Dinner at the Mason's
At around the same time that Tavington began regaling Bordon of all that had transpired, telling Philip that Evans was rogering Catherine in his chamber at that very moment, Margaret Putman was walking through the Square with her friends, Mary Thompson and Alice Aldridge.
Margaret was trying to behave as though nothing was amiss, nothing untoward had happened. She certainly did not want to be the focus of malicious gossip, especially gossip concerning Major Brendon. It was her hope that her neighbours did not discover the reason behind Brendon's removal from her home, an attempted rape would reflect as poorly on her as on Brendon himself. Nevertheless, she had spent the last half an hour quietly confiding the whole of it to her closest friends.
Mary and Alice were suitably aghast, outraged and fearful for Margaret's welfare. The three women strolled along with their arms linked, with Margaret in the centre, the sun shining on their backs.
"No, I'm fine, I assure you," Margaret was saying now. "And he is gone now, I'll never have to see him again."
"Or his men, by the sound of it," Mary shivered. Though the sun was warm on her back she felt suddenly cold. "I can't imagine the men who are quartered within our home ever behaving in such a disgusting way."
"Nor could I," Margaret replied. "For they are Gentlemen. Which Major Brendon certainly is not!"
"You said you would quarter other Officers in your home, with Brendon's unit gone?" Alice ventured carefully. "Aren't you frightened it will happen again?"
"No," Margaret smiled wistfully. "I believe that Clinton's punishment would be enough to deter any other Officer from harming me. Besides, I am quite pleased with Brendon's replacement."
"Oh?" Mary asked, glancing side long to Margaret. "Margie - you're blushing!"
"Am I?" Margaret smiled shyly and her heart began to race, pounding in her chest. It was no wonder she was blushing!
"Yes, you are," Alice smiled. "So, I take it you are pleased with who will quarter in your home?"
"Oh, so very much!" Margaret began to gush. It all poured out of her and she wore a silly smile on her face the entire time. "Oh, its Colonel Tavington, the one who helped me. He's ever so handsome! His eyes! Oh, my heart is beating so fast just now. I've seen him before, I realized earlier. From my balcony, I've seen the Dragoons ride by many a time and I thought he was quite handsome then too, but oh my…"
Margaret pulled her arm free from Mary's to fan herself with her hand. Her friends giggled.
"I've seen him too, have you, Alice? I agree he is rather handsome. There is another Dragoon, though I'm not sure of his name – he is taller than Tavington and fair of hair. I think he is even more handsome!"
"Good!" Margaret said emphatically. She ruined her stern glare with a giggle. "I wouldn't want to fight you for him!"
"Well, having said that," the mischievous Mary continued, "Tavington is the Colonel… And as you said - his eyes!"
Margaret swatted playfully at her friends arm, before linking hers back through Mary's.
"He's quite well set up, isn't he?" Mary continued. "And when he walks - even his movements seem powerful."
"Oh, he is powerful!" Margaret asserted. "So strong. You know, I'll only admit this to the two of you - and to Claire if she were here, but I couldn't help wondering what it would like to be kissed by him."
The younger Mary began to giggle again, sightly aghast. "Oh, you didn't! You just met him!"
"Well, its not as though I did kiss him," Margaret said primly. She continued with a giggle, "I just thought about it. And haven't been able to stop thinking about it since I met him!"
"Oh, you're dreadful!" Mary gasped, then continued in a teasing voice, "what do you think, Alice? Isn't Margie dreadful - to imagine kissing a man she has only just met?"
It was then that Margaret noticed Alice's silence.
"You're quiet, Alice…" she ventured, studying her friend carefully.
"Well, I haven't seen him, so I can't say if he's handsome or not. Nor can I say if its bad, to imagine kissing him," Alice said seriously.
She herself had imagined kissing men before, especially Margaret's cousin Peter before he married Catherine. She had even imagined it after he'd married, though she'd never admitted it to anyone. She continued in a careful and concerned tone.
"But, it seems as though he has quite managed to turn your head, Margie. You haven't mentioned Mr. Wilkins once the entire time we've been walking."
Margaret's mouth fell open, realising suddenly that it was quit true, she hadn't thought of James all morning. This could initially be explained by Brendon's attack, it was understandable that she had not thought of her suitor during all the turmoil. But for the rest of the day? She had spent the entire day in wistful fantasies, and in all of them, Colonel Tavington had reined supreme. And he'd done a damn sight more than kiss her - not that she would confess that to anyone, not even to her friends.
The things had been doing to her… A shiver traced her spine and her cheeks flushed, as she remembered the dream of his hand drifting along her leg, higher until he touched the bare skin above her stockings. Her heart had pounded and her entire body had warmed with that dream.
"We aren't engaged, Alice," Margaret said softly.
Alice stopped dead in her tracks, halting the other women. Her expression was astounded at first, before shifting to a disapproving frown. She gave Margaret a hard look before she began walking again. Margaret said nothing, though she lowered her eyes with shame.
You might as well be, Alice's hard look seemed to say. At least that was how Margaret had interpreted it, the words hung in the air between all three of them.
"I've heard some things about Tavington," Alice said, breaking the silence.
"Haven't we all?" Margaret interrupted tartly, thinking of what she'd read in the broadsheets and what Gabriel had written in the past when his letters had been more frequent. She'd not heard from him in some time now.
"Margie!" Alice snapped, offended both at Margaret's tone and her interruption.
Margaret fell silent, letting her friend speak.
"I am not speaking of what we read in the broadsheets, Margie," Alice continued. "We've all read those stories and we all agree that much of it is propaganda, exaggerations of his so called 'brutality' and the like, to help rally Colonists to the Patriot cause. What I am speaking of, is his conduct toward us personally."
"Personally?" Margaret frowned.
