by Kris Tualla
CHAPTER NINETEEN
February 20, 1782
Kirsten waited to make her announcement until all the ladies who were expected had arrived. Her sewing circles had long outgrown the parlor, and today seventeen women sat in every available seat in the drawing room. Tea and sweet biscuits were served, as was her custom as hostess, before they spent the next three hours sewing.
“Ladies, may I have your attention?” Kirsten began.
Conversations dwindled. Cups drifted into laps. Eyes turned toward her, expectant.
“Most of you know the story of the injured army captain who recuperated in my home last September, and that his misfortune—sadly shared by all of our Continental Army soldiers—is the reason this circle was formed.”
Heads nodded. A few whispers were exchanged.
“That officer is now a colonel and he has returned to Philadelphia for only a brief period of time.” Kirsten ignored her heart’s painful thump. “And through him, I was able to make a connection with a major who will disperse the fruit of our labor to our very deserving men at arms.”
Happy gasps and smiles bounced around the room.
“Not only that,” Kirsten offered. Curiosity shushed the room. “But together with the Tuesday group, we sewed a total of sixty complete sets of clothing in our five months together!”
She started the applause, exclaiming, “Ladies, you are to be congratulated for your service!”
Everyone in the room joined in, beaming. These women had all shared the exhaustion of war and the loss of husbands, fathers and sons. To be able to accomplish something—which was of actual worth to their soldiers—lifted their collective spirits.
“Thank you so much, Kirsten, for organizing this,” one woman said, her worn expression sincere. “I know my son would appreciate it if he was still with us. To be able to comfort another mother’s boy helps ease my grief.”
Murmurs of empathy and agreement circled the drawing room.
Kirsten crossed the space between them and took the woman’s hands. “God bless you, Jane-Ann. And may He bless all that you have done.”
The older woman gave her a shy smile and nodded in return.
Once the tea and biscuit celebration was cleared away, the ladies of Philadelphia pulled out their needles, thread, yarn, and fabric with animated conversation and renewed determination.
*****
“Gud forbannet det!”
Reid swore as he read the missive summoning him back to the trial at two o’clock that same afternoon. Judging from yesterday’s experience, he would be occupied until it was too late for him to make his three o’clock appointment with Kirsten.
“Skitt!”
He needed to send her a note. The question was what to say.
Reid suspected that Kirsten’s claim to have supper plans was an attempt to throw him off. In all the time he spent around her, she only had the one awkward suppertime attempt by her parents to match her with a hapless suitor. Reid suspected her fabricated deflection was based in how he made her feel.
Kirsten’s surprising reaction to yester evening’s kisses displayed none of her declared disinterest in him; in fact, she exhibited quite the opposite. Pliable in his embrace, her eager response heated him so thoroughly that he feared losing control. He hadn’t kissed a woman for such a long time. And he hadn’t cared for any woman the way he cared for Kirsten in his entire life.
Aware that he trod a precarious path, Reid planned his continued assault strategy. If Kirsten truly did have a supper engagement, he couldn’t see her today in any case. If she did not, then she had the option of inviting him to join her later, though to do so she would need to claim her plans had changed. That might make her appear abandoned or desperate; Reid didn’t believe she would choose that.
Better to say:
My dearest K ~
I deeply regret to inform you that my presence has been demanded once more at the trial this afternoon, so I will be unable to keep our appointment. I understand that you are engaged for the rest of the day, so please let me know when you are available to reschedule.
As always,
R
PS ~ try adding “—vald” or “—tor” to the end of his name.
As he folded the note, Reid smiled. If his instincts were right, Kirsten would be left by herself until she summoned him to join her. A little assumption of another man’s motives combined with his unexpected absence might carry him a long way toward his goal.
*****
Kirsten was happy to see Reid’s handwriting, but his words doused her mood as effectively as tying it to a rock and tossing it into the freezing Delaware River. And though his teasing reference in the postscript was at odds with his stated purpose of courting her, his apparent lack of jealousy stung.
Or possibly it was his confidence in his superior qualities that knocked her sideways.
In any case, she was not going to see him today, and the realization of how deeply she desired to disturbed her mood even further. Kirsten stuffed the note in her pocket and picked up her needle and pretended to listen to the conversation closest to her.
If she thought about it, she could still feel the heat of Reid’s mouth against hers and the scratch of his stubble on her chin. The way his breath huffed on her cheek. His strong embrace. His long fingers buried in her hair. He made her feel things she didn’t understand. He made her want things that terrified her.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the woman who spoke to her. “What did you say?”
“I hope that wasn’t bad news,” she replied.
Kirsten blinked. “The note? Oh. No. Only an appointment I need to reschedule.”
“That’s a relief,” another woman said. “I always worry when a letter arrives, I must admit.”
Kirsten flashed a reassuring smile. “It’s really nothing.”
“Do you need to take a moment to answer it?” a third woman offered.
“No, I don’t.” Kirsten glanced at the clock; just under two hours remained in their sewing session. A long afternoon and uneventful evening extended after that. “I’ll answer it after we finish here. Now, tell me about that new grandson of yours.”
