In all likelihood, though it seemed the temperature had fallen by a good twenty degrees in the last half-hour since she had entered Lady Brightlea's home, the intensity of the chill in the air was simply that much more pronounced in comparison to the flames smoldering in the fireplace. The wind had died down noticeably since her last trek through the slushy streets, but the snow fell heavier than ever, obscuring her vision even further in the darkness. Errant flakes clung to her brows and lashes, and after hastily blinking the meltwater out of her eyes, she bowed her head against the flurries, focusing instead on her footing on the uneven cobblestone road. The stones soon gave way to frosted mud as she neared her destination, and her focus turned from her footing to sidestepping the numerous pits and furrows carved into the earth by passing wagons and carriages.
Distracted as she was, it took her a good ten minutes to realize she'd already passed the boarding house, and she doubled back with a muttered curse, pulling her cloak tighter across her shoulders. The chill had seeped through her flesh into the very marrow of her bones, and it seemed her heart, in lieu of beating, was shivering along with the rest of her limbs. Her entire body was tense, as though preparing for a fight, and however she tried, the muscles refused to relax and instead shuddered with renewed vigor as she hurried toward her destination.
Her body's reaction to the cold—natural though it was—left her stomach twisting in uneasy knots. It wasn't fear of the chill itself, even with her uncomfortable familiarity of the devastation it could leave in its wake when one was ill-prepared for a long winter. No, the chill itself wasn't frightening. The lack of control and basic, primal reactions of her body, on the other hand, left her feeling altogether powerless. A strange thing to be frightened by, she knew, but Tabitha had long prided herself on maintaining strict control of herself in many ways. In hindsight—fitting that his name should surface in her memory in the midst of such an unpleasant moment—perhaps it had been her unwillingness to relinquish control that had driven such wedge between herself and Ben. He'd been patient with her. Almost unnaturally so, but Tabitha had known his patience was, most likely, a mixture of confusion, shock, and a simple unfamiliarity with her behaviour.
She'd always known men to be dominant creatures, but as the years passed, she had come to suspect this was not necessarily their natural disposition. Social norms dictated they control their wives, who, in Tabitha's mind, were in no higher standing than indentured servants they could take into their beds. A man had a specific role to play, whether he liked it or not, and if he could not assume it naturally, he would have to do whatever he could to keep up appearances.
She couldn't say for certain, even after their brief engagement, which of the two categories Benjamin Tallmadge fell into. He had certainly been kind—even with her distaste for the man, she could not deny him this one virtue. Had they met under different circumstances, she could very easily see herself calling him one of her dearest friends. But a romantic partnership between them was clearly never meant to be. She didn't know, and had never thought to ask, what he expected from a woman. Did he desire a wife who would do nothing more than stay home, belly swollen with child? Or perhaps one who would fill his ears with gossip about her companions and her needlepoint? Or, perhaps, a woman like Miss Adams? Outspoken. yet demure. Fiery, yet subdued. Willful yet submissive.
Whatever he favored, Tabitha thought with a soft snort, it was not anything she had had been willing or able to provide. And while she could not testify to his preferences with any accuracy, she could safely say that he was quite put off by the constant struggle for dominance between the two of them. She hadn't trusted him. How could she, in such a short period of time? And until such a time that he earned that sort of conviction from her, she would not—could not—relinquish even the slightest bit of control around him.
Hardly a solid foundation for a marriage.
But that chapter of her life was over, and she could only hope that whatever the future held for him and Miss Adams, it would be sufficient to erase anything that had occurred between them in the past.
The boarding house was a welcoming beacon of warmth in the growing blizzard, and Tabitha hastily put all thoughts of the infuriating Captain out of her mind as she hurried toward the negligible shelter provided by the overhang above the door. The windows were dark and the building was silent, even moreso with the muffled silence cast by the blanket of snow.
Tentatively, she tested the doorknob, and the breath left her lungs in a relieved rush when she found it unlocked. It seemed Townsend had decided to wait up for her after all, if only to ensure his presumed pickpocket of a customer didn't make off with the dishes while he slept. 'If only you knew,' she thought with a wry smirk as she slipped into the warmth of the common room, giving her cloak a quick shake to dislodge the accumulated snow. It wouldn't do to drip water across the floor, especially after he'd been so kind as to allow her one final night instead of leaving her to freeze on the streets.
She closed the door soundlessly behind her and, after a moment's consideration, slid the latch into place as well. She doubted anyone else would be out in such miserable weather. As she turned to face the room sprawled out behind her, she became acutely aware of just how dark it truly was. There hadn't been much light on the road either, but the glow of the windows along her route had been noticeably amplified by the reflective surface of the snowflakes.
