Disclaimer: Don't own it. Just dancing at the ball.

Chapter 14: The Lord General's Ball

Jane quite liked having her husband in the house, she acknowledged: she felt very safe and protected while he was there. The usual abuse was muted by fear of him. Her consultations with her father over household matters were largely conducted with decorum, as if she were a hired housekeeper with whom he had only professional relations. Selina would not even look at her. Jane did not care. Tavington did not look at Selina either, other than to offer her the most essential courtesies. Aunt Alice went through the day with a perpetual air of befuddlement.

The day after Tavington's return, he arose, and Jane watched him shave and dress. It was extraordinarily intimate. He even let her brush out his hair, and he showed her how it needed to be plaited and wrapped with ribbon. What nice hair he had, too. It gave her a pleasant feeling to work with it. William—for he insisted that Jane call himWilliam now, at least when they were alone—told her she was doing very well as a wife.

Letty came in shortly thereafter to help Jane make her toilette. To Jane's discomfiture, her husband insisted on watching the entire process.

Tavington leaned back in the chair, amused at the domestic spectacle. His marital situation was improving. Jane seemed amenable to his tutelage in the pleasant subject of physical intercourse. A bit prudish and timid, but submissive enough. She lacked passion, but perhaps that would come with experience. Her father's house inhibited her, he gathered. Nonetheless, he had had quite an enjoyable time last night, though such relations might become humdrum without more exciting variety. He would be free to seek that variety in due course, but right now, his wife must be given the bulk of his attention. He was satisfied with himself, too, pleased with his own patience and forbearance. He was a very good husband, the sort of husband his father had never been. Now if Jane is ever persuaded to move below her waist…

Right now, she was having her hair dressed by her clever—he supposed he must describe her as a maid--Letty. The curls certainly became her and lessened the severity of her air. And her taste in gowns had improved, thought Letty's soft encouragement suggested that she was the source of these attractive innovations.

He searched the two young woman's faces for any resemblance, and discovered little. They must each take much from their mothers, for neither much resembled their father, either. Perhaps, though, that square jaw they shared… He did, however, notice that the fair Letty seemed to dislike him. There was a subtle set of her shoulders, a tendency to avoid passing too close to him that spoke volumes about her uneasiness. She was also clearly afraid of him. He was rather offended at first, since he had not shown her the least unkindness. On reflection, though, he thought he understood. He would have to have a word with her.

And then there was the old nurse Biddy to meet up in the nursery, where Jane presented him her little brother like a queen displaying her greatest treasure. The boy was a healthy, towheaded little fellow to be sure, and his pretty features suggested that he would have his share of his mother's good looks as he matured. Tavington could not quite understand why Jane was so enraptured with the child, since he saw nothing unusually amiable about him, but put it down to having no one else to love. Probably she would be even more conscientious with her own children. The idea made him pleasantly complacent.

The nurse he found far more interesting than the boy. With bronzed skin, hawk-like nose, and a gentle, dignified air, she had all the hallmarks of her Cherokee blood. He could see Africa in her too, in the curl of her hair, her dark expressive eyes, and the fullness of her mouth. He could certainly see why Ashbury Rutledge had fancied her in her youth. She would have been something extraordinary. And he found himself liking her. A capable, trustworthy servant was always valuable, but one simply felt a certain mysterious sense of well-being in Biddy's presence. She belonged to Jane, and now, of course to him. It was very pleasant to think that this warm and loving person would be in charge of his children's nursery.

He left Jane to play with her brother, with the excuse of needing to write a note. He found Letty making the bed as he entered.

"Don't mind me. Go on about your work."

He wrote the note quickly, watching the girl from the corner of his eye. She was a lovely creature, indeed, and had she been anyone else's servant Tavington would have marked her for his own. But she was not someone else's: she was his wife's property according to South Carolina law, and by extension his own.. Undoubtedly, she knew even better than he what that could mean. She was certainly beautiful enough to desire as a mistress. He could take her here and now and no one could say him nay.

