My mouth slipped open, but I could not speak.
“It makes the most sense, don’t you see?” he asked. “I will arrive at my maturity next year and will be ready to take over the printing shop. You are in need of a husband to guide your hand and your business. I am well-suited to both jobs.”
I was still speechless. How long had he been contemplating this proposition?
He studied me as I took a step back.
“I have no wish to marry you, Louis.” I didn’t want to be unkind, but he must know where I stood on this issue. “I am quite capable of running this business with my mother, and neither of us needs a man’s help. I believe we’ve proven this over and over.”
His eyes hardened. I was speaking a truth he was not ready to accept. “Are you not worried about what the others are saying about you?” he asked.
I shook my head, uncertain what he had heard, though it mattered little.
“Your marriage opportunities are dwindling, Libby, and youhave no assurance that you’ll be able to care for your mother and sisters much longer. If Mister Archer has his way, you will lose the contract, and he will drive you out of business.”
Mister Archer was the owner of theWilliamsburg Weekly Journal. He had possessed the public printing contract last year, and we had taken it from him.
“When he does,” Louis continued, “he has promised me a job.” He studied me with his calculating eyes. “That is, unless I have a reason to fight for this print shop.”
I pressed my lips together. After all these years, Louis was playing his hand. But I had fought too long and too hard to give up now. I lifted my chin. “Have the proof ready for me when I return.”
I didn’t wait for him to reply but left the press room and entered the front hall, my heart pounding hard. The forms were heavy in my hands as I exited the house, my bonnet forgotten in my need to be free of the printing shop. I hated that Louis was threatening me and trying to force my hand in marriage. Had I been my father’s son, Louis would never have considered pressuring me that way.
My face burned with embarrassment and anger as I strode to the capitol at the end of Duke of Gloucester Street. The ten-minute walk gave me enough time to cool my temper and remember why I had set out on this errand.
As I entered the capitol, the piazza was empty, and disappointment weighed down my spirits. No doubt the burgesses were in session. If Glen had delivered the forms, he could have stepped into the house chamber quietly. If I entered, it would disrupt the entire meeting.
The door to the chamber opened, and my pulse beat at the sight of Henry. His surprise at seeing me was just as stunning. The serious frown upon his face disappeared, and a smile lit up his blue eyes.
“Libby,” he said, coming to me as the door to the chamberclosed. “I was just stepping out to get more ink. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to deliver the forms you ordered.” I lifted them in my hands.
“You couldn’t send your boy to do that?”
“I could—but I was out and decided to bring them myself.” There were so many things I longed to ask Henry about the meeting just beyond the closed door, yet it would not be appropriate.
His smile broadened, and he took the forms from me. “I’m happy ’twas you who came. Thank you.”
We stood in the quiet for a moment, and neither of us spoke. I should have left, but I didn’t want to go so soon.
“How is the assembly progressing?” I asked.
He shook his head, his countenance heavy. “I fear this thing will not end well in Boston, but we cannot allow England’s tyranny to prevail.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door and then gently cupped my elbow to move me toward a corner in the open-air piazza. The intimate act filled my midsection with warmth.
“You cannot breathe a word of this until we’ve voted and it’s been shared with you through proper means,” he said in a low tone, his eyes imploring mine for secrecy.
“Of course,” I whispered back. I would hold any secret Henry entrusted to me.
“There’s been a call for a day of solidarity with Boston. We’ve been meeting at the Raleigh Tavern, and we all agree we cannot ignore their troubles, for they are the troubles of all British subjects in America.”
“What will you do?”
“As soon as we’re able, we will put forth a petition to the assembly, calling for a day of fasting and prayer on June the first, the day the port closes in Boston.”
“But if you do that, you will make your positions known, and people will be forced to choose whether they are for you or against you.”
