Patricia Potter Read Free Page A

approved by the president of the bank. Presently that man was Brett Devereux.
    Although no one said so, Meredith suspected she had never been told of the trust until there was no avoiding it so she would marry their neighbor. Money of her own might have given her ideas. And it had. That money had armed Meredith with another weapon she needed. Guile was the first, and she had honed that to a fine art. Even she herself sometimes had difficulty knowing who she really was.
    She traveled frequently, agreeing to a chaperon only to quiet suspicions, and the good Lord knew that her companion was as dense and unsuspecting as a hen headed for the dinner table. No one had ever connected Meredith with the spate of slaves that ran away soon after she left her hosts. Nor had they associated her occasional shopping trips to Cincinnati with the Underground Railroad. No one would ever suspect the giddy-headed Miss Seaton drugged her aunt and slipped out to meet Levi Coffin, one of the most active abolitionists in the North, or Underground Railroad contacts in New Orleans.
    And Meredith could be very giddy-headed when she tried, and frightfully silly. She often declared that she didn’t marry because there were just “too many handsome men around, and they all just kept her little ol’ head aswimmin’.”
    She sometimes tired of the role, hating the constant playacting and hiding her own intelligence, but so many lives depended on it. Including her own.
    “Miss Meredith.”
    Daphne’s soft tentative voice startled her. “Miss Meredith,” the girl repeated, “which dress you like to wear tonight?”
    Which dress? Meredith wished she cared. They were all ugly. Purposely ugly. Purposely misleading.
    “Which dress you like?” Daphne said again with a patience born of a lifetime of servitude.
    None, Meredith wanted to scream. Dear God, I would like to be alone for a while.
    But then her aunt would worry. Meredith was usually eager to be the center of attention. Swallowing her distaste, she pointed to an overly fussy blue velvet with too much lace and too many bows.
    She turned her back so Daphne could unhook her day dress when a knock came at her door.
    “Yes?” she said.
    A deep voice came from the other side. “Message from the capt’n, ma’am.”
    Meredith opened the door, not waiting for Daphne to do it. She stared at the huge man outside who held a note gingerly.
    “Miz Seaton?”
    “Yes.”
    “Wi’ the capt’n’s compliments, miz. He ask me to wait fo’ an answer.”
    Meredith opened the note and read it carefully. She and her aunt were cordially invited to dine with Captain Quinlan Devereux tonight at eight o’clock.
    She felt her spirits drop. It was the last thing she wanted. After three weeks of smiling brightly, of making silly observations and nonsensical chatter, she had hoped for a few days of relief. She looked at the note again. “Devereux.”
    Quinlan Devereux! Her heart started thumping. She had fallen madly in love with him when she was eight, and he had been her knight in shining armor in dreams ever since. She had met him just before “the day,” the day her life had fallen apart. She could still see him. Tall, ever so tall, with laughing blue eyes and midnight-black hair that curled at the back of his neck. He asked teasingly what she wanted most in the world, and she had answered a swing. He had laughed, saying that was a most modest wish and one he could easily fulfill. And he had. A magnificent swing in the woods. He had pushed her, almost up to the clouds, his hands sure and firm. He had been the first man to pay generous attention to her, and she had held that brief time like a precious jewel in her memory.
    Later, she had heard he had disappeared in Europe. And when he returned after ten years, everyone talked of Quinlan Devereux—the dissolute older brother of Brett Devereux. It was said he had, in some unknown way, disgraced his family. It was also said his father had disinherited him, and