James took Sarah's arm and led her into the orangery, where she looked at him with laughing eyes and a smile threatening to burst from the corners of her mouth.

"What's this?" she said. "I hope you haven't been too susceptible to my mother's suggestions."

"No!" James said, maybe too quickly. "None of that. Besides, you're too proper and--oh, what's the word? English for me."

She swatted him playfully with her fan. "Now, now, we're not at war any more!"

He rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. "That's true, I suppose," he admitted. "But we're not exactly allies, either."

"My family may be English by blood," Sarah said, becoming a little more serious, "but we've always supported independence and-- and people. We've never owned slaves and we're not-- Why did we start to talk about this? This is a party!"

James stuck his thumbs into his waistband and shrugged. "Sorry to have brought up a touchy subject."

"It's not a touchy subject, I just don't-- oh, never mind. What did you want to talk about?" Sarah spread her dress and sat on a bench, looking up at him expectantly.

"I-- um. It'll sound silly." He ignored her shifting her skirts to make room for him and remained standing, fidgeting.

"Probably," Sarah said dryly, "but I'm used to it."

"Thanks for your conifidence, Miss Phillips," he said. "What I wanted to talk to you about was-- okay. See, the thing is, I wasn't exactly telling the truth when I saw you at the ball last week."

"Whatever do you mean?" She sounded suspicious, but not very surprised.

"It's true that I stayed with the Lafayettes in France," he said carefully, "and it's true that I want to write a story. It's true that there's something big going on over there."

"And? The part that isn't true?" Sarah wasn't as angry as he worried she would be, but maybe that would come later. He took a deep breath.

"ItookaboatfromCalaistocomefindyou," he said. That had come out more quickly than he expected.

She lifted an eyebrow. "What was that?"

James breathed again. "I'm not writing a story about King George," he said. "Who cares? He's mad!" Sarah's shoulders straightened and her chest puffed up, but before she could indignantly interrupt him, he rushed on, saying, "I wanted you to-- to help me. To help me write my story in France. There's so much going on, I can hardly keep track of it, and you take much better notes than I do, and Henri's no good at anything but cafe recommendations..." He trailed off. She was staring at him incredulously. "So, um, that's it. That's why I came to England, and I'm sorry I lied to you, but I really need your help, and I-- I want you to be there with me."

She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, he heard footsteps behind him. "Thomas," she said, and stood. The English boy bowed to her, pointedly ignoring James.

"I have not had the pleasure of dancing with you all night," he said, and held out his arm. Sarah looked back at James, who was looking at the ceiling and rolling his eyes.

"Certainly," she said, and James snorted. "Let me-- ah, let me just set my bouquet down in the anteroom, by my wrap." Although she spoke to Thomas, she looked pointedly at James while she did so. His heart jumped. Was she giving him a hint?

"I'll escort you there," Thomas said.

Well, damn.

"Yes, of course," Sarah said, and preceded him out of the orangery, casting one last intentful look at James. Thomas kept his eyes on her until they passed out of sight.

"Thanks for the help," James said sarcastically to the air, and sat down on the bench where Sarah had spread her skirts a few moments before.

Who wanted to dance at a stupid ball anyway?

Twenty minutes later, Sarah hadn't seen James since Thomas had whisked her out of the orangery. She'd been trying to steal a few minutes away from the host's son to look for James, but no luck, he'd been following her everywhere: to the anteroom to drop of her bouquet, to the foyer to ask the doorman if her friend Marjorie Beaufort had arrived, to the refreshments table for a sip of punch.

Well, if she couldn't speak to James in private, she'd have to find another way to communicate with him. She finished off her glass of punch and set it down, smiling at Thomas. "I'm off to powder my nose," she said, and before Thomas could say he'd escort her there, too, she stepped rapidly away from the table and down the hall to the washrooms. In turning a corner, she brushed into a lady's maid returning from the kitchens.

"Pardon me, miss!" the maid said hurriedly.

"Not at all!" Sarah protested. "The fault was mine-- but, pardon me, are you on an errand?"

"Only to gather the used plates and glasses," the maid said. "May I help you with anything?"

"Yes, actually!" Sarah exclaimed. "Can you find me a piece of paper and a quill? And a place to write away from the dancing-room?"

