"Th-thank you." Maggie self-consciously smoothed her tattered skirting and looked back toward the parlor. "With the doors closed I can't tell the difference between them; their voices are so alike."
Reagan smiled down at her. "Odd, isn't it. Let me tell you, it took a long time for me to grow used to the fact that there was always a man walking around out there who looked exactly like my husband." She lifted both eyebrows. "It could have made for some interesting situations if I didn't watch myself."
Maggie laughed at Reagan's sense of humor, her tension easing a little as she followed her up the wide grand staircase to the second floor. Maybe this isn't going to be so bad after all, Maggie thought. Both Sterling and Reagan were going out of their way to make her comfortable. They seemed to understand her ill-ease.
"Now don't pay attention to their arguments," Reagan assured her as she lifted her chintz skirts and turned on the first landing. "They always fight. But they love each other fiercely and that's what matters, don't you think?"
"I . . . guess so." Maggie studied the family portraits as she and Reagan went down a long, candlelit hallway flanked with closed paneled doors. "Reagan, could I ask you something?"
"Of course. Heavens, but it's nice to have another woman in the house to talk to. I miss my sister so much."
"What I wanted to know was, how long have you known Grayson?"
"Since the winter of Valley Forge. I met Sterling when he was lodged in my family's home during the occupation of Philadelphia."
"Only you thought he was Grayson?"
Reagan laughed, smoothing her auburn hair. "So you've heard that crazy story."
"I have, but I really didn't believe Grayson when he told me. I thought he was spinning tales. I guess I've gotten so used to men and their lying that I can't tell when they're telling the truth."
Reagan stopped at a door and rested her hand on the knob. "Well, I can certainly understand that." She reached for a silver candlestick on the wall. "Sterling and I had our share of lies, justified or not. But we worked it out, and this is what we've got to show for the perseverance."
She pushed open the door and a little boy bobbed up from a bed. "Mama?"
"Just came to give my best boy some love before he went to sleep," Reagan said, crossing the room and setting the candlestick down on a small stool.
He let out an exasperated sigh. "But you already gave me love when you tucked me in, Mama."
Reagan laughed as she settled on the edge of the bed. "Well, that's a mama's prerogative, isn't it? Besides, I wanted you to meet someone."
The little blond-haired boy, a miniature replica of Grayson and Sterling, looked up at Maggie with bright-blue eyes.
"This is the Widow Maggie Myers, Forrest. She's a friend of Uncle Grayson's."
"Uncle Grayson! Uncle Grayson's here?" The little boy struggled to escape the confines of the cotton sheet his mother had tucked beneath his chin.
"Lie down, young man. Where's your manners? You're not going downstairs again tonight. Now say good evening to the Widow Myers and then it's time you went to sleep."
The boy eyed his mother and then looked back at Maggie. "Good evening to you, Widow Myers," he said politely. But then, no longer able to constrain himself, he bounced up again. "You came with my Uncle Grayson? Do you know if he brought me a present? He can't come very much because he's a busy man, but he always sends me presents. Do you know if he brought me one this time?"
"Forrest! Forrest," Reagan chided. "What a rude child to ask for gifts!" She lifted the sheet and her mouth dropped open. "And what a rude child to be sleeping without his nightshirt!"
The blond boy dropped back onto the pillow again. "It's just too stinkin' hot for nightshirts, Mama. You and papa don't wear a nightshirt, not even when it's cold, so why do I have to wear one?"
Maggie couldn't resist a giggle.
Reagan tried to hide a smile behind her hand. "You'll have to discuss that issue with your father in the morning. Now, go to sleep." She pulled the sheet over his bare chest and then kissed her fingertip and planted the kiss on the end of his nose. "Good night, Forrest."
"Good night, Mama. Good night, Widow Myers." He bobbed back up again. "If Uncle Grayson can, could you tell him to come say good night. I'll wait up," he finished hopefully.
Maggie grinned as Reagan passed her with the candle. "I'll tell Grayson to be sure and say good night, but I don't know how late it will be." She paused, then spoke again. "And if it's all right with your mama, you could call me Miss Maggie." She wrinkled her nose. "Widow Myers makes me feel too old."
