Reply to KD: You're right, Tav is definitely failing to see that he's done wrong and made mistakes. His anger over her helping Ben and Gabriel will be far shorter lived than Margaret's anger over Thomas. But you're right, she's trying at least. And she sympathises with Bertie, she knows none of it's his fault. Thanks for the review :-)
Reply to guest: Sorry if I was telling you things you already knew :-) You're right, there was only a small number of those women, but I've heard so many extraordinary stories about women from those times. It's hard to write Margaret at the moment because I want her to be strong but at the same time, she's married to a very powerful man and I really do believe that under most circumstances she would submit to him, in public for instance. When they're alone, though, it would be a different story. Yes, Tav is being an arse, to put it bluntly. Except to Eleanor, LOL! At least you can still like him a little, for how he's treating her. I laughed at that - Bordy and Wilkins only thinking with one thing! LOL. What thing would that be, hmm? :-)
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Sitting at the long table, Margaret peered about her, wondering if now would be a good time to inform William of her leaving. Now, when they were surrounded by Dragoons and family. Surely, if he opposed her leaving - which she was certain he would, for how could they keep up the appearance of a happy marriage publicly, if she up and left the city? Especially so soon after his return to it. She felt oddly nervous now, for he had quite frightened her that day in her parlour when only Rose's intervention had stopped him from striking her. Would there be a repetition of that fury if she proposed a stay at Elmwood Hall? Would he repeat such a scene before so many? No… Surely not. Sophia, Harford, Robertson, Stephen, Binnings and Maisy were all present - the only one absent was Bordon. It was one thing to bicker before Rose and Jane, but they were not the only ones sitting to table with them just now.
A giggle drew Margaret's attention, making her lift her eyes from her plate. Maisy was still giggling even now, as Paul, also smiling, tried to pop a piece of cornbread into her mouth. He whispered an admonishment and Maisy rolled her eyes, but then she opened her mouth and allowed him to feed her the morsel. As she was still chewing, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss. They were showing far more intimacy than was proper, but they were mostly being ignored by the others. Margaret could not help but stare at them though, and she felt a heavy weight settle on her chest. Clearing her throat around the lump, she glanced down the length of the table at William. He was also eyeing the happy lovers with a strange look on his handsome features. Feeling her eyes on him, he met her gaze with that unreadable expression. Did his eyes soften slightly? Or was it her imagination. He could not be feeling that same melancholy that she felt at being so close to a happy couple.
I need to leave, she thought, removing her gaze from William's.
He would not make a display of himself before the other Dragoons. If she wished to broach the subject of leaving in such a way that would avoid a confrontation, then now was definitely the time. Her eyes landed on Eleanor, whose complexion was ashen as she stared at her untouched plate. Bordon had not returned that evening, but his absence gave Eleanor no comfort at all.
"Ellie," Margaert leaned forward and, avoiding William's gaze, she said, "you have not been to see Elmwood Hall yet. It's beautiful, with the most majestic elms marching down the carriage lane, and the house itself, it's simply lovely. I think that a visit there would do you a world of good - let's get some country air into you and leave the bustle and racket of Charlestown behind. What do you think?"
She could feel William's eyes on her, could see from the corner of hers as he slowly placed his fork on the table.
"I… yes, that might be nice," Eleanor replied, frowning. It would be good - wonderful even, to get away from the manor. She dreaded Bordon's return, dreaded encountering him in the hallways, dreaded being forced to speak to him when that did happen. The idea began to grow in great appeal and she even smiled, nodded quickly and said, "yes. I definitely wish to leave here. For the country air, you know," she shot a glance at the others around the table. "And for the quiet. Yes… Margie, when can we leave? I wish to go immediately." Before Philip returns to the house, before I'm forced to see him.
"Now, just wait a moment -" William began but was cut off by Margaret.
"Today!" She announced. "I'll have Jonah drive the carriage. Ellie, we can be on our way and will reach the plantation before midday!"
"Margaret," William spoke firmly now, but again, he was overridden, this time by Rose and Jane, who began to protest being left out of the younger women's plans.
"Are we not invited too, then?" Rose said first, an edge to her voice, while Jane became wistful, "oh, I do so love the country. And I've longed to see this property of yours. You'll take us on a tour of the grounds, won't you?"
"Weather permitting," Margaret replied. "And of course you are invited too, Rose. And Maggie, Sophia and Mrs. Whimms! Bertie will enjoy it there, he'll be able to really stretch his legs there."
Feeling it was all decided, she rose to begin the preparations at once. As she pushed her seat back beneath the table, she caught her husband's gaze.
"Yes?" She asked, holding her breath as she waited for his protest.
