September 1780
Just like that, it was the second week of September, and we were packing everything into the train of carriages and wagons that would take us to our new home. I was not exactly feeling my best: I had drunk entirely too much the night before, and my stomach and head were paying the price. But worse—much worse—was my hazy recollection of what had happened last night with Tavington. At some point during the course of the evening, my latent desire to forgive him had taken hold, and I had a feeling I had made an utter fool of myself. I remembered him leaving abruptly, but I couldn't quite remember why…I had a vague idea that I might have kissed him, but if I had, then why would he have left?
I couldn't shake off my uneasiness, and my queasiness wasn't helping anything. As soon as I'd pulled on a pair of riding pants and an old shirt—I certainly wasn't planning to ride all day in a dress!—I sat down at the dressing table in my room and surveyed my face in the warped mirror. I was ridiculously pale, and my hair was a disaster. I grabbed the silver comb on the table and ran it through my tangled nest of hair a few times. I couldn't help but remember as I did so the day that Tavington—William—had brought it for me, and the way he had combed my hair himself… I shook myself mentally. Pining after him would do no good; I would just have to see how things unfolded. And anyway, with any luck I'd be out of here soon…I realized with a shock how soon the solstice would be. I would have to make a plan soon.
"Mrs. Tavington!" Lawrence's voice shook me from my reverie. "Are you ready to leave?"
"Oh—yes!" I said, leaping up from my vanity. I immediately wished I hadn't. My head was spinning and my stomach churned; I felt like I was on a Tilt-a-Whirl. I groaned, unconsciously folding my arms over my stomach in a vain effort to stop the nausea that had overtaken me.
"Are you all right, madam?" drawled Rutledge, entering the room just behind Lawrence.
"I'm fine," I said, willing it to be true and simultaneously vowing never to drink again.
I couldn't help but notice that Rutledge and Lawrence exchanged annoyingly knowing glances. "And will you be quite all right to ride today?" inquired Lawrence.
"Yes," I said firmly. "Let me just check around the room one last time to be sure I haven't forgotten anything. I'll be outside in a moment."
Both men bowed and exited, leaving me alone in the room that had been my only sanctuary since I'd arrived. I knew there wasn't anything that I needed; my clothing was already packed, and I didn't really own anything. Realizing I was still holding the comb, I stuffed it into the pocket of my breeches and gave my bedroom one last sweeping glance. I really would miss Peartree, and not only because I couldn't help but feel that my chance of returning home was somehow linked to the plantation. But there was no use in worrying about it now—I would figure something out.
Taking a deep breath, I walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind me.
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Colonel Tavington's day had not started particularly enjoyably. Already displeased with his wife for that incident the night before (though he could not help but think that perhaps his displeasure was really more disappointment than anything), her appearance on the veranda in men's breeches had done nothing to improve his temperament. And, as predicted, she had absolutely refused to ride sidesaddle. Tavington had no doubt that, had he been allowed to govern the situation, he would have been able to persuade her otherwise; but as it was, everyone from Rutledge to Cornwallis was on her side, and so she was permitted to ride in an ostentatiously unladylike manner. Even his own less-than-subtle indications to the General that women in her condition ought not to ride astride horses fell on deaf ears. Really, that girl had everyone wrapped around her little finger—except himself, of course. And so what should have otherwise been a joyous occasion—they were leaving the accursed plantation at last!—was, for Tavington at least, a circumstance of great annoyance.
He spent the first few hours of riding glowering as he watched Kat chat merrily with everyone else. Thank goodness Rawdon would be remaining in the vicinity of Charles Towne; Tavington felt that the least gesture on the part of his superior would send him into a rage. But his general displeasure gradually heightened into a particular irritation at the attention his wife was paying to Lawrence, to Bligh, even to bloody Rutledge—it was not to be borne!
Slowing his horse so it broke even with hers, he raised his voice just enough to be heard over the continuous chatter emanating from the cluster of Lawrence, Rutledge, and Milner. "I trust you're feeling well this morning."
To his satisfaction, his wife looked enormously uncomfortable at the question. "I've been better," she said, blushing slightly. "And…you?"
"Quite well," he said curtly. "Lovely dinner last night, wasn't it?"
"Um," she said, and turned redder still. "I'm…uh…yes, it was."
Determined to ascertain her opinion on the events of the previous evening, he probed further. "I only wish we hadn't retired before the music began," he said, doing his level best to keep the disdain from creeping into his voice.
"Oh! Um—yes," she said faintly, clearly confused. "Yes, that's too bad."
