Author's note: I have sliced, diced, cut, and edited, but there is still material in the second half of this chapter that may be considered R-rated. Let all those innocent young people who might be corrupted by a married couple making love kindly avert their eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Haste to the Wedding
Tavington indulged Strephon's fussing the next morning, grumbling as his servant informed him that Mr. Inglis had named eleven o'clock as the time of the wedding. With plenty of time to prepare, he had decided to wear the cravat Amelia had given him. Her sisters might be very disappointed in her, but she still must be remembered. He could hear the rest of the house stirring. His breakfast was served in the parlour, and he carefully kept out of the ladies' way until they were all to meet at half past ten. He had told Strephon to go to the livery stable to bespeak a carriage, but was further informed that that Captain Bordon was taking care of that, and would come to meet them here at the time appointed.
"That's very good of him." Tavington was pleased. Riding in the carriage, however briefly, would give Elizabeth and Julia time to become reacquainted with Bordon. He was to be their neighbor, and Tavington wanted them to be good friends.
Bordon arrived punctually, spruce and smiling. He eyed Tavington's appearance with approval, and they awaited the ladies in the parlour. Julia ran down the stairs, eager to be off. She was dressed in a charming pink gown, covered by a dress cloak of silver-grey velvet.
"Good morning!" she greeted them, with an elaborate curtsey. "Hello, Captain Bordon! Happy New Year! It's so nice to see you again!"
Elizabeth was descending the narrow stairs more carefully, and Tavington's heart swelled at the sight of her. She could not have been lovelier. Wearing her green gown, and wrapped in a splendid fur-trimmed cloak, she was alight with happiness. Tavington took note of the famous petticoat. It was remarkably beautiful: a delicate shade of creamy yellow, and wonderfully embroidered with flowers that recalled her father's horticultural paintings. Her hair was dressed fashionably high, with two long dark curls falling softly to one shoulder. Bordon approached her and bowed, reminding her of their acquaintance.
"Captain Bordon! Yes, of course, I remember you! This is very pleasant!" She curtseyed, "How delightful to see you well. We were quite concerned."
"Yes," Tavington told her, "He is well, married, and very soon to be a father."
"I hope," said Elizabeth, "that I may be introduced to Mrs. Bordon as soon as she is able to entertain visitors."
Julia confided to Bordon, "We don't know anyone in New York but Green Dragoons."
Bordon smiled. "Mrs. Bordon would be very glad of your company. She doesn't know anyone here either."
"Mrs. Bordon is not from New York?"
"No, she is originally from Virginia."
"Oh," said Elizabeth, with a gleam of satisfaction, "a Southerner."
Bordon gave Tavington an uneasy glance, but Tavington did not respond. He had told Polly that he would not prevent her making a new start, and he intended to keep his word. Whatever the war had made her, she could assume a lady's manners when in a lady's company, and she need not fear him telling her secrets.
He had one thing to do before they left for the church. He handed the package on the parlour table to Elizabeth with a smile. "Cold as it is, I thought you would be glad of these. The larger one is yours, and the smaller for Julia."
The girls exclaimed over the contents, for inside were two luxurious fur muffs, lined with silk. Julia hung hers from her wrist by the braided silk cord, stroking the marten's softness. "What good ideas you have about presents!"
"Indeed, yes. Thank you, dearest." Elizabeth slid her hands into the warmth of the muff, and gave him a special smile.
The streets made walking a hazard, and Tavington lifted both of his ladies into the carriage to prevent them fouling their skirts.
Once in the carriage, Julia's face clouded and Tavington feared tears would follow
"What is it, my dear?" he asked. "Is it Amelia?"
"No!" muttered Julia, "Stupid Melly!"
"Julia, don't," said Elizabeth wearily.
"I'm sorry, Colonel," Julia was contrite. "I try not to think about her at all. She makes me so sad and so angry. I was thinking about Cousin James. If he were here, he could have given Lilabet away." She told Bordon, "The war has thinned out our family pretty well."
Elizabeth sighed, and Tavington put his arm around her.
Bordon was understanding. "Today, Miss Julia, begins the New Year, and is the day your family begins to rebuild itself."
She smiled, and patted his hand. "Tell me about Nova Scotia, please."
