Chapter Twelve | Narrow Corridors Leave Lasting Impressions

The Kennedy House is alive with energy tonight. Beatrice has dragged Margot into a conversation with several other women of import, of whom Margot has already become acquainted with in the months since her arrival to the city. She listens to their gossip with half an ear and keeps one eye towards the door, which is just within her sight. Unfortunately, it doesn't remain that way, however.

"Oh, Colonel Cook! How well you look tonight," Beatrice gushes when she sees the man walk past. "Have you met my dear cousin Margot yet?"

The Colonel turns, a wide smile breaking over his face when he sees her. "Yes indeed, we met at Rivington's some months past, did we not? You look lovely tonight, Miss Risdon."

Margot's attention is forced from the door. She smiles graciously at Colonel Cook and inclines her head, "Thank you, Colonel. I hope you're enjoying yourself?"

The Colonel chuckles and lifts up his glass of wine with a wink. In a jovial voice, he responds, "I always do, Miss Risdon. Would you care for a dance, or are you busy exchanging sordid gossip with your friends?"

The joke makes Margot laugh lightly as the other women assume innocent expressions that doesn't entirely work in their favor, for it only makes them look all the more mischievous. "I fear I won't be doing much dancing tonight, Colonel, but thank you."

The Colonel tilts his head in concession and turns to greet the other ladies. As he engages them in conversation, Margot inhales as much air as she can and sweeps her eyes around the room. She has already had to deflect several offers to dance since her arrival, but the reasons for this aren't entirely due to her desire to keep an eye out for Abe and Robert. The servant had tight-laced her corset much tighter than she would normally wear it, no doubt thinking that she would want to look her very best in the presence of General Clinton. Instead of being comfortable and secure as most corsets are, her current predicament is quite the opposite. It rather puts a damper on her plans to coerce Robert to dance with her…not that she has much hope that she'd succeed anyway. Stubborn man.

As she glances over the room, her eyes alight upon one of the men she has been searching for. Abraham looks as though he has just arrived. He steps into the foray of the party and their eyes meet from across the room. They stare at each other for some moments before General Arnold steps over to him, looking confused as to the reason he has come. Colonel Cook takes notice of him as well and graciously puts an end to his conversation so as to greet Abe.

Not wishing to make it apparent that Margot knows Abe, she waits for him to approach her. He does, soon after, sidling over to collect a drink and shooting her a glance. She is standing nearby, having succeeded in removing herself from Beatrice's company in hopes that it might entice Abe into conversation. Thankfully, it works.

"What are you doing here," Margot hisses at him beneath her breath.

Abe's response is a similarly hissed, "Plans changed. My father is dead."

Margot purses her mouth and frowns at him. She had not received word that Richard Woodhull had died. The news is jarring, but not because she was close to the man. Rather, the thought of someone so familiar to her being made into yet another casualty is what rattles her, and her frustration is placed to the side when she hesitantly murmurs, "…I'm sorry to hear that."

Abe doesn't look at her directly when he responds, "What's done is done. Has Townsend told you why I'm here?" Margot inclines her head slightly in a nod, and he says, "Then you know what my purpose is here in the city and that you should not involve yourself in it."

Indignation flares through her. She narrows her eyes at the portrait she's staring at across the room and clenches her fingers around her glass of wine. In a low voice, she mutters, "You're on a fool's errand Abe, and you're going to get yourself killed."

Abe sighs impatiently. "Yeah, well, I'm the only one who can do this. Our esteemed friend wants Arnold dead and I've got nothing left to lose."

At this, Margot breaks character and turns to stare at him. Her indignation mounts. "You have everything to lose!" she whispers. "A wife and child are relying on you to care for them."