The little boy laughed and settled back on his bed. "Mama?"
Both Maggie and Reagan stepped out into the hallway and Reagan stuck her head back in the child's room. "I suppose Miss Maggie would be appropriate. Now say your prayers and go to sleep."
Reagan pulled the door closed and leaned against it for a moment. "Heavens, but that boy tries me."
"He's beautiful." Maggie sighed, thinking of the child that lay nestled in her womb, the child Grayson would never know. "And such a big boy for what . . . three? He speaks so well."
"He does, and I swear we're not going to teach the next one to speak until it's time he went to university." Reagan waved a hand and ushered Maggie down the hall.
"You have another?"
Reagan tossed a wry grin over her shoulder. "Finally." She patted her stomach. "Sterling's beside himself. He's hoping for a dozen boys. Myself, I think it's time we had a girl around this house to balance things out." She stopped at a door and pushed it open. "Go ahead in. This is the blue room. I always thought it was so cozy. My sister loves to stay here when she comes to visit."
Maggie stepped inside the room that glowed softly with candlelight and she gave a little sigh of approval. "It's beautiful." The walls were papered in sprigged blue flowers with green leaves, the four-poster bed lined with light cottony bedcurtains sprigged in the same pattern. The room was tastefully furnished with several small tables, a clothing trunk, and two upholstered chairs in the same blue-flowered pattern. Soft, filmy drapes blew in the slight breeze that came through the two large windows that opened above the bricked courtyard. A painted Chinese screen had been set up near the door and behind it waited a huge bathing tub.
"I've left you towels and a sleeping gown on the bed. Also a tray of tea and some biscuits. I apologize, but the tea is homemade. I refuse to allow English tea into my house."
Maggie nodded, running a finger along the edge of a smooth cherry tabletop. "My mama always made our tea; she hated to pay the tax."
"Well then, I'll say good night. I'm exhausted. I can having a morning meal sent up, or would you prefer to join us in the courtyard?"
Maggie smiled. "I . . . I'd like to eat with Grayson—with all of you, I mean." She lowered her gaze. "See, I'll be going in a few days and I want to spend as much time as I can with him."
Reagan nodded, making no attempt to pry. "Please make yourself at home then. There're no pretensions here. Feel free to come and go and, honestly, let me know if there's anything you need. There's a gown in the chest that should fit you quite nicely."
Maggie lifted her lashes, hesitating but wanting to say something. "I . . . I want to thank you for bein' . . . for being so nice to me."
"For heaven's sake, don't be silly. When Grayson wrote us about you, I knew you were special. We're glad you came."
"I thank you, anyway." Maggie smiled back.
"Good night," Reagan murmured, and then backed out of the bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind her.
For a moment, Maggie stood frozen in disbelief gazing at the room around her. It was like a dream that had come to life! With a squeal of delight she raced for the high four-poster bed and leaped onto it, face first, laughing into the goose-down pillows. As a child she'd imagined what it would be like to sleep in a room like this! She rolled over and kicked off her boots before lying back on the soft tick to stare at the canopy of the massive bed, a pillow hugged in her a
rms.
It wouldn't be too hard to get used to this, she mused. Servants, candles on every wall, thick-bed linens, and pretty wallpaper. Realizing what she was thinking, Maggie groaned and pushed off the bed, throwing the pillow. "Don't be a goose," she chastised herself aloud. "You're not staying here. You can't," she whispered to the reflection in a wavy mirror that hung on a wall near the door.
It would never work, she reminded herself, staring at the wild-haired woman in the mirror. The two of you are as mismatched as a German boot and a French calfskin slipper. He's too rich for you, Maggie Myers, too smart, too worldly. He'd tire of you in a year and find himself another woman to warm his bed, and it would kill you.
She wiped at the dark smudge of dirt on the end of her nose and turned away from the telltale mirror. She didn't like that sadness she saw in her dark eyes. Life was too short for sadness and regrets. She'd made her plan and now she had to stick to it. She'd stay here with Grayson two days, maybe three, and then she'd head for New York. New York was where her baby would have a fair chance at life.
