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bowed,
raising the back of her gloved hand to my lips.
    The feeling that I had met her before was strong.
She reminded me of a girl that I met once three years ago, but I
knew that she could not be the same girl. I shoved the painful
memory away as the door to the Inn opened and a stout woman bustled
out, exclaiming in a high pitch.
    “My dear! I saw the entire episode from the window,
but that fool of an innkeeper would do nothing but say that the
young gentleman could handle himself.”
    The stout woman looked me over like she was
appraising a horse at the auction house. I watched her, my mouth in
a full smile. She gave me a nod before walking toward the black
carriage. I exchanged an amused glance with the young beauty beside
me.
    “I do believe you have found favor
with Martha,” the young lady said softly, and I wanted to say that
it was she and not her companion whom I wished to please, but I
kept my mouth shut—for once.
    Her companion cleared her throat loudly from inside
the carriage, so I offered my arm to the young woman. I helped her
into her carriage, and once she was seated, she leaned her head out
of the open door. Her eyes again held me mesmerized.
    “I shall remember you, sir, and what you have done
for me this day. That I promise you.”
    My smile was wide as I closed the door and stepped
back. As the carriage moved away, I stared after it for a moment,
then my eyes slid shut in exasperation. I had forgotten to ask her
name.
    I stared where her carriage had been sitting, and my
smile slowly returned. I would have to find her. I was a spy, after
all. Turning toward my carriage, I halted. Bess and Mariah were
leaning half out of the carriage; Leo was standing beside the door,
and Jericho was smiling at me from the box, a pistol resting in his
hand. That must have been what made the vile man leave without
trying to fight me.
    When we were again on our way, Bess nudged me with
her shoulder. “How your poetical friends would stare if they saw
what we witnessed.”
    A groan escaped me. My cover when at home was that
of a devout poet who engaged in nothing but literary pursuits and
was destined for the church. So far it had served me well, but Bess
was correct; if my fellow poets had seen my actions in going to the
beauty’s rescue, they would most definitely stare.

Chapter 4

     
    Bess
     
    26 May 1816
    Philadelphia
     
    W hen we
arrived home, mingled feelings of resignation and contentment
washed over me. The knocker was on the door. It could only mean one
thing; our mother was home.
    When my father moved us to Philadelphia, he
accomplished a great feat. Suddenly, we were an affluent family
living in a mansion and accepted into the elegant circles of
society. Jack and I never learned how our father accomplished such
a coup, but William Martin was a man of many talents and even more
lies. What was truly shocking was finding out that he indeed had a
fortune, and I was an heiress.
    When we entered the foyer of our house, it was in a
bustle. Maids that I did not know were cleaning, men in their
shirtsleeves were carrying furniture from the drawing room, and our
mother’s housekeeper was standing amongst it all issuing orders in
an authoritative voice. I removed my gloves and bonnet, tossing
them on a side table as I looked around. I had only moved back into
this house three months ago, a few days before my mother left for
Savannah. Shortly after that, Jack and I had left for a mission in
Washington, but I knew enough about my mother to know when she was
up to something. Jack was speaking with Arnaud, our mother’s French
butler, when a gasp came from the stairs. Standing on the landing
was my mother. A white lace cap sat jauntily over her black hair.
Her blue eyes shimmered with tears as she lifted her skirts,
floated down the stairs, and wrapped her arms around us the moment
she reached us.
    Mother was small in stature, but
one hardly noticed her size when she spoke or moved. She had all
the grace of a