"Mama, are we going to die?"

Adrienne looked up from her embroidery in shock, at her little Marie, staring up with wide eyes. "Why would you ask that?" She wondered gently.

"Robespierre has men in America." Henriette chipped in. "He could catch us, and chop! Our heads would be off!"

"I can't live without my head." Marie sniffled. "I don't wanna die."

"Oh, girls…" Adrienne held out her arms for her two daughters to rush into. "We're safe. We're with Monsieur Jefferson, you know. He won't let anything happen to us."

"You sure?" Marie frowned doubtfully. "Papa said Robespierre was awful sneaky…"

To Adrienne, he had said that. The children weren't supposed to hear that, or they'd be worried. Of course. With a sigh, she smoothed Marie's hair in a hopefully comforting manner. "You know, Monsieur Jefferson is a very powerful man. Robespierre can't cross him or his wishes without starting a war. As wicked as he is, he's not entirely foolhardy. You're safe, as long as you're here."

At that moment, Georges burst into the room, his face covered in chocolate, as Sally bolted in behind him.

For a three-year-old, Georges was very fast.

"Mama! I gots cake!" He announced, holding up the double fistful of the sweet.

At once, Henriette and Marie bounded up in joy. "Miss Hemings, can I have cake, too?"

"And I?"

Adrienne sighed, and grabbed Georges by the collar of his shirt. "Sally… you'll spoil their appetite."

"I swear, my lady…" Sally gasped for breath. "He snuck up on me!"

"I gots cake!" Georges sing-songed, dancing around as he waved the cake above his head, effectively throwing crumbs everywhere. "Mama, look at my cake!"

"I see your cake." Adrienne groaned. "I suppose if he gets some, the girls may have some, as well. But you must eat all your supper."

"Yay!" They cheered, and clapped their hands in joy.

With a fond smile, Sally finally caught her breath, and led Henriette and Marie into the kitchen, leaving Adrienne to take care of her young hoodlum, herself. His clothes were effectively ruined, but, like the sweet toddler he was, he didn't mind in the least, merely finished his task of cramming the crumbling cake into his mouth.

"Come along, Georges." Adrienne scooped him up, trying not to get chocolate on her dress. "You need a bath."

"Noooooo!" Georges wailed in dismay, promptly wiggling like a fish until he'd escaped her arms, again. "I don't want bath!"

"Then you shouldn't have coated yourself in chocolate…" She muttered under her breath. "Too bad. Off you go."

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Georges insisted, and flopped down on the floor, pounding the floorboards in his tiny protest, and leaving stains all over the oaken boards. At least it wasn't carpet. "You're MEAN!"

"How are we going to get the chocolate off of you if you don't get a wash?" Adrienne reasoned.

With a small, mischievous smile, as if daring her to do something, Georges looked straight up at her, and licked the length of his arm.

"Oh, that's just gross!"

"Cats do it." Georges giggled, his tantrum forgotten.

Adrienne huffed, and made swipe at him, hoping to catch him again. Again, Georges was a very fast three-year-old, and danced out of the way, giggling madly, as he made for the door. That was the frustrating part about being a woman in the early seventeenth century. With all her hoops and skirts, she really couldn't chase her rambunctious toddler down.

Luckily for her, it was that moment when the door opened, and Georges ran straight into his father's legs. "Well, hello, there." Gilbert smirked. "You seem to be covered in mud."

"It's cake." Adrienne sighed. "Tell him he needs a bath, mon amour, he won't listen to me."

"I don't wanna bath!" Georges repeated, as if it wasn't already obvious, and flopped on the floor, scowling at his parents in a highly adorable, yet extremely inconvenient pout.

After a moment's consideration, Gilbert knelt down next to his small son with a thoughtful smile. "Georges." He began. "Do you know why you need a bath?"

The thought had not occurred to the small boy, and he glanced up in confusion, the halo of chocolate around his mouth only adding to the adorableness. "Uh-uh…"

"Because…" Gilbert's smile grew a tad mischievous. "If you don't, I'll tickle you."

Geroges' eyes widened in horror, and he wrapped his hands around his ribs protectively. "No tickles, Papa!" He insisted. "No tickles!"

"Then you need to take a bath." Gilbert solemnly instructed. "Alright?"

"Alright…" Georges sighed, and skipped around his mother in circles. "Hurry Mama! Or he'll tickle me!"

Petition to have the author entirely forgo the plot in favor of having the rest of the book revolve solely around my smol bean Georges and his shenanigans.

Sign here, please. _

TheOnlyHUman.