“I fear I have had too much wine,” he said. “Oh, look, my new coat. Is the ball over?” He caught sight of Gwyneth and squinted as if trying to remember something. She turned away. “Miss MacLammond? At your service, I think. My head feels as if hit by a cannonball. I have been so hard at the books I have not danced or had wine in three years. I am quite embarrassed to have made such a fool of myself.”
August said, shouldering up the boy, “I warrant you had a great deal of help. Someone scuttled your jib and sent you off the boards there. Let us get you to a bench. As the morrow is Christmas, you may rest.”
“Christmas? Alas, no. I must be in Meeting at the earliest. Oh, I shall rue this evening, I fear. Oh, please forgive me.” He spoke to Gwenny.
As we rode home, I asked August, “What do you know of that man?” The mere fact that John Hancock was no doubt on bad terms with Wallace Spencer made him all the more appealing than had his cream-colored coat and breeches.
“Spencer, that hack-slaver? As black a bilge rat as Rafe MacAlister.”
“I meant Hancock. Other than that his hair was astir, he seems gentle and striking fair. I might be pleased to have him suitor to Gwyneth.”
August chuckled. “You choose well, for he’s heir of the richest family on this shore, I would wager. Half my cargo is whale oil and rum to England from the Hancock company. Would a minister’s son want me for an uncle?”
“He might make her a good husband.”
“He might, indeed. There. She is asleep now. As is our America. The shame will be when anyone finds out what happened.”
“You are not really going to duel with Wallace, are you?”
August smiled, letting the expression harden on his face. “I might look forward to it. But sister, it is against the law. And I would never do aught against the king and Crown.” He pointed with one finger toward the ceiling and the coachmen.
I mouthed, “Can they hear us?”
“Assume it so,” he whispered. “At any rate, though a first kiss ought to be a delightful mess between two untried and willing souls, it was but a kiss, and there will be others. You have pretty children, Ressie. Very pretty.”
“Are you fond of America Roberts?”
“Well, of course.”
I raised my brows.
He said, “Not that way. She is too beautiful.”
I wondered if some disagreement had occurred that night I left them alone with only blind Jacob and the children. “You danced with her several times,” I prodded.
“Were you counting?”
“Yes. And what man scorns a beautiful woman?”
He shifted his legs and said, “The cold this time of night is cruel, isn’t it? It is well past midnight. Don’t tell me you shall turn right around and make your children go to church meeting? I don’t intend to go.”
“Fine example you are, uncle.”
CHAPTER 28
January 18, 1756
August meant to stay with us until Cullah and Brendan returned. Everything changed the second week of January, when a sudden thaw left the roads passable but not yet muddy. If he had been present, rather than down in Boston at the harbor on business all day, he might have balanced things, or taken them into hand himself. Jacob was not in the house; he was feeding the goats and fowl, doing the milking. The children were upstairs with America and Gwyneth at their books. A gig that I recognized as one of the Spencers’ pulled up to my house. Serenity alighted and left the entire rig with four men and six horses stamping against the cold, waiting in the road.
I invited her in, of course. It was what must be done. “Will you have coffee?” I asked after she had been seated.
“Tea, if you have it. All England is mad for tea now. We were there last spring. Oh, have you ever seen Hyde Park in spring? Just lovely. You cannot imagine it if you have not been there. You must go sometime.”
“I have no tea but there is coffee,” I said, “and biscuit.” I heard children playing overhead and smiled. “My youngest two. Benjamin hates being confined to the house in this weather. They are playing at knights and castles as they learn their history. I believe we are up to the reign of King John.”
“I do not care for coffee.”
“Well, then. Beer?”
“No, thank you. I am on my way to Concord to see a dear friend of mine. And my mother is ailing, did you know? I am going to interview another doctor for her.”
“Yes, I knew. Lady Spencer—”
“Not Lady Spencer. I mean my mother, Mistress Roberts-Brown. Quite lost her mind, poor soul. Rambles on, saying the same things over and over.” Serenity seemed to be squirming in her seat. Something had brought the woman here, that I knew.
“How sad.” To be kind, I said, “Often when people are old, they forget what they have just said. It is not madness, just aging.”
“Well, that may be so for your mother, but my mother is daft as a drunkard most of the time. I hope I never live so long as to become idiotic. I was quite taken with your gown. Who made it? Oh, dear. That’s not why I called. Oh, well. You know, don’t you?”
“Know, Serenity?”