Disclaimer: Don't own anything, not making any money off this, blah, blah, blah.
3. Dancing with the Enemy
There was a great deal of work to be done before tonight's ball. Jane threw herself into it, trying not to think about what she had seen. What could she do? If she told her father, he would have to demand satisfaction. An old, sick man in a duel with Colonel Tavington? The idea was insupportable. If word got out, they would all be disgraced, and her father made a laughingstock by British and Americans alike. No. No good would come of telling tales. She must find some other way to stop this abomination.
Could she go to Selina, tell her what she knew, and try to dissuade her from seeing Colonel Tavington again? Her heart sank at the prospect. She had never been able to talk to Selina: telling her to change her ways would be a waste of breath. Could she threaten her? Selina would probably know it was an empty threat—and that Jane would not dare tell her father.
She had no time to think of tactics to remedy the situation. She was just too busy at the moment. A dinner must still be provided for the household, a little earlier than usual. The dining room must be cleaned and then arranged for the ball's midnight supper. Linen must be approved, silver counted, musicians decently attired and kept from excessive drinking. The house must be inspected, and the slaves praised, encouraged, or scolded as appropriate. She dealt with much of this immediately, in a series of quick, imperious commands. Thinking it over, she decided she would dress for the ball immediately after dinner and then see to the arrangements for supper and any last-minute problems.
And not surprisingly, dinner was a nightmare. Miss Gilpin asked softly if her head ached, and Jane shook her head swiftly, blushing at the lie. Mr. Fenton, next to her, was pretending she did not exist, evidently fearing that he might be expected to ask her for a dance. In her turn, she tried to concentrate on the pattern of her dinner plate, but her father nagged her about the quality and quantity of wine to be served that night. When Jane looked up to answer him, she could not help seeing Selina and Colonel Tavington gazing into each other's eyes.
He was, as always, seated in the place of honor, by the mistress of the house. Selina leaned into him, her every move expressing intimacy. Her fingertip traced the lip of her wineglass in languorous circles that made Jane want to scream out loud. She had to get away, get away…
She left the table early, citing her duties, but there was no real escape. She must be present at the ball, which would begin in three hours. She hurried to the staircase, and noticed Colonel Tavington behind her, leaving the house. Seeing her look of surprise, he bowed and said, "Never fear, Miss Rutledge. I shall not miss your ball. However, I have business that cannot be delayed." He departed, and Jane stood there afterwards, suddenly noticing that her knuckles were white from her grip on the banister.
Hitching up her heavy petticoats, she turned and ran up the stairs. There was a quick scrabbling at the doorknob of her room and she rushed in, happy as never before to have this private sanctuary. Knees gave way as she dropped into the little chair at her dressing table. It was very small, and also served as her desk. It needed to be cleared of all her writing materials. Trembling, she set aside paper, inkstand, and the box that held her most precious memories. The latter she held a moment, and sighed. If only Ralph hadn't died. I'd be ten miles upriver at Green Springs and I wouldn't give a hoot about anything Selina did…
The face in the silvery mirror regarded her diffidently. No matter how often she looked in the mirror, the same sallow, plain face stared back at her. The same mousy light brown hair, the same long, blade-thin nose, the same nondescript eyes, the same thin-lipped mouth, too wide for beauty. Selina, at her most unkind, told her she looked like a rabbit. It was, she admitted, unfortunately true. She lifted her upper lip. At least my teeth are all right.
Her heart was still pounding. She called Letty to her and began making her preparations. She reached for a scent bottle and stopped. Her hands were shaking so badly she feared she would drop it.
"What's wrong, Miss Jane?" Letty voice, as always, was soft and soothing, a drop of honey in her life's sea of gall. Expertly, she began brushing out Jane's hair. Jane sat still, allowing her maid to do her work.
Jane cleared her throat. "Letty---"
"What, Miss?"
"It's very important that I look nice tonight. I don't ask to look pretty—just as good as I possibly can. Please."
Letty paused, and examined her thoughtfully. "There's some man you want to look good for, ain't there?"
"It's not what you think. I have to tell a man some very harsh things tonight, and I don't want him to despise me. I have to be strong, and I can't be strong when a man is standing there, smirking at how plain I am."