Abe glances at her with a stern expression and mutters back, "I don't have time to argue the matter with you, Margot – oh, for the love of all things holy…"

Margot, confused now, turns to see what has distracted him, only to discover that Robert has arrived and is handing his cloak off to the waiting attendant. Under any other circumstance, she would find some amusement in the fact that he hadn't made an effort to dress any differently than he normally would, and has come to a high society affair in the very same somber black suit that he wears every day. However, all things considered, she is a bit too preoccupied with Abe's words to take only the smallest notice of this, and quickly turns back to Abe. Only, Abe seems to have decided that their conversation is over, and after a long moment spent staring at Robert, he strides across the room and walks right past him into the conjoined one. Robert's gaze follows his every movement before turning back to Margot. Their eyes lock across the way, but he becomes distracted with Colonel Cook, who catches sight of him and goes to welcome him.

With a sigh, Margot sweeps off to get another glass of wine and try to continue avoiding Beatrice's friends, some of whom are now dancing while the others remain in their bubble of gossip. She has just helped herself to a glass of madeira when someone steps into the space beside her.

"…He looks as though he's arguing with Arnold. Do you know why?" Robert's voice quietly wonders as he makes a show of choosing a drink.

Margot sighs. "All he's told me is that I shouldn't get involved with his business. He's being particularly prickly tonight."

Robert hums and picks up a glass of port. Around the rim of the glass, he responds, "Yes, it appears that way." Then, after a brief pause spent studying her from the corner of his eye, he turns to look at her fully and frowns, "Are you alright? You seem unwell."

She's somewhat confused with the question for a moment, until she realizes why he's asking and laughs breathlessly, "Oh, I'm fine. The servant tight-laced me into this corset and I'm finding it rather difficult to breathe." Robert pauses again as if he isn't sure what to say to this, so she takes pity on him and chuckles, "I suppose I shan't be wrangling you into a dance after all, Mr. Townsend. I fear I may well and truly lose my breath if I attempt such a feat."

He eyes her for a long moment before hesitantly offering, "…Would you like me to…?"

A tiny smile curves over her mouth. "I suppose it wouldn't be very proper," she murmurs, guessing what he's trying to say. Having him adjust the tightness of her corset would be a relief, but for him to put his hands upon it, even in private, would cross a boundary that they have not yet crossed, even if it is only done to provide alleviation.

Robert clears his throat and murmurs back, "Yes…I suppose it would." He sighs then adds, "I should go look for Woodhull before he attempts to disappear on me. You'll…be alright, then?"

Margot can't help but laugh at him for his endearing, awkward concern. She sends him an amused look and responds, "I'll be perfectly fine, Mr. Townsend."

He purses his mouth in the way he often does whenever he doesn't entirely know what to say and inclines his head shortly. One last lingering glance is bestowed upon her before he begins to make his way across the room…only to stop and turn back to her to quietly add, "…You look lovely tonight, Miss Risdon."

Margot smiles slowly at him, not expecting the compliment, and murmurs, "Thank you, Mr. Townsend."

The corner of his mouth quirks up for the briefest of moments before he departs.

Over the next half hour, Margot gets wrangled back into the gossipy conversation of her friends, who have now turned their focus to General Clinton. Speculations regarding his wife, who is back in England, has consumed the tide of debate, which is an altogether generous term to describe what Margot considers to be relentless and absurd hearsay. Still, she allows them their fun even as she lifts her attention from their dialogue every now and again in hopes of catching sight of her fellow Culper members, both of which have unfortunately disappeared on her.

"You seem distracted, Margot," one of Beatrice's friends says during one of these moments. "Are you perchance searching out a suitor?"

This is delivered in such a suggestive tone that Margot can't help but feel somewhat irritated by the audacity of its directness, but instead of making the reality of her feelings known, she merely chuckles, "A suitor? Heavens, no. Though there are several fine men in attendance tonight. Take Private Williams, for example."

Beatrice bursts into giggles that is not unlike her usual laughter, though it is currently bathed with a certain amount of indulgent tipsiness. This is made further apparent when she tactlessly says, "Oh come now, Margot, don't pretend you aren't looking for Mr. Townsend. I saw him approach you before."

Another flare of irritation fills Margot at Beatrice's blundering words, which she surely wouldn't have uttered in public had she not been on her fifth glass of sherry. Beatrice, for her part, seems to realize this the moment she says it, and pales. The rouge of her cheeks seems all the darker as a result, but it only incites more curiosity among the other ladies as new gossip is brought to the table.

