Disclaimer: This is fanfiction, for Heaven's sake.

Chapter 14: Destiny's Threads Untangled--Tavington

The Lord General was in a mood to be generous. Tavington was granted two months' leave, and he found passage to Charlestown, packed, and bade farewell to his friends within the space of two days. Pattie thought Tavington had chosen an opportune time, and wished him godspeed. Sally gave him a friendly, if somewhat relieved farewell. Polly seemed to understand his sudden departure; and though she said goodbye with perfect composure, she ran to the window a few minutes later, to see him striding swiftly away in the direction of the docks.

Once aboard, Tavington breathed a sigh, and felt in himself that he had done the right thing. He would have days to think over his situation without anyone else's advice.

He was not the only passenger, of course. As he leaned on the rail near the bow of the ship, someone spoke to him.

"You know, pushing on the rail won't make the ship go any faster. I've tried it myself."

Tavington turned and recognised the speaker.

"Captain Martin. How do you do, sir?" He bowed, and Martin responded in kind.

"I'm well, Colonel Tavington. I confess I am surprised to see you here."

"I have been granted leave, and am on my way to visit my wife."

Martin thought a moment, and remembered.

"Yes, Thomas told me that you married the oldest Wilde girl. I was very good friends with her father before the war."

"Elizabeth told me that you had visited Arcadia."

Martin smiled, thinking about it. "Yes, I was there in '73. John Wilde was a remarkable man. I've always thought his death in the war was a terrible waste."

"He wanted to serve the King."

"I think the King is best served according to one's talents. He was a great naturalist, a great painter, and not the stuff of soldiers. You must understand that I mean no disrespect at all to him when I say that."

Tavington shrugged. "I understand you. The war was a disaster in many ways. With the peace, the rebuilding can begin."

Martin nodded, and they were silent for a while, looking out to sea.

Tavington said, "I heard about your adventures on the Theodosia. That was an impressive feat."

Martin laughed. "And in the end, we were saved by a twelve-year-old boy. Without him, it would have all been for nothing."

Tavington laughed too. Then he remarked, "I understand that Judge DeLancey was there as well. I met him Charlestown last year, and I must say that he did not strike me as a fighter."

"He rose to the challenge when he had to. We've become good friends since. He sailed home directly to Charlestown. I'll be visiting him there."

"Please convey my respects."

"I will." Martin paused, and then decided to raise a matter that troubled him. "Colonel Tavington, you gave Thomas permission to marry. I was surprised to find myself introduced to his wife, a girl completely unknown to me."

Tavington suppressed his irritation. It was not surprising that the father would mention it, after all. "Your son was absolutely determined on marriage. Had I refused permission, it was quite likely that he would have resigned his commission. He is a good officer and I did not wish to lose his services."

"I can see the problem. The girl is very pretty and good-natured, but I know nothing about her. Thomas told me she was an orphan, and very poor. He never wrote me anything about her. The only girl he ever mentioned in his letters was your wife's sister, Miss Amelia. I have to admit that's the sort of marriage that would have pleased me more."

I daresay it would have, Tavington thought sourly. He decided that nothing would be gained by gossiping like an old woman. He said only, "I know little of her myself, other than that she is, as you say, very pretty. She seems quite devoted to your son, and I sincerely wish them happy. As to Amelia, she and your son have not seen each other in nine months. For the very young, that's an eternity." Personally, he thought that Amelia, silly and romantic as she was at sixteen, was also a pure, educated, and accomplished young lady; and the fact that Thomas could be satisfied with a Dinah Poole proved that he was not good enough for one of Tavington's Wilde girls. But perhaps he was partial.

They were silent again, but not uncomfortably so. Ben Martin was thinking over the night of the ball, his meeting with his sons and their wives, the painful, final parting with Gabriel. He had returned to Williamsburg and visited some shops. He had decided in the end that silver was always a good gift: portable, unbreakable, and useful. He had bought a handsome pair of candlesticks for each of his sons. He sent Gabriel's to him, and delivered Thomas' in person. In a goldsmith's shop he had found a little gold cross set with pearls on a fine gold chain. It was not a family heirloom, but it was a suitable present for young Dinah. The shy girl had been overwhelmed and grateful. He had bought similar necklaces for Margaret and Susan. He had already bought presents to take home to his children, but the necklaces would be just the thing for their birthdays.