"I am talking about the way he treats us colonists. According to Mrs. Marshal, he is very contemptuous and does not even both hiding his dislike for us. He is very disdainful, looking down his nose at everyone as though we could not hopefully meet his standards. We are not as refined as the Ladies and Gentlemen back in England."
"You have no proof of this -" Margaret began hotly but Alice overrode her.
"It's not only Mrs. Marshall! She is but one person that has complained to me about the man's manners… Or lack thereof!"
"Well, he was not disdainful of me this morning, Alice," Margaret defended the Colonel. "He was very helpful and understanding and never once showed anything but respect!" She hesitated for a moment, then continued in a quieter tone. "Well, if I'm completely honest he was quite fearful as well, he has such presence! So imposing… But he treated with me fairly, for all of that. Major Brendon has been removed from my home, after all."
They fell silent as they came across some damaged buildings, already in the early stages of repair. The battle had been at its most fierce here. Surely it was an indication of Sir Clinton's intentions in the colonies, that he would already be repairing the damaged buildings. He was not bringing fire and destruction; he was rebuilding and allowing the populace to live their lives.
The Loyalists, anyway. Those who supported the Crown had been allowed to live their lives, though the Patriots within the community had been treated with quite harshly. Edward Rutledge, who was both a politician and the younger brother of the Governor of South Carolina, had been seized and imprisoned. Drayton Hall, which belonged to an aristocratic Patriot family had been seized and was now being used as a headquarters for the British. Luckily the family had already fled the Hall before the British arrived, but many Patriot families within Charleston were not so lucky. Many of them had had their homes seized, while they were still living in the home. There were many reports of the families being packed up and quartered in one room of their own home, while the other rooms were used by the Officers billeted there. It was doubtful that, if any of those women laid a complaint against an Officer in their home, they would receive the swift and decisive action Major Brendon had for attacking Loyalist Margaret Putman.
Many known and high ranking Patriots were denouncing their Ideals and declaring themselves Loyal, such as Mr. Clive Middleton. He represented only one branch of the heavily Patriotic family, but much to the rest of the families disgust, he'd turned coat and was now trying to court Clinton in the hope of saving his vast fortune.
"Oh, speaking of Mrs. Marshall," Mary said now. "There she is with her usual coterie. Should we go over and speak with her?"
The women glanced in the direction that Mary was indicating. A young woman, newly wed and indeed surrounded by her close companions. They were taking in the sun, walking through the park just as Margaret and her companions were. Though she was friendly enough with Mrs. Marshall and the other women, Margaret shook her head in the negative. The last thing she wanted just then, was to hear more about Tavington and his disdainful manners.
She settled for waving politely, which the other women returned with bright smiles, but both groups continued on in different directions. Margaret's thoughts again turned to Colonel Tavington. He frightened her and excited her all at the same time, she found the combination thrilling. She'd not felt such butterflies in her stomach since she was with her late fiancé. It confused and worried her, her reaction to the man - they'd only just met and he was now to be billeted in her home. Besides, Alice was quite correct, she was being courted by James Wilkins, first and foremost, and she had no doubt he would propose to her soon.
It was impossible though, Margaret couldn't help the flood of emotions and warm that surged through her whenever she so much pictured Tavington's face.
"What will you be wearing tonight, Alice?" Margaret asked, as they made their slow way back to Margaret's house. The women were to attend a banquet that evening, hosted by the Mason's. The occasion for the banquet was to officially welcome the British Officers who had been billeted in their home. The Mason's had invited most of their inner circle of friends, including Mary, Alice and Margaret of course.
"Yes, there will be plenty of unmarried men in attendance tonight," Mary said wistfully, then she glanced around Margaret, toward Alice, with a sly expression. "You'll want to look your best!"
"Match making again…" Alice said with a resigned sigh. If only Peter Chambers had not chosen Catherine - she could've been married quite happily by now. "Claire has made certain that we will all be there, to be viewed by the Redcoats…"
Margaret arched an eyebrow at Alice, showing her impatience.
"Oh all right! My bodice and skirts are of the palest pink," Alice took on an insipid tone, she didn't care much for fashion and the like, despite being from an aristocratic family. She would have worn dresses of a more severe and austere design if it weren't for her maid - who insisted her mistress give a better showing of herself. Alice continued in the same tone, exaggerated and insipid, "and of the finest silk, of course! With a darker pink and green embroidery throughout. My open robe is dark pink as well, and the hairnet I'll wear has emeralds throughout, to 'compliment the green embroidery,'" she said in a higher alto, before resuming her usual voice, "or so my maid Susanna assures me. I think its beastly myself."
"Oh, it sounds beautiful," Mary said wistfully, then continued to describe her dresses and robe in much more detail and far more passion. "I have been looking forward to this dinner for days, so I can finally wear it!" She finished enthusiastically.
"Miss Margaret," Maisy called as the ladies strolled to the front of Margaret's house. She met them at the wrought iron gate, looking almost frantic and when she began to speak it was in an admonishing tone, "I was just about to come searching for you! Where have you been? It is past time to start getting ready for the banquet!"
"Maisy," Margaret laughed. "We have hours yet."
"No, we don't! I want to try something new with your hair and if it doesn't work out then we might run out of enough time for me to do it over again!"
"Very well," Margaret turned to her friends, embraced them both farewell then followed her impatient maid into the house.
After she bathed, Margaret put on her long shift, then sat at her dressing table for an inordinate amount of time, while Maisy stood behind her, fussing with her hair. As Maisy worked, Margaret let her mind wander. She barely noticed the gentle pulling and tugging of her hair as she drifted off into a fantasy of Tavington.
Who was tracing soft, moist kisses along her neck. She had kissed James several times, but it never became as heated for her since that day in her sitting room. She had sat astride him, and the whole world had seemed to disappear as warmth and sensation had built toward something within her.