"Don't you worry none. That dress of yours is as elegant as your stepmama's, and you've got your pearl necklace, and such. You're going to look fine."
"I know Miss Gilpin always says that it's what's inside that matters, but if men don't like the outside, they don't bother to learn about what's inside."
"That's true, honey," Letty agreed serenely. She found a pair of scissors and readied a curling iron. "If that's how you feel, we're going to try a new way for your hair, Miss Jane. I heard from Miss Danby's maid about the fashions in London. It's going to take awhile, so you just sit there and think about being pretty." She used a comb to part out sections near Jane's face.
"Letty, are you going to cut my hair?"
"Just a little around the front and sides. Some ladies in London don't pull their hair back tight and up anymore. They're wearing it in a lot of loose curls around their face and ears—calling it the 'hedgehog' style. I reckon it would look pretty and soft on you."
"Letty, my hair doesn't curl."
"It'll curl when I get through with it, honey. You just sit. And I'll do the back up in a puff and some more curls on the back of your neck. It's going to look mighty nice when I'm done, and real fashionable."
The shadows in the room moved slowly as the time passed. It was a lengthy process, and Jane found it relaxing. The back was done first, as the comb slid through the straight, light brown hair, separating out the hair to be curled at the nape. The rest was arranged with pins into a soft knot. Then, with a deep breath, Letty moved Jane's head up, down; turned it to one side and then the other; clicking the scissors reflectively as she cut, and then holding the curling iron just the right length of time. The curls were pomaded lightly to keep their shape. It was startling the difference it made. The strong bones of her face were softened, her high, broad forehead was less prominent, and her nose did not look so big.
"I like it," Jane said in wonder. "I like it very much. It's a frightful lot of work, though."
"It won't be so bad, next time," Letty remarked. "I think I got the trick of it. We'll just do the curls up in rags every night when you go to bed, and for every day we can put up the back plain. It's pretty on you, Miss Jane. This here's your style." Letty paused, with another brief assessment; and then, with some hesitation, said, "Miss Jane, I know Miss Gilpin don't like it, but I'd like to try just a little rouge." She saw Jane's frown, and hurried on. "Just a little, honey. I won't make you look painted, but I've been thinking about it the longest time, and why don't we try it? If you don't like it, we have time to wash it off."
Jane sighed. "All right, but I don't want to look like Selina or that Mrs. Simms."
Letty trotted out of the room and was back in less than a minute, carrying a small box. She flipped it open, and brushes and pots were revealed. "I bought this for you out of the money left over from buying Miss Selina's perfumed soap, that time she sent me to the apothecary. It wasn't much," she said, excusing herself. Jane gave her a rueful smile of acquiescence. Letty filled a little dish with water from the basin and brought it over.
This took less time, but was even stranger. Jane sat still while Letty's brushes tickled her. The rouge was lightly applied to cheeks and lips. Jane started when Letty leaned forward, forehead knit with concentration, and a thin brush coated with black in her hand.
"You need eyelashes, Miss Jane. Can't nobody see them the way they are." The task was painstaking and delicate. "Don't want to put too much on. Just a tiny little bit."
Jane held her breath, and forced her eyes open while the lashes dried. Then Letty worked on her eyebrows, fussing a little: wiping it all off the first time, and then trying again with a lighter hand.
"That's better. Now some powder." Seeing Jane's frown, she said firmly, "Now, Miss Jane, you've got to wear some powder. Every lady there will be powdered, and if you don't wear it, you'll just look odd."
"Miss Gilpin doesn't powder her face."
"Miss Gilpin is an old lady, and I don't see anybody fixing to marry her."
This was unanswerable. Jane submitted while the rice powder was patted softly on face, neck, shoulders, and the flat expanse that she thought hardly deserved the name of bosom.
Letty then opened the jewelry box for the little pearl drops that had been a present for Jane's seventeenth birthday, and Jane slipped them into her ears. Jane's string of pearls emerged next, and in another moment was fastened around her neck. The cool, sensuous weight of the creamy pearls caused Jane to be acutely aware of the exposed flesh of her throat and shoulders.
