Chapter 117 - Beth, Ban and Fanny Hill:
25th November 1780
For nearly five weeks, Beth had been residing with Tarleton's Legion.
For the first three, she had been stationed a few miles from Winnsboro, where her daily routine was precisely the same as every other day. She bid farewell to Banastre when he left for his forays into the countryside, she welcomed him home and to her bed when he returned. When he was gone, she spent her days occupying herself as best she could - reading books loaned from Officers. Sewing when Banastre's clothes needed mending. But when Banastre was gone, she mostly spent her days working with the charcoal and ink Mila had so thoughtfully sent to her. She drew the camp, the scenery, the birdlife. One day, she sat down at a brook with her parchment on a board across her lap, and she drew the water and the trees.
There had not been much opportunity for that lately, however, for the Legion had been on the move, as Tarleton's Dragoons were sent further and further afield, to wherever he was needed most.
Most recently, he was needed to the south of Winnsboro. Sumter had been sighted by the 1st Battalion of the 71st Regiment of Foot, and Banastre was despatched to reinforce the 71st Regiment, and to chase Sumter down. This required the entire Legion, which meant Beth's tent had been packed away and stowed with the baggage train. Now, she spent her days travelling - in a carriage, not with the other camp followers on their wagons. The jostling and movement did not allow for drawing or writing, she could only sew and read to occupy herself. The baggage train, protected by a Company of Foot, always moved slower as it plodded along, following the same course as the Legion. At times it caught up, when the Legion stopped for long enough for it to do so. At those times, her boredom was broken by time spent with Banastre. But the bulk of it was spent with her own thoughts and apathy.
The day had come to an end, Beth was sitting in her tent, alone except for Nancy. They were not certain if Banastre would return or not, his tent had been erected alongside hers, just in case. Beth sat at her small table, picking at the casserole Nancy had bought in for her. It had been a struggle to eat lately, some foods had become abhorrent to her, but she could not afford to be choosey when there was so little variety. She often felt nauseous and at times, she was certain she must be coming down with some horrid illness. But the feeling passed and she would feel almost herself again, only for it to flare upon her, the awful nausea that had her reaching for her chamber pot and vomiting bile.
She was not feeling sick just now, but the idea of putting a single bite of her casserole into her mouth made her feel like reaching for the chamber pot and retching. When had she developed such a distaste for deer? She had always liked it before but now, looking at those chunks of meat swimming in the thick brown gravy, they made her stomach churn.
Nancy was chatting away as she always did, while Beth's thoughts lingered elsewhere, as they always did. This time, they dwelled on the Reverend of Banastre's Legion, who had informed Beth that under no circumstances would he announce Beth's marriage to be annulled. There was no call for it, he said. She was not duped into marrying Tavington, she herself allowed for the second ceremony to take place, with Reverend Premmon conducting it. She had allowed for the marriage to be consummated, they had lain together for three months before she left him and therefore, she could not plead he was impotent. He had taken his belt to her, yes, but the Reverend refused to consider that just cause for annulment and he certainly would not consider divorce. He was so scandalised by the suggestion that he refused to speak with Beth at all, after that.
Without his assistance, without him declaring her marriage void, she could not demand her inheritance to be returned to her management. Tavington, the Reverend said, was her rightful, legal husband, and he - the Reverend - would do nothing to help alter that. He did not even believe it was possible, what she was requesting.
If she wanted her money, he had dared to say, she would need to return to her husband where she belonged. It was galling, to be faced with such a sure and pointed refusal. She was determined, however. He was not the only Reverend in the world. Perhaps she could somehow get word to Reverend Oliver - there was one clergyman who would not refuse her request. He did not acknowledge her marriage as it was, he was certain to see her free of it. With his backing, she could then enquire after a lawyer to intervene on her behalf, in order to have her inheritance rightfully restored to her.
She just needed a little slip of paper, to have her marriage legally undone. Oliver would provide it, she was damned near certain of it. But how in the world could she possibly make contact with him?
"Oh, yeh would never believe it! Those rebels, they've attacked one of our camps and taken Captain Tynes captive. Did yeh hear?" Nancy said from Banastre's side of the tent where she was tidying. Beth was sitting in hers, dining at her small table. "…was days ago of course, but Colonel Tarleton has gone down to Jackson's Creek to give the rebels another wallopin'. He's goin' to see what he can do 'bout gettin' rid of that Martin fellow -"
"What did you say?" Beth gasped. Thoughts of her inheritance and failed marriage were blown away like a puff of smoke, her spoon clattered to the bowl, gravy splashed over the front of her bodice. Nancy stopped short, surprised by Beth's reaction.
"Oh, don't fear, Mrs. Tavington. Colonel Tarleton can hold his own and you know, he's got my man with him too. They're all real well trained they are. They can handle the likes of that rabble. Though I've heard some real nasty things about that Martin person! I wouldn't want to come across him in a dark alley when I's all by myself. That I would not."
"Colonel Benjamin Martin?" Beth breathed, her hand over her mouth, that imagined churning in her stomach was becoming quite real, now.
"Yeh, that's his name," the lass said, cocking her head.
"Oh, God," Beth gasped again. She lurched upward and glanced about wildly, her insides writhing dangerously. Her father… Lord, her father was here!
"You've gone so green!" Nancy rushed through the partition toward her, concerned. She searched around also, realising Mrs. Tavington had need of a chamber pot. It was under the cot. It only took her a moment to retrieve it, and a good thing too for Beth had already begun. Nancy shoved the chamber pot under Beth's chin. Beth stood there clinging to the sides, the small amount she'd had for dinner expelling in an awful slop into the bowl. The convulsions passed, leaving Beth utterly drained – and quite embarrassed. Nancy, seeing her mistress' cheeks were reddened, rushed to reassure her.