Until Charlotte had broken the spell, barging in and giving her the 'look', both disapproving and knowing, all at once.
James always seemed to respond with far more passion for her than she did for him. She did not allow their kisses to be more than that, not since that day, not since the hour long lecture she'd received from her infuriated sister. And he did not press her for more, but she could feel that he wanted to. The way he breathed, the way he looked at her with hooded eyes, the feel of his hardness pressed against her if they were standing during their kiss.
Alexander had been the same also. After they had become engaged, Alexander and Margaret had begun to explore each other – both unwilling to wait for their wedding night. He had taught her how to touch him, in a way that left him gasping and gulping for breath, his body bucking up, pushing his erection within the tight confines of her fingers until he erupted. He had always been so breathless afterward, kissing her so passionately. He had not known how to pleasure her, however and Margaret had not known either - she had been unable to teach him. It had felt nice, but always left her yearning, striving, but never quite reaching that ultimate height - that climax.
In her waking dream of Tavington, he gave her that climax she had been yearning for. Tavington's hand drifted under her skirts to run slowly along her stockinged thighs. She nearly sighed out loud, imagining his hand drifting higher, over the garter to linger on her bare skin. Higher he went, tracing his moist kisses along her neck, until his hand reached her centre, his palm pressing and circling her womanhood.
Margaret struggled to keep her breathing under control, and her face composed as Maisy did her hair. She could see her own reflection in small table mirror before her, her cheeks were becoming flushed, her eyes hooded.
She pushed up against his hand, encouraging him to apply more pressure. Tavington complied, pressing and circling to sweet perfection as his lips drifted higher, along her jaw, to meet her lips. She parted hers at once and sighed as his tongue touched hers. Margaret slowly rotated her hips in small circles, against Tavington's firm touch.
"Oh Colonel…" She whimpered against his lips, her face flushed.
Her face was blazing now, she saw when she looked into her mirror. Maisy did not seem to notice, humming as she continued her work, so Margaret slipped back into her dream.
"You are so beautiful Margie," Tavington whispered in her ear. He drew his hand away and Margaret whimpered with disappointment. Tavington chuckled at her.
"I'm not done yet, darling," he smiled at her, his pale blue eyes shining. Margaret swallowed, as his finger replaced his palm, delving within her moist folds, searching for her hardened womanhead. The touch to her quim was far more direct that his palm had been and Margaret gave a low moan of satisfaction, deepening their kiss.
"You have the most incredible eyes," she gasped, her own eyes glazed with need. The familiar feeling was building within her beneath his fingers, radiating out and gaining intensity. She pushed against his finger, more insistently than before, her hips working harder and faster. She drew back from his kiss and bit her lip, as her moans escaped her. The warmth was spreading through her now, building and building.
"Oh yes, I've wanted this for so long," she whispered while he smiled down at her. "…Oooh finally, it's going to happen, finally I'll know…"
"Are you well, Miss Margaret?" Maisy asked.
Her voice snapped Margaret out of her reverie. She stared wide eyed at her maid through the mirror for a moment, fearing that she may have been moaning out loud.
"Quite… Uh… Quite well, Maisy," she said breathlessly, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm fine. I was just thinking of what happened this morning, that's all."
Oh Lord, I was actually rocking my hips back and forth! This dream actually made me lose my control! Did she notice?
"Understandable, Miss Margaret. What a terrible thing to have happen! I was ever so worried…" Maisy continued to chatter as she worked on Margaret's hair, deaf to Margaret's audible sigh of relief. Maisy had not noticed.
"I'm ever so pleased that you spoke on Private Binnings behalf," she was saying. "When he bid me farewell earlier, he was quite uncertain of his future. Disobeying orders, attacking a superior officer… I told him all would be well, but he was still quite glum."
"If he was glum, Maisy, it would be because he was leaving you behind," Margaret smiled. "He probably fears he'll never see you again."
"He is probably right to fear it, if he does," Maisy replied. "He'll be quartered in camp and when do I ever venture from Charleston? I think this mornings farewell was just that - farewell. I'll miss his company…"
"You aren't heartbroken?" Margaret asked, surprised. "I thought you'd become quite fond of him."
"I had - but I wasn't in love, if that's what you were thinking," Maisy smiled. "My brothers liked him too - they've been nagging me about Binnings, expounding his virtues as though I couldn't see them for myself. But no - I'm not in love."
"Hmm, you could do worse," Margaret pinioned. "But if that's how you feel…"
"It is," Maisy said. "Besides - I'll never see him again now - remember?"
The two continued to chatter until Maisy was finally finished.
"So, what do you think?" She asked nervously when Margaret's hair was complete. Margaret gazed at her reflection with a smile - her wealth of golden hair had been pulled back from her face and gathered with a ribbon toward the back of her head like a thick pony tail. Then the bound hair was sectioned many times, the locks were twisted into tight curls to drop past her shoulders. A few long locks had been left out of the pony tail, Maisy curled them to frame Margaret's face. And draped over the ensemble was a light, jewelled hairnet encrusted with small amethysts.
"I love it," Margaret smiled. Maisy held a mirror behind her, so Margaret could see the back of the ensemble in her table mirror. "Oh, its just lovely," she gushed.
Her reaction pleased Maisy greatly, but it was now time to dress. The maid stood behind Margaret, who took hold of her bedpost and braced herself, while Maisy tugged and tied the laces of Margaret's stays. She straightened and glanced in the long stand mirror to study her figure critically. The stays gave her the conical shape favoured by women in the Colonies and abroad. The lovely V, making her waist appear tiny, her torso long, and her breasts full and round.