The mirror showed her herself in a strange guise, and she did not know if she liked it or not, but she certainly looked expensive and fashionable--and for some people, she knew, that would be enough.
"And who is that?" asked one young officer, in the uniform of the 17th Light Dragoons.
"That's Miss Rutledge, the daughter. Very elegant, I declare. Nettles," his friend laughed, "stop staring!"
"I shall ask her to dance with me."
Harry Nettles had been in America since the beginning of the war, and was now the lieutenant in command of the detachment of the 17th that served with the British Legion under Banastre Tarleton. New York and Pennsylvania had not seemed so foreign to him, but he had found South Carolina wonderfully exotic. To cap it off, here was a pleasant sight: a refined-looking young woman in pure pearls and ethereal lace, whose cheeks were the same delicate rose as her gown. She looked like no one else in the world to Nettles. "So her father is one of these Rice Kings, you say?" he commented, his eyes fixed on the young woman. "Then she must be the Rice Princess."
His friend Patterson shrugged, "I had heard her spoken of as quite plain, but she looks well enough to me. Not a goddess, like her stepmamma, but very well indeed. A remarkably elegant gown."
Nettles nodded, quite entranced. "I think she looks very nice. Come, we must be introduced."
It took some doing to make their way through the crowd. Finally, Webster of the 33rd saw them hanging about, and kindly presented them to their hosts. Rutledge was no more than civil and his wife, who was plainly on the watch for someone else, hardly spared a glance for the two ordinary-looking young officers. The daughter granted them each a demure smile and a polite word. Nettles thought her eyes particularly fascinating. They were not brown, but the palest hazel, flecked with green. Quite unusual and attractive, he thought. Nettles made his request of Mr. Rutledge, who seemed curiously uninterested in his daughter.
Yes, of course he could dance with Jane. "Jane, you haven't been asked for the first dances yet, have you?"
The girl cast her eyes down modestly. "No, Papa."
Her father snorted brusquely. "Well, now you have. Get along, get along."
And so, Nettles secured the lady to himself. Patterson immediately asked for the second two dances, and was just as calmly accepted. Both young officers felt the night promised no common amount of enjoyment.
Jane, for her part, was searching the room for Tavington. She had learned over the years with Selina how to mask her feelings. She flattered herself that no one saw her looking distracted. Two young men had come forward to ask her to dance. In ordinary circumstances, it would have been a delightful thing, and would have guaranteed the evening as a personal success. They seemed nice enough, and Jane wondered who had told them to take pity on her. A few other acquaintances had admired her gown. An old friend of her father's had proclaimed that her looks were improving.
Her first partner led her to the floor. The minuets were beginning: each couple performing solo before the rest, in order of precedence. Lieutenant Nettles was talking to her pleasantly. She forced herself to attend to him, smiling faintly and automatically, but all she could think about was Tavington, Tavington, Tavington. A strong male body in the act of love, his muscular buttocks flexing with the rhythm of his thrusts. Selina's head thrown back in ecstasy— ("Ah, Colonel, I shall die!") Jane's heart beat uncontrollably.
Lieutenant Nettles was still chatting in his friendly way, expressing his admiration of all the preparations, his respect for loyal men like her father, his gratitude at the prospect of her company in the dance. Yes, he seemed very nice, if not at all handsome. But then, who could be called handsome but Tavington, Tavington, Tavington?
It was their turn to dance. Nettles led her out proudly, noting her distinguished, reserved air. She seems not of this world at all. She danced very gracefully, which was hardly a surprise. But what struck him to the heart was the look in those wonderful hazel eyes, starred all around with lovely dark lashes: a look of the greatest intensity. The dance required that they maintain eye contact throughout, and Nettles was quite overthrown.
Jane looked into the honest brown eyes of Harry Nettles, seeing not her partner, but the ice-blue eyes of Selina's secret lover. The dance required all her concentration, and she and Nettles were silent throughout. The tune suited her feelings, a minor key in three-quarter time, stately and sad. Weaving and turning, slipping under his arm, leaning first toward her partner, then pulling away, it seemed to Jane that she was lost in a dark wood fraught with mystery, her hands reaching out to find the way. Their dance ended, and they gave each other the concluding honours, he with a deep, respectful bow, she with a sweeping curtsey. The impression that she was dancing with Tavington was so strong that when she looked up again as her partner led her away, she saw a strange young man instead of Tavington, and blushed deeply.
