by Diana Davis
Integrity's Choice
DAUGHTERS OF COLUMBIA BOOKS
© 2021 Diana Davis
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Integrity's Choice
Cover
Front Matter
Hayes Family Tree
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Thank you for reading!
More from Diana Davis & Sisters of the Revolution
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Expanded from the prologue to Liberty’s Charge
Constance Hayes hugged her brother-in-law Owen, then let him move on to her next sister. Verity probably didn’t remember him from their childhood, but Constance would never forget the way Owen had listened to her no matter how long it took her to share, though she was but five and he nearly twice her age. Owen and Temperance had been married a mere two months, but it felt as though he had always been part of their family.
And now he was leaving.
Constance looked at his smart uniform, his pistols, his carbine, his sabre. They were only escorting General Washington as far as New York City, and yet this all felt too real, too frightening.
Tears threatened, and Constance fell back a few steps. This was all too much. The poem she was working on now was no escape, but perhaps —
Her cousin Helen took her arm. “It’s awful, isn’t it?” Helen murmured.
“Here, let me hold Thomas for you.” Constance reached for Helen’s baby.
“Oh, thank you, but I think Cassandra needs the help.”
Constance looked at her other cousin. She was far too pregnant to hold her daughter, but their nursemaid, Owen’s sister, had their little girl on her hip.
“Owen probably wants to say goodbye to his sister, too,” Helen pointed out. Helen’s husband relieved her of their baby, then approached to shake hands with Owen.
David Beaufort stepped up to his friends — their in-laws, Constance supposed. She couldn’t read his expression as he lifted his daughter from the nursemaid’s arms. Owen took the opportunity to hug his sister. Helen urged Constance forward, and Constance fought the urge to run all the way home.
David smoothed his daughter’s hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Be good for your mother, Lizzy-lamb.”
The little girl babbled back to her father, but Constance only picked up the word “papa.”
Helen elbowed Constance. “I’ll hold her for you,” Constance said, if only to make Helen leave her alone.
With his free arm, David gave her a hug before he handed off his daughter. He made his way around the circle of their family, hugging Constance’s sisters, shaking hands with Patience’s beau, Mr. Brand. Owen shook his hand, too, and then his mother arrived with his two youngest sisters, already crying.
Constance turned away from their sorrow, but there was no escape this direction either, as David had made his way to his wife. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he assured her, one hand lightly resting on her rounded belly. “Well before she comes.”
“He,” Cassandra corrected him, smiling through tears. “You were wrong last time, too.”
“Not this time.” He pulled her close, and Constance turned away. But that direction, Owen was saying goodbye to Temperance, who clung to him as though he were the only thing keeping her upright.
Constance turned around and focused on the child in her arms. “They’ll be safe,” she whispered.
The little girl’s wide blue eyes took in Constance’s face. “No kai,” the little one said.
Constance took a moment to interpret the infantile speech. “Oh, yes, dear, let’s not cry.”
She broke into a grin and babbled more. Of course the child had no idea what was happening.
“It’s time.” Papa was no more eager than the rest of them to say goodbye to Owen and David. As soon as Papa released Owen from an embrace, Temperance caught her husband again. He took her face in his hands and kissed his wife.
That brought back a memory Constance would rather not relive. She glanced at Patience, but clearly her other older sister wasn’t thinking of that awful moment.
She would forgive her sister. Of course she would. It wasn’t her fault.
Was it?
Constance closed her eyes. There was nowhere safe to turn.
“Connie?” Her youngest sister touched Constance’s arm. “Do you want me to take the baby?”
“Of course not, silly.” Constance opened her eyes to cast a look at her sister’s arm in a sling. Instead, she caught the end of Cassandra and David’s kiss. He wiped his wife’s tears and whispered something to her. Then he and Owen took their horses’ reins. Holding hands with their wives, they led the procession of their family to the square where a crowd was already gathering.
At the edge of the square, they paused. Constance, still holding the little girl, was stuck immediately behind the couples. She tried to think of anything else as Owen lifted Temperance’s hand to his lips. “We’ll be safe, dove.”
Myriad emotions flashed across Temperance’s face
, but she settled on a coquettish smile beneath brimming eyes. “You had better.”
