The visits to the children’s schools, both near London, were fitted around several meetings Arthur had with Lord Bathurst, the colonial secretary, who showed him the latest draft being prepared for submission to the American delegation. Although Indian affairs were no longer a sine qua non of the treaty, to Arthur’s dismay they still took up a good part of the note. When he went to Walmer Castle, however, to discuss with Lord Liverpool just what he was expected to do—having extracted from Abigail, who wanted to stay at Stonar to pack, a promise that she would not leave the house at all in his absence—Arthur learned that Bathurst had spent a great deal of verbiage on a condition that Liverpool himself seemed willing to abandon.
In fact, although the visit started out as a coldly formal meeting between men who disliked each other heartily, it soon became more cordial. Both Arthur and Lord Liverpool wisely kept to the subject of making peace with America, and here they were in essential agreement. Moreover, Liverpool respected Arthur’s opinion on this subject because the predictions Arthur had made had all been confirmed. The Americans had rejected a second, softened proposal on the Indian question as firmly as the first.
In addition, Castlereagh had written to warn Liverpool that the continental powers were displeased with the blockade of the American coast and had expressed disgust with what they felt was a desire in the British for acquisition of American territory. The continued war with America, Castlereagh had written, particularly over what seemed to be territorial demands, was stiffening the resistance of Austria, Russia and Prussia against far more important proposals the British needed to put forward in Vienna. Thus, above all, Liverpool did not want the negotiations broken off in such a way that the British government would be blamed for making unreasonable demands.
Although his own party was likely to profit from such a situation, Arthur freely pledged to do everything in his power to prevent a termination of the negotiations. But when he and Abigail first arrived at Ghent, he wondered whether he had bitten off more than he could chew. It became clear immediately that Goulburn was conducting the negotiations despite the seniority of both of the other members of the delegation, and Goulburn did not agree with Liverpool’s objectives. The third note, which Arthur had seen in draft form when he spoke to Bathurst, had been edited, mostly by Goulburn, to be more insulting to the Americans. The proposals had not been changed, only the tone heightened—and it was too late for Arthur to do anything because the note had already been delivered.
Abigail had been so pleased and excited by what Arthur told her of Liverpool’s intentions that she had almost forgotten that Arthur had agreed to come to Ghent because of the threats to her life. Now she was furious. At lunch, after Arthur told her the result of his morning conference, she proposed that they meet privately with “her dear Albert” and explain the problem to him. Albert would know what to do, she assured Arthur, and she was equally sure that although Gallatin’s name appeared last on the list of commissioners, he really dominated the delegation.
Arthur stared at her lovely face as she spoke. He had never seen her look more alive, more beautiful, her eyes brilliant, her cheeks slightly flushed with anger…or was it anger? Perhaps it was desire that made her glow from within, and was that desire for peace or for Albert Gallatin? Suddenly a monstrous suspicion came into his mind. Was everything Abigail had said and done since he told her about Liverpool’s offer only a clever device to get him here to Ghent? She had told him not to go, but only when she believed he would not take her. After that, she had changed her mind. Although she had not openly urged him to go to Ghent, wasn’t that because she guessed that open urging would stiffen his resistance? Had there been a rope involved in her fall? Was it possible that GoGo had simply stumbled, and Abigail—she was so clever—had remembered his distress about the accident in London and used a real accident to panic him into leaving England?
At this point, Arthur realized his suspicion was monstrous, the result of a ridiculous jealousy. He knew that Abigail and Gallatin would never have any physical relationship—but that, a nasty voice inside sneered, was because Gallatin would recoil from such a relationship in horror. Would Abigail? And even if she had not allowed herself to think in those terms, her seemingly abject respect for Gallatin enraged Arthur. She did not think her husband was wonderful, she would quarrel with him and pick over every word he said. But Gallatin—Arthur could just hear her simpering to her idol, “Yes, Albert. Of course, dear Albert.” And she wanted to run to him with a tale that would make the British delegation seem dishonest and unreliable.
“Absolutely not!” Arthur thundered. “One word, just one word to the Americans of what is said privately among us, and I will drag you away from here, by the hair if necessary, and lock you up to keep you safe when I have you in England. Have you no sense of loyalty? Have you no trust in my ability to deal with Goulburn?”
Abigail recoiled, shocked by his violence. “But how can it be disloyal to make clear that it was not the intention of the British government to insult—”
That was the wrong answer. Had Abigail said “Of course I trust you” and made no further reference to Gallatin, Arthur might have submerged ideas he knew were unworthy and given Abigail some rational reasons to avoid the American delegation. As it was, he made a number of disparaging remarks about the United States and the delegation as a whole and left the room, slamming the door.
It was unfortunate that Arthur retained just enough self-control and was actually enough ashamed of what he felt to refrain from mentioning Gallatin. Had he done so, he would no doubt have precipitated a battle royal, but as soon as Abigail’s head cleared she would have figured out what was causing Arthur’s peculiar behavior. She already understood that her husband was jealous. A senseless personal attack on Gallatin—a man with whom Arthur was not even acquainted, as far as Abigail knew, but one she spoke of often in terms of admiration—would have made his suspicions clear to her. But on her own it would never occur to Abigail that her husband could be jealous of Gallatin, because she thought of jealousy only in terms of physical love.