Nettles was thrilled by her response. Despite her proper demeanour, this was a young woman of feeling. He hoped to know her better. He still had the second of his two dances, and perhaps she would not think it forward of him were he to request her hand for the all-important supper dance as well.
Robert Bordon was enjoying the ball, too. A pity Harriet was far away in New York, but he would write to her tomorrow and describe tonight's entertainment and the strange, almost tropical land of South Carolina . He was considering sugar planting after the war, and this place gave him a taste of the climate, the sea breezes, the unusual, sensuous flowers.
A delightful ball, though there were perhaps too many people for the room. Ashbury Rutledge—or more likely that silly wife of his—had invited everyone who might do them good. Sir Henry Clinton himself was here, and had partnered the lovely Mrs. Rutledge in the minuet. She was worth a look, but Bordon knew a shallow woman when he saw one, and she was no more than a pretty doll. Other women were there of more substance, the former Lady Colleton, still recovering from the unfortunate attack on her house, and her friend Mrs. Fayssoux.
And then there was their host's daughter, Jane Rutledge. Bordon looked, and looked again. What had the girl done with herself? She was much improved. Not a beauty, certainly, but becomingly dressed in a good color for her, and with a little pink in her cheeks. She—or her maid—had done something with her hair. Not bad at all. She was an interesting young woman, and Bordon decided to ask her for a dance.
Within the hour, he saw Tavington arrive, slipping in unobtrusively. His colonel caught his eye and came to stand by him. Tavington was looking very smug, in the way Bordon knew meant a significant personal success.
"You're late," Bordon told him. "You said it would only take an hour to collect your money from Debenham."
"The wretch was lying. He didn't have the money after all, and I put it to him that I must absolutely have it before we depart. Once I made clear the steps I was prepared to take if unsatisfied, he let have his horse instead." A predatory glee surged through him as he remembered. Would you prefer my receipt for your horse, Debenham, or a bullet in your brain?
"Troilus? That's a fine animal, and worth more—"
"Yes," Tavington smirked. "Far more. It was well worth missing a provincial ball. And then," he confessed, with an arch look, "I was distracted." Such a victory always calls for a celebration, and the girl was more than willing…
"You're a man of extraordinary stamina." Bordon dropped his voice to a whisper. "Our hostess will think you ill-bred if you do not ask her for a dance."
"True."
"And Miss Rutledge might expect the same courtesy."
"Oh, Bordon, please—" Bordon refused to be repressed and gave a nod in the young lady's direction.
"She looks very well tonight. If you ask her to dance, it might divert gossip."
Tavington followed his friend's gesture. There was Miss Rutledge, dancing a reel with Tom Patterson. She did look surprisingly presentable. The gown's color was very pretty, and the girl showed more animation than usual. She actually laughed at something Patterson said. Her curls danced in time with the music. How bad could she be in the course of two dances? Bordon was giving him good advice. It was a sensible thing to do.
"You're right," he said, with a resigned shrug.
"And remember," Bordon hissed. He then mouthed the words, "Twenty thousand pounds."
Tavington smothered a laugh, and set out to hunt the girl down.
Selina grew more wretched in the course of the evening. Tavington had not appeared, and she was besieged with requests to dance. By every rule of etiquette, she could not refuse a man a dance, unless she were to give up dancing for the rest of the night. Tavington should have asked her earlier in the day, but they had both been so occupied…
Sir Henry, Colonel Webster, Lord Rawdon—they were all asking her, and there was no way to say no. If only Tavington would come! She had thought of lying, and saying that she was already engaged, but if he did not come, and she was left without a partner, she would never survive the shame. She had never, from the night of her coming-out ball, ever sat out a dance at a ball, save when she was with child and unable to dance at all. She was not about to ruin her evening, even for William Tavington.
