Betsy’s mother was, of course, Mary Hemings Bell, the proprietress of the store we were to shop in.
“Have you lost your wits?” I asked, having half a mind to tell the driver to turn the carriage back around. Fortunately, my sister seemed to have abandoned the idea by the time we reached Main Street.
Polly and I, both round as eggs, waddled our way into Mary Bell’s store, just in time to hear a man at the counter say, “Chocolate drops.”
I confess, even if I hadn’t been flustered already, I was in no way prepared to see William. My hands went straightaway to my bonnet to make certain it wasn’t askew, but my sister let out a girlish squeal. “Mr. Short! Whatever are you doing back in Virginia? Why last we heard, you’d gone off to New York, and then Kentucky to see your brother.”
“Been there and back again,” he replied with a tight smile, holding up three fingers to the proprietress to indicate how many bags of chocolate drops she should make for him. “Now I’m on my way to Richmond.”
“Why didn’t you send word?” my sister asked. “We’re staying at Edgehill. You should winter with us there, like old times.”
I knew perfectly well why he didn’t send word. We’d said farewell at Monticello a year ago. He hadn’t intended to see me again, I thought. Certainly, not so soon. And as much as I might welcome William’s company, it’d be beyond inappropriate to have him stay with us while our menfolk were away.
So I protested, “You presume on the man, Polly!”
“It’s Maria,” she said, rolling her eyes at me in exasperation. “At least come for supper, Mr. Short.”
He winced. “Please forgive me, but my business makes me quite unsociable. I hope you’ll accept these confections as my apology. Or at least consider them an offering to two goddesses of motherhood.”
Polly was delighted, digging into the bag of chocolates at once. But I was made entirely self-conscious; I never wanted him to see me so fat and swollen. “Thank you, but I shouldn’t want to overindulge.”
“Whereas I make a habit of it,” Mr. Short said. “Is there a place we can take some coffee or tea together as we did in Paris?”
My sister laughed. “I’m afraid you’ll find Charlottesville wanting if you’re hoping for those tables that sink down into the ground and come back up with pastries on them . . . oh, I do miss strolling the galleries of the Palais-Royal. All of us, and Sally, too.”
Mary Hemings Bell studiously did not look up from her counter at the mention of her sister and France.
William said, “Shall we take a walk then, ladies?”
“Oh, no,” my sister said at once. “You two go ahead. I’m too tired for that. I’ll stay and chat with Mary.”
There was no way for William to know why the prospect of Polly having a private word with her maid’s mother should give me pause. But he didn’t give me even a moment to object. Instead, he laced his arm in mine and said, “Let’s walk then, Mrs. Randolph. I’ll go slow, so as not to tax you in your delicate condition.”
“There is nothing delicate about my condition,” I assured him. I fell into stride beside him on the main street, determined not to let him think I couldn’t still match his steps on the cobblestones. “Nothing delicate at all. There’s a reason our husbands are so happy to have an excuse to be absent until after the children are born.”
Mr. Short laughed. “You plan to hole up the whole winter at Edgehill with only a houseful of women and girls?”
“And my son, of course. Jeff is the ten-year-old man of the house, now. He’s been riding out each day to check on the property. He fancies himself quite a man grown.”
“He seemed like a very earnest boy. Like his father.”
It was strange to hear William’s assessment of my husband, and a good one at that. “Yes, but he’d hate to hear it. Jeff aims to be just like his grandfather, one day.”
“Don’t we all?” William smiled, wryly.
It was a subject entirely too close to old pains. But still, I asked, “You’ve ambitions to be president?”
“Nothing so lofty. Just the minister to France.”
“You’d go back to Paris? Given all the danger, given the state of the revolution, now with Napoleon—”
“What other American knows the whole of what has happened there, start to finish, better than me?”
No other American, I thought. Not even my father. “Then you’re here in Virginia to mend those fences you spoke of?”
William cleared his throat. “Alas, I’m not sufficiently regretful for having kicked at Mr. Madison’s delicate fences. I confess, I’ve seldom disliked a man more than I dislike Madison.”
It was strange to hear; no one but Federalists disliked Madison. And most of them hated my father much more. “But—”
“Don’t let it trouble you. I’m certain the feeling is mutual. And I’m sure you’ve had enough of conflict after your time in Washington City. I’m told you quietly conquered the place during your winter campaign.”