The maid cocked her head in thought. "Follow me, if you don't mind it," she said. "You can use the study."

Perfect, Sarah thought, and followed her down another hall to a small room with a large desk.

"I'll wait for you, to clean the quill," the maid said, and Sarah apologized for being a bother.

The maid laughed. "To tell the truth, I'm glad to have some peace! You don't mind my sitting, do you?"

"I wish you would," Sarah said, and pulled out a small piece of paper to write a note to James.

When she finished, she stood, and handed the inky quill carefully to the maid. "Thank you," Sarah said, and blew on the paper to dry it. When the ink was completely dry, she folded it and tucked it into her sleeve. Taking a deep breath, she retraced her way back to the dancing-room.

Thomas was waiting for her, and danced once more with her before she claimed to be too tired. "I've been dancing all night!" she said with a half-laugh, making her way to the anteroom.

"I noticed!" Thomas said, with the same sort of laugh, sliding through the crowd of people beside her. "Who is that young American?"

Oh, just what she needed.

"James-- Mr. Hiller is a close friend of mine. We worked together in America during the war." She lifted her chin. See what you make of that, she thought.

He tapped his leg with his hand and nodded. "Understandable. He seems to be the type to require a lady's work."

"Actually, I volunteered," she said smoothly. Was that James' bright hair she saw on the other side of the room?

"Well, what's past is past," he said just as smoothly, bringing her attention back to the conversation. "I'm glad to see you back home in England, Miss Phillips."

Home? Did he think she wanted to live in England for the rest of her life? Sarah shook her head. Their work during the war, the press, her relationship with James...it was all too complicated to explain so briefly.

They reached the anteroom, and Sarah picked up her bouquet and wrap. She allowed the note to James to fall into the flowers, and hoped that Thomas hadn't noticed.

"I'm going to get some air," she said. Miraculously, he made no offer to accompany her, but looked thoughtful. Maybe their conversation had made him think twice about his flirtation.

She made her way straight to the orangery, where she hoped to find James. He wasn't there, but the bench was warm-- he must have just left.

In the hopes that he would return, she left her bouquet on the seat, and took several deep breaths of the fresh, green air before returning to the crush of the dancing-room. Thomas was standing on the other side of the room talking with his mother; she made for her parents, who were at the refreshment table.

"I'm rather tired," she said. "Would you mind terribly if I took the carriage home early?"

Her mother nodded. "Not at all, darling, just send it back. These events can be exhausting if you're not used to them."

Sarah's father squeezed her hand, and she slipped out to the foyer. "Call our carriage, please," she said to the footman, and tapped her foot. If James got her note soon, she wanted to be home.

James had stood up to take a closer look at the garden before leaving, but he ducked behind a bush when he heard Sarah come in. If she wasn't going to stick around for him, he certainly wasn't going to talk to her. She moved around the bench for a few moments, then left.

Good! He didn't want her and her snotty English boyfriend coming around here together anyway. James went quickly over to the bench, pulling leaves out of his hair, and picked up her bouquet.

Well, she did smell good -- he couldn't fault her for that.

And she did have very fine red hair.

But other than that-- He saw a corner of white in the pink bouquet, and plucked it out gingerly.

It was a folded piece of paper, and on one side it read, "To James".

He unfolded it and read it.

end Chapter Seven

A/N: So I haven't updated in about eighteen months. A heh! But I've written a lovely big (well, bigger than usual) chapter to make up for it!

I sort of dropped this story, as I didn't have a definite idea of where it was going, but then I went back and reread it (thanks to my lovely reviewers, who kept reminding me of it!) and now I have a clearer idea of how I'm going to play it out. Hooray!

So, thanks to orange-InuYasha, lklvr14, hallo, shock, P.I.D., Rose-Wisteria, Angharad, SpelCastrMax, Among the Roses, Hydrangea777, dragonmaster88, ThunderStorm-8, Aura, NalanaSpinderOfSouls, JDP, neosun7, Divagurl277, Mystified Providence, SilverRainbow223, Kikyoni, EreshkigalGirl, Emma, and jerseygirl13.

ALL OF YOU helped remind me of this story and how much fun it was to write! This chapter is for every one of you!