A British Courtesan in America (Revolutionary Women Book 2)

by Becky Lower

  “Tell you what?”

  “For the love of God, man. You were frantic to find Libby, you carried her back here, then she packs her stuff and leaves again. What the hell happened?” Patterson stood his ground.

  “She is gone?”

  “She will be in a few minutes. I just drove her over to the hotel to board the next coach.” He placed a hand on Hawk’s arm. “You can still catch her.”

  Hawk shrugged off the touch. “It is for the best.”

  Patterson laughed. “That’s what she said. So, you’re both stubborn fools.”

  “Stay out of this, Pat.”

  “Oh, I will. I don’t have the whole story. Just that she’s quite fetching, and you’re in love with her. That should be enough.” Patterson laughed again as he exited the shop.

  The laughter stayed with Hawk long after the man left.

  Once again, Patterson was right. It should be enough.

  Unfortunately, it was not.

  • ♥ •

  When Patterson had placed her bags at her feet outside the hotel, he stepped back a pace and his expression softened. “I can’t help feeling you’re making a huge mistake, Mrs. Wexford.”

  Libby had smiled slightly but could feel the smile wobble. “No, it’s no mistake, Mr. Lovejoy. My time here in Boston is at an end.”

  “Where will you go? You don’t have anyone.”

  Libby had shrugged her shoulders slightly. “I didn’t have anyone when I arrived in Boston either, and I’ve done all right. I’ll do the same again, in New York town.” She patted his arm. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Lovejoy, but it is best for everyone if I leave.”

  “Hawk is in love with you. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

  Libby had met Patterson’s gaze, even as her heart stuttered at his announcement. “Sometimes love is not enough.” She picked up her bags and entered the hotel.

  “Why, Mrs. Wexford, how nice to see you again.” The proprietor called out a greeting. “Will you be staying with us, then? Shall I get someone to take your bags upstairs?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I need to book passage on the next coach, though. I’m headed to New York town.” Libby smiled.

  The man shuffled some papers. “You’re in luck, then, Mrs. Wexford. The coach to New York and Philadelphia will arrive in less than an hour, and there is one seat left.”

  Libby ran through her options. Everyone thought she was headed to New York. Why not go on to Philadelphia? What did it matter, as long as it was not Boston?

  “I’ll take your last seat. Thank you, sir. And I wish to go to Philadelphia, instead.” She paid the fare and glanced around the room. “May I order a cup of tea while I wait?” She nodded toward a sofa overlooking the street.

  She plucked at her shawl as she took a seat and gratefully sipped the hot, fragrant liquid, relishing the taste on her tongue. Tea had always soothed her jangled nerves, and she needed to be calm and levelheaded now. Perhaps she should change her name yet again. Hawk knew her as Liberty and Fancy. Not that he’d come looking for her. He’d made his disgust of her pretty clear. Tears threatened, and she blinked them away. She’d not let any weakness show. Possibly behind a closed door, she’d shed a tear or two over what might have been with him, but right now, she couldn’t afford a fit of melancholy. She drank the last of her tea just as the coach rolled up in a cloud of dust.

  Philadelphia was calling.

  Despite her circumstances, a little tingle of excitement ran through her body. A new city, a new place to begin again. Perhaps she should give some thought to a new name as well. Her heart stuttered against her ribcage. She really had enjoyed the name Liberty. But she again had to rise from the ashes of her former lives, like the phoenix bird. She’d give it some thought. She had a long ride ahead of her to do just that. It would take five or six days to arrive in Philadelphia.

  Her bags were placed atop the coach and she got an assist up the steps into the vehicle. Libby gave one last glance around Boston’s streets. And turned her thoughts inward. Hawk would not come for her. He was part of her past, much like Atticus. But unlike Atticus, Hawk hadn’t died. He’d simply killed any chance of a relationship between them. Libby raised her gaze as the coach lurched forward, heading away from Boston. Hawk had been a part of her time in Boston from her very first day here. She’d leave a bit of her heart behind, just as she’d left a bit of it in London, with Atticus. Taking a deep breath, she wondered how many bits were left, and if she could survive living with only half a heart.