"Don't worry none, it takes most lasses that way, it does," the younger girl said, moving away with the chamber pot. "But it usually only lasts for the first three months. And the tiredness too… 'Twill pass, as the babe grows. Why don't yeh lay down for a bit? I'll fetch yeh some more blankets and I'll go tell Private Hawthorn to stop that awful trilling on that pipe of his. Rest is what yeh need now."
"What?" Beth said faintly, she stared wide eyed at Nancy. "What babe?"
"Why, yeh're with child, ain't?" The lass said, giving a silly giggle.
"I… I'm not pregnant," Beth whispered as she let herself be guided to the pallet. She gazed at her maid again, still feeling wretched and stunned. "I can't… I can't conceive."
"Why in the world would yeh think that?" Nancy asked, head cocked to one side, looking quite confused. Beth was sitting on the side of the cot, gazing up at her with a very vulnerable expression. She looked as though she might be sick again. "I knew somewhat was ailin' yeh," the maid continued, "but it didn't take me long to figure it! Yer so tired all day every day. Yeh went off yer food. Yeh sicked up a few times… are yeh breasts sore, Mrs. Tavington?"
The question was impertinent and was not something a mere maid should ask. But it gave Beth some pause, she resisted the urge to reach up and feel her breasts, she didn't need to anyway. Banastre had not been able to touch her there – her nipples especially. She'd always loved to be suckled there in the past, but now even the slightest brush of his tongue was like razors slicing into her flesh.
"Most women get sick in the mornin's, but that's because their bellies empty out over night and they wake up with nothin' in 'em, and they don't realise they need to eat right off. That's why I always give yeh fried bread and corn cakes first thing," the maid prattled in her usual way. "I thought yeh knew yeh was pregnant."
"Oh my god," Beth breathed, staring blankly across the tent. Her eyes filled with tears and they began to spill. "Oh my God!"
"Oh there, there!" The maid cried, seeing her mistress' distress. "Don't yeh worry none! Yer man will take good care of yeh! Most men are cads, I have to say. Not my man, though. And not yours. Colonel Tarleton, he'll be real choked up! And he's such a gentleman. He'll let the babe have his name, I don't doubt it!"
"Oh my god," Beth swayed, the horrible pit in her stomach dropped to her feet.
Banastre would give the baby his name, but was it his child? Christ. She quickly counted back down through the weeks, trying to determine how long, exactly, she'd been in Banastre's bed. She'd only just finished her courses a few weeks before marching away from her marriage. So who was the father? Sweet Lord above. She was pregnant and she could not even tell who the father of the babe was. Beth burst into wretched tears; Miss Nancy hovered above her, wringing her hands, uncertain what to say or do, for she could not entirely understand her mistress' dilemma.
Beth understood her predicament only too well. What sort of woman had she become, who could not even name the father of her child? Sweet Lord, her mother would be turning in her grave.
And Banastre… what would he have to say of her pregnancy? And here he was, her lover, chasing after her father at Jackson's Creek, to give the rebels a walloping. Was her lover about to kill her father? Was her father about to kill her lover?
And her father… Oh God, her father... What would he have to say of it? To see the disapproval in his eyes... After all the blunders she had made in the last few months, after all the shame she had bought him, this was most definitely the worst.
She curled up in a ball on the cot and wept.
He is so absolutely certain we can make this work, Beth studied Banastre, seated the other side of the small table, going about business as usual, as though their lives weren't soon about to change absolutely and forever.
He was bent over a pile of papers, muttering to himself as he searched for scraps of parchment, notes and details hastily written while on the road.
General Cornwallis favoured Banastre Tarleton above any other Officer in his Command, but even Banastre was subject to the General's uncompromising demands. A report a day, two if Banastre could manage it, was what the General required; no, expected, from his favourite. The Colonel's quill scratched across the parchment, detailing an attack which had occurred the previous day while Banastre's Dragoons were on their return journey to the Legionnaire's camp. Beth gazed down at the note Banastre was now setting aside. He was such a story teller. A fabricator of little lies, small falsehoods to make him look better in the eyes of his superior. For instance, at that very moment, she clearly read on that note - in Banastre's own writing - that ten rebels, under the direction Colonel Benjamin Martin, had staged an ambush, hoping to snare his Dragoons.
Beth and Banastre had discussed this at length, her father's nearness and his constant and unrelenting attacks on the British forces. He was out there, The Ghost they were calling him now, for his ability to attack and then slide back into the shadows. He was a constant onslaught, an implacable beleaguer and the only answer Cornwallis had for Colonel Martin, was Beth's lover, Colonel Tarleton.
These days, whenever he rode out, it was to pursue Beth's father. She never knew when he left, which one would capture - or kill - the other.
Her eyes returned to the report Banastre was working on now, only to see him write that the attacking force had numbered thirty. He was lying to Cornwallis about the numbers of rebels attacking him. He deliberately wrote the incorrect date at the top of the report, also. Beth sighed. What her lover hoped to gain with such deceptions, she did not know, nor did she understand.
"And why so great a sigh, my love?" He asked, reaching for her hand without lifting his eyes from his report. His fingers closed over hers, even as he continued to write a blending of truth and lies to the General. It astounded her, that he could be so absorbed in his work, yet still be very much aware of her presence. He was in love with her and he never gave her any reason to doubt it, ever.
"I'm pregnant, Banastre," she said, morose. He glanced up at her, his dark brown eyes wide with surprise.
"Beth, are you still worried?" He asked, placing his quill on the table and placing his other hand over hers. "We've talked about this, I thought I'd allayed your fears."
Beth gave a listless shrug, eyes downcast, bottom lip caught between her teeth.
"Do you still fear I'll abandon you?" He asked, reaching up his thumb to stroke her face.
