Leslie LaFoy (28 page)

It was even more foolish to hope that he would, she warned herself as she slipped out the back door.

E WAS HAVING
the damnedest time keeping his awareness focused on the conversation. Images of deep violet eyes, dreamy smiles, and silken swells kept drawing his mind down paths other than that of being an attentive host. Devon blinked and forced his mind back to his guests. Francis, an empty brandy snifter in hand, was seated in the chair by the window that overlooked the drive. He was watching his older brother, hands clasped firmly behind his back, pace back and forth across the width of the room.

“… establish committees of correspondence for the sharing of information and the coordination of colonial resistance to Crown policies.”

Ah, yes, Devon thought, taking a sip of his own nearly full glass of brandy. Richard Henry never strayed far from his passionate interest in the preservation of colonial rights. This particular diatribe was the likely result of his having recently heard from Sam Adams up in Boston. From what Devon had been able to see so far,
Richard Henry and the Bostonian thought a great deal alike on the only issue that mattered to either one of them. Setting up a colonial system of communication was something that both men felt vital to the effective defense of colonial liberty. It had been Richard Henry's primary topic of conversation since the news of the Boston Tea Party had reached Virginia.

“There is a rumor that Parliament is debating a bill that would severely punish Boston, indeed all of Massachusetts, for her failure to pay for the tea destroyed December last.”

Devon stared down into his glass, trying to look as though he was surprised and distressed by Boston's predicament. The truth was, however, that he wasn't. And he wasn't going to be any more stunned when they capitulated at the first threat of force. As for distressed … His countrymen's lack of backbone had long dismayed and disgusted him. He'd ceased letting it bother him. It was wasted concern.

“If I might intrude on your conversation, gentlemen …”

He looked up to find Claire framed by the doorway. Smiling at him softly, she added, “With sincere apologies for my inadvertent eavesdropping.” She turned toward Richard Henry. “The bill of which you speak has no doubt already passed through Parliament.”

The man froze in his tracks. “Are you sure? How do you know this?”

“My uncle is a member of the House of Commons,” Claire explained as she eased into the room. “His fellow members frequently come to his home to discuss pending legislation and their strategies. I left England in early March. The night before the day I sailed, my uncle and his friends had a celebratory dinner where they toasted the wisdom and backbone of Lord North and lauded what they expected to be swift passage of the Boston Port Bill.”

Since neither Richard Henry nor Francis Lightfoot seemed capable of doing anything more than staring dumbly at her, Devon asked, “Do you know anything of the specific provisions of that act?”

With a nod, she explained, “Boston Harbor is to be closed to all trade until the citizens pay for the tea they destroyed. To that end, the Royal Navy will establish a blockade and General Gage is to be moved from Philadelphia to occupy the city.”

“Armed soldiers in the streets again,” Francis muttered. He made a
tsk
ing sound. “Boston has ugly memories of the last time the Crown imposed occupation. General Gage's return won't go well.”

Claire glanced at the other two men, but addressed her reply to him. “The feeling is that if the merchants' purses can be sufficiently starved, they'll quickly withdraw their support of the radical elements and cross to the side of the King.”

“Under most circumstances,” Richard Henry said, “and in most places, that would be a logical assumption. But Boston is a world apart from other places, and her circumstances are unique. She will not buckle.”

Claire glanced at Richard Henry and then back to Francis. Devon saw not only hesitation in her eyes but the spark of intellectual spirit. His heart oddly light, he raised his snifter to her in salute, saying, “Please speak freely, Claire. Tell us what you think.”

She gave him a smile of appreciation and then turned to face Richard Henry Lee. “There are other bills pending in Parliament, and given the conversations I've heard over them, I think it likely that they'll be passed within the next few weeks and months. All of them are designed to break not only the spirit of Boston but of colonial unrest as a whole. Massachusetts is to be the example from which all of you are expected to learn an important lesson.”

Richard Henry appraised her in silence. Francis
wasn't as provident. “Do continue, Lady Claire. You have our full attention.”

Indeed she did, Devon silently mused, wondering why he suddenly found the conversation more interesting.

“There is a bill,” she went on, still addressing the silent Richard Henry, “to my knowledge yet untitled, concerning the administration of colonial justice. Under it, high royal officials accused of capital offenses would be tried in England, not in the colonies, as is the current allowance.”

“In England,” Devon observed, “they're far more likely to be acquitted than they would be if tried among those whom they've abused.”

“Precisely the intent,” she replied, giving him another smile. “There's another bill pending that would allow the governor to appoint colonial officials that are presently elected by the people themselves. It would also give the governor the authority to limit the meetings of the colonial legislature to once annually and give him the sole power to set that body's agenda.”

Francis said softly, “That would abrogate the original charter on which the colony was established.”

