Disclaimer: Don't own, just squatting.

Tavington, Thomas and Ferguson all face difficult decisions.

Chapter Twelve: Web of Destiny

Jonathan Boggs, attorney-at-law, had journeyed to Williamsburg, escorted by Tavington and his men. Ushered into the parlour of Tavington and Ferguson's lodgings, he spread his papers about him with an air of importance. Adjusting his spectacles, he began to read aloud.

"'This second day of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty, I, Samuel Lightfoot Featherstone of Richmond Virginia, being of sound mind and understanding, do make this my last will and testament, and revoke hereby all other previous wills made by me.'

'My soul I resign to Almighty God, trusting in his infinite mercy. My worldly goods I bequeath as follows:'

'Item: I name as my executor Jonathan Boggs, esquire, and authorise payment to him of two hundred pounds, to be paid out of my estate.'

'Item: I further authorise him to make reasonable arrangements for my burial, not exceeding the sum of twenty-five pounds.'

'Item: I bequeath the sum of five hundred pounds to St. John's Church, to be invested and the interest distributed to the poor of the parish, according to the good judgement of the rector. These monies shall be called the Featherstone Fund in perpetuity.'

'Item: The balance of my estate I bequeath to my nieces, Paulina Elizabeth Featherstone and Sarah Lucretia Featherstone, to be divided equally between them. In the event one of my nieces has predeceased me, the entire estate shall devolve upon the survivor.'"

Polly and Sally, seated demurely on the sofa facing the lawyer, exchanged a look of quiet excitement. Pattie stood by them, and Tavington, asked to witness the proceedings, had stationed himself behind them, in an armchair by the fireplace.

"'I do this in testimony that my nieces have been cruelly and unjustly wronged by me, and I offer this restitution in the hope of their forgiveness, and the forgiveness of Almighty God.'"

Sally, impatient with the lawyer, asked. "Well, how much is it in all, our inheritance?"

The lawyer, his reading interrupted, was displeased, but concealed it with all the forbearance due to wealth. "Not counting the real estate, Madam, Mr. Featherstone left at least twenty-eight thousand pounds. With the sale of said property, the estate will of course be worth rather more—perhaps in the neighborhood of thirty-four thousand." The girls gasped in unison. "The estate's debts have all been discharged, and after my fee," the man gave a small, oily smile, "you each stand to inherit between fifteen and eighteen thousand pounds."

Pattie, thunderstruck, turned and looked at Tavington, who had nearly dropped his teacup. The girls were rich, richer than either of them. Richer than either of them was ever likely to be. It was absolutely astounding.

The lawyer, satisfied at the stir he had created, once more adjusted his spectacles, and continued with the document.

"'In the event that my nieces are unmarried and not of legal age, I designate my executor, Jonathan Boggs, to pay them each an allowance of 25 pounds per quarter from the interest of the principal; upon their majority, the principal is to be theirs absolutely. He is further authorised to act for both for my nieces while they remain unmarried or not of legal age.

'Signed this day by Samuel Lightfoot Featherstone, and witnessed by Jonathan Boggs and Charles Sewell.'"

There was a short silence.

Polly was bewildered. "I had absolutely no idea that our uncle was so well-off."

Boggs immediately supplied the answer. "Your aunt, his wife, Anne Sedley Featherstone, brought a large settlement to the marriage, which your uncle invested wisely. These monies reverted to him with your aunt's death."

Sally gave Polly a half-smile, and leaned over to whisper in her ear, "At least she was good for something, the-----"

She caught Boggs' scandalised expression, and sat back again, with a charming smile that made Boggs clear his throat in confusion.

He continued. "The question, then, is the extent and holdings of said estate. Mr. Featherstone had considerable property in Richmond: his own home, a warehouse, three houses that he let, and part ownerships in a grist mill and a public house. Do I understand that the young ladies wish these properties to be liquidated?

The young ladies indicated turned at looked to Pattie for guidance. He said, "We havena discussed that." He asked them, "Do you want to keep the house? It'd be a place for you to live, free and clear."

"No!" cried Sally. "We never want to live there again!" She muttered feelingly, "We never want to live in Richmond again!"

