Though I managed to control my first outburst at dinner, it only proved more difficult as the evening progressed. Rutledge and Cornwallis became more and more gregarious, while Tavington, realizing that his insinuations about Rutledge's—um, gentlemanhood—weren't having the desired affect on his target, had given up on speech. Instead, he spent the remainder of dinner sitting rigidly on the edge of his seat, eyes narrowed, staring at Rutledge with comically intense distaste. I noted with amusement that Tavington's left hand was not-so-subtly grasping the hilt of his sword at his side; Rutledge seemed to have replaced the unfortunate lieutenants as the bane of Tavington's existence and the target of his tendency toward violence. Had Rutledge not been securely in the protection of Cornwallis's good will, I might have seriously feared for his safety—this weird fascination I had with Tavington wasn't enough to blind me, in my more rational moments, to the fact that he was dangerous—but as it was, I was nothing so much as entertained.

After dinner we moved into the parlor, where Rutledge immediately offered to "divert us all". Tavington's eyebrows lowered ominously at this suggestion, but Cornwallis applauded the idea. "Oh, by all means, my dear sir. Capital!"

Rutledge smiled. He crossed the room and removed a dusty violin from its place on the mantel. He plucked the strings and grimaced to himself as we all settled onto chairs. "I do apologize, but I'm afraid it's rather dreadfully out of tune." I stole a glance at Tavington as Rutledge tuned his violin; the Colonel's expression was so incredibly murderous that I wondered whether he might not just give in and attack poor Rutledge.

"And what do you fancy, Mrs. Tavington?" Rutledge turned to me, violin tuned, bow raised eagerly.

"Um…do you know any Haydn?" I said tentatively.

Rutledge raised an eyebrow. "The Prussian?"

"I suppose so," I said. Clearly not everyone shared Lawrence's enthusiasm for Prussians.

"I'm afraid not, madam. What about a gavotte? Perhaps you and the Colonel would care to have a dance?" Rutledge smiled conspiratorially at Cornwallis, who smiled back and ate a lemon drop. They both looked at me expectantly.

"I…um…" I said intelligently.

Tavington made my answer unnecessary by rising out of his chair so suddenly that I jumped. "You must excuse me, Mr. Rutledge," he growled. "I find that I am rather…fatigued. I bid you good day." And with that, he spun on his heel and exited the room. We all listened to him march up the stairs and slam the bedroom door; and then Rutledge resumed his expectant position.

"Carl Bach, then," he said, and began to bow vigorously.

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I wandered upstairs after half an hour of Rutledge's playing. It was lovely, but I really was tired, and, truthfully, I was curious to see if I could get any conversation out of Tavington. He had been so viciously disagreeable this evening that I wondered if maybe there was something bothering him. Besides, of course, his general bad humor reacting to the addition of a foppish rebel to our everyday lives.

My hand was already on the handle to my bedroom door before I realized that it might be prudent to knock. Memories of my odd encounter with Tavington the evening before had been popping up, unwanted, in my head all day long, and the last thing I needed was to fuel my confusion by seeing the man less than fully clothed. My tap on the door was met with a gruff "Enter."

I needn't have worried. Tavington was stretched out on the bed, clad in his usual nighttime attire: uniform shirt, slightly open, and riding pants. His hands were behind his head, and he was staring intently up at the canopy over the bed. Involuntarily, I felt a pang of sympathy. "Long day?"

"In more than one way," agreed Tavington, unhooking his hands from behind his head and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He heaved a large sigh and stood up, swaying slightly. "You'll forgive me, madam, if I am more than usually inclined toward sleep."

With some difficulty, I refrained from rolling my eyes. "I won't be offended if you go to bed, if that's what you're trying to say. You know, you don't have to treat me like I'm a total stranger." A voice in the back of my head reminded me that we were pretty much total strangers, but my natural desire to befriend people overrode my consciousness of the bizarre situation I was in.

But Tavington had already adopted the brusque exterior he always had, any trace of weakness gone. We stood regarding each other across the bed, his ice-blue eyes locked onto my darker ones with an almost challenging expression. He didn't say anything, and my sympathy quickly morphed into frustration.

"What is wrong with you?!" I burst out. "You're obviously upset about something, but how do you think it's going to get any better if you don't let it out?"

