Chapter 91 - The Tavington's Host a Ball:
End of August 1780 - Fresh Water Plantation
"Why they insisted on hosting a ball on this speck of a farm, I'll never understand," Cornwallis said under his breath. He slapped at his neck, then inspected the large fat glob spread across the flat of his palm. "Mosquitoes," he curled his lip. "Fresh Water Plantation," he sniffed with distaste, "Fetid Water Swamp would have been a more apt name."
"Shhh," O'Hara admonished softly, eyeing his hosts who were standing nearby. "They will hear you, Sir. You do not wish to cause offence, do you?'
"I could not care less if I offended the new Mrs. Tavington," Cornwallis said, voice prim.
"My Lord, please, I wish you would heed me! Mrs. Tavington is not a traitor -"
"Her cousin is," Cornwallis said, of Cilla Putman. "As are her uncle, her aunt and let us not forget Colonel Benjamin Martin. When Major Bordon informed us of Miss Putman's crime, my eyes were opened to the entire family. That extends to Mrs. Tavington whom, I am certain, has married young William for the sole purpose of betraying him, and us."
"She is another young fool who is completely, utterly, head over heels in love," O'Hara argued. "Sir, I understand your misgivings, but -"
"You have yet to convince me of her innocence, Charles," Cornwallis cut in. "You've done nothing to assuage my fears."
"Colonel Tavington has not married a spy, my Lord," O'Hara sighed.
"His wife," Cornwallis eyed the woman in question warily. "The daughter of The Ghost. Niece to two traitors. Cousin to another. Sister to a Continental. We should have known from the start, what a clan of traitors the Martin's and Putman's were. She will have done precisely the same as her cousin, you mark my words, to think otherwise if pure follow. How much information has she passed along to her dear old Papa, General?" He shifted his gaze to his Second in Command. "Have you done as I requested?"
Cornwallis had never harboured any particular enmity toward Beth Martin back in the city. That had come later, after the revelations at Camden. Immediately after his meeting with Bordon and Cilla Putman, where Cilla's treason was revealed, Cornwallis had become suspicious not only of Cilla, but of Beth, as well. He'd expressed as much to O'Hara who expressed doubt, but it had not allayed Cornwallis' concerns. If the family could put Mage Putman in Bordon's bed, if they could set Miss Putman to spy on British Officers, was it really such a massive leap to imagine that they would marry off one of their number to a British Colonel? Clinton had been such a strong advocate of Tavington's bid to marry Miss Martin and Cornwallis had had no reason to feel otherwise himself. Until Miss Putman's treason was made known. All of Miss Martin's actions in the city were doubted now, he feared there was nothing that family would not stoop to, to further their own Cause. Before O'Hara departed Camden with Tavington, Bordon and the new Mrs. Bordon for the return journey to Fresh Water, Cornwallis had set him a task.
"Yes, against my better judgement. I've had her movements watched," O'Hara said, reiterating his belief that Cornwallis was jumping at shadows. "I've been careful to discover if she has had any contact with anyone from off the Plantation. And I can assure you, Sir, that she most certainly has not. As far as I am aware, she has revealed nothing to her father. I doubt she even knows where he is. She is privy to much information, that is unavoidable. But she has given much information to Colonel Tavington - information that saw the hanging of several traitors, spies that Mr. Putman had inserted into Tavington's ranks. Some of them were family friends to Mrs. Tavington, I can not believe she would have imparted this information to her husband, if she herself was a spy. And nothing she has learned of our own plans has been mysteriously acted upon, by the other side. There has not been a single incident with the rebels to date, that can be traced back to her."
"Then she's either innocent, or a damned masterful - and ruthless - spy," Cornwallis sounded as though he believed the latter. O'Hara laughed out loud.
"I doubt she has much time to be some grand woman of mystery, my Lord. Mrs. Tavington's time is split with the organising of the camp followers - she's become somewhat of a Matron, if you will. And her husband is very demanding of her time, also, as are her constant companions, the sisters and wives of other Officers. No, I believe as I have believed from the start. Mrs. Tavington is what she is."
"The daughter of the Ghost and the niece of a man who should have hanged, is what she is," Cornwallis grumbled. Beth happened to glance over at the two gentlemen at that moment. Seeing their eyes on her, she paled slightly and quickly averted her gaze. "You see?" The Lord General gestured toward her with his glass. "There is something quite wrong here, when she can't even look me in the eye."
