Along the King’s Road, which runs through it, Caesar Rodney galloped, on his long ride to Philadelphia, and the brave regiments of Delaware militia marched away to war.
Among the boys and girls who played on the Green in those days were the children of the Chief Justice, John and Mary Vining. They were beautiful children, with curly brown hair, rosy cheeks, and large clear grey eyes. Their mother had died while they were very young, but their aunt, Mrs. Ridgely, loved them dearly, and her house was as much home to them as their own. The year that Mary was fourteen, Chief Justice Vining also died, and left a large fortune to be divided between his two children.
Mr. Ridgely had charge of this fortune, and such good care did he take of it that when John and Mary grew up they were among the richest people in Delaware. But they were not only rich;—they were handsome and witty as well. John was such a favorite with everyone, that he was called “The Pet of Delaware,” and his sister was the belle of the whole colony. Louis Philippe, Duc d’Orleans, visited her when he was in America, and Lafayette admired her greatly. The fame of her beauty was even carried to foreign countries, so that when Jefferson visited the French queen, Marie Antoinette, one of the first questions she asked him was whether Miss Vining of Delaware was really as lovely as she was said to be.
Mary Vining spent as much of her time in Philadelphia as at Dover. In the winter of 1777, Lord Howe and his English troops were quartered there, and many of the British officers lost their hearts to the Delaware belle.
One day, one of her young cousins was studying his Latin in the drawing room when the door opened and Mary Vining swept in. She went over to the mirror and stood for some time looking at herself with admiration. She was in full dress, and her beautiful arms and neck were bare. After a while she turned from the mirror, and then she saw her young cousin sitting there and watching her. She smiled and held out her hand to him. “Come here, you little rogue,” she said “and you may kiss my hand.”
The little boy shook his head shyly and drew back.
Miss Vining laughed. “You might well be glad to,” she said, “‘Princes have lipped it’.”[1]
Afterward, when the little boy had grown to be a man he often told this story, and always added, “All the while I thought her the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.”
Some of Mary’s friends wondered that she did not marry. “To tell the truth,” she answered them frankly, “I have grown so used to the admiration of many men that I do not think I could be content with that of one.”