"Well," he began, "the first inhabitants were the MicMac Indians." Julia giggled at the name. "Then it was settled by the French, and then it was won by the English, who expelled most of the French back in 1755."
"Is Nova Scotia an Indian name?"
"No, Latin." Bordon explained, "It means New Scotland."
Julia was puzzled. "Why would the French name a place New Scotland?"
Bordon laughed. "That is not the name the French gave it. They called it Acadia."
"Arcadia!" Julia's eyes were as big as saucers. Tavington was amused. Elizabeth was silent.
"Acadia," Bordon corrected, "No 'R.'"
"Still," Julia frowned thoughtfully, and glanced at her sister. "Still, it's quite a coincidence."
They soon arrived at their destination, and Tavington helped the ladies out onto the steps of the beautiful little church, with its columns and classical pediment.
The rector, Charles Inglis, met them at the door, smiling as he was introduced. Tavington wondered why they were still outside, but was distracted by Mr. Inglis' question to Elizabeth.
"And have you your certificate of the banns, Miss Wilde?"
Tavington had time for only a brief thrill of panic, before Elizabeth pulled a folded paper from her pocket, and handed it to the rector. "Here, sir, from St. Phillip's in Charleston."
Inglis looked it over. "Then everything is in order." He led them into the church, and Tavington was stunned, as he saw that instead of an empty sanctuary, the pews were filled with soldiers. His soldiers. They all rose to their feet to greet Tavington and his bride.
He walked down the aisle with Elizabeth under the eyes of men he knew like no others. He walked past Baird and Lovins, the kindly Sergeant Davies, and Fergus McDonald, grinning like the irrepressible ruffian he was. To the front were his officers. There were some women, too. Mrs. Inglis was there, in the rector's pew; but for the most part he suspected the women he saw with his soldiers were not the kind who ordinarily would be attending a church service. Most of the Legion's wives were still in South Carolina, not yet having been transported to New York. Still, as long as the women behaved themselves, he was willing to show charity to all the world today.
At the front of the church there was a brief conference. David Kinlock stepped forward.
"Sir," he said, "we knew you would wish Captain Bordon to stand up with you at your wedding; so thought we could help by providing one of our number to give the bride away. We settled it in proper military fashion. The honour was awarded to me, as the captain with seniority by commission date. Madam," he continued, to Elizabeth, "We all regret that your brave cousin, Captain Wilkins, cannot be here for this happy day. Would you permit me the honour of representing him?"
Elizabeth was touched. "Indeed sir, I am honoured by your thoughtfulness."
Mr. Inglis then took his place and began the service.
"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God…."
Tavington's head was whirling with the intensity of emotion. He felt so much, he could hardly think, and feared he would remember the time only in flashes. He heard Charles Inglis' sonorous voice reading the service impressively. He could feel Elizabeth's hand in his as they repeated their vows.
The time came for him to produce the ring, and he fumbled a little pulling it from his pocket. Laying it on the clerk's book, he then followed Mr. Inglis' promptings to take Elizabeth's left hand and then place the splendid emerald ring of the Everleighs on his beloved's third finger, repeating the phrases: "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow." The full import of the words swept over him, and he flushed, glad no one but the minister could see his face, and glad when he could kneel and hide it even from the kindly Inglis.
Inglis finished with a brief and moving sermon on the holiness of marriage. Tailoring his words to the men before him, he spoke of the difficulties of separation, the certain joys of reunion, and the hope they all had of living in peace with their loved ones. Tavington, his back to the congregation, could hear the snifflings and the throat clearings, and knew that not all who were touched were women.
At last it was over; but it was not entirely over. Apparently, he and Elizabeth and everyone else were going to the inn two streets south for a wedding dinner. His officers had decided it was the perfect occasion for the British Legion to celebrate itself and honour its leader. Back in the carriage, he stared at Bordon, who smiled mischievously, pleased with the success of his conspiracy.
The inn's ballroom was luckily capacious, and a dinner of great plenty and seemingly innumerable courses was served. There were toasts—a great number of toasts. There was a splendid wedding cake on display. He asked Bordon how that had been managed, and his friend shrugged.
"It was made a few days ago. I had to make an educated guess as to when your lady would arrive. As it happened, I was not so far off."