"Mr. Townsend? James Rivington's business partner?" one of them wonders.

Another lifts a perfectly plucked brow and says, "The boring Quaker? Surely not!"

"He is the most strait-laced man in the city! Why, I've always wondered why he invested in Mr. Rivington's business at all. He surely doesn't belong on Wallstreet," another laughs.

Margot maintains her polite smile, but it certainly possesses a sharper and more disparaging edge than it had in moments past. She knows better than to react with zealous enthusiasm against these opinions; it would only stir the pot that much more and prove to these women that Margot does indeed favor Robert. While she hardly cares if such a thing does become known to them (for in her opinion, Robert is a far better man than most of their own husbands and suitors), it wouldn't be helpful to throw caution to the wind, especially with Abe's latest mission hanging in the balance. After all, such things have a way of coming back to you when you least expect it.

Beatrice, who obviously feels quite bad for her slight, hurries to say, "Oh, but it's nothing like that – I was teasing her, is all, as cousins are wont to do…"

The ladies don't appear to be convinced, so Margot sighs as if she is quite tired of the supposed continued teasing and says, "Honestly, Beatrice. Mr. Townsend and I are childhood friends. As some of you may know, I grew up near Oyster Bay, where his family is from, and so we have known each other for some years now. It is hardly a story worthy of speculation."

The lies spin from her lips as easily as the other ladies' insults. While she did indeed grow up in a town on Long Island, it wasn't Oyster Bay and she cannot claim to have known Robert as children. However, the story isn't widely questioned for its subtle falsities, as the ladies have no way of knowing this. As Beatrice herself was born in the city and wouldn't have known if Margot and Robert really had met as children, she doesn't question it either. The story checks out for the most part; Beatrice doesn't appear confused, though perhaps this is partly because she's too focused on repairing the damage she had unwittingly caused.

The ladies take in the calm explanation, but Margot can't help but add, "As for Robert being a boring Quaker, you are quite wrong on that account, and if there is anyone in the city who deserves a storefront on Wallstreet, it is certainly him. The man is a financial genius."

She feels a vindictive sense of pleasure when she informs the other women of this, though some of it falls away when one of them eyes her and simpers, "My, Margot, but you seem to hold him in quite high regard."

The coy tones are back, and Margot sighs at her again. "Yes. We are friends, and it is only right that I should think highly of him."

The woman waves the words away and laughs, "And very quick to clarify your friendship! My dear, you ought to turn your attentions to someone more suitable, who might support you more easily – forget about Privates and look there. Colonel Jackson is yet unmarried and is in wont of a wife."

Once again irritated, Margot forces her mouth into a pleasant smile and glances across the room. A man in his early thirties is standing beside Colonel Cook and several other ladies, resplendent in his military uniform and possessing dark hair and a countenance that seems to be set with laughter and pleasantries. He is handsome, Margot supposes, but his eyes aren't sharp enough for her liking, and seems utterly bereft of the intelligence and wit that she has begun to prefer. Why, she doubts very much that his glare would inspire warm heat within her, nor would he incite her to frustration and to desire in equal measure with only a single glance.

"…Yes, he is handsome, I suppose," Margot concedes.

The concession is delivered only in search of mercy from her friends' insistences, but it is something she promptly comes to regret when the lady takes Margot's arm and declares, "Well then, it's settled. I shall introduce you."

Margot doesn't have time to refuse before she is being dragged across the room to where the Colonel stands. The resulting introduction is slightly awkward as a result of Margot's surprise, and before she knows it, she is being asked to dance and nodding her agreement despite her desire not to, all because the whole thing had happened so quickly. As expected, she is quite breathless by the end of the dance, but even more so because somewhere between the first note and the last, she seems to have rediscovered Robert, and he her.

