would never escape.
Lifting her eyes from her reverie, she saw Bonaparte raise his wineglass to her and then take a sip.
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, Betsy returned from a fitting with her dressmaker to find her mother and favorite aunt in the drawing room. Dorcas’s younger sister Anne Spear, familiarly known as Nancy, had never married despite having the auburn hair and elegant beauty of the Spear women. Gossips claimed that she was too tall and awkward to entice men. Instead of bemoaning her unmarried state, she relished her independence to travel and control the money she had received from her father—a financial responsibility the law did not allow wives to exercise.
As Betsy entered the room, Dorcas rose. “I will ask Mrs. Ford to prepare tea.” She left without greeting her daughter.
Betsy tried to mask her hurt at the snub by bending to kiss her aunt’s cheek. Then she untied the ribbons to her bonnet. “It is lovely to see you, Aunt. I heard that you are going to Washington earlier than expected this year,” she said, referring to Aunt Nancy’s habit of living with the Smith family whenever they resided in the capital so that she could sit in the congressional gallery during legislative sessions and watch the representatives at work.
“Oh, yes. Samuel says that the president has asked Congress to convene early because of this Louisiana business.”
“Is it true that there is to be an expedition to explore the territory?”
Aunt Nancy shot her a shrewd look. “Do not try to distract me. Sit down so we can talk before your mother returns. What is this I hear about you humiliating your brother?”
Although Betsy sat on the sofa as her aunt requested, she jutted out her chin. “He deserved it. He was insulting Monsieur Poleon’s guests.”
“Do you imagine that the First Consul of France needs your feeble defense? Or were you, perhaps, desirous that the First Consul’s brother should witness your cleverness?”
Her aunt’s sharp question made Betsy feel a prickling of shame. Gazing at the bonnet in her lap and smoothing its ribbons, she asked, “Is it wrong to want Lieutenant Bonaparte to think well of me?”
“It is if you are willing to mock your family to acquire that esteem.”
“But Aunt, William was intolerably rude. Why has not anyone chastised him?”
“Do you know for a certainty that your parents have not?”
Betsy blinked. “No. I—”
Aunt Nancy laid a hand upon her arm. “Listen to me. Your brother is a grown man, and if occasionally his dour nature causes him to act the fool, then people will decide for themselves how to evaluate his worth. Since he is a man, they will likely overlook any minor defects so long as he remains successful in business. You, on the other hand, are a woman and held to a different standard.”
Indignation swept away whatever remorse Betsy felt. To hear such counsel from the aunt who had urged her to read A Vindication of the Rights of Woman was shocking. “I cannot believe that you of all people would warn me to be more ladylike. When have you ever cared what people think of your interest in politics?”
“My dear niece, I am content to remain unmarried, and so I can afford not to care. You, however, have different desires. You want to make an important marriage.”
“Yes, I do. Are you saying that you think me wrong?”
Aunt Nancy pressed her lips together. “No,” she finally said, drawing out the word in a way that expressed reservation despite her denial. “I am simply cautioning you to behave in a way that will help you achieve your aim. If you want to marry a man of high station, you must not give him reason to suspect that you will embarrass him in society.”
Betsy settled back against the cushions and gave her aunt a troubled look. “You are saying that even if I do marry a European nobleman, my life will have as many constraints as if I remained in Baltimore.”
Aunt Nancy smiled wryly. “I have never yet met a man of any
Lifting her eyes from her reverie, she saw Bonaparte raise his wineglass to her and then take a sip.
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, Betsy returned from a fitting with her dressmaker to find her mother and favorite aunt in the drawing room. Dorcas’s younger sister Anne Spear, familiarly known as Nancy, had never married despite having the auburn hair and elegant beauty of the Spear women. Gossips claimed that she was too tall and awkward to entice men. Instead of bemoaning her unmarried state, she relished her independence to travel and control the money she had received from her father—a financial responsibility the law did not allow wives to exercise.
As Betsy entered the room, Dorcas rose. “I will ask Mrs. Ford to prepare tea.” She left without greeting her daughter.
Betsy tried to mask her hurt at the snub by bending to kiss her aunt’s cheek. Then she untied the ribbons to her bonnet. “It is lovely to see you, Aunt. I heard that you are going to Washington earlier than expected this year,” she said, referring to Aunt Nancy’s habit of living with the Smith family whenever they resided in the capital so that she could sit in the congressional gallery during legislative sessions and watch the representatives at work.
“Oh, yes. Samuel says that the president has asked Congress to convene early because of this Louisiana business.”
“Is it true that there is to be an expedition to explore the territory?”
Aunt Nancy shot her a shrewd look. “Do not try to distract me. Sit down so we can talk before your mother returns. What is this I hear about you humiliating your brother?”
Although Betsy sat on the sofa as her aunt requested, she jutted out her chin. “He deserved it. He was insulting Monsieur Poleon’s guests.”
“Do you imagine that the First Consul of France needs your feeble defense? Or were you, perhaps, desirous that the First Consul’s brother should witness your cleverness?”
Her aunt’s sharp question made Betsy feel a prickling of shame. Gazing at the bonnet in her lap and smoothing its ribbons, she asked, “Is it wrong to want Lieutenant Bonaparte to think well of me?”
“It is if you are willing to mock your family to acquire that esteem.”
“But Aunt, William was intolerably rude. Why has not anyone chastised him?”
“Do you know for a certainty that your parents have not?”
Betsy blinked. “No. I—”
Aunt Nancy laid a hand upon her arm. “Listen to me. Your brother is a grown man, and if occasionally his dour nature causes him to act the fool, then people will decide for themselves how to evaluate his worth. Since he is a man, they will likely overlook any minor defects so long as he remains successful in business. You, on the other hand, are a woman and held to a different standard.”
Indignation swept away whatever remorse Betsy felt. To hear such counsel from the aunt who had urged her to read A Vindication of the Rights of Woman was shocking. “I cannot believe that you of all people would warn me to be more ladylike. When have you ever cared what people think of your interest in politics?”
“My dear niece, I am content to remain unmarried, and so I can afford not to care. You, however, have different desires. You want to make an important marriage.”
“Yes, I do. Are you saying that you think me wrong?”
Aunt Nancy pressed her lips together. “No,” she finally said, drawing out the word in a way that expressed reservation despite her denial. “I am simply cautioning you to behave in a way that will help you achieve your aim. If you want to marry a man of high station, you must not give him reason to suspect that you will embarrass him in society.”
Betsy settled back against the cushions and gave her aunt a troubled look. “You are saying that even if I do marry a European nobleman, my life will have as many constraints as if I remained in Baltimore.”
Aunt Nancy smiled wryly. “I have never yet met a man of any
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