"It's not safe," he informed her. "Here, I can protect you. But at Elmwood..? Your presence there will be known to every rebel in South Carolina the day after you arrive."
"I wish to go, William," Eleanor said softly, drawing his gaze. She tried to convey what she was feeling by staring at him intently. "I really wish to visit your plantation. Please."
"I suppose I can organise an escort," he mused and Eleanor blew out a relieved breath. William turned his attention back to Margaret, who was still standing, waiting on his next words. "How long do you expect to be gone for?" He asked, his eyes lingering on her. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about this scheme. Eleanor certainly wished to go and he quite understood why. She wished to avoid Bordon. But Margaret - now she was leaving for the same reason, he knew. She wished to avoid him. Another thing he understood, but he found himself wishing she was not leaving. They'd been parted for so long, he had only returned a few days ago and now they were to be parted again for… how long? She had alluded to the idea of them living separately, had she decided that was what she wanted then? Gazing up at her now, he found that this held no appeal for him at all.
"As long as we need," Margaret replied obscurely.
"Very well," he inclined his head, understanding her answer even if the others did not. She was not permanently separating herself from him, she just needed some time. Well, so did he, for that matter. It was probably for the best, but still he watched her avidly as she glided from the room. He was going to miss her.
"How long is that?" Sophia asked the others, searching the faces across from her and to either side.
"Oh, until we're sick of country air, I suspect," Rose replied.
"We won't miss the ball, will we?" The girl fretted. "It's not that long away."
"We'll be at the ball, it's not so far to this plantation, is it William?"
"Not far at all," he leaned back into his chair and brooded as he sipped at his coffee.
"I'm going to start packing now," Eleanor rose and hurried after Margaret.
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"Margaret, a word please?" William was standing in his office door with Stephen as she walked by. She stopped abruptly, worried that he was about to take her to task over her scheme to get away. Stephen, looking miserable, inclined his head toward her and strode away. William held the door open for her and she slipped inside.
"What is wrong with Stephen?" She asked William. "He looks wretched."
"He hasn't been sleeping," William said, coming to stand before her. "It seems that receiving letters from his Miss Thompson is making matters worse for him. As much as he relishes each letter, he is quite despondent that they aren't allowed to be together."
"Oh," she thought about this for a moment, then her gaze became sharp and suspicious. "Is that why you called me in here?" She asked, her voice accusing. "I suppose you think I'm to blame. Another thing to lay at my feet -"
"No, Margie -" he tried to protest but she was on a tangent now and was not letting up.
"You'll blame me for Stephen now, because I was the one who suggested - and arranged - for them to exchange letters. What else will you blame me for? Mr. Dawson's son fell over last week and he broke his leg. You could blame it on me, if you wish. Or perhaps -"
He had been trying to get a word in during her tirade, but she was not listening and had gone on the attack instead. To gain her attention, to stop her ranting, he resorted to the simple expediency of seizing her face with surprising gentleness and covering her mouth with his own. It worked, she did shut up then, her eyes incredulous as she stared into his. Breathless, he drew back from the kiss and was pleased to see that she was every bit as overcome as he.
"I summoned you in here, Margie," he began, voice thick with emotion, "to bid you farewell, and to ask you not to stay away too long. And to tell you that I… I will miss you."
"Oh," she breathed. He lowered his hands from her face, and she began to smooth her sweaty palms over her velvet skirts. "I… I will miss you too," she said. Unable to meet his eyes, she stared at his lips instead. "I will return before the ball," she said, offering an awkward assurance, surprised that he still cared enough that reassurance was necessary.
"Very good. I'll be heading out of the city most days, with the Dragoons. If my travels bring me near to Elmwood, I'll come and visit." He studied her carefully, searching for signs that this suggestion was welcome - or not.
"Don't bring Bordon," she said. "If it can be avoided, that is."
"Bordon will not be a member of my party," William curled his lip and turned from her to stand before his desk. "I am leaving him here to deal with administration for the indefinite future."
"Eleanor will be relieved," Margaret said, still smoothing her skirts gently. The awkwardness was increasing as the two stared at one another, neither quite sure what to do or say next. They had kissed. Each had told the other that they would be missed. But things were far from healed between them. "Well, I'd best be off. Rose and the others are almost ready and we'll be leaving shortly."
He inclined his head, but said nothing. The way he held himself gave the appearance of 'waiting' and she had the feeling that he was wanting - or hoping - for something more from her. He had made the first advance, and now she tentatively walked toward him and after a moments hesitation, she kissed his smooth shaved cheek. As she pulled back, preparing to turn and leave, his hands came about her waist and pulled her close again. This kiss lasted far longer than the first, and when he drew away, he nestled his nose into the dip of her shoulder and neck. At length she murmured that the others were waiting for her. When she reached the door, she turned back and studied him where he stood leaning back against his desk, then she wordlessly slipped from the room.
