“Are you going out, too, sir?”

  “Yes. Another no doubt futile meeting at William Bull’s house with the men who could stop all this, if they would. But Bull won’t forget he’s the lieutenant governor, and governor till another’s appointed. Egerton Leigh won’t forget he’s a judge, and a representative of the law. And Gadsden won’t forget he’s Gadsden. Well, we must try, before this city stews to death in its own juice.”

  Michael thought about that as he made his way to the Bay. They must try. God’s teeth, every man in Charlestown was trying for something different. Christopher Gadsden wanted rebellion. Thomas Carver wanted peace. Michael Fallon would settle for a resumption of trade.

  Suddenly light flared in the darkness ahead as an alehouse door burst open, a soldier backpedaling out to fall in the dust. Even as the redcoat hit the ground two sailors in canvas pants and striped shirts were on him, pummeling him as he lay. Fool, Michael thought, to go into a sailors’ tavern. A small knot of soldiers, coming around the corner, fell on the sailors instantly. Their arrival was a trigger, though. The alehouse suddenly disgorged a score of seamen swinging bottles and broken stools. Someone began shouting for the watch, till the shout was cut off by the thud of cudgel on flesh. Another squad of redcoats came down the street at the double and waded into the melee, rifle butts rising and falling.

  Michael went on by. It wasn’t the first such tonight, nor would it be the last.

  The Bay was dark just below the Bridge. A scrape of shoe leather against stone pulled him up. At first he saw nothing. Then something moved in the deep shadows. Clouds shifted, and revealed the shape of a gentleman’s cloak. The man lifted his head.

  “Mr. Gadsden!”

  The man took a step toward Michael. “Fallon, isn’t it? You’re surprised to see me, I take it.”

  “It’s been a dangerous place in the night, of late.”

  “I haven’t found it so. I come here often. There are those who’d load a ship and sneak it out under cover of darkness if there wasn’t an eye to watch. Though it may help that I let it be known I carry these.” He hefted a stout stick and opened his cloak to show a brace of pistols. “It’s the last night of it, though. Tomorrow they’ll be allowed to sail, and no one will try to stop them.”

  “How can you be sure? Tonight’s meeting can’t be more than just getting under way.”

  “I know, Mr. Fallon. I know. I will arrive late, just as they’re deadlocked and going hoarse from argument. Then I’ll come to my senses, see that all this isn’t doing any good. I’ll throw my weight behind Thomas Carver and Henry Laurens. With us together Bull will come around, and the clearances will be given. Without the stamps, of course. By this time I think they’ll swallow that without a murmur.”

  “But why, then?” Michael asked. “Some say all this is to punish England, but I didn’t think you were—”

  He cut off short, and Gadsden chuckled. “That stupid, you were going to say?” He went on over Michael’s protest. “No, it’s not for England, all this. That fight’s being fought by our merchants.”

  “Then there’s no reason for it! It’s hurting none but ourselves.”

  “And that’s the reason for it, man! No, let me finish. If we won this without strain, we’d never be ready to fight when the price was clear, especially if the gains weren’t clearly ours. Now, though, when the next fight comes, they’ll all remember how damned old England forced our ships to stay in harbor and choked our trade. Oh yes, that’s how they’ll remember it. And they’ll remember, too, how they stood shoulder to shoulder to fight it. Such are men’s minds. Well, I’d better be going to that meeting.”

  “Mr. Gadsden, why are you telling me all this? And what in the devil’s name is it you’re after? Sir?”

  Gadsden smiled and pulled his cloak around him. A few steps down the street, once more just a shape in the shadows, he turned.

  “Your friends speak well of you, Mr. Fallon,” he said. And he was gone.

  10

  Justin walked his horse through the icy fog on Broad Street. Pompey, who’d been waiting for his return home dashed out to take the reins. Justin swept by, intent on the fire inside.

  His father was in the study when he entered, bent over his desk reading a letter. Without speaking Justin poked fitfully at the fire. Perhaps he ought to have another log put on.