Hmm…perhaps she didn't remember what had happened, then? But before he could continue in this intriguing line of questioning, a commotion exploded to their right.
"Come now, Lawrence, admit it," Rutledge chuckled superciliously.
"I won't!" said Lawrence loudly, obviously much irritated. "I've never done such a thing in my life! I will have you know that—"
"I've seen you at it, mate," Bligh interrupted. "Crumbs all over everything."
"Shocking!" adjoined Ensign Milner. "I simply can't believe it!"
"What's up?" Kat chimed in, obviously glad to be free of Tavington's interrogation. No matter, he would corner her later, perhaps when they stopped that afternoon. And anyway, he should really be informed about whatever this filthy habit of Lawrence's was…
"Lawrence has taken to consuming the Baron's pastries—in his bed!" Rutledge was unable to finish his sentence without bursting into laughter, which Bligh and Milner joined him in. Lawrence, arms folded, looked rather like a petulant child.
Kat seemed to find the whole thing very amusing. She burst into a fit of laughter at the look on Lawrence's face. "Sorry," she said, glancing over at Tavington, still giggling.
Tavington rolled his eyes. Would these fits of madness ever cease? One had to make allowances for women in the family way, but being amused at Lawrence's escapades was a sure sign of insanity. "I won't presume to trouble you further," he said curtly. And, spurring his horse on, he galloped to the front of the line, knowing full well as he did so that she could not help but admire his seat and consummate riding skill.
It was only a matter of time.
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By noon, I was more than ready to reach our new home. I was covered in a thin layer of dust from the road mingled with sweat because of the hot sun on my face, and I wanted nothing more than a bath.
Bligh looked just as weary as I felt; he was listening to Lawrence and Rutledge gossip with Milner. All three men seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of chatter, and Bligh's expression was one of grim endurance. It was especially amusing to watch Lawrence try to converse politely with Rutledge, as the latter was seated behind him astride Daniel: Cornwallis had insisted that Rutledge not be allowed his own horse lest he try to escape, and Lawrence had volunteered to be his escort. Though apparently he hadn't realized the conversational difficulties that would ensue.
"And do you know, I really think Günther was right!" Lawrence was saying chirpily, half twisted around in his saddle so that both Rutledge and Milner could hear him properly. "I felt ever so much better after my personal muzzle management session with him. Every man has got to know how to administer a good cocking!"
Bligh snorted at this, and I had to stifle my own laughter. A loud harrumph to my right indicated that we were not the only ones who had heard Lawrence's exclamation: Tavington was closer to us than I had realized. He wasn't riding so near that I would have to talk to him, but he was just close enough that I was constantly on tenterhooks. I couldn't figure out why I had this sixth sense where he was concerned: every time he was anywhere near me, some part of myself was aware of his exact position, even when he was behind me. It made me tense, especially after the morning's awkward interview. What on earth had happened the night before that I didn't remember?
Just as I was pondering this, the call came for our midday rest. Not a moment too soon. I noted happily that, on the side of the road opposite the field where everyone was settling into lunch, thin line of trees obscured what looked like a fairly large pond. "I'm going to go for a walk," I announced to no one in particular. I could use some time to myself—and quite possibly a chance to soak my feet in the water.
"Just be careful, Mrs. Tavington," said Rutledge, sliding carefully down from his perch behind Lawrence. "We shall send a rescue party after you if you're not back within the hour!"
"Yes, don't hesitate to call if you find you need any naval assistance," Ensign Milner added.
"I'll be fine," I assured them both, and set off through the trees.
When I reached the pond, though, I discovered that my solitude was already being interrupted. Tavington was at the water's edge, coat and boots in a heap next to him, shirt unbuttoned, hair loose. I froze in my tracks, not wanting to be seen—but it was too late. Instead of acknowledging my presence, though, he merely stared at me for a moment with an unreadable expression—and dove into the water, shirt and all.
A moment later, he resurfaced and swam smoothly to the edge of the pond, then climbed out onto the bank. He pulled on his boots, picked up his coat, and strode toward me purposefully. I was rooted to the ground where I stood as he halted directly in front of me. Inadvertently, my eyes swept down his body, pausing momentarily to take the sopping shirt and pants now clinging to every part of his anatomy. I swallowed hard, searching for something to say, but his icy blue eyes silenced me before I could even begin.
"Lovely day for a swim," he said, leaning toward me ever so slightly.