Suddenly tired beyond reason, Maggie began to strip away her dirty clothing. Leaving them in a pile beside the door, she walked behind the screen and slipped into the heavenly water. Relaxing in the tub with the water nearly to her chin, she soaped up a washing cloth with fragrant soap left on a stool and began to lather her dusty skin. She washed her entire body and then her hair and then, tying it up in a thick towel, she leaned back in the tub and closed her eyes.
Rest. That was what she needed. A good night's rest and she'd feel better in the morning. She'd be able to see everything more in perspective. Of course Grayson didn't really want to marry her. He didn't really love her. He was attracted to her, perhaps he was even infatuated with her—but love? A man who grew up in a house like this just didn't fall in love with a bootmaker's daughter. Maggie sighed, made drowsy by the warm water. Yes, she had to get to New York while she still had a little sense, else she feared Grayson would break her heart.
When the bedchamber door opened sometime later, the sound made Maggie jump. Had she been asleep? She didn't know.
"Maggie?"
"Grayson?" She relaxed again, resting her back on the rear of the tub again. "I'm taking a bath." She yawned and stretched in the water. "I didn't know a body could get so dirty in one night."
He chuckled. She could hear him moving in the room, but he didn't come behind the screen.
"I'll be out in a minute." She smiled to herself. "You could come in and soap my back if you wanted."
"Take your time, sweet."
She frowned and began to rinse her body one last time. "A terrible fight that was with your brother. Did you settle it?" she called, a little hurt that he hadn't come around the silk screen.
"Not really. There'll be a meeting with our commander, Colonel Hastings, tomorrow. I won't know anything until I've talked to him. I've gotten myself into a damned bit of trouble here, Maggie. If only I'd listened to Sterling."
"You're tellin' me!" She paused, gathering a towel and wrapping it around her breasts as she stepped out of the cool water. "I wanted to tell you, Grayson, that . . . well, that I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you said you weren't a redcoat." She folded back the Chinese screen so she could see him.
And what a sight he was, with his classic good looks and cocky grin, standing there with his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his breeches. He, too, had bathed and re-dressed in simple fawn-colored breeches and a open-necked muslin shirt.
She turned her attention to combing out her wet hair with a silver-handled brush left beside the bathtub. "It's just that it was such a mad story, and soldiers," she shrugged, "they're all liars. They all deceive. I just thought you were one more passin' through, wantin' a piece of tail before you moved on."
Grayson broke into an odd grin and turned his back toward her to glance out the open window into the darkness of fallen night. "I take it it's to be separate beds with us here?"
She sighed, feeling that familiar ache deep in the pit of her belly. She wanted Grayson, as she knew he must want her, but somehow it just didn't seem right. Not here in the Thayer home, not under these circumstances. "I think it better, don't you?" she asked. "You know . . . with me leavin' and all."
He came toward her, and Maggie heard a sigh escape her lips. She was cool and drowsy from her bath and the thought of snuggling in Grayson's arms on that big bed was almost more than she could bear.
He leaned carefully, almost gentlemanly to kiss her and Maggie let her eyelids flutter shut. Just one kiss, she told herself. Just one.
But the moment his lips touched hers, something clicked in her head. Something wasn't right. Her eyes flew open to stare into Grayson's bemused blue eyes. "Grayson?"
"Maggie." He had a silly grin on his face.
Her eyes narrowed. "Why, you . . . you son of a low-bellied rotter!" She gave him a shove as she clutched the towel she'd nearly let drop. "You're not Grayson."
Sterling broke into laughter. "I wondered how long—"
"That was a stinking thing to do to me, Grayson!" Maggie shouted at the top of her lungs. "Grayson! Come in here! I know you're out there!" She riveted her eyes on Sterling. "And it was a stinking thing for you to do as well!" With that she gave Sterling another hard shove backward toward the tub. He lost his balance and fell bottomfirst into the tepid bathwater, splashing buckets over the sides and onto the floor.
The door burst open and the real Grayson appeared in duplicate clothing as his brother, clapping his hands and laughing. "It took you longer than I thought, Maggie girl!" He offered his hand to his brother who was sputtering soapy water. "A hand, Brother."
