It was late one February morning when Mr. Randolph had sent Camden into the sitting room to finish a reading assignment. Camden had read Plato and Montesquieu and several other works of political philosophy and legal theory, but the well-worn volume over which he was presently hunched surpassed them all in terms of its impenetrability. Despite resting perfectly well the night before, his eyelids began to sag and the words began to blur. If Mr. Randolph had asked him to recite the facts of the case he was reading at that moment, he would have been at an utter loss. It had something to do with property, he hazily recalled, but that was the full extent of his knowledge on the subject.

He snapped out of his drowsiness with a start when his head lurched forward and very nearly hit the book as it was laid flat on the table in front of him. He was mortified to see Mr. Randolph standing in the doorway, but nothing about his posture seemed to suggest that he had noticed his apprentice’s brush with midday slumber.

“Mr. Page, will you join me in my study, please?”

Camden rose and crossed through the front room, dreading the thought that Mr. Randolph might have seen him about to doze off after all. He was about to seat himself across the desk from Mr. Randolph as usual, until he gestured to another chair that had been set up near Mr. Randolph, on the other side of the desk.

“Over here, please. I am about to have a meeting and it will be beneficial for you to sit in. Besides, when you begin to assist me with clients, you must be near at hand anyway.”

Just then, Mary answered a knock at the front door. To Camden’s surprise, the two men that she admitted to the house were none other than the two men he had met a few weeks ago, Patrick Henry and James Monroe. Mr. Randolph rose to greet them.

“Mr. Henry and Mr. Monroe, welcome. Please have a seat. I believe you have both already met my apprentice, Mr. Page. He will be joining us today; I thought it would be beneficial to his education to be privy to our conversation. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not at all!” said Henry. “On the contrary, were he not already here, I would gladly have suggested that he be allowed to listen in.” Monroe nodded in agreement.

“Splendid! Let’s get down to business, then. Gentlemen, both of you know why I have asked you here today, but for the benefit of my apprentice, please allow me to explain.” Here, Mr. Randolph turned slightly toward Camden. “As I mentioned on your first morning here, Dr. McClurg must be replaced as a delegate to the convention. The news of his passing last week dismays us all, but we must press forward. There is too much at stake to delay.”

Mr. Randolph paused here and cast a gaze toward Mr. Henry, who picked up where Mr. Randolph had left off.

“You see, Mr. Page, the intentions of those who have called this convention are not altogether as straightforward as they would have you believe. In fact, if you were to ask me to put it to you as plainly as possible, I would say that the stench of the rat making his way to Philadelphia is putrid enough to smell all up and down the length and breadth of our confederacy.”

Camden was not surprised to see that the Patrick Henry of legend seemed to be every bit as bombastic as the Patrick Henry of the real world. Still, to witness it in person was something he was sure he would not soon forget.

“I do not mean to poison your disposition toward any person in particular, of course. Nevertheless, it is clear to me that the motives of those who pushed for this convention are not what they might want the public to believe. We fought a war to escape a form of government that consolidated too much power in one place, but there are those who would drag us back toward just that very thing. They would have us surrender what we fought for--what you fought for, Mr. Monroe.”

Camden could tell that Mr. Monroe had grown a little uneasy in his chair. Mr. Henry, of course, was known for his passionate speeches and fiery rhetoric. The same could clearly not be said for Mr. Monroe.

“I see your point, of course, Mr. Henry,” Monroe began, “But I have yet to see why I am the one best situated to take up your cause in Philadelphia. Why should not you or Mr. Randolph go? Why would the General Assembly even appoint me in the first place?”

Mr. Randolph began to respond, but stopped short as Mr. Henry politely held up a finger.

“I am forced to leave Richmond and am no longer the Governor, Mr. Monroe, but that does not mean I am bereft of friends here. You are an undisputed war hero. Washington himself is perhaps the only Virginian who is held in higher esteem for his service to the states. You have the opportunity not just to attend the convention, but to wield influence. There must be a Virginian there who is both ready and able to beat back the onslaught against the present constitution.”

“If that is what you thought, Mr. Henry, you had it within your own power to be sure that such a Virginian would be there, did you not? And yet you declined the appointment.” Monroe steepled his fingers below his chin, awaiting the elder statesman’s response.

“I was, indeed, offered the appointment. I declined, however, because I fear that my presence there would only serve as a convenient and unsympathetic foil to other men who desperately crave legitimacy for their plans. I could not have been the most effective person to oppose them, but someone in your position can be.”

Here, Mr. Randolph interjected. “Gentlemen, surely you both acknowledge that what happens in Philadelphia is of great moment for Virginia no less than for the other American states. I think you will both also agree that there is much to think about before coming to a decision. I suggest that we part ways for now and contemplate the decision before us. Decisions made too hastily rarely come to any good. We shall speak again soon.”

After they rose and exchanged farewells, Mr. Randolph asked Camden to remain in the study.

“What do you think, Mr. Page? Do you suppose Mr. Monroe will agree to go to Philadelphia?”

Camden was somewhat astonished to be asked his opinion of such an important matter. He hardly knew what to say.

“I suppose, sir, that he likely will not.”

“And how have you come to that conclusion?”

Here, Camden was even less sure how to proceed. Monroe’s hesitancy was easy to read, but his thought process was almost entirely obscured.

“It seems that he and Mr. Henry simply do not share the same sense of concern about the upcoming convention. Perhaps Mr. Monroe does not think it would be entirely a bad thing for the government to be changed in some ways.”

“That may prove to be an astute observation. You may return to your reading now.”