  Hawk was the only person who knew her as Fancy. Perhaps it was time to return to her roots. But in a new country. One at war with her homeland. Could she survive in Philadelphia? Whatever would she do there? Work at another newspaper? Probably not a good idea, since word would filter back to Boston sooner or later. There had to be another means of employment.

  She was about to find out.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Libby stuck her head out the window of the rolling coach when their pace slowed to a crawl and she caught wind of heavy foot traffic. A sea of red coats hindered the coach’s movement. She breathed in a cloud of dust and quickly brought her head back inside the coach.

  “What is happening?” Libby asked her fellow coach riders.

  “What’s happening, Missy, is the British are finally coming to the defense of the loyal friends of the crown in Philadelphia.” A rotund, bewigged man declared. He’d been quiet for most of the ride from New York town, but now, seeing the British troops, he became animated.

  Oh, dear. It was as if the British military were following her every movement. She stared out the window as the coach carefully circumvented the troops.

  “Do you live in Philadelphia, sir?” She needed information on her new place of residence, and this man might be able to help.

  “Yes, ma’am, I do, and I’m glad to see the troops. Maybe they can chase out those traitors who are meeting in the statehouse.” He shook his head, and a bit of his wig powder drifted onto his nose.

  He must be referring to the members of the Continental Congress. Libby had read about them and their work. The Gazette had kept close tabs on what they were doing.

  “If the troops are successful, where will these traitors, as you call them, and their work head next? Back to New York?” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager. The man glanced at her and she bit her lower lip while she waited for his response.

  “They won’t be welcome in New York, either. The British have enough forces in the colonies now to be in multiple places at one time.” He kept his gaze on her. “There’s nothing to fear.”

  Not true. There was indeed a great deal to fear.

  “Well, then. If they don’t go to New York, and they can’t stay in Philadelphia, where will they go?” She needed to align herself with the traitors, not the troops, if she had any hope of saving her reputation.

  The man finally wiped the powder from his nose. “This is a guess, but I’d put money on them moving further inland. Maybe to Lancaster or York. Amish country.”

  Lancaster and York sounded more British than anything else. But she had some knowledge of the Amish. Quiet, peace-loving people who tilled the soil as her father had done. She could return to her roots there and be away from all the fighting.

  “How far away is Lancaster?”

  “It’s another day by coach from Philadelphia.”

  Libby started planning once again. New York town hadn’t been far enough away. Nor was Philadelphia an option, since the British were moving in. Maybe she could finally find peace in Lancaster, live a simple life among these gentle people. She could become Fancy once again. Her mother would approve. Now she just had to find an Amish community who would take her in.

  Her elegant shoes would stay in her trunk. Her feet might rebel at the notion of sensible shoes, but she would at least be safe. For the first time since she had been with Atticus. With Hawk, she had never thought of safety, even though he’d saved her from the runaway horse u
pon their first meeting.

  No, with Hawk, she had been out of control, all high emotions, either fear or longing. Never safe. Yet, when she’d needed acceptance and caring, Hawk had turned away. Her bout with Mr. Sampson had proven to her she could only rely on herself to navigate the rest of her life, regardless of which country she inhabited. And right now, that meant a hard yet peaceful life, toiling alongside the Amish.

  • ♥ •

  Hawk spent the next few weeks burying himself in work. Fortunately, there was always some kind of work to be done, if not in the stables, then in the shop. The Continental Army needed items other than bullets, so he spent his days creating axes, knives, and shovels. In the evenings, he would fire up the wood stove again and melt whatever metals had come in during the day to make bullets. The stage of the battles that autumn was mostly outside of Boston, so the residents slept better at night, unless they had a husband or son fighting. But it was prime season for fighting, regardless of the location.