He raised an eyebrow when I began speaking, but otherwise remained passive. "I wasn't aware that you would be offended by my reticence," he said coolly. "I beg your pardon, madam."

That was it. I stormed around the bed to where Tavington stood and stared him in the eye, trying to ignore his height advantage. "If you call me 'madam' one more time…." I didn't, of course, have an appropriate threat to finish that statement, but he fortunately ignored this.

"As you wish," he replied composedly, turning away from me. "I would by no means wish to affront your sensibilities."

I resisted the urge to slap him with some difficulty and stormed into the adjoining closet to change into my sweatpants and shirt. When I came back out, Tavington was asleep, or pretending to be. I climbed into bed, still seething, but I was asleep before I could contemplate why exactly I cared so much about what Tavington called me.

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Colonel Tavington had left the plantation early the next morning, determined to avoid any conversation with his wife. And, as usual, she had remained asleep as he left the room. He fully intended to talk to Cornwallis the moment the General arrived at camp; the situation could not continue. In the meantime, he had some business to attend to.

Tavington strode across camp toward the Dragoons' sector under the lightening sky. He paused for a moment, getting his bearings, and then ducked into a tent directly in front of him. "Lieutenants!" he barked.

Bligh and Lawrence leapt out of bed to attention, Bligh blinking furiously, Lawrence yawning surreptitiously. Tavington smiled coldly. "I was under the impression that you had sentry duty at the plantation today. Were you planning to fulfill your obligations, or would you perhaps rather spend the day in bed?"

There was no reply: Bligh knew any answer would only incense the Colonel further, and Lawrence's attention had been caught by a flash of red. Tavington followed Lawrence's gaze. "Yes, Lieutenant Lawrence, I have your scarf. I am returning it to you only because I never wish to see it again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Lawrence, taking the scarf. "Thank you, sir."

"If I ever see you with that scarf around your neck again, Lieutenant, it will be because I am strangling you with it. Do I make myself clear?" barked Tavington.

"Yes, sir," repeated Lawrence.

Tavington said nothing, merely turned on his heel and ducked out of the tent. He sincerely hoped Cornwallis would be in to camp early this morning; the only way to alleviate his current foul mood would be to talk the General out of this continuing ridiculousness. Fortunately, by the time he made it across camp, Tavington saw sentries stationed outside Cornwallis's tent. He marched in, glaring at the sentries as he did so.

The General was seated at his table, sipping a cup of tea as O'Hara pointed something out on a map. Both men turned to look at Tavington as he entered, O'Hara offering a curt nod and a slight sneer, Cornwallis a surprised smile. "Colonel Tavington! What brings you here this morning? I had thought you were attending to the Dragoons' supply lists?"

"I am, Milord. However, I've run into some—difficulties, and I wondered if you might have a moment to spare?"

"Yes, of course. How may we be of service?" Cornwallis looked expectant, and Tavington realized, belatedly, that O'Hara was still there.

"Forgive me, Milord, but I feel these matters are best discussed…privately." It was a risk, but Tavington obviously couldn't discuss his marriage—or Rutledge—with O'Hara present.

Cornwallis raised his eyebrows and turned to O'Hara, who begrudgingly took the hint. It was no secret that he disliked Tavington. "I shall be in the armory, Milord," he said shortly, and exited.

Cornwallis turned back to Tavington, smile broadening. "Now, what can I do for you, my dear fellow? Having trouble…sleeping?"

It was all Tavington could do to stop his eyes from rolling. "Not precisely, Milord."

"Well, out with it, then! You're fooling nobody with your circumlocution," barked the General.

Tavington took a deep breath. "Milord, I have given the matter much reflection, and I have come to ask you to consider an annulment."

Whatever Cornwallis had expected, it wasn't that. The knowing grin disappeared instantly, and he looked positively floored. "An annulment?"

"Yes, Milord. I find that the married state is unsuited to my own disposition, and I believe my wife to be…" How best to put this? He couldn't attack the girl, or Cornwallis would dismiss the request instantly. "…unready for marriage, particularly to an insensitive brute such as myself."