Inside, however, there were only the low-burning coals of the fire to light the room, and she listened closely for any sign of movement as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Townsend wouldn't have gone to bed after leaving the door unlocked for a suspected thief. As the shadows slowly receded into vaguely discernable shapes, and with no sound of footfalls on the wooden floorboards, she slowly made her way toward the fireplace. While the room was infinitely warmer than the streets that lay beyond its colourful windows, Tabitha's limbs still trembled, and both her hands and feet were painfully cold. The snow, which had gathered in contrasting clumps amidst the disheveled strands of her dark hair, was slowly melting, and she could feel the wholly unpleasant sensation of icy water trickling down the back of her neck to where it gathered in her already sodden cravat.
She had nearly reached the fireplace, and could feel the warmth in her cheeks and the tip of her nose as she loosened the dripping silk from around her neck, when she finally saw him. Townsend was seated at the table closest to the fire, head resting on his arms, his breaths slow and even as he slept. Tabitha felt the briefest pang of guilt at having kept him up so late when he was quite clearly exhausted, but it was forgotten as soon as she dropped to the floor in an exhausted heap, feeling the tension ease out of her body as the warmth of the coals washed over her body. Behind her, Townsend still slept, unaware of his problem guest's return, and Tabitha made no move to wake him. Instead, she made short work of her cloak and jacket, tossing them over the back of an unoccupied chair before rubbing her hands together to restore the circulation. Her waistcoat had, miraculously, remained mostly dry, and once the feeling had seeped back into her fingers, she went about removing her shoes and stockings.
As the chill slowly drained from her limbs, she found herself idly reflecting on the events of the night and felt a new wave of irritation at the thought of Miss Adams, though somewhat subdued compared to the outright anger she'd experienced earlier. She'd entered the city with a single mission: To find and retrieve information from a sheltered girl who had no knowledge of the significance said information held. She'd succeeded in the first part, which Tabitha had anticipated being the most difficult of the two. But never in her wildest dreams had she expected to have the tables turned on her by this… this…
She ground her teeth in exasperation, words failing her exhausted mind as she rubbed her eyes with her palms. The heat of the fireplace coupled with the surrounding darkness was slowly lulling her into a trance. Her hand slid down her cheek to rest over the side of her mouth as she yawned, feeling the slightest hint of wetness in the corner of her eyes.
There was a soft, muffled sound from behind her, and Tabitha glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to find Townsend awake and looking irritable as ever. But still he slept, table creaking ever so slightly as he buried his face deeper into the fabric of his shirtsleeves, and the corners of Tabitha's mouth quirked slightly. She knew she should wake the man and inform him of her return, but he seemed so… content. Peaceful. And yes, he would almost definitely have terrible pain in his neck and back come morning, but she couldn't bring herself to care as she tugged her mostly dry cloak off the chair and clambered to her feet. If she was going to let him rest, she could at least do him a kindness, and gently, with the care one might have expected from a mother, she draped the thick fabric over his shoulders.
He had waited so patiently for her to return, she reasoned. She could at least wait for him to wake. Lowering herself back onto the floor beside his chair, shoulder pressed against the worn wood, she sighed heavily. Coming to York City had been a mistake, she realized belatedly. Even if Charlotte did, in fact, have relevant information to convey and wasn't just looking for an excuse to see her dear Captain again, by the time she saw fit to reveal it in Morristown, it would be too late.
Don't come back here, alright?
Caleb's voice was clear in her mind, as though it was he sitting beside her, not Townsend. He had been adamant about her staying away, and from a strategic standpoint, she understood why. One of them had to make it back to Morristown alive. It was an order. It made perfect sense. And yet…
She would be lying if she said the thought of returning hadn't crossed her mind. The first mile had been the hardest, knowing there was still time to change her mind and go back. To lead Cinnamon back to the makeshift shelter and say… what, exactly?
I don't know the way.
The horse broke a leg.
I can't leave you here.
I don't want to lose you.
The last thought wasn't as shocking to her as it should have been. The image of Ben and Caleb being discovered and shot had been with her since she'd first lost sight of the two, but she'd managed to bury it in the urgency surrounding her mission. Now, in the darkness, subduing the thought of their cooling corpses lying in the forest was like holding the reins of a waterfall, and it surfaced in the forefront of her mind with unsettling clarity.
She wanted to go back. She wanted to sleep by a fire surrounded by cannons and horses, not tables and chairs. She wanted to feel the rough wool and stiff linen of her uniform, not fine silk stolen from a well-off college boy. She wanted to feel men's eyes on her as they awaited her orders, not as they admired her breasts.
She wanted to hear Ben and Caleb's harsh words-critical of her actions as a soldier, not as a woman.
These thoughts were the last she could clearly remember before she finally slipped into a dreamless sleep, slumped against the table leg with her knees drawn to her chest.