And yet, he knew instinctively that this was the one infidelity that Jane would never forgive. She was very fond of this girl, and an affair with her could hardly be kept secret. He had decided that he wanted a friendly coexistence with his wife, and forcing her maid would irrevocably destroy that. I am not so stupid as to foul my own nest. No, he was not his father—he would not humiliate his wife by rogering the servants like a careless animal. So what to do?

There was also the fact that the girl was his wife's sister. Yes—perhaps that's the way of it. He was very fond of his own sisters, and hated to picture them in such a terrible situation. Imagine if Lucy… His jaw tightened. If he simply thought of this girl as a pretty sister-in-law—as his sister—he could suppress any more dangerous regard. Yes—that was it. She is my wife's natural sister, and under my protection. She is part of my family, though no one else admits it.

Right now she looked anxious and sad, probably from her proximity to a man she feared. Tavington finished his note, and dried it quickly with sand. Looking up, he decided to deal with the problem at once.

"Letty, I wish to speak to you."

The girl took a deep breath and immediately approached him, eyes humbly cast down. "Yes, Colonel," she whispered. She had a very sweet voice. Tavington smiled, rather charmed by it.

"With my marriage, you and your mother are now part of my household. I have heard from my wife how fond she is of you both, and how precious you are to her. I want you to know from the first that you have nothing to fear from me. I have heard enough in my time in South Carolina to know the ways of masters and slaves." He stood up, and folded his arms with a decisive air.

"Please look me." Seeing her flinch, he repeated, "Yes, look at me. You are quite respectful enough without needing to cower. I am not a Carolinian. I am an Englishman, and have no experience in owning slaves. I prefer to treat you as I would my family's servants at home. Be assured that I will not sell you, or harm you in any way. I give you my word of honor."

Letty was very frightened at being so addressed. She could hardly understand what Miss Jane's husband was saying to her. She tried to control her trembling, expecting to be thrown to the bed and ravaged at any moment. She had rather he said nothing than take particular notice of her like this. The Colonel, however, kept talking in a soft voice. He kept reassuring her that he would not use her ill or sell her. His word—since when did a master care if he kept his word to a slave or not? That was just odd. She would have to keep an eye on him. At least he seemed to be kinder to Miss Jane now. After a few more words he dismissed her, not noticing the longing look she cast at the little spinet, which she would not be able to play until he was safely gone back to his war.

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Jane had great hopes for the ball. She had a beautiful new gown; she was assured of dancing at least three times with her husband; two more sets had been promised to his captains; and she would see many of her pleasantest relations. Above all, Tavington's presence at the ball and his promised attentions would quiet the ugliest speculations about their marriage.

The five of them crowded into the carriage, which was really only meant to carry four, and rode in impenetrable silence. Her father's face was set in stone; Selina's in ice. Aunt Alice was her mildly confused self. Jane stole a glance at her husband, who looked quite equal to anything the Rutledges could attempt. He was smirking, in fact. Jane was glad he was not smirking at her. It was such a comfort that he was so courteous and attentive to her in public. Even if it was done purely to spite her father and Selina, it was enough to please Jane. Actually, she admitted to herself, I feel rather spiteful myself.

She looked at Selina's expanding waist, and smiled sweetly. Her stepmother was having a hard time with this pregnancy, and Jane admitted a mean satisfaction. Selina could not dance tonight, though she still looked quite beautiful enough to turn any number of heads. Her white satin gown caught the light and reflected it back like polished mother-of –pearl. Around her neck, Selina wore a new diamond necklace. Jane felt nothing but contempt for her doting father. A fool and his money soon are parted.

Other carriages were arriving along with theirs. Jane found herself in a mob of relations and acquaintances, all eager to see how her husband treated her in public. Tavington's face, lit with a little condescending smile, seemed to Jane better-looking than ever. He was a prince, the handsome prince of all girls' dreams. If only I were a more creditable Cinderella.

She could not exult in him for long, however. The Lord General had not yet made an appearance—which Jane thought very remiss of him—and instead sent a message to Tavington summoning him. With a faint grimace of distaste, her husband made his apologies to her.