February 21, 1782
Reid walked to the Sven’s home. Kirsten neglected to offer him a carriage ride to luncheon, but he was unconcerned about that. He enjoyed the physical activity after so many days spent in his hotel, or the hall where the trial was being held, and he knew the exercise was good for his leg.
Today was overcast, but he kept the tinted spectacles in his pocket in the event the sun made an appearance later. As he walked the familiar route, he kept his eyes lowered and focused on what he planned to say to Kirsten.
His hand was being forced by the imminent end of the trail. Once judgment was passed on the morrow, Johan would either be set free immediately, or hung the next day—the outcome which Reid bet on. His own testimony had been compelling enough that he was reexamined at length yesterday afternoon. If the panel didn’t convict the bastard now, Reid wondered if the man would even survive a single day before some American soldier took justice into his own hands.
I doubt it.
The army would pay Reid’s hotel bill for the day the verdict was announced. If found guilty, they would pay for Reid to stay on an additional day to see justice done, before releasing him to return to his regiment on his own. He hadn’t yet resigned; he was waiting until the last opportunity to be certain of his status.
After that, Reid had no money to pay for lodging to remain in Philadelphia. He could probably secure a couple nights with the Pennsylvania regiment by the docks, but once he resigned his commission he had no right to army-supplied room and board. That meant his culminating battle for Kirsten’s hand needed to be launched soon.
Today.
He wasn’t certain enough time had passed between them, but if she didn’t refuse him outright he would give her time to think while he traveled to Boston and his family. If she gave him any encouragement at all,
he would return to Philadelphia and camp on her lawn if necessary.
Reid was not about to surrender this campaign without giving it his best effort. He was setting the direction for the rest of his life, after all. A goal like this deserved his full attention and commitment. A good soldier would never enter battle armed with anything less.
*****
Kirsten was dressed in one of her favorite gowns. The dining room table was set, and her requested menu was being currently prepared if her nose was to be trusted. She checked the clock again to find it had moved a mere three ticks since the last time she looked. Reid wasn’t expected for another half an hour.
He would be walking. Perhaps he would arrive earlier. Or later, the unhappy thought surfaced.
She hadn’t sent the carriage for him because Henrik and Marit required the transportation for that day. Some city official was sponsoring some sort of gathering for some reason Kirsten hadn’t listened to because she realized that meant she would be alone in the house with Reid. With a dozen servants, of course. Still, she was as nervous as a cat in a roomful of hounds.
She paced to the front windows and peered down the drive. Nothing.
She decided on impulse to change her necklace. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, she walked to her room. Pulling out her box of jewelry, she held several options against her throat and considered each one’s effect in her dressing mirror. Deciding on a simple strand of pearls, she put the rest of the jewels away.
Kirsten re-pinned a loose curl, stood, and smoothed her green silk gown. She left her room, drifted down the stairs, and strolled into the parlor.
Exactly eleven minutes had passed.
She sighed. Her nervous boredom made her stomach clench. Kirsten walked back to the tall windows beside the front door and looked down the drive again. Then she smiled.
Reid’s hat was just visible, bobbing with his stride as he approached the house.
Kirsten watched the vision enlarge until she saw the whole man. He walked with energy. Determination.
She pulled away from the window, lest he look up and see her. She moved to the drawing room and sat on one end of the settee, leaving room for him to join her. Licking her lips, she wondered if he would kiss her again.
And she wondered if she would let him. She had been clear in her stance on marriage, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t kiss him. Even so, men did take kisses as indications of feelings that were not necessarily present.
Reid’s knock at the door was answered by the butler, who in turn accepted his cloak and hat before escorting him into the drawing room. Colonel Hansen’s expression proved that her attention to appearances this morning did not waste a moment of her time.
“You are stunning today, your highness,” Reid said. He gave the back of her hand a lingering kiss. “I am but a poor, battered soldier by comparison.”
Kirsten giggled. “You were already a poor, battered soldier before you arrived.”
Reid’s gray eyes twinkled. “A fact which was confirmed the moment I stood next to you.”
“Will you sit? I’m not certain our meal is ready,” she demurred.
Reid claimed the other side of the settee. “I assume Henrik and Marit are joining us for luncheon?”
Kirsten shook her head. “No, they took the carriage and are spending the day at some event,” was her embarrassingly vague explanation.
“So it’s only you and I, alone?” Reid probed.
For some reason that made Kirsten very uncomfortable. “You and I and fourteen servants,” she clarified.
“Of course.” Reid laughed and teased, “Will they be enjoying the meal with us?”
She poked his arm; his solid muscle didn’t give way. “Stop.”
Reid dipped his chin. “I apologize. My mood is giddy with both the end of the trial, and seeing you again.”
Bubbles of pleasure suffused her chest at his words and she beamed at him. “How did it end?”
“Seeing you? Or the trial?” he replied with a grin.
“Reid, you are impossible!” she chastised.
He gestured widely. “I don’t wish to answer the wrong question and be misunderstood.”