Stowed away in the hold was the small pianoforte he had found in the music shop of an old German in New York. The fellow knew his business, and when Martin had described his daughters' efforts, seemed to understand how much they would know, and had included some easy music with the instrument.

The September weather was mild, and the sea as smooth as glass. Their ship bore them swiftly towards Charlestown harbour. They dined with the ship's officers and traded tall tales of adventure. Tavington had rarely enjoyed a voyage more. Of the hostile French, lurking beyond the horizon, there was no sign.

The last night of the voyage, Martin extended an invitation to Tavington.

"Why don't you stay with my family in Charlestown?"

"My dear Captain Martin, that is very kind; but I will only be staying a night before I head north to Arcadia, and I do not wish to intrude on your homecoming."

Martin shrugged. "No intrusion. You're my son's commander. That makes you some sort of relation."

"I'd not thought of it that way," laughed Tavington. "I could not possibly—"

"Please," Martin urged, "knowing of it would make Thomas so happy." He then admitted, "It's not really my house anyway, but my sister-in-law's. She loves company, and she'll think I'm a rude, uncivilised boor if I don't bring you along with me."

Tavington was tempted. It sounded far pleasanter than a strange inn. "If you're sure it would be no imposition--"

Martin grinned. "So it's settled."

-----

Charlotte Selton, Captain Martin's sister-in-law, and young Martin's aunt, was a charming, elegant woman, with a charming, elegant house. She was a widow of some years' standing. Tavington wondered how she had evaded the suitors who must be thronging after her wealth and attractive person. She was, it seemed, the sister of Captain Martin's deceased wife, and very like her in appearance. It explained the pretty, golden-haired daughters, who kissed their father with tearful joy. The three boys, on the other hand, were all dark-haired like Martin. The second of the boys resembled Lieutenant Martin strongly, and Tavington felt a certain affinity with the little fellow because of it.

The family greeted him a most friendly, open-hearted way. Tavington appreciated their courtesy, and did his best to be unobtrusive whilst Martin showered his family with presents from his journey to New York and Virginia. He told them he had bought a little pianoforte in New York, and the girls were thrilled. Eagerly, they ran to their aunt's fine instrument to display their new accomplishment. Tavington thought their performances unimpressive, but their own family regarded them as musical prodigies; and that was as it should be. And, he was told, they had only begun learning last spring, so there was certainly hope of improvement.

Once applied to, his hostess was able to answer the question that had been foremost in his mind since arriving in Charlestown: was Amelia still with the DeLancey's?

"No, Colonel, Miss Wilde left Charlestown nearly two months ago. She felt she needed to be with Mrs. Tavington. She told us her sisters were missing her, so Mrs DeLancey found some respectable acquaintances to chaperone her home to Arcadia. The ladies would have gone themselves, but they were much too worried about the judge to leave town just then."

"Of course." He was pleased. Not just because Amelia was home, keeping her sister company; but because he would be able to travel far faster alone.

He had a bath, and rested until dinnertime. He had further reason to be pleased with his hostess then, for the dinner was excellent, lavish, and Southern: far better than anything he could have hoped for at an inn. The famous Carolina gold rice had never been so wonderful. He was rather pleased to learn that the genteel Mrs. Selton owned a plantation between Martin's Fresh Water and Arcadia that could not be much more than thirty miles from his home. Mrs Selton and Captain Martin were also full of good advice as to where to break his journey—which inns were best, which roads were kept up. He would pay a brief call on Colonel Balfour at garrison headquarters in the morning, and then be off.

He joined Martin in a glass of port before retiring, and looked out the window at Charlestown settling down for the night. In years to come, this will be a familiar sight. This is our city, where we shall go for society and culture. Our friends, and our children's schools will all be here.