Camden strode back into the sitting room, but found that he could not immediately immerse himself in the assignment that he had not so long ago set aside. Apart from the tedious nature of the reading, the meeting to which he had just been a witness caused him some amount of disquietude. It was only a vague feeling of unease, but he could not precisely identify what it was that made him unsettled.

Mr. Henry certainly seemed to be convinced of the necessity of having a voice for his opinions in Philadelphia, but the fervor with which he pressed the point seemed out of proportion to the weightiness of the situation. Surely, the stakes could not be quite as high as he seemed to believe they were; surely the situation could not be that dire. That the confederation and the present constitution were not ideal seemed to be almost universally acknowledged so far as Camden was aware. What was beyond question in his mind, however, were both the intellect and the integrity of Mr. Randolph and Mr. Henry. He set aside his own questions and resolved that he would come to no firm conclusions until having heard the best arguments that they had to make.

At first, the meeting with Henry and Monroe proved to be somewhat of a distraction for Camden as he went back to his studies. There was, as Mr. Randolph had put it, quite a lot to think about and Camden could not seem to stop thinking about it. Was Mr. Henry right about the motives for the convention? Or did those who wanted major changes to the government have the better argument? Finding that he had no good answers to these questions, Camden applied himself to his reading, invigorated enough from the meeting that he now had no trouble staying awake--though the material had not really become any more interesting in the interim.

In the afternoon, after he had finished his reading for the day, Mr. Randolph gave Mary the rest of the day off, and headed out himself to attend to some business just outside of the city. He left Camden to his own devices, asking only that if he were to go out that he return in time for dinner. Camden thought that an easy request to comply with since he planned to spend some time writing a letter to his aunt and uncle.

He finished the letter in short order and realized that he had left out anything about his brief encounters with Miss Burwell. Considering whether to add a postscript, he decided it would not do to share what, at this time, would be regarded as little better than a boyish infatuation. However, another idea struck him like a thunderbolt.

He quickly took out another sheet of paper and replenished his inkwell. Using his best handwriting, he wrote

Dear Senator Burwell,

Although I have not yet been pleased to make your acquaintance, in my capacity as apprentice to your brother in law, Mr. Joseph Randolph, Esq. and under his watchful eye, I have had the delightful experience of being introduced to your daughter, Miss Georgiana Burwell.

If it meets with your approval, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be permitted to call on you and your daughter and the rest of your family at your home, whenever it meets with your convenience. In eagerly awaiting your reply, I am your most humble and obedient servant,

Camden Page

Reading it over once more, Camden was impressed with himself. It sounded to him not unlike some of the notes and letters he had read about in the novels lent to him by Mr. Randolph. The penmanship was undoubtedly some of his best ever and he managed to avoid any glaring ink spots. Satisfied that he had done his best, he folded the letter and wrote the Senator’s name on the outside. Pulling on his coat, he nearly flew down the stairs and out the front door.

The afternoon was quite cold and a thick blanket of low clouds hid the sun from view, but Camden felt as if he floated the mile between the Randolph and Burwell houses. He was greeted at the front door by a man whose dour manner of dress perfectly matched the dour look on his face.

“May I help you?” he asked, but he failed to convince Camden that he had any desire at all to help anyone.

“I wish to deliver a letter to Senator Burwell, if I may.”

“If he is not expecting you, then you may not. I happen to know that he is not expecting anyone this afternoon.”

The man began to close the door, but Camden lunged forward slightly, thrusting the letter toward the man.

“I understand, of course. But you will be so good as to see that this is delivered to him, will you not?”

The man stared at the letter as if Camden was asking him to accept a chamber pot that was in need of emptying. In spite of his look of sheer disgust, the man begrudgingly took the letter and closed the door. “Good day, young man,” he barely managed to get out before the door was shut, more or less in Camden’s face.

A man more accustomed to dealing with James Burwell’s manservant--or one not so overcome with emotion at the thought of time spent in the company of a beautiful young woman--might have been offended at such treatment. Camden, however, did not seem to notice at all and glided back down the same streets to Mr. Randolph’s house and the promise of Mary’s hot meal.

From her couch in the sitting room, Georgiana heard the knock at the door, but did not immediately recognize the voice on the other side. It was only after Andrew had closed the door that she peeked out the window to see who the caller had been. She immediately recognized Camden and wondered what could have brought him there.

“Andrew, who was that?” she called from the next room.

“A young man, Miss, wishing to speak with your father. I sent him away, but your father is out anyway.”

“What’s that you have?” she asked as he stepped into the room.

“Oh, yes, he left a letter for Mr. Burwell.”

Andrew was about to continue, but Georgiana cut him off. “Just lay it over here, then. Father will come in here to see me as soon as he’s home.”

“It’s really no trouble--”

“Nonsense, Andrew. Just leave it here, please.”

He obeyed her instruction and left, as dour as ever, to attend to his other duties.

Once she was sure Andrew was well gone to another part of the house, she picked up the letter and examined it. It was, indeed, addressed to her father. She could think of no conceivable grounds upon which Mr. Page would have cause to write to her father. If an introduction were to be made, it would certainly be made by Mr. Randolph and in person. She had no knowledge of such an introduction having been made. Under any other circumstances she would never have done what she did next, but the compulsion was too strong. She opened the letter.

Reading the letter brought a flurry of emotions. She had wondered whether the warm feelings of attraction were mutual and she now had her answer. And despite his ruddy appearance, here was further confirmation that underneath the young man’s imposing exterior lay an intelligent and considerate personality. Intelligent, yes, she told herself, but still with much to learn about the etiquette of social interactions among the upper classes. The letter was a breach of etiquette that could foreclose any possibility of further social interaction between the two of them.

The next thought Georgiana had was a decidedly unpleasant one, but there was no doubt in her mind about what she must do.