But the thought of him, what he was like—really—distracted her. She had never imagined such pleasure was possible. As she danced down to the end of the set, she saw her husband, his creased and jowly face betraying his ill health. He could not dance with her. He could not do anything to please her. With his gouty left foot, it was a wonder he was still standing there, talking endlessly about profit and loss with the other planters. He would probably being going off with them shortly to the card room, and she would be left alone. There was one set of dances left unpromised, the last. If Tavington did not come soon, she would have to give them to another. It would serve him right.
The dance ended, and people milled about, chattering and seeking out their partners for the next set. Jane passed by, looking positively rosy. Selina fumed at the sight of her lace. How had Jane come by such a treasure? Had Ashbury paid for it? It was a disgrace to waste it on Jane, who must have completely lost her mind tonight to prink herself out like some belle! Her hair was a mass of ridiculous curls. Selina regarded her contemptuously, disdaining such pitiful tricks. Jane must have thought she wished to speak to her, for she was coming her way, just as young Colonel Banastre Tarleton claimed her attention.
"A splendid ball, Ma'am," he declared. "But it will not be perfection until I have had the honor of a dance with my lovely hostess."
He was such a charming young man. So full of life. And then, too, he looked at her with such heartfelt admiration. "Sir—I—well, thank you, sir. I have but the last dances to spare, if you are not already engaged for them."
"Not engaged—never in this world. I should like it of all things, Mrs. Rutledge. I shall anticipate our dances all evening." He bowed with delightful spirit, and went his way.
She gave a deep sigh. Jane looked quickly at her, as if expecting her to say something.
Jane did expect her stepmother to speak. Selina's expression was very odd, and Jane, who had again considered confronting her stepmother about her conduct, paused, wondering if Selina was already ashamed of her wickedness, and ready to confess it right there in the ballroom. That might not be the most desirable situation.
"Selina," asked Jane, "all you all right?"
"Perfectly," she snapped back. Her angry scowl changed to something less definable as Tavington appeared before her, too late. His self-satisfied air vexed her beyond words.
"Mrs. Rutledge," asked he. "May I have the honor of a dance?"
Selina smiled brilliantly, feeling her triumph at his disappointment temporarily submerge her own. "Alas, you may not. Colonel Tarleton has just this moment claimed me. My entire evening is already pledged. Another time, perhaps."
Tavington seemed not in the least perturbed. Without missing a beat, he turned to Jane, and asked, "And you, Miss Rutledge? Are you spoken for, or am I too late for you to oblige me?"
Both ladies stared at him in shock. Jane was caught off guard by the unexpected courtesy. Selina pressed her lips together, and to her everlasting resentment, Jane replied, "No, Colonel Tavington, no one else has asked me for the last dance."
"Excellent." He was gone with a careless bow, already pursuing another lady. Selina stalked off in frosty silence, and Jane tried to keep her knees from trembling. She had not expected to actually dance with the man.
It was Captain Bordon's turn, and he appeared, smiling and gentleman-like. He was full of intelligent questions about her life here in the Low Country, and showed a flattering confidence in her knowledge. He spoke of his wife and young children with very pleasing affection. One subject, as they danced, led to another, and he questioned her about young Ash, praising her sisterly attentiveness, and seemed most interested in her own views on marriage and family life.
Had he a brother here courting her, or were he unmarried himself, she might have understood him better. These were the sorts of things one wished to know about someone who might marry into one's family. Could he be asking on behalf of a fellow officer? Or was he simply a busybody? Men could be shameless gossips, as much as any woman.
The evening passed, dance by dance. Jane had never been asked so often before, and put it all down to Letty's wisdom about the color pink and her skill with curling iron and cosmetic brushes. In fact, she was growing rather tired, and was glad to sit down after the supper dance, when Lieutenant Nettles led her to the table.
He was a most attentive partner, filling her glass, seeing that she was served every delicacy the meal afforded. Like Bordon, he was full of questions, but unlike the captain, he seemed less calculating, and more personally interested. She was able to turn the conversation to other subjects, with very little effort. He seemed happy to tell her all about himself.
"My family lives in Surrey—at least my mother and older brother. Our family place is there. Being a younger son, I have to seek my fortune."