“We’ll only be gone a few weeks.”
Owen and David both put on their cavalry hats with their decorative buck’s tails and mounted their horses. Suddenly they were no longer merely a generous aristocrat and a kind lawyer. Now they were soldiers, cavalrymen.
They urged their horses forward, and the family followed them. After spending so long among the tears and the pain, the activity of the square felt like a whirlwind. Owen and David took their places among the ceremonial guard’s ranks. General Washington was already there, and delegates and dignitaries constantly streamed into the square on horseback.
Temperance steered the family to a position where they could see both Owen and David. As the square filled, she and Cassandra stood at the front of their little group, clasping one another’s hands. The heat of the day was already beginning to rise, the sun glinting off guns and the silver binding on the cavalry’s hats alike.
The crowd began to press their family together until David and Cassandra’s little girl was nearly pinned between Constance and Mr. Brand.
She sensed someone maneuvering to her other side. From the corner of her eye, she recognized the very last person she wanted to see, the one man who could make this awful morning worse.
Fischer Marks.
Constance missed talking to his sister, but she didn’t dare check to see if Lydia accompanied him. She scanned the line of her own family. Could she get past all of them to deliver David’s daughter to her nursemaid at the other end of the line?
She would forgive Patience. Her sister didn’t even know what she’d done.
Mr. Marks glanced at her. Would he attempt a conversation? A month might have passed, but did he really think she wanted anything to do with him after he’d broken her heart and kissed her sister in the space of two weeks?
She did not.
She didn’t have to forgive Fischer Marks.
He knew precisely what he’d done.
Fischer Marks swallowed hard. He never quailed to speak when it was warranted, but he usually didn’t have to apologize quite as much as he should to Constance Hayes.
Apologize? He ought to beg forgiveness. Obviously he’d treated her terribly, and he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t make this right. He’d tried to make a peace offering of blossoms from his garden, but that hadn’t gone well, and he’d had to give the flowers to Patience. That might have been a mistake, but surely he could make it right this time. Even though he could never hope to court her anymore, he couldn’t bear to think of how he must have hurt Constance. “Good morning,” he began.
Constance barely looked at him. “Morning.”
At least she’d acknowledged him. Fischer still didn’t have the right words to make this better, but he had to try something. He opened his mouth to speak, but Constance bobbed a little curtsy with a placid smile. “Please excuse me, Mr. Marks.”
Constance maneuvered past her entire family, handing off the child she held to a girl at the other end of their group. Had she done that just to escape him? She seemed so utterly unaffected while his heart was still reeling. If she were trying to avoid him, though, he couldn’t blame her after what he’d done. He only wanted to make things right now.
He could hardly stand to think of what a fool he’d been. How did one make things right after falling in love with one woman, throwing her off and then unsuccessfully courting her sister?
He glanced at the man left next to him, the man Patience had chosen over him. He couldn’t blame her any more than he blamed Constance, but he could certainly condemn the way Gilbert Brand had treated a woman he’d supposedly loved. How Patience had forgiven him for his engagement to her friend was beyond Fischer.
But, then, that was love. He need only look at his late father or his sister to see that, once again. Even Fischer wasn’t immune. He’d failed to remember the price of love for two weeks, let himself lose his head and his heart in those stolen hours with Constance, and he’d nearly lost everything because of it. He’d forgotten himself, and then he’d hurt Constance.
That was also love.
Love was not to be trusted. And perhaps neither was he.
He looked to her again, her expression as tranquil as ever. Perhaps he hadn’t hurt her as much as he’d thought. He’d believed Constance loved him, yet she seemed to be perfectly fine today. Not that he wanted to bring her pain — far from it — but it certainly appeared he was the only one suffering.
Brand nodded and offered a conciliatory smile. “Marks.”
“Brand.” He bowed from the neck.
“Good business for you, all this.” He gestured at the crowd. “It will sell your papers, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t say no, but I’d rather this be good for our country.”
“Yes, of course,” Brand hurried to add.