"And you glaring at her would have nothing to do with that," O'Hara scoffed, speaking freely as he often did with the General. "If she were masterful and ruthless, she would not look so distinctly uncomfortable at a mere glance from you. Your scowls have been more than enough to keep her from looking you in the eye. It's clear your opinion of her has changed since you saw her last in the city, that you have become disdainful of her… You know, it occurs to me. If you were lower in rank than her husband, you might have found yourself in a duel to the death with the Colonel, for those glares you continue to direct at his wife."
"There might be a duel yet," Major Fallows, stepped up. Hearing this last comment from O'Hara, he laughed softly. Both Gentlemen turned to him in askance. "Tarleton," Fallows inclined his head toward yet another group of guests. Colonel Tarleton stood in their midst. Though he was behaving as his usual, jovial self, he could not seem to stop himself from staring continually at the Tavington's. His glances at Colonel Tavington were less than friendly and those sent to Tavington's pretty, young wife were entirely too friendly.
"How do you even notice these things, Fallows?" Cornwallis asked testily when Fallows explained this.
"It's what I'm paid for, my Lord," Fallows smirked. "I can ferret information from a sack of potatoes."
"If that is so, then pray tell me what our young Banastre thinks of the rebuke I gave him?" Cornwallis asked as he sipped his madeira. The fine liquor was sweet on his tongue, it warmed him. It was surprising that there was such quality to be found in Martin's cellar.
"Not well, my Lord," Fallows replied, again casting his gaze to the auburn haired Colonel, who was at that moment laughing gaily and flirting outrageously with Miss Rebecca Middleton. Fallows frowned, his lips twisted. "He has been heard several times, voicing the injustice of it to any who will listen. How is he to perform his duties, he asks of his enraptured audience, when his 'balls have been cut off'?
Both Generals stiffened, both cast their glares toward Tarleton. "With all due respect, my Lord, you should have pulled that young cubs reins in long ago," O'Hara ground out.
"Perhaps. He still holds much promise. He sees the right of it now, I'm sure. We are Gentlemen and we will fight this war as such," Cornwallis replied, though he still looked quite vexed. Balls cut off? Indeed! If even a quarter of the reports were true, then the youth had needed that reprimand quite sorely. To think, Cornwallis favourite, raping and murdering his way across the Santee!
"And what is Colonel Tavington saying these days, Fallows? Did you hear any reports of complaints from him at O'Hara's - as Tarleton put it - cutting off of his balls?" Cornwallis asked as he eyed the other Colonel. O'Hara had seized command of Fresh Water from Tavington, citing Tavington's abuse of authority, to do so. It had been done quietly, discreetly, no one knew that Tavington could make no formal commands without them first being passed for approval to O'Hara. Tavington was at that moment giving Tarleton a very hard stare, while his pretty young wife tried to distract him. At least she had the sense to see trouble brewing… Though that in itself was vexing. His best Commandants, bickering over a bloody woman! A rebel's daughter and a blood relative to known spies at that!
"No. If he is disgruntled, at least he had the sense to keep it to himself," Fallows reported. "He has been trying extremely hard to work his way back into O'Hara's good graces, to prove himself to be the Commandant he is required to be. If you ask me, I believe he has learned his lesson, I believe he is ready to do better as a Commandant in truth again, not just in name."
"It's only bee a week, Fallows. I admit, he has made the changes I required of him. But let us see how long he can sustain them for," O'Hara sniffed.
"You're not convinced he has redeemed himself?" Cornwallis asked, surprised. "Do you not believe he will refrain from abusing his authority again?"
"Oh, I'm convinced," O'Hara nodded grimly. "I just wonder how much of a struggle it will be for him, especially when I send Lieutenant Farshaw back to his command.
"I would not recommend that, General," Fallows said quickly. "I would not recommend that at all."
"So you've said, but frankly, I am less than enthused to be saddled with his like," O'Hara turned to Cornwallis. "He's the one I told you about, he gave that nasty beating to his wife."
"For having an affair with Major Bordon, yes you told me," Cornwallis heaved a breath. "What is wrong with the youth of today? I'll never understand them. Tavington." He scoffed. "Going and getting married to a rebel's daughter. And with that wife of his… did you know she has put me in the smallest room in the damned house?"