I nodded, not able to break eye contact. He moved closer, raising a hand to brush the hair away from my face. Before I could react, he brushed past me, leaving me to gawk after him, dazed.
This was hard. Too hard. I had no choice but to forgive him. But—would he give me the chance?
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I found myself unable to participate in the increasingly absurd conversation of Lawrence, Rutledge, Bligh, and Milner as the afternoon wore on. Still distracted by my encounter with Tavington next to the lake, I kept thinking about how I could fix the situation. As soon as we arrived at our new home, I would make myself look presentable again; and then, I supposed, I would have to put my qualms aside and just—go for it.
In the late afternoon, we arrived at the plantation that was to be our home. Newer and grander than Peartree, it also looked more military: a tall fence of thick wood surrounded the house, and four official-looking sentries stood at the gates. No, this was no Peartree, and somehow the increased security made me more nervous.
As soon as I was inside the gates, I slid off of my horse and allowed her to be led away by a stable boy. My riding companions likewise dismounted, and we all stood together, gazing about us. Rutledge looked disdainful, Milner confused, Lawrence rather gloomy, but it was Bligh who broke the silence.
"You've got some wood," he said, gesturing at Lawrence's midsection.
We all turned to look at Lawrence. Sure enough, the lieutenant's abdomen was covered in small splinters of what appeared to be wood. "I'm sure I don't know how that happened!" he exclaimed, brushing himself off frantically. Bligh sniggered.
I looked around me. Tavington was nowhere in sight. "Pardon me, gentlemen," I said, and set off from the quartet with the intent of finding someone in a position of authority—preferably the General—who would be able to tell me where I might find a bath and some fresh clothes. But I had only made it a few steps toward the house when I was intercepted by an officer I didn't know. A tall, handsome officer, whose obviously new uniform showcased his muscular physique. An officer who was smiling down at me with beautiful green eyes…
"Mrs. Tavington," he said.
"Um—yes, that's me," I spluttered. How did this man know who I was?
"Colonel Wickham Thoreau," he said, grasping the hand I had unconsciously offered and kissing it lightly. I felt a chill run down my spine at his touch. "I've heard so much about you from General Lord Cornwallis."
"Oh," I said, wishing more than ever I could find some clean clothes.
Thoreau didn't seem at all perturbed by my abruptness. "I'm honored to be the one to welcome you to Applebottom. This plantation," he said in response to my questioning look. "It belongs to a Loyalist family who—but that can wait," he interrupted himself, "I daresay you'd like a moment to clean up before dinner?"
"That would be lovely," I said, unable to stop myself from smiling. Applebottom. What was it with these people and their fruit-inspired names?
Smiling back, he extended his forearm to me. "Allow me to show you to your quarters," he said.
I felt my spine chill again as I took his arm. Life was about to get interesting.
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There was a bitter taste in Colonel Tavington's mouth as he watched his wife sweep into the house on the arm of Thoreau. He knew for a certainty that his carefully calculated dip into the pond this afternoon had been a catalyst, knew that his wife had forgiven him at last—only to run into this obstacle, totally unforeseen. How could he have forgotten? Thoreau.
If Tavington had few friends, he had equally few true enemies: he fought the opponents assigned to him, exacting vengeance where necessary but always avoiding emotional involvement—unless, of course, an individual had somehow offended his honor. Thoreau was one of this latter group.
They had met at Eton, enmity ensuing immediately from a geographical rivalry: Thoreau's surname, as well as his manners, were those of the son of a Surrey aristocrat, contrasting markedly with Tavington's northern upbringing. This rivalry had expanded into outright hostility as both had ascended through the echelons of power at Eton—and then Thoreau, not Tavington, had been named Head Boy. Serving under Thoreau was a blow from which Tavington had never quite recovered, even now that they were of equal rank in His Majesty's Army, though he did take some comfort in the fact that, as commander of the Green Dragoons, he wielded more real power than Thoreau.
Several obstacles stood in the way of what should have been a triumph for Tavington, however. First, there was the fact that Cornwallis had always been inexplicably fond of Thoreau. Second was Thoreau's recent marriage: he had married well, to the daughter of an earl for whose wealth and position Tavington had always harbored some affection. And now—what the devil was Tavington's own wife doing consorting with the man, his sworn enemy?
Gritting his teeth, Tavington strode into the house after them.
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"Well, I suppose it could be worse," sighed Lieutenant Lawrence, surveying the plantation before him. "There is some lovely vegetation here."
"It's certainly no Peartree," grumbled Rutledge. "Even the name…Applebottom…" He harrumphed.
