Chapter 8: Rochambeau

December 19, 1780

Angelica readily allowed her access into the shipping log and huge maps that covered the pan of the dining table within her first request. There were various places on the unfurled map where the sharp, precise writing of Philip Schuyler covered small sections - footnotes on the trading routes, dangerous waters and the shores themselves. Genevieve herself crossed lines and added her own annotations where the British blockade was.

When Philip Schuyler had left for New York City for work, it was a task that was not necessary to keep the charters up to date. Of course, Angelica and Peggy readily agreed while Eliza worried herself to death due to the howling snowstorms and how her Alexander was faring. The wind and snow was constant and many refused to go outside at all.

By now, Genevieve had pretty much stayed at the Schuylers most of her time, ignoring any attempt for them to answer why the Continental Army - and Lafayette - left without her. But they had guessed when they saw that she refrained from wearing long sleeves and showcased the scar openly.

Long curved lines stemming from New York linked to places like Virginia, London and Portugal represented the routes the ships took and she made little marks to portray the six French ships. As she scribbled restlessly on a blank page, her thoughts raced and came in full circle. If her calculations were correct by the charters… she just needed the ledgers to cement her hypothesis. The numbers just had to be low enough and the dates would have to match up.

She heard the door open and closed. Pausing in her work, she looked up to see Eliza. Sleep deprivation shown in the bags under her eyes made Genevieve completely back away from her work as the Schuyler handed the brunette a leather-bound book.

"The ledger. It's up to date and I thought you could use it." It seemed the middle Schuyler sister had been doing her fair share of work, evident by smudges of ink on the flat side of her hand. "Peggy did most of it, I just happened to take over once she nearly passed out in exhaustion to keep up with your work." Taking it, Genevieve skimmed through it and settled it on the table before opening up the charter. Her finger ran down the page as she read through the dates, checking if the numbers were correct.

"And Angelica?"

"Arranged a meeting with Mr. Aldridge tomorrow morning. She'll try to persuade him to waive the dividends until after the war." She breathed in sharply when her finger stopped at the final number.

"The sums…"

"Are drastically low, I know." Eliza murmured, coming to stand beside her. "The barricade is harming more than the war effort. And the charter?" Mrs. Hamilton looked at the many pages of writing that were crossed out and changed. Genevieve shook her head with a steely glint in her eyes and set her jaw. Dipping a quill in the inkwell, she began to scribble down notes about the two accounts. "Genny, it's nearly midnight. Perhaps you should sleep."

"I will," she promised, turning her head and kissing Eliza on the cheek, "I just need to-"

"-finish it up. Which can be done tomorrow." The woman countered firmly. "I will send Angelica on you if you don't sleep soon." She warned and Genevieve chuckled tiredly. "You know how she is."

"Of course, Eliza. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," with that, the Schuyler left and Genevieve looked back at the map. She couldn't help but think about the man she loved out in a winter much harsher than the one outside the window. His last words rung in her mind, crystal clear. Sighing, she shook her head and ran a finger over her scar as she thought.

Deciding to at least reread her work, she began with the ledger. The numbers were becoming increasingly low and business was flopping. The British blockade was well built, ships strategically placed so none could pass and it was doing its job well. No ship could pass as long as it was up and everyone was suffering. Especially for families whose main business was a trade - quartermasters such as the Schuylers. Shutting it again, she stacked it over the closed charters.

Shaking her head, she took a deep breath in an attempt to regain her bearings. The windows weren't drawn and she had plain view of the swirling and dancing flakes. She wondered what her family was doing now - probably sleeping as wind rattled the panes of glass.

Her thoughts turned to Lafayette. He hadn't even said goodbye and neither had she. He was merely gone, evident by the way he locked his apartment and Hercules' vague answers. Perhaps it was her mistake - she should've trusted the man she loved. Why didn't I? She mused, I'm an idiot. Sitting down on one of the dining chairs, she leaned back and closed her eyes for just a moment. Despite her want to sleep, it evaded her. The brunette kept her eyes closed anyway, enjoying the quietness of the room - only the slight crackle of the fire and the wind accompanied her.

The tranquility however, was punctured when the front door opened and closed. She opened her eyes and raised her head as someone opened the door to the dining room.

"Angelica-" she started but the woman held up a hand to silence her.

"Someone is here to see you." Standing up, Genevieve straightened her rumpled skirts as Angelica proceeded to enter. "And he had requested an audience with you at this ungodly hour. I would've declined if I knew for sure that you'd be sleep. But, these days…" Genevieve nodded. No one slept anymore.

"Bring him in. I just have to line up the charter and ledger dates before I sleep." Angelica turned around and gestured for a large man to enter the dining room. "Mr. Mulligan." Her voice was curt as Hercules wrapped his patched overcoat around himself.