"Duty calls, Jane. I must find out what crime the Lord General wishes to accuse me of this evening. I shall do my best not to miss our dance." He left quickly, a swift, lithe figure making his way easily among the huge skirts of the ladies and the portly shapes of the older men. Jane watched him until he passed from sight. Whatever his faults, I shall never tire of looking at him. Then her attention was claimed, and she forced herself into cheerfulness.

-----

Tavington emerged from his meeting from the Lord General feeling rather bruised. Scorn had been heaped upon his head, but he had been given no chance to defend himself. Once again, Cornwallis was making Tavington the scapegoat for his own failure. What was needed was to move aggressively against the scattered militia bands: to crush them and the communities that supported them—to fight them now and here, and end the menace quickly, before the infection could spread. He did not allow himself to think that it might all be too late.

He was almost too late for the opening dances. There was Jane, waiting for him patiently—or at least, not allowing her impatience to show. Her composure in public was really admirable, and her appearance tonight very, very elegant.

"Forgive me," he said quietly in her ear, almost startling her. "The Lord General was too busy berating me for me to escape easily."

"How alike we are," said his wife dryly. "I have just been berated by my father. Perhaps it would be refreshingly novel for him to berate you and the Lord General me, instead."

He snorted, and led her to the dance.

Jane danced very nicely, and her long limbs did her appearance no harm. Tavington liked her new gown, peacock blue, with a silver petticoat. Her peacock feather fan swung easily from her thin little wrist. Once again, she was, if not pretty, at least very elegant and fashionable.

"I did like the pink gown, but this is very nice as well."

"I wanted to wear the other, but Letty was horrified at the idea of wearing a gown that so many might recognize. She chose this."

"A jewel amongst maids."

Jane laughed, "Very true." She almost mentioned the music lessons, but then held her tongue. Perhaps an English gentleman of his connections would find teaching a slave music too shocking. What might he say about the evenings spent lying about on their beds reading and talking?

"Your necklace—" He looked again. Jane did not usually wear her gowns cut so low. She was wearing a gold chain with a pendant—no! That was the ring he had given her. "I am surprised you did not have the ring fitted. I had not noticed before that you were not wearing it."

"The goldsmith told me it would ruin it to cut it down. I bought this to have something on my hand," she replied, displaying the thin gold band on her thin finger. "I decided to keep your ring intact and wear it thus. I think it looks well enough so."

"Yes—it just surprised me. But you are right. It was absurd of me not to find you a proper ring. Forgive my carelessness. My only excuse is that I had never before needed to provide a woman with a wedding ring. I plead my inexperience."

"I will accept you plea of inexperience if you will accept mine."

He laughed. "It seems equitable enough!"

There were many introductions to be made. Jane had met Lord Cornwallis briefly, but not since she was married. Tavington, seeing his commander near, bit his lip and decided that he owed to himself and to Jane to force the Earl to take note of her. He tucked her arm into his, and stepped forward for the presentation.

"My lord. May I present my wife, Mrs. Tavington, the former Jane Rutledge?"

Jane knew that Tavington did not much like the man. She had guessed that the feeling was mutual. It was evident, in fact, from the distant expression on the older man's face, that he took little pleasure in making her acquaintance. He was a polite man, however: too polite to be rude to a lady. He bowed courteously.

"Mrs. Tavington. Your servant, Madam. I wish you all joy of your marriage."

"Thank you, my lord. You are most kind."

That was all. Jane thought it quite enough, and did not quite understand why Tavington looked so irritated as he led her away.

"What is wrong?" she asked.

"The insolent dog!" he hissed. "How dare he treat you so slightingly!"

"He was civil enough." Jane sighed to herself. It was not exactly her fault, but she knew from long experience that if she had been pretty, the Lord General would have taken a moment to speak to her, even if he did not like Tavington. The Lord General had admired Selina, and spoken graciously to her. Such were the privileges accorded the very beautiful, and it was just the way of the world. Jane gave Tavington a smile and a shrug to let him know she did not care.