"I fear so many things," she replied, leaning into his touch, struggling to hold back the tide. The Legion's Reverend had refused to entertain the idea of releasing her from what she told him was a haphazard marriage at best. She had thought to beseech Reverend Oliver on the matter, but with her pregnancy, would he? Would he really declare her marriage as void, knowing it would reduce her to being an unwed mother? Whether the child was William's or Banastre's, it mattered not. Oliver would not declare her unmarried, for that would mean she was an unmarried mother, all hope of saving her reputation would be destroyed.
He would not allow that; if anything, with this pregnancy, he would be forced to declare her married to Tavington after all. He would do it to protect her standing.
How could she possibly gain back her inheritance, without her marriage being declared as void? And without her inheritance, how could she possibly support this baby?
She needed her money now more than ever, but never had it been further out of her reach.
"Well, that should not be one of them," Banastre said, certainty in his voice.
"If you do," she said, finally meeting his eyes, voice wretched. "I'm undone. Completely and utterly undone. I can't even name the father of my child."
"It's mine, Beth. Three months you were in his bed and he did not get a child on you. You've been in my bed for nearly six weeks and only now you're pregnant? It's mine," he said with certainty. "And as such… How can you think for a moment that I would abandon you? Don't you realise by now how much I love you?"
"I do know, but it doesn't stop me from worrying. Ban, you can not know absolutely for certain that the child is yours. What if it isn't? What if it's William's, what will you do then?"
"I do not believe it is," he replied.
"We must be realistic about this," she said. "I mean to see this child cared for, no matter who had the siring of it. I need you to entertain the possibility that you are not its father."
"Very well, let us be realistic. You are pregnant. You are going to have this child. No matter who is the father, you will soon be a mother and I doubt you are inclined to give it up?"
"Absolutely not," she replied, determined.
"And I don't ever want to let you go," he said earnestly. "Which means, if we are to remain together - which I desire most strongly, I must needs care for you both."
"Why would you care for it, if every time you look at it, you see William's eyes staring back at you?"
"Because I love its mother," Banastre replied without missing a beat. His answer was spoken with such innocence, such completely unfeigned honesty - it was like a sabre thrust, providing a mortal wound to her fear. It took her breath away. She could not help but be reassured. His fingers gave hers a squeeze. "He did not get this child on you. I did. But let us imagine he is the father…" he shrugged. "He was a close friend once, close enough that I would have raised his son had he died in battle. That friendship is ashes now, but I will do what I can for the child. And I would move heaven and earth for the mother…"
"Oh, Ban," Beth laughed softly, overcome, tears brimming so that he swam in her vision. "You're too good…"
"Nonsense," he rose, leaned over the table to kiss her brow, then sat again. "I'm no fool, is what. I knew full well that all our sporting would likely result in a child, I will not plead ignorance now that you are pregnant and nor will I shirk my duties. And if the child is his - which I doubt - well, its brothers and sisters will certainly be mine," he grinned at her and she laughed softly.
She and Banastre would be together the rest of their lives; the child she carried now would not be the only child she bore. Beth rose from her stool and circled the table to stand directly before him. She ran her hands over his auburn queue, smoothing and caressing. "Yes, if this child isn't yours, then the next one certainly will be."
"Three months in his bed produced nothing. Half that in mine, and you're suddenly pregnant. It's mine, Beth," he smiled up at her and her heart skipped a beat. It was like a blinding ray of sunshine, that smile. Filled with reassurance and love and anticipation of joys to come. He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer, until his chin rested against her bodice, his head tilted back, his eyes gazing up at her. "But whether it is or not, that all your future children will be mine does sound very grand indeed."
Her hands drifted downward to cup his jaw, her comforting smile faded. She became earnest, introspective. With brutal honesty, she declared, "I should have married you, Ban. I should have waited for you to find a way. I am so sorry that I did not."
His jaw dropped. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought to hear such an admission from her. She'd never voiced regret at marrying Tavington, not until the day she discovered his affair, the day she fled from him. Even then, when she voiced regret, she never said anything about Banastre's own marriage proposal, foiled by her father so long ago. She regretted marrying Tavington, but never before had she voiced regret at not marrying Banastre.
"Too late," she whispered, throat closing. "Too late."
Banastre agreed, it was far too late. His Reverend had been very clear - there was no grounds to annul her marriage. Their circumstances could not be altered, their situation could not be remedied. Even if William divorced Beth, Banastre could not marry her. To marry a divorced woman, even one he loved so dearly as he did Beth, would be the end of him in Society as he knew it. He would lose so much of his standing that he might as well reconcile himself to existing as a complete recluse, on the outside of everything.
If William died, perhaps there would be hope for them; only then could Banastre marry Beth. But unless that occurred, they were forever compelled to live as they were living now; as man and mistress. A man with a mistress as beautiful as Beth would be envied far and wide, giving Banastre a large measure of respectability. Even if William did divorce her, Beth would have to continue on as Banastre's mistress. It was too late for anything else.
It was damned fine to hear her voice her regret, however. Damned fine indeed. In the heat of passion, he lurched to his feet, chair toppling backward behind him. His arms came about her, crushing her to his chest. "I will be your husband in everything but name, until your dying day, my love. And I will be a father to this child, no matter who had the siring of it."
"Oh, Ban," Beth was unable to say anything else, she buried her face in his neck and held tight to his waist. Still beset with unvoiced doubts, she clung tight to the promises he was making her. Banastre was cupping her face tenderly and kissing her, driving those doubts from her soul. As long as you have Ban, all will be well, she thought leaning against the strength of his body, her palm to his chest, feeling his heart race within. He loves you. He empathises with you, there is no blame. He will care for you and the child - and you know, it might be his yet! As long as you have him at your side, you need never fear the future. Ban is all I'll ever need. She sighed into his mouth, feeling her doubts waver and finally break. A smile stole across her face, a relieved sigh escaped her lips. Banastre grinned to see it, he had soothed his ladies fears and doubts and felt proud at being able to do so.
"Where will we live when the war is over?" She asked, surrendering to him so completely, she was finally comfortable and confident enough to plan her future with him and the baby. Banastre was her life now, he was her everything.