Left without a clue, Abigail could only associate Arthur’s violent reaction to her desire to inform Gallatin of the true state of Liverpool’s intentions with her husband’s earlier expressed fear that she was too committed to the American cause. She considered this seriously and decided that her original conviction that the best thing for both nations was to make peace was not only still valid but was exactly what the British government desired. The two questions Arthur had flung at her had nothing to do with the case, she told herself. No doubt he could handle Goulburn, but the insulting note had already been sent. And her loyalty was irrelevant if Britain’s good was best served by a seeming disloyalty.
On the other hand, Abigail was sure the rest of the British delegation would see the situation just as Arthur did, and she was equally sure that Arthur would fulfill his threat and take her away from Ghent if he found she was in private communication with the Americans. Nonetheless, Abigail was determined to do what she felt was right. Arthur would be busy for several hours each day. If she prepared carefully, Abigail thought, she should have no trouble arranging a time and place of meeting. Albert loved to walk. She could pick a different spot for each day of the week and set a time when she would be there if she could. Albert could walk by at that time if he were free, or he could send James.
Arranging the first meeting would be the difficult part, and Abigail knew she would have only a few days while the American commissioners conferred over the British note and prepared a reply. A spark of fury ran through her. That Goulburn! Even his wife was totally unsatisfactory. Because she was so nearsighted that she could hardly tell one British delegate from another, she was most reluctant to meet the Americans. To reinforce that reluctance she complained of being ill and that the care of her baby exhausted her completely—despite the presence of one or more trained nursemaids. Thus, social relations between the American and British delegates were on a men-o
nly basis, and there was no chance that Abigail would see Gallatin at a dinner or tea.
“Oh, what a fool I am!” Abigail muttered. Instead of proposing to Arthur a clandestine meeting with one of the American commissioners, which did smack of disloyalty, why had she not suggested inviting both delegations to tea? But even as the idea formed, it was rejected with a shudder of horror. Abigail realized she did not dare meet some of the Americans in public. Albert knew and understood her situation. The Swiss nobility from which he sprang were not nearly as disdainful of connections with “trade” as the British, but had foibles and prejudices of their own. Unfortunately, the other Americans might not be as sympathetic to her desire to hide her past, and Mr. Russell and Mr. Adams both knew her as a New York bookseller.
Even if there were no malicious intent to reveal the fact that she had been in business in America, the expressions of surprise at seeing her and the explanations necessary to explain why she was now Lady St. Eyre instead of Mrs. Lydden would betray her background. Nor could she invite the Americans alone unless Arthur discussed such an invitation with the British delegation and obtained their approval. To irritate Goulburn, Adams, and Gambier by ignoring them would only lessen Arthur’s influence. Besides, once Russell and John Adams knew she was Arthur’s wife, it was possible, although not likely, that one of them would mention her and her bookshop during one of their all-male dinners. All around it would be best if she met only Albert and James.
How? Well, the first step was to explore the city. Abigail rang for a servant and bade him arrange for a carriage to drive her around and for an English-speaking guide who could show her the notable sights and point out the best shops. She returned late for tea, but in an excellent mood, for everything was done, and she had several parcels—and the servants as witnesses that she had only shopped and looked at places of interest. They had passed the Hotel d’Alcantara, where the American commissioners were living, because Abigail’s guide was sure she would be curious, but she had not asked to see the place nor seemed to pay more than cursory attention.
What Abigail had noted, however, were shops, parks, and ancient churches all suitable for the meetings she envisioned, and not far from the Hotel d’Alcantara she had seen a shop that sold lace. There she had chosen several yards of the delicate material, which she requested the shopkeeper deliver for her. With the parcel went two notes, one to Hannah Gallatin, for whom the gift of lace was intended, and one to Albert, explaining the gift and asking him to meet her the following day at the ancient cathedral of St. Bavon.
It was a doubly effective place to meet. For one thing, Abigail could ask her maid to accompany her because she knew the girl would be reluctant to enter a Catholic church. For another, Arthur would find nothing suspicious about the time she spent there because it was filled with famous works of art, including a notable altarpiece by the van Eycks. Her only difficulty would be in preventing her husband from accompanying her—and that, Abigail decided, would be best accomplished by pretending that her visit to the cathedral had been unplanned.
Abigail was so content with her accomplishments that the reason for her activity had faded into the background. She was therefore truly surprised when Arthur greeted her by jumping to his feet and snarling at her, “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
“But I am only a few minutes late for tea,” Abigail exclaimed. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
There was a moment of silence, and then Arthur seized her arm. “What the devil are you up to, Abigail?” he asked grimly. “Don’t try to pretend you don’t remember what happened at lunch.”