By the time this sentence was out, Cornwallis had clearly recovered. "Oh, Tavington, if that's your only complaint, I think the whole matter is best discussed with your wife!" he said, knowing smile creeping back onto his face.

"Milord?" Now it was Tavington's turn to be mildly astonished.

"You can't come running to your superiors every time you and Mrs. Tavington have a spat!" said the General, wagging his index finger at Tavington.

"Sir, I—"

"None of that, now, Colonel! I realize it's quite a change for a young whippersnapper such as yourself to be tied down to a woman—" Cornwallis waggled his eyebrows— "but all men go through this once they reach a certain age."

This conversation was not at all going the way Tavington had envisioned. "Milord—"

"No, no, my dear Colonel, you will just have to keep your head down," continued Cornwallis as though Tavington hadn't interrupted him. "Live and learn, as they say. Marriages aren't always such happy affairs as your first week has been! Now and then even the most blissful couple must have a tiff. Part of the institution, you see."

"Milord," said Tavington, so firmly that the General was forced to pause momentarily and take notice. "There were other reasons than merely my own sensibilities."

"I must reiterate, Colonel Tavington, that I have no interest in counseling you on your marriage," thundered Cornwallis, eyebrows coming together ominously. "However, in the interests of Mrs. Tavington, I shall hear you out."

"You are most gracious, Milord," replied Tavington, noting again the General's obvious preference for his wife. Cornwallis nodded curtly, accepting the compliment, and gestured for Tavington to continue as he took a sip of tea. "To put questions of incompatibility aside for a moment, I must speak to you about a more practical issue. As you know, my family name has been…tarnished…by my late father's behavior."

Cornwallis nodded again, looking somewhat wary, and took another sip of tea as Tavington continued. "My intent had always been to marry—advantageously, as the option of marrying for more sentimental reasons was closed to me due to circumstance." Tavington sincerely hoped that the General understood his insinuations, but Cornwallis's closed expression offered no clarification as to his thoughts. "My father's choices left me to make few of my own, and it therefore came as something of a shock to find myself married to a girl of questionable loyalties and dubious parentage. I did your bidding, Milord, which I accepted as the duty of an officer to his superior, but—I must now ask you to revoke that order and grant me my independence once more. Give me the opportunity to pursue my own objects, Milord, and place the girl into the care of someone who can provide for her properly." Speech delivered, Tavington felt almost more tension than before. He had tried to make it clear that the marriage made little practical sense, for the girl as well as for him, but there was no indication that Cornwallis saw it as anything other than Tavington's attempt to remove himself from an unpleasant situation and abandon his wife.

The General was silent for a moment and took a final sip of tea before turning his gaze from the table to Tavington, considering the Colonel intently. Finally, he spoke. "Colonel Tavington, I understand that your father's conduct must have been a difficult burden to bear. I believe that to be the reason you originally abandoned university in favor of a military career?" Tavington nodded mutely, hardly daring to hope that the General would actually yield to his request. "Colonel, you have risen through the ranks rapidly since purchasing your commission," continued Cornwallis. "You have proven yourself a consummate commander time and again. However," and the General's eyebrows came together again, "you have taken a worrying turn toward brutality in recent weeks. These tactics may win battles, but they do not win wars; rather, slaughter of civilians will serve only to incense the populace further. I believe I told you, perhaps a fortnight ago, that you should find another way of helping to rid the colonies of these troublesome rebels?"

"You did, Milord," said Tavington, feeling that the conversation was no longer headed in the direction he had hoped for.

"And, as of a week ago, I saw no indication that your strategy had changed at all. And then Miss Kat arrived on our doorstep, as the saying goes. She needed protection, you needed a tempering influence, and I trusted that everything else would take care of itself gradually."

Tavington fought to keep his voice steady as he said, "Clearly, Milord, your assumptions were—misinformed. My marital state has done nothing to improve my—"

"Ah, but it has, Colonel!" boomed Cornwallis, smiling once more. "Your raid on the rebel troops two days ago proved that. You wiped out a squadron of rebels, but the reports from your men were that you were merciful, even to the point of offering the last several the option of surrender."

Tavington cursed himself for his foolish moment of mercy—it had come purely from a sense of security, his men surrounding the three remaining rebels. "Yes, Milord, and then I killed one myself," he said, determined to prove Cornwallis's theory wrong.