  “Have you any news?” came Jean-Baptiste’s dry voice.

  “News?” He kept peering at the fire. “No. The canaille are gathered on the street corners despite the fog, if you call that news.”

  “The fog will burn off, and the rabble will have sun to celebrate in. If you had more years you would have listened, and you would know what it is they celebrate.”

  Justin’s mouth twisted. “It’s of no importance. A loutish lot; the whip would settle them.”

  “The day is coming when this foolishness of the herd in power will be ended. The power can and will fall to us.”

  Justin nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “I have the skill, but I am too old. The grasping of power in the times to come will be a young man’s work. Your brothers are too young, though, too inexperienced. I will send Henri and Louis to England for schooling this year. I hope there will be time for a year or two on the Continent as well before they must be brought back. Even so, they will still be too inexperienced for what must be done. Your sister? A woman.” He gestured expressively. “Gabrielle will marry eventually, for the benefit of the family. Nothing more can be expected.”

  “And that leaves me.”

  Jean-Baptiste eyed him coldly. “Yes, you, who still does not know that information is more powerful than the whip, or cannon. It is the man with information who orders the cannon.”

  “Very well, Father. What information should I have heard?”

  “The Stamp Act has been repealed.”

  “Repealed!” He slammed his fist into the cypress mantel. “So those treasonous dogs have their way. But there’s the end to it.”

  “No! It will lead them to do more.” Jean-Baptiste watched the light dawn for his son. It came so slowly; would God had given him a worthier heir. “Exactly. They will do more, and it will hasten the day. Remember, the foolishness will end. After, there will be a new order. Or perhaps I should say a return to an old one. The Carolinas will be possibly a duchy. Such a plum will go, of course, to a favorite from England. For those of unquestioned loyalty, those who have been of great service, there will be other plums. A barony, perhaps. It is a thing to be considered.” He stroked his chin reflectively, watching his son rise to this glittering bait, and draw back sullenly. The young found it so difficult to think beyond today to tomorrow. “What is it, Justin?”

  Justin looked up. “Elizabeth,” he said.

  “Ah, Elizabeth.” Jean-Baptiste shook his head. “That a woman can distract you so. Still, I suppose you consider the man, Michael Fallon, as well.”

  “Who? Fallon? You mean that insolent Irish jackanapes? I’ve realized it’s beneath me to even consider a quarrel with a servant. I’ve wiped him from my mind.”

  “He will be a dangerous man,” his father said dryly.

  “Dangerous?” Justin laughed.

  “He is allowed to trade through Carver’s accounts, so my sources tell me. That took a certain daring, however he managed it. His dealings also show a willingness to take risks and a certain intelligence. They prosper. He will grow, and he will one day be dangerous.” Could not the boy think? God, there was Fallon with the brains and daring to be a proper son, while his own son could not see beyond a guinea or a wench. The Irish gutter trash was a better man than a Fourrier. God curse the bastard.

  Justin swallowed. Despite his words he couldn’t think of Fallon without burning. “If he’s so dangerous, or will be, perhaps he should be killed.” He bared his teeth in a smile.

  Jean-Baptiste’s hand clenched on the desk. “No.” Would this foolish youth never learn? “Hear me. You will not yourself make any attempt on this Fallon’s life, nor will you allow anyone else to do so. None of your hirelings, you understand. He is by no means worth the risk at present. It is understood?”

  “It is understood,” Justin said slowly. Something was digging at the back of his mind. And then he had it. “As soon as I mentioned Elizabeth, you brought up Fallon. Why? What connection is there between them?”

  “It seems,” his father said carefully, “that she frequents secluded parts of the Carver garden in his company.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying nothing. She may yet be the mother of Fourrier sons. Still, she is a girl, not even a woman. She may, innocently, be led by one who thinks to work his way to the Carver fortune.”

  “You call this nothing?” Justin cried.

