Phantoms In Philadelphia

by Amalie Vantana

  Andrew. He was brilliant. They were evenly matched in strength, but Andrew had a steely determination. I lowered the pistol to watch. Andrew broke free and struck hard against the man’s face, and followed swiftly with a blow to the gut. His fist slammed against the side of the man’s nose, and the man went down. I wanted to clap, to cheer. I was impressed beyond words.

  Andrew’s breaths were ragged as he stared down at the man. When I reached his side, he looked at me, and my heart constricted. His lip was bleeding, and one of his eyes was swelling.

  “Oh, Andrew. We must have someone see to your wounds.” I took his hand, seeing the blood on his knuckles. I swallowed the lump in my throat as we moved toward the carriage.

  “Should we not turn him over to the constables?” Andrew asked, stopping to look at the man on the ground.

  “Edith would have hysterics if we put him in the carriage. I believe that the pain he will feel upon waking will be punishment enough.”

  Andrew asked his coachman about his condition, and the man said he received only a graze. He had the carriage back on the road, and when I opened the door, Edith was in the corner sobbing. I sat beside her for the rest of the journey to my house. When we arrived, I asked Andrew to come in, but he refused.

  “Please,” I said in a harassed tone, “the least I can do is to see to your wounds, though I owe you so much more.”

  Andrew finally agreed, and I directed the coachman where to take the carriage and then to go to the back door where someone would see to his wound.

  When we entered the house, my mother was not home from a party, but Arnaud and Mrs. Beaumont were there to greet us. Mrs. Beaumont led Edith, who was no longer sobbing, but still shaking, above stairs.

  Arnaud hovered over us until I sent him to fetch the necessary items to clean Andrew’s wounds. I took Andrew’s arm and led him to a chair in the library as it was the only room with a fire in the hearth.

  “Now, I will survey the damage, if you do not mind.”

  Andrew remained quiet as I looked him over. His right eye was the color of coal, and it was already swollen shut. His lip had a cut across the top, and his hands were covered in cuts and dried blood. His nose was perfect, as was his left eye through which he watched me closely. Arnaud brought in water, bandages and brandy, and scurried off again in search of Leo. As gently as I could, I cleaned the cut on his lip and applied sticking plaster. I knelt down before him to clean his hands then wrapped them in the white cloth bandages, and for some inexplicable reason I felt like crying. I told myself it was from the events of the past month, but I knew there was more to it than that.

  “I can never thank you enough, Mr. Madison. You fought so valiantly. I feel responsible for your wounds.”

  “Elizabeth,” he said softly, and my gaze flew to his, “you are in no way to blame for what happened. I give thanks that you are safe.” He smiled then winced.

  My emotions were spiraling out of control. He had called me Elizabeth, and I liked hearing it, I liked him, but my feelings caused a pang of guilt.

  “You called me Andrew earlier, and I rather liked it. I hope that you will do so again.”

  Biting my lip, I nodded, but I felt like a traitor, like I was doing wrong allowing this new familiarity with Andrew, even though I knew there was nothing wrong with the way I felt for him.

  After Andrew had drunk a glass of brandy and Leo had looked over his wounds, I walked with him to the door.

  “I believe I will postpone our outing to the museum a few days.”

  “Rightly so. Do take care, Andrew,” I said as I took his offered hand. He kissed the back of my hand and departed the house, leaving me feeling bereft and guilty. It was the guilt that caused tears to trickle down my cheeks.

  Chapter 18

  Jack

  While escorting Guinevere home from Ephraim’s party, she asked if I would ride out with her at seven in the morning. My agreement came immediately, for any time spent with her was fortunate, but when she asked to meet at a country church instead of at her house, I was intrigued.

  Seated upon my brown mount in the church yard, I took out my pocket watch for the fifth time. Guinevere was ten minutes late. There could be any logical explanation, but anxiety grew within me for I knew that she liked to ride without her groom.

  The sound of a fast horse approaching from around the bend in the road made me sit straighter in the saddle. When she appeared, a sigh tumbled out from deep within me.

  As she halted near me, my heart stuttered. The pink in her cheeks from the cold morning air, her blue riding dress that made her eyes appear more blue than purple, and the smile on her lips made me wish that I could paint. I would keep her image with me always, to remind myself when in the darkest of places that I knew what light and life looked like.

  “Are you prepared for a gallop across the countryside?” she asked with a smile that tilted up one side of her lips. She knew, as everyone in society did, that John Martin was not at his best upon a horse.

  “I shall try my poor best,” I replied.

  She took the lead while I kept a distance between us. The wind blew wisps of her auburn hair from the coil secured against her head, and her blue bonnet was a little askew.

  Love had never been a word that I said unless in poetry or to my sister. The truth was that other than my mother and sister; there had never been anyone that I loved. I respected my father, but it would have been a falsehood to say that I loved him as I did my sister. He never gave us much thought other than what we could do to further his causes. He did not inspire or encourage deeper emotions, especially love. Not that what I was feeling for Guinevere was love...