"Ms. Alcott."

He didn't say anything other than that, only walked to the fireplace. The fire barely alive, he stoked it back to life as Angelica blinked at their animosity. She wasn't curious as to why, just slightly put-off.

"Genny," her name was said in a warning. Don't tear the house down, were the unspoken words and the green-eyed woman nodded. Sensing that both Hercules wanted privacy and that Angelica wanted to return back to her bed, Genevieve turned to her hostess.

"Go sleep, Angelica. I'll be up after." She promised honestly.

Nodding, the curly-haired woman murmured a soft 'goodnight' before exiting the dining room, closing the door behind her. Then, it was just the two of them. Hercules set down the iron poker and instead came around the table.

"Rumor has it that you're managing Philip Schuyler's trade routes." He started and she followed him with a hawk-like green gaze.

"Not alone," she informed coolly, "The Schuyler sisters help lighten the load."

"That's good. And is this your work?" He pointed at the map where she drew the blockade and ships, and books holding it all down. She nodded tersely as he picked up some of the pages where she had written all of her possible plans but many were crossed out with violent marks of black ink. She shuffled the other pages of writing back into one neat stack as he ran a hand over the dried markings of the British blockade and compared it to her notes. "This?"

"The blockade." She gestured to the black marks she'd made. "These are the French ships." Her gaze met his and she ran a finger over the spine of the ledger as his eyes caught sight of the scar. Feeling no urge to cover it up, she planted her hands on her hips and leaned over to just stare at the marks and lines she had made. "What are you doing here?"

"You know." He fired back and the brunette raised her head to meet his dark eyes.

"I'll hazard a guess." She sighed. "Did any of the French make it at all to America?" He glanced at her and for once, all hostility between them died.

"One of their captains," he affirmed, "who can confirm the layout of his forces." Interesting. "Perhaps you aren't a ghost," he amended and she smiled tightly. Turning around, she lead the way to the entrance hall and grabbed her coat from the hook. Hercules followed her, slightly confused.

"Where does he lodge?"

"Newport, Rhodes Island. Why?"

"We know the Continental Army won't survive." She answered shortly. Tossing a look his way, she noted that he wasn't yet ready. "Are you coming or not?"

"I can take you there," Hercules offered and Genevieve nodded, doing up her buttons. "We'll be there by tomorrow."

"Good. Let's go then. Who is this man, anyway?"

"Major General Comte de Rochambeau."

December 25, 1780

Lafayette vowed that he'd never return to Valley Forge ever again. He sat around the wilting fire with the other soldiers and set his jaw in hopes that it'd prevent his teeth from chattering. Then he could focus on his thoughts as the wind howled around them. John reached towards the dying flame as it suddenly rose again before fading. He couldn't remember the last time he was warm.

That was a lie, he could. He tugged his jacket tighter around him although it didn't do any good. Wind whirled around them, whistling in their ears and winding around their bones. The trees snapped and swayed as he shifted on the rock he was sitting on. His boot immediately squelched and he was reminded of his numb limbs. Grimacing, he tried not to think of anything but survival.

Especially not of her.

Or their bed… definitely not their bed.

"It's Christmas," John sent a weak smile at him, "shall we start carolling?" It seemed inappropriately timed humor had not yet been stolen from the man. At least it wasn't snowing.

"I do not think that will raise morale."

"Shall I start?" John continued as if he hadn't heard the marquis speak. "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound…" His normally smooth voice was interrupted by the tremors caused by the frigidness of winter. "Come on, everyone." Slowly, more soldiers joined in in a quiet hymn. Sighing, Lafayette saw the breath become pellucid in front of him.

Her morning smile while she was still asleep.

Stop yourself. You are angry at that woman. She has deceived, and lied, and had nearly died on the battlefield. The infection she festered nearly killed her when you had said she needn't go, drunk as you were. His mind reprimanded but Lafayette found it hard when the only thing he ever wanted to do was return back to Albany. The woman admitted to loving you yet did not trust you with her darkest secret. Did she think you would persecute her? He did not want to think about it. It was not even night and the sky was dark. Hearing the snow crunch, he resurfaced from his thoughts just as the crowd around their fire finished a song. "Any suggestions?"

"How about a tale of your after dusk exploits, lieutenant colonel?" Lafayette suggested and John immediately jumped into a tale of how much of a tomcat he was before the war. The pointless, probably fabricated and modified story would surely take away the men's attention at least for a while. Normally, he'd join in too - tell him about all the stupid things he did as a rich, stupid orphan boy of fifteen but today was worse than others. Rochambeau isn't coming. He isn't coming; he isn't coming. The thoughts repeated in his mind and he couldn't get it to stop.

