Hit And Miss Chapter 3: Daughter's Dance, a patriot fanfic

1Author's note: Bear with me on this one, guys, it's a long one. But it moves the plot forward. I hope. Thanks for sticking with it and please please please review! Alys and Fields are still the only characters of my own creation. There is foul language in this chapter.

Skirts whirled like pinwheels, brightly colored as candy, across the floor of the manor house ballroom. Men's boots tapped smartly in time to violins, flutes and a very valuable harpsichord. Another one of General Cornwallis's extravagant affairs was underway.

Colonel William Tavington watched from the punch bowl, glass in hand, lips pursed in mild distaste. Cornwallis was content strolling about and making small talk, looking down his nose at the less fashionable party guests. They counted themselves lucky if Tavington so much as acknowledged them.

Across the room, his daughter was leaning up against a wall, surveying the goings on wistfully. She looked almost pretty. The dress from the General fit her sturdy but shapely form surprisingly well, emphasizing all the right places. If she would just stand up straight...

Seeing her standing there, all alone but full of fire nonetheless, Tavington was reminded of her mother. Lucy had blonde hair and brown eyes that could be so warm, but so fierce. He'd met her in a tavern in a bad neighborhood on a bad night. His mood was as foul as the weather and he sought only to drown himself in drink and the company of degenerates. And he would have done so and returned home in the morning just as sullen if that smile hadn't caught his eye. Big, healthy teeth gleamed behind soft pink lips, unexpected brightness at a very dark time in his life.

Instead of falling into pint after pint, that night Tavington fell into those kind eyes and tender, tender arms. For a few months, sweet Lucy was his confidant and lover as well. He was young then and stupid. Of course the girl would get pregnant. It was foolish to believe otherwise. He did his best to provide for them over the years, sending money when possible and allowing them brief visits at what remained of his estate. But when the rumors began to escalate, he said goodbye without a backward glance.

"Couldn't have married me, could you?" How well he remembered her voice, beautiful and full of pain. Her eyes flashed at him as their young daughter listened from the other room. "No bar-girls for the great William Tavington, oh no. Just remember that you didn't think so low of me when you were pouring your soul out to me, or kissing me, or fucking me." Her anger could have split the earth where they stood. But he left them regardless. He cared, just not as much as Lucy would have liked.

But it didn't end there as he had planned. Lucy had followed him to the colonies in the form of an impertinent, swaggering woman-child. She looked up and caught him watching her. She straightened hopefully. Tavington looked away. It was his obligation to tolerate her presence, nothing more.

Alys settled back into the corner. Fine. Never mind that she was only attending the silly party to make him look good. The slippers on her feet were too tight. Wincing, she knelt down and removed them, then stretched her toes in relief. The floor was cool and comforting.

She heard a snicker and looked up. The Private Fields was standing a few feet off, looking at her now bare feet in amusement. He stifled himself when she fixed him with a hard glare and held up his hands in apology. "Don't get mad," he said. "They're fine."

"They're feet," Alys snapped.

"And I said they're fine," he said, moving closer. "It was a compliment, so say thank you."

"Thank you," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Out of her element, being a wallflower put Alys in a nasty mood. Fields wasn't put off. He came over and leaned up against the wall, next to her.

"That's a nice dress," he said, looking her over, pathetically attempting to be nonchalant. Her cheeks grew a little warm.

"That's what I thought," she replied. "Nicest thing I've had." She spared a glance at him, all got up in his newly-cleaned uniform, shined boots and polished buttons. "Is that a wig on your head?"

His hand flew up to cover it. "It's just protocol," he stammered. "They make us."

"You should take it off," she said. "You're real hair looks much better."

Fields hesitated, but her eye's dared him. Slowly, he removed the offending hairpiece and revealed his own short, tousled brown hair. Alys smiled in approval.

"What did I tell you? Much better." She reached up and ruffled it. He wiped his brow.

"Phew." His breath came out in a sigh. "You have no idea how unbearably hot those things are."

"Of course I do. I used to have hair five times as long and far thicker than that little thing. And we have to wear bonnets over our heads as well."

"You don't wear a bonnet," Fields laughed.

"I don't own a bonnet," said Alys.