  She was waiting for me, and my thoughts turned back to the moment. Stopping beside her, I gave my best look of a man exhausted from the ride. Guinevere rode a circle around me with a victorious smile lighting her face.

  “You ride better than I expected,” she said.

  My hands gripped the reins of my horse as I acted as if I was gasping for breath. “A surprise,” I gulped some air, “even to myself.”

  She laughed as she looked up at the trees. The leaves were dancing with the wind. She closed her eyes as the wind caressed her face. “I do love early morning gallops. They strengthen the senses and are the beginning to a perfect day.”

  Plain Jack Martin would agree with her, but Poet John Martin wisely kept his mouth shut.

  She looked at me with a lift to her dainty brows, “Do you not agree?”

  “It would be to speak a falsehood if I were to agree.”

  “What? No poetry to the horse galloping across the frosty plain?”

  “If poetry is what you wish.” I laid my hand over my heart. “No earthly beasts can tame, her wild streak that came when upon the wind she rides––”

  She interrupted me with a laugh. “Never mind that,” she said dismissing my quotations. “Can I show you something? It is a bit of a ride from here. Are you prepared for the challenge?”

  I nodded, not at all upset that she interrupted me, she usually did when I tried to spout poetry to her.

  Again, she took the lead. She led me further into the country, cutting across fields and wooded areas until she was coming closer to Stark Manor. She rode a half mile past the lane to Stark Manor before cutting into the woods. She knew her way around, for she rode through the trees at a pace that I struggled, without pretense, to maintain. Ahead, the woods ended and we came upon a clearing with a lake a few yards away. It was completely secluded with trees surrounding it in every direction. Guinevere pulled up beside a copse of trees and waited as I dismounted.

  As I reached up for her, I asked, “Do you come here often?”

  “This is part of Richard’s country estate. He completed the purchase only a week ago.”

  I wondered if my mother knew.

  Guinevere dropped into my arms, and all other thought flew away as she leaned her body against me. She was warm and soft as I set her feet on the ground, my heart beating faster.
She smiled up at me, leaning against me for a few moments more; then she turned and sauntered toward the lake. I tied the horses’ reins to a branch before following her slowly.

  The skirt of her blue riding dress swished along the ankle high grass. She glanced over her shoulder, her pink lips curving upwards in a smile. I stopped to watch her every movement, feeling things that were foreign to me. I was sure that the feelings of excitement, intrigue, desire, and trepidation were surely the same emotions felt by the explorers who first stumbled upon this land.

  She walked around an oak tree, running her gloved hand along the bark as she circled it.

  Would that I could be that tree.

  She sat, leaning against the tree. She patted the ground beside her; her look inviting me to join her.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I walked toward the tree. Once seated, our shoulders were touching as we stared at the quiet water of the lake. The setting was peaceful, so unlike the man who owned the land.

  When Richard was arrested, there would be a scandal, and Guinevere would feel the brunt of it. She would again be without someone to protect her, alone in this unkind world. With my new, developing feelings for her, how could I even contemplate causing her grief? She had borne so too much grief in her young life.

  Understanding some of her pain as I lost my father, but he and I were never close, I could not imagine losing my mother and sister.

  When Guinevere told me that she had lost both parents, her strong will was explained. She was trying to cover the truth; that she was a young, vulnerable girl searching for someone to love her unconditionally. I wished that I could be that person, but I was not sure that I knew how to love, not the way she deserved. She needed someone who would make her their world, not destroy hers. Were I to try to be the man she needed, there would be much put at risk. Should my enemies ever discover my feelings for her, they would use those feelings against me, hurting her, possibly even killing her. It should be unthinkable, and yet, part of me was convinced that I could protect her.

  “Something is bothering you. Your thoughts are not here with me,” Guinevere said softly.

  Jerking out of my thoughts, and turning to look into her eyes, her concern for me was evident along with something much, much more. My mind was searching for something to say as I sighed audibly.

  “It is only my mother. I worry about her. Is an acquaintanceship of a few months long enough to consider marriage?”

  “I suppose it depends upon the couple,” she replied before turning her eyes toward the lake. “Richard appears determined to marry her.”

  “What kind of guardian is he?” There was no hint of anything but wonder in my voice.

  She laughed, but it sounded hollow. “He is like all men of means. Over bearing, stubborn, loyal to his work.”

  “Was your father like Richard?” I asked softly.

  A frown covered her lips and eyes. “No. Richard is a veritable tyrant in comparison to my father. My father was the best man while he lived.” She leaned her head against the tree, staring at the water, making plain that she did not wish to speak of her past.

  Relinquishing my hopes to draw more out of her, I took off my hat, placing it on the ground and closing my eyes. A breeze was blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves and giving me a feeling of serenity. My mind immediately moved to the woman whose shoulder was brushing mine. Guinevere had a way about her that could make me forget my troubles. Most of my time spent in her company had been a time of happiness, and that was something that I had not experienced much since my childhood, before the Phantoms.