"It's a beautiful town," he remarked.

"Yes," agreed Martin. "One of the best things about traveling is learning to see one's home with fresh eyes. It is beautiful. It's too bad you're not staying longer. I expect we'll have the DeLanceys over tomorrow, and you could meet Stephen DeLancey again."

"I'll have to forego the pleasure for now," Tavington said lightly, still not sure that he would ever get on with the man, "but I hope to renew my acquaintance in the future. Right now, all I can think about is getting home to my wife."

-----

It was still hot in September, and not a breath of afternoon wind stirred the cedars, as Tavington rode up the now beloved and familiar road to the pillared mansion. The small figures on the veranda uttered high pitched squeals, and dashed into the house. He had reached the carriage sweep, when both Julia and Amelia came running out the door, accompanied, he could see, by the little Montgomery girls and their big brother George.

By the time he had dismounted and tossed his reins to a waiting groom, a receiving line of children had formed by the door. They had changed in the months of his absence. All of them seemed taller. Julia was as leggy as a young colt, and Amelia was a blooming young lady, behaving with a maturity that surprised him.

They had evidently decided among themselves to greet him more or less in order of age, rather than mobbing him. Amelia embraced him gently, smelling deliciously of orange-flower water, and giving him a very affectionate kiss. "My dear brother. We are so happy to see you!"

Julia threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him fiercely. "We've been waiting and waiting! Now we'll never let you go!"

George, grinning from ear to ear, stood up straight and shook his hand like a man. The little girls insisted upon kissing him, and he permitted it. Charlotte's two youngest were not in evidence.

Julia told him, "Frank and Caroline are having their naps. So is Cousin Charlotte, and so is Lilabet."

A quiet young woman with large, clear grey eyes, dressed in black, came out of the house and called the little girls to order.

Amelia took Tavington by the hand and introduced him. "Colonel, this is Miss Temple, the children's governess. She has been such a help to us all."

He bowed politely, "Miss Temple, my wife has already sung your praises in her letters." He had not missed Amelia's meaning. Plainly, she no longer considered herself a child, and Miss Temple was not her governess.

With a curtsey, the governess replied, "A pleasure to meet you at last, Colonel Tavington."

He cocked his head at her accent, and smiled. "You are English!"

"Yes, sir, from Wiltshire." She was well over thirty, he guessed, and rather plain. But she had an intelligent countenance, and he was disposed to like anyone who had helped Elizabeth so much in the last year.

Jane and Mary, hand in hand, shrieked, "We'll go get Cousin Lizzie!"

Amelia restrained them. "No, you will not." She told Tavington, "She's sleeping under the willow by the rose garden. It's cooler there. Julia can show you the place, and then," she continued, exchanging a look of understanding with her sister, "you can wake her yourself."

Julia led him through the echoing hall from the wide front door, with its fanlight dispersing a warm pattern of sunshine on the oak floor, straight through to the door that let out into the flower garden.

Tavington said, "Miss Temple seems very nice."

"I suppose," agreed Julia. "Lilabet likes her a lot. She and Melly and Lilabet talk about books and music all day long. Once they get started they never stop. It's nice for them." She showed him where her sister was sleeping, and then withdrew reluctantly, giving his hand a last squeeze. "Don't forget that you promised you'd go riding with George and me and teach us how to fight with swords."

He pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. "I hadn't forgotten."

He stepped out into the dappled light, shaded by the dogwoods framing the back door. Elizabeth was curled up in a low-slung hammock, and covered lightly by a flowered shawl. One hand was flung up by her head, the other curved protectively over her swollen belly. The maid Dolly was sitting on a three-legged stool, sewing quietly. She started up at the sight of Tavington, but he silenced her with a gesture, and waved her away. Sitting down by his wife, he truly relaxed for the first time in months, and studied Elizabeth for some time. She was as pale as ever, perhaps even more so; for her lips had lost their rosy colour, and the shadows around her eyes contrasted starkly with her fair complexion. Her dark hair, unbound, flowed around her, trailing off the hammock nearly to the ground.