Kirsten rolled her eyes, her exasperation good-natured. “Let’s begin with the trial, shall we?”
Reid nodded. “Testimony concluded yesterday. Today was set aside for debate, and the verdict will be announced tomorrow.”
“Then what happens?” she asked, sincerely interested.
“If the man accused is found guilty of the charges, he will swing from the gallows the next day,” he said, all jocularity gone. “The day after that, I leave.”
A jolt of shock heated Kirsten’s core. Reid. Gone. “And if he is acquitted?”
“Then he is set free on the morrow, and I am cut loose the day after that,” he replied.
Kirsten clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking. “What do you believe will be the outcome?”
“He’ll hang,” Reid stated, his gray eyes gone cold as granite. “Or he’ll be shot soon afterward.”
“And you?” she pressed.
“I’ll go to Boston and visit my family after I officially resign my commission. I haven’t seen them in years. And besides…” Some of the light returned to his eyes. “They won’t charge me rent.”
“Can you not stay a little while longer?” she asked, knowing the answer.
He leaned closer. “Where would I stay, Prinsesse? Here?”
She was trapped. To answer in the affirmative would mean she accepted his courtship. “I suppose not,” she conceded.
He fell back as if wounded.
The butler appeared at the door. “Luncheon is served.”
Reid stood and offered his hand to Kirsten. “We discussed how the trial ended. Shall we discuss how seeing you again will end over our meal?”
“If that’s what you wish.” She forced a smile and accompanied him to the dining room.
“The food smells delicious,” he complimented.
She couldn’t tolerate the aromas any longer. His suggested topic had eliminated every trace of her appetite.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Reid found some encouragement in Kirsten’s desire for him to stay in Philadelphia, though when pushed, she backed off from inviting him to stay in her home. He wasn’t surprised really, and yet he couldn’t help but be just a little disappointed.
He held her chair as she sat, and took the chair to her right. Their meal was served in courses and was every bit as delicious as it smelled. While they ate, Kirsten didn’t ask what he wanted to say about her, and he didn’t offer. Reid knew that once the conversation began, it could escalate rapidly and he hated to waste fine food when emotions prevented him from tasting it.
For that reason, he made certain their conversation hovered over safe topics such as her charity work on behalf of soldiers and the ins and outs of the trial. Kirsten even asked about Boston and what he expected to find when he got there.
In time, however, dessert was a crumbled memory and their coffee had grown cold. The moment for truth had arrived.
“Shall we talk here?” he asked. “Or in the parlor?”
Kirsten frowned a little. “Not the drawing room?”
“For what I want to tell you, I think the room where we first met and shared secrets is more appropriate.” He rose and stepped behind her chair, making the preferred decision for her. “Shall we?”
Kirsten stood and faced him. “Don’t be foolish, Reid.”
“Foolishness is furthest from my mind,” he assured her.
They walked in silence to the parlor. Reid closed the door behind them.
“My reputation will be ruined if word of this closeting gets out,” she warned.
Reid pinned her gaze with his. “Do you care?”
“No,” she admitted.
She sat in a chair, her back straight and her fingers laced in her lap. Reid pulled a chair close to hers and sat. His heart marched to a silent cadence in his ch
est and blood thrummed in his ears. All the time he spent thinking about what to say was, apparently, fruitless as his mind went completely blank.
Kirsten tilted her head. “Did you have something to say?”
“I did,” he admitted. “But the ‘how to say it’ part has escaped me.”
Her eyes shifted to regard her tangled hands. “Just say it. Be honest. Get it over with.”
Reid’s resolve solidified as the most obvious explanation fountained from his lips. “Kirsten Sven, I am hopelessly in love with you. I want to marry you.”
She didn’t look up. “I told you not to be foolish,” she whispered.
“Foolish would have been to choose such a path. I, on the other hand, had no choice,” he said. “I didn’t want to love you.”
“What changed your mind?” she murmured. “Tell me so I may change it back.”
“Ah, therein lies the problem. I tried for five months to change it back, but my mind—or rather my heart—refuses to budge.” Reid stared at her twisted fingers as well. “My mind knows the obstacles, I assure you.”
She did look at him then. “List the obstacles.”
“Finances, to begin with.” He waved a hand around the room. “I cannot provide for you like this.”
Her character was obviously stung. “If I ever chose to marry, all of ‘this’ would not be my concern,” she snapped. “What else?”
“Your parents don’t want me as your husband. Your father clearly said so,” he reminded her.
Her brow twitched. “They would come around in time. I’m their only child and my father truly likes you. What else?”
Reid thought for a moment. “I suppose the last obstacle would be you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How, exactly?”
He decided to take a risk; the tone of their conversation warranted it. Reid leaned forward and kissed her.
She didn’t push him away, neither did she reach out for him. She whimpered her resistance but her body ignored her and her mouth opened. Reid fell to his knees in front of her and pulled her close, claiming her as his own. Her hands broke apart and grabbed his waist. He poured his love and respect for her into his demonstration, praying she would understand.