"And how goes your search, here in America?" She saw Tavington sitting with Mrs. Chesney out of the corner of her eye, and her pulse leaped again. With an effort, she kept her attention on the young man beside her.
"Very well—tonight," he answered with artless enthusiasm. "Nights like these make our days worthwhile."
"Gallantly spoken. But you do not intend to remain in America, do you?"
"I cannot say. I intend to remain with the army, at any rate. It's been good to me."
"You do not intend to settle anywhere?"
"Right now, no. That doesn't mean I do not wish to marry," he answered, and then flushed. "I mean, I think it would be delightful to be married and to follow the colors with a wife who enjoyed seeing the world with me."
Kindly, she assented. "It would be very delightful indeed, for the right sort of woman. She would need to be very brave and adventurous."
"Yes," he echoed, still red. "Brave and adventurous. Just so. In fact, Miss Rutledge—" Whatever he had been about to say was lost in the calls to resume the dancing. Jane's next partner sought her out, and Nettles was left behind with a gentle look and a quiet "Goodbye."
Nettles despaired at his own sloth, and consoled himself with the thought that they would not be leaving Charlestown for some days.
Jane struggled to pay attention for the rest of the evening, conscious of the coming dances with Tavington nearly to the exclusion of everything else. A few words with the butler convinced that the evening was going smoothly. Like an automaton, she smiled, and danced, and talked. It all grew more and more unreal. The guests, in their heavy, elaborate costumes seemed like actors in a play, their clothes hiding the real person within. Threads of pain laced through her tired head, and for one terrible moment, she imagined the entire room as naked as she had seen Selina and Tavington that afternoon. She gasped, and then gave her partner a smile of apology.
When the time came, she thought for moment about running away, about giving her excuses and simply going to bed and hiding under the covers. Tavington could not pursue her there. Or could he? He had pursued Selina to her bed. And if not confronted and dealt with, thoughts of him would plague her, it seemed, for the rest of her life.
And so, in the wee hours of the morning, she faced Tavington on her chosen field of battle. A quick consultation with Letty upstairs had repaired her powder and paint, and had replenished the stock of hairpins holding her together. She was ready, and met him with all the confidence she could feign. Below the surface, she was a hurricane of wild ideas. one piling on another. Should she censure him for his betrayal of his host? Should she upbraid him for dishonoring their family? Should she tell him to leave Selina alone and find some other victim to torment?
He bowed before her with a slight smile. Another couple, brushing past her from behind, gave her a little push forward and Tavington caught her hand to steady her. A little spark, a touch of fire from heaven passed from his hand to hers; and a sudden, seductive thrill warmed her middle. Jane swayed on her feet, glad of the paint that hid her real blush with a false one.
She took a deep breath, which nearly proved her undoing, for she breathed Tavington into her very being, a spicy scent of man and leather and sandalwood and apple pomade. Her toes curled inside her high-heeled dancing slippers, and her breath came faster, in a confusion of fury and longing.
Tavington studied the young woman before him, more carefully than before. She looked quite fashionable tonight—elegant even. Bordon was an astute man: She would never be a beauty: her eyes were too small, her nose too long, and the thin-lipped, wide mouth was not one that begged to be kissed. Properly groomed, however, her looks were passable. The hair was charming, a mass of loose, inviting curls. The gown, a subtle and delicate rose-pink, gave the lady the look of a piece of fine porcelain. Her skin was clear, if sallow, and a touch of rouge had given her cheeks a becoming flush. More of the same paint on her lips made them look mobile and expressive. Her eyes were somehow more appealing tonight. He was close enough to make out their color. Hazel. Rather interesting.
The hazel eyes were boring into his, an intense, angry glare. He wondered what he done to make her angry, and suddenly understood.
She knows.
He knows that I know. Jane was overwhelmingly conscious of her hand in his. Warm and dry, it held hers captive. Desire sparked again, and raced crackling throughout her body. Her scalp prickled. She wondered if he could feel her heart beating. Surely the entire ballroom could hear it. With deep relief, she saw Miss Gilpin, seated far away among the chaperones, stifling a yawn. Her companion had noticed nothing.
