Disclaimer: Gosh, do I really have to say this again?. No, I don't own the rights to The Patriot.

Chapter 12: The Return of the Soldier

August was ending in a blaze of red sun. Jane found herself looking forward to the end of summer and the mitigation of the heat. September was always an important month for her. This year it would be so more than ever, for she was about to take a very bold step, and was not sure what might come of it.

Since turning twenty-one, she had received the income from her fortune quarterly: at Christmas, Easter, Midsummer's Day, and Michaelmas. The Michaelmas payment at the end of September was always the one largely turned over to her father, but this year Jane was determined to keep the money for herself.

Opposing her father in this way was bound to lead to ill-feeling. Jane dreaded it, but had decided that she was ready to bear the consequences. And thus, on the fourth Monday in August, she made her way to her father's study for their daily conference about meals and household accounts. As usual, Jane presented the books, was sharply questioned, was nagged about the dinner, and then brusquely dismissed.

"There is one more thing I need to discuss with you, Papa," she declared calmly. She was actually very frightened, but the knowledge of her just cause would see her through this interview. She clutched her account book tightly to hide the trembling in her hands.

"What?"

"I will be receiving my quarterly income next month. This year, I am not going to pay you for room and board."

He looked up at her sharply, eyes glaring under his bristling brows. A dull red spread across his jowls. His voice became soft and menacing. "And why not?"

She swallowed, and kept her face blank. "Because, Papa, you have told me I am no longer a part of your family. You said I was merely a housekeeper, and that was the reason I was not wanted in the parlor after dinner. This is your home: you are master here, and I cannot question your decision. However, I have never heard of a housekeeper who was called upon to pay two hundred pounds a year for the privilege of running someone else's household."

That slit-eyed gaze had always alarmed her: it generally portended an explosion. "Are you expecting me to pay you?"

"No!" she answered quickly—too quickly. Forcing her voice down to its desirable state of blandness, she replied, "No, of course not. I am your daughter, after all, and could hardly expect payment from my own father." She did not look him in the eye, but let him consider what she was implying. "I simply do not intend to pay you any longer. If that is unsatisfactory, I am quite prepared to make other arrangements."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he snarled. "Well, your husband told you to stay here. What would he say when he discovers that you have disobeyed him?"

"I have not disobeyed him, sir," Jane answered calmly. "I am simply not going to turn over to you two hundred pounds of what he would certainly consider to be his money. If you ask me to leave, I must bow to your decision. My husband knows nothing of my past payments to you. Shall I write and enlighten him?"

He stared at her then, slumped back in his huge chair: a cold, steady stare like a reptile's. Finally he said, "No. Keep your money. Much good it will do you when he takes the lot. Now get out."

"And do you wish me to leave this house?"

He got up, then, and barked, "No, damn your impudence!"

Jane flinched only a little. She had been expecting worse. She thought it best to depart then, and find something to do far away, upstairs.

-----

He would do nothing, Jane realized, in the silent days that followed. There would be no explosion. Her father would no longer expropriate an enormous sum of money from her each year. She had been aware for some time, from conversations with her cousins, that no one else's daughter was expected to give her father money like a boarder. It had plagued her, to feel herself so wronged. And now, because she had rebelled against injustice, it was over. Jane considered the power of defiance, when one had right on one's side. Her father, knowing how little sympathy he would garner if he published her refusal abroad, had simply dropped the matter. Jane felt exultant, and looked forward to secreting the Michaelmas payment into her little tin box.

She had not heard from Tavington in over a fortnight, when a letter appeared on the hall table one afternoon. She snatched at it and ran upstairs to read it in privacy.

September 10, 1780

My dear Jane,

I am well and unwounded, which is more than I can say for a number of the King's enemies.

You may as well know, before anyone else, that I will be seeing you no later than Friday fortnight. The Lord General is returning briefly to Charlestown to meet with colonial representatives, the Inspector of Militia, and the senior naval officers, among others. There will be a number of social events, including a ball, which the Earl considers a way to oil the wheels of diplomacy. I hold no such grand hopes for the evening, other than an agreeable time spent with friends. I should like very much to dance with you again, so before anyone else can ask you, I request the honor of the first two dances, the supper dance, and the last.

Another agreeable part of such a return is the opportunity to introduce you to more of my fellow officers, and to reacquaint you with others already known to you. Captain Bordon, always an admirer of yours, will be traveling with me, along with James Wilkins…

They made all the necessary arrangements for her husband's visit. Jane announced his impending arrival that night at dinner. The words hung in the dining room air, gone frigid with her news. Her father grunted, and Selina looked down her nose. Aunt Alice gave it more decent attention, with a whole sentence expressing how glad she was that Jane would see her husband.

Jane was not sure what she was feeling. She had told Letty that her husband was coming. It was decided that Letty would sleep with her mother up in the north garret while the Colonel was in residence. It was further decided that Jane must have a gown suitable for the Lord General's ball.