"England," he replied without hesitation. "You'd like that, surely? Though you'd never see your family again."
"They won't want to see me," she replied, fighting through the sharp tug of pain. "Even if I tried to see them, they'd refuse me." She wondered if her father knew where she was, that she was with the very Legion he was determined to plague. She couldn't see how he might know it, and prayed that he did not. "I've left my legal husband, I've become your mistress. I'm pregnant and don't know who sired the child. Believe me, when my family find this out, they won't want anything to do with me ever again. It's better that I leave America with you; where my actions can't cause my father shame or bring him and my family disgrace."
"That can't be easy for you," he said.
"It's not. It's also no easy knowing that every time you ride out after my father, one of you might capture or kill the other. None of this is easy. Especially the knowledge that for once and for all, I am no longer a part of them. I lost them the moment I left Fresh Water, even if they don't know yet that I've become mistress to another man… but I made my choice knowing I would lose them. I've made that choice twice now," she realised bitterly and he cocked his head in question. She waved the comment away. "I've finally accepted that I'll never be a part of them again. I love them dearly and I'll always wish them well. I'll miss them until the end of my days, but it is really for the best that I leave. And who better to leave with?"
Heat spread through Banastre's chest, overwhelmed that she would choose him without reservation, without attempting some futile reconciliation which would only end poorly for her. He added to the ever growing list of reasons to leave with him and live in England. "You can leave the travesty of your marriage behind you, also. You can leave him behind you, and start anew with me!"
"Yes, he plans on living here… With her, no doubt," bitterness twisted her words, for a moment she stared past Banastre, her unseeing eyes flashing fury. Then she breathed a deep breath and, although he could see it was a struggle for her, she managed to ease her emotions and calm herself. "Maybe he can be convinced to do the decent thing and give me half my inheritance. That will be better than nothing - he'll have the land, too. And Fresh Water. It will be better this way, much better, if he lives here and we go there. No chance of ever happening upon them…"
"…ruining our happiness with their presence," Banastre agreed, kissing her brow. "Yes, perhaps he can be convinced to give you half your money. I will keep you in a fine house," he continued, laying out for her the life they and the child would have, living together. They could not return to Liverpool - his mother would have a conniption if he took his mistress and the child to live there. London, perhaps. That was heart of England anyway. They could go to the clubs together at night, he would show off his beautiful prize to all his envious associates… He smiled, just thinking about it. "With servants to tend to your every whim. And I will live there with you, and we will raise our child together."
"The child, he will have a teacher, won't he?" Beth asked. "Someone to teach him his letters and how to dance and to speak other languages. I want him to have the best possible start, even if he is..."
"A bastard?" Banastre asked, eyebrow arched. "A child of mine will be afforded the best of everything, no matter the circumstances of his birth. He shall go to Oxford, just as I did," he vowed. "And if he is a she, then she will have a governess and perhaps she'll go on to school, if you can bear to be parted from her. And she will marry a fine gentleman, for that is what her father is," he grinned. "The child will do very well for itself in England, I'll make sure of it."
"We both will make sure of it," she said, draping her arms around his shoulders.
"We both will," he agreed, conceding that - although he was the only male figure - he was not to be the sole influence in the child's life. "And we'll do a bloody grand job, if I do say so myself."
Beth's laughter rang through the tent, Banastre rejoiced to hear it, for she did not laugh very often these days. She was a vastly altered person to the lass he'd fallen in love with, thanks to that damned bastard William. It caused him great pain to see hers. He wished Nancy hadn't bloody told her that her father was behind the continual strikes against the British forces - it hadn't helped Beth at all, knowing he was so near and in danger.
"Colonel?" A voice outside the tent called.
"Whitty," Banastre frowned, a rough sigh escaping his lips. Beth stepped away from him, ending the intimacy. "Our moment of solace is over, my love. It is back to work for me, it seems."
"You've shirked your duties long enough already, Colonel," she chided playfully. "Here you are, kissing and snuggling your mistress when you should have been writing up those reports… Shame on you. What, do you think, would Lord Cornwallis say?"
"Nothing good. And shame on you for tempting me, temptress," he tapped her nose with his finger. As he turned from her, she surprised him with a playful slap on his rump, and he flashed her a naughty grin over his shoulder.
"It doesn't take much at all to tempt you," she laughed. He nodded in full agreement. It certainly did not.
With Nancy following behind, Beth approached the peddler's wagon. It was surrounded by soldiers and camp followers looking over the merchant's wares, but upon seeing her, they began to part to make room. Holding her head high and keeping her eyes on the wagon, Beth strode down the now empty gap. The peddler, seeing the quality of her dress, his eyes lit up and he began rubbing his hands together with glee. She stopped before him and he immediately began showing her the best of what he had, items he suspected a woman of her station would desire.
There wasn't much. The peddler had bought merchandise for soldiers and poor camp followers he expected to see in camp - and those items were priced ridiculously high. She lifted her lip in distaste; the gall of the man, to be charging five shillings for pins that would surely cost only two in the city. He had his costs to cover, she supposed. He bowed low and then began laying out items she would surely like. A parasol and fan, both of exceptional quality. A snuff box which she disdained, though she did take the parasol and fan. She was pregnant now and needed to consider what she would need for her baby. With that in mind, she purchased lengths of linen and cotton, balls of wool and knitting needles. She chose several books, she even purchased another basket for there was too much to fit into the one Nancy had bought along. Trying to be discreet, she asked the peddler if he would be returning and when he assured her he would, she requested he bring 'the sort of stays that accommodated an expanding waist'. He understood immediately what she was requesting - though, unfortunately, so did some of the camp women. She heard a few titters but ignored them - gossip about her pregnancy would likely spread now, unfortunately. It could not be helped, however - she needed what she needed. She paid the fellow - and although she had haggled like a fishwife, she still had to grit her teeth as she handed over thrice more than she would have, back in the city. She picked up her basket and walked back through the crowd - a line opening up again for her as the red sea opened for Moses. She left Nancy behind, for she had a few items to purchase for herself. She went to stand where she could wait for her maid, the empty gap closing in as she reached the back of the crowd.