Just as she's extending a curtsey to Colonel Jackson upon the end of their second dance, her and Robert lock eyes across the room and her breathlessness only grows more apparent. Between the exercise demanded of her from the dance itself and the cool way that Robert regards her now, her corset seems even tighter than it had before, and she silently curses the servant for presuming that she would welcome the current torture she is facing. It is only in moments such as these that Margot decidedly loathes the construction of the tight boning about her frame. Corsets are usually quite comfortable, but a maiden's desire to look her very best among potential suitors apparently takes precedence over the usual dictations of fashion.

"Perhaps you might indulge me another dance later this evening," the Colonel gracious suggests as he kisses her hand. Then, straightening up, he studies her flushed countenance and more gently adds, "Though I think a drink is in order for now. Might I offer you some refreshment, Miss Risdon?"

Margot's attention drifts back to him. She politely declines the offer. "Thank you, Colonel, but I think I shall sit down. It was lovely making your acquaintance."

The Colonel kindly smiles back and bows shortly before leading her to one of the empty benches along the side of the room. He lingers only a few more moments before taking his leave, tactful enough to realize that she would rather sit in solitude at present. The moment his back is turned, Margot thankfully glances back to the place where Robert had last stood, only to find that he is no longer standing there. She sighs and idles for a moment longer before getting up to search him out. That he had stayed at the party this long is surprise enough, and she would prefer to speak to him one final time before he well and truly disappears.

Her lungs are still struggling to fill with air when she does locate him, though she sees him for only a moment before he disappears once more, dragging Abe into a narrow corridor meant to be used by servants to remain out of sight. She pauses and pretends to study one of the portraits hanging on the wall while she waits, but she isn't really paying much attention to the details upon the canvas, and is rather keeping most of the attention focused upon the spot where the two men had disappeared. Only a minute passes before Abe reappears at the entranceway, looking frustrated and irked at having been pulled there in the first place. His eyes briefly meet Margot's across the way, but he makes no further indication that he had seen her before striding purposefully away. Margot lifts a brow, pauses once more, and then finally throws caution to the wind as she has been wanting to do all evening.

"Robert," she hisses as she pushes herself into the servants' corridor at the first opportunity. It would be rather improper to be seen entering it, no less with a man, but no one seems to take much notice besides the servants standing in attendance nearby. The party is in full swing by now and more than a few drinks have gone around to dull the senses. No one looks twice. Well, except Robert himself, of course.

"You shouldn't be – "

"Yes, yes, I know," she interrupts. Honestly, if she had a shilling for every time he's said that she shouldn't be somewhere, she'd be rolling in coin.

Impatience crowds his expression, but it's clear a moment later that he isn't necessarily impatient with her. With an irritated sigh, he mutters, "Woodhull is going to get himself killed, playing assassin like this."

She frowns and steps closer to him, still struggling to breathe in her tight stays. Her struggles leak into her voice when she breathlessly asks, "Did you learn his plans?"

Robert opens his mouth to respond, then seems to become distracted with her obvious discomfort. He pauses to glance towards the entrance of the narrow corridor. When he sees no one, he reaches out to spin her around and huffs, "Honestly, Margot, I will never understand the point of constricting yourself like this – " and then, before she is prepared (though to be fair, she doubts she'd ever be), Robert is loosening the laces of her corset with quick, purposeful movements bathed with irritated impatience.

"Robert!" she gasps indignantly, quite taken aback by his actions, which are, after all, very indecent.

"Hush," he tells her. She can practically feel him rolling his eyes at her gasp. "You'll be here another few hours, at least. I would much prefer knowing that you'll still be breathing come tomorrow."

His sarcasm is coupled with several rough tugs at the laces, and then a miraculous loosening of the constraining garment and another gasp as Margot hastens to raise her hands to the front of her corset in case it drops. It wouldn't, of course; Robert isn't undoing the laces, merely loosening them, and he would never go so far as to do anything so improper in a public place. Still, the whole thing feels quite intimate in a way Margot has never experienced, least with him, and every movement of his hands against her back makes her lightheaded for other reasons entirely.

"This is completely unnecessary," she informs him nonetheless; a feeble attempt to regain some level-headedness, which ultimately fails when she feels his breath against her neck as he leans over her. She knows it isn't done on purpose, but it still makes her incredibly warm for reasons she is loath to admit in this moment.

