Quin strode home without his wig, without his walking stick and gloves, without feeling the pinch of his high-heeled shoes. Never had he wanted a woman before like he wanted Virginia Munro. When it came to his green-eyed mermaid, what the Boston elite said was definitely true.
He was insatiable.
CHAPTER NINE
Virginia returned to the apple tree with the bag of roasted chestnuts. On the ground lay Quincy Stanton’s handkerchief. She must have dropped it just before he kissed her.
She picked it up. His initials were embroidered in a corner. With a smile, she smoothed her thumb over the raised letters. She lifted the handkerchief to her nose. It didn’t possess the foul fragrance he had used before, the scent of a dissolute dandy. It smelled clean and masculine. It smelled like Quin.
Leaning back against the tree, she gazed through the twisted branches to the blue sky overhead. Only a few colored leaves remained on the tree, fluttering in the breeze. It had finally happened. Her first real kiss. Oh, there had been friendly and flirtatious pecks in the past, but nothing like this. Nothing that had left her breathless and unable to think. Nothing that had awakened a need to have more.
She inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. She needed to keep her wits about her. How much did she really know about Quincy Stanton? She knew he was handsome, intelligent, and charming, but he masqueraded as a vain, pompous fool. Did she dare involve herself with a man capable of such duplicity?
’Twas not your fault. He had been so kind and sympathetic. He knew everything about her now, yet still found her attractive.
You shouldn’t blame yourself. Perhaps he was right. She was twenty-one years old. The memory of Auntie’s death, as horrible as it was, should be put to rest and not allowed to control her anymore. Quincy thought she was brave. If she were truly brave, she would face her fear and deal with it.
She pushed away from the tree and strode toward the house.
“Are you all right, dear?” her aunt asked as she entered the kitchen.
“I’m very well.” Virginia sat at the kitchen table, placing the bag on the surface. “Quincy bought us some roasted chestnuts.”
“Why did he run away?” Caroline sat across from her.
“Excuse me?”
“We were watching from the window,” Caroline explained, “and all of a sudden, Quincy Stanton ran down the path and out the gate.”
Virginia felt the warmth of a blush across her cheeks. She had sensed the tension in Quin, the desire, the control he had exercised. It had engulfed her to the point she had been unable to think. “Aunt Mary, I have a confession to make.”
Her aunt gasped. “What did you do with him?”
Caroline clapped her hands together. “I knew it. You seduced him.”
“No.” Virginia glared at her sister. “This has nothing to do with Quincy.” She shifted her gaze to Aunt Mary. “ ’Tis about me. Since the age of six I’ve been so terrified of fire, I’ve allowed this fear to dictate how I live my life.” She steeled herself for her aunt’s reaction, but Aunt Mary simply nodded her head.
Virginia glanced at her sister. “You told her?”
Caroline turned bright red and shook her head.
“Your father told me before he left.” Aunt Mary sat next to Caroline. “He was explaining about that ridiculous rumor that you’re unfit for marriage.”
“I am unfit,” Virginia said. “I don’t know how to build a fire, how to make soap, or do the laundry. I cannot cook at all. ’Tis ridiculous for a woman my age to be so ignorant.”
Caroline shrugged. “Just marry a wealthy man like Quincy Stanton.”
Virginia frowned at her sister. “Neither one of us will have much of a dowry. Wealthy people tend to marry other wealthy people. Besides, marriage will not cure my fear of fire. I need to do that myself.”
“How do you propose to go about it?” Mary asked.
“She could learn to cook.” Mrs. Robertson stirred the pot of stew over the fire. “I’ll be happy to teach the lass.”
Mary nodded. “Aye, that would be a step in the right direction.”
Virginia examined the large kitchen hearth and swallowed hard. “All right, I will. And when I go back home, those nasty people will have to find someone else to humiliate with their vicious gossip.”
Caroline covered her face and burst into tears. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, Ginny. I was afraid you would hate me.”
Virginia blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“It was all my fault,” Caroline wailed. “The rumor at home. I told one of my friends. We were telling each other secrets, and I told her you couldn’t cook, that you were afraid of fire. I didn’t think she would tell anyone, but she did. It was all my fault, and now, everybody will hate me.” She lowered her face into her hands, sobbing.
Virginia skirted the table to sit next to Caroline.
Aunt Mary scooted down the bench and hugged the crying girl. “Hush now, lass. Nobody hates you.”
Virginia hugged her sister from the other side. “Come now, there’s been enough tears for one day.”
Caroline sniffed. “I’m afraid that, because of me, you’ll never want to go home. And Mama and Papa will hate me.”
Virginia handed her Quincy’s handkerchief. “Nonsense. No one could hate you. Besides, I’m not afraid of what a few people in North Carolina think of me. You know there’s no one there I want to marry.”
Caroline smiled tremulously with bleary eyes. “Not even Hans Schroeder?”
Virginia laughed. She and her sister had teased each other in the past, saying that the chubby widower Hans would come courting one of them, looking for a wife to take care of his five chubby children.
“As far as I’m concerned, you two can stay with me forever,” Aunt Mary said. “I would be terribly lonesome without you.”
