The Patriot Bride Read online

  But Faith had to acquaint herself with the other locations first.

  Last week, George had asked her to meet him in Philadelphia, and he went over everything again. Of course, he plied her with questions. Probably to make sure she was ready. While she’d been adamant about her preparedness to George, there had been a slight niggle of fear in her mind.

  The list of things to remember was lengthy. But she was up for the task. She was. George knew it—and it shone in his eyes. She could tell he was proud of her for taking up the cause, but also worried for her well-being. He’d even expressed as much, although he was a quiet man of few words. But George had always been one to worry about her. Even though she could take care of herself—a point which Mr. Washington should know quite well.

  Ticking off the main things to remember, she walked to the candle maker’s shop.

  Be a regular patron in the area.

  Make friends with the ladies around—especially those with husbands of the loyalist inclination.

  Smile.

  Act as if nothing were amiss.

  Never take the same route to a meeting, but use regular routes within town.

  Don’t let anyone see her exchange the letters.

  Try never to be seen with Matthew. But if so, they had to make it look like a couple in love meeting in secret.

  Keep the drop-offs short.

  Not too difficult. At least, she hoped not.

  The key would be to spend money at the shops, earn people’s trust, and blend into the regular crowds. She needed to be recognizable but not well-known.

  As tensions continued to rise, British troops were seen on a much more common basis. It seemed startling to see them in the streets and shops, but George had warned that this was coming. He’d gone back to Mount Vernon, the estate he’d inherited when his older brother died. And for some reason, it made Faith feel a bit more alone.

  She longed to return to her parents’ home in Virginia. But she’d only been back once a year to ensure everything was still working ever since Joseph died. The pull seemed incredibly strong in her heart. Maybe after her job of messenger was complete, she would be able to return to Virginia and stay. There really wasn’t anything holding her in Boston, although she did love her home and her friends.

  After loading her basket with the most expensive candles—she’d informed the chandler that she needed them for an important dinner—she made a large order for everyday candles and told him she’d send one of her servants to pick them up at a later time. The man practically bowed all over her feet, he seemed to be so grateful for the business. Most homes had servants who would make all their candles, so only the elite would buy them, and it was always a rank of prosperity when a household purchased their candles.

  Were things really this difficult nowadays? She’d heard rumors about times getting tougher because of the taxations and boycotts, but apparently, she hadn’t paid enough attention. Perhaps she would need to be more frugal in the days to come.

  Thrice she had made appearances in the marketplace and shops. A few people greeted her as if she were familiar, but she wasn’t at all sure if the plan they’d put into place was working. She still didn’t feel much familiarity. But George had been correct that the best way to get used to her surroundings was to observe it all in the daylight.

  She’d just take a walk—the long way around the square—so she could ensure she remembered every part of the area.

  A carriage pulled up beside her and impeded her path. “Mrs. Jackson. How lovely to find you here.”

  The all-too-sweet and sniveling-sounding voice was familiar and made Faith inwardly cringe. But she pasted on a smile and turned to look up at Anthony Jameson. “Good day to you, Mr. Jameson.” While she’d avoided the man in social circles for many years, this past year, he’d seemed to take an interest in seeking her out. For what reason, she couldn’t even guess… . The man believed everyone to be beneath him. Always talking about his relationship with the King and expecting the world to bow at his feet.

  “This is an awfully long journey from your home.” The pompous man looked around him. “Might I offer you a ride back to Boston, ma’am?”

  “No, thank you. I have got quite a bit to do yet today, and my driver is with me.”

  “Then perhaps I could interest you in a companion as you walk?” The large man descended from his carriage.

  Faith sighed. The man never took no for an answer. “That would be …” She bit off the last of what she wanted to say. No use offending the man completely.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him start to offer his arm, so she stepped forward at a brisk pace and hoped he could read her hint. Even if she did manage to deftly ignore his gesture, the man needed an education in pursuing women.

  When it all boiled down to it, he was not as smart as he tried to convince people he was.

  “Mrs. Jackson.” He huffed. “I do believe we should slow our pace a bit.”

  “Whatever for?” She furrowed her brow and tried not to smile. “I enjoy walking. It is so invigorating.”

  “Humph.” He mumbled something she couldn’t discern. “But I was hoping for a leisurely stroll. Where we could get to know one another better.”

  “Oh, that is very kind of you, Mr. Jameson….” Faith picked up her pace and stared straight ahead. She had no desire to know Anthony Jameson at all. “But I do have quite a few things that I need to accomplish yet this afternoon, if you remember. I do like to stay busy.”

  “But you have a staff and plenty of people to serve you, ma’am. Why not let them earn their keep?”

  She narrowed her eyes. Earn their keep? If she didn’t know better, she would have thought Anthony Jameson had crawled out from under a rock. How had this man found favor with the King? And with the upper classes? Was he really wealthy enough to just buy his way in and then treat people however he wanted? The thought disgusted her.

  His quick footsteps and heavy breathing reminded her that he was still trying to keep up with her. Bother.