There were musicians. Clearing a space, a number of dragoons who had immigrated from Scotland years before entertained them all with a sword dance. Tavington felt some apprehension, knowing how much the fellows had drunk. The tallest of them, Rory Fraser, seemed barely able to walk, but somehow completed the dance with no injury to himself or others. At the close, the dancers linked arms, the stumbling Fraser in the middle, and came forward to make their duty to Elizabeth and Julia.
"Ladies, your sairvant!" they bawled out, with a sweeping, unison bow so low that Fraser's head unhappily cracked against the floor. Elizabeth hid her mirth with difficulty. Julia did not even try and laughed aloud. The dancers, taking it as their due, bowed again and smugly sat down for more toasts.
More space was cleared, and the musicians retuned their instruments. With a bow to Tavington and Elizabeth, the lead fiddler began the slow strains of a minuet. Tavington gave Elizabeth his hand, and led her out. As custom demanded, they performed the dance alone, watched by the company assembled.
He had always wished to dance with Elizabeth, and now he was rewarded. It was an intense experience, for the dance demanded that they maintain eye contact throughout. He was peripherally aware of other people, and saw Julia's pretty pink gown from corner of his eye. Otherwise, he was completely engrossed in Elizabeth. How happy she looked, and, he was proud to see, how well she danced. The minuet ended, with he and Elizabeth giving one another the concluding honours, and the Legion was loud in its approval.
Elizabeth gave him a mischievous smile. It was not the most refined of company, but no one could fault its conviviality. The musicians struck up "Haste to the Wedding," and Tavington and Elizabeth took their places at the top of the set, as others lined up to join them. Julia, flushed with excitement, had been asked to dance by the kind-hearted Bordon, and was overjoyed.
So they danced; and then they danced some more. No woman present need sit for lack of a partner. A portion of the wedding cake was wrapped up at Elizabeth's insistence for Mrs. Bordon; the rest was devoured.
Tavington had finished a reel with Julia, to her great satisfaction, when he saw Elizabeth in conversation with some of his dragoons, including Fergus McDonald. Wary of how they might conduct themselves towards his lady, he made his way over to them, and Elizabeth said, "Mr. McDonald was just about to recite a poem for me, dearest."
Tavington looked at McDonald narrowly, knowing the sort of rhymes and songs McDonald was renowned for. If anything even suggesting rudeness was voiced, Tavington had his sword at his side, and McDonald would not live to finish his "poem." McDonald, red-faced, squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, and then uttered:
"Daffy-down-dilly is new come to town,
In a yellow petticoat, and a green gown."
A guileless, gap-toothed smile completed the recitation.
Tavington let out a relieved breath, and Elizabeth, smiling, said, "What a pretty thing to say, Mr. McDonald. I thank you." Tavington gave McDonald another suspicious glance, and led his new wife away.
Too exhilarated to feel tired, they at last took their leave, climbed into the waiting carriage, and headed back to their lodgings in the gathering dark.
Tavington was happy enough to tolerate the effusive congratulations of Mrs. Briggs and her household. More pleasing were the kind greetings of Strephon and Chloe. He had his valet undo his hair, and then sent him off with his cloak to brush, some money as a present for the wedding day, and assurances that he could manage to undress himself.
Julia was clearly over-excited, and Elizabeth and Chloe took her off to her little room, to put her to bed. She broke away briefly and ran over to kiss Tavington good night. Laughing, he kissed her back.
She danced all the way to her room. "Good night! Good night! I can't wait to write Melly! She missed the best party in the world! She didn't get to be a bridesmaid! She didn't even have any wedding cake!" Her door shut, and Tavington sat down in front of the fire. In a little while, Elizabeth and Chloe emerged. Elizabeth gave Tavington a soft kiss on his brow, on her way to their bedchamber.
Tavington sat staring into the fire. So full of his own happiness that he had no need for thought of it, he tilted his head back on the sofa, and savoured his feelings. Time passed, and Chloe came out of the bedchamber, curtseyed to him with an inaudible good night, and exited the room. Tavington could hear her soft footsteps going down the hall.
