William took a deep breath, though, and shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”
SAVANNAH WAS IN bloom, the squares and gracious streets covered with magnolia petals and fallen azalea blooms, gardenias, jasmine, and wisteria perfuming the air and charming the eye. Lord John’s house, cozy and warm through the winter, seemed suddenly confined and unbearably stuffy.
William persuaded Amaranthus to come out with him for a walk, to enjoy the morning air and the cooling breeze from the sea. And she did seem to enjoy it; her head rose proudly and she went so far as to nod pleasantly to ladies that she knew—most of whom bowed or nodded graciously back. William smiled and bowed, too, though he saw the speculative looks on the faces under the broad straw hats and lacy bonnets. A couple of pursed lips and sidelong glances, too.
“They’re disappointed,” Amaranthus remarked, sounding mildly amused. “They think I have ensnared you.”
“Let them,” William replied, briefly patting the hand she’d placed in the crook of his arm. “Though if you disdain to exhibit your capture in public, we could walk down to the beach.”
They paused at the head of the stone steps that led down to the water at the end of Bay Street and took off their shoes and stockings; the stone was wet and slippery, but felt wonderful on the soles of William’s bare feet. The sand felt even better, and releasing Amaranthus’s hand, he shucked his coat and ran away, far down the beach, the unbuckled knees of his breeches flapping and seabirds calling overhead.
He came back blown and happy, to find that she had taken off her hat and cap, unpinned her hair, and was dancing on the sand, curtsying to an unseen lover, whirling away and back again, hand outstretched.
He laughed and, coming to her from behind, took the hand, turned her toward him, bowed, and kissed her knuckles. She laughed, too, and they sauntered slowly down the beach, the damp sand rising up between their toes. They hadn’t spoken since they’d reached the beach, and there seemed no need. There were a few people on the beach, fishermen, women netting shrimp in the shallows or digging for clams, and idlers like themselves. No one gave them more than a casual glance. By unspoken consent, they turned and headed away from the town, out through the grass and up the river, passing a half-buried remnant of canvas, once an army tent, now left flapping in the wind.
At last they stopped, knowing they had come far enough, and stood for some time, watching fishing boats and barges coming down the river and rowboats and dories crossing to the other side, where a few warehouses awaited the goods they bore.
Amaranthus sighed, and William thought there was something wistful in her face, as though she wished she, too, could sail free upon the water.
“You could get a divorce, you know,” he blurted.
She turned her head sharply, body tensed, and looked him up and down, as though to determine whether this was an ill-timed attempt at wit. Concluding that it wasn’t, she let her shoulders relax and merely said, “No, I couldn’t,” in the patient tone one might use to tell a child why he oughtn’t to put his hand into the fire.
“Certainly—well, almost certainly,” he corrected himself, “you could. I—have been thinking that I must go back to England, soon. To deal with things. You could travel with me, under my protection. Ben’s not a duke yet, but he’s still a peer. That means a divorce would have to be granted by the House of Lords—and they’d do it in a flash, once they heard about General Bleeker. Mere infidelity is one thing; treason’s quite another kettle of fish.”
Her nostrils whitened, but she kept her temper.
“That is exactly what I mean, William. Do you think I haven’t thought of divorce? How brainless do you think I am?”
There wasn’t any sort of good answer to that question, and he wisely didn’t try.
“What do you mean by ‘exactly,’ then?” he asked instead.
“I mean treason,” she said, exasperated. “What else could I mean? As you say, if I were to petition the House of Lords for a divorce on the basis that Ben has abandoned me, not for a trollop but for General Washington, they’d grant it in a heartbeat, if I could prove it—and I do think you’d come and testify to it, if need be, William.” She gave him half of a rueful smile before returning to her argument.
“And the newspapers and broadsheets and every salon in London would be buzzing for weeks—no, months!—about it. What would that do to your uncle? To his wife? His brother? To Ben’s brothers and his sister? How could I possibly do that to them?” She made a passionate gesture, flinging out her arms in frustration.