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.”
How I swelled with pride at my love’s actions, even as Papa’s words made me wary. “He’s very principled.”
My father stopped by our gate. “I think William means to return to America, where he may buy a farm near to me in Albemarle County; of this I’m not sure, having avoided asking him lest he should mistake curiosity for inclination. But if those are his plans, what happy neighbors we’ll be! Then I’ll be very happy to give this match my blessing.”
My fear melted away and my heart soared with joy. Soared like one of those balloons that Papa had taken me to see, rising up and up and up! I rushed to kiss his cheek in excitement before his words sank in. “Do you mean to say, you won’t give your blessing now?”
The light of that Parisian summer day glinted in his blue eyes. “I merely ask that you wait until William has established himself somewhere without the element of danger or poverty. Then, if he proposes marriage, I’ll be delighted to welcome into our family a man who is already a son to me, one whose company I find necessary to my happiness.”
Papa wanted us to wait, after we’d already waited so long! That I didn’t burst into tears on the spot was, I thought, something to be quite proud of. Papa’s words had the ring of perfect reason to them, so why did I hear in them such injustice?