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Quietly, Cadwallader gathered up his hat and gloves. He wasn’t sure that anyone noticed him go.

It was even later than he had realized. The meeting had gone on for some considerable time. When he returned home, Maria was already tucked into bed, reading by the light of a branch of candles, her hair brushed out of its curls and pulled back in a braid, giving her face the austere beauty of the profile on a cameo.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” said Cadwallader.

Without looking up from her book, Maria said, “David has gone to bed already. He asked for you.”

Cadwallader felt the implicit criticism deeply. “I was at the Tontine Coffee House. General Hamilton wants me to run for state assembly.”

Maria set her book down on the coverlet. “That would mean you would have to spend a great deal of time in Albany.”

“Well, yes, I suppose.” He hadn’t really thought that far.

“There would be months when we wouldn’t see you,” said Maria flatly.

Cadwallader had that terrible sinking feeling of once again having said the wrong thing. “Only while the assembly is in session. Or you could come with me!” Money was no issue. They could certainly afford a second establishment. “We could buy a house. David might like the countryside around Albany. I’m sure General Schuyler would advise us.”

“Did you consider that David and I might mind being either left or dragged along with you?”

Dragged seemed to be putting it a bit harshly. “I wouldn’t want you to come to Albany unless you wanted to come to Albany.” Oh dear. He had said something wrong again. “How could I say no? The stakes are tremendous. If we win the assembly elections, we win the country. Surely I can sacrifice my own convenience for the sake of the presidency.”

“For your sake or General Hamilton’s?” Maria pushed back the covers, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “Did you stop to think that it might not be your convenience alone? What about David? He sees you little enough as it is.”

That wasn’t fair. “I read to David every night! Almost every night.”

“The Masons, the Manumission Society, the Federalists . . . I can’t keep track of half your obligations! You might be a bachelor for all we see you. Maybe you would have been happier being a bachelor. Even when you’re here, you’re not.” With horror, Cadwallader realized that Maria’s eyes were filled with tears, her face scrunched up to keep them falling. “I don’t think you hear half of what I say to you. Either you’re locked in your book room or you’re thinking—whatever you’re thinking about! Last night, you didn’t even come to bed.”

“I was reading the transcript of the Weeks case,” said Cadwallader in a low voice. “I was trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong.”

“I should think that was clear enough.” Maria turned her back on him, her voice ragged with tears. “Don’t you think I’ve noticed that you can hardly bear to be at home?”

“Maria.” Cadwallader came up behind her. Her nightdress was of fine French lawn, embroidered with posies. He looked down at the top of her head, the white line of her scalp where the hair parted. “What are you talking about?”

“We don’t need to pretend. I see the way you look at me. If you’d married anyone else,” she said bitterly, “you’d have a hearth-full of children all clustered around your knees. Instead there’s just David.”

“David is worth a dozen other children,” said Cadwallader in bewilderment. He felt as though he’d lost the thread of the conversation. Hadn’t they been talking about the Weeks case?

Maria lifted her tear-ravaged face. “But he’s not a dozen other children, is he? He’s just the one. You would have been better off if I’d died and you might have married again and had a proper family.”

“Don’t say such things!” Cadwallader gripped her shoulders, as though he could keep her from the grave by force. “I love you. I love you if you have one child or ten. I thought—I thought you were regretting marrying me.”

“I am—I do,” she said thickly. “If you’d married someone else, you might be happier.”

“I thought you were ashamed of me—that I’m not the lawyer Josiah is, or the statesman my grandfather was, or anything of note. I thought you were unhappy because you knew you’d picked a sorry fool for a husband.”

“That’s absurd.” Maria wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. Cadwallader hunted in his pockets and produced a handkerchief for her. It was marked with his initials in a combination of Maria’s hair and David’s. “You’re not a sorry fool.”

“I saw you in the courtroom at the Weeks trial, watching as I faltered again and again and again. I wanted to make you and David proud of me, but instead I failed Elma Sands—I failed the Ring family—I failed you.”

Maria blew her nose with vigor. “It was you alone against three giants! Even David in the Bible only had to defeat one.”

“I wanted to defeat giants for our David—and for you. I hated to think that you were disappointed in me.”

“You never had to slaughter giants for me, Cad.” Maria stepped forward, leaning her head against his chest. Cadwallader wrapped his arms around her, smelling the French soap she used to wash her hair, feeling her chest rise and fall in time with his. Her voice muffled by his shirt, she said, “Don’t stand for assembly. Let’s go abroad, the three of us. You’re always saying you want to take David to London.”

He could picture driving with David and Maria down the Serpentine. David could ride his pony on Rotten Row; he and Maria might go to the theater. They could take the waters in Bath, or go bathing in Brighton, in the ingenious bathing machines set up by the water.

There would be lines of credit to arrange, servants to bring with them, trunks to pack. If he could secure passage, they could leave in a matter of weeks, tides willing. It was an immensely tempting prospect.