Otherwise, it was all confusion. At night, when she lay alone with her secret fears, Jane had almost subscribed to Selina's opinion that Tavington would never return to her. If he did intend to leave, however, there would be arrangements he would have to make. Perhaps he wanted to speak to her lawyers and bankers, and collect her fortune before departing. It would be one explanation. It did not, however, quite coincide with the sentiments expressed in his letters.

He was coming to stay, however briefly. In the house in town, that might mean—no, must mean—that he would be sharing her room. Letty had brought that up immediately, to Jane's distress. He would want to share her bed, perhaps, and not sleep in the small one used by Letty. Or perhaps she could sleep there. Or not. Perhaps suggesting such a thing might be considered indelicate, or offensive. She had no idea what the etiquette of the situation called for, and she had no one she cared to ask. Would he behave this time, or attack her? And could she defend herself? She had vowed to obey him, but had she known then what she knew now….

-----

Tavington dismounted before the Rutledge's house on Queen Street, wondering what sort of reception awaited him. A groom rushed from the stable behind the house to tend his horse.

"Take my valise and the rest of my possessions to my room," Tavington commanded, and then sauntered unhurriedly to the front door, which opened before him.

Jane was waiting, her face a mask of calm, extending her hand in welcome.

"Colonel." She was grave, but not hostile. He was pleased that the exchange of letters had made things better between them.

Tavington approached her and kissed her hand, with equal gravity. There was, thankfully, no sign of Rutledge or his wife. A middle-aged woman with a whisper-soft voice and hair shot with grey appeared behind Jane and was introduced as Mrs. Izard. Tavington took her to be the "Aunt Alice" of Jane's letters. A mild little woman, who if she was not Jane's friend, at least was not her enemy.

He acknowledged her politely, and then told Jane, "My trunk will be coming later with the wagons."

"I understand." She seemed uneasy, not sure what to do with him. Finally she said, "I would invite you into the parlor, but I am not generally permitted there myself."

Tavington's brows rose. She had said nothing of this in her letters. Jane hurried on. "I mean I am when family members come to call, but not as a usual thing. I take my meals with the family, but Papa says I'm not really part of his family anymore, and the parlor is for them."

"Where do you sit, then?"

"You see," she said, more and more embarrassed, "I am so busy during the day—outside in the kitchen or upstairs in the nursery or sewing room. After dinner, I just go up to my own bedchamber."

"Well, as I am a guest of the house, and your father is hardly in a position to deny me, I believe we shall make use of the parlor right now." Tavington was not about to let Rutledge set limits on his use of the house. If he made trouble, Tavington was within a hair's breadth of exiling him and the tiresome Selina to the upstairs garret. Of course, he would not mind going to the room he would share with Jane, but it would probably frighten the poor girl to death if he immediately proposed such a thing in middle of the afternoon.

"Would you care for some tea?" she asked softly as they entered the elegant room, its walls covered with pale-blue damask.

"That would be delightful, Madam."

Tavington found a chair he liked and studied his wife in the ensuing pause. She was not exactly as he remembered. Sitting quietly in the handsome parlor and dressed nicely, Jane was certainly not as strained and unattractive as she had been when he had last seen her. She was not ugly: she was simply not pretty. He analyzed her features, seeing how eyes and skin and nose and brow fell short of beauty. Nonetheless, she was not unpleasant to look at, all in all. Jane did not return his gaze, and seemed to find the parlor rug of great interest. Mrs. Izard timidly asked him after his health.

"I'm quite well, Madam. I hope everyone under this roof is equally well."

"Oh—yes—that is---Mrs. Rutledge is a little indisposed, now and then—you see—her condition…"

"Yes, yes. I understand you. Mr. Rutledge is now recovered from his illness of the spring?" He looked at Jane, who met his gaze reluctantly.

She cleared her throat. "Indeed, yes. My father is very much himself now."

"Excellent."

More silence. Jane gave him a look he could not quite interpret, other than to think that her father being hale, hearty, and himself might not be a perfectly agreeable state of affairs.

Mrs. Izard, brave little woman, tried again, much to Tavington's admiration.

"Everyone is so delighted about my Lord Cornwallis' ball. The whole town is quite astir."

"Indeed, I am glad to hear it. It promises to be an interesting affair." He turned to Jane once more. "Evidently you received my last letter."

"Of course. It was considerate of you to give us warning---I mean, to let us make proper arrangements for your reception."

Blessedly, the tea arrived, and his wife was occupied with making it and serving it, with all the usual bits of ceremony involved. Everyone drank a cup in the sort of silence generally observed on Sunday during the parson's prayer. Jane set her cup down with a deep sigh.

Tavington seized the moment. "I would be obliged if you would show me to our room. I fear it will take some effort to make myself fit to be seen by you or any other ladies."