"I wish I was as tall as you," Maisy sighed. She had stood back to admire Margaret's figure as she so often did while dressing her mistress.
"You wouldn't like it so much if you were as tall as me," Margaret scoffed, as she so often did when Maisy made such comments. "I don't think many men like that I can look them straight in the eyes, and others who are shorter like it even less, when I have to look down to meet their eyes!"
"Well its a good thing Mr. Wilkins is so tall, hmm?" Maisy teased. "You don't have to worry about looking down on him, even when you are wearing…"
She paused for effect, then pulled forth a pair of heeled shoes from a box.
"These!" She finished proudly, holding the shoes out for Margaret's inspection.
"Oh, my word!" Margaret exclaiming, placing both hands over her open mouth. "Oh, did your father..?"
"He did," Maisy smiled. "I've kept them hidden from you, I thought you could wear them for the first time tonight. Aren't they pretty?"
"Pretty!" Margaret gasped, tracing her finger over the buckle. "They're beautiful! Oh, you're father is a wonderful man, and so talented!"
The pointed shoes with their two inch heel were covered with brocaded silk, a rich green and dark purple to compliment her dresses. A ceremonial silver buckle was fastened in the precise centre of each shoe.
"You like them, then?" Maisy smiled almost shyly.
"I love them!" Margaret laughed.
"Good!" Maisy set them aside, then turned back to continue dressing Margaret.
Two deep pockets on a long string were tied around her waist - this was where Margaret would keep her fan and other important items. Next were her silk petticoat, which rustled softly as Maisy pulled it out of the box. Margaret stepped into the dark green and rich purple petticoat carefully so as not to crease it. Lastly, her gown, also green and purple. The bodice and skirt - which made up the gown - were joined together and the skirt was open down the front to show the silk petticoat beneath. The sleeves of the gown were cuffed with white lace, almost long enough to cover Margaret's hands. Lastly, the purple silk gloves, a large amethyst hanging from a silk ribbon was clasped around her neck, a flat but wide brimmed hat and then - the shoes.
They fit her perfectly, as she knew they would. Mr. Harper - Maisy's cobbler father had been making her shoes for years. He often sent her gift such as the shoes she was wearing now, not only because he admired his daughter's mistress, but also because Margaret always showed the new shoes to her friends, who in turn sought him out to place orders for their own.
"You're ready," Maisy said finally, the discerning maid was finally satisfied.
"You've worked wonders, Maisy," Margaret smiled. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
It was time to leave - past time. She was late, but of course that was to be expected. Claire's house was only a few doors from hers, but while Margaret preferred to walk the short distance, the affair was far too formal. And so she headed through the house to the yard around the back, and climbed into Margaret's carriage. Maisy - along with the other Lady's maids, would be on hand but out of sight for the evening. They would most likely spend the night in one of the Mason's private rooms, chatting and gossiping over cordial, waiting to be summoned by their mistresses should they have need.
Jonah climbed up the front to drive the four team of horses. Honestly, the way Jonah was forced to take - from driving the carriage out of her yard and around the street to come back up Tradd St and stop outside Claire's home, took longer than if she had have walked it! But she would observe the formalities. Jonah opened the carriage door, and helped the women out. Claire's home was a little smaller than Margaret's, but not by much. Jonah escorted her into the foyer and then retreated. As did Maisy - she knew where the other maids would be waiting.
The Mason families butler then escorted Margaret, fashionably late, into the large and open, brightly lit parlor. And there was her friend, Mrs. Claire Mason, rushing toward her – embracing her and smiling brightly.
"I do not know how you manage to be late, Miss Putman, every time – you only live seven doors down!" Mr. Adam Mason admonished as he came forward. Margaret smiled fondly at him, allowing him to take her gloved hand and kiss it.
"Mary is not here yet, but come in and meet our guests! Some of whom you know, of course," Claire said, taking her friend's arm.
There were many people in the parlor already, the men far outnumbered the women, and most of them wore Redcoats. She was already acquainted with some of them, Captain MacIntyre for one - who kissed her hand lightly. She was introduced to others who she had not met before, Officers who were billeted elsewhere had been invited. She smiled and spoke politely to each, filing away their names so she would not embarrass herself by forgetting them later.
And then Mr. Mason guided her to yet another Gentleman, this one standing near the fireplace, watching her approach with his piercing pale eyes. Margaret's eyes widened when she saw him and her jaw almost dropped with astonishment. Her heart began to pound furiously and she barely stifled a loud gasp.
Recovering herself quickly, she schooled her expression, concealing her shock and excitement behind a polite smile.
Oh, but the butterflies… How they danced and flipped in her stomach! She couldn't stifle those - nor more than she could slow the rapid beating of her heart.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The guests made up a large group, Captain Bordon, Lieutenant Evans, Tavington himself and the Officers billeted at the Mason residence, plus several others. Then there were Mason's acquaintances, Colonial Loyalist's and their wives, and a few young, unmarried women. It was clear to Tavington, from the moment Mrs. Mason introduced the young maidens, that the woman was presenting possible brides to the British Officers. By Miss Aldridge's 'put upon' expression, she knew it to. Polite but very much reserved was how Tavington would describe Miss Aldridge.
And pretty enough - but no where near pretty enough to tempt him to marriage. Besides, she was a Colonial - it would be an English woman for him. Miss Caroline Tennant, maybe. While Mr. Tennant would surely feel that William had proven himself sufficiently and would therefore honor the agreement they'd made so long ago - William himself was no longer certain he needed that marriage connection. He'd far exceeded his own expectations in rising his family back to its former standing - and William had begun to wonder if, perhaps, it should be Mr. Tennant begging William to marry Caroline - not the other way around.