George barged into the kitchen. “We have another guest. I showed him into the parlor.”
“Who?” Virginia asked.
“Edward Stanton. Remember? I went to his house this morning and left him a message.”
“Oh, my.” Aunt Mary popped up from the bench and smoothed out her skirts. “Do I look all right?”
Virginia stood and adjusted the lace cap perched on her aunt’s auburn curls. “You look lovely.”
“Oh, my.” Mary dashed from the room.
Virginia exchanged a look with her sister. “I have a feeling Aunt Mary won’t be lonesome much longer.”
Caroline grinned, her unsinkable spirit bubbling back to the surface. “Perhaps there’ll be a double wedding?”
Virginia scoffed. “In a hurry to be rid of me?” She glanced at George, who stood by the door. “What is that you’re holding, George?”
“A walking stick. It was in the parlor.”
“Oh, may I see it?” Virginia skimmed her palm along the smooth ebony surface. “This belongs to Quincy.” She fingered the silver knob on the end. “The knob feels a trifle loose. Perhaps we can fix it.” She gave it a twist and jumped when a sharp blade sprang out the other end. “Good Lord!”
They stared at the transformed walking stick.
“Godsookers,” George whispered.
Josiah arrived Monday morning, brown hair wet and neatly tied back, clothes clean, shoes polished, hornbook in hand, and a surly expression on his freshly scrubbed face.
“Good morning, Josiah.” Virginia gave him a friendly smile. “Won’t you come in?”
He glowered at his clipped nails. “The master made me come. I don’t need no education.”
“You don’t need an education,” Virginia corrected him.
“Right!” He flashed a grin at her and bolted down the front steps.
“Josiah, come back here!”
He was rounding the corner with no indication of returning.
“That l
ittle scoundrel.” Virginia darted down the hall into the kitchen. “George, run out the side gate and catch the boy. He’s running away!”
She dashed after George as he sprinted to the side gate. At the street, she paused to catch her breath. Josiah was ahead a few feet with the older George quickly gaining on him.
The boy selling chestnuts stuck out a foot. Josiah tripped and splattered into a puddle of water and filth.
George yanked him up and hauled him back to the garden. “I caught him, Miss Virginia!”
She inspected Josiah, now covered with foul-smelling muck, the hornbook in his hands filthy. “Were you this much trouble in school?”
The boy grinned. “Oh, aye.”
“You’re too filthy to let in the house.”
“Then I can go home?”
“No.” Virginia smiled. “You can have a bath here in the garden.”
With George standing guard, she succeeded in washing Josiah in a tub of cold water while the boy complained loud enough for the entire south side of Boston to hear. George was left with the task of cleaning Josiah’s clothes and hornbook as she marched the boy into the parlor and sat him down at the table. Wrapped in a linen towel, he scowled at her.
She removed the vase containing flowers Quin had sent the day before and placed it on the mantelpiece in front of the gilded mirror.
“Do you know the alphabet?” She fetched paper, inkwell, and sharpened quill from the secretaire against the wall and set the items on the table in front of Josiah.
“Aye, I ain’t no muddlehead. Ye’re giving me real paper? And ink? Ye’re not afraid I’ll make a mess in yer fancy room?”
“If you do, you’ll clean it up.” She sat across from him.
He chewed his lip, apparently judging the situation.
“I’m waiting.”
Frowning, he went to work and finished quickly. “There.” He passed the paper to her. “I can write real fast when I’ve got a good chair.”
She examined his work. “What do you mean?”
“That scurvy old schoolmaster, he made me sit on the unipod for a week.”
“Unipod?”
“Aye, a stool with one leg. ’Tis a punishment for bad boys like me.” He lifted his chin with pride.
“You’re not bad, Josiah, and I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life. What kind of schoolmaster is he?”
Josiah beamed. “That’s what Mr. Stanton said. He fussed at the old man, said he didn’t know how to handle the clever ones like me.”
“Well, perhaps, but I don’t believe you made it very easy for your teacher.”
The boy squirmed in his chair. “I don’t need no education.” He glanced at her with a hopeful look.
She smiled. “I try not to make the same mistake twice. And you do need an education. You can do very well in America if you’re willing to learn and work hard.”
“Ye sound like me master. He said if I gets an education, he’ll cut me time in half. Seven years instead of fourteen.”
“That’s very generous of him.”
Josiah grimaced. “Seems like forever to me.”
“How old are you?”
“Nine.”
“I see.” Virginia studied the boy before her. Seven years would seem like forever to a nine-year-old. The boy needed more immediate rewards for his efforts.
“I could make a living for meself, I could. I don’t need no big people taking care of me.”
“What would you do?”
He sat up straight in his chair, puffing out his scrawny chest. “I’d be the best damn pickpocket in the New World!”
She kept her face expressionless, aware the boy was trying to shock her. “That’s not a profession with a promising future. Now let’s see how good you are at ciphering.”
The rest of the lesson proceeded well enough. Josiah was correct; he was not a muddlehead. She rewarded him with a big piece of apple pie. Without mentioning she had discovered the hidden blade inside, she gave him the walking stick to return to Quincy. Then she sent him home in his damp but clean clothes.
