Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Patriot, but I have personal experience of winter in the big city.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: The Legions Depart

December 20th came, and with it the departure of the fleet. Tavington pretended that he had better things to do than see his comrades off, but in the end went down to the docks. Bordon came with him, for his friend said that they were living in times of such significance that it would be foolish not to experience the events first hand.

"When you write your memoirs someday, you'll want to be able to give all the details."

"Rubbish, Bordon," Tavington growled. He thought, perhaps I could entitle them " With Fire and Sword: Confessions of the Butcher of the Carolinas." Still, a small seed of possibility was sown.

It was cold, and Tavington pulled his cloak closer. The horses and baggage had been largely loaded the day before. A few of the regular regiments were leaving, but mostly it was officers heading home with the fleet of over 150 ships. His senior captain, Richard Hovenden, was leaving to stay with relatives in Ireland, and Tavington was glad he had come and had had a chance to bid farewell to Hovenden and thank him for his loyalty.

Other carriages were arriving. Cornwallis himself emerged from one large chaise and four. His valets scurried about, and his friends gathered around him. The Lord General seemed sombre, but resigned. This departure must underline the overthrow of all his hopes. He caught sight of Tavington and spoke quietly to the men around him. He walked toward Tavington, who glanced at Bordon, and then went to meet his erstwhile commander.

"So, Colonel Tavington, it seems you are remaining with your men. His Royal Highness was most impressed with you."

Tavington smiled slightly, "I am deeply indebted to the Duke, my lord. But indeed, I must wait for my fiancée, who is joining me here in New York before we depart for Nova Scotia."

Cornwallis smiled faintly in his turn, "You are retiring to your Sabine farm in the old Roman way, I am told."

"It is what I always wanted; and when Miss Wilde arrives, I shall truly be the happiest of men, however hackneyed the phrase."

"I wish you well, Colonel." Cornwallis frowned, thinking. "It was unfortunate that our acquaintance began with a certain degree of misunderstanding. You are a brave man."

"And you, my lord. I am glad we came to know one another better."

Cornwallis gave a grim, quiet laugh and a keen look at Tavington. "Nova Scotia. Well, Colonel, I hope you do not find it dull, after all of your adventures."

"I hope to find it not dull, but peaceful. A novelty for me." Cornwallis snorted, and Tavington asked, "And you, my lord? Where are you going?"

"Home. England—to see my children, and then, wherever the King may send me." Cornwallis offered Tavington his hand, and they shook hands for the first time, in farewell.

Sail after sail was raised, as the great fleet moved out of New York harbour. The iron-grey sky pressed down, and a few flakes of snow appeared.

Bordon murmured, "The legions are departing. The colonies will be left to themselves completely in a year or two."

Tavington shivered. "We'll see how they manage to get on. I cannot in truth say I expect much of them. Without us to hate, they shall probably turn on one another."

Tavington planned to dine with the Bordons on Christmas Day. They had much to celebrate. As a belated wedding present, he had bought them a fine pair of silver candlesticks for their new home, when they should have one.

A thick letter, stained with seawater and worn at the corners, finally arrived the day before Christmas. Tavington opened it carefully with a mixture of joy and apprehension.

Charlestown, December 8, 1781

My dearest William,

We are coming to you, my dearest, as fast as sail can bring us. I have arranged passage with the captain of the Halcyone, and expect to leave December 21st. It has taken us some time to find a ship. As you can imagine, with all the people leaving Charlestown, and with the dangers from the French, the rebel navy, and rebel privateers, finding room on a ship to New York is no light matter.

Thank you for telling us of the fate of dear Cousin James. It is a sad thing, especially considering the very few days between the event and the surrender. We shall all miss him, and I expect we shall miss his strength and cheerful nature even more in years to come.

I was so relieved to hear that you, thank God, are safe and well. With all the frightening rumours and terrible news, I was almost in despair, fearing that I had lost you. We, too, are well, and have little to disturb us at Mrs. Rutherford's, except---

My love, what am I saying? We have had a veritable earthquake here. You must know, first, that Amelia will not be traveling with us. She is married. It's seems unbelievable I know—to no one more than to me, but so it is. She is married to Mr. McKay. They eloped last week. It was a Sunday, and Mr. McKay called to go walking with her. When she did not come home, I was, as you can guess, in a desperate state, imagining every possible fate for her. The following day she returned with Mr. McKay. They had found someone to marry them, despite her age. Obviously I will not contest it. They seem blissfully happy, and quite unaware of the anguish they have caused. Mrs. Rutherford was all kindness, and allowed him to move into Amelia's room with her. Julia is now with me. I think you can imagine her remarks on these events.