The air was still, and heat shimmered up from the gravel by the rose bed. A bee came buzzing and paused, hovering, near Elizabeth's nose. Tavington batted at it, and Elizabeth's brow contracted for a moment, feeling the sudden breath of air in her sleep. He watched to see if she would wake, but she only shifted a little, made a soft little sigh, and remained sleeping.

Whimsically, he decided, Perhaps this will serve for mere Colonels as well as princes, and leaned over for a kiss. He paused, enjoying the sweet rose-scent of her hair and all the memories it brought back in a rush. Then he pressed his mouth softly to her pale lips. Her eyes opened suddenly in surprise, black pupils dilated with only a thin rim of dark brown iris ringing them. She mewed in protest, and then recognising him in an instant, kissed him back. Slowly, her arms slid around him, and one hand stroked his back lazily.

When they finally broke the kiss, he smiled, brushing his lips against her ear, and whispered, "I'm home."

She smiled in return. "I noticed."

-----

There had been changes. They went upstairs together to organise Tavington's belongings, and he discovered that Elizabeth no longer slept in the room she had occupied since girlhood.

"My dearest, when I knew Charlotte and children were coming, I decided to move into Mamma's room. It's larger, and Papa's room adjoins. It seemed best to claim the rooms so you would be provided for when you came home."'

Tavington assumed a wounded air. "You are banishing me to your father's room?"

She laughed softly. "It's not very big, but I think you'll like having it as a dressing room, at least. And in the days to come, you'll thank me when you have a place to lay your head far away from me and the commotion of the little one's arrival."

"Days?" It seemed incredible. He was going to be a father. What if he were as big a fool as his own had been?

"Any day now, " Elizabeth assured him. She winced, and he laid a hand on her belly.

"Is it moving?"

"Wait." Sure enough, he nearly snatched his hand back at a sudden thump and wriggle. He could almost see the movement.

"Is it painful?"

"Only now and then, when he kicks back toward my spine. That's not very pleasant. I'll speak to him about it in a few years when he can be scolded properly."

"You make a joke of it, but are you all right? You seem very tired."

She gave him a dry smile. "I am. Only stay here a week or two, and you'll see why."

The room was large and airy, and Tavington noticed that Elizabeth had decorated it with her own curtains and coverlet. He opened the door that let into a small chamber adjoining. There was a long and narrow bed, an Aubusson carpet, and some good furniture. A window looked down toward the peach orchard. His things had been brought up and were neatly arranged about the room. There were several framed paintings by Elizabeth's father. He stopped briefly in front of an elegant heron, and promised himself a better look later. Elizabeth was right, of course. There would be times when he would be glad of this little sanctuary. He went back into the larger bedchamber and gave his wife another kiss. The maid brought up hot water, and Elizabeth lay on the bed resting, while Tavington stripped down for a wash.

In the mirror, he could see her, smiling tiredly, as she watched him scrub the road grime off.

"You are smiling. Do you find me diverting?"

"Entirely. You are so very beautiful."

He snorted, half in embarrassment. "Nonsensical girl." He finished his scrubbing, and approached the bed, unusually reticent after so many months, but curious to see how welcome Elizabeth would make him in her current condition. With some care, and some inventiveness, very welcome indeed, as it happened.

----

Dinner was the chaos he had predicted. Not that the children were particularly ill-behaved: there were simply so many of them. Elizabeth, enthroned at the far end of the table, with Amelia and Miss Temple, seemed very far away. He was seated in equal majesty, with timid Charlotte Montgomery to his left and Julia to his right. In between the ladies stretched the mob of children: George, Jane, Mary, and Sophie. He thought the little girls much too young to come down to dinner, but at least three-year old Frank , and Caroline, not yet two, were kept in the nursery.

Charlotte Montgomery, still dressed in mourning for her late husband, had greeted him gladly enough. She had grown thinner, but it had not spoiled her looks: she was as blonde and doll-like as ever. George was frankly thrilled at Tavington's arrival. He said so plainly at the table.

