“Would you give my sister a hand?” asked Sean, gesturing to Francine, who was gazing at Chatham.
“Robert—thank you.” Francine’s voice was low and husky, and she smiled warmly at Chatham. “I’ll miss you and your tender touch.”
Chatham stepped closer to her and took one of her hands in his. He lifted it and kissed it lightly. “Take care of yourself, Francine, and don’t let this madman talk you into any more foolishness.”
Responding to the warmth in Chatham’s voice, Francine rose on the balls of her feet and gently kissed his cheek. Then, with the aid of Lieutenant Lawrence, she walked to the edge of the dock and climbed into the skiff. Sean turned to Chatham, extending his hand, which the doctor grasped between both of his.
“Be careful, Robert. Take no unnecessary risks!”
“Yes, sir!” replied Chatham with mock obedience. The doctor’s face softened. “Rest easy, Sean. You’re the warrior; I’m only the healer.” Sean nodded his head as he walked to the skiff.
Chatham waited at the dock until the small boat was no longer visible in the darkness and then returned to the carriage with a quiet word to Jeremy.
As the carriage returned to the heart of Charleston, Chatham tried not to think of the future, or of Sean or of Francine.
<><><>
It was almost dawn. Sean watched the purple light on the horizon lighten to blue. Francine was sleeping peacefully in her cabin and he found the silence of the foredeck more of a comfort than his bed. He sensed someone behind him and then heard the voice of Lieutenant Lawrence.
“Sir, the Commodore wished me to give you this letter after we’d safely left port.”
In the growing light of the new morning, Sean took the sealed envelope and inspected it. The wax seal bearing the Commodore’s personal insignia was undisturbed. Sean nodded to Lieutenant Lawrence and slipped a thumbnail under the outer edge. He scanned the words hastily and read them again, more slowly this time. Sean was instructed by the Commodore to go to Washington and to present himself in seven days’ time to the president. What now?
After arriving in Annapolis and seeing Francine safely home and into the care of her servants, Sean secured an appointment, several days hence, with Judge Tulley—the man whose name was on that yellow envelope. Only after he had done this did he return home.
Home was the residential district of Washington. When Sean had realized years ago that he would be living a nomadic life, he decided that he wanted to live where the decisions as to the future of the country would be made. His house was built in the new style that combined Virginia plantation with Northern common sense. It did not blend with the graciousness of the Georgian residences that flanked his, but held well its proud ground of individuality.
When he arrived home unannounced, his small staff responded admirably. Within an hour, a fine lunch had been prepared, accompanied by his favorite wine. Then Sean sat down to work on the two months of mail that awaited his return.
Correspondence occupied his time for most of the afternoon. Then, as Sean contemplated an early bedtime, the front door resonated with the knocking of the brass hammer. Within a minute Ian, Sean’s former subordinate in the Navy and now his butler, came to the door of his library. He limped slightly from an old wound received in battle.
“Sir,” said Ian, “Representative Gates is calling on you.”
“Bring him in, Ian, and bring the claret as well.” Sean’s butler nodded to him, left, and within seconds was back with Congressman Gates.
“Welcome home, Sean,” said Thomas Gates heartily, as he extended his hand.
“It’s been a long time, Tom, have a seat.”
“I’ve only a few minutes. I was told you returned today, and I’d like you to have dinner with me and my wife.”
“Wife?” said Sean incredulously. “I had no idea!” The two men had known each other since they had been children in New York.
“Amanda Bearden,” replied the congressman with a smile. Thomas Gates was Sean’s age, but in physical appearance he was the complete opposite, standing five inches shorter and weighing perhaps fifteen pounds more. His portly figure did not concern him—he had never been a vain man, and the additional pounds actually helped him in his position. He was one of the new breed of young congressmen, with an almost boyish face made more mature by the affectation of long, overgrown sideburns.