Polly agreed softly, "We have very unhappy memories of our time there. But we would like to look the place over. We might want some of the furnishings, and some other keepsakes."

"Like our mother's jewelry!" Sally blurted out, remembering old wrongs.

The lawyer made notes. "Of course," he cautioned them, "the process of liquidating the holdings might take some time, and it will be impossible to divide the total estate until its value is realised. However, I suggest the young ladies visit the residence as soon as possible, if they wish to remove any items for their personal use. A portion of the ready money from the bank accounts could be made available to Miss Featherstone shortly. There is, however, an impediment in Miss Sarah's case."

"What impediment?" asked Pattie, suspiciously.

The lawyer smiled, oozing charm from every pore. "Miss Sarah Featherstone is not of age. While Miss Featherstone has had her twenty-first birthday, Miss Sarah, by my reckoning, is but nineteen years old, and must have a guardian."

There was a brief silence. Tavington had been brought up short by the lawyer's continual use of the term young ladies. He had never really considered how very young Polly and Sally actually were. Pattie was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. The women's silence was that of gathering wrath.

"I see," bit out Sally, her voice growing louder with every sentence. "Polly and I can be orphaned, abused and robbed by our uncle, and that was all right, because he was our guardian. When we were all but slaves in Norfolk, abandoned there by there by our uncle, no one thought that we needed a guardian to despoil and exploit us. We walked nearly the entire way from Norfolk to Charlestown, living hand to mouth, nearly starving—sometimes starving nearly to death, preyed upon by the worst men on the face of the earth, and not one of them thought to ask us if our guardian would permit it. We live the only way we can, and no one thought to find a guardian for us. Now you say I can't have my rightful money, part of which I know was stolen from me by my uncle, because I need a guardian." She shot up from the sofa, cheeks nearly as red as her flaming hair, and advanced on the fidgeting Boggs. "I don't need a guardian. I need my money!"

Boggs kept the table between himself and the angry, beautiful young woman.. "I only tell you the law. These gentleman can explain it to your satisfaction, I am sure."

He looked an appeal at Pattie, who reluctantly told Sally, "Mr. Boggs is right, my dear. The law willna let you be mistress of your fortune until you are of age."

Polly took Sally by the hand, and pulled her back to the sofa. Sally sat down, twisting her hands, and shaking off Polly's soothing touch. She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped her eyes. "I'm so afraid. So afraid. You say I'm rich, but that I can only have an allowance. What if something happens to the rest? What will happen to me? Why can't I have my money like Polly? It's not fair."

Pattie sat by her, and laid a calming hand on her arm. "Dinna fear, my Sally," he told her. "You'll get every penny. I swear I'll see to it. I'll make arrangements to be declared your guardian." She looked up at him, hopefully. "It's only for a little over a year. In the meantime, I can see that your fortune is protected, and that it's invested to pay you a good income for the rest of your life. Polly's money, too, if she likes."

Polly smiled and reached over to squeeze his left hand.

"That is quite impossible," protested Mr Boggs. "Miss Sarah's guardian must be the man of law duly appointed in the will. Her uncle named me as executor—"

Pattie rounded on him with a glare.

Boggs was not to be deterred. "—if the young lady were not already married. Had she been, the point would have been moot; for her husband would naturally have sufficed, but in lieu of any legal relationship—"

"And what if I marry the lass?" Pattie leaned over the table, at his most pugnacious.

The lawyer was honestly bewildered. "To which of these young ladies are you betrothed? I confess myself confused. Is this gentleman," he indicated Tavington, "then affianced to Miss Featherstone?"

Sally looked at Pattie, her face transfigured with love and hope. Polly, taking in the situation, bowed her head. She was crushed, but tried not to show it, looking up with an encouraging smile at her sister. What must be, must be. It will be best for all of us, and so much better than I ever imagined.

Pattie looked around quizzically at Tavington, who gazed back at him, brows lifted. Don't look at me, my friend. You're the one who involved himself with two beautiful women at once. Marrying Sally might be a solution, but hardly a perfect one: Polly was bound to be hurt, which Tavington disliked. Of the two women, he had always fancied Polly more himself. Not, he reproved himself, that I fancy her either. No. I am married to Elizabeth, who is the loveliest and cleverest of women: far better read; an admirable musician; a hard-working planter and matriarch-in-the-making….