"Because he attacked you!" said Cornwallis. "And I believe you bear a wound to attest to the fact!"

Tavington frowned and touched the sore sport on his abdomen. "Milord, I fail to see how this has anything to do with my wife."

"Colonel, whether you choose to recognize the fact or not, that woman has had an impact on you!" rumbled the General.

"Even if that is the case, Milord, I feel that the impact has been solely negative in nature!" spat Tavington, trying in vain to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "She is entirely too—free-spirited and liberal! Trying to converse with her is maddening!"

"My dear fellow, I've seen what you refer to as conversation, and I assure you that it is not—at least not the type of conversation one has with ladies," said Cornwallis, somewhat pompously.

"She can hardly be referred to as a lady!" snapped Tavington.

Cornwallis raised his eyebrows. "Heavens, Colonel, what has Mrs. Tavington done to you? I imagine," he said, a smile creeping across his face, "that you find it rather harder to force her to submit to your will than you do your men."

Tavington could feel his face reddening from anger, much against his will. Did everyone know what had happened on his wedding night? Well, surely the General wasn't implying that now—he'd done his best to keep up appearances— "This is absurd, Milord!"

Rather than taking objection to Tavington's insubordination, Cornwallis merely smiled more broadly. "I quite agree, Colonel, but may I remind you that it was you who came to me this morning, demanding a solution for your marital problems?"

"The woman is a horror, Milord!" roared Tavington. "Quite aside from my continuing objections about her parentage and lack of fortune, she is frightfully independent and entirely too opinionated! This is an impossible situation, I tell you!"

"Impossible, Colonel Tavington?" said Cornwallis, unperturbed by Tavington's outburst. "I hardly think so. First, as I believe I hinted when you and Mrs. Tavington first became engaged, I might be persuaded to assist you in securing a better place in society than the one your father forfeited. Once this colonial squabble is over, you will find that, through me, you will be extremely well-positioned to find land and perhaps even a title. However," and his eyebrows lowered once more, "I must stress that this rests on my recommendation of you. And that recommendation is based largely upon your treatment of Miss Kat. Secondly," he continued, raising a hand to silence Tavington's attempts to interrupt, "I find it very difficult to suppose that you bear any serious animosity toward your wife, despite your protests. How could you expect anyone to believe that you truly desire an annulment, when your very actions lead the world to see otherwise?"

"Milord?" said Tavington, utterly floored.

"I've seen the way you look at her, Colonel!" said Cornwallis, smiling knowingly. "And who could blame you, with a woman as beautiful and charming as she? And, of course, there is the irresistible attraction of a man to a woman who is in love with him."

"Milord?" said Tavington again, stupidly. Cornwallis could not possibly be suggesting that—

"Oh, Colonel, it's no use trying to be sly," said the General, waving a hand airily. "It may be harder for the casual observer to spot your own interest in the lady, but anyone may see the extent to which she admires you! Oh, and that reminds me—" Cornwallis turned his back to his underling, rummaging through the drawers at his desk. A moment later, he emerged with a small packet, which he thrust at Tavington.

Tavington stared at his commander, utterly at a loss. Was the General giving him a gift?

Cornwallis shook his head in annoyance. "Well, open it! I haven't got all morning!"

Tavington, baffled, opened the packet and shook its contents out into his hand. In his palm sat a plain gold ring. He gaped at the General, bemused. "I'm afraid I don't…"

"It was my wedding band, Tavington! Of course you know how very attached I was to my late wife…" Cornwallis trailed off, dabbing at his eyes, and there was an awkward silence. After a moment he shook his head. "Well. There's every indication that you and Mrs. Tavington will be just as devoted to one another as we were, and I wanted you to have that. To remind you of how important marriage is." He glared at Tavington somewhat threateningly. "Go on, put it on."

"Milord, I—" Tavington was speechless, a phenomenon that had become increasingly common for him since this girl had appeared in his life, but Cornwallis merely continued to glare. Tavington, who did not see that he had much of a choice in the matter, sighed and slid the ring over his knuckle.

"There's a good lad," said Cornwallis, now smiling as he popped a lemon drop into his mouth.

