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didn't really matter.
Chapter Eleven
It was almost night when they neared Philadelphia, a balmy and sea-scented twilight, with clouds of fog
beginning to drift around the treetops. Occasionally, Laurel would see the electric-green sparkle of
fireflies in the brush, a sight that had shocked her the first time she saw it.
There were no fireflies on the west coast; they were something she had read about in books. She hadn't
expected them to be so brilliant, like a startling display of miniature Christmas lights. They started next to
the ground, randomly twinkling in the thick grasses, and then gradually floated toward the treetops, where
they decorated the dark trees with their magical sparkle.
Magical, she thought, like the entire day.
They had ridden through the day, through lush green forests and over covered bridges, past inns of stone
with sparkling windows and older buildings of logs with steep-pitched roofs. They had passed by
farmhouses surrounded by fields of ripening corn and bushy green tobacco leaves. The September sun
was hot on their backs, but there was a hint of autumn in the air, a gold cast touching the fields and
leaves, a haze in the air that hadn't been there a day before.
Laurel didn't think about past or future. She was living in a dream, riding on horseback through an
enchanted landscape. Seth's eyes lit on her every few minutes, full of admiration. She had climbed
fearlessly onto the horse and was handling the reins like a cavalry soldier. When Prudence had shown
fear Laurel had laughed it away, making their first day on horseback seem like a great adventure.
And there was admiration in Seth's eyes for her beauty, as well. Laurel felt beautiful; she forgot about the
way her dress pinched her waist and the stiffened reeds sewn in the bodice jabbed at her hips and
underarms. She felt slender and graceful, and when her skirts billowed around her ankles she felt like a
little girl playing dress up, a princess in a fairy story.
Prudence, riding behind Laurel, her arms around her sister's waist, caught the mood of excitement, and
she chattered happily about the great city and the sights they might see there.
They had stopped for lunch at a German farmhouse, and Seth had lifted her off the horse, his hands large
and firm against her waist. She shivered and leaned forward, and they stayed locked like that, their eyes
soft and glowing at each other, until the farm woman had said something in German, rolling her eyes and
laughing.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, Laurel felt as if she and Seth had been lovers forever.
Her heart fluttered with every move of his graceful hands, the way he shifted his rifle, the way creases
appeared around his dark eyes when he smiled.
And he was smiling a lot. Whenever Laurel looked up and caught his eye the memory of the morning was
there between them, and she would start to smile. He would shake his head, looking a little dazed, and
his smile would start, slow and bright.
As soon as they were out of British-occupied territory, he had seemed to change. He relaxed; his
gestures became looser and easier. And when they rode into the city of Philadelphia he seemed like a
different man.
He loved his city; it was obvious. He rode at Laurel's side, and their horses' hooves made a pleasant
sound on the cobblestone streets as he pointed out the sights to them. Great churches with spires
reaching into the night sky and the wharves that were the center of the ship-building trade and fine brick
houses. He pointed out a house and told her it belonged to Dr. Franklin, and Laurel realized with a jolt
that he meant Benjamin Franklin.
The streets were lined with shops booksellers and dressmakers and silversmiths and toyshops and
tobacconists and apothecaries and Laurel wished that she could go in and marvel at the goods.
She stared with delight at passing carriages and horses, and felt like Prudence, stricken silent with awe at
all the new sights and sounds.
They turned down a tree-lined street of brick buildings, tall and narrow and close together, and Seth
pointed out a handsome building with gleaming white shutters.
"My home," he said quietly. "We'll stay here tonight, and I'll take Prudence to Mistress Kimball's in the
morning."
He helped Prudence and then Hope to slide down from the horse's back, and he held her hand as she
stared up the brick walk at the front door, at the candle burning in front of a many-paned window.
"My housekeeper's here," he said softly. "I'll tell her you're a cousin. It's easier to explain that way. Do
you mind?"
Laurel shook her head. "Not a bit."
"Good. Welcome to Philadelphia, Hope Garrick."
Laurel smiled up at him and felt a dreamlike rush of heat as his eyes shone down at her. "I'm glad to be
here," she told him, and followed him up the front walk, her hand still clutched in his.
The house was a marvel of craftsmanship, from the carefully turned spindles on the staircase to the
gleaming parquet floors. Graceful chairs with richly brocaded seats sat next to gleaming tables of cherry
and rosewood, and soft candlelight warmed the rooms with a golden glow.
The rooms were small but beautiful, and everywhere was the gleam of wood-carved mantelpieces,
doorways, curved and shining moldings, all bright with polish and fragrant with the smell of oil.
They ate in the brick-and-plaster kitchen, under the suspicious eye of Seth's housekeeper, Mrs. Avery,
who had greeted Seth's story of orphaned cousins with a lifted brow but had said nothing.
Despite the woman's doubtful look, Laurel liked her. She had a round, pleasant face, and she spoke
gently to Prudence and hastened to make everyone comfortable, fussing over their travel-worn, dusty
clothes, and demanding to know who had eaten properly and who had not, and insisting that they eat
again, immediately.
Laurel had the uncanny feeling that she had been in the house before, that she had felt the gleaming
banister beneath her palm, that she had sipped flowery-scented tea from the china cups and sat across
the polished oak table from
Seth, watching the firelight play on his hair and shadow the hollows beneath his cheekbones, listened to
his voice as he spoke quietly to Mrs. Avery.
It was a rich, contented feeling, and she wondered what it would be like to live in such a house, to have
such a man for a husband, to wake each morning in his arms and hear the sounds of the passing carriages
on the cobblestone streets.
I could do it, she thought. I could stay here, and Prudence could live with us, and I could just stay
here and be with him forever. I'd like that.
The moment the thought came to her mind, she felt a low, persistent buzzing in her ears, and her vision
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