O'Hara refrained from rolling his eyes by a hair. He also refrained from replying that yes, his Lordship had indeed regaled them all with how unpleased he was with his accommodations at Fresh Water.
Cornwallis continued, "and it's south facing, overlooking that fetid swamp… it's shockingly small, the whole house is! Why would Martin build such a small house, then promptly get eight children on his wife? Why did he not build extensions? Lord, Mrs. Tavington had to remove poor Miss Middleton and Miss Wilkins, for me to take their room! It's really quite absurd. The sooner I am back on the road, the better I say. Lord, has that child ever even thrown a ball? When, I ask you, does she plan to serve dinner? Tomorrow afternoon, perhaps?"
O'Hara did roll his eyes then, and he took a large swig of madeira from his crystal goblet as Fallows tried to stifle his laughter. Cornwallis was, by nature, always polite to a fault. He was a Gentleman that others styled themselves on. He was behaving quite churlish this evening, however. O'Hara was not certain if the blame could be laid entirely at Mrs. Tavington's feet, or if Banastre Tarleton had something to do with the Lord General's sour mood. The discovery that his favourite Officer, whom some spitefully called 'Cornwallis' Pet', was conducting himself as little more than a rogue, had been a cause for much disappointment. Cornwallis had been forced to scold the youth quite harshly, and that had sat poorly with the General. And then he was forced, by protocol if nothing else, to accept an invitation to a ball he had no desire to attend… All of it combined had pushed His Lordship to the edge of his patience. O'Hara could not help but agree - the sooner he left, the better.
A few yards away, Rebecca was gazing up at Banastre with an expression that could only be called worshipful. Banastre had known for some time that the girl was infatuated with him, though his own affections had always been focused elsewhere. Still, the object of his desire was denied to him, and Rebecca was quite pretty… He pushed those thoughts aside, for Rebecca was also from a very prominent family and - no doubt - a maiden. He would probably end up forced to marry the lass at sword point, just as Bordon had Cilla Putman. And weren't they just the happiest couple? Bordon and Cilla were standing not far off, with Wilkins, Mrs. Wilkins and Brownlow and several other Green Dragoons. Not once had Bordon's face cracked into a grin. As for Cilla, she mostly had her back to him as if she were trying to ignore his existence as she she engaged in some deep conversation with Mrs. Wilkins. Their dalliance, if that is what had caused them to marry, had bought them a lifetime of misery which Banastre did not envy in the slightest. No, it was not worth it, no matter how pretty Rebecca was. He had no desire to be bound to her in matrimony… and no doubt, that was exactly what would be his fate, if he lifted the lasses skirts and spread her pretty legs. He was not in Cornwallis' favour at the moment, he would find no support there, should Rebecca's brothers make a complaint.
"We are Gentlemen, and we will conduct ourselves as such!" Oh, how those words still rankled. "These Colonials are our brethren. When this conflict is over, we will resume commerce with them. You are not assisting our Cause toward peace, by earning such enmity!" Oh, and another rebuke from that disastrous meeting, "we serve the Crown and we must conduct ourselves accordingly. You serve me and the manner in which you serve me reflects upon me! I would have thought a Gentleman from a family as distinguished as yours, would understand that." And perhaps worst of all, "you advance yourself only through my good graces." This had struck Banastre with the force of blow from a blacksmiths hammer. If Cornwallis withdrew his support, it would be an utter disaster. He did, very dearly, wish to distinguish himself. To continue his meteoric rise through the ranks. To be regaled with acclaim, adoration and riches beyond his understanding, upon his triumphant return to England. That should be his fate. But without Cornwallis good will, he would return to England in disgrace, no acclaim and no riches. Without Cornwallis, the only people who would be knocking at his door, would be his debtors. Fire and sword, Lord Cornwallis had said! Take the country, with fire and sword! Yet when Banastre does so, he is reprimanded so thoroughly, that he was now forced to perform his duties with such restrictions, that he would not be able to do his duties at all. His balls, as he had said so many times since his rebuke, had been well and truly severed. For how was any Colonial to take him seriously now? How would any of them be frightened of him, when he could not lift a finger against them? And yet, Cornwallis still wanted results… Oh, that he did. Banastre blew out a vexed breath. His eyes landed again on Tavington, who was glaring right back. Banastre stifled a laugh. Did William honestly think he would try to corner Beth, to beg her for a kiss, right there at the ball? Stupid man.
