America's First Daughter: A Novel(64)
It felt as if all the air left the close confines of the carriage house. Breathless, I was forced to press a hand over the quick pounding of my heart. Wife. He wanted me for his wife. And who was I to judge him harshly for his conduct when mine had never been above reproach?
“Can you love me, Patsy?”
“I already do!” The words burst out of me, and now that I’d been so reckless, I couldn’t stop them. “I love you, William. Oh, I love you. I do. I want to carve it on the tree. I want to shout it in the streets!”
“Carve it here.” He drew my fingers to his chest, where I felt his heart thump beneath his sodden white shirt. “With a kiss.”
Trembling and breathless, I dared to kiss him there, then lifted my lips to his, my fingertips creeping up to the skin he’d bared by removing his neck cloth. He felt hot to the touch, feverish even. And as we kissed, I thought I’d stop for no reason under heaven.
But I was wrong.
We sprang apart the moment we heard the clatter of Papa’s coach.
Chapter Fourteen
Paris, 17 June 1789
From Thomas Jefferson to John Jay
A tremendous cloud hovers over France, and the king has neither the courage nor the skill necessary to weather it. Eloquence in a high degree, knowledge and order, are distinguishing traits in his character. He has not discovered that bold, unequivocal virtue is the best handmaid, even to ambition, and would carry him further in the end than the temporizing wavering policy he pursues.
IT WASN’T A TIME FOR LOVE, but revolution. The loss of his army’s loyalty forced the king’s hand in negotiating with the people, and in Paris, the mood was hopeful. Perhaps that’s why I received my first social invitation in nearly a month to attend a dinner hosted by the infamous Georgiana Cavendish, the Duchess of Devonshire. She was a committed whig and sympathetic to all the causes we held dear. Papa would never ask me to do something so unladylike as eavesdrop for useful information, but he didn’t need to ask.
Instead, he took me to the Palais-Royal past market stalls filled with snuffboxes, bric-a-brac, and jewelry, where he bought me a new ring to replace the one that had been stolen. Planting a kiss atop my head, he said, “Let me pamper you while you’re still mine.”
Good thing my eyes were fixed on the glass case. For I felt them widen at his wording and wondered if he knew about the love William and I shared. Had William spoken to him? Maybe even gone as far as declared his intentions?
Emboldened, I found my courage. “Papa, I don’t want to go home to Virginia. I’d rather stay with you in Paris as long as your assignment keeps you here.”
“What a dutiful daughter you are,” he said, sliding the new ring upon my finger, admiring it in the light. “But this is no place for you and your sister. It’s too selfish to keep you with me in a city where cutting off heads has become so much à la mode that we’re apt to check each morning whether our own heads are still on our shoulders.”
How could he say such a thing in the midst of the Palais-Royal, the throbbing heart of Paris? And yet, taking in our surroundings, I noticed unsavory characters. Cutpurses and hungry, bareheaded peasants, and rabble-rousers who read polemic screeds while standing atop café tables. “But there hasn’t been violence in a month.”
“Yes, but the want of bread greatly endangers the peace. It may yet come to civil war.” Papa kept his voice low, for political chatter echoed all around us. And because he was of such renown, often dragged into such conversations even by perfect strangers, we sought a quiet café from which to take coffee.
We never found one. Nor could we find the tender brioche loaves sweetened with sugar and raisins that Polly wanted; it was just as well, for the shortage of flour in France made the indulgence insulting to our sympathies. Instead, we walked home past the tree where William’s initials were carved, still waiting for mine. “I’m not afraid, Papa.”
“That’s because you’ve always been braver than I am, my dear. Still, my heart can only be content once I know you and your sister are safely settled in Virginia.”
I wanted to believe that was the reason he was so determined to take us from France. But I feared there was another reason, and I needed to be clear. It was untoward, but he had to know my choice. “Papa, you must understand that my heart can only be content with Mr. Short.”
With scarcely a blink, he said, “I see.”
Now that I’d started my confession, the rest rushed out. “There won’t be time for a wedding before you return to America, and it’d be unseemly for us to live under one roof without you, once we’re betrothed. But I’ve divined a solution! I’ve arranged to lodge at the convent. Then Mr. Short and I can be married when you come back.”
Now Papa did blink. “William has asked you to wed?”
“Not yet. He wouldn’t do so until he was sure of his position because he worries that you don’t think him capable of supporting a wife and family—”
“He’s not.” My father’s flat appraisal forced me to utter silence. “He’s in no way capable. Our dear William came here with an idea of staying only two years. His loyalty to me has prevented him from making his fortune and his inheritance amounted to nothing even before he gave liberty to the slave that came with it.”