America's First Daughter: A Novel(137)

Lion. The ambassador liked that word. He liked the comparison. I could see the pleasure of it light in his eyes when the interpreter whispered it in his ear. And later, he joined me and Ann in the drawing room, leaving the other gentlemen behind.

Ann and I started to rise, but he waved us back into our chairs and surprised us with nearly perfect English. “We’re not the only delegation here in Washington, no? I’ve seen bands of people, not so fair.” For a moment, I thought he meant the slaves. But then he gestured to the feather in his turban. “Ornaments and buckskin. Long dark braids.”

“Indians,” I answered. And when he squinted, I added, “Our Indians. They’ve come from the western territories to speak with my father.”

“Which prophet do they follow?” he asked, showing Ann a diamond snuffbox to charm her. “Moses, Jesus, or Mohammed?”

“None,” my timid Ann offered, and I was so proud of her for finding courage to speak to the man. “The Indians worship . . . the great spirit, as I understand it.”

The ambassador took a pinch of the snuff, which smelled like roses. “Then they’re vile heretics. Another thing interests me, Mrs. Randolph. In your Congress, where your husband serves, everyone has the right to speak?”

“The members do, yes,” I replied.

He laughed. “Then it will take years to finish any business! In my country, all matters are decided swiftly and with final resolution. In fact, if I don’t succeed in my mission here, they’ll behead me.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but he was such a colorful character that everyone was eager to meet him. Invitations to every fashionable ball in Washington City were extended to the delegation, and curious onlookers gawked near the hotel to get a peek at turbans, long mustaches, and ceremonial garb. Given the fascination, I worried we wouldn’t be able to admit all the guests who flocked to Papa’s annual New Year’s Eve gala.

“Will you dance?” Tom asked at the gala, dressed in his best blue tailcoat.

“I’m quite near my time now,” I told my husband. “I’d feel like a stampeding buffalo.”

Tom brought my fingertips to his lips for a brief but very earnest kiss. “Never.”

Nearby, Jack Eppes was laughing with a flirtatious woman from Annapolis. He was courting again, and Papa said we must be happy for him. I agreed, because I feared we might never see my sister’s children again if we didn’t lavish approval on her widower.

But Jack’s laughter—and the music—were interrupted dramatically by the ambassador of Tunisia, who stopped dancers midtwirl. With a flourish of his colorful cape that mesmerized the crowd, he let his interpreter speak for him. “The ambassador has heard that the Madisons desire children, but have been unable to conceive them!”

Rarely shy of attention, Dolley smiled and murmured something about how she’d welcome any blessing God were to bestow.

Striding to her, the bearded ambassador said, “If you want a child, I’ll give you one.” Then he wrapped the cape around her with such intimacy that her husband, the diminutive secretary of state, stiffened and went white.

Confused by the reaction, the ambassador explained, “It’s a magic cape.”

But his words didn’t carry, accented as they were. And as the room went silent, men reached for their ceremonial swords in anticipation of violence. I swallowed, wondering which of the men would break the mounting tension in the room. And when I realized that none of them would, I knew that there was no choice but to take it upon myself. Clapping my hands, as if delighted in the way of a child, I cried, “Oh, a magic cape!”

My father—the man of science who had decried a reign of witches—looked entirely appalled. But upon seeing me smile and clap, all the other ladies quickly followed suit. Papa could scarcely keep the displeasure from his presidential expression, but he would simply have to endure it. It was a New Year’s Eve party, a night for frivolity, and if offense could be avoided by laughter and merriment, why not?

Besides. I was the hostess here, so I pretended at great fascination when the ambassador murmured an incantation over Dolley, declaring, “I promise you, Mrs. Madison, you’ll soon give your husband a son!”

Everyone applauded the spectacle. Dolley was very amused. When everyone else had gone home for the night, she grabbed at my elbow, grinning. “Why, I’ve never seen Mr. Madison go so white before. As exciting as it might’ve been to see men duel over my honor, I suppose I must thank you for averting an international incident. But, I must know one thing. . . .”

Still holding Tom’s arm, I asked, “What’s that?”

Dolley grinned mischievously. “Is that your secret? A magic cape? Given your brood of children, I suppose you must have a closet full of them!”

“There are no capes involved,” Tom said, quite seriously.

Dolley and I found this so terribly funny that we exploded with laughter.

Which prompted him to accuse, “You’ve been drinking, both of you!”

For whatever reason, that seemed terribly funny, too. I hadn’t laughed since my sister’s death, and it felt disloyal to do so. But Dolley was irrepressible. “I’m afraid I don’t put much stock in the ambassador’s incantation.”

“Well, you ought to give it a try anyway,” I said, scandalizing my husband utterly. “With or without the capes.”