Be that as it may, Mrs. Claire Mason's attempts to lure Tavington toward one of her companions was a waste of time. He'd marry English born Caroline Tennant before any woman of the Colonies - no matter how aristocratic that woman might be. Miss Tenannt's standing in British society was far higher than any Colonial's could hope to be.
The Colonial Gentlemen present at the banquet conducted themselves well enough, many of them had enjoyed an education in London just as Tavington himself had. Even still, there was a wide gulf between their social classes.
With thanks to his hard work over the last four years, while the Tavington family was not yet wealthy, they had been welcomed back by the Gentry. The family - on Mrs. Tavington side, were almost of the Peerage and held a high position in the upper ranks of the aristocracy. But even if they were still at their lowest - as they were four years previous before Tavington joined the military - they would still have ranked higher than any Gentleman of the Colonies, for they were still of the English aristocracy.
No matter how affluent a Colonial family might be, no matter how well educated the menfolk, no matter how high they ranked in Colonial Society they would always be commoners. Gentlemen, perhaps, but commoners just the same. Their daughters too - no matter how beautiful.
And that went for Miss Margaret Putman also - as regal, as beautiful and as wealthy as she was. Of course, that did not stop William from feeling drawn to her - his attraction to her was undeniable. And he would pursue her, as soon as he moved to her residence on the morrow.
But marriage? Tavington sniffed to himself. No. Mrs. Mason would have to search elsewhere for husbands for her Colonial friends.
He circled the room, bowing politely and conversing quietly with each guest in turn. Then, with that obligation done, he made his way toward the large the fireplace, where he stood holding a brandy in a careless grip. Several people approached him as he stood his vigil and he was polite to each one. It would have been ill mannered to do anything else! It would be impolite to treat them with too much indifference.
He was much more at ease and friendly with his fellow English born Officers, than he was with the Colonials in the room. Though he tried to treat them as equals, the Colonials eventually drifted away, each one sensing his arrogance.
He took a sip of his brandy - which was an excellent quality. There were always the good to outweigh the bad, as Evans' continually reminded him. Another good to outweigh the bad was that Evans and Bordon had been included on the guest list. He was on friendly enough terms with the other Officers but Evans had always been a brother to him and Bordon had become just as close over the last four years of serving together.
And it does get me away from Mrs. Chambers. There - three 'goods' to outweigh the bad.
Despite believing himself to be above the Colonials, he had to admit that they did have their charms. Mrs. Claire Mason was quite the beauty, and if he was billeted in this house he would have given her a wild chase. It was very frustrating for him, for the Mason's lived on Tradd Street - only a handful of houses away from Margaret Putman! He had ridden past her manor, to get to the Mason's! He'd even slowed his horse, staring across at her home from the road, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her in one of the many well lit windows. It was not to be however and he had been forced to continue on his way.
Still, he thought now, the Mason's must be acquaintances of Margaret's, living so close to her. That perked him up considerably, the realisation that he could question them about her.
He gave no outward indication of it, but William's stomach began to growl. This was to be a banquet, but they could not begin until the last two guests had arrived. Mrs. Mason had already joked that the two ladies liked to be 'fashionably' late, a concept which had always irritated Tavington. He was always on time and he did not like to be kept waiting for any reason.
Especially for dinner.
He had not eaten since lunch time and his hunger was beginning to make him decidedly peevish. They should have sat down at table a half hour ago! Still, he hid his impatience behind a mask of indifference.
A few moments later, the next guest was escorted into the room and Tavington's mask of indifference slipped. Vanished completely. He gaped with astonishment as Margaret Putman entered, her bright smile lighting the room. His hunger switched to an entirely different kind, as he watched her embrace Mrs. Mason. His heart leapt when she began to laugh brightly at something Mr. Mason said to her. Then both the Mason's took her in hand and began to circle the room with her. She was greeted by her other friends, introduced to the new Officers not of her acquaintance. All the while, Tavington watched her avidly, too shocked to move.
She was greeted by Captain MacIntyre, who had clearly met her before. They were close enough to William that snippets of their conversation came to him, enough to discern that MacIntyre had visited Margaret in her home on several occasions. Hot, searing jealously sliced through him, the discovery that the Captain would try to court her. For what other purpose would he visit a young maid, to drink tea in her parlor?
As he watched her, his eyes took on a burning glint. That another man wanted her - and it was clear by MacIntyre's expression that he did want her! She was a beautiful woman, after all, regal and queenly in her bearing. He was hard pressed to remember she was merely a Colonial, when he gazed at her now. Thoughts of her had consumed him all through out the day, he had even had to grab Betty and pull her into his chamber to get some relief from the arousal those thoughts had inspired in him.
She was led away from MacIntyre and Mr. Mason turned her with the intention of bringing her over to introduce her to Tavington next. Their eyes met finally and Margaret's jaw dropped, her eyes widened as far as they would go.
Seeing her reaction, a small, smug smile quirked his lips. She quickly schooled her expression, masking her astonishment behind a polite facade, but it was too late. Tavington had seen it - he was not one to be fooled so easily. He watched her approach, taking the opportunity to admire her - the way she moved, so graceful, her blue eyes sparkling brightly in the candlelight. He neck, so long, he longed to rain kisses along that soft skin…
And then she was standing before him, her hands crossed before her, her eyes and smile very warm.
"Colonel Tavington," Adam Mason began, "might I introduce Miss Putman? Who, though she lives only seven doors down, still manages to be late to every single engagement we have in our home."
Margaret laughed, turning to face Adam.
"I am nothing if not consistent. That's an admirable trait, is it not?"