He had conducted his farewell in private, so she knew he had not kissed her just to keep up appearances. While the encounter left her feeling quite light headed, she was quite confused over it, also. A chance glance through a window showed her Stephen standing on the porch. She studied his face for a long moment, noting that his ever ready smile was gone from his lips now. He had his bowed over a letter, an old one, Margaret knew, for Mary had not sent one in some days. There was too much misery in her house, which was half the reason she wished to escape it. Eleanor and Bordon, Maisy to a certain extent though she'd now found happiness with Paul. Margaret and William. And then there was Stephen…
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Rose had been quite baffled when Margaret abruptly changed her plans, stating that there was something she needed to attend to before they left the city. Margaret had not divulged what these matters were, for they would only cause too many questions that Margaret had no time to answer. Stephen, it seemed, had not confided to Rose about Mary Thompson or their abruptly ended engagement, or his shattered hopes. There was so much heartache in the house, it was an oppressive place to be. William and Margaret were at odds. Eleanor's heart was broken. Bordon would be in a mood fit for a demon. Stephen was still quite despondent, though he had tried to put on a brave face for his family, so they would not be alerted to his bitter disappointment.
In this, Margaret had realised, she could do some good. But it needed to be done now, immediately before setting out for Elmwood, or she might not have another chance for weeks. As she sat in a creaky old leather chair opposite the Mr. And Mrs. Thompson's, she realised she should have done this weeks ago as it was.
"I'm pleased to hear you are well, Mrs. Tavington," Mr. Thompson, seated beside his wife, was saying. "I'm surprised by this visit, you sent no word that you were coming."
"Mary is out, you see," Mrs. Thompson added. "She's helping Mrs. Mason with Lieutenant Mason. Do you think he is out of the woods yet?"
"The skirmish was two full days ago now," Margaret replied. "His wound seems to be clean - no sign of infection thus far. The physician is still venturing on the side of caution, but Claire is beginning to believe that her husband is going to be well - that he'll survive this."
"I should think he'll wish to resign from the Dragoons," Mrs. Thompson mused. "I can't imagine him wanting to continue to fight if he does survive this."
"Claire will tie him to the bed if he tried," Margaret smiled fondly.
"What brings you here, then, Mrs. Tavington?" Mr. Thompson said, getting to the point of her visit. Remembering her purpose there, her smile faded.
"I've come to discuss Mary and Stephen Evans," she said, sitting straighter and assuming a no nonsense expression.
"There is nothing to discuss," Mr. Thompson said, voice suddenly cold. "There is no Mary and Stephen Evans and I will not entertain the idea of there ever being one."
"That is because you are ignorant to some very important facts," Margaret said bluntly. "I wish to make them known to you now, if you would give me but a moment."
"I will not entertain you, Mrs. Tavington!" Thompson rose abruptly and circled the chaise, where he began to pace, his face darkening with each word he spluttered. "He's a debaucher! He's lifted more skirts than I've had hot dinners! And then there is the matter of Mrs. Chambers, whose child might or might not be his! I'd not allow Mary within a half a mile of him, if Mrs. Mason did not need Mary so much at the moment. I know that Mrs. Binnings - your friend - spends time with Mary and I tell you now, even though it might upset you, that that's a friendship I'll be putting a stop to. I won't allow my daughter to grow attached to the wife of any of those Green Dragoons - not after Colonel Tavington's own antics! He is their leader!"
"My!" Margaret said, her face red with fury and her blue eyes narrowed. "How can I not be offended, Mr. Thompson? You speak of my husband - therefore you have included me in that sentiment!"
"Of course not, Mrs. Tavington," Thompson rushed to placate her, his face flushing with embarrassment.
"Because if that is the way you feel, Sir, I might just have to go elsewhere to sell my indigo!" Margaret declared and Thompson's eyes bulged. The two had been business partners for a long time, they belonged to the same coterie, established by Mr. George Simms, and they offered the best prices for crops and other goods to one another before they offered them at greater prices to those outside their circle. Margaret had not owned her own plantation before now, she had always relied on her shares in what her cousin, Peter Chambers, produced on his. But now she and Tavington did own a flourishing plantation and had already been receiving offers for their crops, the most lucrative being the indigo. If she went outside the established coterie because Thompson had offended her, then he would be deprived of a very healthy profit in the resale of the crop. Thompson gaped now, fearing he was about to lose an inordinate amount of money. If Margaret took her business elsewhere…
"No, Mrs. Tavington, I assure you, I did not," he blabbered, even going to far as to bow low to show his deepest respect. "I never would. I'm sorry if my comment has given offence, but I was speaking of Tavington's earlier days, when he was… affiliated… with Mrs. Chambers."