Despite their heedless joy, they talked with me quite seriously about their prospects. David and Amelia, understandably, wanted her share of our money delivered into their hands, as they do have the sense to appreciate its importance to their future. But there was another thing; and I cannot help feeling renewed anger at my father, however irrational. They knew, of course, about his friendship with Judge Henderson and about the grant in Kentucky, for it all came out when I received the Judge's letter. I now would give all I possess for my father never to have met the man. They had said little to me before, but apparently had had a great deal to say when they were alone; for in the course of our conversation, David and Amelia asked me if they could have the grant, and in return, they would renounce all claim to Arcadia and any restitution made for it.

David intends to resign his commission, and he and Amelia will set out for Kentucky in the spring. It would, obviously, be madness to attempt Cumberland Gap at this time of year. They will hire a boat to take them and their belongings up the coast beyond our lines and leave them there; and then they can make their way unhindered and unsuspected through the country. Their scheme is very detailed, and it was obvious to me that they had been planning this for some time.

My love, I tried so hard to reason with them—but perhaps you remember what it is to be that age. Nothing I said, no representation of mine could move them. David and Amelia keep repeating that this is their country, and the rebels cannot take it away from them. They will go to Kentucky, where no one knows them, and start anew. The disasters of the last few years have, it seems, filled them with distrust for the opinions of their elders. Even when I told them how it would disappoint you if they did not join us, Amelia only wept, and David said I must send his deepest respects; but he would be ashamed to appear before you as a helpless child, expecting you to take care of them. Indeed, he has more pride than sense. I thought it better to submit to their decision than to drive them away with further argument.

I have gone through what we brought from Arcadia, and allowed Amelia to choose what she wants to keep. She will have the wagon and team, of course; and also some of the books and music, the piano, Father's best rifle, and most of the silver. With her share of the money, they have plenty for equipment and supplies, with still sufficient left over to provide an income for them.

What they are keeping, I have been attempting to replace-- with some success. As you know, many people leaving Charlestown must leave most of their possessions behind, and so I have already found a more than acceptable instrument (forgive me, it means so much to me), and have supplemented the remaining library. I daresay we shall need to discuss our own situation when I arrive and understand more of our plans.

Our maid, Chloe, will be coming with Julia and me. I remembered that you did not wish to own slaves, so I engaged a free woman of colour. She is a very good girl, and very much afraid that her manumission will be disregarded and she herself sold into slavery again, and so is eager to go north with us.

I long so to see you, yet it gives me such pain to bid farewell to Amelia; a farewell forever, it seems likely. I am half distracted, and Julia goes about in a fury. She is terribly angry with Amelia and has called her a deserter. It is all I can do to keep the peace between them. And then at night, Julia cannot stop weeping at the thought of parting for all time from Amelia, and I am no help, for it makes me weep as well.

Only you, my dearest, can mitigate this wretchedness. I fix my hopes on the future, when we are together, and these sorrows have lost their present sting. Think of me as I think of you, and feel my kiss in the darkness as you fall asleep.

Your loving

Elizabeth

Shocked and grieved, Tavington opened the second letter in the packet. It was from Julia, and was entirely different from her sister's.

Dearest Colonel Tavington,

I expect you have read Lilabet's letter first, so you know that Melly has gone mad with That Boy and has married him and is now going to run away with him. Only not run away, because she is staying in Charlestown for awhile until they go to Kentucky. I knew he was going to cause trouble. For months now, Melly and he would sit and look at each other and never talk or hear anything anyone said. That Boy pretends to be our friend, but he and Melly act as if no one else in the world is real.

I asked her how she could desert us, and she got angry and said that I was too young to understand a woman's feelings, and that when I was older I would understand that only the man you love matters. I told her that it was a good thing for us that Lilabet did not think like that, or she would have ridden away with you and left us in Camden to be trampled upon by that horrid brother of Cousin Charlotte's and his even more horrid wife. I thought it was a very good answer, but then Melly said something about Lilabet that really made me angry, and Lilabet had to send me to my room.