In response to her feeble words, Robert scoffs, "I would like to have a conversation with you that doesn't involve you gasping uncomfortably every other moment. It is therefore quite necessary."

Margot sighs. The ability to fill her lungs completely does make her rather appreciative though, so she decides to drop the act and stop pretending that she isn't grateful for his straightforward deliverance of her comfort. If anyone else would have attempted such a thing, she would have been quite upset at their assertions, but this is Robert and she knows he isn't doing this in an effort of seduction or intrigue. Though, she silently concedes, if he was, she doubts very much that she would complain.

"There," he mutters, tucking the ends of the laces under the bottom hem of the corset and then stepping away. He clears his throat and says, "I…I suppose I shouldn't have done that, but seeing you so uncomfortable irritates me."

Margot snorts out a laugh and turns to face him, raising a brow. "Oh? It irritates you, you say?"

He stares at her for a long moment before huffing, "Your jesting only irritates me further."

She knows he doesn't mean this, at least not entirely, because his voice is slightly jesting in itself and his eyes are a bit too open and warm. She has seen those eyes when he is properly irked, and can by now tell the difference. She would very much like to draw him into her, to kiss him perhaps, despite the social constrictions, but there is too much at stake and frankly too many things to speak about while they have the opportunity to do so. Alas, giving into such desires ought to be a predilection reserved for moments that garner more privacy.

"Well?" Margot instead asks. "What did Abraham say?"

The reminder of Abe makes Robert purse his mouth. His voice is low and impatient, genuinely irritated this time, when he murmurs, "He says that Arnold visits the outhouse every night at midnight and takes a turn around the garden due to his injured leg troubling him in the night, and that he is thus at his most vulnerable during this hour. Besides this, he merely told me, as he told you, to not get in his way or attempt to stop him from completing his task."

Margot stares at him for several moments before tentatively wondering, "…And do you mean to…to pass this information along?"

The question seems to take him off guard, but it becomes clear to her that he has a ready answer, and has apparently put some thought into his own course of action moving forward. "While I do not think this information will be of much use to anyone besides Abraham himself…yes, I was considering it."

That he seems to have decided to take up the cause once more surprises Margot, for she has become accustomed to hearing him refuse all potential roles that might require him to continue his spywork. Her surprise must be apparent in the way her eyebrows subtly lift, for he sighs, "Things have grown more dire these last few weeks. I can no longer deny it. In fact, ever since Middlebrook, I have been reconsidering my part to play in the proceedings here in the city…"

This admission only further surprises her. "You have made no allusions to such considerations," she points out, curious as to why he had not mentioned this earlier.

Robert raises an eyebrow at her and dryly responds, "Yes, because I was well aware that you would only attempt to convince me all the more, and I wished for my decision to be mine alone." He reaches out to brush his hand against her jaw in a gentle sort of touch that is more musing than amorous, and quietly adds, "Perhaps you are not aware of the power you hold over me, Miss Risdon, but I can assure you that it is quite potent."

These words make her flush pleasantly. She is beyond thankful that she is now able to fill her lungs with air, for she feels rather breathless again for reasons that have little to do with her stays and far more to do with the way Robert is now looking at her. The memory of his hands upon her corset and his breath against her neck, coupled with the warmth that fills his gaze now, drives forth a desire that has never been quite so powerfully as it is now. She wishes to have more of him, perhaps as much as she can, even. She curses the fact that their privacy only extends so far in this moment, for the urge to pull him against her has never been stronger.

"I very much wish we were alone," she rushes to admit, and then blushes, for it is a rather bold thing to say. The confession, however, is worthwhile; it does something to his eyes that makes her breathless all the more, darkens them somehow and makes them flash with an emotion that she has never seen there before. Though he does not say whether he wishes this too, she can see his agreement in his eyes and it excites her.