In a moment of imagination, he saw himself a bachelor again. Had he been free, would he have taken Polly, with her beauty, her sweet nature, her tarnished honour---and her fifteen thousand pounds? Yes, I would. And I would think myself lucky and scorn the gossips. Fifteen thousand pounds can rehabilitate a lady's virtue fairly thoroughly. She'll have to beat the suitors off with a musket butt, when this becomes common knowledge

Certainly, there were some circles in which the girls would never be welcome. The breath of scandal would cling to them to the end of their days. If Pattie were to marry Sally, could he take her home to his family, to his circle of intellectual friends in Edinburgh? Would Sally fit in?

She's extraordinarily beautiful, she's wealthy, and she obviously loves Pattie. Perhaps that would be enough for the world. Then, too, it would be a bold man who would dare insult Pattie's wife.

Pattie frowned, and after a long moment, said, "We'll need to talk amongst ourselves. If you'll be good enough to call tomorrow morning, we'll settle the business then."

------

"Is that really your father, Tom?" Sam Willett and a group of other young officers were gathered around Tom's table in the King's Arms common room. The New York newspaper was full of the Theodosia's daring escape from the French. His comrades from the Legion had returned to Williamsburg, and celebrated the news as if the victory belonged to one of their own. In a way, it did. None of the junior officers from other regiments had a father so heroic.

"You must be very proud of him," commented Ensign McKay of the Queen's Rangers, a little enviously.

"I am," smiled Thomas. This was all so wonderful. He was so used to thinking of Father as a farmer and a man of peace, that it had been quite a shock to read of his ferocious attack on his French captors. Intermingled with the surprise and pride, though, was a definite feeling of satisfaction. Father had tried to be evenhanded throughout the war, but French intervention had forced him to take sides. Father was definitely in the British camp, now. Thomas reckoned that Gabriel had at last been scored off pretty thoroughly.

He called for another round for the table.

William Tavington and Patrick Ferguson sat at a quiet corner table, nursing their pints, and watched the boys' excitement with some amusement.

"I canna blame the lad," Pattie admitted. "It's a glorious thing when a boy gets to hear of his father playing the hero."

Tavington took a sip, and shrugged. "I suppose so." Secretly he was a little envious himself. He thought of his own father: a drunken, foolish trifler, unable to maintain himself in the position of wealth and eminence he had been born to. If only he could have had a moment's pride in him. "I confess that I misjudged Captain Martin. The one time I met him, he seemed to me a mild-mannered, kindly farmer. Lieutenant Martin told me he had served in the last war, but I never imagined that such a fire still burned under the paternal surface."

"It was the ransom, I ween. Couldna bear to see his bairns beggared. As good a reason to kill a man as any."

They shared a grim laugh, and clinked tankards.

Pattie asked, "And have you heard lately from your lady wife?"

"She's still doing too much, trying to care of everyone and everything." Tavington was irritated at the thought. "I hope she's taking care of herself, but she certainly has the bit between her teeth where that plantation of hers is concerned."

"If we have a peace, you can get on home and help pull the load aside her."

"The sooner the better. I've lost my appetite for soldiering."

Pattie nodded, "And gained one for husbandry—of all sorts!"

"Ah, the ladies," agreed Tavington. "What would we do without them?"

Pattie grew glum. "And what shall I do with mine?"

They were silent a moment, considering the situation.

Pattie hesitated, and then confided his concerns. "The poor lasses have no one but me. This fellow Boggs might be an honest man—or not. Sally and Polly have been robbed and betrayed in the past, and it seems mad to trust Sally's fortune to a stranger."

Tavington was determined to keep his mouth shut, and not express an opinion, unless asked directly. Taking up Pattie's rhetorical question could land him in dangerous waters. Besides, unlike himself, Pattie was a man with a family: parents who loved him, a large circle of friends and well-wishers.

Pattie took a long draught, set down the tankard, and spoke seriously. "I canna stay in the army forever—nor much longer. My right arm's well nigh useless, and the rheumatism plagues me more and more. I was thinking of going home to visit my family. And then—perhaps I'd write a book, and make some improvements to my repeater. Not in Scotland, though: the cold will get into my bones and finish me off within two winters."