Lilabet told me that this is happening everywhere—not just here in Charlestown, but all over the Colonies. Families are breaking up because of the war and politics and other horrid things. I am not leaving Lilabet, NOT EVER, and I think Melly has lost her mind.

She and That Boy hardly ever talk to us. They sit downstairs and look at each other during meals, but otherwise when he is here they spend all their time in their room alone together and Lilabet will not allow me to bother them. I think it would be dull to spend all my time in a room alone with a boy.

Lilabet says That Boy is our brother now, but I don't think so. You are my real brother and I shall feel better when I see you. I think it will be interesting to sail in the ship.

Lilabet says I am underlining too many words, which means I am discomposed. I am very discomposed.

I now close with my heart-felt wishes for your continued good health.

Your obedient servant,

Julia Wilde

Tavington read and re-read the letters several times. Concerned as he was for Elizabeth and Julia, he felt less surprise the more he reflected on the situation. Both Amelia and McKay were just at the age when young people wanted to prove their independence. With the chaos about them, there was not the usual social structure to help control their behaviour. They had plainly lost their heads over each other, but Tavington had seen that from the first. Probably the threat of separation had panicked them, and Tavington could sympathise somewhat with that.

When Elizabeth and Julia arrived, he would discuss the situation with them. Perhaps he could write McKay, explain about the Nova Scotia grant, and offer to share it with him and Amelia. Five thousand acres were more than he could ever use or need. The marriage was precipitous, true, but not the disaster that Elizabeth and Julia seemed to think it. McKay was an intelligent and resourceful young man, and Amelia had her money. If he could but persuade the happy young couple to join them, all might yet be well.

He laughed a little at Julia's innocent observations on the potential for boredom when alone with a male. He wondered briefly what she would make of marriage between Elizabeth and himself.

Then he looked at the sailing date again. December 21st! They could arrive any day now! They could arrive today! He went to find the landlady, to apprise her of her new tenants, and to inform her that there would be a maidservant needing accommodation as well. He then went back up to his rooms, taking in their shabbiness a little wistfully. It was certainly not what he would have chosen for his first home with Elizabeth. There was a small sitting room, a smaller bedroom for the two of them, and a little closet of a room for Julia. At least she would not have to share it, now.

He called for Strephon, and they set about organising his belongings. Once some of the trunks and crates were moved, there was room to set up the girls' pianoforte, which should please them. He looked out the window. Heavy, soft snow was falling, concealing the usual morass of mud and horse droppings that were the streets. He was glad of the fire on the small hearth: the damp made his scars ache a little.

Strephon was pottering before the fire, making hot buttered rum for Tavington.

"It'll warm you right up, sir. I reckon you'll feel better when the ladies get here."

"Yes, I will." Tavington reached into his waistcoat pocket. "A little Christmas present, Strephon," he said, handing his valet twelve shillings.

"Thank you, sir!" Strephon was still hovering, and Tavington waved him away.

"Go out, amuse yourself, get drunk if you like." Tavington settled down on the sofa in front of the fire, sipping judiciously at the hot drink. It was as good as Strephon had promised.

Strephon smiled. "Merry Christmas, Colonel."

"Merry Christmas, Strephon."

The ladies did not come that day, nor the next.

Tavington had a pleasant Christmas dinner with the Bordon's; aside from his underlying fear that Elizabeth and Julia would arrive while he was gone, and be turned away by his imbecile of a landlady. Bordon and Polly adored the candlesticks, and Polly set the table with them at once, moving with the ponderous caution of a woman in the last stages of pregnancy. Bordon watched her fondly, a doting smile on his face. Tavington could not hide his amusement, and Bordon saw it and gave an unembarrassed shrug.

The goose was consumed, the pudding polished off, and Tavington soon took his leave. He walked back through the snowy streets, his mood darkening, thinking of the Christmas before: a mild South Carolina winter, a crowd of friendly family faces about him in Miss Everleigh's dining parlour--a place he would never see again. Miss Everleigh herself was gone; so was the loyal and brave Wilkins. The Montgomery family might as well be on the Moon, so miniscule was the chance of ever seeing any of them again; and now, Amelia and McKay had deserted them. How could they hurt Elizabeth so? Not even the blindness of youthful passion could excuse them. Had they written him, he could have arranged it all: McKay would have been transferred back to his command, and could have escorted the ladies to New York. Instead, Elizabeth and Julia must travel alone and unprotected, grieving over a sister who did not seem to be grieving much over them.

