“I shall never melt, as I like my victuals too well.”
“And your stays tightly laced.” Juliet chuckled. They’d snapped a few laces of late. Rather than have a maidservant, they relied on each other to dress—with varying shades of success.
Loveday looked up from beneath the brim of her bergère hat, its lavender ribbons fluttering. “I cannot wed before you. Even Scripture says it’s not custom to marry the youngest before the eldest.”
“Ancient custom hardly applies. Besides, there’s not an eligible man in America I give a fig for. I’m too busy helping manage Father’s affairs to think of courtship.”
Another swish of her fan. “I suppose I’m a hopeless romantic at heart. I wish I was more like Aunt Damarus, content to be alone.”
“I wonder if women have an easier time of singleness than men.” Juliet worried her bottom lip. Should she spill what she’d heard from one of their neighbors? “Speaking of courtship, Mrs. Nisbet told me there’s a widow in Williamsburg that Father is enamored with.”
Loveday’s fan waving stopped as her mouth made a perfectO. “You jest!”
“I don’t know that it’s true.” Juliet felt another pinch of surprise herself. “Though our neighbor isn’t given to gossip nor exaggeration.”
“Details, Sister, details!”
“Precious few so far. I believe this particular widow is newly arrived from England, visiting some colonial relations in Virginia.”
“So that’s why Father is so oft in town of late.” Loveday’sexpression grew speculative. “Why do you think he hasn’t told us but left us to find out secondhand?”
“Too soon, perhaps. I do hope he doesn’t get hurt if he presses his suit and is rebuffed.”
“Oh my.” Loveday made a comical face. “How unsettling to think of Father as a suitor. He’s not exactly a romantic sort. ’Tis sort of odd, is it not?”
Juliet nodded, wondering how best to confirm the matter. “Quite, though he seems increasingly lonely since Mama’s passing and has entirely lost interest in Royal Vale.”
They left the avenue and rolled to a stop before the brick mansion that was Forrest Bend, the James River a blue glimmer behind it. Up mosquito-ridden brick steps they trod, then entered an elegant hall that promised spirited conversation, music, and the much-anticipated ice cream.
Nathaniel Ravenal greeted them as he passed through the beeswax-scented hall. This man, the longtime master of Forrest Bend, had paid Juliet more singular attention than her own father all her six and twenty years. The admission pained her, but then, life in general pained her. She seemed to be losing her grasp on its pleasures.
Her godfather’s gaze was steady. Astute. “All is well at Royal Vale?”
With an unchecked sigh, Juliet watched Loveday hurry into the parlor with Ravenal’s garrulous wife and daughters. “‘Out of difficulties grow miracles.’”
“Jean de La Bruyère?” He pulled on leather riding gloves. “‘It is boorish to live ungraciously; the giving is the hardest part; what does it cost to add a smile?’”
“You always rise to the literary occasion,” she told him, trying to smile. Their years-long game of exchanging quotes held sentimental satisfaction, at least. “’Tis that great library of yours.”
“Always open to you,” he said, gesturing to the door opposite the suddenly noisy parlor.
Slowly, Juliet removed her gloves, wishing to retreat. Today the girlish laughter chafed.
“I sense you could use a quiet corner.” Ravenal looked concerned. “Or a book to borrow.”
Was her weariness so transparent? The telltale shadows beneath her eyes?
Thanking him, she moved toward the library as he left the house, his horse’s hoofbeats raising thick dust as he galloped down the long drive. Juliet could never resist a solitary space or a good book, especially at Forrest Bend.
2
There is an air of metropolitan dignity in Glasgow ... which entitles it to a much greater share of the traveler’s attention than even the capital of the country.
Novelist Mary Ann Hanway, 1775
GLASGOW, SCOTLAND
JULY1774