This seemed a safer subject. "Where were you thinking of settling?"

Pattie leaned back, "Well, that's the question. I still have the estate on Tobago. My brother's there now, but there's plenty of room. It's not a bad place, though the house needs sprucing up."

"There's always South Carolina," Tavington offered with what he hoped was casual subtlety. "Not as fever-infested, and not as exposed to hurricanes."

Pattie gave him a shrewd glance. "I wouldna come alone."

Tavington returned the look frankly. "No, I didn't suppose you would."

"She pleases me, you see, does Sally." Pattie gave an odd smile. "I'm at peace in her company. I don't deny that the money makes a great difference. It makes us independent of the world. But it would be pleasanter if our neighbors didna shun us."

"We wouldn't."

"And what about your lady?"

Tavington took a breath. "She'll trust me to tell her the truth that matters about you: that you are my friends, that you are honourably married, and that you love one another." He decided to ask about another issue that concerned him. "And what about Polly?"

Pattie sighed. "Ay, there's the rub. My poor Polly will be sore grieved. It isna fair, but I canna marry them both."

"Not in South Carolina, anyway."

They laughed. Pattie finished his drink, and stood. "I'll speak to them directly. When Sally and I are married, Polly can never again be more than sister-in-law to me. I expect she'll have a cry on your manly shoulder."

"Will you take the girls to Scotland with you?"

"Not Polly, though it seems cruel to separate them. Once it's settled where we are to live, perhaps I'll send Polly on to set up housekeeping. Or she may decide to settle somewhere on her own. Her fortune is bound to attract the men like flies to honey."

"I thought the same. Would you like me to write to Elizabeth and ask her about properties?"

"Well, why not?"

-----

Williamsburg

July 7, 1781

My dearest Elizabeth,

I received your last with the new linen. I was touched that, busy as you are, and in indifferent health, you found time to sew for me so beautifully. It was a pleasant reminder of you and of Arcadia. You say you are well, and I know you would not tell a falsehood. Still I feel concern for you, so far away, and long to come home and give you the cosseting you deserve. Instead, I am sending you a little miniature portrait that a young fellow from von Fuchs' Jaegers painted of me. I think it's not unlike. Now, that is a hint that you must reciprocate and have your own likeness taken! The other presents enclosed are various oddments for the children. The shawl is for Charlotte.

By now, you must have heard about the escape of your old friends DeLancey and Martin from the French. Young Martin is over the moon about his father's heroics. From what I gather from him, the men's safety will set at rest a number of hearts in Charlestown. Poor Simms! The papers stir up great indignation about his fate. Seen from a heartless and objective viewpoint, though, it points out clearly to the rebels that the French regard them only as pawns in their struggle against us.

From the news that trickles to us, some progress has been made. New England remains intransigent, and is willing to make certain concessions in order to obtain self-rule. Britain will keep the naval base in Rhode Island, and all territory north of New Hampshire and Vermont will be incorporated into Nova Scotia, but those fierce little colonies refuse to acknowledge the authority of the Crown. They very well may set up their little Republic of New England. The Crown could decide that reducing them to submission by force of arms is neither profitable nor desirable. The slow attrition by economic embargo and neglect might bring them to heel more effectively, if more gradually.

The Virginians are also determined to go their own way. Their wings will be clipped, of course, by the reduction of their territory. Virginia's claims to ownership of the Kentucky territory will be rejected. Do not lose that land grant from Judge Henderson. My friend Ferguson, through his many contacts, has heard that the Crown is very interested in a loyalist settlement of the territory. The whole legal issue of Henderson's purchase is being reopened, and it is felt, that since the Indians will not be dispossessed by its settlement (since so few of them live there permanently), that providing land to loyal veterans will create a bulwark against rebel expansion. It's rather like the old Roman idea of planting new territory with towns of soldiers who may be mobilised in an emergency. Even Lord Cornwallis, once granted land in the Ohio territory, is lending his support to the Kentucky plan. We can insert a British presence all the way to the Mississippi, while still honouring our agreements with the native population.

