Bobbi Smith - Captive Pride

“And just how would you know?” Edward had long been aware of CC’s interest in the political affairs of Boston, but he had not known that she was involved to the extent that she would have made the acquaintance of someone of Graves’s caliber.

“I met them at Faneuil Hall some weeks ago. They seemed very-” She got no further.

“Faneuil Hall?” He looked at her aghast, for he knew that Faneuil Hall was the main meeting place for the rabble that wanted to stir up trouble in Boston. “What were you doing at Faneuil Hall?”

“There was a meeting and I-”

“You were at a meeting there? I’ll tell you about those meetings, miss! They’re nothing but a gathering of malcontents. Why, if those fools have their way, this town would be in a shambles in a week! Stay away from those gatherings. God only knows what might happen one of these nights.”

“There is a lot of truth in what’s being said there, Papa,” she insisted.

“Truth? Bah!” he snorted derisively. “It’s only the truth as those rabble-rousers see it! Don’t you realize that our allegiance is totally to the king? We owe everything we have to the Crown. This house, your education…why, our very safety is ensured because the troops are here.”

“And they certainly provided safety for us several years ago, didn’t they?” The thought of the troops quartered in Boston always angered her, for she had been there the night that several soldiers on sentry duty had opened fire on a crowd of unarmed colonists. She had seen it all…the death, the misery…and she would never forget it. It was burned into her memory-a bloody, fiery image of dying men. It was that remembrance that fueled her driving compulsion to be involved in the rebel movement.

Edward’s expression turned grave as he remembered the night when she had come in totally distraught over what she’d seen. “I know it was a terrible thing for you to witness, but the courts ruled it was self-defense. They were exonerated, and that settled it in my mind.”

“Well, it didn’t settle it in mine!”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t understand how you can even think about going against England. By God, I’m a loyal Englishman! Just because we live here in the colonies doesn’t make it any less so.”

“Then why doesn’t Parliament treat us like Englishmen?” CC demanded sharply. She understood well all the politics of the times and wanted more than anything to show her father the validity of the idea of independence for America.

“They’re treating us better than Englishmen!” her father argued, believing in his heart that they were privileged to live under British authority. “Why, we can buy tea here cheaper than they can in London, and yet these insurgents are still running around complaining about the minuscule tax on it.”

“It’s more than just the tax, and you know it. They’re trying to establish a monopoly in the tea market, and if we allow them that much, where will it end?” She did not back down.

Edward’s dark-eyed gaze hardened. He loved her, but enough was enough. “You are a woman, Cecelia Marie, and as such, you shouldn’t be concerning yourself with these matters.”

CC was so infuriated by his attitude that she felt as if she were about to explode. He had encouraged her education, encouraged her readings, encouraged her to develop her own opinions. Now that she’d formed them, he fell back on the old, trite adage, You’re a woman and you shouldn’t be concerning yourself. Her frustration was so great that she wanted to scream!

“You are under my authority,” Edward was continuing, “and until you take a husband, you would do well to remember that.”

For a brief instant the idea of marrying held vast appeal; at least then she would be away from his repressive attitude. As quickly as she thought it, though, CC knew she loved him too much to marry just to free herself of his domination. Besides, the law dictated that a woman was completely under the control of her husband, too. So unless she chose her future mate wisely, she would probably end up more stifled than she was now.

Knowing that she had pushed her father as far as she could hope to for the moment, she employed her outwardly submissive strategy to calm him. “I’m aware of my place in life, Father.”

As CC had hoped he’d be, Edward was caught off guard by her quick change of mood, and he cleared his throat nervously at her suddenly sweet demeanor.

“But, Papa…” she continued.

“What?” he asked abruptly, not completely trusting her transformation.

“You were the one who taught me to think for myself.” An angelic smile accompanied her words.

Blustering good-naturedly, Edward admitted gruffly, “That I did and it’s a good thing, too. You must always remember, though, that thinking something and saying it are two different things. You may think whatever you wish, but as a woman, you must never expound upon it.”

As much as CC loved him, his censoring words sent another sharp pang of bitterness through her. How unfair it seemed that social convention dictated that, because she was a woman, her opinion was deemed of no consequence. The injustice of it was staggering.

“Yes, Papa,” she said a bit sadly as she went to him once more and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I know.” CC realized that her father was not responsible for the dictates of society, even though he lived by them.

“Good.” He patted her hand. “Now, run along like a good girl. I have much to do and little time.”

“I’ll go…but the Graveses…?”

“The guest list stands as is. I want no agitators in my home. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she replied with suitable humbleness, all the while wondering what he would think should he learn of John’s and her affiliation with “agitators.”

“I expect that you’ll mind your tongue with our guests. I don’t think Governor Hutchinson or Major Winthrop would appreciate your expounding on ideas of taxation without representation or independence from the king,” he dictated as she moved toward the door. “I know I wouldn’t. This will be a purely social affair.”

“I promise I’ll not embarrass you, Papa.” CC considered with some humor how outraged his loyalist guests would be if they ever discovered her true thoughts.

“Good…good. Now, be off with you. I’ve work to do before my meeting with Lord Kincade.” He hesitated just an instant before adding, “Wait…there just might be another guest.”

CC had already opened the door to leave and she paused, halfway out of the room, to glance back at him questioningly. “Oh? Who?”

“Lord Kincade, of course. I’m surprised I didn’t think of this sooner. I shall invite him this afternoon, and if he accepts and honors us with his presence Friday night, I expect that you will graciously make him feel welcome.”

CC had not heard the butler admit Noah to the house and she did not know that he was guiding him directly to the study, as Edward had requested earlier.

“But, Father,” she insisted, ignorant of Noah’s presence just behind her in the hall, “you know how I feel. I mean, it’s going to be miserable enough tolerating that ass Lord Radcliffe, and now you’re including another nobleman…”

Noah and the servant could not help but hear their conversation as they stood a few steps from CC. The butler was about to make their presence known, but Noah stilled him with a restraining hand.

The woman, who was obviously Edward Demorest’s daughter, did not mince words as she continued her argument, and Noah listened with interest as he gazed upon her from behind. Though the vitriolic diatribe she was spouting was nothing short of a character assassination of him, he found himself intrigued by her slender, womanly form and the rich, glossy thickness of her hair as it tumbled about her shoulders in soft, natural curls. He wondered idly what she looked like. No doubt, he thought, with a tongue like that, she had the face of a shrew.