by Diana Davis
David glanced at the ceiling, but it was his wife who reassured them both. “They quite prefer it, actually,” Cassandra said. “Nobody to harangue them about their manners.”
“I do not harangue,” David said. “I gently and infrequently correct.”
Cassandra cast him an incredulous look, which David answered by kissing her forehead. “I will try harder, dearest — if you would please ask Rose about it again.”
Cassandra promised to talk to their nurse, but Constance had eaten with the children before and found them to behave exactly as one would expect for little girls of ten months and two years.
Westing announced Mr. and Mrs. Brand, and their family was complete. Patience was naturally more reserved than Temperance had ever been, but Constance couldn’t miss the regard in her eyes when she gazed at her husband. Gilbert, for his part, was more demonstrative in his affection for his wife of not quite five months, never letting go of her hand and frequently pressing a kiss to her fingers or her lips, when he thought no one was watching.
Constance was not watching. At least, she was trying not to. But it seemed no matter which way she turned, she found couples still very much in love. Even her parents kept exchanging warm looks, as if the rising temperatures and blooming flowers were making everyone fall in love all over again.
Curse the springtime. She hated every last one of them.
Oh — no, no, she didn’t. She loved them all dearly. She would just have to pay more attention to Verity and Mercy.
The rest of the guests took their seats, and dinner was served. The venison and goose had to be among the best Constance had ever had. Little surprise with the Beauforts’ cook, though she always managed to outdo herself.
The food was also a welcome distraction from the sight of every pair in the room talking and laughing, mostly among themselves, but often with the other couples, as if Constance, Verity and Mercy were some sort of solitary outcasts among their group.
“How is the Congress?” Nathaniel asked David.
“Slow. Apologies. I’m trying.”
“Trying for what?” Helen asked, instantly suspicious.
David looked back and forth from his wife to his sister- and brother-in-law.
“A letter of marque,” Nathaniel said, as if trying to disclose the news gently. He wished to become a privateer? Wasn’t attacking British ships on the seas dangerous?
Helen’s jaw fell open for a moment before she snapped her mouth shut, aiming a hard stare at her husband. It seemed they would have words later.
Oh, Constance hated to see her cousin upset. Her sister came to the rescue before she had to. “You wish to help your countrymen, cousin?” Temperance said to Nathaniel. “That’s admirable.”
“Thank you.” Nathaniel kept his gaze on his wife, clearly not unaware of her sentiments. Constance checked Papa’s reaction. Eyes on her oldest sister, Papa clamped his lips into a white line.
“Isn’t it warm for May?” Cassandra didn’t even attempt to make her change of subject subtle.
“Very,” David agreed.
Cassandra sighed. “We must get out of the city.”
David took his wife’s hand. “I’ll find something. Soon, my love.”
“Are you . . . worried?” Patience asked. The unspoken message hung heavy over the table: if the British Regulars came for Philadelphia, every person at this table could well be in danger. No specific threat loomed at present, but was David thinking of fleeing?
“No.” Cassandra offered a small smile. “I just miss the countryside.”
“Won’t be the same,” Helen murmured.
“No,” David agreed, pressing a kiss to his wife’s fingers. “But the company will be much better.” He turned to Papa. “Josiah, will you come back to the Congress this afternoon?”
Constance watched her father, but she was entirely unsure whether this subject was any better.
“I feel as though I must, with Dickinson traveling and you and the Adamses trying to drag us into this conflict.”
David’s frown was tinged with something akin to pity. “I wish that we were not already in the conflict, too. I know you’ve lost someone you loved —”
“Do not presume —”
David did not let Papa finish. “I’ve lost someone too. And I had to be the one to tell his family. What did he give his life for? Because we didn’t get our way with some taxes? This is about more than threepence on tea.”
Papa chewed a bite of poultry for a long time, far longer than the tender meat required. Constance tried not to worry the edge of her gown as she awaited her father’s response.
“David, no one here is a stranger to your politics. Do me the courtesy of sparing me, won’t you?”
“We must vote together. You know that.”
“And you know Dickinson, Morris and Willing will never vote for this preamble.”
David focused on his plate. “I meant that all of the colonies must vote together, not just our delegation. If we are not united, we can never prevail, preamble or no.”
Constance turned to Patience, across the table to her left. “What’s the preamble about?”
Patience eyed her husband, another delegate to the Congress, before answering. The Congress’s deliberations were supposed to be secret, but with three delegates in the family, their table became the Congress floor as often as not. “It’s about independence,” Patience finally answered.
“And what about it?”
Gilbert glanced at his wife. “We’re debating a preamble to a resolution.”
Heavens, even Constance herself didn’t give others this much difficulty in extracting information. She checked, but David and Papa were still involved in their discussion. Civilly, it appeared. “A resolution of independence? Does it seem likely to pass?” she asked Gilbert.
He hedged a moment, cutting his carrots into smaller and smaller pieces without eating any. “The Maryland delegation walked right out of the State House. The rest of the middle colonies are opposed, too. To the preamble and to independence.”