Britain will definitely keep the southeast corner of Virginia anyway, and build up a large naval presence here, in order to command the Chesapeake. The area around Richmond may be ceded to the rebels for the sake of peace, but the debate wavers back and forth.

As to New York: it is certain that we will keep the city. It is the best harbour in North America, and vital to our navy. Long Island, Manhattan, Staten Island, and all the smaller islands of the harbour area will be ours, which makes a respectable small colony in itself. The fate of the rest of New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania is still undecided. Delaware and Maryland seem destined to remain in Virginia's sphere of influence, unfortunately. It seems a shame to lose Baltimore, even temporarily. There is some interest among the colonies north of Virginia, however, in accepting the King's suzerainty in exchange for greater self-determination within the colonies themselves. And of course, there is the whole untidy issue of the rebel combatants themselves. Threats and counterthreats of treason prosecutions fly back and forth.

What a tangle! I think it unlikely the Crown will ever again be so blind to its subjects' grievances. One can now see so many ways by which the war could have been averted. However, what's done is done, and had there been no war, I should never have found you.

Enough of the affairs of the great! My main business is to tell you that Ferguson is considering settling in South Carolina! I wonder if you know of any properties close to Arcadia that might suit him? He has a good fortune, and while not demanding a huge estate, would enjoy some land of his own. Is the next-door home of your old enemies the Crawfords still for sale? If so, nothing could please me more—though of course, there is no house! Ferguson will be bringing his bride with him, a very beautiful young woman from Virginia. They would not come for some time, though, because Ferguson feels he must go home to see his family in Scotland first, once peace is declared.

Peace must be declared! So many hopes depend upon it! I could then demand leave at once, to come to you with all speed. You must be delightfully expectant by now: 'plein comme un oeuf,' as the French say. How I should love to see you! Perhaps by next

"Colonel Tavington?" A knock at the door followed. Tavington realised that the knocking had been going on for some time.

He looked up from the desk and called out, "Enter."

An officer from the 17th Light Dragoons, his old regiment, opened the door. Lincoln—Langley—no, Lawrence! The young captain bowed politely and said, "General O'Hara's compliments, sir, and he invites you to dinner tonight at the Governor's Palace."

Such invitations were not unknown, but Tavington suspected that O'Hara had something he wanted to discuss with him. A working dinner, certainly. And he had not much time dress for it. "I would be delighted. Thank the General for his kind invitation. I shall certainly be there. "

The young officer dismissed, Tavington's thoughts returned to his letter. Quickly he finished it, and knew he must write a separate little note to Julia.

Perhaps by next September we shall have the final word. My regards to Charlotte and the children.

Your loving husband,

William

My dear Julia,

I hope the box of paints pleases you. I was in the mood to send gifts, since I have had a good long stay in Williamsburg, and have had time to shop. Perhaps you will astonish us by following in your father's footsteps as a artist!

Your sister gives a good account of you all—though it was lucky that the tooth Sophie lost in the Roman riding incident was not a permanent one. Sophie is too small for such tricks, and it is no sport for ladies anyway. Better for her mother to obtain a pony and sidesaddle for her, if she is determined to learn to ride. I suppose in the end it will be your sister who arranges it all, of course.

Still, riding is good exercise for you and George, and when I come home we shall have a proper hunt. We are all very hopeful about the peace.

And no doubt you heard of the Theodosia affair! Perhaps now you will think better of Judge DeLancey. Perhaps I shall too. I received a letter from your sister Amelia a few weeks ago, detailing her exquisite sensibilities, which were very high-flown indeed. It seems that upon his departure for New York, the judge had given her a reading list for the improvement of her mind, and she has been diligently working her way through it. Plainly, her time in Charlestown has not been all balls and entertainments!

Your loving brother,

William

He dried and sealed them hastily, and prepared himself for a dinner out, wondering what might be on O'Hara's mind.

----

Thomas was a little tipsy going upstairs. Going over the newspaper reports of his father's exploits, having them read aloud, receiving the congratulations and the free drinks of other officers had made this a memorable day.

He opened the door to his quarters and found Dinah, lying face down upon the bed, sobbing. Bewildered, he sat down beside her, and laid a hand on her silky hair.