There, she came face to face with one Alby Scott, and she stopped dead, her mouth falling open at the sight of him. He came to stand before her, expression solemn.
"What the devil are you doing here?" She breathed, her eyes darting. He could not have been a real recruit - not this man. Just like the rest of the Scott family, he was a rebel, through and through.
"How do, Miss Martin?"
"It's Mrs. Tavington now, as I'm sure you must be aware," she swallowed hard, stunned by the sight of him.
"Yeh, I'm aware. Been wonderin' what ye're doin' here, bein' a wife to Tavington yet settin' up tent with Old Banny."
Beth almost tripped but she caught herself just in time.
"My husband asked Colonel Tarleton to escort me to my family, not that that is any of your concern," she snapped, but not before a flare of shame welled up in her. She knew it to be the thin excuse it was - she had left William early October and it was now the end of November. Nearly two months, in Banastre's camp. It was taking an awfully long time for Tarleton to deliver her up to the place he was supposedly escorting her to. Alby lifted his eyebrows but did not challenge her.
This young man was from her own Parish, the two had sat in Reverend Oliver's small church, listening to sermons. Alby had thrown something sticky into her hair once, when he'd been sitting on the pew behind her. His father had given him a strapping, for that. A boy she knew, a friend to her family, and he was no fool. No matter how Banastre and Beth tried to hide it, it was likely the entire camp believed the gossip about them. Including Alby. "Mr. Scott, it is dangerous for you to be here. I know you're," she glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was listening. They were getting a few odd looks, but no one was near enough to hear the conversation. She lowered her voice further anyway. "My father's man."
"I am at that. Why? You got somewhat to tell me?"
"What? Of course not! Oh, I see," she whispered, shaking her head. Fury flared. "I should have known you'd expect that! It will not do, Mr. Scott, it simply will not. You need to leave here, it is dangerous for you to be here!"
"But it'd be goin' 'gainst what Colonel Martin told me to do and frankly, I take me orders from him, not you."
"You're a damned goose brained fool, Alby Scott," she snapped.
"There's so much I have to tell ye, but I haven't been able to get close," he said, revealing what she'd already suspected, that he'd been with the Legion for some time. "Ye know yer da is here, ain't?"
"I do know now and it makes me sick to my stomach, that he might be caught," she closed her eyes, reeling. "Or worse."
"Ye worried for him? He's worried for you, too. He wants you gone from here."
"He knows I'm here?" she breathed, stunned. Her shame welled tenfold. "Gods, did you tell him?" She gasped.
"No, Miss Martin. He knew before, yer why we came at all," Alby said and Beth's eyes bulged. "Look, there's no time and here ain't the place to tell it all. I need to speak to ye, Miss Beth. Ye need to seek me out, somehow."
"My father came here for me?"
"To fetch ye back home," he confirmed and tears sprang to Beth's eyes. "It's why yer da has been dogging Tarleton's heels. He wrote to Tarleton a bunch of times too, demanding ye be handed over to him."
"He wrote to Colonel Tarleton?" Beth asked, dark eyes wide.
"Colonel Martin wants to take ye away from here and get ye to Gullah with yer aunts, where no further trouble can come to yeh."
No further trouble? Beth's mind whirled through the implications and she realised what Alby Scott did not. Her father wanted to save her from being disgraced. She could barely move, her legs felt as though she were wading through jelly.
"Ye need to seek me out, Miss Beth," Alby said again, then told her exactly where she would find him. "I can get ye out, I can get ye back to him. Tarleton's been ignorin' yer da's letters, the damned bastard. Yer da's desperate to get you out, get you away from the Britishers. It's been right embarrassing for him, ye know, that his daughter went off and married a Britisher." His eyes narrowed and he asked, "and now yer here and I know yer have yer tent so close to Tarleton's that they're touching. Why is that, Miss Beth? What are yeh doin' here with Tarleton?"
Beth stared at him, shocked to the stomach and entirely unable to answer his question. Tell him that Banastre is escorting her to Maggie? As if he'd believe that, with her still in camp after nearly six weeks. Alby's words were a devastating blow. A kick to the stomach. She knew what he was insinuating and when she gave no reply, Alby turned on his heel and strode away, ending the short conversation. Distraught, Beth frantically glanced about for a place to sit for her legs felt weak and she was worried she would faint. But there was no where. She looked back over her shoulder toward the wagon but Nancy was swallowed by the crowd, who knew how much longer she would be?
Seek me out, Alby had said. Gods, for what? More condemnation? He would try to convince her to leave, he would remove her to her father, for more of the same. Disapproval.
It was out of embarrassment that her father had come, she under stood that quite well. To retrieve her, a means to protect his name from the harm she was doing it. Before too many could learn of her affair. From further harm… Is that what he'd written in these letters to Banastre? His demand that she be released, had he accused her? Condemned her? Gods, no wonder Banastre hadn't told her. True to his word, he had protected her.
Seeing Miss Nancy bounding toward her with the basket over her arm, Beth decided it was time to return to the Dragoon section of camp, time to return to Banastre. The man who truly loved her, her lover who had promised to protect her and had now proven his resolve. He had refused to give in to her father's demands, he'd refused to give her up, knowing she'd be condemned, denunciated. She already knew she could trust him, but this was one more confirmation that her trust was not misplaced.
"I got ye some ribbons," Nancy said. "And this book," she gestured to the tatty cover at the top of the pile. "Mrs. Simmons said it is a romance. She recommended it - she said it was exactly the sort of book ye would want to read," Nancy said eagerly, hoping for praise, no doubt.