Richard Henry finally joined the conversation by slamming his fist into the palm of his hand and bellowing, “It would be the end of colonial self-rule!”

Claire winced and with obvious regret added, “There's also—”

“Good God,” Devon groaned. “There's more?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “An amendment has been proposed for the present Quartering Act. Under the new provisions, the citizens of a colony would be required to house His Majesty's armies in privately owned and occupied buildings.”

“In other words, our homes,” Francis muttered. “Our businesses.”

“We would be required by law to host the spies among
us!” the other Lee roared in outrage. “To feed them at our own tables and at our own expense!”

Devon sighed and with a wave of his hand called his wife's attention away from the irate man who was once again pacing the width of the room. “Is Lord North deliberately trying to drive us to armed rebellion?”

She considered him for a long moment, her lips pursed. “Pitt and Burke have repeatedly argued that there's more to be gained in allowing the American colonists to govern themselves as they always have,” she began. “They hold that the resources of the various colonies benefit the mother country to such a degree that it's in England's best economic interests to tolerate the independent-mindedness of the colonists. Pitt and Burke are both of the opinion that Lord North doesn't understand either the colonial perspective or the likely consequences of trying to manage the American colonies in the same manner as all others.”

“In reading the London papers,” Francis said, leaving his seat to stand beside Devon at the cold hearth, “we see that the English people agree with Pitt and Burke and that Lord North's punitive legislation is decidedly unpopular.”

“Yes, to a certain extent you're correct,” she allowed. “The Boston Port Bill is—or was, depending on its current status—debated in secret so that the members of Parliament wouldn't have to fear for their persons should it become public knowledge. Support for the Boston Tea Party is strong among the common people.”

“But,” Devon rejoined dryly, “it isn't the common people who hold the reins of power and enact the laws.”

“No, it isn't,” she said sadly. “The members of Lord North's cabinet and of Parliament are all men of business or property. Their chief concern is that in not tightening the reins on the Americans, the colonists will take it into their heads to enact legislation that would cancel the debts they owe to British merchants and investors.
Should that happen, they'd be impoverished. Better that the Americans should suffer than themselves.”

“Are you sure that these measures are being seriously considered in Parliament?” Richard Henry asked, his gaze riveted on the carpet passing under his feet. “Do you know that they have a reasonable chance of passage?”

Once again she hesitated, her gaze searching Devon's for some sign of just how far the social conventions of his world allowed her to go. He lifted his brandy glass again in silent assurance. Her smile was soft; the light of gratitude in her eyes, blinding.

“Prior to coming to the colonies,” she said to Richard Henry, “I was frequently engaged in the conduct of my uncle's business affairs. Given the nature of transportation and communications, I would often find that circumstances had shifted between my departure from England and my arrival in whatever place I was to transact his affairs. In order to make adjustments for those changes to my uncle's advantage, it was necessary for me to be aware of the general direction of both imperial policy and its economic impacts. To that end, I was always ensconced in a dark corner of his study to listen and learn from his discourse with his parliamentary colleagues.”

Devon snorted and muttered, “Never to be heard from on the various topics, of course.”

She nodded. “In the Seaton-Smythe household, women are seldom seen and never heard.”

It occurred to Devon that her uncle was extremely myopic. Seaton-Smythe had had an excellent mind at his disposal and either didn't recognize the fact or refused to utilize it because it was inside a female head. His gain was Seaton-Smythe's loss, he thought as Claire continued.

“Yes, Richard Henry, I'm certain of the provisions of the pending legislation, the sentiments behind their
proposal and consideration, and the likelihood of their eventual passage. Boston will be made to suffer for her impudence. And the intent is for all of the colonies to become—sooner rather than later—subject to the same limitations and control being imposed in Massachusetts.”

“We won't tolerate being stripped of our liberties, of the rights of Englishmen,” Francis said forcefully. “We can't.”

“If England doesn't correct her course,” the older Lee mused as he paced, “we'll have no choice but to pick up arms in defense of our freedoms.”

Or so Richard Henry Lee and Sam Adams hoped. But if it did eventually come down to armed rebellion, then there were important factors meriting serious consideration. “In your estimation, Claire,” Devon drawled, squinting into his brandy, “how stalwart are Pitt, Burke, and the English people in their support of the colonial cause?”

“Pitt and Burke are, at their core, members of the aristocracy. They'll support you only so far. They can't and won't argue for your right to armed rebellion. You would, after all, be committing treason, and anyone who stands with you is likely to be hanged with you as well. Given that, the vast majority of the propertied class will also step back and come into line with Lord North's expectations. Only the very poor will rally to your flags. And, to my thinking, the poor have little they can contribute that could affect the outcome to your benefit.”