That would have to wait until there weren't quite so many people around.
"Sweet Lord, when will these flies let up?" Banastre complained as he waved his hand over his face. Rebecca's expression shifted from adoration to one that showed she clearly doubted his sanity.
"I would have thought you would be accustomed to them by now, Colonel. Though they are a nuisance, to be certain," Rebecca paused, then added softly, "perhaps when the dancing begins, they will not worry us so much."
Hint hint, Banastre thought, stifling a scoff. She had mentioned the dancing, thus giving him the opening to ask her to join him on the dance floor.
He did and her face lit up like a joyous lantern. Gods, she would be so easy to seduce… Instead of making such overtures, however, he asked, "Now, Miss Rebecca, you were telling me about this trip of yours to Pembroke, where, beyond your expectations, you found the most exquisite muslin you've ever seen?" he teased and Rebecca's cheeks blazed crimson. Banastre laughed at her - he could read her thoughts plainly and right then, she was mortified for having spoken to him of such trivialities. In truth, he did not mind. It was a far more preferable way to spend his time than riding from one side of the County to the other, splashing through fetid swamps, chasing his quarry down only to have it slip through his fingers at the last moment. Through heat one moment, wind and hail and lashing rain the next. Only to return to Cornwallis to be told he was doing it all wrong! It had been a dreadful few months, of hardship and privation… A chat with a lovely young lady at a ball was just what he needed. Besides, he had a sister of his own and it was pleasant, conversing about things that would only be of concern to young women. He enjoyed fine clothes as well - not quite as much as his friend and Second in Command Major George Hanger, but he enjoyed them all the same. Therefore, he listened quite attentively, as Miss Middleton continued her tale.
"If he looks at you again," William said under his breath, "I'll knock his head from his shoulders."
"Now, William," Beth sighed. She was heartily sick of holding her husband back, it seemed that had been her purpose all evening, keeping William from Banastre's throat. "What, do you imagine, would Cornwallis have to say about it, if you did?"
"Not a damn thing," William sniffed. "Not if half of what I heard is true. Cornwallis is furious with Banastre. Besides, I am his superior, I can knock his damned head off, if I want to."
"O'Hara will accuse you of abusing your authority again if you did that. You're being stupid," Beth giggled. She snuggled closer and wound her gloved fingers into his warm arm. "You know where my heart lies."
"You only want me because it's cold and I'm warm," he scoffed down at her, though he still kept a wary eye on Banastre.
"Hmm, so warm," she snuggled even closer, her body pressed alongside his for it was an unusually cold for an August night. "I'm such a fool, what a stupid thing, this evening is a disaster and the weather is not helping. We're coming into September but Lord, it should not be this cold!"
"At least it's not raining," he pointed out, comforting her.
"You don't disagree that it's a disaster!" She accused, glaring. He laughed, half expecting her to begin tapping her foot. Well, he would not lie to her - he'd attended far more organised affairs in his day. At least the servants were circulating with trays of madeira - the guests would be too soused to remember their discomfort and hunger before long. And the call for dinner would come soon. It was almost ready now, and there'd be less grumbling then.
William and Beth's conversation had been in hushed whispers, and William turned his attention to the silly woman who had continued to prattle to him all the while. Lord, would she never cease? What, in God's name, did William care about her milk cows? So a calf had been borne feet first. What of it? Hell's bloody teeth! One glance at Beth showed him that she was every bit as intrigued as he. Clearly. For why else would her eyes be glazed over? She wore such a faraway look on her face…
"And what are you thinking of, little Beth?" He leaned down to whisper. "Where ever you are, may I come too?"
She blinked up at him, startled, and he smiled.
"You're obviously very far away," he explained. "You've travelled to some place far, far away and you've left me behind."
"No, I haven't," a mischievous glint entered her eyes. "You're right there with me, dear heart."
"Oh?" His interest was immediately piked. "And what are we doing, hmm?"