But when Sterling accepted his hand and Grayson began to pull him up and out of the tub, Grayson let go and Sterling fell back again into the tub. "Son of a low-bellied rotter, indeed! You kissed her, for Christ's sake! I didn't say you could kiss her, Brother!
It took Maggie a numbing moment to collect her thoughts, but then she spun around in fury to face Grayson. "You! How could you do that to me?" she demanded, clutching her towel to her damp, nude body with one hand while prodding him with the other. "You're lucky I didn't take a roll on that bed with him! It would serve you right!"
He put up his hands in defense. "Easy, easy, it was just a joke, Maggie. No harm done."
"No harm done!" she stammered. "You embarrassed me! The both of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves."
Having climbed out of the bathtub, Sterling reached for a towel off the stool and dried his face. "It was just a joke, but it was all his idea," he accused as he backed his way out of the bedchamber. "Well, good night."
The moment he was gone, Maggie turned on Grayson again, this time dropping her towel and grasping him by the arms to propel him backward toward the tub.
"No, no, Maggie, I just got out of the bath," he protested, staggering. "Can't you take a joke, sweet?"
"Not when I'm the butt of it," she answered, giving him a final shove.
But when Grayson fell back, he pulled Maggie with him and the two fell into the bathtub, wrapped limb in limb. Grayson burst into laughter as she fought to escape his embrace and pulled her into his arms to kiss her. "Ah, Maggie. We'd have such a fine life together, you and I. Think about it, will you?"
Maggie's anger spent, she pressed her hands onto his chest and brought her mouth to his again. "Hush your mouth and kiss me again," she murmured.
"Kiss you? Kiss you?" he teased, lifting her in his arms and out of the tub, a husky catch to his voice. "I can kiss you. I can kiss you on your mouth." He kissed her mouth as he crossed the floor to the bed. "I can kiss your neck." He kissed her neck. "I can kiss your breast."
Maggie arched her back as he laid her across the bed and stretched out over her, his mouth catching her swelling nipple gently between his teeth.
"Yes," she whispered, giggling, "and where else can you kiss me?"
He gave an animal-like growl as he drew his mouth down over her flat belly toward her
woman's mound, his tongue carving a hot, wet trail of desire. "Ah, where else, you ask?" he bedeviled. "It's much easier if I show you, my sassy rebel."
Maggie wove her fingers through Grayson's golden hair and settled back on the goose-down tick. "Show me, then," she whispered, her laughter mingling with his. "Show me."
Chapter Seventeen
Grayson exhaled slowly as he smoothed the green lapels of his dark-brown uniform coat, noting the green hearts sewn at the elbows. "By the king's cod," he swore in Sterling's direction, "is this what you Colonial clods call a uniform?"
"Colonial clod? Do you hear yourself?" Sterling paced the tiny sitting room outside Colonel Hastings' office dressed identically to Grayson in the uniform of an officer of the First Legionary Corps of Virginia. "You best remember who you are and not put on any of Captain Grayson Thayer's airs or you're likely to wind up in the brig instead of receiving an honorable discharge."
"I'm not looking for an honorable discharge," Grayson commented, snatching off his borrowed black leather cap, which, trimmed as it was with a green turban about the crown and knotted in the back with yellow tassels, seemed foppish to him. "I have to go back in, and I well expect your support, Brother."
At that moment a young sergeant who acted as Colonel Hastings' secretary appeared at the door. He stared at the remarkable likeness in the Thayer brothers for a moment before remembering why he was there. He cleared his throat. "The . . . the colonel will see you now, sirs." He gave a quick salute and sidestepped both men.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Grayson threw back his shoulders and walked through the colonel's door. Inside, he lifted a smart salute and waited for John Hastings, a man in his midforties, to return the salute.
"At ease, gentlemen," the colonel said, looking up from a pile of scattered papers and giving a sweep of his knotty-fingered hand as he completed his salute. "Close the door and have a seat."
Grayson and Sterling removed their caps and accepted the two straight-backed chairs placed in front of their commanding officer's desk. In silence they waited for him to complete the paperwork he was engrossed in. After a minute or more, the colonel set aside the stack of papers and removed his spectacles, massaging the bridge of his nose.
The Bootmaker's Daughter: Revolution (Destiny's Daughters Book 2) Page 20
