“Anya Seton’s portraits of Aaron and Theodosia Burr alike are vivid and credible . . . The narrative is well sustained, and provides as background an entertaining account of the manners, the ways of living and traveling and entertaining followed during the early years of the nineteenth century.” — New York Times Anya Seton’s best-selling first novel, originally published in 1941, captures all the drama of the short life of Theodosia Burr (1783–1813). Her father, Aaron—Thomas Jefferson’s vice president, most famous for his great duel with Alexander Hamilton—holds sway over young Theodosia’s heart. But his arrogance forces her to choose between the man he insists she marry and her love for a young soldier who will turn out to play a decisive role in her father’s fate. Persuaded by Aaron that through his treasonable plans she will soon be crowned princess of the Kingdom of Mexico, she is received like royalty on Blennerhassett Island, only to end up trying to exonerate her father as he awaits trial in a Richmond jail, repudiated by his fickle son-in-law and friends. Theodosia remains a haunting figure in American history, still lovely, still imperious, never vanquished. “Anya Seton’s portraits of Aaron and Theodosia Burr alike are vivid and credible . . . The narrative is well sustained, and provides as background an entertaining account of the manners, the ways of living and traveling and entertaining followed during the early years of the nineteenth century.” — New York Times Anya Seton’s best-selling first novel, originally published in 1941, captures all the drama of the short life of Theodosia Burr (1783–1813). Her father, Aaron—Thomas Jefferson’s vice president, most famous for his great duel with Alexander Hamilton—holds sway over young Theodosia’s heart. But his arrogance forces her to choose between the man he insists she marry and her love for a young soldier who will turn out to play a decisive role in her father’s fate. Persuaded by Aaron that through his treasonable plans she will soon be crowned princess of the Kingdom of Mexico, she is received like royalty on Blennerhassett Island, only to end up trying to exonerate her father as he awaits trial in a Richmond jail, repudiated by his fickle son-in-law and friends. Theodosia remains a haunting figure in American history, still lovely, still imperious, never vanquished. ANYA SETON (1904–1990) was the author of many best-selling historical novels, including Katherine, The Winthrop Woman, Avalon, Dragonwyck, Green Darkness, Devil Water, and Foxfire. She lived in Greenwich, Connecticut. ANYA SETON (1904–1990) was the author of many best-selling historical novels, including Katherine, Avalon, Dragonwyck, Devil Water, and Foxfire . She lived in Greenwich, Connecticut. One At six o’clock on the morning of Midsummer Day, 1800, Aaron Burr’s estate, Richmond Hill, was already well into the day’s bustle of preparation for the gala dinner to be given that evening in honor of Theodosia’s birthday.    The great kitchens hummed under Peggy’s irritable guidance; from the dairy came the rhythmic clop-clop of the butter chums, mingled with more distant sounds of stamps and whinnies from the stables.    The newborn sun shimmered through heat haze upon the mansion’s white columns and wrought-iron balustrades. It shone dazzlingly on the Hudson, whose slow-moving waters flowed but a few yards away below the house. Already the river was flecked white with sails, as sloops, schooners, and packets tacked upstream toward Albany with the incoming tide.    Half a mile from the house, in Greenwich Village, a neglected cow lowed for her belated milking. The sound carried to the white bedroom at Richmond Hill, where Theodosia Burr, daughter to Aaron, awoke at last on this morning of her seventeenth birthday to find her room filled with a pungent perfume. She sniffed with sleepy pleasure, and lay quiet on her big bed considering this phenomenon. The gardens were too far away to carry such a decided scent, and anyway there was no breeze stirring.    It smells like roses, she thought, still held in a voluptuous drowsiness. The damask curtains which enclosed her bed were partly looped back, a concession to the warmth of June; so that, without moving, she could watch the brightly blue rectangle of sky through the window beside her.    Sunshine glistened on the linen sheet and touched her braids with red fire. It was of a peculiar color, that hair: now dark brown, now chestnut, yet always enriched by an underlying tinge of auburn.    “Your hair is the color of port wine, Theo,” John Vanderlyn had once told her as he worked on one of the countless sketches of her that her father commissioned. She had thought this very funny then, partly because at thirteen all compliments are amusing — if one could call it a compliment — and partly because his heavy Dutch manner and intonation seemed so incongruous. Since then Vanderlyn had spent four years studying in France, and now he