"I was just about drowned in a sea of women. I'm so glad you've come, Colonel. Now maybe we can even the odds a little."

The three little girls were sent off to bed immediately after dinner. The handsome front parlour, now completely refurbished, was elegant but homelike, and Amelia and Julia played duets on the pianoforte for him, when they were not pressing him for tales of his adventures. The talk turned to books: more exactly, Amelia's impressive reading list given to her by Stephen deLancey, and her progress with it. It was heavy with classics, though of course in translation. Amelia's current study was Thucydides, and she ran to get the book.

"I have a new favourite quotation," she confided eagerly to Tavington. "I want you to hear it. It seems so timely." Julia, seated on a footstool by his knee, sighed heavily. Elizabeth, beside Tavington on the sofa, squeezed his hand and smiled.

While Amelia was in the library, Elizabeth reproved Julia quietly. "Don't roll your eyes, or sigh when Amelia is showing interest in a book. It's not at all nice. It's very laudable for her to wish to improve her mind with such diligent reading. " She leaned her head on Tavington's shoulder. "No more lecturing. I am glad that you are home, my dearest, and perhaps you can lure her out of doors for some exercise for her body as well."

Julia bounced on the footstool. "Hunting! We'll ride all over the county! We could go tomorrow!"

Tavington was amused at her enthusiasm. "We can go riding tomorrow, certainly. It takes a little longer to plan a proper hunt." When Julia scowled, he added. "You shall assist me."

Amelia came back with her book, and sat in her favourite small armchair. She read:

'So revolutions broke out in city after city; and in places where the revolutions occurred later, the knowledge of what had happened previously in other places caused still new extravagances of revolutionary zeal, expressed by an elaboration in the methods of seizing power and by unheard-of atrocities in revenge. T o fit in with the change of events, words, too, had to change their usual meanings. What used to be described as a thoughtless act of aggression was now regarded as the courage one would expect to find in a party member; to think of the future and wait was merely another way of saying one was a coward; any idea of moderation was just an attempt to disguise one's unmanly character; ability to understand a question from all sides meant that one was totally unfitted for action. Fanatical enthusiasm was the mark of a real man, and to plot against an enemy behind his back was perfectly legitimate self-defense. Anyone who held violent opinions could always be trusted, and anyone who objected to them became a suspect…..In short, it was equally praise-worthy to get one's blow in first against someone who was going to do wrong, and to denounce someone who had no intention of doing any wrong at all….Society had become divided into two ideologically hostile camps, and each side viewed the other with suspicion.'

Amelia stopped, and turned red. "You must think me the most appalling blue-stocking."

"No!" Tavington assured her. "I'm smiling because I remember reading Thucydides years ago, and not really understanding it at the time. You're right. It is apropos."

George was listening with some interest. "Is there fighting in that book?"

"Oh, yes," Amelia said, "It's all about the war between the Athenians and Spartans. They were all Greeks, but they had different ideas about the right kind of government."

"I guess people don't change much," the boy sighed.

"They don't," Tavington snorted. "All the more reason to see them clearly."

Miss Temple asked to see the book, and she sat down on the other side of Elizabeth, as the women looked at the rest of the passage, talking volubly. All but Charlotte Montgomery, quietly embroidering some handkerchiefs.

Tavington could understand George's earlier remark. He seemed to be drowned in a sea of women himself. It was not unpleasant, but after a life spent largely among men in the army, it was very odd. He felt rather guilty, thinking of this clan of women and children, left unprotected by all their male relations. Elizabeth's Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva had handled the family fairly well: but she had been neither an expectant mother, nor the proprietor of a large and demanding plantation. If for nothing else, Arcadia needed him here to be its paterfamilias, the father of this large, extended family

-----

"Touché," roared Julia, wooden sword in hand. "Touché, touché, touché! You're dead, George; fall down!"

George appealed to Tavington's arbitration. "Is it fair for her to chop at my toes like that? I didn't think it was fair."