He would salvage what he could. First, he must see to Elizabeth, and make Julia feel welcome in their family circle. The picture of McKay and Amelia, oblivious to the feelings and existence of everyone around them, was a healthy warning about how not to conduct his own marriage. No, Julia would truly be part of their family, as much as if she were their child. In a way, she was.

But Elizabeth must come first. She had sacrificed so much, and not just since he had met her. Reading between the lines, it had become apparent to him that she had always been expected to give up everything for her family. From her status as a useful governess, housekeeper, and her mother's deputy and companion, Tavington inferred that her family would have found it most convenient that she never marry. Only her brother's death had changed that, and then an arranged marriage had been nearly thrust upon her. Her father's hare-brained idea to pair her off with Martin he discounted as one man offering a trifling gift to a good friend, and plainly the mother would have had none of it. Instead, Elizabeth had cared tenderly for her sisters, protecting and educating them, and then had had the bitter reward of Amelia's elopement.

Only let her come soon, and I shall change it all for her. I know her true worth, and I shall show her how well I know it.

Days passed, and Tavington endured his daily rounds: inspecting the Legion, completing the endless paperwork, hurrying back to his lodgings to find that Elizabeth and Julia still had not come. He went down to the docks, asking for any news of the Halcyone. There was none, but the usual nerve-wracking rumours of rebel attacks and privateer depredations made him feel rather sick. In the meantime, he prepared for their arrival as completely as he could. The banns for their wedding were already published, and he had arranged with the rector of Trinity Church for their vows. Trinity Church itself, alas, had burned to the ground during the disturbances in the city a few years ago, but the congregation was still meeting at St. Paul's Chapel, and Tavington suspected that Elizabeth would prefer the reverend Mr. Inglis' services to those of a public or military official

The weather turned from snowy to bitterly cold. On New Year's Eve, Tavington rode out on Aeolus to visit headquarters for a meeting of regimental commanders. His horses seemed to be doing well in the stable down the street from his lodgings. Candace had been in season a few times since coming into Tavington's possession, but he did not wish to breed her to Aeolus until Elizabeth had a chance to make friends with her and ride her. He had had some very nice tack made for the mare, and looked forward to showing Elizabeth New York from horseback. He had purchased a sweet-tempered grey pony that seemed designed for Julia. He smiled. What good times we shall have. With another look at the sky, he decided that might wait until it was not so very cold.

The meeting was long and dull, enlivened only at the end when Sir Henry had a bowl of hot punch brought in for them to drink to the New Year. It was not the most cheerful of thoughts, since as they waited for the peace terms to be decided, it was entirely possible that the new year might see them leaving the colonies forever. Still, the punch was hot, strong, and good, and it somewhat improved Tavington's outlook as he rode back to Queen's Street. It was late afternoon, and already growing dark.

About three streets away from the stable, he noticed a group of civilians and soldiers assembled. They were loudly exclaiming over something, and as Tavington approached, he overheard them.

"It finally broke up off Montauk Point."

"The shelling had reduced it to splinters. No wonder everyone aboard was lost."

"Terrible. Those poor souls."

Tavington thought his heart would explode. He called out, "What ship was it? Was it the Halcyone?"

An infantry lieutenant looked his way. "We're not sure of the name, sir. It might have been called the Halcyone."

An elderly civilian put in. "It was too badly damaged to tell yet. It could have been the Erebus. That was due from Kingston a week ago." Seeing Tavington's distress, the old man added. "They're out salvaging the wreckage, sir. There should be some news at the docks by tomorrow. No use borrowing trouble yet."

Tavington gave the man a nod, unable to speak. Like an automaton, he sat on Aeolus, letting his horse find his way back to his stable and his companions there. Tavington spoke the bare minimum necessary to the grooms, and walked quickly back to his lodgings.

Blindly, he ignored the unusual commotion in the street in front of his building. Pushing past some teamsters unloading a wagon, he ran up the stairs, hoping to be alone with his terrible thoughts at once.

He could hear Strephon's deep voice in conversation. And then, suddenly, a familiar, high, sweet one.