They were not alone in their small group, and as William and Beth whispered at each other, the woman continued to prattle to the others in their company. Beth pitched her voice even lower. Speaking in a code that she clearly was making up as she went along, she said, "I was just about to pull your… sword… free… of its scabbard," his eyes narrowed, became more focused. Emboldened, she continued, "I was just now lowering myself to my knees, in order to… glide my fingers along… the blade… a little better.."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, seizing her arm. Without even excusing himself, he pulled his wife from the midst of startled guests and began to march her toward the house, with Beth giggling all the way. William ignored any and all attempts from the guests who hailed him, trying to get his attention. He continued marching Beth along, his expression set in a look of keen concentration. To the casual observer, the Colonel's face was a thunderhead. He looked filled with fury, but Beth knew better. She continued to giggle even as she was dragged up the stairs and ushered into their bedchamber. By then, she was breathless, for it was no easy feat, traversing such a distance at such a pace, in such restrictive stays. She cursed herself for a fool, for asking Mila to do the laces tighter than usual.
"Now," he said. He was not even breathing hard! "You were on your knees, stroking my sword, I believe. What next?"
William wrapped his hands around her waist and edged her backward to the bed.
"On second thought," she panted, still trying to recover her breath. "I believe it was you who was kneeling."
"Indeed?" he quirked an eyebrow, amused.
"Yes. You were. You were checking… ah… to see if my garter was holding my stocking, because… I'd thought it had come loose…" She smirked.
"I see. A worthy and most important duty," he mused. "And after I have checked that your garter is holding your stocking? To ensure it was indeed secure?"
"Well, you had to explore further you know," she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaned in to kiss his smooth cheek. "To… ah… make sure I was warm enough… you know…"
"Hmm, and after I've assisted in the warming of your sweet quim, what then?" He asked as he boldly began lifting her skirts. His fingers edged the silks and layers of petticoats upward, and she licked her lips in anticipation. "Will you then be pulling my sword free of its scabbard, will you be lowering yourself to your knees, to glide your fingers along the blade?" Despite his fingers now caressing the insides of her thighs, and the exquisite feelings this was drawing forth, Beth tossed her head back and laughed.
"Yes, dear heart," she giggled, "it would be my pleasure."
"So, the Tavington's are not to join us for dinner, then?" Banastre asked Cilla, eyeing the two empty seats stiffly.
"I am sure I have no idea," Cilla replied and Banastre cocked his head, giving her a long look. They were seated at their tables, Cornwallis was seated two tables over with O'Hara and his other adjutants and oh - there were the Tavington's now, looking somewhat embarrassed as they took their seats at the high table with Cornwallis.
The high table in which Banastre had not been invited to sit. Instead, he was with Cilla and Hanger and several others; Richard, Banastre saw, was at another table again. Banastre held his glass out and a servant ventured over to fill it with a dark, red wine. On impulse, he picked up the crystal goblet at Cilla's place setting and held that out to be filled as well. Cilla gave him a startled look.
"I don't think that is watered," she said, frowning as he set it before her.
"You're a married woman now, Mrs. Bordon," he pointed out. "And I believe the required response is 'Thank you, Colonel Tarleton.' " He arched an eyebrow. He remembered how prickly she could be at times, but now she looked utterly fractious, as though she simply did not want to be there at all. "I think you could use it as much as I do," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"You look about as happy to be here as I feel," he replied, draining a mouthful. He swallowed and smacked his lips. "It's surprisingly good. Come now, Mrs. Bordon, try it." Her lips tightened and she looked even more irritable. "Here, like this," he said, bringing the glass up to his lips again. She watched as he took a drink. He swallowed and smacked his lips again. "Just like that."
"You look absurd when you do that," she replied. "And it sounds awful."
He laughed softly. "And incredibly impolite, as well. I have to admit," he glanced at the high table, at Tavington and at Beth. "Being here is a trial, I want to be here as much as you do."
"Which is to say, not at all?" Cilla asked and startled, Banastre threw back his head and laughed.
"Precisely that much," he admitted. "Look at them all, jovial and merry. You are the only guest here who matches my mood to perfection, therefore you are the only one I desire to keep company with. Therefore, I insist you drink for if you don't keep up with me, I shall soon surpass you in silliness, and then we will not be well suited to one another's company at all."
"Why do you want to drink?" She asked.