"I reckon it's all right, eh," said Bligh.
"Yes, well, you would, wouldn't you?" retorted Milner. But before Bligh could respond, Lawrence gasped and gestured wildly toward the front door of the house.
"Thoreau!" he cried, pointing at a tall officer escorting Mrs. Tavington inside. When no one exhibited any sort of enthusiasm at his pronouncement, he sighed loudly. "Colonel Thoreau," he said, exasperated. "Colonel Tavington's rival!"
At this, his companions perked up. "Rival, you say?" drawled Rutledge.
"At Eton, yes!" Bligh groaned inwardly at the prospect of another of Lawrence's drawn-out tales, but he wasn't to be stopped. "I don't remember all of the particulars—I was only in the first year at the time, you know—but Thoreau was made Head Boy, and Tavington was passed over! It was quite a scandal, everyone was talking about it for months…and you know, I never liked Thoreau when I was in school, he always paid Androclus special notice, and it was rather uncomfortable for everyone…."
Bligh's attention drifted away from Lawrence's mildly interesting gossip as they walked up the front steps and into the house. They were all momentarily silenced by the grandeur of the foyer, Rutledge emitting a slight sniff of unconvincing disdain.
"Well, as I was saying," continued Lawrence after a moment's pause, "Androclus used to—" But his sentence was cut short as he took a step forward, slipped on the freshly waxed marble, and hit the floor.
Bligh bent low and extended an enormous hand to help his friend to his feet, chuckling as he did so. Lawrence stood, brushing his shoulders off, looking affronted. "Well, it was slippery!" he snapped.
"Ja, zis is fery dangerous," said a voice from behind them, and they all turned to see the Baron Günther entering the foyer. "Extrem wichtig!"
"You know, I used to be very roughly disciplined in secondary school," Milner said unexpectedly. Bligh rolled his eyes.
"Really? What for?" Lawrence asked, obviously much interested.
"Being too damned cocksure," Milner said. They all nodded thoughtfully.
"Lecker," said the Baron. "Shall ve haff some Küchen?"
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I didn't see Tavington again until dinner. Thoreau had shown me to my room and left me there, assuring me that someone would come alert me before supper; and I had, without meaning to, immediately collapsed onto the four-poster bed and fallen asleep.
I awoke, groggy and confused, when a knock came on the door. For a moment, I had no idea where I was. Late afternoon sunlight poured in through a window framed by green hangings that matched the spread on my bed, but it looked nothing like my bedroom—and then I remembered we weren't at Peartree anymore.
Whoever it was knocked again, and I leapt out of my bed to go let Tavington into the room, mentally preparing myself for our conversation. But when I opened the door, Tavington was not there. Instead, a short, dark woman with a long braid bustled past me into the room. Without addressing me, she swept about the bedroom and paused next to the vanity that stood next to a large wardrobe at the end of the room, looking at me expectantly.
"Um…can I help you?" I said.
"I am Mithuna," she said. "Please sit, Mrs. Tavington."
I crossed the room and obediently settled into the chair she indicated, primarily because she seemed so authoritative. "Who are you?"
She didn't respond. "You have very lovely eyes."
"Uh…thank you," I said, baffled, as she began to brush my hair briskly. Was this woman a servant of some kind?
"I am not a servant," she said, as if divining my thoughts.
"Oh, I didn't—"
"I live here," she said simply. "Everyone thinks you are with child, Mrs. Tavington."
Not only was I completely confused as to who Mithuna was and why she was at present piling my hair atop my head, her statement was so utterly unexpected that I had no response. "I—what?"
"They all think this," she said, unperturbed by my astonishment. "But you are not."
"No!" I said, rather too loudly. "No, I'm not!"
"No," she continued calmly. "You will bear no children until the future is past."
"I—what?" This was by far the oddest conversation I had ever had with a total stranger. First she decided I wasn't pregnant, having never met me before, then she announced I wouldn't have children "until the future is past"? Who was this woman? "What does that mean?"
"Someday you will understand," she said. "Your hair is finished. You will dress now."
"Wait—where are—" I was a little annoyed at this unknown personage, and I didn't even know what I was supposed to wear to dinner.
"Your clothes are in the wardrobe. I will see you downstairs," she interrupted. She floated toward the door, then paused. "Someday you shall understand."
"Understand what?!" I said loudly, but she had already shut the door.
I sighed loudly as I marched over to the wardrobe. I had been here what, two hours? and already I had met an absurdly charming colonel (speaking of colonels, where was my husband?), been told by a random woman that "everyone" thought I was pregnant, and then informed that I wouldn't have kids until the future was past? What was going on?