"I think it looks beautiful there. Should we put the books away now, Lilabet?"

He took the last few steps two at a time, and was at his doorway in an instant. There was a pianoforte in his sitting room. Elizabeth was in his sitting room and was talking with Strephon. Julia, in a hooded red travelling cloak, was flitting about the room, looking at everything.

He paused, and Elizabeth turned and saw him.

"My dearest!" she cried, and was in his arms. It occurred briefly to Tavington that he might be hurting her, holding her so tightly; but he could not let go. He could feel her bones through her dark cloak. She was thinner than he remembered, and he held her away from him a moment to look at her. Her face was as sweet as ever, but perhaps a little too pale. He embraced her again. Julia was at their side, and he pulled her close as well. Both his girls were too pale.

Elizabeth's hands had slid underneath his cloak, and stroked his back tenderly. He was hardly aware of Strephon, smiling kindly, and a young woman, standing modestly in a corner. He would allow himself a kiss, caring nothing for the servants. He then looked down at Julia's thin little face, and kissed the top of her head.

He tried to speak rationally. "Have you been here long? When did you arrive?"

Elizabeth smiled, still clinging to him. "Not long. The ship came into harbour a few hours ago, and it took some time to disembark and find some teamsters to bring us here with all our impedimenta." She laughed. "You can see why."

Tavington glanced around the room. Besides the pianoforte, there were some trunks, some crates; one of which was opened and overflowing with books. There were two flattish crates, which might contain paintings. It would take some time to put it all to rights.

His landlady, Mrs. Briggs, came puffing into the room.

"Well, ma'am," she said, "it won't be easy, but you shall have your bath within the hour. Good evening to you, Colonel. I can see you're glad to have your lady here at last." She gave the maidservant a sharp look, and said, "There's a cot in the little room down the hall for the black girl. I've nowhere else to put her."

"Thank you, Mrs. Briggs," said Tavington. "Is there somewhere I can sleep tonight? It is too late in the day for our wedding."

"I'll have Sukie make up a bed for you in my parlour. It won't be very comfortable, but it's only for the one night." She simpered, and gave Elizabeth a sly look. Elizabeth stiffened, and returned the look haughtily. Mrs. Briggs was already hurrying away, saying "I'll have dinner brought up directly. I'm sure you'll all be glad of it." The teamsters came up with the last of the crates, and Tavington paid them off generously.

Tavington and Elizabeth looked at each other in silence for a moment. "Well," said Elizabeth, finally. "Here we are." She gestured to her maid. 'Chloe, come and meet the Colonel. Dearest," she said to Tavington. "This is our maidservant Chloe, who has braved our adventures with us."

Chloe was a tiny thing, with a face almost entirely hidden by the wide brim of her muslin cap. She made a deep curtsey to Tavington. "Colonel, sir," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the floor. Tavington could make out her colour only from her hands and wrists, which were a light brown—more weak tea than strong coffee. Strephon was looking at her with interest, but the girl would not look back at him.

"Julia," said Elizabeth, "Go down the hall with Chloe and have a look at this 'little room' of Mrs. Briggs'. See if the bedding is sufficient. We might as well start getting settled. Strephon, please carry Chloe's trunk for her."

"Yes, ma'am," said Strephon, agreeably, hoisting the small trunk up and following the two girls down the hall.

"Alone at last," murmured Tavington, drawing his love close for a proper kiss. It had been so long since they had seen each other, that they were both a little shy. Soon, however, they remembered the taste and feel of the other. Elizabeth looked up at him, eyes shining.

"I thought we would never get here."

"I thought you wouldn't, either."

"The winds were contrary, and twice the crew sighted enemy sails. We spent quite some time running and hiding. Not very pleasant. I'm surprised, now, that my father could bear to cross the Atlantic as often as he did."

"But you are here now, and safe." He kissed her again, lightly. "And we shall be married tomorrow."

Julia came back, followed by Strephon. "It's a broom closet," declared Julia with scorn.

"It's –"

"It's a broom closet," she repeated. "It has a little cot with the most threadbare blanket you ever saw."

"Then get her some sheets and a decent quilt out of the linen chest. Is there a window?"

"Yes, and that won't make her any warmer." Julia opened a large trunk and began rummaging through an assortment of bed linens.

Tavington smiled. "You should have no difficulty with the sheets, since I have it on good authority that you made enough for the entire British Legion."