  “You will control yourself.” Jean-Baptiste waited until Justin quieted before going on. “There is no danger. Thomas Carver may be a foolish merchant, but he will not allow his daughter to marry a servant. If he should, you will marry one of the Pinckney girls.”

  Justin drew breath. “You seem to forget that Elizabeth is Carver’s sole heir, while the Pinckney fortune will be split many ways, and little of it to the daughters.”

  He sighed ruefully. “If you must have this girl, get her with child. Then she must marry you, and quickly. Just be certain you are the first. In any case, go now. I have more important things to do than talk to a son who does not listen.” He turned back to his letter from London. The stirrings in Parliament were of interest.

  Justin glared at him. He hadn’t meant to go to his father for advice nor for information. Elizabeth! She was so beautiful he’d almost be willing to marry her without her father’s money. And she was his, damn it. His!

  God rot Fallon, luring her into the garden. He might try to put his hands on her. He might—

  With an oath Justin rushed out, toward the stable. He looked around furiously. “My horse! Where’s my Arab? Pomp! Simpy! Get Arab out here, you black simpletons!”

  Elizabeth sat in the upstairs sitting room intermittently watching the fog-shrouded street and reading The History of Count Olandro. Her father’s disapproval of romances was usually enough to ensure their enjoyment, but today her mind drifted from the words. And Samantha puttering around didn’t help, either.

  “Samantha, that is all. You may go.”

  “Yes, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “And close the door behind you. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  She waited till the slave woman left, then tossed the book aside. How could she interest herself in pale fiction when she had vivid reality to compare with? Just thinking about Michael’s kisses made her go shivery. But how long before he was affected as she was? Oh, it was delightful, even wonderful, as it was, but he always managed to stop, saying they shouldn’t or mustn’t, and leaving her all hot and itchy feeling, as though she were hanging in air.

  Her hand crept up to her breast. That time a few weeks back when her breast had somehow been loosed from her bodice. He’d hesitated for just a second, as if he wanted to stop. But then his head had bent and he had kissed her pale skin, his tongue sending wine along her veins. It was heaven. Each time since then she’d managed to tempt him, he’d hesitated less, till now there was no pause at all. Soon she’d offer both breasts, and then—

  She caught her breath and clasped both hands tightly on the arms of the chair. She had to keep herself in hand. She had to be discreet. In a year, perhaps two, it would have to end. She’d marry Justin, probably. There must be no breath of scandal to threaten that proper marriage—or a better, should one present itself.

  On the whole she thought she’d wed Justin. He was the most eligible of her suitors, certainly. And it had been assumed they’d marry for so long most people thought they were betrothed. Yes, she must be nicer to Justin; she had been offish lately. So often thinking of Michael Fallon, his lips, his hands …

  A clatter of hooves in the street drew her attention; Justin was tying his horse to the hitching post. She smiled. There was no time like the present. Rising, she carefully smoothed her dress and checked her hair in the mirror; he would be announced in a moment. The minutes stretched, and her smile faded. She went to the hall and listened down the stairwell. Silence. He must have come to see her father, not her. The thought irritated her. Very well. She’d wait, and catch him as if by accident when he came out.

  Thomas Carver sadly poured a glass of Madeira. News of the repeal was overcast by the means of its coming. It’d been brought ashore by survivors of the Rose, broken on the Charlestown Bar in the morning fog. Michael had gone to join the search, along with a hundred other men, but there was faint chance of finding anyone this time. The fog was still thick, and the sea was rising.

  “Sir, Mr. Justin Fourrier is here.”

  Thomas Carver turned as Seth spoke. “To see me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well’ show him in.” He waited in front of the study fireplace and was surprised when Justin made a formal leg.

  “Your servant, sir.”

  “And yours, Justin. But why this bowing and scraping?”

  “Sir, the nature of my visit impels formality.” Justin hesitated. “Because of the—understanding—between your daughter and myself I am somewhat more protective than would otherwise be proper.”

  “Indeed,” Carver said dryly. “And just what is Elizabeth to be protected from?” He motioned to the Madeira with a questioning look.