While they might perhaps be able to steal a kiss without anyone noticing, for they are removed enough from the party's proceedings and shuffled far enough into the shadows to not be immediately seen by passersby walking the hall beyond their hideout, Robert does not make a move to do what he most earnestly desires. Instead, he reaches for her hand and lifts it to his lips to press a slightly more respectable kiss to the back of her fingers. It is respectable in name only, though, for the way his lips linger upon her skin clashes with the usual boundaries that propriety dictates, and he does not release her hand even after his mouth departs from it.

They remain in silence for some moments longer before Margot entwines her fingers with his and, even as she basks in the quiet and lingering touch, turns her focus back to more pressing matters. Though she would much prefer to be more thoroughly distracted by him, she asks, "How do you mean to get this information, and anything else you might discover, out of the city? Will your father stand in as courier, since I won't be able to travel back and forth in my current circumstances?"

Robert, who has tightened his grasp on her hand as if quite unwilling to let her go, murmurs, "I am sure he is still looking for my signals despite not having been my courier for some time now. You know how much of a busybody my father is."

Margot smiles in amusement. "Yes, I have witnessed this first hand, especially concerning your growing fondness for me, as he put it."

Robert pauses for a moment upon hearing this, looking slightly surprised, before he sketches an eyeroll and huffs, "The man is like an old maid sometimes, trading gossip as if it were coin…" But then, catching her gaze once more, he purses his mouth and slowly says, "As for my growing fondness for you, I hardly think you need to be informed of such things by my father, of all people, when I believe I have made it obvious enough myself."

She is not quite accustomed to hearing him speak of such things so plainly, but Margot quickly decides that she very much likes it. She smiles at him in earnest and, after a second's contemplation, shifts closer to him to at last give into her desires and raise herself up to kiss him properly, albeit swiftly – a secret kiss, brief but exciting in its element of social danger; administered and thoroughly enjoyed despite its haste.

Robert, though he wishes to pull her closer and to deepen the show of affection, does not stop her as she pulls back after only a few short seconds. Social danger is, after all, a very real thing to remember, and reputations are at stake. He fears that if he were to follow his heart and give in to the wishes that attempt to move him, he would not be able to pull away at all, and thus potentially land them into a rather difficult situation should anyone happen across their moment. So instead, he sighs, his lips searing with the warmth of her kiss, and whispers, "You may not realize this, Margot, but you make my life very difficult sometimes."

She pauses and tilts her head slightly in confusion. "How so?" comes her enquiry. It is delivered with a curious hesitation, as if she is wondering if her kiss had perhaps not been as welcomed as she thought.

He is quick to allay such concerns when he catches her eye and lowly murmurs, "My life was free of temptation before you wormed your way into it."

He does not explain himself any further, but Margot is not so naïve as to misinterpret his meaning. She finds herself blushing slightly at the frankness of his admission and the way he smiles in amusement at her reaction to it. She laughs at herself for her reaction, too, and draws away from him just so, for she is all too aware of the lengthy amount of time they have whiled away in this alcove.

"Robert, you may hide behind your façade of a strict Quaker, but I believe I have uncovered your true colors," she murmurs to him, still blushing but not quite as apparently.

He purses his mouth again, though this time it is done only to hide a smile.

"Oh?" he wonders, resting a hand against the wall as he peers at her.

Margot chuckles at him and lightly quips, "You are a moral man, and a most upstanding one, otherwise I am sure I would not be quite so taken with you as I am – but I believe you to be far more rebellious than you exhibit on the outside…" she pauses, then smiles that tiny, mischievous smile, and adds, "…and I wonder just how far such rebellious tendencies extend, concerning these temptations you speak of."

And with that, Margot once again leaves him speechless, for Robert has very little to say in response to this and is quite surprised at her boldness. Indeed, she doesn't give him time to form a response anyway, because she only sends him one final smile before stepping away to rejoin the party before her continued absence is taken note of, and leaves him standing in the narrow corridor with his mouth parted in heady astonishment.

He has said it before, of course, but he will say it again. Margot Risdon will be the absolute death of him. This time, however, he will add another clause to such a statement: Margot will be the death of him, but it will be a death he will most earnestly enjoy.