Hunger gnawed at his stomach and every time one of the men shifted, it was as if skin cracked but if John's story was just enough to take the edge off, it was better than nothing. The marquis closed his eyes for just a brief moment and heard her giggle in his ear.

Stop it. Do not think of that night.

"Monsieur Lafayette?" A young voice called his name and although it was horribly butchered, he had learned to respond to anyone who even began to say 'L'. John didn't stop from his story but did look up away from the fire.

"Oui?" The major general stood as the young boy shifted nervously.

"The General wanted to see you." Lafayette knew it was coming sooner or later. Everyone in the camp knew that they were slowly dying one by one and that Rochambeau wasn't coming. Either that or he was horribly late and Lafayette knew him not to be that.

"Of course. Take my seat by the fire," he murmured quietly and the boy eagerly slipped past him and towards the flame. There was no thank you nor did Lafayette expect one as he made his way to the cabin. Light glowed from inside and he could only imagine how warm it was in there compared to outside. He was light atop the layers of snow and he realized that he had lost weight, too much weight pronounced even more when the General's guard did not recognize him. But in the end, he was allowed in and the heat that blasted him in the face nearly knocked him back.

The General was reading a letter at his desk, a glass of amber liquid near it. Lafayette made his presence known but the General didn't look up until he finished the letter. He refolded it and slipped it back into its envelope before standing up with his hands braced against the desk.

"Sir, you called for me?" Washington offered a tight-lipped smile as he began to unroll a map and stopped it from furling closed with a few weights.

"Yes. I have received a letter from Rhodes Island. Major General Rochambeau has promised us he will arrive before the next week ends."

"Sir?" Lafayette felt utterly lost and confused as the frost melted from his hair. Washington politely ignored it as he began to suit up, putting on his jacket and hat before following it up with a pair of gloves. George sighed as his hand skimmed over the word Yorktown.

"The French fleet have passed the British blockade." The sentence was simple, blunt but Lafayette still struggled to understand. "They are to rendezvous before setting off for our encampment." He sheathed his sword and walked to the fireplace as the marquis turned. "Have a glass of cognac, a seat by the fire. For God's sake, man, are you sick?"

"Find me a man who isn't sick," he fired back. George turned around to pin him with a stare, eyebrows raised. He finished pouring the drink and walked over to his friend.

"Do you not use the cabins we built?"

"My quarters are being used as a hospital for the sick and dying," he informed icily although he did accept the glass of alcohol and seat the General offered. "Lieutenant Colonel Laurens has also done so - may as well tell you before you die of shock, General." The Frenchman snapped and there was a tone of finality. Being on first name basis with the General held an air of familiarity but now, there was nothing but a cold aura of formality.

Feeling the alcohol warm his blood as soon as he drank it, he felt the gaunt hollows of his cheeks more prominently than ever as he wiped away melted frost from his face.

"What is our death count?" Washington asked but Lafayette ignored him. When he sensed Washington's stare on him, he raised his eyes towards the General.

"We lose more everyday to starvation and to the hypothermia. Despite our best efforts, the horses are dying as well - in fact, I believe dinner tonight is lightly roasted horse with a side of snow." Lafayette added dryly. The fire could barely produce enough heat to even cook a minnow. Finishing off the cognac, he stood and clenched his fists, feeling the fingernails dig into his palms. "The rations go to the sick as thousands of your army go hungry."

"And you and Laurens are keeping the morale up."

"As best as possible in these conditions." Lafayette muttered. "As your officer, General, it is my job to inform you when we are at our wit's end."

"And mine is to listen." he acquiesced, "I will speak to them and inform them of our situation. Perhaps then they will have some shred of hope left in this world."

"As will I," Lafayette agreed. George Washington began to exit and opened the door, wind sweeping into the warm cabin. It cut into Lafayette like a sword but he held himself up and persevered on. As they made their way back to the fire, Lafayette half-a-step behind his general, he felt the urge to just collapse and stay in the snow until it became warm.

But her. She is waiting for you. The thoughts, although at first unwelcomed, made his heart beat stronger and faster as trudged through the snow. Do not think of death. Do not think of Hell or Heaven. Think of her. Her green eyes, the smell of wind, the feel of her body against yours… but the image was slipping. It was in a blur, his imagination filling parts he couldn't quite place. He was roaring drunk after all. But he remembered confessing to their love, to kissing her, to feeling her heartbeat under his hand. And in acute recollection, he could remember every single word he had said before storming out of his apartment. His heart plummeted again and more than his stomach ached.

He was familiar with ambition. It had caused many men's downfall and few had just the right amount of it. But he also knew the desire to do something - to refuse to just sit around while other people did work that you can do. That was why he was in America after all. He believed in their cause, that he could help win the war. Win freedom.