Fischer pursed his lips. He certainly hoped Patience knew what she was doing. Lydia, his sister, had said Brand had broken off his last engagement, but as for himself, Fischer still wasn’t about to trust the man. Or spend more time in conversation with him than necessary.
Perhaps he ought to let the Hayes family alone as well. He turned to survey the crowd, trying to estimate its size. He had work to do, and he absolutely couldn’t afford the distraction of Constance Hayes again.
Father had been right.
“Fischer?” Lydia craned her neck to see past him toward the Hayes family. “Did you speak to Constance?”
He didn’t look at his sister, pretending to count. “Indeed.”
“Oh.” Her gaze fell, and now he’d disappointed both of the women he loved most in the space of two minutes.
He would never be good enough.
“There you are,” said a man behind him. Fischer turned to find the sea captain who’d recently escaped a death sentence for smuggling supplies to the patriots. Even if Fischer hadn’t known the man was Brand’s brother, Phineas, the red hair would have given them away, despite the younger Brand’s wig. Phineas handed an orange each to Gilbert and Patience Hayes.
Fischer offered a hand to Phineas. “Fischer Marks. Congratulations on winning your freedom, sir.”
“I thank you.”
“Mr. Marks runs The Watchman,” the younger Brand clarified.
“Oh, I quite liked how you wrote about the trial.” Phineas grinned, and then his gaze shifted beyond Fischer. Fischer turned to check — the elder Brand was looking at his sister. “Good morning,” Phineas bid Lydia with a bow. She returned a curtsy.
“Your wife?” Phineas asked Fischer.
“Sister.” Fischer looked from Phineas to Lydia. The gleam in his eyes was bad enough — but the responding light in hers was even worse.
Lydia could not possibly be entertaining any thought of a flirtation with this man. Could she? She knew full well why that would be impossible.
“Come.” Fischer took Lydia’s arm. “I need a better view. For The Watchman.”
Lydia nodded to Phineas as Fischer practically dragged her away. Their new vantage point was not much better, however, as they could hardly avoid looking at the entire Hayes party, Phineas Brand at one end and Constance Hayes at the other.
Fischer tried to focus on taking notes on the proceedings, the speeches and well wishes, the procession. Time and again, his gaze fell on Constance, but she never looked his way.
Of course not. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness.
No matter how much he wished he did.
Constance Hayes needed a shilling. That was all, one tiny shilling. She’d spent the last of her own money on embroidery thread, and now she needed one small coin. Surely her parents would spare her that.
She opened her parents’ bedroom door and peered into the dark. It was the middle of the day, but the curtains were drawn fast. This could not be good. “Mama?” she called, just above a murmur.
The only reply was a soft groan.
“No.” Mama’s reply was barely a breath.
“Poultice? Laudanum?” She hesitated a moment before a final suggestion: “Doctor?”
“No.”
They’d tried them all, many times, but nothing helped. Some remedies had only made her headaches worse.
Constance gingerly took her mother’s hand. “Anything?”
“Stay. It’s good to have you here.”
Constance tried not to imagine her mother meant her especially. She was merely the most convenient. Temperance and Patience were off and married. Verity and Mercy would sit with Mama, of course, but Verity might have suffered the sacrifice of her afternoon stridently.
Constance had loved sitting with Mama when she could spend the time imagining or writing in her dream worlds. But all those worlds were closed to her now. Even remembering older daydreams hurt. She settled for stroking Mama’s hand until she seemed to be asleep.
These spells. The heat never helped, and it was only May.
Constance replaced her mother’s hand and made sure her bedlinens were not too heavy upon her before she crept out.
Obviously she couldn’t ask Mama for the shilling she needed. Verity and Mercy were both tight with any money that came their way, and Constance could never ask their maids to borrow a coin.
Papa it would have to be, then. She tied on her straw hat and walked the mile to his office. The clerks at their tables paid her little mind, though her brother-in-law Owen rose to greet her.
“Any chance Papa is in today?” she asked Owen.
“You’re in luck.” He motioned for her to proceed.
She knocked at the door to Papa’s study and entered when Papa bid.
“Why, Constance, my child! How do you do?”
“Good afternoon, Papa.”
“What brings you here?” He gestured for her to take a seat in the leather chair in front of his desk.