"Low blow, Julia," pronounced Tavington. "And having one's toes chopped off would be painful, I daresay, but hardly fatal."

"Unless you died slowly of mortification," Julia ghoulishly suggested. "Rotting slowly from the toes up."

The young ladies witnessing the duel were properly horrified at the idea.

Jane declared, "I would nurse you, Georgie, if your toes rotted. I would wipe your fevered brow and hold your hand as your soul spread its wings toward Heaven."

Sophie, finding it all too frightening, began to sob. "Georgie isn't really going to die, is he?"

"Hush, silly," said Mary, hoping for more swordplay. "You can't kill anybody with a wooden sword."

"But you can put their eyes out," Jane observed. "Cousin Lizzie says so."

"Cousin Elizabeth," Tavington corrected the girl automatically. He still had not given up hope of putting a stop to the hated name. There was time for a little more fencing practice for George and Julia. "En garde, both of you. Keep your swords up."

He had slipped more comfortably into his necessary role as the days passed. The children underfoot bothered him less, as he became accustomed to them, and they to him. That George looked up to him, wished to emulate him, and took him as his pattern was all too clear, nor was it particularly surprising. That Jane, Mary, and Sophie should sometimes seem afraid of him, and at other times positively clinging in their desire to please, worried him more.

Passing the nursery, and out in the garden, occasionally he had come across little Frank and Caroline, and was surprised at how readily they took to him. Nervously, he realised that they appeared to want his attention. Frank would trot up to him, showing him his wooden horse, or offering him a share of his grubby bread and butter held in both sturdy little hands. They wouldn't remember their own father. I'm the only man about the house they've ever known. Little Caroline would smile, as timidly as her mother; and once, sitting at his ease in the garden, he had been surprised by the feel of a soft little kiss pressed onto his hand. He opened his eyes to see Caroline, blue eyes huge, gazing at him with what appeared to be hopeful admiration. There was nothing for it, but to pick up the toddler and kiss her round, dimpled face as her father should have done, had he lived.

Earlier in the year, he had not been pleased to know that Elizabeth felt it incumbent upon her to provide a home for her relations. He still thought optimistically of his plan to match Charlotte with James Wilkins and send the lot of them off to Wilkins' estate. It was an amusing idea; but he was forced to acknowledge that Wilkins was not here and the children were. He knew himself a hard man, and had done many things that some might shudder at; but he was repelled by the thought of proving as mean-spirited and illiberal as his own uncle. The Montgomery children should not be made to feel unwanted and a burden, simply because they had lost their father in the King's service. Nor did he like to think of himself as the sort of man who would cause the children to live in fear, imagining that displeasing him could be punished by losing the roof over their heads. Whether or not the situation was ideal, he was as close a thing to a father as the children had, and the Montgomerys were no less his responsibility than Amelia or Julia.

-----

Elizabeth woke him in the middle of the night, about a week later. He summoned Phoebe, the housekeeper, who had some experience as a midwife. The commotion roused the entire household, and there was much bustling about, as Tavington dressed hastily, and took himself off. The older women servants, and then Charlotte Montgomery, pleased to be consulted about the one thing she did fairly well, all converged on Elizabeth's room, and shut out the rest of the world. Miss Temple, invaluable woman, rounded up the clamouring children and sent them right back to their beds. Amelia, too, was persuaded that there was nothing she could do, and that it was useless to sit up waiting for hours.

Tavington could not face trying to sleep in the small adjoining room, hearing Elizabeth's muffled cries of pain. He fled downstairs to the library, and stretched out on the sofa there, thinking appalling things.

What if she should die? Women died all the time in childbirth. What would become of Arcadia, the sisters who loved her and regarded her as a mother, the relations and servants who depended upon her? What would become of Tavington himself? How can men do this to the women they love?

He got up and poured himself a stiff brandy. Unquestionably, if she died, he would want to return to the army and try to forget his grief. But that would be unconscionable: he would be needed here.

