Washington's Lady (6 page)

“Since when do you care about the expansion of our colonies? Or politics? Or war?”

Since George.
I resumed our walk and this time it was Mother who was led. “I see nothing wrong with having knowledge and interest beyond the Tidewater. There is a large world beyond our simple borders.”

“One you need not worry yourself about.”

I understood her desire for ignorance. Until George, I too had been content to know little beyond the boundaries of my small world. But now . . . George had made me see a larger picture. “It is a world that may thrust itself upon us whether we like it or not, Mother. Braddock’s defeat effectively started a world war. Prussia and England allied against France and Austria, fighting each other there as we fight here . . .’tis quite a mess.”

“You were raised to be the wife of a plantation owner, not a soldier.”

“George’s greatest desire is to quit the military and concentrate on Mount Vernon. In fact, he has promised me once this campaign is over, he will do just that. In spite of all that should be fair, there is no future for a Virginia regimental—however honoured—to rise in the ranks of the British army and have true power. The British hierarchy think of him as a mere colonial and lesser than themselves. No matter how hard he fights or how brilliant his strategies might be, they will not allow him into their fraternity as an equal. That being a truth, once his duty is fulfilled, he will come home and be a planter again. Be my husband.”

She sighed. “When do you plan to marry?”

“Perhaps December. We both must order our wedding clothes with the sailing of the spring ships. We will not receive them until late autumn . . . .” It was my turn to shrug. Such things took time.

“So. You are determined.”

“I am determined.”

“Even though . . .” She took a second breath. “Even though he is in love with another woman?”

My feet halted. Mother had to come round to face me.

“You didn’t know?” she asked.

“You had best not make such an accusation unless—”

“I only have gossip, but gossip is oft based on some modicum of fact.”

I wished I had stayed home. Why had I come thinking I would get my mother’s congratulations and support? I did not wish to know more, yet . . . I needed to know more. I swallowed with difficulty and asked the question that begged to be asked. “What is her name?”

“Sally Fairfax. She is married to his best friend, George William Fairfax. They are neighbors at Belvoir, just a few miles from Mount Vernon—within sight of each other, I have heard.”

Belvoir.

At the mention of this place, my memories returned to George’s first visit at White House.
“The happiest moments of my life were spent at Belvoir. I cannot trace a room in the house that does not bring to mind the recollection of pleasing scenes.”

“Apparently Sally is very beautiful. Tall and quite sophisticated.”

And I am short and simple.

After a moment, reason interrupted my fears and I shook my head vehemently. “George would never do anything untoward with a married woman, especially someone married to his best friend. He is too honourable a man.”

“He is a
man
.” Mother looked toward the house. “Your father was a man of honour too, and you know how his urges . . .”

I nodded quickly so she would not have to linger amid the pain of my father’s illegitimate son and daughter—one of slave blood, one white.

Mother continued. “The British gentry take no contention of fidelity. Perhaps this George William has his own dalliances and allows his wife—”

“Stop!”

Mother took a step away. “I know it is not a pleasant thought, Martha, but it is always wise to know the facts before entering into such a life-changing union.”

“The fact is, I . . .” I was going to say I loved him, and yet I feared she would discount such romance as a trifling. “I respect George and admire him for all the right reasons. We complement each other and will make good partners. We are not British in this regard. We are Virginians, and colonists, and our tolerance for such sins is of much smaller measure.

“Perhaps,” Mother said, though clearly unconvinced. “We tolerate what we cannot change. Perhaps we do so as an act of defense.”

“Perhaps as people entrusted with a new land we should not do so at all. Is this not a chance to hold ourselves to a higher standard? Display higher morals? We would all be better off if we chose to obey God’s commands with all our might.”

Mother shook her head and turned back toward the house. “Men are still men, my dear, with high intentions, weak bodies, and flawed wills.”

I caught up with her, pulling her to a stop once more before we returned to the house. “You will not speak of this again, to anyone.”

“I did not start the gossip, Martha.”

“But you can stop it. Stop it right here.”

“And if someone brings it up in my presence?”

“Tell them you believe it cannot be so and they must be mistaken. Defend the honour of my future husband, and as such, my honour as well.

She looked at me, her eyes busy with consideration. “As you wish. I only want you to be happy. I know you are weary of the responsibilities of widowhood, but wisdom and common sense must still prevail in such decisions.”

“I feel I am being very wise and sensible,” I said. “Now . . . would you like to help me design my wedding attire, or not?”

*****

I was back at White House, the children in bed, the daylight waning. I combed through my hair, making ready to retire.

To her credit, Mother did not revisit the subject of Sally Fairfax after our walk. I knew nothing of the woman, but for the
beautiful
,
tall
, and
sophisticated
attributes which Mother relayed via the gossip grapevine.

But even so, I hated her.

As if in response to my ungracious thought, my comb found resistance in a snarl. I segregated the lock of offending hair and attacked. I found victory, but not without many casualties within the teeth of my comb.

Such was the unexpected consequence of hatred. At other times I had witnessed its other casualties, far more serious than a few strands of hair. My father-in-law had wallowed in such a state, causing a bevy of repercussions both private and social, mental and physical. My Daniel had died as a result of his father’s bitter hatred.

I lowered the comb to my lap and stared at my reflection in the mirror of my dressing table. I rearranged the long locks of my hair about my shoulders. In the proper light its brown hue held the richness of chestnut. I leaned closer to peer into my eyes. They were hazel with golden flecks when one was very close.

George will be this close. Closer.

We were an interesting pair, the two of us. My hazel eyes were a happy complement to his blue ones, my short stature a foil to his considerable presence. My ease in talking with anyone about most anything offered a cover for his tendency to say little, unless among close friends. And my determination to move forward from the state of sorrow and pain would serve both of us well.