"Dinah, what's wrong?"

She sobbed, and buried her face in the pillow. "Don't be angry with me!"

"I'm not angry with you. Why would I be angry with you?" He stroked her, wondering what could have set her off. "Sit up," he said, "and let's talk."

Slowly she pulled herself up, and then moaned, putting a hand on her stomach.

"Are you all right?"

She sat beside him, swaying slightly, and finally whispered, "I'm going to have a baby."

Thomas took a breath to speak, and then let it out again. "Oh."

Dinah stared at her lap. "Please don't be angry, and please, please, don't send me away. I'll try not to be a trouble to you."

"We have to get married."

"Tom, no! It will ruin you! I'm no lady, and the Colonel will never approve!"

"If he doesn't approve, then I'll resign my commission and go home." Secretly, Thomas hoped it would not come to that. He loved the army, and wanted to see the war through to the finish. Still, he would try to catch the Colonel in a good mood, ask his permission, and hope for the best.

He put his arm around Dinah, and squeezed gently. "Have you had anything to eat today?"

"Not much. I couldn't keep much down, and I've been so worried—"

"Let's have the maid bring up a little something, and then you'll feel better. And then tomorrow I'll have a talk with Colonel Tavington."

-----

There were only four others at dinner besides Tavington and O'Hara, and no ladies were present. A working dinner indeed, thought Tavington. Abercrombie and York, von Fuchs and von Voigt. There was technical talk, soldiers' gossip, and a few decidedly tall tales. The meal consumed, they sat over the claret together at some length. Tavington waited for O'Hara to reveal the reason for the invitation. Nothing much developed, but when the time came to take their leave, O'Hara stopped Tavington.

"A private word, if you please, Colonel."

Mystified, Tavington followed O'Hara into the library, and was invited to sit down.

"I have received a letter from the Lord General," O'Hara remarked. "Progress is being made is reaching a peace agreement, but it is clear that any peace made must be an armed one. There will be alarms, incursions, and uprisings for years, on both sides. A large military presence will be necessary for the foreseeable future."

Tavington nodded, his mind abuzz with a little too much good claret.

"You will be pleased at his Lordship's news. The British Legion has been incorporated into the regular establishment of the British Army."

Tavington's mind cleared at once. This was good news! The Legion were now regulars, and would receive the pay and benefits of regulars, not of mere provincial troops. His own pay would increase substantially. More money—always a good thing! And a real colonelcy-I'll no longer be technically merely a major of the 17th Dragoons!

O'Hara continued, "Of course, the Legion will be remain on patrol until a permanent peace is established. Then it will probably remain garrisoned in British Virginia."

"Of course," Tavington agreed. Quite reasonable. This was one of the places most likely to spark into hostilities again.

"His Lordship may be rejoining us a the close of the peace conference. We may all be here for some time, though he may be busy with settling displaced Loyalists and those soldiers who do not wish to reenlist in our new colony of Kentucky."

We may all be here for some time! Tavington suddenly realised that his expectations of a speedy reunion with Elizabeth were likely to be disappoInted. His promotion to colonel of the regulars was a fine thing, but he had anticipated leaving the army at the close of hostilities. Now a different possibility presented itself: years of garrison duty—possible further promotion. Certainly he could obtain leave to visit Elizabeth now and then, but either she would have to join him here or endure long separations.

And she wouldn't care much for life as a garrison wife. He could gather from her letters how much she loved Arcadia, how skilled she was at managing the plantation, how attached she was to the life she had there. It was something that had gnawed at him from time to time. When he arrived at Arcadia to stay, what then? What would his role be? He knew nothing of planting, nothing of cotton and tobacco, little of the life of an estate owner. His wife was the expert, he the ignorant amateur. The birth of their child would render her in need of assistance for the time of her convalescence, but would she really care to be relegated to the nursery upon his return? Tavington imagined his first efforts at managing his wife's plantation, as she looked on with her greater experience. Inwardly, he winced.

O'Hara was going on about arrangements in Virginia after the war. It seemed that he was expecting promotion himself, and a long stay. He seemed quite pleased at the notion. Tavington too felt the pull of the familiar; the army that had been his home so long. It was here that he was the expert. Perhaps here was where he belonged.