He must find work to do. He went to the desk and began going over the accounts books Elizabeth had showed him. She had introduced him to the foreman and most of the other hired men. He ran his hand over his face, feeling the stubble. And I must hire a valet. I should have taken the time in Charlestown or Williamsburg.

Dawn was showing in pale streaks on the eastern horizon. He went over to the window and watched the sunrise. There was a sound at the doorway, and Julia was skulking there, looking distraught.

"Good morning, my dear girl," Tavington greeted her. "It's a little early for you to be up."

She ran over to him, and held him tight. He pulled her close and the feel of her small bones was touching. "I'm so worried. Lilabet's going to be all right, isn't she?"

Tavington lied, smiling. "I'm sure she will be. She's very strong, and very good at everything she does."

Julia stepped back, wiping her eyes. "Maybe her having a baby isn't such a good idea. I know grownups want babies and all, but it's not very safe."

He drew her over to the sofa and sat with his arm around her. "It's very hard to wait, but think about how nice it will be to have a niece or nephew of your own. You'll be Aunt Julia. Now let's see if we can have some breakfast, and we'll go for a walk around the place."

It was a long, dreary day. Miss Temple thought keeping the children to their usual routine was the wisest course, and Tavington agreed. Julia could see the sense if having something else to think about. That left Amelia and Tavington in the library together, as the hours crept by.

The silence seemed too long in the afternoon. Tavington remarked to Amelia, "When I arrived in Charlestown, I thought you might still be visiting in there."

"I had a wonderful time in Charlestown," Amelia admitted. "I wouldn't mind living there all the time. It wasn't the same though, after the judge went to New York."

Tavington took in this bit of information, and stored it away for further consideration. "I recollect that you saw something of the Miss Martins and their aunt. I traveled to Charlestown in Captain Martin's company, and stayed with the family overnight before coming home."

"They're very nice. Mrs. Selton does dress a little young, though, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure I understand—"

Amelia's chin lifted, and Tavington was struck with how similar her high-bridged nose was to Elizabeth's, when criticising an acquaintance.

"Well, Mrs. DeLancey said that it wasn't the thing for a widow over thirty to dress in all those bright colours and show so much of her---neck-- so early in the day." She hurried on, conscious that she might be considered catty. "I mean, she's very genteel and all that, but Mrs Pinckney always wears dark colours, and she's even younger—" She saw Tavington's amused expression, and gave an embarrassed laugh. "I sound like Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva, don't I, sitting in judgement? Anyway, the Martin girls are very nice---Margaret is, anyway. I don't know what to think of little Susan, sometimes. She sits there without a word, like a silent little sprite. They missed their father terribly. How nice that you met him on the ship." She paused, and seemed to recall something. "How is Mr. Martin—I mean young Mr. Martin, that is?"

Tavington thought it best to answer honestly, and hoped for no tears or scenes. "Mr. Martin is very well. He is a lieutenant now, and was recently married."

He waited for an explosion, but no explosion came. Amelia looked a little surprised, and drew a breath, and then seemed to accept the news. "I wish him well. He is a very good young man. Do you know Mrs. Martin?"

Tavington suppressed a sardonic smile. "Fairly well. She is a very pretty young woman, and very devoted to Mr. Martin. I was not pleased that he resolved on marrying so young, but so he did."

"Well, as you say, he is very young," Amelia agreed, dismissing Thomas Martin as if she were far older than her sixteen years. "And boys have so little to offer, after all, compared to grown men."

What has DeLancey been at, those months with her in Charlestown? Tavington wondered, somewhat alarmed.

Before he could quiz her about for more details of her life among the DeLanceys, Dolly came running downstairs, to call out the news that he was officially a father.

He took the stairs two at a time, and gently pushed past the curious children crowding around the door of Elizabeth's room.

They had smoothed the sheets over her, and he guessed they had tidied her a little, but Elizabeth looked dreadful: ghostly white and terribly weak. There was a sprinkling of red around her eyes, he guessed from blood vessels burst during her labour. She managed a wan little smile, and then turned to look at the newborn baby in her arms.