Sean shook his head, smiling, and waited for the wine to be poured. When Ian had finished, and replaced the bottle on the tray, he said, “Amanda Bearden. How in the hell did you land her?” Sean remembered her well: raven hair that fell in rich waves to her mid-back; dark brown, piercing eyes that could hold a man in thrall; a full, ripe body that called for sensual fulfillment—Amanda Bearden was a definite catch for Congressman Gates.
“I shall not deceive you,” Gates confessed taking a sip from his glass, “as I would not deceive myself. I needed a wife of social stature, and Amanda needed a husband of both stature and wealth.” Gates paused when he saw the questioning look in Sean’s eyes.
“Amanda’s father lost everything. He gambled on sending his entire fleet, in convoy, to France. Two days before they were to reach port, a British naval fleet spotted them. The British, citing their new regulations, confiscated the entire fleet—not only the goods but the ships as well! Made them into British merchantmen!”
“And we did nothing?” Sean was shocked and angry.
“What could be done? Most of our Navy is near Canada. The rest is just barely able to protect our southern and eastern coasts.”
“And?” he prompted Gates.
“A marriage of convenience. I was able to help out her father, and Amanda is a help to my career.”
“What of love?” asked Sean philosophically?
“Sean, I’m a practical man. I know what I want…” He let the sentence linger in the air, avoiding Sean’s eyes as he did so. Then he cleared his throat. “At any rate, my old friend, would you join Amanda and myself this evening for dinner?”
“Of course,” Sean responded, but he could not shake the thought of this unlikely union from his mind. It disturbed him, and not only because of his friend’s earlier dismissal of love. After Thomas Gates had left, and then later as he dressed, he thought about Amanda Bearden. She had almost, but for a sudden indecision, become Sean’s sister-in-law. Her sister, Clarissa, had been Sean’s fiancée until a year ago, when Sean had realized that what he wanted was not what Clarissa Bearden could give him.
Clarissa had wanted Sean to enter politics. That had been their running battle for three years. Finally, she gave him an ultimatum, which he accepted. He was content to continue doing what he was doing, and he would not budge from that position.
Clarissa had screamed and cried at him, charging him with being a child and of not accepting his responsibilities.
“Responsibilities? What responsibilities do you think I have?”
Her face flared red. “Me! You took my virginity! You’ve shamed me! And now you’re leaving me to look for a husband who will accept damaged goods!”
Sean looked at her, finally seeing her for what she was. She was a pretty but shallow child clad in a woman’s body, willful and eager to have her own way. Thinking back, he was uncertain whether he had seduced her, or she him. She would use anything to get what she wanted.
“I never took from you anything you did not willingly give. There are many men who would marry a Bearden, Clarissa.” With that statement, Sean walked out of Clarissa’s life. There had been many letters, all sounding the same theme. Clarissa asked for forgiveness; she pleaded with Sean to come back to her, telling him of the hopelessness of her life without him.
“Your boots, sir,” said Ian, disturbing Sean’s reverie. The valet held the high, black leather boots forward. Sean adjusted his cravat as he inspected their highly polished finish and moved the topaz stickpin a half an inch to the left. When he finished putting on his boots, he stood and examined himself. The reflection met with his approval. The
black pants fit tightly around his calves and thighs; the white linen shirt shone against the black waistcoat. The ruffles on his sleeves were full around his hand, and the gold chain, attached to his pocket fob, glistened in the well-lit room. He turned and presented himself for Ian’s final appraisal.
“You’ve lost weight,” was his valet’s comment as he pulled at Sean’s waistband. “Any more, and I’ll have to bring all your clothes to the tailor.”
With a final brushing down, Ian completed his duties and stepped aside.
“Your horse is tied up to the front. Have a good dinner, sir.”
“Thank you,” replied Sean, as he walked from the house into the cool evening.
<><><>
Sean handed his gray gelding over to Gates’ stable boy and walked up the steps to the large, ornate wooden door. The door swung open and a liveried servant stood before him, bowing low.
“Welcome, Mr. Rouger. Mr. Gates is in the salon.”