Friday, October 27, 1769
Virginia fanned herself, seated next to her aunt and sister in Concert Hall. The air was warm and stuffy with so many Bostonians crammed into the building, eager to hear the band of the 64th Regiment play. Virginia sighed. The inhabitants of Boston lacked consistency. They hated the British army’s presence in their town, but loved their music. Of course, the fact that the concert was free might account for the heavy turnout.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for one Bostonian in particular. Josiah had come by that morning for a quick lesson and had confided that his master would attend this evening. She needed to discuss the boy’s lessons with Quin, but she knew that was a convenient excuse.
The truth was she longed to see him. She ached to see him with a hunger that worried her, for the overwhelming nature of it defied clear thought.
Every night she went to sleep with the memory of his mouth against her own and his arms around her. For a week she had dreamed of him, and where was he? Was he so occupied with business that he didn’t come visit her?
Her heart leapt in her chest when she spotted him entering with his younger brother. Quin’s gray silk coat and breeches fit him to perfection. Buttons of engraved silver lined his waistcoat of black-and-silver brocade. With his gray wig and gray eyes, he epitomized wealth and elegance.
Her initial excitement dwindled into uncertainty. He claimed not to care for rich clothes, yet he looked like he had spent half the day dressing. His frilly flock of peahens gathered around him, fawning over his fabulous plumage. His natural charm eased out with flowing speech and a dimpled smile, and his ladies responded with twitters of laughter. So intent was he on entertaining them, he never noticed her presence.
A slow throb of pain crept from the middle of her forehead to lodge in her temple, and she pressed her fingers against the side of her brow. With his wealth and handsome looks, Quincy Stanton was one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors. The group of females surrounding him attested to that fact. So, why would he be interested in her? Did his duplicity extend to his treatment of her, so that he not only pretended to be a dandy, he also pretended to be attracted to her? Was that why he kissed her, then never came back?
“Virginia, how marvelous to see you.”
She gave Captain Breakwell a halfhearted smile. “How do you do?”
“Is this seat not taken?” He helped himself to the seat she had saved for Quincy.
She glanced sadly at Quin and his brother where they held court. Another sad face, that of Priscilla Higgenbottom, peered back.
“Oh, look, there’s Priscilla.” Virginia raised her hand in greeting.
Mrs. Higgenbottom loomed over her daughter, whispering, and Priscilla turned her attention to Clarence Stanton.
“Poor Priscilla.” Virginia resumed fanning herself. “Her mother insists she flirt with Clarence Stanton.”
William frowned. “Does Miss Higgenbottom not care for the man?”
“No, she doesn’t, but her mother is determined that she marry a man who will take her to England.”
“Oh.” William shifted uneasily in his chair. “I was wondering how you would feel about living in England.”
Virginia swallowed hard. Was this man that serious about her? Dropping her fan in her lap, she rubbed her temple where the throb was quickening its pace. “I . . . I’ve never given the notion any thought.”
“Please do.”
The music started with a great pounding of drums that reverberated through her head. When the music finally ended, the pounding in her head continued with a life of its own. In the midst of the applause, she spotted Quincy Stanton headed for the door.
She rose from her chair. “I need to step outside for a moment.”
?
??Allow me to escort you.” William jumped to his feet. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Outside, she spied Quin rounding the corner of Concert Hall, but she didn’t dare follow him with William shadowing her. If her suspicions were correct, Quin was involved in some sort of activity that must remain a secret from the British authorities.
“Perhaps we should go to the side of the Hall,” William said. “ ’Tis a bit muddy here in front.”
“Oh, no, this is fine.” She patted William’s arm, determined to keep him away from Quin. “Is that not the major who fainted at the Higgenbottoms’ ball?” She motioned to the portly man crossing the street with a group of British officers.
William introduced her to them. She curtsied to each one, exchanging pleasantries to keep them distracted so Quin would have time to do whatever he was doing in secret.
The major weaved toward her, ogling her low neckline with his bloodshot eyes. “I remember you. I never forget a br—I mean, a face.”
She stepped back, opening her fan to cover her bosom. “I remember you, too.” A sharp twinge shot through her temple. Her headache was worsening.
The major lurched toward her, his frizzled wig listing to the side. “I’ve been looking for you, my gel. Been alone for much too long, don’t you know.”
“I’m not surprised.” She retreated, peering over her shoulder. She was on the edge of a low spot in the road where horses and carriages had churned up a slippery quagmire of mud and manure.
When the major lurched toward her again, she simply stepped to the side and watched the major sprawl into the filth.
“Oh, dear. William?” She looked helplessly at the captain.
He paused in the middle of his conversation with another captain and offered a hand to the major to help him up. The major was almost erect, when his feet skidded in the mud, knocking into William’s boots and causing him to lose his balance. William yelped, reached out for the other captain, and all three men toppled with a tremendous splash, splattering mud and filth all over Virginia’s face and green silk dress.
“Aagh!” She wiped her face. “This is horrid! And I repaired my gown just yesterday.”