Tavington gazed at her behind lowered lids. He had not noticed her quick wit earlier, the circumstances of their meeting had been too strained. Now, however, she was clearly at her ease, in her element and he was able to see a much different side to her. He loved the sound of her voice - low and husky yet feminine all the same. The drawling South Carolinian accent dripping from this beauty's lips had his member hardening. He began to imagine her whispering his name and moaning in his ears with that lovely voice of hers as he, naked and covered with a thin film of sweat from his exertions, plunged into her again and again and –
"We've already met, haven't we, Colonel Tavington?" Margaret said now, her polite smile becoming almost shy.
"Indeed we have," Tavington replied warmly, inclining his head respectfully, "though the circumstances were rather strained. I think meeting you now, as though for the first time, is much more to my liking."
"Then let us forget the unpleasantness," she said softly and held her hand out to his, offering him to shake it. She continued playfully, "Its an honor to meet you Sir - now, for the first time."
"And you, Miss Putman," William clasped her hand and after shaking it once, he turned her wrist, slid his fingers along her palm to hold her finger tips, then lifted her gloved hand to his lips. Margaret's breath caught audibly. "And a very real pleasure," he continued, raising his eyes from her hand and meeting her gaze.
She swallowed hard, her face flushed crimson. He was still holding her hand - far longer than propriety dictated.
"Oh? I had not heard, you've not mentioned it before, Margie!" Adam admonished, seeming oblivious to the obvious attraction between the pair. Margaret dragged her eyes from William's - a great effort it took too, for she felt hypnotised for a moment there, almost drowning.
"Because we only met today," Margaret answered breathlessly. "Colonel Tavington helped me have that despicable Brendon removed from my house." Recovering herself somewhat, she leaned a little closer to William and pitched her voice low for his ear alone. "That poxy bastard."
Tavington smiled slowly, he did not think she was used to cursing.
"Truly! Well that is good news!" Mr. Mason exclaimed. "We were ever so worried about you, Margie!"
Hmm, Margie... Tavington sighed heavily. I could whisper that in her ear, as my hand moves back and forth between her legs, kissing her long neck, listening to her sighs of pleasure -
"And some of the Dragoons will replace Brendon, from tomorrow," Margaret announced, her voice back to normal now. No longer breathless. "That's correct, isn't it, Colonel?"
"Indeed, first thing tomorrow morning." Tavington said. As soon as the words were out, he realised he had a done a terrible job of hiding the anticipation in his voice!
Well, I did tell her she was beautiful, no point in trying to hide my regard now.
The butler entered once more, to announce the last member of their party, and Mr. Mason moved away to greet her. Margaret, feeling the heat from the fire, pulled her gloves from her hands and slid them through slits in her skirts, into her pockets.
"Stand with me, Miss Putman," Tavington invited, drawing her attention back to him. He shifted slightly to move closer to her. Margaret nodded, though she lowered her eyes and smiled shyly. He stood far closer to her than new acquaintances should, close enough to smell her scent, the clean smell of roses. Close enough that if he were to reach his hand slightly closer, just so, he would be touching her fingers.
She twitched her hand away with surprise and her eyes widened once again. Then she laughed softly, her eyes lingering on his warm, teasing smile before meeting his gaze again. The newcomer was being led into the room and Margaret averted her eyes from William's - she had to, or her face would blaze furiously under his hot gaze. Instead, she watched as the newcomer was escorted and introduced through the room.
This time, when his fingers reached for hers again, she did not pull her hand away. Her voluminous skirts hid their playful activity, if anyone was to glance their way they would merely see two people standing a little too closely, sharing warm smiles. William was free to caress her, from her wrist, down her palm, along her fingers then back up again. Though she kept her face composed, William heard her audible sigh of pleasure. He was pleased when she returned the caress, their fingers intwining briefly before moving along one another again.
Meanwhile, they made polite conversation, William in his self contented drawl, and Margaret in a breathy whisper.
"I hope you've had a relaxing day after the unpleasantness of this morning?" William asked her now, his fingers never ceasing their caress.
"It was quite enjoyable, thank you," Margaret answered politely. "I went for a walk through the park with my friends - Mary," she pointed at the women who was still being introduced to the other Officers, Evans was bowing over her hand at that moment. "And Alice." She indicated the unmarried maiden who William had met a short while earlier.
"Hmm," he replied, "the comforting presence of friends would have gone a long way to help calm you."
"That and the knowledge I'll be perfectly safe in future, with the Green Dragoons taking over Brendon's billet."
"Indeed," he said, giving her hand a light squeeze. "You'll be well protected."
"Well, that is unless you have a poxy bastard hiding amongst your men," she smiled and Tavington almost choked on his wine. Margaret laughed and turned back to watch her friends progress, Mary was only a few yards away now.
"I assure you, there are no poxy bastards in my troop," he scoffed quietly, drawing her attention back to him.
"I'm glad to hear it," she said meeting his gaze. A silence descended as the two studied one another, their eyes lingering.
"And I'm glad you removed your gloves," he whispered finally. "Your skin is so soft."
Margaret melted for a moment, her heart pounded in her chest.
"And yours are rough and calloused," she eventually whispered with a teasing smile. "Typical man's hands..."
"I hope they do not offend you too much, my calloused man's hands. Perhaps I should..." He began to withdraw his hand from hers, slowly, giving her time to reach for his fingers again.
"No, no I never said they offended me," she replied hastily.
He chuckled low in his throat when she gripped his fingers.
"Tease," she accused him. He nodded with another laugh, agreeing with her. The two continued the slow caresses.
And then Mary was bought before them. He had not met her before but it was clear she was well acquainted with Margaret, judging by their shared smiles.
"Colonel Tavington, may I introduce Miss Mary Thompson?" Mr. Mason asked. To Tavington's disappointment, Margaret pulled her hand away from his, he was unable to catch her fingers again, the movement would have been far too visible. With one hand clutching a goblet, he needed his other to take hold of Mary's hand, in any case.