Getting up, he paused before the closed door, and then, without knocking, entered. Elizabeth was sitting at the little dressing table, dressed in a white muslin nightrobe, an ornate silver brush in her hand. She was not brushing her hair, but instead, staring rather anxiously into the mirror, when she heard Tavington come in. She immediately turned with a shy smile.
She seemed the sweetest sight in the world to him. "You look very beautiful," he said quietly.
She set the brush down, and Tavington could see her swallow as she stared blindly at it. "Really?"
He sat beside her on the bench. "Yes, really." He picked up the brush, and began running it through her thick dark curls. "What did you think I would say—that I seem to have made a terrible mistake?"
Slowly, she said, "We have apart for so long--nearly a year. It has not been a good year for me. I saw myself becoming thinner and paler than ever, and I feared more than anything that when you first set eyes on me again, you would be disappointed." She took a breath, and seemed near tears. "If I had seen disappointment on your face, I would have wanted to die."
He brushed her hair back from her brow, with a slow, gentle rhythm. "Well, you are here, and I am not disappointed. I am very happy that you still would want me after so long, and," he hesitated, and then decided to say it, "and after having received a better offer."
"Julia. Julia told you about Stephen DeLancey."
"Yes, she has been a very enlightening correspondent. You told me little of your troubles, and Amelia sent me riddles. Julia simply described."
Her eyes shut, and she arched her neck slightly, obviously enjoying his attentions. "I suppose that, had I found myself in Charlestown after losing Arcadia, with two sisters to care for, I might have accepted Stephen had I never met you." She gave a soft sigh of pleasure, as he began brushing her hair up from the nape of her neck. "But I did meet you, and was enamoured from the first with you in a way I had never experienced. I scolded myself for a fool when we first arrived in Camden: dreaming about a man I was sure I would never see again. You cannot imagine how I felt when old Uncle Ganymede told me you were downstairs."
He set down the brush and pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arm around her, pressing her back to his chest. He breathed in the scent of roses, from her temple to the delightful curve where her neck joined her shoulder. He paused, and pressed a slow kiss there. With his free hand, he stroked her arm from shoulder to wrist, lifting the hand to kiss it softly as well. She relaxed, leaning back against him.
"When did you first love me?" she asked.
He slowly kissed her other shoulder, sucking lightly. "I am not sure. Perhaps when I first saw you in your lovely green gown. Perhaps the night of the Camden dinner." He touched her breasts delicately with his fingertips. She started, and he began tracing spirals around them. He whispered in her ear. "But I know when I first wanted you. The day of the skirmish, when I killed the fellow who threatened you. I clasped you in my arms, and wanted to take you then and there, for you were mine." He took her breasts in his hands and squeezed softly. She gave a moaning gasp, and Tavington, seeing her expression of disbelief and delight in the mirror, knew he would forever cherish this moment..
Arching back, she offered her mouth to him, and he captured it lovingly. A long, slow, deep, moist kiss, holding her close in the flickering light.
When he broke the kiss, he whispered, "Enamoured from the first, were you?"
She temporised, delaying her answer with a light touch of her lips against his. "I had never actually talked about books with a man the way we did that day in the library. It was terribly exciting."
He squeezed again, more firmly, and then began to explore, to stroke, to pinch into attention, to pluck at her until she cried out softly.
"And then you told me that sometimes duty could be a pleasure. And you smiled at me. I wanted to touch you."
He rose, pulling her to her feet. Still holding a wrist with one hand, he began to undo his jacket buttons. "My sweet love, you may touch me all you like." He smiled at her embarrassment. "You have seen me before, and touched me too."
She whispered, "Not as I would have wished. It was different—you were wounded and ill---I could not----"
He had discarded jacket, waistcoat and cravat, and pressed her hand to his chest. She smiled, feeling his heartbeat. Pulling her close, he unfastened her robe. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.
"Nonetheless," he told her, " you must allow me the same privilege."
The robe rippled to the floor. She is trying very hard to be brave, poor thing, he though tenderly, for he could see her resisting the urge to cover herself. He quickly unbuttoned his breeches, and slipped out of the rest of his clothing; then took her hands as they stood before the fire, each looking at the other. She had cast her eyes down modestly, and then looked up quickly, with a blush.
