Her Name Is America

Treaty of Paris

September 4, 1783

Marshall Inn & Pub

Philidelphia, United States

"Monsieur Louis, you would believe it if you were in the room where it happened..."

I took great joy in watching Alexander Hamilton drunkenly recall the signing of the Treaty of Paris to France. Judging by the amused look on his face, France was enjoying it as well. When a trio of fiddlers stuck up an Irish melody, a rosy-cheeked Hamilton excused himself to dance.

I slid into the seat beside France, who watched the dancers with tired eyes. Our table was in the corner with a great view. I laughed with delight as Hamilton pranced about like a peacock.

"Can you believe King George fears a boy of twenty-eight?"

France smirked as he lifted his drink. "King George would fear a fly."

I laughed into my hand. My adoration for France knew no bounds—I loved him with all my heart. I always had to remind myself that he was a very old Nation. Ancient, even. My curiosity suddenly got the better of me.

"France, how long have you known England?"

His eyes darted to me in surprise. "My whole life, of course."

I stared at him with wide eyes. "What's he like?"

He frowned, suddenly grumpy. "God put him on an island for a reason," he muttered, shaking his head. "You saw his borishness in Virginia."

"I had met him." I gulped. "Once before."

"Ah, yes. He and I, we do not speak as we used to." He leaned toward me with a handsome smirk, his voice going soft. "As you and I do, Amérique..."

Color flooded my cheeks, and I looked away bashfully. At that moment, I recognized the song that the musicians were playing. I shot to my feet.

"Will you dance with me? Please?"

He chuckled at my antics. "These silly American dances...I do not know them."

I took his hand in mine. "I shall teach you."

He sighed and reluctantly stood. "Oh, how I long to show you Versailles. Our balls are so elegant and refined."

I recalled the stories of county balls I had heard so much about from wounded soldiers. In all my seven years, I hadn't experienced much of the world beyond strategizing at war tables and laughing around campfires. When France looked away in boredom, I took the opportunity to drag him onto the dance floor.

"Come, come!"

"Oh, mon Dieu..."

Hamilton whooped for joy when we joined the two rows of dancers. Mirroring the couple across from us, I looped one arm with France and gathered my long skirts with the other. My heels thumped loudly against the wooden floorboards as I tried replicating the steps.

"Take heed!" I shouted, urging France's attention to my feet. "One, two, three, four! No, wait..."

He burst into laughter. "You do not know it!"

To my great amusement, France had much trouble learning the jig. When the lines of couples threaded together, passing each another from arm to arm, we briefly lost each other. I laughed naively as he glowered and muttered something under his breath. I became flushed and breathless as I danced and sang along with the merry crowd.

Eventually, on one particular turn, France caught me by the waist. I whipped my head around and stared up at him in confusion. His other hand tightened around mine, and he shrugged his right shoulder, indicating for me to rest my hand there. Ignoring the music and the dancers around us, he leaned down and hummed a slow, bittersweet melody in my ear.

He then pulled me into a strange dance.

After bumping some elbows and shoulders, the crowd began to part and stare at our strange display. The musicians trailed off to see what had startled the crowd. My heart began to race, and my gaze fell to my clumsy feet.

"No, Amérique," he chided softly. "Let me guide you."

I fixed my eyes on his face. The people around us seemed to vanish as we spun weightlessly around the room. His graceful movements flowed with the song like water in a stream.

The end came like the end of a dream. Our movements slowed and his voice faded as he used his leverage on my waist to dip me toward the ground. I gasped in surprise and clutched the back of his neck. Our faces were close for a long, breathless moment.

I blushed fiercely.

The band suddenly struck up a jolly, upbeat tune, and the crowd cheered as they took up their dancing anew.

It was some weeks later that I entered Mr. Franklin's office, whose long tenure as the American ambassador to France was known far and wide. Upon seeing the dire expression on my face, he removed his spectacles and gave me his full and undivided attention.

"Mr. Franklin," I murmured, my hands clasped knuckle-white before me. "You must teach me how they dance in Versailles."