"Thank you for the unnecessary reminder," Margaret snapped, his words served to worsen her mood rather than placate her.
"Oh, please don't be angry, Margaret," Mrs. Thompson begged. "He didn't mean anything by it. We're just so worried about Mary, you see! It's been months since we denied her permission to marry that Evans' fellow and she still yearns for him! We've tried to place other men before her to look upon but she won't have anything to do with any of them!"
"Which goes to show you the strength of her love, does it not?" Margaret arched an eyebrow, voice tart. "She wants him, and no other."
"Well, that's simply too bad," Thompson said, his mood shifting quickly from respectful to frustrated. "The sooner Mary forgets him, the better. But if she won't, we'll just have to marry her off elsewhere. I won't have her mooning after that good for nothing scoundrel. He would have made a terrible husband! He would not have kept to the marriage bed, there would have been bastards born for us to deal with every other year. And if that isn't scandal enough, have you heard how much he gambles and drinks?"
"He does not, not anymore," Margaret defended Stephen.
"I heard he was rather soused at Cornet and Mrs. Binnings' wedding," Mrs. Thompson said gently.
"It was a wedding! Even I enjoyed a glass or two!" - more like ten - "Does that make me a drunkard?"
"No, but you don't have his reputation!" Mr. Thompson said, trying to make her understand. Margaret, however was having none of it. She was tired of it - tired of it all. Of Maisy and Eleanor's heart break. Of her own troubles of the heart, all of which were keeping her - and her friends - from knowing any peace. And there was Mary thrown into the mix, but she was suffering needlessly, for Margaret knew damned well that Stephen loved her and would not be unfaithful. Nor would he drink himself to oblivion every evening as Mr. Thompson seemed to think. He would not seek out the gambling tables - no more than William himself did. No more than Mr. Thompson did, for that matter. It was utterly ridiculous, but trying to convince Mr. Thompson would be as useless as whipping a dead horse. But she had her draw card up her sleeve and the time, it seemed, had come to use it.
"This conversation has been unpleasant so far, but we need to set it aside now, and you need to listen to what I've come to tell you," she said frankly. "Do be seated, Mr. Thompson. I have no desire to crane my neck."
"Very well," Thompson said warily. He did as he was bid, however.
"I have known, for sometime now, that Stephen is the natural son of the General, Lord Cornwallis," she stated boldly, watching their faces. Her words had the desired effect, causing shock, initially. Then the two began flapping with more excitement than a stone thrown into a flock of pigeons.
"Cornwallis is a member of the House of Lords!" Mrs. Thompson cried. "And Evans is his natural son?"
Even with Stephen being a natural child, he suddenly held a hundred fold more appeal than he had in older days, back when he was in favour with the Thompson's, when they had accepted him and gave their approval to wed Mary, before learning of his indiscretions.
"Is it true?" Thompson gasped, his eyes darting back and forth between the two women.
"My mother in law, Mrs. Tavington, had the raising of him," Margaret informed them. "His Lordship placed his son in Rose's care when he was but an infant, for he wanted Stephen raised in a decent family by someone he trusted. Rose and Cornwallis have been close even as children, and she was perfect for his needs. His Lordship is very fond of Stephen."
"Natural son," Thompson repeated, his voice filled with awe.
"You should also know," Margaret continued, pressing her advantage, "that Stephen spoke to his father of his desire to marry Mary."
"Did he?" Thompson whispered. When Margaret said nothing, he asked impatiently. "And?"
"And his father approved. Cornwallis knew his son had some undesirable habits, and when he learned that Stephen was finally ready to settle down with a girl he'd fallen in love with, the General declared that he would set some land aside for Stephen and Mary - in England I might add - and that he would give Stephen a healthy stipend. Cornwallis had been looking forward to seeing his wayward son settle down with a fine girl like Mary, who could only improve him."
"He said that?" Mrs. Thompson asked softly. "He called our Mary 'fine'?"
"Yes, he did," Margaret watched as the two exchanged wondering glances. "The land in England. The stipend," she put special emphasis on her next words, as though they held the most import, "the connection to such a nobleman, a member of the Peerage and High Lord of the realm. Surely Stephen is looking a damned sight better now? The connection could be of advantage to you!"