"Well, Mrs. Simmons could not possibly know my tastes," Beth shrugged, "but I don't have so many books that I'd quibble. Come along, I'm going back now." Back to Banastre, who had not given in to her father's demands.
He was her knight. Her armour. Her shield. Her buffer against the storm. By the time they reached the Dragoon section of camp, Beth was well warmed with outrage and indignation. She took the basket and dismissed Nancy before entering Banastre's tent. Banastre lifted his head from his notes, he smiled warmly - his special smile, reserved only for her.
"What did you buy me?" He asked playfully as she set the baskets on the table. She did not reply. Instead, she threw closed the tent flaps and began knotting them - as good as locking a proper door. Flicking the quill idly between his fingers, Banastre watched, amused and curious, leaning back in his chair, his legs crossed at the ankles. She knelt on the floor to tie the last one, then rose. "What are you doing, love?" He asked innocently, though he could tell full well what she was doing as she strode back to him. She cupped his jaw with her small hands, leaned over and kissed him long and hard. He was breathless by the time she pulled away.
"Showing you how much you mean to me," she said. "My protector. My shield. My knight." He gazed up at her incredulously, her words made no real sense, she knew, and nor could she explain it further, not without revealing Alby Scott.
Banastre might not have known where this was coming from, but he certainly enjoyed hearing her saying such things. He melted beneath her. She lowered herself to sit across his knees, but he protested.
"The chair will break with both our weights on it," he said, the chairs were built for easy transport, not for sturdiness. It was collapsible and could very well fold out from under them. A naughty gleam entered Beth's eyes.
"Shall we see if we can break it?" She asked. Eyes locked on his, she rose again, slowly pulled her skirts up her stockinged thighs, well past her garters, exposing her quim to him. She lifted one leg and climbed across his lap, straddling him.
"Let's see if we can," Banastre breathed, his voice deep with arousal. She began kissing him again, with a seriousness, an earnestness he'd never had from her before. Oh, kissing her was always a joy, but the way she was kissing him now, he suddenly felt as though there had been a little something missing from every kiss that had come before. Her hands were busy on his breeches, pulling at his belt, freeing the clasp. He gripped her waist with strong fingers, groaning against her lips. She pulled the panels aside, dipped her hand into his breeches and withdrew his yard. His lips became momentarily lax on hers as he felt her silky hand move up and down his shaft, her thumb swirling around the head. Gods, he felt he'd die from that alone but then, with her eyes fixed on his and a naughty smile tugging her lips, she thrust her pelvis forward and rubbed her quim along the length of him. Her fingers were placed against the underside of his shaft, both holding it in place and levering it toward her, even as she ran herself along the length of him.
"Christ," he gasped as her warm clitoris and moisture rubbed along his yard to the tip and back down again. She closed her eyes, her head dropped back, he reached up to stroke her bared neck and the arch of her shoulder. She panted, beautiful little puffs of sound gasping from her lips, as she ground against his dick. Her other hand gripped his shoulder, she needed something to hold on to. She was driving him mad. "Beth," he whispered, glancing downward to observe. He lifted her skirts away to watch her rub herself against his shaft, her legs straining, her body tense as she writhed against him. His hand drifted from her neck to her quim, his other still holding her skirts up out of the way, as he prised her lips open to reveal her ripe pink bean, he kept her lips split apart, so her clit would have unimpeded access to rub on his hard length. She was wet - so moist, she left his shaft glistening with it. "I'm going to die."
"Not yet, my love. We've a ways to go yet," she whispered, her lips crashing against his. Her fingers kept his hard length upright, she held his cock in position as she lifted herself higher this time and guided him toward her entrance. A heavy sigh of pleasure breathed from her as she slowly impaled herself, his cock burning with joy as it was encompassed in her velvet warmth. He ground his jaw and tensed, trying hard not to come too soon. The chair began to creak worryingly as Beth rocked on his cock, as he thrust upward into her, both becoming more energetic and urgent with every passing moment. The stool could not withstand such punishment, Banastre felt it begin to topple from beneath him. He seized her waist and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he jerked them both upward, standing, still impaled deep within her.
"You're so strong," she groaned into his ear as she bobbed up and down on his shaft. "I love how strong you are. I love that about you. I love so much about you. God, you make me so lightheaded! Deeper Ban. Gods, you're just so strong!"
"I'll show you how strong," he rasped, determined to impress her further, to prove his prowess. He braced his legs, wound his hands beneath her beautiful firm bum, and thrust into her as hard as he could, while holding her at the same time. She clutched at his shoulders and threw her head back and with a wild gasp, she came on his length. He could feel her constricting and squeezing his shaft and he was so awed by feeling the strength of her climax, that it bought on his own. Shuddering, he spilled his seed inside of her, he continued to thrust through his orgasm, his teeth bared from the effort of holding her and the pleasure burning through his body. It abated, slowly - and his body shook and quivered, like aftershocks after a massive quake. It's how it felt, it'd been a big one, and now his body was jolting and quivering with after pleasure, each jolt and quiver weaker than the last until at length, he calmed. Beth had her face buried in his neck, he could feel her breath panting, fast at first, then slowing back to normal, much as he had gone through himself. He was becoming more aware of himself - and his weakness - by the moment. His legs were straining with the effort of holding her up, he felt he might collapse and drop them both to the floor. And so he lifted her upward and off his shaft, setting her back onto her feet. Both were unsteady now, her legs as weak as his. He kept a tight hand on her arm to brace her, as he reached for the chair and righted it. His legs could hold him no longer and he plopped down onto it, pulling her down onto his lap with him. She slipped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled her face into his neck, her fingers caressing his cheek lazily. For sometime after, they kissed and snuggled, Banastre laughing against her lips, still astounded by her action. To breeze on into the tent, tie the laces, and then climb into his lap… By Christ, he thought he couldn't love her more but now… His heart swelled to bursting.
"Why are you laughing?" She asked, lazy and breathless, one finger drifting over his bottom lip, caressing.