That included the delegations of all three delegates at the table. Though David had been in favor of separation for years and he might be able to count Dr. Franklin and perhaps Lieutenant Allen of the Light Horse on his side, the rest of the Pennsylvania delegation — Papa, James Wilson, Robert Morris, John Dickinson, Charles Humphreys — would surely overrule them.
But the Delaware delegation had but three men, and Gilbert had broken their deadlock in favor of the patriots for some time. “And you?” Constance asked her brother-in-law.
“My vote is only to cancel Mr. Day’s, I’m afraid,” Gilbert admitted. “Mr. McMullen was called away to take care of some Loyalists back home.” He gave a sheepish grin as if embarrassed he couldn’t do more. Across the table from him, Patience glared at her plate, though Constance hoped she was merely disappointed with the situation that rendered her husband ineffectual and not her husband himself.
Debating a preamble to a resolution of independence still sounded like the idea was awfully far off, especially given how the delegates seemed to enjoy debating everything to doomsday and back. Constance tried to focus on cutting her own carrots, but her mind was too carried away with this news. Only two days ago, Papa had seemed certain they’d prevented such a debate.
Perhaps he was right if the middle colonies were against it. Even if New England and the Southerners could band together and overrule them in the Congress, they couldn’t possibly hope to fight in a war with their territory divided right down the middle. David was right. Divided against themselves, they could not stand. And what did the sacrifice of so many lives so far mean without this?
If only Pennsylvania could change course. Surely Maryland and Delaware would follow suit, and then New York would be made to see reason. There’d been some hope when the Pennsylvania legislature was reorganized at the beginning of the month; perhaps with men like David now in the Assembly, they would b
e able to be swayed.
If anyone could do it, surely David could. Few in any colony held quite as much sway as he did, between his money and his aristocratic lineage.
Westing entered and announced Mr. Fischer Marks, and every thought fled Constance’s mind. The merest glimpse of his fine gray coat, neatly trimmed and elegantly cut, was enough to overset her heart. She turned away.
Was he invited to dine with them? How quickly could she leave without being obvious?
The moment he walked into the dining room, Fischer’s eyes settled on Constance.
Blast. Not only was he interrupting a family dinner, but he would also have to afflict her again? Lydia’s stores of pickled grapes wouldn’t last the month at this rate.
At least Constance seemed uninjured at being subjected to his presence again. She didn’t even look at him, her serene expression unperturbed. What he wouldn’t give to coax a genuine laugh from her now.
He tore his gaze away from her and addressed his patron at the head of the table. “I’m terribly sorry; I’m interrupting.”
“No, no.” David Beaufort waved to the servants, who began bustling about. “Join us.”
“I couldn’t possibly.” He hardly had time for that. He’d only hoped to ask Beaufort’s help with the matter of Phineas Brand. The man seemed to respect Beaufort, but who didn’t?
On the other hand, Brand’s younger brother sat right there, and wasn’t Captain Carter one of Brand’s business partners? Perhaps the four of them could form a league of some sort to deter the elder Brand from his schemes.
“I do insist,” Beaufort said. His voice and smile were not unkind, but firm enough that arguing further was clearly not in Fischer’s interest.
Of course, neither was sitting at the place now set for him directly across from Constance Hayes — and next to her sister Patience. He took his seat and determined to focus solely on his business.
“How do you do?” he said to Constance, instantly betraying his own resolve. Weak, stupid fool that he was.
“Well, and you?”
She barely waited for his affirmative before turning to her younger sister to converse. Fischer served himself the venison and prepared his arguments for the other men at the table. The younger Brand was absorbed in moving his diced carrots across the table to his wife’s plate. Patience dipped her head to Fischer, which he returned.
He might never understand her decision to follow her heart — hearts were apt to hurt someone — but he was grateful at least that dinners like this were not a regular part of his schedule. He’d hoped in courting Patience he could have taught his heart to forget her sister, but now he saw that plan would have only thrust him into greater proximity with Constance.
“Mr. Marks?” Constance’s gentle voice pronounced his name, but he found himself wishing she’d call him by his given name again, as she had last year. That had quickly become one of his favorite sounds in the world.
He cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“How does your sister?”
“She was pleased to hear I’d seen you.” That was sort of true. At least he knew Lydia still wished to see Constance, if she didn’t care for his brooding. Yes, fine, he’d been brooding.
Constance’s lips slowly lifted into a smile. “Is her work doing well?”
“It is. She, ah, has not much else to pass the time.”
Her smile disappeared, and Fischer instantly regretted his words. He wasn’t attempting to rebuke her; he understood why she didn’t visit anymore, and he was grateful for her discretion. Could he do nothing right when it came to Constance Hayes?
Until he’d inadvertently censured her, she’d seemed utterly unaffected by his presence or conversation.
Then she was not wounded any longer? Or had she never been? Fischer still wasn’t sure which was worse.
Fischer focused on his plate for a moment — he really needed to make excuses to see Beaufort more often; his cook had to be the finest in all the colonies. Then the idea struck him like a thunderbolt.