Thompson drew a sharp breath, his face growing red with embarrassment. They all knew only too well how the entire family would prosper through such a connection to a High Lord, even if the connection was made through his bastard son. The advantages were limitless! They could never have hoped to marry Mary so high.
"Why didn't he tell us?" Mrs. Thompson moaned, wringing her hands together. "Oh, if only we'd known!"
"What of Mrs. Chambers child?" Thompson rasped out, though Margaret knew that now they understood exactly who Stephen was, a bastard child would no longer be an impediment to Stephen and Mary's happiness.
"It is Peter's," Margaret said with absolute certainty, with complete conviction. "She is too far along for it to have been Stephen's," or William's, she thought with a scowl. The two sitting before her were too polite to make mention of that, thank goodness. "Come now, will you really keep Stephen and Mary apart because of that whore?" She asked, speaking frankly now, as they listened gravely. "He's a Lord's son, for goodness sake! A natural child, to be sure, and not acknowledged publicly. But there will still be many advantages for you and your family - and triple the amount for Mary! Stephen will always be welcome in the high ranks of the military - he'll be promoted to General one day with his father's endorsement. And he's spoken of becoming a merchant and has even sat down with me to discuss trade… Sweet Heavens, Mary will want for nothing with him as a husband! And if you're worried he will stray, you need not be! He is so much in love with her, I don't think he'll ever look at another woman again! He's sown his wild oats, his cavorting days are over. He is a landed Gentleman. An Officer in His Majesties army! He's the natural son of a High Lord, and he's in love with your daughter! Your family should not be ashamed to have such a connection!"
"Certainly not!" Mr. Thompson said fervently, his eyes locking on to that of his wife's. "This must be amended, I shall speak to him at once!"
"Why didn't you tell us this earlier, Margie? It would have saved a lot of heart ache." Mrs. Thompson rebuked quietly, and Thompson remained only long enough to hear her answer.
"I was sworn to secrecy," Margaret revealed. "Stephen did not want to use his familial connections to convince you. He is a proud man. Cornwallis has not publicly acknowledged that Stephen is his son, for he did not want to cause distress to his now late wife, Jemima. Speaking of it as I have now… It was necessary but would still be frowned upon. I trust you'll both be discreet?"
"You may," Thompson nodded. "I must be away," he jumped up and headed out the door, Margaret heard him calling for his horse. She watched him leave, hiding her disdain behind a carefully arranged expression. Stephen, as an Officer held a high enough status without his connection to his father. He had wealth and status, both of which should have been more than enough to secure a rich Colonial merchant's daughter. She said none of this, however, as she had no desire to cause offence. Margaret chatted for a short while with Mrs. Thompson, who was predicting now how quickly it would be before the banns were read and the wedding to take place, with banquet dinners every other night in the meantime. The morning was ticking along and Margaret was impatient to be on her way to the Plantation; after making her excuses she left Mrs. Thompson and Jonah drove the carriage back to the manor.
She climbed out of her carriage and headed into the house by the rear door, striding past the kitchen as she headed toward the foyer. Just as she was about to reach the stairs, she was assailed from her left side. The shock caused her breath to catch and she was swept into the air, where she was held high in astonishingly strong arms, and twirled in a full circle before she was set back on her feet.
"Thank you," her attacker whispered, enveloping her in his arms. Stephen repeated it, like a mantra, his voice filled with joy. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she laughed at him, until he seized her head with his hands and kissed her, full on the lips for all to see, a long kiss which took her breath away and had her thinking of how lucky Mary was to be marrying him, before she was engulfed in his arms again. She was released just as abruptly, so abruptly that she stumbled back a step.
"Thank you, Margie," Mary said. She was only just now coming out of Margie's little parlour, with her father coming to stand behind her. Mr. Thompson had summoned her and Stephen both, before helping themselves to Margie's private chamber for their much needed discussion. Mary, her eyes moist, came forward and embraced Margaret, though their hug was far more sober than Stephen's had been.
"You're welcome," Margaret murmured, her throat catching. She'd known that her interference would be making two young people very happy, but she had not realised what an effect it would have on her personally. She felt like weeping with joy for her friends, and only just managed to compose herself. By now, others had come from every corner of the house, having been alerted by the noise. Margaret saw William standing at the door of his office, where he had been all along, having rushed out when he heard Margaret's squawk after Stephen had seized, and then kissed her. Rose and Jane stood at the foot of the stairs, both incredulous.
"Come, my darling, we've got much to discuss," Stephen grabbed Mary by the hand and they darted back into Margaret's little parlour, to discuss their future plans with Mary's father.
"What the devil was that?" Rose asked, astonished.
