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John Singleton Copley. Bulfinch moved his family to Beacon Hill and formed Mount Vernon Proprietors, a group of wealthy landowners determined to develop the area in exquisite good taste. First step: raze the old wooden buildings on Beacon Hill and replace them with elegant red brick residences of Federalist and Greek Revival design. Even the towering beacon that for generations had warned Boston and neighboring communities of enemy attacks was dismantled and carted away to make way for progress. By year-end of 1805 the population of Boston had swelled to nearly thirty thousand souls. Included in its social registry, up on Beacon Hill, were some of the wealthiest and most renowned families in Massachusetts, many of them, including the Endicott family, made rich by the burgeoning overseas carrying trade.
    Richard had been to the Endicott residence on Belknap Street on numerous occasions, both alone and in company with Katherine. The Endicotts were, after all, the in-laws of his son Will, and it was Will’s wife, Adele, who bobbed him a respectful curtsey as she met him at the front door at the appointed hour of five o’clock.
    â€œHow very nice of you to drop by this evening,” she said, opening the door wide. “Please do come in out of the cold and damp.”
    A servant dressed in fine English-style livery stepped forward. Richard handed him his bicorne hat and then shrugged out of his coat, thankful that he had swapped his well-worn oilskins for something more stylish before leaving Cutler & Sons. Arriving at the Endicott residence wearing a sailor’s foul-weather gear would simply not do.
    â€œThank you, Adele,” Richard said as the servant closed the front door and imperiously conveyed his hat and outer garment elsewhere. He studied her for a moment. “My Lord, daughter, how lovely you look this evening. You are the very image of a Greek goddess,” he added, not without cause. Her curly ebony hair cascaded down fetchingly over the purple taffeta dress that perfectly fit the contours of her slender frame. Nor could he help but notice the sea blue of the eyes that gazed affectionately upon him. They were exactly like those of her mother, a beautiful aristocrat whom Richard had come to know intimately while serving as aide-de-camp to Capt. John Paul Jones in Paris during the war with England almost thirty years earlier. “I pity my poor son, to be called away from such beauty.”
    â€œOn family business,” she reminded him, smiling. “Nonetheless, I do so look forward to his return next week.”
    Richard returned her smile and gave her a brief, appreciative once-over. “I have no doubt that he does as well,” he said. As she blushed prettily he offered his arm, and together they walked slowly down the grand hallway to the sitting room located off the far end.
    â€œHow is Frances?” he asked. “I have not seen your younger sister in a while.”
    â€œShe is doing very well these days. You will be pleased to learn that she has several beaux. One of them is becoming quite ardent in his pursuit of her. You may know him. His name is Robert Pepperell. He lives not far away, at Louisburg Square.”
    Although Richard did not know the young man, he certainly was acquainted with his family. In 1745, during the War of the Austrian Succession, Robert’s grandfather William Pepperell had served as commander in chief of a New England colonial militia unit that, with help from a British naval squadron, had captured the French colonial capital of Louisburg on Cape Breton Island in Canada. For services rendered to the Crown, Sir William was awarded the first American baronetcy, and Louisburg Square, where the Pepperell family still lived, was named in commemoration of the momentous victory.
    â€œGood for Frances,” he said, then lowered his voice and whispered conspiratorially, “Do you think Jamie will be jealous?”
    â€œI suspect he will be