"I've never been happier, is why," he replied, catching her finger between his lips and kissing the tip of it.
"Nor have I," she said, replacing her finger with her own lips. They continued kissing, just light, warm, brushing caresses.
"It was cold outside, I take it?" He teased her. "And you needed warming up."
"And love, did you warm me," she giggled. "You're my brazier."
"Your knight, your shield. Your protector, and your brazier?" He laughed softly. "I don't know what bought it on, sweetling, but by Christ, I loved hearing you say those things."
"I meant every word," she said, shuffling slightly to get more comfortable. He rewarded her with a smile brighter than a noonday sun. "The peddler had precious little, but I did buy you something," she said, answering his question of earlier as she reached for one of the baskets. She sounded tired and sated. Exhausted by pleasure. She rummaged until she came out with a small package. He opened it and his eyes dance with delight.
"Sleeve buttons - you've a very fine eye, Beth. They are perfect."
"They are all he had," she giggled. "But yes, I do have a fine eye," she said as she stroked back his hair, indicating she had a fine eye in men, in choosing him.
"As do I," he grinned, returning the sentiment. "And books!" He said, removing them from the basket.
"There's this one too," she pulled it out of the basket Nancy had carried. "Mrs. Simmons said it was a romance." She placed it in his hands.
"The Memoirs of…" He began to read, then he paused, incredulous, and threw back his head a laughed. "Romance indeed! No wonder you were in such a naughty mood! Christ, which passage did you read to get you so hot and bothered?"
"What are you talking about?" She asked, lifting her head from his shoulder.
"Yes, play the innocent," he laughed again. "But I've read this too, my love, all the way through. Several times," he chuckled. "A right rollicking adventure it is too. I'll read you my favourite passage, and then you can read me the one you obviously enjoyed so much." He opened the book, flipped back and forth through the pages until he found what he was looking for, then he began to read. " 'There, setting her on his knee, and gliding one hand over the surface of that smooth polished snow-white skin of hers, which now double shone with dew-bright lustre, and presented to the touch something like what one wold imagine of animated ivory, especially in those ruby-nippled globes, which the touch is so fond of and delights to make love to, with the other he was lusciously exploring the sweet secret of nature, in order to make room for a stately piece of machinery, that stood up-reared, between her things, as she continued sitting on his lap, and pressed hard for instant intromission."
Beth had grown very still while Banastre was reading, for it became only too clear what had made him laugh, and what sort of book this was. The like of which she had never dreamed might exist. Who in the world would write such things? As he continued to read, Nancy's words came back to her.
'Mrs. Simmons said it is a romance. She recommended it - she said it was exactly the sort of book ye would want to read.'
Mrs. Simmons meant it as an insult. A slight to her honour - Banastre's whore. She understood that now, as Banastre's excited words continued to float about her. A book written about a whore, destined to be read by a whore. Should she demand Mrs. Simmons be punished? Beth didn't know what to do, she sat there feeling numb inside.
Ban sighed, it reminded Beth of the sort of contented sound a pretty maiden would make, when reading of a dashing hero saving the beautiful damsel in distress. Only Banastre's contentment came from the scene in the book which was designed purely to heat a man's blood and harden his most private flesh.
"Which was your favourite, my love?" He asked her, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.
"I'm too embarrassed to say," she said woodenly, wretchedly. On the one hand, it was good that her actions upon entering the tent had some sort of explanation, even a false one. He would have questioned her ruthlessly, for she'd never done such a thing before - to tie off the flap - a blatant display from someone wanting to keep their affair discreet - and then climb into his lap and rub herself against him. She could not tell him the truth, that her burning zeal had stemmed from her deep gratitude that he had refused her father's demands - he had protected her, he'd proven himself to her, but she could explain none of that without mentioning her interview with Alby Scott.
Who was Mrs. Simmons to judge? She thought, becoming defensive. How did she know what the book was? What did that say about her, that she recognised it for what it was? How many times had Mrs. Simmons read it? Why should I care what such a base bawd like her thinks?
"Oh come now, my love, don't be shy with me," Banastre coaxed, voice amused as the tip of his nose drifted across her cheek, inhaling deeply. He was trying to hand her the book. She hadn't denied it, and it was better he thought she'd read some, than wonder about anything else. Especially if it got back to him, that she'd been speaking to some soldier in the camp. For these reasons, she took it and then began to read from where the book fell open. Honestly, did he truly believe she'd walk along through camp, her head bent over such a book as this? He was in quite a jolly mood over it, however, and she began to read out loud. She hadn't read a single word from the book before entering the tent, but surely it couldn't hurt to play along, especially when it pleased him so well. She began to read from about halfway down the page, throwing herself into the story, having no idea of what had come before.
" 'Phoebe, who had more experience, and to whom such sights were not so new, could not however, be unmoved at so warm a scene;'" Beth paused, frowning. That was the trouble with pretending she'd read the scene already and that it'd become her favourite - she had absolutely no idea what was happening; who Phoebe was, and what sights the author was speaking of. Banastre was watching her, brown eyes becoming eagle eyes. She shrugged off her curiosity and continued, " 'and drawing me away softly from the peeping hole, for fear of being overheard, guided me through the door as quiet as possible, all passive and obedient to her least signals.' "
"Lord, Beth," Banastre whispered, as if awed. She could see nothing especial in what she'd read so far, but it certainly affected him, quite deeply. Then again, he'd read the book three times. He likely knew the scene quite well, he could probably tell her what had happened and was about to happen. "Keep going, don't stop," he murmured, urging her in the same voice he used when she was pleasuring him with her mouth. Surprised by how much he was enjoying this, she continued.
