“It’s because I have no real dowry, isn’t it?” she almost lost her voice, but then daintily cleared her throat. “Why couldn’t we be born into more wealth?”
I sniffed, wiped my hands on my breeches as best I could, then received the note.
2 April 1775
To my dear Hannah,
I love you, I do, but I’ve become uncertain about our arrangement—engagement. My mother has informed me that in my father’s will, if I were to marry an American, I could not inherit my £5000. Of course, I’d still like to marry you, you’re really the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, but what would we do for money? How could we have a future? This weighs heavy on my mind, but my love for you does not die. Let us think together of solutions, my dear. Shall we meet again to discuss our future?
Your humble servant and fiancé,
Mark Kimball
First Lieutenant in His Royal Majesty’s British 52 Regiment
My sister had met this lieutenant only once in Boston when I was selling our barley. I thought it fine that they had exchanged cards and addresses, but they had only seen each other the once . . . that I knew of.
Sighing after reading the letter, I bit my tongue. His dead father wouldn’t allow him to marry an American? Really? How ludicrous! What a liar. What a shirk!
I looked up at my sister’s light blue eyes, bloodshot and now forming one tear after another that surfed down her alabaster cheek.
That shit. I’d break his nose, if I could find him at that instant.
I hugged my sister who was shaking from the cold rain and her emotions.
“I don’t know what it means,” I finally huffed. “But we’ll figure it out. Have you written a response yet?”
Letting her go, I watched her large rounded eyes keep making tears as she shook her head. “No. Do you think I should?”
“Well, yes, but let’s think of the perfect words, all right?”
“Violet, do you think we could get another loan? I mean one with less interest than mother procured after Da died. Something that wouldn’t make us in debt for years, but something to show him we aren’t completely without funds?”
I swallowed. If I could, I would have gladly gone in debt for Hannah, but this letter was not the voice of a gentleman. A man who already purposed marriage yet renegotiates? I was beginning to loathe this Mark Kimball.
“Monsieur Beaumont . . . he has money, Vi.” Hannah had said his name not knowing how it would pierce me, break through all my bulwarks and stab at my already bleeding heart. She continued easily enough. “You could write him a letter, asking for a loan. He’d give you anything. I know. He’s in love with you. Mathew told me he’s had a death in the family, and has been holed up somewhere in Boston, drinking substantially. But even through his grief and drunkenness I’m sure he’d give you whatever you wanted.”
Jacque was drunk? Why hadn’t I thought of that? Drinking profusely might have been better than these last two days of running until my feet were bleeding. Running through rain and in the mud was very hard work as well.
I couldn’t answer my sister. I wondered if I would ever breathe again. I wondered if I would just turn into a stone statue, staring in bewilderment at my sister. Then, to my rescue, I heard the happy chuckle of Mathew approaching.
“What are you girls doing out here in the rain? Hannah! Your feet! Look at your muddy bare feet, and your teeth are chattering.”
He scooped her up in his arms, while laughing, and gave me a quick kiss on my lips. “You’re next, missy!” He smiled at me. “I’m coming right back to haul you inside. You shouldn’t be working on a day like today. You need to stay inside. Make Mr. Jones come inside too. I’ve brought some oranges all the way from Florida. We can eat the fruit and sit beside the fire and drink some ale. Oh, with Mrs. Jones too. Let’s make Hannah read some Shakespeare.”
Hannah wailed. “Mathew, put me down. Violet and I are trying to solve—”
“Hannah,” I interrupted. “Mathew’s here. He can help us figure out what to do.”
At that Mathew looked at me with such open admiration, such ferocious affections, that I felt my cheeks blush. He smiled as Hannah finally cracked a small grin too and propped the yellow sheet over Mathew’s tri-horned hat.
“Yes, you can help.” She nervously chuckled. “Why didn’t I think of talking to you first?”
“Yes, why didn’t you think of me first, little sister? I have all the answers, of course.” He laughed as he carried my sister away. Hannah began to speak animatedly, and my heart didn’t feel so cold and empty as I watched Mathew bob his head at something Hannah had told him.