"I hardly know, my head is still spinning," Margaret laughed as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Well, you must know; they both thanked you for it," Rose glanced after the closed door. "Quite exuberantly, I might add," she said pointedly, having seen the kiss also.
"When doesn't Stephen do things exuberantly?" Margaret giggled. Rose gave her an exasperated look, forcing Margaret to explain, "it's something I should have done long, long ago. I hesitated because I knew it would go against Stephen's wishes, but I'd finally had enough."
"Enough of what?" Jane asked, her tone matching Rose's. "No one ever mentioned anything about an attachment between Stephen and Miss Thompson, and we met the lass an age ago!"
"Because their attachment was denied well before you arrived here. They fell in love," Margaret explained. "He proposed, she accepted. Her family were overjoyed. Until the discovered all of that about Mrs. Chambers," Margaret's face darkened and she shot a dark look in Tavington's direction. "They realised Stephen had an unruly past and they withdrew their support. I had had enough, as I said, and I decided to set things to right before we leave for the plantation, which we'll be doing shortly, as soon as our belongings are loaded onto the carriage."
"How did you set it to right?" William asked, not stepping forward to join them. He stayed lingering under the lintel of the office door.
"I told Mr. Thompson the truth of Stephen's parentage," Margaret met his eyes, wondering if he would be pleased or upset. He had trusted her with the information long ago, and bound her to secrecy. Would he construe it as defying him, considering how things stood between them currently? Well, done was done, it was too late to worry about it now. "Thompson realises how close he came to almost missing out on a connection to a member of the House of Lords, to Lord Cornwallis himself, and he saw fit to remedy the situation at once. She held William's eyes, waiting for the explosion. Instead of anger at what could be considered yet another betrayal, he inclined his head, expression both thoughtful and approving. Startled, she hesitated, feeling more than a little uncertain. "If you'll excuse me," she said a little faintly, "I need to ensure that Sarah has packed everything I need." She hurried past the other women and disappeared up the stairs.
"Not so doubtful of her commitment to the family now, are you?" Rose asked William."I wonder, William. What would you do if I had chosen as Margaret had? Because I can tell you now, I would have done the exact same thing, if I had found myself under the same circumstances."
Not having witnessed William and Margaret's private moment earlier, she was not aware of the small steps the two had taken toward healing their marriage. William, preferring to keep it private, did not confide it to her.
"You would have helped to free rebels, despite the cost to your sons' career?" He asked instead, arching an eyebrow in surprise.
"Oh, grow up, boy. There was, and still is, so much more at stake than your damned career," with that, she turned her back on him and stalked up the stairs. Jane gave him an embarrassed look, then - not seeming to know what else to do - she followed Rose. William drew in a long, deep, fortifying breath, then disappeared back into the office.
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"It's lovely, isn't it?" Eleanor sighed as she stared up at what Margaret called the Great House. Those words did nothing to describe the mansion she was looking at now. She was as enchanted by the place now as she had been at the first sight of it several days earlier. She turned to her newly arrived companion, "have you been here before, Maisy?"
"No, never," Maisy replied. "My father took us for picnics when he could, but he worked so much that it wasn't really possible. There's a lot of Charlestown I haven't seen," she laughed softly, "I can't believe that Margie owns this place. I mean, she actually owns it. And William too of course. It's their's, all theirs. Can you imagine having such vast wealth?" She glanced at Eleanor, then blushed crimson. "Of course you can. The mansion you grew up in was probably bigger than this one."
"No, it wasn't," Eleanor shook her head and the two began moving along a winding path. Maggie and Sophia were further along, picking wildflowers and placing them in baskets. "Though it wasn't far off, I suppose. But, it was never ours. My uncle Edward - he was the eldest son and rightful heir. He inherited everything. My father was very wealthy for the longest time, he was a partner in the families trading Company but he soon dwindled it all away. Uncle Edward refused to take responsibility for us, and we ended up in a small apartment that William found for us. The entire apartment could have fit fifteen times into Margie's Great House here."
Maisy laughed at this.
"I wonder what happened to my piano… We gave most of our furnishings and - well, everything really - to our neighbours. Everything that we could not take with us," Eleanor continued. "But the piano is still mine, we made it clear that when we returned, we'd come for it. I do hope they are looking after it. Moisture, you know, can cause the worst damage."
"I'm sure they will take excellent care of it," Maisy assured her. The two chatted quietly as they strolled along the path, Eleanor speaking of her time in England, telling stories - not all of them good, and then listening as Maisy did the same. Maisy had bought with her the news that Lieutenant Mason was on the mend, the doctors were finally certain he was out of danger, he would not lose his life from the bullet he had taken during Benjamin Martin's attack. While Eleanor was thankful that Adam Mason would live, and that Claire would not be a widow, she was also vastly relieved that the Lieutenant had survived - for Margaret's sake. It would have been one more death knell for Margie and William's marriage, had Mason succumbed to his wound. It saddened Eleanor, the division between her brother and sister in-law. It seemed like such a cold, lonely way to live. Marriages should be enjoyed, not endured.