Julia, kneeling on the floor, looked around at him and laughed.

Elizabeth smiled. "Perhaps not the entire Legion. Only enough for the officers."

Strephon was taking the pile of bedding from Julia, when Tavington said, "Strephon, after you give the maid the linens, I need you to take a message to Mr. Inglis at St. Paul's Chapel." Strephon straightened, listening. "Tell him we'll be there at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. If there is some difficulty, have him set a time at his convenience. Then go tell Captain Bordon of our plans."

"Yes, sir."

Strephon set off on his errands, and Elizabeth said, "He seems a very satisfactory servant."

"Entirely. A lucky find."

"So is Chloe," pronounced Julia. "She know how to comb hair without pulling it out, and she doesn't complain, not even about the food on the ship." She took off her red cloak, and found a hook by the door to hang it from. She shivered, and asked. "Is it always this cold in New York?"

Tavington smiled ruefully. "Only in the winter."

"Well, go find a shawl to put on, Julia," said Elizabeth, taking off her travelling cloak as well. She was wearing a green Brunswick with a darker green quilted petticoat. Mrs. Briggs' servant, Sukie, came in with a steaming tray. She arranged it all on the table by the window, and was out the door without a word, and with the barest sketch of a curtsey. Elizabeth raised her brows.

"New York manners," smiled Tavington, hanging his cloak by Elizabeth's. "One becomes accustomed to them."

Elizabeth looked skeptical, but they all sat down to dinner at last. Mrs. Briggs' food was indifferent in quality, but hot and filling, and they were too happy to notice what they were eating, anyway. Tavington opened a bottle of wine, and Julia was permitted one glass.

"I'll be twelve in March!" she pointed out.

"Exactly so," agreed her sister. "Now, William," she began, "have you any idea where we shall be going? We have made a thousand guesses, from England to Canada to Timbuktu, but we hoped you would know more by now."

Tavington had rarely been happier, preparing to tell his little family the news. He decided to make a story of it, from the ball ('You should have danced," complained Julia.), to the Duke of Clarence ("A prince! Was he handsome?" "Not very." "Too bad."), to Britannia not being an ungrateful mistress (Elizabeth was amused, but Julia nodded in sage agreement), to the prince appearing right here at the lodgings the next day, and sweeping Tavington off in his coach to get his land grant.

"Nova Scotia?" asked Julia when he finished. "Where is that?"

"We'll look in the atlas after dinner, darling," said Elizabeth, "and you will see for yourself."

Julia was resigned. "I suppose this means another sea voyage."

Tavington smiled, "Indeed it does. Did you not find sailing as interesting as you had hoped?"

"Oh, it was interesting." Julia looked glumly at her plate. "That doesn't mean it was pleasant."

"One person's adventure is another's disagreeable experience," teased Elizabeth.

Julia agreed, serious. "It's just as Dr. Johnson said. Sailing is 'like jail, with the chance of being drowned.'"

Tavington laughed, and hugged her with his free arm. As they finished dinner, Sukie and Mrs. Briggs' beefy-armed daughter came in with the sloshing bathtub. Chloe was behind them, with some extra hot water. Tavington went to the bedroom, to collect the toilet items and linen he would need for the next day, along with a paper-wrapped package; and then bade Elizabeth and Julia a brief but tender good night. Tomorrow could not come too soon. It only occurred to him, as he was falling into a restless sleep on the narrow sofa in the parlour, that neither Elizabeth nor Julia had said one word of their absent sister.

---

Author's notes: Bordon's remarks about the legions departing refers to Rome, at the end of the 4th century AD, permanently withdrawing its garrison from Britain due to military needs elsewhere in the Roman Empire. Roman Britain, terrified and desperate, was left to fend for itself, and gradually became the prey of barbarian invaders.

A Brunswick was a long-sleeved, three-quarter length jacket, sometimes hooded, sometimes (as in Elizabeth's jacket) not. I should mention now that petticoat in this context means skirt. Petticoats did not become strictly undergarments until the end of the century.

And yes, the bathwater had to be shared. First Julia, then Elizabeth, and then Chloe.

All my readers are invited to the wedding of Colonel William Tavington and Miss Elizabeth Wilde, to be held in the next chapter. No presents are necessary, but you should dress in your best and be ready for a very good time!