Aunt Alice hastily assured him of his perfect suitability for their own or any other parlor, but Jane rose without a word, and led the way upstairs.

Her heart was pounding, and the act of setting one foot before another on the steps was almost more than she could manage. She held her head high as she walked down the upstairs hall and flung open the door of the room that was hers, and would now be theirs.

Tavington strolled in, admiring the cool tidiness of the chamber. "Very agreeable." His valise was on the clothes press. The rest of his gear was neatly stacked in a corner. A fresh, strong breeze ruffled the translucent curtains. He noted the large, comfortable looking bed, the well-appointed wash stand, the daintily arranged dressing table, the capacious chest of drawers, the----

He walked over to examine the little polished spinet. "This is new, is it not?"

"Yes." Her jaw felt nearly paralyzed. "I purchased it when Selina forbade me the use of the one in the parlor."

He did not bother to comment on that piece of spite. The instrument was far more interesting. "Very nice." It was a pretty little thing. Tavington liked music, and approved of the accomplishment in women. "I wonder if you might play for me."

"Play—now?"

"Yes. Why not? I need to have a wash, and you can accompany my ablutions."

Astonished at the request, but exceeding glad she would not have to witness the threatened ablutions, Jane seated herself, her back to him, and fumbled for the nearest piece of music, "Robin Adair."

Trembling, she could hear her husband unclipping his sword, unbuckling his sword belt, removing his jacket. She played faster.

Tavington laughed to himself, and took his time.

He could see her in the mirror: her thin, straight back to him, dutifully playing her spinet as if her life depended on her total concentration on the music before her. Her shoulders hunched defensively in the posture he knew from the army; when a soldier feared punishment. A sorry beginning.

Walking over to the clothes press, he retrieved his valise. The movement distracted Jane. "What is that?" she asked, puzzling over the leather cylinder.

"My valise."

"That's not your only luggage, is it?"

He laughed. "Hardly. This handy little container fits at the back of my saddle, and holds my emergency supplies."

Curious, Jane stopped playing and peered at it. "And what are your emergency supplies? Are they—weapons?"

"Well," he retrieved his razor. "My shaving kit, of course. I suppose my razor might be used as a weapon of sorts. Then," he smiled, reaching into the valise like a magician, "A mirror! A comb!" He dug deeper, and drew out lengths of white fabric. "A clean shirt! Dry stockings!"

Jane was smiling a little, uncertainly and timidly, but she was definitely looking less frightened. Tavington saved the best for last. "And now, my weapons of last resort! A spoon! A fork!" They were very nice silver ones, too. Tavington was happy to have managed to keep them so long in the midst of a war.

"I don't know," Jane observed hesitantly. "I'm sure you could do great damage with that fork. And the spoon would hurt even more." She smiled then, really smiled, and Tavington laughed lightly with pleasure. He hefted the spoon experimentally.

"I blush to admit I hadn't thought of it. Very resourceful of you, my dear."

"Is that all?"

He pointed to the balance of his possessions in the corner. "Everything else is strapped onto my mount: canteen, pistol buckets, telescope and all."

Jane reached out to look at the telescope, fumbling as she tried to adjust it. Tavington slid into the extra chair by the spinet, and put his hands over hers, helping her. She shrank away a little, but he held fast, very gently, and encouraged her to look through it.

"I can see the ships in the harbor!" she cried, delighted. "Wait! There was a shadow!" She lowered the instrument, her face puzzled.

"Possibly a bird flew past."

She ran a finger over the polished metal. "It's very nice." She turned the tube around and saw the inscription. "To Wm. Tavington from his very loving mother."

"How kind of her. She must love you very much."

"I believe she does." He sat by her silently a moment, and she gravely handed him the telescope. He opened it again, displaying it for her inspection. "She gave this to me before I left for America. It's had its share of hardships, like all the rest of His Majesty's forces. Look here," he said, tracing out a dent near the lens. "My poor telescope was gravely wounded at Brandywine. And here," he added, showing her a long rippling scrape, "is another honorable scar, received in service 'gainst General Gates at Camden. And yet my brave telescope remains largely intact and implacably resolved to bear all the fortunes of war."

"Just as well," Jane said, "that the scars are on the telescope and not on you."

"I have my share, I assure you."

She looked up sharply then, somewhat alarmed. "Really! You did not tell me! You have been wounded?"

"Frequently," he admitted, and then smirked. "But never seriously. My enemies tend to look a great deal worse."

"Well, that a good thing—I suppose. I mean, it's terrible to think of anyone being hurt or killed, but I suppose…" Confused, she could not think of anything sensible to say at first. "Have you been wounded recently?"

Tavington thought a moment, and decided to take the risk. "Yes, actually." He rolled up his right sleeve, and showed her the red scar tissue of a healing cut across his forearm. "A slash from one of the Maryland regulars. I paid him back with interest."