  “No, thank you. She must be protected from her own innocence. A young girl such as Elizabeth—and I think I may claim the right to call her by her given name—a young girl may, in her innocence, be led to give her friendship unwisely, never realizing that others will use and abuse that friendship.”

  “And who will abuse her friendship? Not you, I trust?”

  Justin looked at him sharply, then decided it was an attempt at levity. He smiled dutifully. “Certainly not. There is in your house the Irish serving man, Michael Fallon. It’s come to my attention that he is chivvying himself into Elizabeth’s confidence. Clearly, his purpose is to use her, since no relationship is proper between them. You’re a wealthy man, sir. He may be trying to insinuate himself into your notice. I realize this is the same man I had that, that bit of trouble with, but believe me, I’ve forgotten that long since.”

  “How did this, ah, come to your attention.”

  “It was—it was rumored—”

  “Rumored?” Carver’s voice was cutting. “Street gossip? You come to me with rumor? That is the act of neither a suitor nor a gentleman.” Justin’s mouth thinned, and his ears seemed to lie back. “I am well able to school my own daughter and keep order in my own house. You’ve been a guest here often, and will be again, I hope. Now, sir, I bid you good day.”

  Justin made a tight-lipped apology before hurrying out, but Carver barely heard. He clasped his hands behind him to still their trembling. How dare Justin come there with whisper and innuendo? But what if it was more? He sat down to consider the possibility.

  Elizabeth had seemed content with Justin, so he had made himself content as well. Justin was certainly more than eligible, and certainly sought after. The amiable jealousy of Elizabeth’s friends made that clear. She didn’t see what he saw, that Justin’s avarice seemed at times more engaged than his heart. She’d remained fixed on him. But what if she wasn’t? What if she’d begun to look at Michael Fallon?

  Fallon was a well-set-up young man, presentable, with a solid head on his shoulders. Against him was that he was still bound. Still, he had ambition. After he’d been free a year or two he could be taken into the firm as a junior. No one would comment if Elizabeth married Michael Fallon, partner in Carver and Fallon.

  Let their feelings develop on their own, if they would. In the meantime, put Michael in the way of better trade. If marriage came, good. If not, he might still be a man for the firm. And it might be well to get Michael out of Justin’s way for a day or two. Yes, it would be well.

  Elizabeth was waiting when Justin came out of the study. “Why, Justin, wherever did you come from? Don’t tell me you’re leaving … .”

  Justin turned stiffly. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I came to see your father, and—No. No, of course I wouldn’t leave without speaking to you.”

  She’d never seen him so flustered. “Come into the drawing room and tell me what’s troubling you.” She closed the door behind them and turned to regard him. He’d thrown his tricorn on the table and was frowning at it. “Come. I’ll ring for some refreshment.”

  “Elizabeth, what is this Fallon man to you?”

  She froze with her hand at the bell-pull. In an instant she turned with a slightly questioning smile. “Mr. Fallon? Why he’s the most amusing servant we’ve ever had. He tells the drollest stories.”

  “That’s all he is? A servant who tells amusing stories?”

  “Of course,” she laughed. “What else could he be?” She moved closer, smoothing his lapels with both hands. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of a servant?”

  “Of course not,” he said indignantly. “It doesn’t take jealousy for me to want to protect you.”

  She tilted up her face, opened her eyes wide, let her lips part slightly. He was slow to take the hint. She was nearly on tiptoe before he took her in his arms.

  She examined his kiss dispassionately. Michael’s made her feel like warm honey inside; this didn’t even bring a tingle. He let her down, and she pressed her face against his waistcoat. “Oh, Justin,” she said breathlessly. “Justin.”

  “I don’t know what came over me,” he said thickly. But his father’s admonition, get her with child, came back to him, and his grip tightened. She looked up at him from under her lashes. He picked her up again and kissed her even more thoroughly than before. At last she drew back, saying, “Justin, my father might come in.”