" 'Here was no room either to sit or lie, but making me stand with my back towards the door, she lifted my petticoats, and with her busy fingers fell to visit and explore that part of me, where I was perfectly sick and ready to die with desire; that bare touch of her finger…' " Beth trailed off, absolutely stunned. The tops of her ears began to burn, the flush spreading down her cheeks and her neck. She lifted her gaze, met Banastre's, utterly mortified. Two women! Phoebe was pleasuring Fanny! Her hands trembled on the book, her grip loosened, almost dropping it to the floor.
"Go on," he said, as flushed as she, though for entirely different reasons. His voice sounded flushed, if that were possible. Beth gulped. Two women. Engaged in relations with one another. And she - Beth - was reading it, this shameful passage, because she'd led him to believe it was her favourite of the book!
"I… I didn't mean…" She began, voice quavering. She licked her lips, trying to work moisture back into her mouth.
"Don't be embarrassed," he encouraged, sounding urgent. As if they'd boarded a ship and embarked on a new journey he had no desire to ever end. He picked up the book and to her horror, began reading where she left off. " 'That bare touch of her finger, in that critical place, had the effect of fire to a train, and her hand instantly made her sensible to what a pitch I was wound up -' "
"Ban, please," Beth protested weakly.
" '- And melted by the sight she had thus procured me. Satisfied then with her success, in allaying a heat that would have made me impatient of seeing the continuation of the transactions between our amorous couple, she bought me again to the crevice, so favourable to our curiosity.'" He lifted heated, liquid eyes from the book. His lips seemed swollen, as if all the blood had rushed into them. He breathed, "Beth, dear God. You never cease to amaze me. I am learning new things about you, each and every day."
"You don't understand," she protested, ready to explain it all. "I've never read the book, I've never laid eyes on that passage, nor any other! It was a conclusion you jumped to, and you seemed so pleased with it, I couldn't bear to correct you." Even to her ears, it sounded ridiculous. And the smile he was giving her, as one would give to indulge a child.
"Beth," he shook his head, caressed her cheek. "You needn't be embarrassed. I enjoyed that scene very much myself. I read it over and over, I couldn't get enough of Fanny and Phoebe's encounters!"
"You mean there's more of them?" Beth gasped, aghast.
"There's plenty," he said, turning several pages.
"Don't read it," she groaned.
" 'Phoebe lay down by me,' " he began in his deep baritone. Beth could see where he was reading from, she saw that he skipped several lines, and despite her protests he took it up from, " 'she takes hold of my hand, and having rolled up her own petticoats, forced it half strivingly, towards those parts, where, now grown more knowing, I missed the main object of my wishes,' " he paused, intent and excited, and said to Beth, "you see? Fanny has had enough of dallying with Phoebe. She's been in Phoebe's bed for weeks, learning all sorts of pleasures, but now she has come to understand that true pleasure for a woman can only be gained at the end of a man's rod. She's becoming desperate now, to be filled by a man, and she feels empty, laying with Phoebe. Phoebe still enjoys it, however. Let me see… here it is…"
"Ban, no -"
" 'I should have withdrawn my hand, but for fear of disobliging her. Abandoning it then entirely to her management, she made use of it as she thought proper,'" Ban paused, a wistful look stole over his face. "I'd imagine Phoebe was rubbing herself against Fanny's hand, as you did against me, earlier. My love, this is wonderful -"
"Ban, you can't truly think I'd read something like this, much less enjoy it!" It came out a squeak.
"Shh," and he was kissing her again, silencing further protests. Gods, he did not believe her. And nor could she blame him. She'd led him to believe she'd read something from the book, and then she actually read the passage she claimed to enjoy so much. Now he believed she was embarrassed at enjoying it so much. Lord, he thought she'd enjoyed reading of two women together! She squirmed in his arms, half tempted to leap from his lap and run from the tent. "Is that how it feels for you?" he murmured against her lips. "How Fanny describes her climax. Is that how he feels?" He gazed at her so earnestly, his desire to know what Beth felt when she came was so strong. With a sigh and a slow shake of her head, she tried to set this latest mishap from her mind. Two women… And he'd thought she liked it… the world had gone insane.
"Fanny's pleasure was well worded," she admitted, still distinctly uncomfortable speaking of such things. "I think it describes what I feel perfectly." His smile was like a blinding ray of sunshine.
"I make you feel these things?" He asked, boyishly excited.
"Yes," she laughed despite herself. He always yearned for praise and was always so pleased when he received it. "Every single time we lie together."
He laughed, delighted, and kissed her deeply. "I've only ever read this book to myself, you know, in my head," he said. "It's wonderful hearing Fanny's voice come alive, I imagine she must have sounded just like you."
"She's not a real person, is she?" Beth asked, surprised. "The Memoirs… Are they real Memoirs? Of a woman who actually existed?" A woman who actually laid with another woman? Sweet Lord above.
"No one knows," Banastre shrugged. "No one knows for sure who wrote it and the book has been banned -"
"I'm not surprised," she said fervently.
"I'd like to think she was real. I'd dearly love to have met her…"
"Banastre!" Beth cried, finally finding the funny side to all this. She shot him a mock scowl and pushed at his chest, feigning jealousy. Banastre gave her a naughty smile. His eyes were both warm and merry, his cheeks flushed. "Keep reading," he commanded in a thick voice.
"Not that scene," she said adamantly. He laughed and gave her a small smirk. "You are such a cad," she accused.
"In a court of law, I'd certainly be found guilty of that," he opened the book and without any effort at all, he found another scene. He must have read it more than three times, she thought. He knew it back to front! "Maybe this one will be more to your liking."
With trepidation, she read a small portion to herself first, vetting it, making certain it wasn't utterly mad, like the first scene she'd stumbled upon. Finding that Fanny was with a man this time, curiosity got the better of her. As Banastre's hand slipped up her bare thigh beneath her bunched up skirts, she began to read. Her reading out loud continued, but with ever increasing difficulty, and as his fingers began to caress her most critical place - as Fanny had called it - she began to rock against those hard little tips until her voice became too ragged and she could continue to read no more.