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Senator Hale had sent his daughter off pouting- Lucy’s hair was still wet. And God , she knew it was her fault for having a bath so soon before it was time for the dinner party, but it was so frustrating! She really had thought she would not care- that her still drying hair would look just fine concealed in the elaborate updo she had chosen for this evening, gentle coils falling perfectly against exposed collarbone. But-
“I look like a drowned rat!”
“Lucy, you will be the belle of the ball. Now button your-”
“Mother, please, if anyone asks, tell them I took ill, and couldn’t come!” And with that, Lucy wrestled off her little heeled shoe and threw it on the ground, then started to roll down a pink stocking. A flash of despair crossed Mother’s face.
“Lucy! Don’t be a brat!” she exclaimed half jokingly, moving to help her daughter’s shoe back on, but the Senator intervened. The old man wiggled his finger and beckoned the young woman to come forward.
“Here, Lucy, Daddy will fix it. Come and sit.” He patted his knee and he groaned as she sat down on it with all of her weight, taking her into his arms. The pearls dangling from her earlobes bobbed. Mother rubbed her face with exasperation.
“John-”
“Doesn’t she look like a princess, Mother?”
Her face softened. “I suppose she does, Father.” Then her lips curved into a smile of almost pride. “Robert Todd Lincoln,” she murmured. Senator Hale let out a roar of hurried laughter as if he couldn’t believe it, patting Lucy upon the knee with a soft hand. She stared fondly at her father- she had inherited her intellect and cleverness from both of her parents, but she had always admired the work he did in Washington every day. And not just because it got her into the most elite of social functions and hundreds of admirers, including the President of the United States’ son.
“ The President’s son ! And isn’t that something! You’ll marry that boy, Lucy, I think he’s taken quite the liking to you,” her father said with a smile in his voice and a customary twinkle in his eye. Her heart sank. But Johnny-
“Yes. Yes, I’m sure,” she replied, not understanding why her voice was so unusually soft and stiff. There came a sudden rapping on the door, and when Lucy heaved herself from her father’s lap and peeled back the person, she saw two dignified coachmen waiting there. Bobby. Just beyond those men and the street, in the fanciest of carriages from the White House itself, was the stupidest boy she had ever had the pleasure and excitement of meeting. He was so stiff, so polite, so sweet and clueless. She was engaged to a womanizer- dabbled herself in all sorts of men at the same time. And yet, Robert Todd Lincoln was the only one she felt bad about being unfaithful to.
“There he is!” Mother squealed. All three rushed to the door. They made an effort to collect themselves upon swinging it open. There Robert was; a tingle passed down Lucy’s spine. He looked impeccable . Not a wisp of mousy brown hair was out of place, and his clear blue eyes were smiling. Hell, even his mustache was well groomed- Johnny’s had grown unkempt.
No. Tonight she was not to think about Johnny. She’d promised herself.
Delight sparked in her chest at the sight of Robert’s immediate reaction- his gaze flickered to her low neckline at once, and then to her face, and then- her hair. His eyes widened, and his cheeks blossomed with splotchy scarlet.
“Oh- God- I mean, golly- Miss Hale, you look absolutely-”
“Drowned?” she gasped nervously.
“No- Beautiful!” he blurted, and became even more embarrassed. “Senator Hale. Mrs. Hale.” He shook the both of their hands before taking Lucy’s and brushing his lips against it. “Shall we depart, Miss Hale?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Lincoln. Goodbye, Daddy! Mommy! We won’t be back ‘til after dark; please, don’t wait up for me.”
The two of them waved and watched the President’s son help their daughter into a White House carriage. They couldn’t have been more proud, and they didn’t suspect a thing.
John Wilkes Booth stood in an alley, sulking as a carriage rumbled by and sprayed a puddle all over his coat. He was sweating in the haze of summer. He would kill Abraham Lincoln. He just didn’t know how he would break the news to his fiancee, Lucy Lambert Hale– a staunch abolitionist.They’d been quarrelling for weeks.
“You know, Bobby, I want to leave civil-war and politics alone tonight,” remarked Lucy Hale as they rattled along the bustling, delightfully familiar streets of Washington. Robert Lincoln had his head in her lap, and he was twiddling his thumbs as she passed her hand through his gelled hair. She didn’t mean to ruin it, but he looked so enticing with the sunlight on his face.
He chuckled with brief disbelief, absentminded, but present at the same time. “No war? No politics? Luce, we’re in the nation’s capital. I’m the son of the President of the United States, which many are blaming for this whole damned war, and you’re the daughter of a senator!” he scoffed. She forced herself to laugh with him.
“Bobby,” Lucy began again, hoping her idea would not be discarded this time, “I know that. I’m not stupid.”
His face paled. “Lucy, did I upset you? Was I awfully rude?” He sat up quickly and gave her a wild, searching look. Suddenly, as if having a primal and pressing urge, she covered his face with her hand. Through the cracks of her fingers, he appeared confused. “Why-”
“If I don’t, I’ll kiss you.”
She slowly trailed an improper hand down his face and down his neck, until it rested on his rapidly beating heart. His breath came in short, nervous puffs, and Lucy made her advance, tilting her head so she could better devour his mouth. She went into the kiss softly and sweetly, but it was not long before they both were gasping between kisses, and Lucy was quickly on top of him. They struggled for space in the carriage, which didn’t seem as roomy as when they had been being polite. Now was not the time for niceties.
Her hair didn’t matter so much anymore- the neatness was unraveling with his resolve, just as she wanted. Sometimes Lucy Hale enjoyed being a Venus flytrap. She enjoyed having Robert Lincoln’s utter adoration caught up in her sweet mandible of false love. Was it really false? She enjoyed everything about the way he was running his hands up and down her sides and arms and all over her, really.
Until, suddenly, he stopped.
Upon seeing her countenance marked with utter disgust, he laughed breathlessly, “Lucy, We shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not now. Not with the circumstances. This is all wrong. We could get caught, and then what would they say?”
This thought had been so remarkably present all throughout her engagement. It almost stung, if she wasn't used to it. Her expression grew into one of sympathy. Mock sympathy. She smirked evilly and yanked him down by the cravat, eliciting a satisfying yelp from the President’s son. “Robert Lincoln, I don’t give a damn about what they would say,” she hissed, “I want your devotion.”