By then, of course, Abigail had remembered Arthur’s violent reaction to her suggestion they meet privately with the Americans, which had set off her private enterprise. She remembered his threat too, and her mind raced, seeking an answer to her husband’s question that he could accept.
“No, I haven’t forgotten,” she said, trying to make her voice sharp rather than shaky. “And I still think you are wrong not to try to explain the tone of that note to the American commissioners. I was furious when you slammed out without giving me a chance to explain myself—”
“So? What have you done?” Arthur’s voice was still harsh, but his grip on her arm was less painful.
“I went shopping.”
Arthur stared at her. “What?”
“I have a bad temper,” Abigail said, her lips quirking slightly as Arthur raised his eyes to heaven. “I don’t mind letting it loose at you or at other people who care for me, but you should realize that I could never have run my shop if I let it loose at everyone. I have learned not to act when I am very angry.” She shrugged. “So I got a guide, toured the city, and went shopping while I thought over what you said. I still think you are wrong, but I do see that you have a problem.”
“Do you?” Arthur asked bleakly, letting go of her and starting to turn away.
The last thing he wanted was for Abigail to have perceived his jealousy—partly because he was ashamed of it, but even more because of a sick desire to prove to himself that he was right, that she thought him nothing compared to the idol of her youth, that she had set another man before him in her mind and heart. He believed she had gone shopping and sightseeing, but he did not believe she had given up her plan to see Gallatin. And she was clever, so clever. If she guessed he suspected her, she would be sly enough to hide her meetings with the man completely.
As the idea of spying on Abigail flashed through his mind, Arthur was sickened by it. But he had been in agony all afternoon, alternating between hating himself for attacking Abigail without reason and hating her because he was sure she had run off to Gallatin. And then she had come back, all easy smiles. Did that not show how little she cared for him? Their quarrel had caused her no agony. But if he could prove her false, he was sure he would be able to close off all his pain, to push her out of his heart and into the ranks of other women who had betrayed him without hurting him—because they were nothing.
Arthur’s voice was so cold, his expression so bleak when he uttered that “Do you?” in response to her statement that she saw he had a problem, that Abigail blinked, then caught at him. “Arthur, I love you,” she said. “I swear that I will love you just as much, whether or not peace is made.”
The political reference startled him, and a wash of shame made him turn back, pull her against him and kiss her hair. Her scent, the familiar shape in his arms, woke a stab of need for her that betrayed his vulnerability and reminded him that the reassurance she offered was valueless. All it meant was that he would remain second best to her.
“Most likely you will, my dear,” Arthur managed to get out.
Abigail told herself that it was only because his mouth was muffled that his voice sounded so strange. She tried to look up at him, but her head was caught under his chin, and then he asked, “What problem did you perceive?”
“You perceived it,” Abigail replied. “I was only forced to concede that it existed—I mean the question of loyalty. I am now willing to admit that it might be awkward for you to explain what Goulburn has done. And it also might create a distrust of the British delegation, which would do harm.”
As she spoke, Abigail could feel Arthur relax. She was glad for his sake that his tension was eased, but she was as puzzled by his relief as she had been by his earlier cold anxiety. It made Abigail nervous not to be able to understand what was causing her husband’s reactions, and she stepped back and looked up at him, but his face was in its “haughty” mode—eyes half-lidded and seeming to look contemptuously down his long, elegant nose, and a very slight half smile on his lips.
“Exactly so,” Arthur said. “And it is not at all likely that the tone of the note will cause a rupture in the negotiations. After all, the other proposals have all been rewritten by Goulburn and must have been even more offensive.”
“I never thought of that,” Abigail admitted with a smile, and then added indignantly, “Why d
idn’t you say that, instead of shouting that I was disloyal?”
“Perhaps because I am British,” Arthur remarked dryly, “and it irritates me that my ‘British’ wife is only concerned with American feelings.”
If he had not said that, Abigail might have changed her plans, but the statement reminded her that Arthur was not really sympathetic to the American cause. He wanted peace, but on the best terms for Britain. Abigail, on the other hand, felt that Britain, a rich, strong nation, could yield a little to a nation that was poor and weak and now nearly bankrupt because of the war. If the information she could pass to Albert made it possible for the American commissioners to resist some British demands and negotiate a better treaty, Abigail thought resentfully, then she would pass that information gladly.
Buoyed up by her naughty decision, Abigail made a light reply and then exclaimed over her thirst and the lack of a tea tray. Having rung for the tea, she described the shops she had been in, the purchases she had made, and her plans for seeing the city.
“Alone?” Arthur asked.
“No,” Abigail responded promptly. “I promise I will not go alone. Today I asked the landlord to provide a guide. I have not forgotten that a lunatic can be very clever, and, though I know it is not likely, it is possible that we were followed.”
The reminder made Arthur go cold. He wondered if he were a lunatic himself to let jealousy torment him when Abigail’s life might be in danger. He sat down beside her on the sofa and took her hand. “Shall I come with you, love?”
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