Who needed beauty? Or height? Or sophistication like Sally Fairfax?

That the first two were decreed by God and thus beyond my control was a consolation. As for the latter? I could hold my own with any icon of society. I may not have had a vastness of experience, but I was not one to shirk a challenge, nor give up without a fight.

If my George still held the thought of Sally close to his breast, it was up to me to pry any memory of her away and replace his thoughts and desires of her with thoughts and desires of me.

My George.

This is what it came to. Whether he held any feelings for Sally or not, the fact was, he had proposed to me. He had chosen me. And I had chosen him.

That, in itself, was a momentous victory.

I encountered no more tangles—in thought
or
grooming.

*****

His letter had been cryptic:
I am coming to White House on June the fifth. I will not be able to stay, yet I must see you.

I sat at the desk in my bedchamber and reread the note again. And again. I tried not to interpret anything within his words, nor the fact he would not be staying over. Was he having second thoughts? We had not seen each other since April, and though we had exchanged many letters, I was wise enough to know that they were a meager surrogate to an actual embrace or a gentle touch.

I had set aside all worries about Sally Fairfax—or at least pretended I had done as much—yet I knew I would not feel totally at ease until we were legally wed. After all, he had known Sally for years, and me but a few months. We had only been in each other’s presence three times before today. That Sally lived but four miles from Mount Vernon was a concern.

I shook my head against the jealous thoughts. My chiding comments to my mother stating that George was too honourable a man to succumb to anything untoward seemed weak and ineffectual as the weeks, and yea, even months, passed without seeing him. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but the truth was, fondness grew stronger when one body was in close proximity to another.

He would be in that close proximity soon. It was wrong of me to worry. Would worry add one day to my life? He was coming. To see me.

But why so short a visit? Did he not feel the same needs that my heart had developed during our time apart? The need to grab hold and never, ever let go?

I looked toward the door of my bedchamber. I had vowed
not
to wait downstairs, fearful I would pace and make the children and servants nervous with my actions. From the vantage point of my desk, I could still see the entry road, allowing me to suffer my anxiety in private.

Suddenly, the door to my room burst open and Jacky and Patsy ran in. They were the only ones who were not required to knock. “Is he here yet?” Jacky asked.

I gave him a look. “You know very well he is not here.”

Patsy shook her head. “Nah here.”

I pulled one child into each arm. “But he will be soon. I am certain of it.”

“I wonder what he will bring me,” Jacky said.

“He does not need to bring you a present,” I said.

“But I want him to.”

“Me too!” Patsy said.

“You are spoiled children.” Yet I said it with no condemnation in my voice. For I did spoil them. Horribly, I suppose. I could not help myself. They were all I had and, as such, would want for nothing.

Jacky and I both heard the sound of a horse at the same moment, and both turned toward the window.

“He
is
here!”

The children ran out of the room. I paused at the mirror and was about to pinch my cheeks when I found they had flushed on their own accord.

I headed downstairs with a prayer upon my lips.
Please, God . . .

*****

George accosted the children—and gave them gifts.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“I do so because I want to.” He looked from them to me. “But since our time is so short . . . if I may have a word with you? In private?”

“Of course.” As I called Amanda to come take my darlings away, I found my heart beating in twice its time.

“Would you please close the doors, Amanda?” George asked.

With a glance to me, she replied, “Yes, sir,” and did just that.

Of course he would like privacy. If he is to tell you it is over, that your marriage is not to be . . .

I began to sit in my usual chair, but he took my hand and led me to the settee. “Please,” he said, indicating the seat.

I sat, and he, beside me. He angled his knees toward mine, the cloth of my dress making contact. “I am so sorry,” he said.

My heart stopped. My worst fears were to be realized.

“Sorry that we have not been able to be together. Sorry that I must come only to leave so quickly.”

He pulled my hands to his lips.

He smiled.

And with those two gestures I knew he had not changed his mind. I took a deep breath, releasing the frustrations and insecurities that had held me captive. I tried to speak but found my throat dry. “I have missed you.”

“And I you.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

As he pulled away I nearly cried with relief.

“Are you unwell?”

I attempted to laugh it away. “No, no, I am very well. Very glad to see you and know . . . and have you here beside me. Close. Finally close.”

He nodded and I knew he felt it too.

He let my hands free and reached inside his coat. “I have a gift for you. It is the reason I had to come.”

George removed a burgundy pouch. He fumbled the pull-strings open and poured into his palm the object of his intent: a ring. He held it for me to see. “Upon your accepting my proposal, I had it made in Philadelphia. It is a pearl—your birthstone, yes?” He smiled. “I have heard an engagement ring containing the bride’s birthstone is said to bring good luck.” He looked up to gauge my reaction.

“It is beautiful.”

He took my hand and slipped it upon my finger.

“It fits!” I said.

“It fits,” he said.

We both looked, one to the other, as if this simple fact was a sign that
we
would fit, one with the other.

“Thank you, George.” I kissed his cheek.

Before I could withdraw, he held my face close. We sat, forehead to forehead. “I must be off now,” he whispered, his breath hot upon my skin. “The war beckons. The French have become cocky and lead raids upon our settlers, basing their violence at Fort Du Quesne. The fort must be taken.”

“When will you return?”

He sat aright. “I don’t know. As soon as possible, I assure you.

“Just . . . return. Return to me, safely.”

“I will do my best.”

We had only a few minutes together before he left me. I stood at the porch and waved after him until he offered one last wave before the fork in the road took him from my sight.

My gaze moved from his departure to the ring he had left behind. A ring, binding us together.

Why had I worried? Those moments wasted could never be returned.