The stood for a while in silence, Fields shifting his weight uncomfortably. Alys searched her mind for something to say, but was unsuccessful. Teasing a boy on the field was nothing, but what did one talk about at this sort of affair?

At length she said, "Why don't you go out there and mingle, or do whatever it is you do at parties?"

Fields rolled his eyes. "I'm only here to represent the enlisted men. But these people don't want to talk to soldiers. They're far more interested in the officers and higher-ups." Alys nodded. "What about you? Why are you standing back here?"

"I'm a nasty-tempered little wench, determined to spoil everyone's evening, that's why." She made an impish face and stuck out her tongue. Fields had to cover his mouth to keep down a guffaw. The both observed the dancers quietly. Fields fidgeted, feeling as though he were neglecting a duty of some sort.

"Did you want to dance?" he asked.

Alys's eyes widened in a momentary look of terror. "God, no!" she exclaimed. "I haven't the slightest idea how!"

Fields sighed, greatly relieved. Neither did he.

Cornwallis was quite proud of himself. He was full of self-importance as he perused the room, followed by stares of admiration and respect. His conversation was the most sought after, and he was glad to indulge the guests with confident reports about their little victories and gains. Only when the "Ghost" was mentioned did his face darken, but he soon set any disillusioned storyteller straight, vowing that the "Ghost" and his rabble would soon be taken care of. Then he went back to enjoying his evening.

A giggle from the corner caught his attention. Tavington's daughter was nearly doubled over in laughter much to the delight of some young Private. Cornwallis narrowed his eyes. A young Private with no wig on his head!

A few guests looked over in the direction of the General's focus and tittered at what they saw. Cornwallis clicked his tongue. Tavington would not appreciate whispers about his daughter, and the alliance in the corner was not the sort to be encouraged at such a stately event. He made his way over to the punch where the Colonel was standing, looking very similar to a bored hawk.

"Young Miss Tavington seems to be getting along splendidly with one of your men, there," he said pointedly. The Colonel looked to the corner where the two were now whispering to each other, thick as thieves. He drew a sharp intake of breath. The General continued, "A little too splendidly, if you catch my drift." Tavington did. "Do something about it, will you?" He slapped Tavington on the back and went back to his entourage.

Tavington sighed and started over.

"You look very pretty with a little powder on your face," said Fields. "Especially when it's not gunpowder." Alys frowned dangerously.

"Is that so?" she said.

"But then of course you look fine whatever's on your face," Fields said. Alys laughed at the boy's discomfort and took his hand, lacing her fingers between his.

"I like you," she said softly.

This made him bold. He drew very close. "You know," he said, "You missed a target the other day and I never got any kiss."

Alys drew back with a smirk. "I missed a target," she corrected. "Not the specified target."

Fields smiled. "Even so," he said. He was handsome. Grey eyes, strong, thin nose (slightly big), and smooth, prominent cheekbones. He was so close!

"Excuse me," a soft, clipped voice made both youths whirl around. Tavington stood with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Fields struggled to put his wig back on and Alys noticed with mirth that he'd replaced it sideways. She straightened it without breaking eye contact with her father.

"I'm terribly sorry sir." Fields' voice shook.

"Such a display goes beyond the level of appropriateness that these occasions demand," the Colonel said as smoothly and deadly as a snake.

"Yes sir," said Fields, terrified.

"I expect you to conduct yourself with more decorum, Private. And you," His volume increased, a slight lapse in control. "I expect you to conduct yourself like a lady!"

"And how, pray tell, is that?" Alys smiled too sweetly while Fields tried to shrink away. "Please, do demonstrate."

The Colonel's mouth dropped open. He could have delivered an admonishment that would make one of his Dragoons cringe in fear, but people were beginning to stare. Instead, he snatched Alys's wrist and pulled her close to him. Alys stumbled.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. Her father had hardly so much as touched her since she was an infant..

"Dance with me," he demanded and began to lead her onto the floor. She resisted.

"I don't know how!"

He held her fast. "Don't make a scene," he muttered under his breath. "I will teach you and you will do fine." She bit her lip in fear but the Colonel would have none of it. "Don't argue with me, girl, just do it!"