  “I believe the good Lord above has given us instruction as to how we should live. And I don’t believe being idle and waiting to be served is one of those instructions.” She tried to be nice. She really did. But sometimes that man could bring out the worst in her, and she feared her tongue would get away with her. If only George were here, maybe he could help get rid of the pest of a man. But George wouldn’t be able to tolerate him at all. Why had Anthony Jameson decided to give her attention? She’d never encouraged it. Of that she was certain.

  “But you deserve to be pampered and taken care of, my dear.”

  Not by him, not ever. Faith could only keep walking. And bite her tongue, so she didn’t say anything rude. He couldn’t be that daft. Surely, he’d get the point and leave her alone.

  “I would like the opportunity to show you the life you deserve.”

  The last words made her stop and turn toward him. “Mr. Jameson—”

  “Yes, my dear.” Anthony moved closer with the opportunity. His wig sat at an odd angle after their brisk walk. “I am so glad I’ve gained your attention—”

  “No.” She held up a hand. No. No. No. Never. She took a deep breath. “I am sorry. But I must put an end to our walk today. I really must go.” Faith lifted the edge of her skirt and took off—at what could almost be called a run—to find her driver. It didn’t matter to her that it was unseemly. She didn’t care who was watching.

  All she knew was that she must get as far away from that man as she could.

  Wednesday, February 15, 1775

  Philadelphia

  Matthew stood at the back of the room and listened to the group of Loyalists discuss the turmoil around them. Tobacco smoke hung thick in the air while voices competed to be heard. They’d met in secret but spoke of many other Loyalists and of the many British troops to the north.

  “We’ve sent word to London and to Parliament about the rebellious nature of the Colonies.” Lord Williams tilted his chin
up. Matthew always took it as a gesture to dare anyone to argue with him.

  “But what of their militias they are building?” John Masterson tapped his finger on the table in front of him. “We cannot rush into anything without backing from the King.”

  “I for one”—a man Matthew didn’t recognize stood with his thumbs tucked into his jacket—”am tired of the rumblings. We are British and should remain as such. If they are not loyal to the King, then they should just go elsewhere.”

  “Here, here.” The one known as Robert Sims stuck his quill in the air and then went back to recording the meetings proceedings.

  Matthew forced himself to nod so that no one would be suspicious. William Franklin was supposed to meet him here, but he hadn’t arrived yet. It was vital that he got William’s take on things because he was scheduled to meet Faith in three days’ time and he needed to send a message on through her.

  Faith. He’d had a hard time getting the lovely widow off his mind. And he’d looked forward to nothing more than to see her again. But circumstances were not conducive for a courtship right now. Matthew lifted a hand to his brow and rubbed it. What was he thinking? He needed to get back to the task at hand. Focusing on the discussion around him, he wondered if everyone in the room truly believed that the best future for their Colonies lay under British rule.

  One of the men mentioned the Royal Governor of New Jersey—that was William—and how the man had done commendable things for the British Navy. Even gaining Patriot secrets to share with the commanding officers.

  Secrets? What secrets had William gotten a hold of? And from whom?

  William’s leanings had been increasingly toward the strict Loyalist, and he always seemed in the know on the word from London. The fact that Matthew had been welcomed into this secret group showed the power that William held. So why wasn’t he here? And how was he obtaining secrets from the Patriots? Matthew would have to investigate this further.

  No matter Franklin’s thoughts, it appeared the British wanted to lay down some hard lines for the Colonies and attempt to remain in control. A very difficult and risky proposition with the monarchy across the vast ocean. The leaders in Parliament—and even the King, for that matter—couldn’t possibly understand what was happening here in the Americas.

  Why couldn’t meetings and conversations be held? Why wouldn’t the monarchy take the time to listen? Didn’t they understand that boycotts and taxes and rules and demands were not the way to run the Colonies? It was as if the ruling class in England believed that everyone in the Colonies were nothing more than…slaves.

  A deep sense of foreboding hit him in the gut. War seemed more real each day. And even though Matthew longed for the Colonies to be independent, he couldn’t justify a war in his mind. What were they to do? The ugliness of every battle he’d seen raced through his memories. There had to be a better way. But what was it?

  The conversations continued around the room, and Matthew noticed that any official discussion was over. Still no sign of William. He’d been so lost in thought again that he’d missed the end of the meeting, but did it really matter? It seemed lines were being drawn in the sand. Deep ones, without the option of erasure.

  The thought weighed heavy on his heart. If there wasn’t a chance of working through the differences of opinion, then war was imminent.

  Shaking his head free of the thoughts, he put his hat in place and snuck out of the room. A visit to his mentor would help him sort through it. It would be a risk, but he could slip in through the kitchen door. Pulling his black cloak high up around his neck, he stepped into the shadows.

  He took several different turns and rounded two separate blocks three times just in case anyone was watching or tried to follow him. When he was sure no one had seen him, he made his way toward the back of Benjamin Franklin’s home.

  When he knocked on the kitchen door, he expected Charles—the butler—to answer like usual. But the old man himself answered the door.