"Perhaps the male body has some mysteries you have not yet fathomed," he purred. He pulled her against him, letting her feel him. She was quite overcome, in a confusion of excitement and nervous laughter. Tavington smiled himself, enjoying her epiphany. Her breathing had quickened; she touched his old scars, and then kissed them every one.
Surprised and stirred, he picked her up and laid her gently on the bed. He leaned over her and gave her a deep, leisurely kiss. She was trembling a little under his hands.
"Sshhh," he soothed her. "It's all right. I love you."
He brushed his fingertips teasingly over her, pausing now and then to kiss a particularly delectable place.
She began shaking, trying to suppress her involuntary cries, and clutched at him, wanting she knew not what.
"William, please---"
"Sshhh," he murmured once more, "I know what it is that you need."
And he showed her.
***
The sudden noise under their window awakened him from deep, blissful slumber. He got up, shrugged into his banyan, and looked out to see what the disturbance was. But for the light of the waning moon, darkness had fallen over New York. Only a few lanterns could be seen, swaying down the streets as if by themselves. Here and there light shone from a window. There was a patch of moonlight on the floor. Tavington stood in it at he took in the city
Below in the street, a group of drunken soldiers were staggering along, howling out New Year's greetings at the silent windows. Some were attempting to sing, but it was impossible to tell what.
"William," whispered Elizabeth from behind the bed curtains. "Is something wrong?" The candle had guttered down; the fire was only red embers. Elizabeth left the bed carefully, a pale, lovely wraith in the moonlight. She hesitated, and then approached him, touching his arm gently.
"Just some fellow-soldiers, not so fortunate in their New Year celebrations as I." He pulled her inside the banyan, and held her fast against him. She rested her head on his shoulder, looking out the window. The soldiers stumbled down Queen's Street, their wild hallooing fading away.
"It is such a strange place—bigger than Charlestown, and very different."
His lips quirked in a smile. "But the stars are still the same. Look, there are the Pleiades."
"Seven Sisters. But I have never seen but six. Perhaps one has left them." He felt her sigh, and tried to think of comforting words; but she forestalled him. "No, I will not think sad thoughts tonight. Amelia has her man, and I have mine. That is as it should be." She gave a soft laugh. "And now I understand why, after her marriage, she began singing a particular song with such a knowing air."
"Which song?"
"Man is For the Woman Made." Another song by Purcell, but not one my aunt listed among her favourites."
Softly and lightly, she sang in a whisper:
"Man, man, man, is for the woman made,
And the woman for the man.
As the spur is to the jade,
As the scabbard to the blade,
As for night's the serenade,
And for pudding is the pan—"
Tavington laughed. Elizabeth thumped his chest lightly, and sang on:
"So man, man, man, is for the woman made,
And the woman for the man."
He kissed her, and whispered. "Very appropriate, and quite to the point."
"I suppose so," she murmured, her hands wandering with more confidence now. "The scabbard and the blade part I clearly understand now, but this jade needs no spur."
He led her back to their bed then, and they closed the curtains around them. The patch of moonlight on the floor moved as time passed; and the urgent, muffled moans and rustles from the bed changed to tender, hushed words, and then, to the quiet, regular breathing of untroubled sleep.
---
Author's notes: St. Paul's Chapel, where Tavington and Elizabeth were married, is part of Trinity Parish, and is located at Broadway and Fulton. It is the oldest public building in continual use in Manhattan, and its only colonial church remaining. There will be more of the excellent and reverend Mr. Inglis later.
Sorry that Elizabeth did not wear white to her wedding. White was a favoured colour for weddings gowns by this time, but not the only possible choice—blue was just as popular. White did not become standard for upper class wedding gowns until the end of the 18th century. In fact, at the beginning of the 1700's, yellow was the most popular colour. In Elizabeth's time, it was generally considered sensible to have a gown that could be worn again. Elizabeth, between shopping for and making the garments she and Julia would need for their journey, and arranging the voyage itself, just did not have time to make herself a wedding gown. She was sentimentally attached to the green gown anyway, and considered the new petticoat a sufficient upgrade.
McDonald's old nursery rhyme is a metaphor for a daffodil in spring.
A jade in past parlance means: 1. A worthless, broken-down horse, or 2. A worthless, disreputable woman.