  Guinevere was close enough that I could smell her scent. She always smelled of lavender. A churning feeling in the pit of my stomach made me want to kiss her until the feeling subsided, but that would neither be proper or something that she would tolerate. One thing was for certain; Guinevere made me feel light, carefree, and yet, I had a strong desire to shelter her and protect her from all pain—even the pain that I would inflict.

  The feelings within me were powerful, waiting anxiously to be unleashed—like a team of horses on the brink of losing control, all that was needed was to drop the hands, give them their heads, and hang on for the ride.

  She moved, her shoulder no longer touching mine. Opening my eyes, she was leaning toward me and studying me with curious eyes. My gaze searched for the depth of her feelings behind the curiosity in her eyes, before dropping to her lips. The corners tilted up in a delicate smile, and she leaned closer, pressing her lips against mine.

  For an instant, I could do nothing, as my body relaxed in a feeling of ecstasy. It was like I had been deprived of sustenance for years, and when I took my first bite, nothing had ever tasted better. But like all first bites, the craving for more, to devour, took hold.

  My hand moved to the small of her back pulling her closer. Her body sighed, and she leaned further into me. I could feel her longing in the pressure of her lips against mine. It both surprised and intrigued me. She needed me, wanted me, and I needed her. Longing so strongly seized my chest that I could barely breathe.

  I love her.

  The thought struck me so forcefully that I pulled away and pushed to my feet. I backed away two steps, staring down at her surprised face.

  Running a hand through my hair, I uttered, “Forgive me.”

  A look of confusion crossed her sweet face. “Why do you need forgiveness, John? I kissed you. If you are apologizing for breaking away, then I forgive you. Now, come. Sit.”

  Staring at her, not making a move to do as she insisted, she frowned, but with what I was feeling, neither of us would be safe.

  She leaned against the tree. “If I promise not to kiss you again, will you sit?”

  That was not what I was worried about. It was not a good idea, and I knew it, but I stepped toward her anyway. To be safe, I left a few inches between us when I sat.

  Silence reigned for several minutes as I fought to get my desires under control. When I glanced at her, her brow was lowered in a scowl.

  After a few more minutes passed in silence, she finally spoke. “I had not thought it of you before.” She turned to look at me. “You are a puritan. Deny it, if you dare.”

  Holding her gaze for a moment before looking back at the water, I wanted to laugh but did not dare. If I answered her honestly, telling her that the intensity of my feelings for her made me want to be anything but a gentleman, she would surely slap my face.

  Instead, I said what John Martin should say. “I am a stickler for propriety, yes.”

  “Then why did you agree to ride with me when you knew I rode without a groom?” she demanded

  “You have discovered my weakness, for I could not deny you anything, but the other side of the coin is that I never want to do anything to harm your reputation. I feel things for you that are new to me. You are—” I paused, wondering how best to describe my feelings. Her eyes begged me to tell her the truth, and at that moment I never wanted anything more. “I am better with verse.” I picked up her gloved hand, entwining our fingers and pressing them against my heart. “So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this,” I tapped our fingers against my heart, “and this gives life to thee.”

  She stared into my eyes for a moment more, then nodding; she pulled her hand from my clasp. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, something she did when thinking.

  After two minutes of silence passed, she stood. “We should return to town.” She started toward the horses.

  I was on my feet in an instant. “Guinevere,” she stopped but did not turn, “if I have done or said anything that makes you uncomfortable, I do apologize.”

  She nodded again but said nothing. Confused by what had transpired, I picked up my hat, jerked it on my head and followed. After assisting her on to her horse, she moved away without waiting for me. I mounted and followed as she led the way toward the city, never once letting me come up beside her. When we neared the country church, she finally slowed for me to join her.
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br />   “I need some time, John,” she glanced at me, then away all too quickly.

  I nodded, but I felt sick. Somehow I had ruined whatever was forming between us.

  "Did you mean what you said?” she asked.

  “With all my heart,” I assured her.

  She rewarded me with a smile. “I shall expect you at my house on Monday at two.” She rode away, leaving me in a state of surprise.

  Her meaning was clear. She expected me to propose...and I was going to.

  Chapter 19

  Bess

  When Jack and I came in from a morning ride, Jericho was awaiting us in the library. Jericho was not dressed in livery, but in his leisure clothing, as he had already been out that morning searching for George.

  When the door was closed, I approached him. “Have you discovered something?” Please, let it be so.

  “Unfortunately not. If there were ever a trail, it has long since been covered. I fear that until we force Levitas to disclose his whereabouts, we will not find him.”

  It was as I feared. Levitas had not met again, nor had there been any word that they knew about our capturing their assassins.

  When Jericho was seated across from us, I watched him closely. From the way he clasped then unclasped his hands; I knew he was worried over something.

  Jericho had long been a favorite of mine. When we were children, he had given me my first kiss. It was done on purpose, but it was a memory I cherished. We had been training in the art of seduction. As my father was wont to say, “Seduction is not restricted to one sex. A person who can seduce can reduce their mission time in half.”