He didn’t need only to persuade Phineas Brand to step away from his sister, he needed to prevail upon Lydia that encouraging him when she could not accept his suit was not just wrong but cruel. And the one friend she’d made in the last year might be the perfect person to do that. “Miss Hayes?” Fischer tried, and all three Misses Hayes looked up.
He nodded at his intended — he really had better not think of her with that term. The younger two went back to a whispered squabble.
“One moment, if you please,” Constance said to him. She addressed her sisters. “Verity, didn’t you say you had a role for Mercy in your latest play?”
“Oh, yes.” Verity, the darker haired sister, brightened and turned to the younger one, a blonde like Constance. Their whispering became a conference of confederates, and Constance focused on him again.
That ability to bring peace to any situation was the first thing he’d noted about her, in the midst of the chaos of her oldest sister’s wedding feast — aside from her beauty, of course. On the basis of those alone, he’d dared to ask Beaufort to introduce them.
“Yes, Mr. Marks?” she addressed him again.
“Might I ask you a small favor? For Lydia’s sake,” he hastened to add.
“What’s that?”
He didn’t dare explain fully here. Besides, Constance had some grasp of his sister’s delicate situation, as she’d come to her rescue against the Society Hill gossips more than once, and those were merely the times he’d witnessed. He signaled Constance that he would speak to the younger Brand. “Mr. Brand.”
The freckled man stopped mid-bite, his usual vacuous smile returning.
He shouldn’t call Brand vacuous. He was . . . affable. There.
“I understand your brother has returned to Philadelphia.”
“Has he?” Brand lowered his fork. “You have the advantage, then; we haven’t had the pleasure yet. Is he well?”
“Yes.” Sadly.
“I wonder why he would go to you first.” Brand’s brow furrowed below his wig, which was more stylish than last Fischer had seen him wear, but still not half as fine as Beaufort’s. “I didn’t realize he had business with you.”
“He doesn’t.” Fischer glanced at Constance to make sure she was listening as he’d intended. “With my sister.”
Brand brightened again. “Oh, of course. And was she glad to renew their acquaintance?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Fischer,” Patience sighed. He had no idea what she might mean by that rebuke. Why should she continue to be familiar while Constance refused?
“Why would that be unfortunate?” Brand’s tone betrayed a little chuckle, as though he thought Fischer were joking.
Constance’s gaze had drifted away, but he’d seen her daydreaming enough times to recognize that she was still attending them now.
“This is actually why I’ve come here,” Fischer said. “May I speak with you afterward? And Carter and Beaufort too, if we can.”
Brand eyed his in-laws with concern. “About my brother?”
Did Fischer have to beg?
He’d do that for Lydia. “Please.”
Brand nodded, his gaze faraway. Fischer hadn’t meant to worry him, but this was a matter of grave importance.
He checked again with Constance to see if she’d understood his meaning. She had the same serious look as Brand.
“I see,” she said softly.
He hoped she really did. He lowered his voice and leaned across the table as much as he dared. “I will do what I can from this side, but I fear she’ll never listen to me.”
Constance’s gaze shifted to her little sisters for the briefest second. “It’s hard to hear advice from one’s younger siblings, sound or not.”
Fischer hid a laugh. He’d forgotten how idyllic time passed in her company was, filled with laughter and jests and stories. Aside from his sister, she likely knew him be
tter than anyone in the city.
She had. That wasn’t the case anymore, and it was hardly appropriate for him to regard her in that way. No matter what he might want.
He realized he was staring at her and fixed his gaze on his venison.
He would forget Constance Hayes. Eventually. And in the meantime, he would do everything he could to preserve whatever might be left of his sister’s honor.
Fischer was patient until the ladies withdrew, though too late he realized he was watching Constance go. He turned back to find Brand studying him but managed to refrain from any uncharitable thought about the other man’s weak intellect.
Almost.
Brand was true to his word, however, detaining both of his wife’s cousins’ husbands to stand in a circle, while the other gentlemen — Josiah Hayes and his other son-in-law — would surely have some legal matter to discuss.
Beaufort’s expression was both curious and amused, though Fischer had found he often looked that way. Captain Carter was as somber as ever.
“Something the matter, Marks?” Beaufort began.
“I’m afraid so.” How did he put this delicately? “You all know Phineas Brand, don’t you?”
All signaled confirmation.
“He is pursuing my sister, Mrs. Lydia Ainsley.”
“Oh, he should be able to provide for her very well,” Carter said.
Fischer frowned. “Due to circumstances beyond her control, my sister can never accept.”
He hoped that would be enough, but both Carter and Brand the younger still seemed mystified at the request.
“I believe I understand,” Beaufort said, with enough circumspection that Fischer thought he really must. He did seem to be well informed about most things, though Fischer couldn’t imagine why Beaufort would be aware of the gossip of the middling sort. If he and Lydia were well enough off to be considered “middling.”
Beaufort’s relatives looked to him for explanation, but he focused on Fischer. “What would you have us do about it?”
“I believe each of you have some influence on him, and if you could exert that upon him to drop his suit, it may be effective.”