"Why, to alleviate my sour mood, of course. It shall alleviate yours too, though in truth, my company should be enough for that." He cocked his head again and grinned. "Was that a smile? I think it was! It was a smile! I made you smile."
"I suppose you did," she said, her weak smile deepening slightly. She was staring at her glass as though it was something strange and foreign, but at length she did pick it up and she took a small, experimental sip. It wasn't as harsh as the whiskey, which had been watered down. Still, it was quite strong, without the added water to thin it. Perhaps it would put her in the same good mood the whiskey had, God knew she had need of that. Take what advantages you can, Emily had said. Very well.
"See? It's a lovely drop. You have enough of this and you'll be feeling cheerful indeed," Banastre said, taking a much larger drink. His glass was almost empty, he motioned again and again, a servant filled it for him. Hanger was sitting across from him, chatting jovially with Rebecca Middleton and several others. Banastre noticed the looks Rebecca kept giving him but he was no longer in any mood to entertain her. He was in no mood to flirt, not when he could not flirt with the woman he actually wanted. Seeing Beth disappear with Tavington earlier had plummeted Banastre to the depths of despair, for he knew damned well where they'd gone and what they'd done. Now, he simply had no energy to entertain the pretty maid who had fallen in love with him. It took much less of his vitality to sit there with Sour Cilla and get rip roaring drunk.
"You really should stop looking at them," Cilla said, taking another sip. This one was not experimental, it was a determined pull and she did not squish her face as she had with the first sip.
"No?" Banastre asked.
"I get the feeling that Colonel Tavington likes it," Cilla said. "Do you know what I mean? He knows you still love her and I think… This is like a victory for him and seeing you hunger for her just makes his victory that much more…"
"Enjoyable?" Banastre finished when Cilla was searching for the right word.
"Complete," she said.
"That damned bastard. It's damned hard though," Banastre said. "I love her, Mrs. Bordon."
Cilla's eyebrows lifted. Banastre had spoken low enough for her to hear, no one else heard the words.
"It's torture," he whispered. He took another pull - unlike Cilla, this was not his first glass of wine for the evening, he was already well on his way to getting soused. He nodded at her glass, encouraging her to sip her wine, wanting her to keep up with him. It really would do her the world of good. He would introduce her to the wonderful activity of drowning ones sorrows, for she seemed as in need of it as he. "I know she loves me, yet it's he she has to lay with," he said. "I can only imagine how awful it is for her. Do you have any idea what it is like, being forced to bed a man you don't want?" Cilla's face blazed crimson and she averted her gaze. "I'm sorry," he said, immediately contrite. "Something tells me you know that feeling all too well."
"I'm not… that is, we don't… ours is…" Cilla frowned fiercely, extremely embarrassed. "It doesn't matter," she finished, taking another pull. This one was deeper, her glass was almost empty. Banastre took it, gestured for a servant and it was filled again promptly.
"Does he… Do they fight? Does he treat her poorly? For if he does, I vow, I shall kill him," he declared, feeling free to speak this way with Cilla, for he knew that she was very close to Beth.
"There is no unpleasantness between them," Cilla replied. She'd chosen her words carefully, unsure what to tell the lovesick Officer, that would not hurt him. She recalled hearing Beth and Tavington have relations and thought how wrong Banastre Tarleton had it, to assume Beth was not enjoying herself thoroughly in Tavington's bed. She could not tell that to Banastre, however.
They continued to chat, mostly it was Banastre chatting about Beth, while he drank steadily and Cilla slightly less so. One glass to every two of his. But that was enough to soon have her lightheaded and giddy.
"See?" He leaned in close, whispering. "I told you you'd be feeling cheerful in no time," he said and she smiled, nodding. Feeling rather cheerful himself as the dinner continued and the wine flowed, he finally began to have the energy to flirt. With Rebecca across from him, with several other ladies at the table. With Cilla Putman Bordon, who rolled her eyes and did not take him seriously in the slightest, even when he called her the most beautiful flower in the garden. He had taken her advice and hadn't looked over at the Tavington's even once since Cilla had advised him not to. He did ask her, several times, what the pair were doing now and while she was exacerbated at first, eventually she became less so, she eventually became his eyes, giggle as she watched the Tavington's and whispered what was happening now.