  “Matthew.” Franklin’s shocked whisper floated into the night. “Good heavens, son, ‘tis late and it is freezing. Come in, come in.” Ben’s hair was disheveled as if he’d fallen asleep in his chair. It had been barely two months since his wife had died, and it had aged the man.

  “Thank you, sir.” Matthew walked straight through the kitchen to the fire to warm himself. “I was hoping to see your son tonight and have more information to pass on via messenger, but he wasn’t at the meeting.”

  “I see. There have been a lot of murmurings lately. William has had his hands full as governor.” The sigh that left his friend’s lips showed a bit of the discouragement the man must feel to be on separate political sides. “I fear our relationship is at an impasse. I don’t believe I will be speaking with William anymore in the future. If ever.”

  Matthew sucked in a gulp of air. “Truly? Has it come to that?” He couldn’t believe that a father and son could be divided so much over politics as to split the relationship. Perhaps Deborah’s death had altered his thinking in more ways than one.

  “I fear it is so. He’s been secretly reporting Patriot activities to his authorities, and I cannot abide his willful abandonment of my thoughts and wishes. He has no regard for them, even with all I have done for him—to gain him his position to say the least. And after the loss of his mother …” Ben swiped a hand down his face. “Well, she had raised him. He thought of her as his mother.” He released a heavy sigh. “Come, let’s sit in the parlor for a while. The fire is just as warm in there, and we can discuss different topics.”

  With a nod, Matthew understood that the subject of Ben’s sweet wife had to be closed. But he couldn’t cover his shock. If Ben and William could be so divided, what did that say for the Colonies and Britain?

  Ben eased himself into a chair and picked up his glasses. “What’s on your mind, son? I can see that something is greatly troubling to you.”

  How could he tell his friend and mentor that the split in his relationship with his son seemed to be the final nail in the coffin? It truly was here. War. As much as he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want it to happen, it was here nonetheless.

  “Go ahead, Matthew. I can see your mind is in a whirl of motion.” Ben leaned forward.

  Everything he’d heard that night made sense. It all added up. And the conclusion was the same no matter which way he turned. That meant the message that needed to be passed on through Faith would have to show the truth of the dire situation.

  Faith. He’d been thrilled at the thought of seeing her again. And in the back of his mind, he’d hoped that there was a future ahead…but could they even think of a future if war was on the horizon?

  “Matthew?” Ben’s voice broke through his reverie.

  “My apologies.” He’d only just met Faith. There was no use even contemplating the future at this point. “I was lost in thought.”

  “So did you need to discuss anything else that you heard or saw this evening?” Ben put his glasses on and rubbed his hands together. “I’m all ears.”

  “Actually”—Matthew removed his cloak and sat in one of the large wingback chairs—”I was hoping to discuss a different matter.”

  Ben raised his eyebrows. “Of course. Anything for you. What can I help you with?”

  “ ‘Tis about a woman.”

  “You know my history in this area, young man.” The older gentleman chuckled and stood.

  “Yes, but since I believe we are on the precipice of war, I need some education in this matter. I have always been working, or fighting, or surveying…and no one has ever captured my interest.”

  “Ah, but there is one now.”

  “Yes. And even though the times we see each other are short—and a bit dangerous—I cannot seem to get her from my mind.”

  “Well now, that is a dilemma.” Ben walked over and patted Matthew on the shoulder. “I am glad you have found someone that’s caught your interest, ‘tis about time, you know.”

  Matthew shook his head and lau
ghed. Good ol’ Ben. Never mincing words.

  “But I think we need a drink to have this discussion.” He winked, and Matthew followed him back into the kitchen.

  Even on the brink of war, he looked forward to seeing Faith again.

  The heavy scent of manure made Faith bring her gloved hand up to her nose. And leave it there. Why on earth had they chosen to meet in a barn? The nosegay pinned to her stomacher couldn’t even begin to cut the stench.

  She spent so little time around animals that the overwhelming sensation to gag on the smell made her eyes water. This was no way to meet Mr. Weber again. She had to show that she was strong and capable of such a job.

  When she was younger, she’d spent uncountable hours in the muck and mire, playing with the animals and getting covered in who knew what filth. But that had been long ago. Before her parents had died. Before she’d been taken to Boston to be raised. The Martins had been wonderful people, but they spoiled her. She knew that. That never stopped her curious and precocious nature, but since they had no children of their own, they poured everything into Faith. Which had been a wonderful thing for her. And when they also died, it was almost like losing her parents all over again. Through it all, she’d become even stronger and more independent.

  And quite wealthy.

  Not only did she have a substantial inheritance from her parents—the Lyttons—but she’d also gained her husband’s fortune. Then the Martins’ wealth passed on to her a few years later because they had bequeathed everything to her. It was true: she would never want for anything monetarily or materially, but she did long to be loved by someone. Everyone she’d loved had died. All except for George.

  And while she knew that George would always be there for her—as long as he was alive—she still longed for someone to call her own.

  For years, she’d wanted children. Still did. But she’d had to push the ache aside. The Patriot cause seemed to have been sent by God—something for her to pour her time and efforts into—but she knew there had to be more. Even though she had to tuck those feelings deep inside.