Chapter 13
The fortnight I spent in Bath last December was truly one of amusement and dissipation, though it was meant to cure my ills.
There were several balls, parties, concerts, and plays, and the small group of American friends I discovered there proved to me that, while the fashionable life is moderately enjoyable, I find I have little personal taste for it as a whole.
Indeed, I find myself troubled by the lifestyle of the elite visitors who appear to favor social position and wealth over character.
You must know how this offends my moral sensibilities.
While I must maintain some appearances to support my husband’s business, the pair of us long for the simplicity of our American home and seek diligently to return and learn how our life may now proceed, particularly with the impending arrival of our grandchild.
What greater bliss can life bestow than that of a new child?
Abigail
Abigail cradled the bundle of joy that was her grandson in her arms, bouncing lightly and walking about the parlor to keep him content and quiet.
Young master William Steuben Smith had yet to learn that his mother needed rest and that the middle of the night was not the most appropriate time to demand her attention, but he had managed to learn that his grandmother was a suitable substitute.
Apart from eating.
Her grandson was also rather particular about remaining calm, which was why she was moving about the room as she was.
Ever since Nabby and the baby had moved back into the Adamses’ residence on Grosvenor Street, Abigail had become a second caretaker for the baby.
Colonel Smith had been dispatched to Portugal by the secretary of state, John Jay, as a means of a diplomatic proof of gratitude.
Apparently, the queen had offered her naval fleet as a protective measure for the United States, and the letter of appreciation they posted had not seemed sufficient.
So, as secretary of the legation of the United States of America to the court of Great Britain, Colonel Smith was to hand-deliver the message to Her Majesty.
But apparently that involved meeting with the minister of state for foreign affairs and deciding the best course of action for being presented to the queen of Portugal and arranging details with him.
So not only would the travel take time, but the actual audience with the queen could not be arranged until Colonel Smith arrived and had participated in the necessary meetings.
And since the colonel had a promising future ahead of him, there would, of course, be meetings with other ministers and people of consequence in the Portuguese royal court.
He would be away for months at least, and with Nabby only weeks out of childbirth, it had been a natural step to have Nabby and the baby come stay with Abigail, where she could look after her daughter and spend time with her grandson.
She would much rather do that than try to cope with the frustration of mingling with British society, who despised her simply for the nation she had come from.
No one bothered to make her acquaintance, and she had encountered so many cold shoulders that frostbite was taken into consideration.
She was done with pretending at the niceties.
So was John, it seemed.
At the beginning of the year, he had come to Abigail and told her that he had written to Congress to ask to be relieved of his duties as minister to the court of Great Britain.
He was not accomplishing anything, he felt, as no one was interested in brokering any deals or negotiations with their former colony.
Especially one so new that it was hardly a worthy prospect.
In his letter, he had suggested the term of a year for them to find his replacement, though he included the proviso that he did not believe another was needed.
The feelings of the British toward the United States were not going to change any time soon, and diplomatic ventures here were ultimately fruitless.
Actually, he had told Abigail that his attempts were the greatest waste of time and resources he had ever known, but he had omitted that from his letter.
And to think, she hadn’t even needed to counsel him on that particular removal.
Perhaps he was learning how to be decorous all on his own, at long last.
Most likely not, but he might claim so.
At any rate, Congress had agreed, so Abigail had begun the strange process of planning for their return to the United States, though they had a year in which to depart.
She could not blame John for asking to be relieved of his duties.
Absolutely nothing had gone according to John’s wishes, apart from that first courteous meeting with King George.
The careful, cautious words and the sincere honesty that had flowed between them had been more than anyone could have hoped for and had allowed them many interactions with the royal family, but there had been no progression with any of the ministers, and no settling on anything beneficial for the United States.
The only positive things that had taken place were a few social occasions and experiences.
Nothing diplomatic or political, and thus, John felt like a failure.
But anyone taking on this role for the first time would have faced the same scrutiny, the same slander, the same derision, and the same difficulty. Great Britain was not particularly forgiving, and bygones were most certainly not bygones yet.
If they ever would be.
Abigail would not be sorry to bid England farewell.
She was here to support her husband, decorate his arm, and occasionally host parties or dinners at their residence.
She had done all that flawlessly because none of those things required negotiating with former tyrants and government officials.
She could make polite conversation with anyone—as every occasion in England proved—and the only people who actually accepted their invitations were Americans or already established friends.
Easy enough to host one’s friends and compatriots.
She had attended a number of operas, plays, concerts, and lectures, far more than would have been available in Boston.
She had walked several parks and gardens, which was a true delight in such a bustling city.
She had explored marvels of history and architecture with the reverence reserved for those places and experiences.
But she had no desire to ever return to these shores. Once had been quite enough for a lifetime.
And she was quite certain that Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte, would not be extending any invitations to her or exchanging letters after her departure.
Alas for failing to establish a friendship with royalty.
Yet when Abigail had been in France, she had seen Marie Antoinette a few times and felt a connection that might have led to friendship, if given the appropriate time to bloom.
Abigail was at least ten years older than the woman, but there had been a spark of kinship and understanding between them.
She was a queen and did not look down on Abigail.
Then again, Abigail had not previously been one of her subjects and supported a war of independence.
What a complicated world they lived in, where women could not simply like each other for their own sakes without politics and station getting in their way.
Not that any of them were specifically involved with those politics. They were more like part of the social décor.
Such a flattering part to play and position to stand in.
Abigail had never been particularly adept at standing in place and looking ornamental.
She had not been raised that way, and it was not in her nature.
Queen Charlotte and Queen Marie Antoinette had likely been well trained and well versed to perfection in those ways, but their station in life could not be compared with hers.
She was rather trivial by comparison.
Except her life had taken a different turn, hadn’t it?
If she were still a British subject or if Americans had never started a revolution for their independence, she likely would have remained a fairly trivial woman, just the wife of a lawyer in Massachusetts.
A good lawyer, a determined and skilled lawyer, but hardly anything of note.
Now she was the wife of one of the first members of the Continental Congress, a man who signed the Declaration of Independence and who had been appointed the first minister of the legation to the court of Great Britain.
It was certainly a rise in her ranking, and in the places where status mattered, that would be significant.
Once she returned home, she would just be Abigail Adams again.
John would probably continue to be heavily involved in the politics and details associated with crafting their new nation into the body they hoped it could become, but she would be more focused on parenting her adult sons and trying to find them decent wives.
She rather enjoyed this young grandson of hers, and the thought of additional grandchildren was a welcome one.
She smiled down at the sleeping baby as she paused before the parlor window.
“What do you think, hmm?” she asked William softly.
“Wouldn’t you like cousins to romp about Grandpapa and Grandmama’s farm with?
We must find your uncles sensible women with a decent education and a strong voice.
The offspring of John Adams have the potential for a sharp tongue, and timid women will not endure that well. ”
Her smile faded with a sigh as she considered her boys back home. It had been far too long since she had seen their faces, and she never stopped worrying about them.