The American and the Duke

Prologue

Boston

1805

I watched papa go through all the correspondence that was sent to us this week. I had been waiting for Talia’s letter for almost two weeks now. Papa’s newest vessel had just arrived from London this morning. I could see the white sails from my bedroom, and was praying that Talia’s letter had arrived with the ship. Papa was a wealthy merchant in Boston, everyone knew who Henry Malcolm was. His trading company traded everything from tea to wine, to furs and food stuff. He even imported wine from countries like France and Italy. I had tried many vintages before they were sold in our general stores. Papa was a proud veteran of the Revolution. He fought under George Washington himself. His father, my grandfather, had fought at the battle of Lexington and Concord, and knew John Hancock. My grandfather was also a proud Son of Liberty. Papa had even fought at the Battle of Yorktown in 1781. My father’s family were staunch supporters of the Revolution. Papa always said that I came from a family of Revolution, and we had freedom in our blood. My father's family immigrated from the highlands in Scotland. My great grandfather immigrated to Boston in 1700 where he became a wealthy lawyer and writer, he married one of the descendents of the Mayflower. 

I was always told that I take after my father. I have fiery red hair that hung in curls down my back. I often let it down with a few strains pulled from my face. My eyes were a bright blue, like the ocean on a summer’s day. I had grown up in the aftermath of the Revolution along with my older brother Jamie. We both read and watched the founding of our nation. The ratification of the Constitution. And in 1789 when I was only two years old, my father took Jamie and I to see Washington take the oath as the first president of our nation. Papa was a proud American, and so was I. 

After the Revolution, papa met my mother. Lady Hannah Seabury, her father, was a staunch loyalist in New York City. After Yorktown, papa was travelling back to Boston and met her in New York at a party. And he said that the first time he laid eyes on her, that was it. They had a wild and short courtship and married in secret. Her father disapproved of the match, he wanted her to marry when they returned to England. After the revolution both her father and brother who are named Edward returned to England. She never saw them again, but my uncle Edward wrote to my mother almost every week. Both had a deep love and affection for one another and would not let politics rip them apart. 

My older brother James Edward Malcolm was born in 1785. He had my mother’s strawberry blonde hair, but papa’s bright blue eyes. He attends Harvard in Cambridge. He wants to be a lawyer and start his career in politics. Both he and papa followed politics closely. Taking turns reading pamphlets at night after dinner. I would often help them both write pamphlets speaking out against policies that we disagreed with. I was born two years later in 1787. But when I was three, my mother came down with smallpox. She did not make it. Smallpox often ravaged Boston. Papa never remarried, and spent his time building his business and raising Jamie and I. Papa gave both of us formal education and told me that girls should read and write as well as men. I was one of the few women in Boston who could both read and write. I often wrote to other women who were well educated. My correspondence was something I looked forward to every day.

I received Talia’s first letter a little over a year ago. My uncle Edward married one Julia Smith on his return to England. Julia was a minor noblemen's daughter. That was all I really knew of my distant aunt. Talia was born in 1786, four years later. Afterward, Julia could not have any more children. So lonely, Talia reached out via letter. And so we began correspondence. We were kindred spirits, both straining against those who refused women their independence, and those who degrade women. 

“Any word from Talia papa,” I asked. Putting my quill down. I was writing a pamphlet about Jefferson and his presidency. Thomas Jefferson was not someone who was liked in this particular household. Papa chuckled as he picked up an envelope from the pile on his desk. We were often in his study in the afternoon, I would help him with the daily logs of goods that came through our Boston warehouses. When he was finishing his own correspondence I would pick up my own on my little desk next to his.