"How is Cornet Binnings?" Eleanor asked at length. "I do hope he'll come to visit us. Do you think they're far from here?"
"I would not have a clue where those Dragoons are," Maisy said cheerfully. "I love Paul dearly, but I'm just as happy that he's off riding with Colonel Tavington, for it gives me the opportunity to come and visit. I have missed you all so much! It's been days since you left. Have you enjoyed your stay here so far? When are you going to come back to Charlestown?"
Eleanor studied the shorter woman carefully. She could not imagine that Maisy would have bedded Bordon unless she had fallen deeply in love with him. It was terrible, what Philip had done to her, getting her pregnant and then abandoning her, but Maisy seemed quite content with her lot, not showing a hint of sadness. She'd found a new love, in her husband. Perhaps, if Maisy could love so desperately as Eleanor felt sure she must have, and if she could lose that love so tragically, and still find happiness in the end, perhaps there was hope for Eleanor yet. She longed to broach the subject, firmly believing that the two would become very close friends indeed if Maisy was aware that Eleanor knew everything, but how to do it? How could she possibly say, "by the way, I know you had an affair with Philip, the man I love, and that you are now carrying his child. Do you want to talk about it?" It seemed an impossible task, but Eleanor felt she had to do it. She could feel a barrier between them, an impediment to true friendship, that could only be bought down through discussion and the reaching of mutual understanding.
"I would like to stay here forever," Eleanor replied to Maisy's question. "We are all quite content here, though Sophia is desperately worried that we'll miss the ball. We keep telling her that we'll still be going. Sophia is worried that her father will leave without saying goodbye - he's due to set sail soon. I think she and the others will return to the city after the ball, but I might ask Margie if she and I can stay on here. How long will you stay with us, Maisy?"
"I'll return with Paul as soon is he's finished patrolling with the Dragoons. Hopefully it won't be too long, I do miss him."
"You only arrived here this morning," Eleanor laughed. "So much for you being just as happy that he's off riding with William," Eleanor imitated Maisy's lower voice.
"It's only a few more days until the ball," Maisy lamented. "What fun will it be if Paul isn't there to dance with? Sometimes, the Dragoons stay away for weeks on end, though it's rare that they do that. William was in quite a mood when they set out though, it seemed to me as though he has no desire to return without Margie there. Ellie, do you think they are having problems? Margie seems out of sorts - and I realise now that she was out of sorts when you all left a few days ago. And William, he's been is such a temper… I'm sure the only people who are happy in that house, are Stephen and my own Paul!"
"How is Stephen?" Eleanor asked, instead of answering Maisy's questions about Margaret and William.
"Oh, he's so excited - and Mary, she's fit to burst! They'll announce the first bann for their engagement this Sunday in church. You don't know what a relief it all is, it was so dreadful when Evans proposed and Mary accepted, only to have Thompson end it all so abruptly! Mary has been so upset and so has Evans… But it's all over now. Evans told me last night that he's thinking about staying here in Charlestown. He wants to transfer out of the Dragoons and take on an administrative role so he can stay close to Mary. Don't say anything to William yet, I'm not sure if Evans has told him."
"Now how can I say anything to William, when he's off riding who knows where?" Eleanor laughed softly. "Don't worry, my lips are sealed. It will be nice - and far less dangerous - for Stephen to stay here with his beloved. I've liked Mary since the first time I met her, but now that I know she's to be my sister, I want to get to know her better. I will ask Margie to invite Mary here for a few days, then we can all be together. It'll be a fine time, I think, with lots of cheer. I could use some cheer…"
She stared off into the distance and Maisy patted her hand. Spying a white, intricately carved bench, the two sat down, letting Maggie and Sophia continue on ahead. They were completely alone and now would be the perfect time for Eleanor to broach the subject of Maisy and Bordon. For now, Maisy began to prattle, about menial things, like the Simms ball. The two girls spoke of the gowns they would wear. How they would arrange their hair. What they thought the weather would be like and how large the mansion was, would all the guests fit comfortably inside if it began to rain. Such stupid things to be speaking about when they had a much larger concern between them. Would revealing what she knew of Maisy's affair bring them closer together? Or would it drive them apart? Eleanor felt that if anyone in the entire world would understand the heartache she was going through, it was Maisy, who had loved Philip also. Why should they be enemies, because of him? Why should they let him drive a wedge in what could be a grand friendship? Eleanor felt as though Philip was depriving her of a closeness she was craving, with a girl she truly liked. But how could they become kindred spirits if they did not bare all to one another?