Tavington bowed slightly, taking Miss Thompson's hand and kissing it lightly on its top. He released it straight away without lingering, and noticed Miss Putman's pleased smile out of the corner of his eye. He had lingered over her hand - the gesture had not been lost on her. Mary was pretty, with her black hair and bright brown eyes, though all Tavington could think about was Margaret, standing close to him with her hands at her sides.
"Its nice to meet you, Sir," Mary was saying as William covertly tried to reach for Margaret's fingers again. However, a servant was circling the parlor with a tray filled with wine glasses at that moment. Just as his fingers brushed against hers, Margaret drew her hers away again, to reach for a glass from the tray.
She could have taken the glass with her other hand, William thought, trying not to scowl. It was clear that she was indicating their play had come to an end.
"And you," he replied to Mary a little stiffly, irritated and disappointed.
"Come Mary," Margaret said. "Alice is sitting alone, lets go and cheer her."
Without so much as a glance in his direction, Margaret linked her arm through Mary's, turned her, then walked away! William could only watch, astounded, as Margaret threaded her way through the guests, stopping eventually to side beside their friend.
Mason was speaking to him, and William cast his mind back quickly to take up the conversation. Though his eyes were hard and cold as he watched Margaret, across the room from him now, talking and laughing as though he didn't even exist. Eventually Mason moved away, he was the host and it was his responsibility to keep his guests entertained.
He was left to himself for a short time but eventually a giggling Miss Fergusson joined him. Such was to be his company for the evening! With Margaret across the room? It was not to be borne! He would not make a fool of himself, however. He settled for watching her, his lips tight with frustration. He barely noticed when a puzzled, and somewhat hurt, Miss Fergusson moved off - Margaret held all of his attention. She had been joined by Captain MacIntyre who was now sitting beside her, and was laughing brightly at something the Captain was saying. She was flirting with MacIntyre, William was certain of it!
He took a long pull of wine, a scowl settling across his handsome face.
"Ah, Tavington?" Evans said quietly at his side.
William had not even heard his friend approach, engrossed as he was with his vigil. He spared an irritated glance for his Lieutenant.
"Brother mine," Evans began, "Miss Putman is not the only woman in the room and the others are starting to talk."
"I was holding her hand, Stephen!" Tavington fumed under his breath and Evans quirked his eyebrows with surprise. "And she was holding mine - she was enjoying it! But then her friend came along and she just… Moved off!"
"I didn't see a thing," Stephen laughed incredulously. "Be that as it may, William - hushed whispers are already flying, of your arrogance and of your seeming regard for Miss Putman. I suppose its harmless enough but I do think it would be better if you didn't give the others cause to speak about you behind their hands."
Tavington blew out an angry breath, but nodded; finally turning his attention to another pair of ladies who were approaching.
Dinner was torture. Through terrible luck, William was seated between Miss Fergusson and Miss Aldridge, while Margaret was seated at the other end of the table with Mary, MacIntyre and Bordon. And if that weren't bad enough, Margaret was seated on the same side of the table as himself. At least if she had been across from him, the two could have exchanged flirtatious glances! He could hear her voice and her rich laughter but couldn't see her and that just made the torment worse. He could not be included in her conversation in anyway whatsoever.
Peevishly, he resolved to interrogate Bordon later; he would tell him everything Margaret said.
Finally dinner was over and the guests retired once more to the parlor. When he entered, he saw Margaret was again sitting beside Alice Aldridge, the two chatting amiably. Seeing his opportunity, he immediately began to walk toward her, intending to claim the empty space on the chaise to Margaret's other side. Captain MacIntyre had the same idea unfortunately. By this stage, William had become irritated and impatient to be with Margaret. When he drew level with the other Officer, he stared him down with such a scowl that MacIntyre, inclining his head nervously, backed down. He retreated quickly under Colonel Tavington's icy gaze.
William lowered himself to the chaise beside Margaret. He was where he wanted to be now, and he forcibly smoothed the irritated scowl from his face. Oblivious to his irritation, Margaret smiled and greeted him warmly. The only woman in the room worth speaking to, in his opinion and she'd ignored him utterly!
No, he could not win her over, charm her, if he was behaving surly. And so he engaged both Margaret and her friend in polite conversation. Alice did not seem to regard him particularly highly, she spoke cooly and sparingly, and after a short time had passed, she made her excuses, leaving him alone with Margaret. Relatively alone, in any case. The parlor was filled with the hum of the many guests speaking and laughing, making merry.
Tavington's sole attention was on Margaret however and he found his irritation dwindling away, finally vanishing completely. The two took up from where they left off earlier, with their warm smiles and lingering gazes. With a covert glance to ensure no one was watching, he reached for her hand and pulled it to the small gap on the chaise between them, resuming his gentle caresses along her fingers. She smiled shyly and again returned his caresses.
"Did you enjoy yourself at dinner, with Bordon and MacIntyre?" he asked her in a low drawl as his fingers glided along hers.
"I did," she said, a little breathlessly. "They are both friendly and easy to talk too. I don't believe the conversation lagged for a moment and I feel like I have known Captain Bordon for years. And you? Have you enjoyed yourself this evening?"
"I admit I would have preferred a different seating arrangement at dinner..." He said as he wound his fingers firmly through hers, linking their hands, while caressing her thumb with his. Her breath caught and her eyes closed for a moment, with the enjoyment of having her hand held so securely in his.
"I enjoy Bordon's conversation too, you see," he continued with a mischievous glint.
"Ah, so it was Bordon you missed at dinner?" She asked playfully. "He was the only reason you desired a different seating arrangement?"
"Perhaps there was another I would have liked to spend time with," he admitted. "Yes - I remember now. There is a particularly beautiful woman here tonight who I would have liked to become better acquainted with."
