When the heart finds its one true desire, any separation and delay is unbearable. And so it was to be a miserable evening, one that I suffered with an ache blooming in my chest. The Duchess of Cavendish commented favorably upon my height just before I was presented to her as “Miss Jefferson, the daughter of His Excellency, Thomas Jefferson, the American minister.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of him,” the duchess said. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” She made a twirling motion with her fingers. “Et cetera, et cetera.”
I curtseyed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“But not the women,” she said, frowning. “In France, I’m hoping to meet women dedicated to égalité and the right to decide our own fates. Your father wrote all men are created equal, but made no mention of the ladies. Haven’t you wondered why?”
Yes, I wondered. Because in the spirit of the times, and my own discontent, everything I knew was open to question. . . .
GUILT RIDDEN, I confessed to William that our love was no longer secret as we sat admiring our gardens. He lifted my chin with his fingers, the smile he wore revealing that he took my confessions well enough. “It’s all right. I suppose your father cannot have been much deceived, given how I dote upon you.”
In truth, I thrived upon his doting, as I hoped he knew. “Papa wants to know your plans for the future. He says he hasn’t asked if you’ll return to Virginia for fear of influencing you.”
At this, Mr. Short looked quite taken aback. “I find that painfully curious, since I’ve already told him my decision.”
Confused, I shifted toward him on the bench. “Perhaps I misunderstood him. . . .”
William clutched my hand. “He wants me to set up a law practice in Albemarle County, Patsy, but I intend to pursue foreign service. My appointment as chargé d’affaires should make me a candidate to replace your father as minister to France. If not, then I’ll seek an appointment to Spain or the Netherlands.”
Though William had told me he was an ambitious man, I hadn’t grasped just how ambitious. “Then you mean to stay in Europe?”
“For a few years,” he said, warming to the subject. “What a fine diplomat’s wife you’ll make. There’s so much of the world you’ve yet to see, and I dream of showing you. Everywhere on my travels, I wished for you, every treasure diminished before my eyes because it wasn’t seen by yours.”
Caught up in his enthusiasm, I imagined myself a diplomat’s wife, learning new languages, venturing to strange new places, seeing sights few Americans would ever see. What a glamorous adventure we’d have together. “You think I’m suited for such a life?”
“Who better?” he asked with affection and confidence. “You know court etiquette. You’ve studied diplomacy in your father’s own parlor and have learned to make yourself amiable with every sort of person, from peasants to duchesses. I’d count myself blessed to have you for my own.”
My heart pounded faster to think it. Then I remembered Papa, and it fell hard, like a stone, into my belly. “But if you stay in Europe, we’d have to leave Papa.”
It seems I face threats of abandonment on all sides. . . .
“Oh, President Washington will keep your father quite busy in the coming years. We’ll all be back together before he even notices.” I didn’t like the way William’s gaze slid away from mine as he spoke such cavalier words. We’d once shared the burden of my father’s madness, protecting him from the world and from himself. Surely William hadn’t forgotten.
“Papa relies upon us,” I said, searching his eyes for understanding. “He needs us.”
William leaned in to place reassuring kisses on my cheeks. “Your father is past those dark days. You’ve taken care of him since you were a girl. Come with me, now, my love. Let me take care of you until the end of our days.”
How my heart swelled at his words.
How tempting he was.
How unreasonable and ungrateful I felt for my apprehension.
But I simply couldn’t help myself. “How many years before we could join Papa in Virginia?”
William fell silent in a way that troubled me beyond measure. His thumb stroked the back of my hand. Finally, he swallowed and met my eyes. “I cannot make my home in Virginia, Patsy.”
It took me a moment to understand his words, and even then, I was left bewildered. The breeze caught my curls, and I brushed them away. “You’re a Virginian, William. Where else could you make your home?”
He looked at the sky for a long moment. “Somewhere else. Someplace in America where prosperity can be had without slaves. It cannot be done in Virginia.”
“That can’t be true,” I sputtered. “Your practice at the law—”
“Would fail utterly even if I didn’t mind the drudgery of it.” He bolstered himself with a deep breath. “Perhaps you don’t remember Virginia society because you’ve come of age in France. The gentry will never trust a lawyer who isn’t also well established as a Virginia planter.”
“Then be a planter,” I argued. “Take a small farm, employ only sharecroppers. . . .”
“I’d soon be a very poor, indebted planter, who could, in no way, support the daughter of Thomas Jefferson in the manner to which she has grown accustomed.”