I was slightly appeased when I opened the wardrobe and saw a row of dresses, all of which seemed to be new, hanging before me. I pulled out a silky green one and surveyed it. It looked like it would be kind of tight—but maybe then my flat stomach would be emphasized, proving that I was not in fact pregnant. "Who is everyone, anyway?" I grumbled to myself, pulling the dress on. Whatever, I would show them. I surveyed myself in the mirror—I didn't look half bad.
Marching out of my bedroom, I wandered back down the landing and down the stairs to the foyer, where a bevy of people seemed to be assembled. But I was greeted at the bottom of the staircase not by my husband, but by Colonel Thoreau.
He bowed to me and offered me his arm. "You look enchanting this evening, Mrs. Tavington," he said. "May I escort you into the dining room?"
"Sure," I said, scanning the room as he led me through it. I spotted Ensign Milner, gesticulating frantically as he chatted with Rutledge, and a disdainful Bligh; there was the Baron, chatting with Cornwallis; Lawrence was deep in conversation with my new friend Mithuna (I couldn't help frowning slightly when I saw her); and finally, I spotted Tavington alone in a corner, brow furrowed, drinking whiskey much faster than was entirely healthy. "Uh-oh," I muttered aloud.
"Pardon?" said Thoreau, smiling at me.
"Oh, nothing, I'm just…hungry," I said, smiling back while inwardly worrying about the fight that was undoubtedly brewing between me and Tavington.
"That shall soon be remedied," he said pleasantly. "And, though I am afraid we cannot welcome you with dancing today, you shall have your fill of it soon enough. We have planned a ball for next week."
"Really?" I was excited at this—my second ball, and undoubtedly my last one, as the solstice was less than two weeks away, and I would soon be going home…without realizing it, I stopped listening to Thoreau entirely, losing myself in thoughts of my proposed voyage back.
"Mrs. Tavington?" Thoreau's face appeared directly in my vision, interrupting my contemplation. "Are you quite well?"
"Fine," I said, pushing away my worries. "Just a little tired."
He ushered me into a chair near the end of an enormously long table in the dining room. "Well, we shan't tax you too much this evening—only dinner, and then you are free to retire."
"Thank you," I said. He smiled at me, green eyes glowing. I was liking this man more and more.
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I spent the majority of dinner trying in vain to catch the eye of Tavington, whose whiskey consumption was out of control and who looked increasingly as though he'd like to punch whoever was within reach. Coincidentally, this included Lawrence, who was still chatting Mithuna up—the two of them had hit it off, apparently. Bligh, who was across the table from Lawrence, was alternately sipping from a tiny glass of wine and staring incredulously at his flirting friend.
Meanwhile, I had the feeling that Thoreau was doing his best to charm me—and I had to admit, even though I was committed to trying to patch things up with Tavington, the charm was working. It was so hard to remember why it was that I had thought I loved Tavington when Thoreau was so much more open and friendly.
Just after we finished dessert, I found myself yawning profusely. "I think I should go to bed," I said. "I'm sorry—I'm just really tired."
"Quite all right," said Thoreau smilingly. "Would you like an escort?"
"No, thanks, I'll be fine," I said. "Good night!" I shoved my chair back and looked pointedly at where Tavington still sat, but he just as pointedly ignored me.
I wanted to get his attention forcibly, but the noise level in the room was too high, and there were too many people—I didn't want a scene. I stalked out of the room without saying goodnight to anyone; I didn't really feel like talking to anyone except Tavington, and he was apparently uninterested in paying me the slightest attention. I would deal with him later, when he came to bed.
And if he wasn't receptive, I would have to set some other plan into action. And perhaps that would involve Colonel Thoreau.
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AN: Kind of abrupt ending, I know—and I am so sorry for my prolonged absence! Life caught up with me for a while there, but I will be writing regularly again until this story is done, which it will be in only four more chapters!! Crazy.
Anyway, thank you so much to all of you who have stuck with me (especially TTT and SSS, the best betas a girl could ask for)!!! I hope you're still there, and I really hope you'll find this chapter more to your liking than the previous one. Your reviews were the main reason I didn't give this story up, so I hope you'll keep following Kat and Tavington to the end of their tale. (And Jamie Fraser, should he happen to pop back up… ;-)
Finally, this chapter is dedicated to Ensign Milner, seaman and patriot. A chimney and some flowers to him!