So was it really so hard to forgive a woman for rising above her station? He swallowed to wet his dry throat as they finally reached where John Laurens was nearly asleep from telling how he was nearly kicked by a horse's hindquarters. The freckled man's eyes widened when he spotted the General and he stood, the blanket slipping off of him. Lafayette plopped on a rock beside the boy who had taken his seat. His eyes closed and for a moment, they were back in Albany - Alexander had just gotten married and the debonair Frenchman was dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room.

Lafayette was familiar with forgiveness. It was one of the traits he held dear to his heart. It had caused many men's downfall and few had just the right amount of it. As he tried to rationalize her decision, he could feel his heart edging towards forgiveness.

Could he blame her for doing the exact same he was doing because of her sex? His eyes opened again and he saw George Washington's face, jaw set and masked with fearless hope and determination. John Laurens' eyes were wide and he even spotted Aaron Burr watching from a distance. Absolutely not.

December 26, 1780

In her Continental Army uniform, she pulled the reins lightly. Her chestnut stallion whinnied as she arrived in Newport. The bustling activity and the smell of the ocean were the first things that came to her senses. Many looked at her as her horse trotted along to the harbor and she grinned at all the people who waved to her. Waving back, she continued down the path to the harbor. Many children came up to her and asked to pet her horse or ride him. She had to decline despite their puppy faces.

"I have to work," she said in explanation and their mouths popped open when they realized she was a woman. "Go back and play, maybe later." They acquiesced when the horse raised his head proudly. "Hey, boy," she rubbed his jaw and he nickered. "Come on, let's go meet Rochambeau."

Passing the square where merchants were bartering away their items. Snow fell around them heavily and she ducked her head, thankful for the hat she wore. Brushing stray flakes off her horse's mane, they continued on their way at a steady trot until she descended down to the harbor. At the end of the dock, she approached the man who looked out into the ocean. Dismounting, she wrapped the reins around her hand and lead the horse behind her.

"Bonjour, comte de Rochambeau." He turned around with a smile. She had nearly forgotten what the man look like. Their previous meeting a week ago was brief and most of their time had been spent looking at the map. The only thing she could remember was his heavily accented English and long nose. Two eccentric golden-brown eyes turned to her and she nearly started. And the eyes. She definitely remembered his eyes.

"Oliver Smith, oui? The one who will, ah," he looked up when he forgot the word, "escort us to Washington."

"Yes except for my name." he raised an eyebrow at her voice, "Genevieve Alcott. We met last week."

"The blockade runner." He narrowed his eyes at her as if trying to see if they were the same person. "And you are a soldier?" the comte asked after deciding that they were the one and same.

"It is a pretty common reaction to my profession." She joked and he laughed as the French ships laid down their anchors and began docking. The planks were lowered. "These are the ships, as promised?"

"Oui. Armed to the teeth." And Genevieve smiled as she saw soldiers wave from the ship, cheering and screaming. "Franchement quelque chose, non?" A grin stretched her lips as they marched down the boats, chanting with unmatched enthusiasm.

"Vive la révolution!"

A/N: I actually feel like this is my worst chapter out of the current few. I'm sorry! You guys continually impress me with how much support you give me! Thank you so much!

(EDIT: I realized now that my Valley Forge scene is really close to RebelFaerie's 'Oceans and Moments' Valley Forge scene. That was not intentional at all - I read that scene maybe over a few months ago and my brain must've just barfed it out. Again, apologies and I give all inspiration credit to RebelFaerie! CHECK HER OUT IF YOU HAVEN'T - THE WRITING IS AMAZING)

Thank you: Potatoandanimelover, and NataliaRoma97 for following! Shannon the chameleon, cillaaviles, danceduck21, and maaike2.0 for favoriting! To The Captains Muse for doing both! To all the Guest reviewers, RiseUpWiseUp, BriCat03, Kitty of 2 kingdoms, and laurensturtle for reviewing!

I'm going to be condensing reviews because it can get a bit repetitive. Don't worry - I love you all so much. You may say that this story is great, but in reality, my readers are what makes this story great.

REVIEWS:

Kitty of 2 kingdoms: Fireworks, woo! Thanks for reading!

BriCat03: Ooh, Genette is a good one - I might consider that along with Genafette. Haha, I know. I was thinking about it that way but I decided, naaaah. I don't know if anyone will die yet but it could happen in the future. Thank you for reviewing twice!

Jaysong, Guest, laurensturtle, RiseUpWiseUp and Trinity Rebel: Thank you for all the compliments! It means the world to me when y'all say I have the potential or that it's like your oxygen that you need to breath. Like, I'm so truly flattered? I cannot explain how grateful I am?

Why Not: I don't know. Perhaps his name will be Chestnut. Any other ideas for our horse friend?