“I must.” He lowered his hand. “If we are parted, please promise me you’ll find happiness and joy in my absence.”
If we were parted. We would be, though it was my death he would mourn, not the other way around. But could I promise that I would find happiness and joy in the life I was left to live? I swallowed, choking back the pain. “I promise,” I whispered. I would try for his sake, if not for my own.
We stood there for a long moment before he nodded. “I do not want to rush, but I’ve heard rumors that Governor Dunmore has plans to move the ammunition from the magazine in Williamsburg tonight, under the cover of darkness. I need to do more investigating and then spread the word.”
I frowned. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“War is imminent. He doesn’t want the ammunition to land in the hands of the local militia, so he plans to move it to a Royal Navy ship called theMagdalen. It’s docked in the James River, not far from Edgewater Hall.”
“But how will he move it? None of the soldiers have returned from Massachusetts.”
“I should not be telling you these things, Libby. I do not want you to get hurt or to be questioned, should something happen to me.” He touched my cheek again. “I promise I will come again before I leave for Massachusetts.” He lifted his other hand to my face and lowered his lips to mine in a sweet and tender kiss.
I grasped his hands, holding onto him as if he were an anchor in a storm-tossed sea. He was the only thing that made sense to me, the only person outside my family who truly mattered anymore.
When he finally pulled back, I felt adrift.
“I must go. But I love you, Libby, with all my heart.”
“I love you, too, Henry.”
He placed his tricorne on his head and took the path to our back gate, no doubt starting his alarm at Peyton Randolph’s house. I watched him walk down the path, his steps long and confident, his movements sure, and his destination certain. I wished with all my heart that I could walk into my future with such conviction and passion, even knowing the dangers and the uncertainties.
Before he went through our gate, he turned back and waved.
I returned the wave, watching as my heart left me once again.
24
WHITBY, NORTH YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND
MAY 28, 1915
Five long weeks had passed since I stood with Henry in Mama’s garden. After the Gunpowder Incident in Williamsburg, he had made himself scarce, and I was certain he didn’t want his name connected to the alarm that had been raised the night of the event. After Governor Dunmore’s soldiers had removed all the ammunition from the magazine and transported it to his ship, the local militia had been mustered, and Patrick Henry had marched into Williamsburg to retaliate. The threat to the governor and his family had been so great, the governor had taken his family to their country home on the James River but had recently returned to the palace in a show of reconciliation.
Tensions had continued to escalate as men left the colony for the Second Continental Congress, putting everyone on edge. The governor said that he had fought for Virginia, but he was also ready to fight against her. He wasn’t afraid to turn Williamsburg to ashes.
I sat in the little study I used at Cumberland Hall and looked out the window, thinking about the events transpiringin Williamsburg. The closer I came to leaving, the more I worried about Mama and the girls and all that faced them during the revolution. I felt so helpless, but what could I do? Knowing Mister Goodman would be there to protect them alleviated some of my concern.
The study was on the first floor with a view of the moors. Everything was lush and green, with craggy rocks protruding from the carpet of cotton grass and heather. Sheep grazed lazily on the hills behind the manor. Overhead, the bright blue sky had nary a cloud in sight. It was the most beautiful time I’d yet experienced in North Yorkshire.
I stood to stretch my back, knowing that Reggie’s latest letter begged for a response. He was still in the Champagne region of France working as an aide to Lieutenant-General Sir Douglas Haig. He could not tell me much about where he was or what occupied his time, so he shared instead memories of his childhood at Cumberland Hall and his hopes for the future. After that initial letter in January, he had not spoken again of his feelings for me or of his actions in the library. He had returned to less vulnerable topics, for which I was grateful. I did not want to address those issues, not when my heart was so tender and raw. We would have years to deal with such things once he returned home after the war.
“Lady Cumberland.” Wentworth appeared at the open door. “Would you like your tea in here today?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He nodded and then gestured for a maid to enter the room with a cart laden with tea and biscuits. My daily newspapers were also there. Early in my time at Cumberland Hall, I had asked Mr. Wentworth to subscribe to several newspapers, both in London and in Whitby. He’d been surprised but had not questioned me. My work on theVirginia Gazettehad taught me to seek information from more than one news source, and I continued that here in 1915.
After Wentworth and the maid had left, I reached for the pile of newspapers. Today I was especially interested in theLondon Evening News. They had been willing to publish an article I wrote about my experiences during the raid. Though it had been several months since it happened, the public was still hungry for news about the civilian losses, the military presence, and the work done at Cumberland Hall. My words were being used to help recruit more soldiers, men who took offense at civilian casualties.
A movement within my womb brought my hand down to my growing midsection, and I felt the baby roll beneath my fingers. It brought a smile to my face as a wave of affection filled me with warmth. Pregnancy was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I finally understood the glow that some women exhibited, as I’d never felt so feminine nor had such purpose in my life. To know that this child was dependent on me and solely me for nourishment, love, and protection was both an honor and a privilege. I loved knowing I was responsible for protecting her precious life.
As I nibbled on a tea biscuit, thankful my sickness had finally passed, I noticed a section of the paper that made me pause. It was a list of men killed in action during the Battle of Gorlice-Tarnow, which had happened earlier that month. As I read the list, not recognizing any of the names, I thought about all of the family and friends mourning their losses. It caused my thoughts to turn back to the troubles plaguing the American colonies in 1775.
A siege had been laid in Boston after the Battles of Lexington and Concord. Militiamen were not allowing British soldiers to leave the city by land or by sea. Henry had sent a note saying he planned to see me tomorrow, because he was needed in Boston and would be leaving soon. Since the Second Continental Congress was meeting in Philadelphia, I was certain he would stop there to pass along any information he had gathered.
Dread filled me at the thought of him returning to the middle of the fight. But even worse was the knowledge that tomorrow I would say good-bye to him for the last time.