He returned to his quarters, and listened for any sound from Pattie's rooms. All was quiet, so perhaps he had missed any hysteria of joy or grief that might have transpired while he was at dinner. Gratefully, he retired for the night, too full of his own concerns to have time for anyone else's.

----

Early the next morning, Thomas, dressed irreproachably in his clean uniform and best linen, begged an audience with his Colonel.

Tavington was in an odd mood. He had been offered a chance a different sort of life than the one he had anticipated for months, and he felt rather ambivalent about both, a hitherto unknown condition for him. After several hours lying in the darkness the night before, turning his varying futures over in his head until they were threadbare, he had finally decided to postpone the evil day of decision, and had gotten some much needed sleep.

Now the Martin boy was here, looking extraordinarily clean and most determined. Tavington wondered if he meant to request leave to visit his family. Plainly the boy had prepared himself carefully for this interview, so it must be something important to him.

"Lieutenant Martin," Tavington said courteously. "What did you need to see me about?"

Thomas stood ramrod straight before him, and clearly declared, "I wish to request your permission to marry, sir!"

Tavington was surprised. He thought first of Amelia—surely not! Still, there was no reason to quash the boy immediately. Instead, he asked coolly, "And who is it that you wish to marry, Lieutenant?"

"Mrs. Poole, sir."

Tavington regarded him gravely. "I believe I already expressed my opinion to you about Mrs. Poole's suitability."

Thomas did not waver. "Circumstances have changed, Colonel."

"She is with child, then."

"Yes, sir."

Tavington laughed sourly. "That is hardly a reason to ruin your own life! Tying yourself to an ignorant young woman of low origins and doubtful morals will inconvenience you forever. And what of the girl herself? Other officers' wives will not wish to know her, and you cannot force their acquaintance."

"If worse comes to the worst, I can send her home to Fresh Water. Father will understand, and be kind to her. But I must marry her, for deserting her is something Father would not understand."

Tavington sat down and looked the boy over. He had changed in his time with the Green Dragoons. Taller, stronger, more sure of himself; but still, so very young! Besides, he liked the boy, and hated the thought of young Martin spoiling his life out of a sense of honour run mad.

He asked, "Can she even read?"

"She's not stupid, Colonel," Thomas defended her. "She's just not had many opportunities. Yes, she can read, and write. She can sew, and cook, and clean. She's been a farmer's wife, and a soldier's wife, and that is exactly that kind of wife I need. You've seen Fresh Water, sir. It's no mansion. It's a working farm, and Dinah will fit right in. Anything she needs to learn, she can learn; but she suits me well enough as she is."

Tavington sighed. The boy had said his piece, and said it well. And after all, how different was his situation from Pattie's? Sally was far richer, and perhaps a little better educated than Dinah Poole, but her experiences were as questionable—and possibly worse. More importantly, the boy was a good officer, and Tavington had no desire to replace him.

"Very well," he said coldly. "You have my permission. Remember that I expect the future Mrs. Martin to do nothing to embarrass you, or the British Legion. I suggest you find someone to polish her behaviour somewhat. You might not care about it now, but you will someday. Dismissed."

Thomas smiled radiantly. "Thank you, sir!" He was away before he could see Tavington's faint grimace of disappointment.

-----

Notes: A little known bit of trivia. In 18th century Britain and America, the name Paulina would have been pronounced Pau-line-a, not Pau-leen-a. Just as in the same period, Maria was pronounced Ma-rye-a, not Ma-ree-a.

In 18th century Virginia law, both men and women were of age at 21. Parental consent was required to marry prior to that age. For men, this mattered little, since records indicate that very few men married younger than 21. However, if the parents were deceased, it appears that the consent of a guardian was not necessary.

Patrick Ferguson was also the inventor of an early repeating rifle.

Remember that Virginia was then much larger than the present day state. West Virginia had not yet broken off (as it did during the Civil War), and Virginia claimed possession of what is now Kentucky.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: ladymarytavington, pigeonsfromhell, Slytherin Dragoon, Zubeneschamali, and LCWA.

Next chapter: Destinations: Where does fate lead our boys?