Sean nodded and walked inside. He noticed the simple but stately furnishings of his friend’s home had been changed. Gone were the clean, simple lines of the bachelor haunt, and replacing them were the more ornate, imported furnishings of which society recognized as elegant. Rich, lush reds and burgundies shone from walls and in fabrics; the velvet upholstery glowed in the candlelight, and the paintings that adorned the walls were like stately echoes of wealth.
In the salon, Thomas Gates came hastily to greet him. He welcomed Sean heartily in a loud voice, then let it drop to a whisper. “Clarissa is here. Amanda sent for her when I told her you were joining us.” Gates shook his head in apology.
“It’s not a problem, Tom. I half expected it.” Sean realized he would have to see Clarissa at least once while he was in Washington, and the sooner he did the freer he would be.
“I have a new port I’d like your opinion on,” said Gates, relieved at his friend’s reaction. He guided Sean to a table that held a heavy, leaded glass decanter and poured the ruby liquid into a waiting glass for Sean before refilling his own. Both men sipped, and when Sean lowered his glass, Thomas Gates looked at him expectantly.
“Excellent!” he declared, raising the glass again.
“Good, then I’ve made a worthwhile investment,” Gates declared, showing his guest to a plush velvet loveseat. “Tell me,” he went on conspiratorially, “how did you find the women in New Orleans?” It had been given out for public knowledge that Sean had gone to New Orleans to inspect the purchase area for a possible military base. All his friends knew him to be a military liaison officer, one of the higher ranking men who reported to the President as well as to the generals.
“To tell you the truth, I had so little free time, I could not even think about women.” Sean smiled as thoughts of Kira Cornwall rose again, unbidden, to his mind.
“Well, I’m sure my sister will be glad to hear that,” said Amanda Gates as she entered the salon. “Sean, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Sean stood and inclined his head to her. He accepted her proffered hand with a smile. He held it to his lips, and looked closely at her. “Marriage looks well on you,” he said sincerely. She did look radiant; her raven hair glistened and her eyes sparkled with his compliment.
“Clarissa will be down shortly,” she murmured, taking a glass of port from her husband.
Sean nodded, accepting the inevitable, and drained his glass. When he put it down, Thomas Gates quickly refilled it. How typical, thought Sean. Clarissa has set the stage for her grand entry. Despite himself, though, he was curious to see her.
Five minutes later, Clarissa entered the salon, and with lithe movements walked toward Sean. Amanda and Clarissa could have been twins, except for the difference in their height and hair. Clarissa had not changed at all since Sean had last seen her a year ago. Her blonde hair was set with an intricacy of curls that would bewilder a mapmaker, but the sophistication suited her face and showed it to its best advantage. Her hazel eyes looked boldly at him, telling him she was still his. Sean’s eyes traveled the length of her body. The pale blue dress fitted her to perfection. Her white, lightly powdered breasts peeked over the top of the squarely cut front of her dress, and the narrowness of her waist reminded him of her suppleness.
“It’s been a long time, Sean,” she said, and with her words the spell was broken, drawing Sean back to the present.
“Yes, but you’ve not changed.”
“Nor you,” she replied, accepting his words as a compliment.
“Dinner!” commanded Amanda Bearden, as the doors of the salon swung open into the formal dining room.
Throughout the meal, Sean asked many questions about the current social and political scenes, but his eyes continually returned to Clarissa. He had been without a woman for a long time and it occurred to him now that his needs were different than they had been. He had changed; he wanted a closeness that a woman like Clarissa Bearden could never give. Attractive though she was, he did not desire her.
As the meal drew to a close, and Sean continued to drink the fine wine his host’s servants poured, his thoughts kept returning to Kira. What she was really like, he wondered. And he vowed to himself that he would find out.
After dinner Sean and Thomas Gates retired to the study to have brandy and cigars before rejoining the women. Sean had drunk a large amount during dinner and was feeling the effects. He felt warm and comfortable here. It had been a long time since he had been able to indulge himself without fear of prying eyes or ears.