Jane looked back at her partner, as the dance demanded. He was wary, watching her carefully, as if weighing the odds of her denouncing him in public. Lightheaded, she wondered what was about to come out of her mouth.
"Choose me instead," she said, with unnatural calm. (Ah, Colonel, I shall die!)
"I don't think I quite understand you, Madam—"
"Marry me." Her heart nearly stopped, but she could not unsay the words.
He nearly made a wrong move then, so startled was he. "Marry you?"
"Yes," she blurted out, more desperately than she would have liked. "I've heard you're a man in need of a fortune. I'm a woman in need of a husband."
He narrowed those glittering pale eyes. "You could have married years ago."
Helplessly, she found herself babbling the awful truth. "It's been impossible for Papa to find me anyone in the past few years, with most of the men embroiled in politics or the war. The usual arrangements have been interrupted. That's how Papa was able to snare Selina, who might have held out for a younger man in other times."
She nearly bit her tongue, hating herself for mentioning Selina, hating the man opposite her for the complacent look in his eye at the sound of her name. He has a line of dark hair running from his navel…It looks like it would be soft to the touch…"Besides, if I married a Carolina man, I might find myself living next door to my father and stepmother. You do not plan on living in Charlestown after the war, I trust?"
"Hardly."
"I want to get away." Yes, this is what I want.
"Where?"
"Anywhere but here." I shall have to be brave and adventurous…
There was a turn in the dance, and Tavington was temporarily facing another lady. It gave him a half a minute to collect his thoughts. When the girl and he were once again united, he saw that she was blushing furiously, but not daunted.
Jane was dazzled by him, but certainly not daunted. How could I be intimidated by a red coat, when I can see him in my mind's eye, naked as Adam in Eden?
She said bluntly, "I have twenty thousand pounds."
"So I have heard."
Heard, she wondered. From whom? She thought of Captain Bordon, with his incessant questions. Had Tavington sent him to sound her out? The thought gave her hope.
"You would return to England a rich man."
"Twenty thousand pounds is not a contemptible sum, I agree." He took her hand once more, and they completed the series of complex figures in silence. Finally, he asked, "Am I to take you seriously?"
"Entirely." She forced her face into a frown, to prevent the opposite, a silly nervous grin. Might he someday kiss my breasts, the way he kissed Selina's? Blood pounded in her head.
The dance was over. The ball was over. Tavington bowed, gave her a long, cool look, said, "We must speak more of this," and left her.
Jane, feeling rather flat, pulled herself together and went to join Selina and her father, now accepting everyone's thanks and wishing everyone Godspeed. She grew tired of this almost immediately, and found a little chair behind a drapery to fall into. Surreptitiously, she slid out of her slippers. Her feet throbbed painfully, unused to so much dancing.
The fate of eavesdroppers was hers almost immediately, for a clutch of Selina's cousins passed by, with plenty to say about the evening.
"Selina is wild to get Jane off her hands."
"Well, you can't say she didn't do her best tonight. That dress must have cost the earth. The lace—Valenciennes, you know…"
"I guess she sent her own maid to her to do something with that mousy hair. She did look as well tonight as I've ever seen her."
"I suppose Selina thinks it's now or never. Jane's right close to twenty-five, you know."
"Well, it's hard for her, poor thing, plain as she is. And Clarissa Rutledge was such a beauty."
They sighed, in unison, with insufferable compassion. Jane wondered what they would do if she jumped out at them and said "Boo!" She might have let it all go, but for the final, unforgivable piece of impertinence.
"Well, even her twenty thousand pounds may not be enough to buy a man!"
Giggles followed. Her patience at an end, Jane rose and swept past the odious women, her skirts brushing theirs. She turned her head and gave them a superior, cold smile, laughing inwardly at their confusion.
I'll show them. And my twenty thousand pounds will be quite enough, I think.
Only when she reached the solitude of her own room did she realize that her dancing slippers were still in the ballroom, and that she had walked all the way in her new silk stockings, unnoticed by her or anyone else.
Next: Chapter: 4--The Language of Fans
Note: This universe contains both Tarleton and Tavington, and Tarleton's British Legion and Tavington's Green Dragoons are separate units.
Thanks so much to my kind reviewers!