Which was nothing much, in truth. William and Beth were chatting with O'Hara, Cornwallis and the other Generals. "Perhaps he needs some of this," Cilla said, indicating her glass. "Cornwallis seems as cheerless as you and I."
"I am cheerless no longer, with thanks to such fine company," Banastre said.
"With thanks to the wine," Cilla corrected.
The dinner came to an end and the guests began filing out. Some of the staff at Fresh Water must have had hidden musical talents, for several of them played their rudimentary instruments for the revellers to dance beneath the stars. Banastre fell in with Major Hanger and Whitty, he walked along with them for several steps, thinking that Cilla was still with him. When he discovered she was not, he turned to see her standing uncertainly, watching as couples began to walk toward the dance area. He glanced around for Bordon, but he was no where to be seen.
"Aren't you coming?" Banastre called to Cilla, who gave a start. "Come on - we finally get to have some fun!" He held out his arm to her and she smiled gratefully as she came forward to take it. Rebecca and Sarah soon joined them and the six of them fell into their dancing lines, all paired off with one another.
So began the next, far more enjoyable, part of the evening. Banastre danced with the ladies - Cilla, Rebecca, Sarah, Emily Wilkins. He was watching for Beth with the hopes that he might dance with her, too, but Tavington was keeping her back, allowing her to dance only with his men; Bordon, Brownlow, Dalton, and others in his command. The damned prick.
Between dances, Banastre stepped away from the group. He pulled a flask from his pocket and took a long pull of whiskey, turning his back to the others to shield his actions. When he turned back, Cilla was standing right behind him, staring wide eyed. He gave her a lopsided grin and offered the flask. "What some?"
"What is it?"
"Whiskey. You ever had whiskey?"
"I… for the first time, the other day," she admitted. "Mrs. Wilkins and I… we had, well a few. But it was watered down."
"You and your water," he laughed. "Why in the world would you spoil such a fine drink, by watering it down? Go on, have a drink with me, forget about your water."
She laughed, smiled nervously, then took it from his fingers gingerly.
"Small sips," he advised. "It's strong."
"Alright," she said and took a small, experimental sip. He laughed at the look on her face. She swallowed and cringed. "Ooohhhh that is so much worse," she said, but she surprised him by taking another sip. They shared the flask for a few more moments, before turning back to the dancing. The group was cheerful, Banastre gave Rebecca the attention she so clearly craved from him, while slipping away to share the flask with the often giggling Cilla.
His suspicion that Cilla was in a loveless, arranged marriage became abundantly clear to Banastre when Bordon strode over to offer his wife an obligatory dance. Cilla's smile slid from her face and assumed a 'proper' facade. Properly unhappy, Banastre thought as he went through the steps with Sarah Wilkins. Cilla kept her line of sight pinned on the space above Bordon's shoulder, never quite meeting his gaze even as she moved through the steps with him. Bordon looked as grim as his wife - it was clear he was only dancing with her to keep up appearances, to make people think the two valued one another. And a woeful job he was going, too. Banastre made a gesture to gain her attention and when she glanced at him, he jutted his chin toward Bordon, made a rude expression with his face, then gave Cilla a slow wink. Cilla laughed and Bordon, frowning, glanced at Banastre, who threw on a vacant expression of wide innocence . When he turned back to Cilla, he saw her hiding a smile.
When the dancing ended, the guests began to leave the party. Some returning to the great house where they were quartered, others would climb into carriages that would carry them to the Ferguson's or for the local Loyalists, to their nearby homes. There were scores of Dragoons - both William's and Banastre's - on hand, ready to escort them safely. Banastre offered Cilla his arm and together, they began to make their way back to Martin's manor house. Banastre stumbled and lurched, the path kept moving under his feet for some reason.
"It's so difficult to walk," she giggled. "I can't believe we managed to dance at all."
"Even drunk," he boasted, "I am an exceptional dancer."
"And exceptional company. Thank you, Colonel Tarleton," Cilla said. "I honestly didn't want to come tonight at all, I certainly didn't think I'd enjoy it. But I did," she smiled up at him. "Thanks to you."