"…Who will be wearing a corral gown. But Mrs. Marshall doesn't think that pink would suit Miss Alice. I think any colour would suit Alice, myself," Maisy was saying. "Though I do like seeing blue on her. Light blue suits her best. But the corral will be fine. Besides, Alice doesn't care about gowns and all those trappings. It's her maid who dresses her and keeps her looking so fine. I remember the arguments they used to have, with Alice's poor maid despairing -"
"Maisy, I know," Eleanor interrupted in a rush of impatience and nervousness.
"How could you know?" Maisy asked, tilting her head to one side. "I didn't think you would know Alice all that well in such a short time -"
"No, I don't mean Alice and her maid," Eleanor sighed. She took hold of Maisy's hand, wanting to initiate some physical contact, some closeness before beginning. She looked both ways up the path to ensure they were alone, and then she repeated, in a pointed tone, "I mean that I know."
Maisy's face paled, her lips parted, her dark eyes grew wide. Eleanor shook her head quickly, and rushed to explain before any damage could be done.
"I know you loved him. Maisy, I like you, I really do. And I've debated whether or not I should tell you that I know, but I find that I must, because I don't feel like we'll truly be friends until we discuss it all."
"You know… and you still want to be friends?" Maisy asked, lowering her eyes, feeling quite uncertain.
"Yes, I do! None of it was your fault. It was all him -"
"I allowed myself to be seduced," Maisy said softly. "I'm far from blameless."
"Yes, well, perhaps," Eleanor conceded softly. "You seem like such a clever girl, I'm not entirely certain why you would… well… out of wedlock… but I know you've been hurt by it all and you're safely married now, so you'll find no reproof from me. Maisy, I love him. So much! I just feel…" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "I just feel as though there's not a single person who could possibly understand what I'm going through, except for you, for you had to go through it to."
"That I did. And I still am," Maisy whispered, her eyes becoming haunted.
"I just hurts so much," Eleanor confided, eyes moist.
"I know," Maisy sighed heavily, feeling on the verge of tears herself. "I still love him, even now. I hate myself for that, and I feel as though I'm betraying Paul for still caring for another man. I do love Paul, please don't think I don't!"
"I know you do," Ellie reassured her. "You can't just stop loving someone. I've heard that you never forget your first love, even fifty years later. I hope it's not bloody true, I tell you!" She said fervently and Maisy's eyes popped to hear Eleanor swear. "Perhaps I'll find it easier to bear, if we talk about it all? I'm willing, if you are."
"I'm willing," Maisy whispered. "Though I don't know where to start…"
"Then let me. I'll tell you how I came to love him, and then you tell me. I want to know how it started, how he treated you, I want to know all of it, if you think you can bear speaking about it."
"As long as you don't think poorly of me, I can bear it," Maisy said, her voice a strange mixture of shyness and fear of rejection.
"It's him that I think poorly of. Or I will think poorly of him, as soon as you've told me all that befell you. Here, I'll begin," Eleanor drew a deep breath, and started speaking of the very first time her eyes landed on Philip. Of how she would come running from any corner of the house, as soon as she knew he was beneath her roof. Of the light touches they would give one another, the gentle wisp of their fingers brushing where no one else could see. Of long walks and longer gazes, of never speaking the words, but both feeling such love… And of his whispered promise that not all was lost, that she could live in hope of marriage upon his return. Finally, it was Maisy's turn and she balked, reluctant to bare her soul.
"I like you, Eleanor. I can't stand to think we might not be friends, after…"
"I think we'll be closer," Eleanor promised. "Why should we allow him to come between us?" She lowered her voice, conspiratorial and amused, "And won't that get up his nose? To see us as friends!
"It surely will! Very well, but some of it might be painful to hear," Maisy warned. It had certainly been painful for her, to hear how gentle Philip had been in his very subtle pursuit of Eleanor. He had not lain in wait in dark corridors, uncaring that he might compromise her virtue. He had not cornered her in the washing room, trying to coerce kisses from her. He had treated Eleanor as a Lady of his own station deserved, while he'd treated Maisy like… Like so much rubbish.
"I'm ready for it," Eleanor vowed, but when Maisy began to speak, she realised she was not ready at all. She was an innocent little lamb is what she was, she realised, for what Maisy confided was a searing agony in her breast. By the time Maisy finished, Eleanor was weeping silently, certain now that the man she fell in love with never existed at all.
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