Jane looked very impressed and sympathetic, and warily put out a hand to touch his hurt. Very softly, she stroked the length of the mark with her forefinger. The hair on his arm lifted with the contact, and he smiled down at her bowed head naughtily.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"It's nothing. I've had far worse. Perhaps, in time, you will see all that I have endured for King and Country." He let her stroke his arm a little longer, wanting her to become accustomed to touching him. She had very soft hands.

For her part, Jane found the muscular arm before her fascinating. The dark hair was silken under her curious fingertips, and the welt of his wound made her feel rather tender toward him. However fierce and violent he was, it was only to be expected. A soldier's life was terribly hard. He had a right to defend himself, after all…

He took her hand in his, and spoke more carefully than he ever had in his life. "My dear Jane, do not be afraid of me. Whatever I have done to grieve you is in the past. I am your husband, and, I hope, you will someday regard me as your best friend in the world. We are safely married now, and have time enough before us to learn how to be a happy couple."

"Just—don't hurt me," she muttered.

Patiently, he put his arm about the thin little shoulders, and said, "I am very sorry if you were badly hurt. Surely you know, my dear, that that is only to your credit, as an innocent, virtuous young woman. It should never hurt you like that again."

Jane bit her lip, wishing he would not talk as if they were going to do—that—again. But it seemed he wanted to. There was no understanding him. She knew it must be so, or how would she ever have children of her own? Yes. She must be brave and bear it for that reward. It was just like her husband being a soldier and suffering wounds in battle.

Finally, she gave a quick nod of understanding. Tavington smiled and squeezed her shoulder before getting up to change his shirt. Jane, sitting on the bed, watched him shyly. Little flutters of excitement stirred just below her heart.. She remembered how warm his skin had been under her hands, the play of muscles along his back, the feel of his hard chest against her, tickling her with the sparse, soft hair. She clutched the bed curtain convulsively, and pressed her thighs together. After a little while, she moved from the bed to the bench at the dressing table, and handed him his comb so he could tidy his hair. She explored his toilet articles on the table with wary interest. It was an intimacy she had never experienced with a man before. Men's things were so different...

The day was full of bustle and surprise. Tavington had to leave for a few hours, on some business that could not be delayed. He kissed Jane's hand when he left, and later returned to dine with his new family, pointedly sitting opposite his wife and engaging her in conversation. Equally pointedly, he told Jane to wait in the parlor after dinner for him to join her. Selina bridled at her presence and ignored her. Jane ignored Selina in her turn, and sat at the large instrument in the room, playing loudly until Tavington and her father joined them. They were not long.

Just as well. Aunt Alice talked softly to Selina, who did not hear word she said. It hurt more than she could have imagined to see her child's father under her roof, and to see him so indifferent to her. Why could things not be as they were before? She was not so far gone in pregnancy as to be ugly, and she felt so ill sometimes. It would have been such a sweet comfort, had he been able to sit by her, talking in that delightful way he had. Jane had ruined it all. Selina could understand, of course, why he had married her for her money. Handsome men needed something to live on, just as ugly ones did. It was a wretched shame that he was trapped now.

She had suffered horribly, months ago, when she thought he had betrayed her. After thinking over what Jane had said, though, she knew he was innocent. He would never have done such a thing. It was Jane: Jane sneaking and spying on them in her nasty, prying way. Jane had seen them and written something down about it. Probably she had some sort of hold over Tavington as well, forcing him to ignore Selina.

It made her heart ache in a strange, unfamiliar way, but it was a kind of consolation, knowing him as helpless as she. The two of them were like lovers in old stories, forced apart by a cruel, unfeeling world. She took a deep breath, pleased by this new picture of herself as the heroine of a doomed romance. She could secretly cherish their brief time together, and cherish him as the most wonderful man she had ever known.

Tavington was curt with his father-in-law. Rutledge had profited from his daughter's marriage, and had rewarded her with the shabbiest treatment. He did not mince words, as he glared into the older man's eyes. Rutledge was no coward, but there was little he could say in his own defense. Nor did Tavington care to listen, if he had. He took another glass of wine, and downed it in three swallows. He set the glass on the table with a thump and a sneer. Feeling he had made his point, he swaggered to the parlor, to listen to his wife's performance and give her some well-deserved, very vocal praise.

After what he deemed a sufficient time to make clear that he would do in this house exactly as he liked, he offered Jane his arm, and took a candle upstairs to light their way. He could now begin the next stage of the courtship of his wife.

----

Note: I know I said I wouldn't bother you with historical notes, but just to give you an idea of what Jane was paying in room and board-- two hundred pounds in 1780 was roughly equivalent to twelve thousand pounds today, or twenty thousand dollars.

Next—Chapter 13: World Enough, And Time