Read Online Lady of Ashes by Christine Trent - Free Book Online

even admire the man, despite his being a Briton and by definition untrustworthy.
    Hopefully, Lord Russell would be sympathetic to American interests once again.
    The foreign secretary sat down across from Charles Francis and Henry. Lord Russell had the girth of someone who had lived well, and the face of someone who had worried much, over the years. Even his side whiskers were a bit tangled, as if they were too troubled with more important concerns to bother lying neatly against his face.
    “My thanks to you, Your Excellency. My wife, Lady Frances, is already planning to redecorate Pembroke Lodge, our country estate, to make it fit for human inhabitation, as she says.” The Adams men laughed politely at Lord Russell’s unsuccessful attempt to clothe himself in modesty.
    “Your wife has every right to express her contentment with her husband’s success. Alas, Peacefield, our family home south of Boston, is in the hands of my son, John Quincy the Second, while the rest of the family is here. He’s just gotten married, so I expect that when we return, his wife, Fanny, will have completely torn the place apart to suit herself.”
    Russell nodded. “No sense in arguing with a wife’s desires, whether your own or your son’s. You have another son, don’t you?”
    “Yes, two others. We lost another boy when he was but five years old. My youngest, Brooks, is thirteen but chafes to be a man.” The men laughed. “Charles Francis Junior has an army commission and is busy fighting the rebels in the South.”
    “Ah. So you—” Lord Russell stopped what he was saying as a servant arrived to present them with the evening’s menu, which Abigail had taken great care in developing. They were to have fried cod with fried oysters, mutton chops, savory rice, potatoes, fried broccoli, and brandy bread pudding. Charles Francis asked their guest to select a libation from his wine cellar list, and the foreign secretary chose a Cabernet Franc from Adams’s expansive collection. The bottle was presented with a flourish, and Lord Russell was offered the opportunity to sample and approve the selection.
    “Where was I?” Russell asked. “Oh yes, so you Adamses are devoted to the North’s cause, even to the point of sending your sons into the thick of fighting?”
    “We don’t send our sons, they elect to go. I believe this will all wrap up soon and Charles Francis Junior will be returned to Peacefield long before I am.”
    Lord Russell took a long sip from his glass. “So you feel confident in the North’s prospects in this conflict?”
    “Of course, why wouldn’t we?”
    The earl rubbed the stem of his goblet between his hands, violently swirling the remaining liquid inside. “I sympathize with your position, truly I do—slavery is an abomination and the states’ rights argument is a bit specious to me—but I admit I’m not entirely convinced of the North’s ability to gain the upper hand, especially after your defeat at Bull Run. There are many who believe the Southern secession is an accomplished fact.” Lord Russell drained the glass. “I count myself among them.”
    Charles Francis was too stunned to respond. By the furious scratching of pen to paper going on next to him, his son was in no such state of surprise. As a good journalist, Henry surely recognized that Lord Russell had just thrown a mortar of information into the center of the table.
    At that moment, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of dinner. Their food was elegantly served on white plates edged in alternating bands of gold and cobalt, with an intricate pattern of gold swirls next to the innermost blue band.
    The bone china here in England was much finer than anything they had in the States. Charles Francis surreptitiously glanced at the underside of his empty teacup to see the maker’s mark. Royal Worcester . He made a mental note to have Abigail visit Harrods to order several sets and ship them home for use at Peacefield.
    Which