"Thanks to the wine and whiskey," he replied, grinning. He dipped his hand in his pocket for the flask, unscrewed it, then offered it to Cilla. She glanced about to make sure no one was watching - indeed, there was scant light except for nearby torches, and most people had gone on ahead of them in any case. Even Hanger and Whitty, with Sarah Wilkins and Rebecca Middleton - the four of them were still walking onward toward the house, while Banastre and Cilla had slowed to share the flask until it was empty.
"Ooh, I really need the privy," Cilla said, squirming.
"I've been to enough of these affairs to know that the privy will likely be busy for sometime yet. Can you wait to use the chamber pot in your room?"
"Oh, I really don't want to walk another step," she said.
"Then off into the bushes with you," he said, guiding her off the path. "I'll go too."
After getting Cilla to squat behind a tree, Banastre went behind another, where he answered the call of nature. He was there a while. When he'd finally passed as much water as he was able, he returned to Cilla, who was waiting for him in the darkness. He felt for her arm, then guided her back to the light of the torches.
"Better?" He asked.
"So much better," she replied. They resumed their stumbling walk back toward the path, with Banastre nursing thoughts of kissing Cilla. She looked so much like Beth even in daylight, let alone now in the near darkness. Perhaps that was why he'd been so solicitous of her all evening - because she resembled her cousin so greatly. And he couldn't have Beth now. Banastre pulled Cilla's hand free of his arm, then placed his arm around her shoulders. The torch lit path was empty now, the last of the laughing and chatting guests had their backs to the couple as they made their way toward the manor house. Banastre steered Cilla toward a lovers seat.
"Aren't we going back to the house?" She asked, looking drunkenly surprised as he encouraged her to sit beside him.
"Soon," he said. He pulled his arm from her shoulders, tilted her face up to his, cupped her jaw with both his hands. "But first…" He bent toward her and she watched him, wide eyed and shocked, as he leaned in to brush his lips to hers. He heard her little gasp - a quick, indrawn breath. His lips moved over hers for barely a moment, before she was turning her face away. With one finger beneath her chin, he turned her back to him. "It's just a kiss, Mrs. Bordon," he said smoothly, softly. "There's no harm in it."
"Please don't call me that," she replied, lowering her eyes.
"Alright…" he paused, then said, "Cilla." She glanced back up at him and he met her lips again, while holding her jaw with the gentleness he would use holding a frightened bird. "It's just kissing," he whispered, his lips moving over hers. As a married woman, she would have done this and so much more. Strangely, while she was not pulling away, she was not responding much either. He'd given girls their first kiss before and this felt very much like that, Cilla's responses were clumsy, untrained and all the more delightful for it. He remembered the coolness between Cilla and Bordon and it occurred to him that perhaps she had not had occasion to kiss very often after all. She was only newly married, and her husband was not exactly attentive of her. Perhaps Bordon was not taking the time to care for his wife's needs, as he had those of his mistress's.
Setting Bordon from his mind, he settled in to show Cilla just how enjoyable kissing could be. He nudged her lips to part, suckled on her top lip and then her lower, relished her little sigh as he felt her arms come about his waist. He drew back ever so slightly, she gazed at him with wide eyes filled with wonder.
"Shall I take you back now? Or would you like to stay here a few minutes longer?" He asked.
"Can we… Can we stay here?" She asked.
For answer, he resumed kissing her, he kept his eyes open, watching the expressions of wonder and curiosity shift across her face. This could not be her first kiss - she would have consummated her marriage days ago. But he sensed it was her first kiss like this. Cilla turned her face from his, cast a quick glance about, before leaning back to him again. Just making sure no one saw them. He smiled, delighted with her complicity. As his fingers began to caress her neck, Banastre eventually began to recall that, while he was enjoying kissing Cilla, who greatly resembled Beth and therefore the kissing was more enjoyable for it, he was kissing his friend's wife. He had to stop, before either of them began to want more. He lifted his lips from hers, rested his forehead on hers.
"See, Cilla?" He whispered, "no harm in it." He gave her a quick peck, then regretfully drew away from her. "We'd best get back before it's noticed that we're missing." She said nothing as he rose, but when he held his hands out to her, she placed her fingers in his and let him pull her up. He gave her a warm smile - the special smile he reserved for his lovers. Even though they had not coupled, they'd shared an intimate moment, and therefore she was deserving of more than his usual amiable grin. She wound her arm through his and together, they made their way back to the manor.