America's First Daughter: A Novel(148)

“Poor Nancy,” I said, reading that. “This goes back to an incident twenty years past now! I tell you truthfully, I believe Nancy was innocent.”

“Not entirely,” Dolley said, pointing to the passage in which Nancy admitted to having been seduced by Theo. “That might be enough to destroy her marriage. And Randolph of Roanoke is nothing if not a destroyer.” Dolley put scorn behind the name, as if to mock his pretensions. “Nancy sent this letter, hoping I’d defend her reputation, but her husband is a Federalist, and as one first lady to another, I’ll let her sink if you wish.”

I smiled at Dolley giving me that title—a role she created herself—and I spoke from the heart. “In truth, I seethe for her. Nancy has finally found a respectable place for herself, and John can’t leave her in peace.”

Dolley watched me carefully. “So you take her side?”

“Whatever side John takes, I’m on the other.” That made Dolley laugh. But then I added, “No matter where I stand with Nancy, it’d be a disgrace to let that villain harry her to death.”

Dolley rose to stare out the parlor window to the gardens beyond. “That does seem to be his aim. I hope he doesn’t succeed.”

I’d relied altogether too much on hope. Papa’s stubborn faith in the goodness of humanity seemed to bear itself out less and less every day. And after seeing all the ills in the world, I no longer merely hoped justice would come to the wicked. “John Randolph is running in the upcoming election against my former brother-in-law, who’d be far more helpful to your husband in Congress.”

John Randolph had miscalculated the damage ladies could do. We couldn’t fight in the war, but reputations were won or lost on our fields of battle. And Dolley and I were prepared to set our cannons blasting. Tom wouldn’t like my meddling in politics, would like even less my doing anything to help Jack Eppes. But he might approve for the sake of his sister. I’d saved her once before, and he’d been grateful. I was desperate to win back his affections now. So I sat down with Dolley to write some letters to influential ladies, taking up Nancy’s banner and blackening John Randolph’s name. If we’d been men, he’d have called us out. Unfortunately, the only advantage afforded a woman in Virginia was that we couldn’t be challenged to a duel.

“Soldiers!” The cry came from Sally’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Harriet, who came running in with her dark auburn hair streaming behind her, marshaling my younger children into the house. For a moment, I saw my sister in her. It was Polly that I saw in fright, and my heart stopped.

But Dolley had the presence of mind to ask, “Redcoats?”

“Our soldiers, I think,” the girl said.

We crowded onto the portico steps, watching a ragtag group of boys marching up our mountain wreathed in gray mist. Even from a distance, they looked dirty, lean, half-starved. Some used their muskets like canes. One towered over his compatriots, and I caught a glimpse of auburn hair.

“Jeff!” I cried, wilting with relief. “It’s my boy.”

He broke away from the company, raced up the drive, and clomped up the stairs. He spoke in a rush as he swept me into his arms. “The British went north. We never saw a redcoat!”

That meant the British never met my husband’s regiment, and the men in my life were safe. The British might’ve attacked Richmond and won, but instead they chose Baltimore, where Fort McHenry withstood a bombardment of more than twenty-four hours, leaving our flag, as immortalized by Francis Scott Key, still there.

“Where’s your father?” I asked, overjoyed by the news.

Jeff only shrugged. I learned later that my son and husband had quarreled so violently that Jeff was nearly brought up on charges. My son wouldn’t say why, but the details didn’t seem important if the peace was won.





BY FEBRUARY OF 1815, everyone was giddy. Southern gentlemen swaggered about, confidence restored, honor defended, reputations built as a new generation of Americans defeated the British once again. Some called it a second American revolution.

“Get on your best dress, Mother,” Jeff said, his spirits high since returning home. “I’m taking you and Ann to visit my lady love.”

With his father’s looks and his grandfather’s charm, Jeff caught the eyes of beautiful women. But I’d heard the name of the governor’s daughter bandied about more than once. And now that the war was at its end, Jeff was eager to see her. I was just as eager to lay eyes on the girl, so I dug through my closet.

Homespun wasn’t in fashion anymore, but we hadn’t had occasion to buy anything new, so Ann and I donned our decade-old dresses from when we played hostess at the president’s table. Mine fit without alteration. But motherhood and marriage to a drunk had made my daughter so thin that her dress positively swallowed her up.

“I’ll take it in,” Sally said, going for her thread and needle. And when she was finished, we went off to meet the girl my son wanted to marry.

Jeff rode ahead on horseback, while Ann and I followed in the carriage, a blanket on our laps to guard against the cold. When we arrived at Mount Warren, Jane Nicholas bid us welcome. I was surprised to find her quite plain, but she had a warm smile.

Her mother, however, did nothing but scowl, apparently flummoxed to see us. As was the custom, Jeff went off to call on the gentlemen, whereas we were left to socialize over tea. And though Mount Warren was a prosperous house, we were offered only tea.