With a supreme effort, Tavington cleared his throat and forced himself not to consider the ramifications of their conversation thus far. "Forgive me, Milord, but there was—one other matter about which I wished to speak with you."

"What is it, Colonel?" sighed Cornwallis.

"Mr. Rutledge, Milord," said Tavington, regaining his composure as he thought of the hateful arrogance of that useless whorepipe with whom he now shared a house. "I fail to understand why you believe it necessary to have rebel scum residing at your headquarters."

"That's quite enough, Colonel!" thundered the General. "I of course find Rutledge's politics loathsome, but he is a gentleman. And," he said, heaving an enormous sigh, "he is the only proper society one finds around these parts."

Tavington forced himself to overlook the troublesome aspects of this concept and continued on the offense. "Be that as it may, sir, he is a security threat, not to mention a corrupting influence on—my wife. And Peartree is a ridiculous name for a residence," he added as an afterthought.

Cornwallis, anger forgotten, chuckled to himself. "Aha! Now I see, Colonel! You have some jealousy toward Mr. Rutledge, perhaps?"

"Jealousy! Milord, that is—" Tavington began to protest.

"I beg your pardon, sir, it is far from absurd," interrupted Cornwallis. "The man is clearly not a security threat—at least as far as military security is concerned. As to your wife, however—well, I see why you're worried, Colonel—he's a handsome devil, is Rutledge!"

"I—" Tavington again found himself speechless, but it was no matter, as he was soon interrupted once more by the General.

"I must concede your point about the house, however—demmed foppish name for a plantation—but you cannot deny that it makes sense." And with that cryptic statement, Cornwallis waved a dismissing hand at Tavington. "Now, Colonel, you've taken up quite enough of my time. Back to your regiment."

"Milord," said Tavington, bowing shortly and turning abruptly in an attempt to leave the tent as quickly as possible.

But he wasn't quite fast enough. "And give those boots a polish, man!" bellowed the General as Tavington ducked out. "Disgraceful!"

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After Tavington had left the tent, Bligh and Lawrence had dressed hurriedly, mounted their steeds, and galloped over to Peartree to relieve the overnight sentries. As they assumed their usual posts on the veranda, Bligh caught Lawrence replacing the beloved red scarf about his neck.

"Lawrence, remove that at once!" he growled.

Lawrence merely smiled and gazed at his reflection in a window, adjusting the scarf slightly. "Why should I? The Colonel won't be along until much later in the day, and no one will report me in the meantime."

"I will," said Bligh threateningly.

"Oh, you wouldn't dream of it, not really!" said Lawrence, throwing Bligh what he clearly believed was a winning smile.

"Want to take a wager?" said Bligh surlily. Before Lawrence could respond, however, the front door opened, and out strolled a tall man, smiling pleasantly as he surveyed the surroundings. Lawrence nudged Bligh excitedly and Bligh rolled his eyes; clearly, this was the Rutledge Lawrence had been so excited about the day before. Rutledge was resplendent in shining white stockings, breeches, and waistcoat, and his chest was adorned with a neckerchief so prominent that it put even Lawrence's scarf to shame. He turned and saw the lieutenants, and his smile brightened.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" he drawled, bowing briefly. "Edward Rutledge, at your service."

"Delighted, Mr. Rutledge!" said Lawrence, eyeing Rutledge's neckerchief enviously. "Lieutenant James T. Lawrence at yours."

"Enchanted!" said Rutledge, turning to Bligh.

"Bligh," said Bligh shortly.

Rutledge's smile faltered slightly, but he still managed a "Pleasure," before he turned back to Lawrence. The lieutenant was staring at Rutledge's neckerchief with a hungry expression. Rutledge smiled more broadly than ever and addressed himself to Lawrence. "That is a delightful scarf, sir!" he said.

Lawrence looked as though Christmas had come early. "Thank you, sir!" he said.

"Might you care to accompany me on a stroll about the grounds?" inquired Rutledge.

"Certainly!" chirped Lawrence, and without a backward glance, the two left Bligh on the veranda. Bligh sighed to himself, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his huge hands, and settled in for a long day of blissful silence.

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AN: Surprisingly enough, "surlily" is actually a word! (Microsoft Word doesn't think so, but the dictionary and TTT do :-)