Another officer noticed them and wished to be introduced. This was General O'Hara, a very good-looking man. He greeted her husband coolly, and Jane guessed that here was another who was no admirer of William Tavington. The general bowed courteously over her hand however, and kindly wished her happiness in marriage. Jane would have liked him better, if she had not seen him, a few minutes later, talking with a few other superior officers and glancing discreetly her way with what looked like a pitying expression. One of the men answered the General a little louder than the rest, and Jane heard the words, "—for her money, poor girl." She looked away, and tried to hear nothing more from that quarter.

Captain Bordon came to claim his dances. He was as pleasant as ever, and full of bits of army news—not tiresome "tactics" or "grand strategy," but the sort of little things that Tavington rarely wrote or talked about, but which interested Jane. If it had been left to her husband, she would not have known how the soldiers got their food—no, their rations—or who cooked it, or how their laundry was done. Bordon had a fund of such stories of camp life, and they amused her very much, with the picture it gave her of her reserved, serious husband commanding not only his own regiment, but the wives and children and servants who followed them wherever they went. Jane considering asking if she could join him in the backcountry. It sounded rather diverting, the way Captain Bordon described it.

Their dances over, she found herself a seat by some other young women. Her cousin Eleanor Cotesworth was there, wanting to know if what everyone was saying about Tavington was true.

"I don't know. What is everyone saying about him?"

"My dear Jane!" The sweet-faced Eleanor lowered her voice to an excited whisper. "They say he is a dangerous man. I have heard that he slaughters the rebels without a shred of mercy. He disregards flags of truce and shoots little boys and—"

"Yes, it's all true," Jane said, straight-faced. "He finds their flavor particularly delicate."

Another cousin, Emily Rhett, gave a shocked gurgle and then poked Jane's corseted ribs. "Don't joke about such a thing, Jane! Everyone's is still talking about the soldiers he killed at Waxhaws. At Camden he's said to have accounted for a dozen men personally! He seems so dignified—so noble, even! Could he really be so ruthless?"

A memory of her wedding night made Jane shiver. "Well, yes, I imagine he could be—sometimes."

Her cousins gasped with shock, tinged, Jane perceived, with just a touch of envy.

Emily put her hand on Jane's. "You must introduce us."

Jane sighed. "Very well."

Jane introduced him to quite a few of her relations, mostly women. Tavington was very civil with all of them, but somewhat bemused at their interest. Jane wondered if she ought to tell him later that they were all aflutter at the prospect of meeting a dangerous man. Her Cousin Mary Laurens was there, sitting with a group of older matrons and widows. There was a brief introduction, but Jane knew that her husband had not come to a ball to pay court to white-haired ladies. After awhile, Jane decided to let him enjoy the dancing, and wandered off into the gardens for some blessed privacy. Even there, the sounds of assignations punctuated the silence.

From a seat among the camellias, she watched Selina collect a coterie of admiring men about her. The ball had been quite a triumph for her stepmother. Aunt Alice remained at her side, her best protections against ill-natured gossip. Jane felt a little satisfaction. If Selina had learned discretion, it was certainly all for the best.

Her father moved among the male guests—nearly entirely among the civilians. Jane knew her father would never miss a business opportunity, but something in the way he whispered and threw watchful glances at the British made her wonder if his business was partly political. She wearily hoped he would do nothing to harm or embarrass her.

She walked around the house, through the gardens. The faint sounds of a merry fiddle drifted through the climbing roses. She guessed it was their own Silas, playing for his fellow slaves, as they had their own impromptu dance out of their masters' sight. She followed the sounds of music, singing, and uproarious laughter around a corner and saw them then, whirling and stamping with tremendous joy around a cheerful bonfire. Silas, their old quiet coachman, was a king in this company, calling out the figures in a commanding, resonant voice she had never before heard. Jane crept a little closer, sure she would not be heard over the music and hand-clapping. All in all, it looked like their slaves were doing a better job than their masters at enjoying themselves. She sighed, and turned away. There was no place for her there.

The hours dragged on. Jane grew tired of observing the crowd and moved back into the ballroom. It was nearly time for the supper dances, and she would be able to talk with her husband at the table.