"Oh? Cruel of you to say so, you'll have me feeling quite jealous," she gave his hand a playful squeeze, then pulled out of his grasp with panic when Miss Fergusson drew close. Tavington kept his face smooth trying to stifle an irritated scowl.
Music began to tinkle through the room and Tavington glanced over his shoulder to see Alice Aldridge seated behind the pianoforte, tapping away at the keys. Margaret listened to her friend playing with a small smile, flicking her foot in time with the music. Tavington was more interested in watching Margaret, who he turned back to now.
"She plays beautifully, doesn't she?" Margaret asked him after a moment. Just then, Tavington clearly heard Alice skip a key. The woman continued on, missing another note before gaining her stride again.
"She passable, I suppose," he said truthfully, but unwisely. He had spent many hours listening to his sister while she played at the pianoforte. She was without fault when she played, and Alice Aldridge simply did not measure up to Eleanor.
Margaret laughed with incredulity. "I think she's quite talented! You mustn't have an ear for music, Sir!"
"If that is your opinion," Tavington said before he could stop himself. "You mustn't have an ear for music."
Margaret drew in a sharp breath and William almost groaned, wishing he could have the words back. It was too late, however. She stiffened with offence and pulled her hand from him.
"Yes, I've heard of your disdain for your rustic Colonial cousins," she accused with a sniff. "I'm sorry we are such a disappointment to you."
"Some of you are not," William replied softly. He reached out to take hold of her hand, hoping a few gentle caresses would smooth her ruffled feathers. Seeing this, Margaret deliberately reached for her wine, preventing him from taking a hold of her hand again.
Tavington sighed, vexed. He had always found it difficult to hold his tongue, preferring to speak his mind. Lord Cornwallis admonished him for it continually; he would never make a good diplomat. The silence stretched, William studied Margaret while her eyes were resolutely fixed on Alice.
"Do you play?" He asked her, to break the silence and draw her attention back to him.
"Of course," she said shortly, refusing to meet his gaze.
"Would you play tonight, for me?" He coaxed her gently.
He wished they were alone. If they were, he could run his fingers through that stray delicate curl... He would touch it to his lips, then his fingers would drop to her shoulder and he would caress her skin ever so gently. She would sigh as he fingers drifted higher to caress her neck -
"You must be joking! I wouldn't dare, not now!" She snapped, jerking him from his reverie. "I mustn't have an ear for music, remember? No, Sir. I will not play for you, you are too harsh a critic."
"Miss Putman," William began coolly - it was difficult to keep the edge from his voice but he wanted to set things right between them. How the Hell could it fall apart like this? She had been smiling when he sat down! He smoothed his voice with effort, "I would never judge you harshly - "
"No? You'll save that for my friends?" She arched an eyebrow, still speaking in that scathing tone.
William's irritation was increasing steadily. A cruel retort rose to his lips but he bit it back and struggled to control his temper.
"What are you two talking about, over here all alone?" A woman interrupted, joining them uninvited. "It must be intriguing."
Tavington stared coolly at the woman, not bothering to try and place her name, though he knew he had met her earlier in the evening.
One of the Colonial's wives... He thought dismissively.
"Nothing of import, Mrs. Marshall." Margaret replied shortly. "Music."
"Music is of huge import, Miss Putman!" Mrs. Marshall gushed. "I never would have thought to hear you say those words, considering you're own love of it. Colonel Tavington, Miss Putman is easily the most accomplished in this room tonight, and her voice!" She turned back to Margaret. "I know, you must sing for us, while Miss Aldridge plays! It will be like old times. You see, Colonel - we've not been together like this for ever so long - since before the siege began, I think!"
"You sing as well as play?" William asked, perking up slightly.
"No, I'm not going to -"
Mrs. Marshall overrode her completely.
"Oh, yes - a beautiful voice she has too. Oh, please, Miss Putman, join Miss Aldridge!"
Margaret was shaking her head, but it was too late. Too many had heard the request and when they added their voice Mrs. Marshall's request, she could not politely refuse them. At their urging she put her wine glass down and rose reluctantly. As she past him, she shot William a baleful glare.
Clearly, it is my fault, he rolled his eyes.
She walked over to stand at Alice's side. They spent quite some time fussing and debating which piece should be played. Finally it was settled and Alice began the piece. Margaret gazed straight ahead, deliberately avoiding William's eyes. Mrs. Marshall, who was still seated near him had a smile of anticipation and William felt his own anticipation rising.
Margaret projected her voice softly at first, as the piece required, but before long her voice soared across the room. It was a sweet yet strong sound and Tavington felt it move through him. She was easily Eleanor's equal.
As she sang, he noticed her eyes began to lose that angry glint, the music carrying her away. The other guests clapped softly or tapped their feet, the entire assemblage had their gaze fixed on Margaret. Everyone including William. He stared at her in frank admiration, her voice filling him. She sang faster now, turning to Miss Aldridge and smiling as her friend picked up the tempo. She had such a rich voice, perfectly in tune, had such range! Hitting the high notes and the low with ease. The song was over far too soon for Tavington, who could have watched and listened to this beautiful woman all night long.
"See," Mrs. Marshall said, her face flushed with enjoyment. "The most accomplished!"
"Quite!" Tavington agreed fervently. He continued to watch Margaret as she stepped away from the pianola. As soon as she returned to sit by him, he decided, he would smooth the waters between them with compliments on her singing, showing his genuine regard for her. He waited expectantly as she came his way, waiting for her to return to him.
Margaret, however, did not return to him. His eyes widened with astonishment as she took a different direction, away from him. Instead, it was Bordon and Evans who were given the opportunity to shower her with their acclaim as she sat with them and her friend, Mary Thompson. Frustration set in once more as Tavington was left to gaze at the back of Margaret's head.