  The British now occupied Philadelphia as well as New York and mounted their assaults from there. In September and October, skirmishes took place in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania and General Washington’s troops had been spread thin. The second Continental Congress met in Philadelphia to formulate the type of democracy envisioned by the members. There would be no king. The good American people, regardless of their background or wealth, would have a democratic government, with each person having an equal say in how the government worked. At least, that was the hope.

  Regardless of how exhausted Hawk made himself each day, when he finally fell into bed at night, Libby Wexford danced behind his closed eyes. Where had she gone? Had she found another man to care for her? It was not safe for a woman to be alone in any country, especially a country at war. And judging from the battles that took place in recent months, things were at a stalemate and this war would extend for years. If Libby did not starve to death or get set upon by thieves who mistook her fancy footwear for hidden wealth, she would fall to the hands of the British, who were in the habit of raping any women left alive after they were done ransacking their homes. She needed to be protected.

  And where had he been when she practically begged him for assistance? He had stood in front of her, arms folded, judging her as a sinner. He rolled out of bed.

  “No sleep tonight.” He blew the words across the room and rose to light a candle to beat back the darkness and to banish the vision of Libby from his mind. He had no more metal to melt down, and he was not in a good frame of mind to pen his next article for the Gazette. He left the bedroom, gathered up the bullets he’d created, and made his way to the office of the Sons of Liberty. Someone would be there to help keep his demons at bay.

  He hesitated when he got to the landing at the top of the stairs over the newspaper office. To the left was the door to the Sons of Liberty. To the right was where Libby had spent the several months she worked for Ben. Hawk turned that doorknob, holding his breath. As he had hoped, Ben had not locked it back up after Libby’s hasty departure. He stood at the entrance to the room and inhaled. Yes, the scent of rose attar still hung in the air. He breathed in the comforting aroma as his gaze slid over the room. Other than the scent, there was nothing left in the room that belonged to her. He did not have any idea what he was searching for. Perhaps some clue to her past. But there were no clues here. Only Libby could reveal the answers to his many questions, and he wasn’t ready for that encounter. Maybe not ever. He paused before closing the door. The door to his past. Locked in his own tormented thoughts, he did not hear the door opposite open.

  “She’s not there, Hawk.” Patterson’s voice finally broke into his thoughts. Hawk pivoted around, hiding his embarrassment with bluster.

  “Mon Dieu, Pat. I was only hoping to find more paper to write my articles. I am well aware Libby is not here.” He slammed the door shut.

  Patterson gave him a long sideways glance. “But you could find her, if you wanted.”

  Hawk hurried into the headquarters, putting as much distance between Libby’s old room and him as was possible. He flung the bag of bullets on the table. “Do you never sleep, Pat?”

  Patterson chuckled and followed him into the room. “One could ask the same about you, Hawk.”

  “I sleep just fine.” Hawk rolled his shoulders.

  “And, in my opinion, you’d sleep much better with Libby Wexford beside you instead of wondering where she is. Thanks for dropping off the bullets. You’ve saved me a trip in the morning. Heading out to Philadelphia, to drop off some supplies to the troops.” Patterson placed the bullets into a large box, filled with food, guns and knives. “You could come along. See if you could track her.” He chuckled again. “Although, since I snuck up on you in the hallway, perhaps you couldn’t. Your Indian senses have disappeared.”

  Hawk growled and ground his teeth. Patterson was not far off the mark. “Go by yourself. I have work to do.”

  “We all do, Hawk. But it’s the women and children that make all our effort worthwhile.” He clamped a hand on Hawk’s broad shoulder. “Go home, brother, and get some sleep.”

  Hawk followed Patterson onto the darkened street and stood in the shadows while Patterson scurried off. Perhaps he would take his friend’s advice and get some sleep. Perhaps he would take his friend’s advice and go hunt for Libby. The words written by Patrick Henry a few years ago rang in his head.