“Another?” asked Gates. Sean nodded and extended his glass. “You know, Sean, you could do much worse than Clarissa.”
Sean held back his laughter. Worse than Clarissa? Yes, he probably could do worse, but what he wanted was to do better. Gates took Sean’s silence for acquiescence and continued.
“She’s a wonderful woman and knows Washington and its society.”
“You know how I feel about politics,” Sean commented. “Especially in my situation.”
“But that’s the thing. Your situation can be offset by marriage to Clarissa. The important people, the people of knowledge, know you! They also know that you are the opposite of your father; you are a hawk! The military’s staunchest advocate. They know that you are for this country. The era of the founders is coming to a close, Sean. We need new blood that will bring fresh ideas and the force to propel us forward.”
“And don’t,” said Gates sharply, as he pointed a broad finger at Sean. “Don’t tell me that because you are illegitimate that you are cast in lower roles.” Gates drew in a deep breath. “I tell you, with the Bearden name behind you, political doors will open for you!”
“Well said,” applauded Sean. He clapped his hands and shook his head to force sobriety upon himself.
“Yes, rather,” smiled Gates, who was not exactly sober himself. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Sean.”
“It’s all right, after all, you’ve been offending me since we met in school.”
The men laughed together, but before Thomas Gates could say more, the study doors opened and the two women entered. Both had refreshed themselves, and Clarissa had heightened the color of her cheeks.
“Are we allowed to have a drink with you gentlemen, or do you have more urgent matters pending?” Amanda smiled coyly at her husband as she spoke.
“Please my dear, please join us. Wine?” he asked. Amanda nodded her approval.
“I think I’ll have a brandy,” Clarissa said softly, moving to Sean’s side.
For an hour more they drank and talked lightly of inconsequential matters. They gossiped about people and fashions until Sean found himself growing slightly bored. At last, Amanda rose and smiled at Sean. “I must say goodnight. Tomorrow will be a very busy day for me.” She turned to her husband and pointedly put out her hand to him. Thomas Gates almost leapt to his feet, smiling at the signal she flashed.
“Sean, I must retire as well. Please feel free to stay and continue your conversation with Clarissa.” Then
, with a besotted wink, he followed his wife out and closed the doors behind him.
“Do you like the way Amanda refurnished the study?” asked Clarissa, her eyes still on him and not the room.
Sean glanced about politely. “It’s lovely.” Actually, he thought it had been fine as it used to be, but he held his tongue.
Clarissa smiled, holding out her empty glass to him. “I helped Amanda with some of the refurnishing.” Sean stood, using the arm of the chair to steady his wobbly feet and then took the decanter of brandy to refill Clarissa’s glass. He decided that he would have no more. The buzzing in his head was growing unpleasant.
Sean stood beside Clarissa and watched her take a sip from her glass. Old memories swept over him—a time when they had been happy together. He pulled his eyes from hers and started back to his chair.
“No,” commanded Clarissa. “Please sit next to me.”
Sean impulsively responded to the soft, lilting sensuality of her voice. He was wary, but his judgment was impaired by the drink, and he allowed her to seat him beside her. He could smell her heady perfume—one he had always liked on her. She looked at him and then spoke again.
“I’m glad that I let Amanda talk me into coming… I wasn’t going to, but I’m glad I did.” She paused, expecting a reply from Sean, but when he didn’t respond, she continued, “It’s been a year, and it’s been a long year of thought for me. Sean, I need you—I love you!”
“No,” said Sean with a sharp shake of his head.
“Ssh,” said Clarissa, as she placed a cool finger against his lips and let her eyes devour his face.
At her light touch, Sean felt a sudden rush of desire course through him. He pulled away from her, but her body moved with his. The warmth of her breasts seeped through his shirt as she pressed against his chest. His mind moved sluggishly, as he tried to resist the passions that were flooding his senses.
A Whisper Of Destiny Page 8