Charlotte Montgomery was smiling broadly. "A fine baby boy!"

Tavington sat down on the bed beside his wife, and stroked the baby's face with a finger. The little fellow opened his mouth in a yawn, exposing tiny pink gums, and Tavington felt his heart lurch. "Hello, little Will," he whispered. He looked unhappily at Elizabeth. What he saw frightened him.

Elizabeth must have perceived his distress, for she murmured, "I'm all right, really, dearest. I'm just very tired." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes closed.

Phoebe touched his shoulder, concerned and kind, and told him, "Don't you worry none, Colonel. She'll be fine. She didn't lose too much blood, and everything came out that should. She just needs her sleep, that's all. Dolly and me, we'll give the baby his bath and get him nice and clean, and then when Miss Elizabeth wakes up, she can start learning how to give him a good feed."

Charlotte offered timidly, "I can sit with her, Colonel—"

"No," Tavington refused. "No, thank you, Mrs. Montgomery. Your children have been asking for you. I shall sit with her."

Phoebe and Dolly chuckled and whispered to each other, as they bathed and swaddled his little son. Tavington caught a glimpse of pink arms and legs waving beyond the doting women's broad backs, but his greater concern was for his wife. He took her small, limp hand in his, stroking the silky skin, studying the pattern of the blue veins.

He had pledged himself to this pale, fragile woman, and he recognised that she meant far more to him than any paltry promotion. She was his home; and this was the place where he could do the most good and feel the greatest happiness. Thank God he had come to his senses and been here to welcome his child into the world. It was not a question of whether Elizabeth or he himself could manage Arcadia better: they would manage it together.

With a wry laugh, he remembered a story Colonel von Fuchs had told him about the late King of Prussia. When an assault had faltered, Frederick the Great had admonished his soldiers, crying, "Rogues, do you want to live forever?" A soldier, grown old in the King's service, replied, "For today's pay we have done enough." Tavington reckoned that, in a career spanning twenty years, he had done enough for King and Country himself.

Let others worry who owned an acre or two in far-away Virginia. He must return to the army, indeed, at the end of his two months. But then, he would put his affairs in order, leave the British Legion to the hand of Providence, and turn his face toward home.

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Notes:

The quote from Thucydides' The Peloponnesian War is not from an 18th century translation, but from the modern one by Rex Warner (Penguin Classics). I, too, thought it very apropos when my daughter eagerly read out her new favorite quotation to me this week.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers:

Zubeneschamali- Thank you. I hope this chapter makes your current weekend, too. This was my first foray into alternate history, and it's been hard, but a lot of fun. And it's always great fun to write a ball. Yes, Polly's facing a number of crises, but I'll try to have her deal with them effectively, and come out of them a happy person. I gave the whole Montgomery question a lot of thought, and decided I had to treat them as children, and not as a joke, and so the above. Hope it's OK!

SlytherinDragoon- I'm glad you liked the family reunion. I couldn't resist putting them all in the same room together, just to see what would happen. I've always liked Polly, and planned some sort of romance from the beginning. Some of my earlier drafts were a little more explicit, but I decided that was just making too much trouble for my characters!

Nomorebraces—Hope your pleased with how I worked things out for Tavington. He didn't mean to develop a crush on Polly—it just happened!

pigeonsfromhell—Glad you liked the three-way social call and the ball scene. They were fun to write.

Carolina Girl- Thank you for the nice long review. Yes, Dinah and Anne would never have gotten along, so it's best that they never meet again. Polly had to bear a lot in her life, and she's really pretty strong. In our timeline, she had suffered much more and had been more damaged by it. Tavington had been lonely, and around her for so long that he was becoming more and more attached to her, especially when he saw that she was a little lonely too. Things don't always work out perfectly, but that doesn't mean people can't find happiness in unexpected ways. Once Tavington was home, he remembered why he liked it so much, and why he married Elizabeth in the first place.

Next chapter: Destiny's Threads Untangled, Part 2.