  Give me Liberty or give me death.

  He could not shake the feeling that if he did not search for her, give himself to her, he would surely die. Or perhaps she would be the death of him.

  There was only one way to find out. Could he be man enough to try?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Libby coughed as she inhaled a cloud of dust which whirled around her. The coach went on its way to York, leaving her behind in Lancaster with her satchel and two bags containing all her worldly possessions. She stood in the street and glanced around the town center. She needed to find a place to bed down and then find a job. First things first. She drew in a breath and placed her hand over her heart. A passing lady smiled at her, so she spoke up.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Could you direct me to an inn for the night?”

  The woman stopped and glanced at the bags at Libby’s feet. “Are ye new in town?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Fresh off the coach from New York.”

  The woman pointed down the road. “There’s a nice inn just off the town center that has a wonderful reputation.” She glanced again at Libby’s bags on the ground, and her smile widened. “What lovely shoes!”

  Libby returned the woman’s smile. “Thank you. I do love fine footwear.” She lifted her skirt slightly and wiggled her foot from side to side, to give the woman the full view of her cream-colored brocade shoes with the moss green heel.

  “We’ve several nice cobblers in town. Once you settle into your room, you should visit them and see what they offer.”

  Libby nodded. “Thank you for your assistance today. I will take your advice, on both the inn and the cobbler.”

  The woman continued on about her business, and Libby picked up her bags and strode toward the recommended inn. She would definitely visit the cobbler shops, but not to buy shoes. Rather, she’d convince the cobbler to hire her to sell his wares. No more bullet making, but she’d find a different way to advance the cause of freedom while she was here, in the bustling little town of Lancaster. If that meant selling fashionable shoes to British ladies so she could pick up some tidbits of information to pass along to the Continental Army, so be it.

  As she advanced up the street, she listened to the talk from passersby. The English accents were numerous, but it was the other voices that caught her ear. They spoke in a foreign tongue, German from the sound of it, or at least of variation thereof. Interesting. If the British would go elsewhere in America once the conflict ended, and the residents of Lancaster remained mostly German, she could live here in peace. No one would ever be aware of her background, her forme
r life. Her former lives. Now she just had to settle on a name. Did she dare to become Fancy again? Or, instead of going backwards, should she create a new identity for herself one more time? She’d have to decide by the time she set foot in the inn. Not only should she consider changing her name, but she also should craft a new identity. Come up with a new story about her life.

  A few minutes later, Libby stood outside the entrance of the fine white stone building. One of the newly fashioned American flags beckoned in the breeze. It was composed of the same colors as the British flag, but this flag had stripes and stars depicting the thirteen banded colonies that formed the new America. Libby thought the flag rather eye-catching. She stood outside the entrance for another minute, admiring both the flag and the inn. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her bags and entered the establishment.

  “Good afternoon, madam. How may I help you?” Yes, Libby was correct. The man definitely spoke with a German accent. It reminded her of one of her former lovers, dear man that he had been.

  “Good day to you, sir. I wish to rent a room, please.” Libby set down her bags.

  “Of course, madam. Are you traveling alone?”

  “Yes, sir. My husband passed a short time ago.” She kept a portion of her original story, since it overcame some of her problems of traveling alone.

  “Then, I have the perfect room for you. Please sign the registry and I’ll get the key for you.” The man pointed to the large book on the counter and spun around to fetch the correct key.

  This was it.

  Her chance at another new beginning. Should she head in a different direction yet again? Adopt a completely new identity, where neither Mr. Sampson nor Hawk Gentry could find her? Or should she return to her past, when life was simple, and start over as Fancy Booker? She drew in a breath and dipped the quill into the inkwell. Her hand shook slightly as she signed her name.

  The man pivoted back to her, flipped the registry book around, and smiled as she handed him some money. He dangled the key in front of her. “Welcome to the inn, Liberty Booker. That’s a mighty fancy name.”