had been transported into another time, separated from everything she knew and everyone she loved. Grief and self-pity would not change it, for if they could, the change would have occurred. What was, was. Alycia’s options were two, and well defined: She could choose to live and love to the fullest of her ability or she could curl into a ball of bleak misery until she died of it.
She chose to live and love. Turning away from the mirror, Alycia smiled into Lettie’s anxious eyes. “I am fine, dear friend,” she said softly, choosing her words carefully. “I was sad for a moment from missing loved ones.”
As a sigh of relief whispered through Lettie’s lips, a soft light of compassion sprang to life in her eyes.” ‘Tis not an easy thing to leave loved ones and friends and home to go to a strange place,” she said in a gentle tone. “But I would that you believe there are new friends who love you and wish only to help you find happiness in your new home.”
Alycia was fully aware that Lettie was referring to Alice, and her loss of family, friends, and her home in Philadelphia. But as Alice was—who knew where?—and Alycia was standing in her stead, she applied Lettie’s words to her situation and to herself. Acting on impulse, Alycia stepped forward and embraced the other woman.
“Thank you.” Alycia sniffed and smiled a she stepped away from the obviously surprised Lettie. “Now,” she said briskly, allowing her smile to curve impishly, “when can we expect this fine figure of a man, the deliciously handsome Major Halloran?”
Her moment of pleasurable embarrassment over, Lettie swept across the room and opened the door. “Presently, mistress. Would you not enjoy watching his approach from the landing window?”
“I would indeed!” Alycia exclaimed, laughing as she followed the stately woman from the room.
Alycia was seated on the broad, padded windowsill on the spacious second-story landing, absently, impatiently smoothing her chintz skirt, when she caught sight of a horseman coming up the drive at a respectable trot. The horse stood sixteen or seventeen hands high and was a handsome animal, with its highly arched neck and proud, dancing step. The man was more handsome still.
Her heartbeat grew fluttery as Patrick reined the horse in at the foot of the fan-shaped front steps. Her breathing grew shallow as he swung one long leg over the saddle and dismounted. Her senses propelled her into action as he took the steps two at a time.
Beating the butler by five seconds, Alycia met Patrick at the door. With a disapproving frown and an audible snort, the butler retired to his pantry.
“Good evening, Mistress Alice,” Patrick said formally as he stepped into the entrance hall. Moving one leg back, he bent and made his sweeping bow.
“Good evening, Major.” Not to be outdone, Alycia lifted her skirt daintily and sank into the deep curtsy she had practiced at odd moments over the previous week. As she rose, she glanced through the open doorway at the horse, then back at him, a tiny frown marring her brow. “You have no ... er... accoutrements?” she asked, hoping she’d used the correct term for luggage.
Patrick’s auburn eyebrows arched in surprise. “I believe my man delivered my effects one hour ago.”
“Oh.” Alycia felt her cheeks flame and had to laugh at her girlish reaction to him. “I did not know,” she added in a more worldly manner.
“I reckoned as much,” Patrick drawled slowly, softly, smiling in a way that turned the flame on her cheeks inward to sear her entire body.
Beguiled, Alycia stared at him, lips slightly parted, thrilling to the fire that leaped suddenly in the depths of his blue eyes. His lips moved just a fraction, and she thought she heard him whisper her name as he took one step toward her.
“Oh, there you are, Major!” Caroline exclaimed, skirts swinging as she hurried into the hall from the drawing room. “Alice, my dear, why did you not inform us of the major’s arrival?”
“Because the major has only this moment arrived, ma’am,” Patrick answered for Alycia, while offering Caroline a bow.
“Indeed? Well, then, you must be in need of liquid refreshment.” Moving to him, Caroline laid her hand on his arm. “Please come in and have a seat.” As she urged Patrick into motion, she glanced over her shoulder at Alycia. “I would that you join us, niece.”
In honor of the major’s presence, dinner was lavish. Alycia went through the motions of chewing and swallowing,
but she didn’t taste any of it. She was entirely too engrossed in the guest seated across the table from her to notice such a mundane thing as food. Content to listen to his soft Virginia drawl and thrill to the admiring, almost smitten, glances he gave her, Alycia contributed little to the conversation and paid scant attention to it until near the end of the meal. Alycia’s hearing was sharpened by a question posed by her uncle.
“I was given to understand that your stay with us will be brief, Patrick. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Patrick replied. “I leave at week’s end to rejoin my company and commander.”
Commander? Commander? Alycia lowered her eyes to conceal the alarm she knew was reflected there. Instinctively, she knew that Patrick was referring to General Washington as his commander. Aware of the date, Alycia also knew that General Washington was somewhere near Philadelphia, where he had allowed his march-weary men to collapse while he tried to outthink Major General William Howe, in an effort to determine whether Howe’s destination was Philadelphia, Charleston, or the Hudson River. Fear curled in Alycia’s stomach. The date was August 16, and by his own statement, Patrick was planning to leave on August 20. Washington had received the news that the British would sail up the Chesapeake on August 22. Alycia slid her hands from the table to her lap. Her fingers groped for a chain that no longer encircled her wrist.
Patrick was leaving to join his commander on the banks of the Brandywine Creek!
The remainder of the evening was a blur to Alycia. With scrupulous honesty, she acknowledged the feelings, emotional and physical in nature, unfurling inside her for him. She wanted time to be with him, to get to know him. But she was to be denied that time. At the end of the week, Patrick would leave for Pennsylvania.
Distracted, she meekly followed Caroline from the dining room to the drawing room when the men retired to the library for brandy and private conversation. Distraught, she rumbled with her embroidery until, after sticking her finger for the third time, she excused herself with a plea of being tired from the day’s outing, and retired for the night.