"Cousin Jane!" called out one of Selina's young Pinckney cousins, who was staying with an aunt in Charlestown for protection, even though her father and brothers were with the rebels up north. Jane turned and smiled at the girl, on whom Selina's golden hair shaded to a more ordinary shade of dark ash blonde.

"Betsy, how are you? I had not heard you were out."

"I'm not really, but Aunt Eliza said I could come anyway. Papa will never know. I adore your gown. You look very nice tonight."

Jane was pleased and touched at the compliment, which meant more to her than insincere words from Lord Cornwallis.

Betsy nodded toward Tavington, dancing a reel with strength and grace. "Your husband is so handsome."

Jane did not know if she should thank the girl for making this observation or not. Her husband's good looks were in no way due to Jane. "Yes, he is. Very."

"Do you like being married?"

An innocent, damnably innocent question. Jane had no idea what to say. She was not yet sure if she really liked being married or not. When in doubt, lie politely. "Yes, of course."

"I wasn't sure. He's very handsome, but sometimes he has a look about him that I think I would find rather unnerving. Of course, he's a stranger, isn't he? I'd be afraid to marry someone like him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—he's not related to us, and nobody here knows his family. After the war, do you think you'll go to England?"

"I don't know. Maybe so."

Betsy was very solemn. "You might never see your family ever again. Have you thought of that?"

"I have, actually."

The dance had ended, and Tavington looked around for her. Their dance, the one just before the late supper, was next. Betsy was eager for a closer look at Jane's husband, but hung back a little. Tavington saw the pretty young girl by his wife, and guessed—without much difficulty—that she was yet another of Jane's inexhaustible supply of female relations.

"Your servant, ma'am."

Betsy curtsied, with a little choking noise. Tavington rolled his eyes at Jane and gave her his arm.

It was pleasant to be dancing again. Jane felt she had done enough to indulge the curiosity of her family connections. Mary Laurens would have been better company, but sitting with the chaperones tonight would have exposed to her to ruthless questioning from those less well-bred than Mary. It was strange to feel that her husband might be more congenial company that her own kin.

But none of her kin ever looked so handsome, or appeared so to advantage in the act of dancing. Jane wondered if her head was in danger of being turned again. Tavington was doing his best to be agreeable to her—smiling, and talking, and not acting as if he were ashamed of her. When the dance was over and he escorted her to the supper table, Jane was ready to explode with her need to talk about their future. I cannot wait until we are home, she decided. We shall all be too tired. I must have it out with him now.

He poured her a glass of Madeira—a good glass, not the thimbleful of wine mixed in a tumbler of water to which she was accustomed. He was ordering her plate loaded with far more than she ever ate. She sipped and nibbled obediently, trying to do justice to the feast before her, but it was useless. She set down her glass, and blurted out what was uppermost in her mind.

"I was surprised to see you again."

He had been distracted by the chatter of a couple who had passed by, but this remark caught his attention.

With a touch of incredulity, he smiled. "Did you think so little of me that a mob of rebels could kill me off in the space of a summer?"

She was embarrassed at her lack of tact, but could not stop. "I did not mean that. I meant that I was surprised you had not returned to England."

His smile faded, and his brows knit with his perplexity. "My dear Jane! Without you?"

She stared at the polished floor. "Well—yes. I thought—since I did not have a settlement, and there is nothing to prevent you—"

He lifted her chin with a fingertip and looked in her eyes. "I have not the least intention of leaving you behind."

Jane thought she might burst into tears of relief.

"You're going to take me with you—do you promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Jane," he answered, exasperated at having to repeat himself. "What did you think I would do? Snatch at your money like a bandit and run away to England?"

She paused, trembling, and Tavington then realized that that was exactly what she had thought. She turned her head aside, her eyes full of unshed tears. Tavington growled, annoyed, and stabbed an unlucky oyster with his fork.

"And why would I do anything so dishonorable and so stupid? I hope to rehabilitate my family name, not plunge it deeper in disgrace! I would not have married you if I had not intended to be your husband."

She whispered, a thin thread of sound, "Not even for twenty thousand pounds?"

"No." He twitched a wry smile, and shrugged. "Maybe for fifty."

She did not find that amusing, and he shook his head, trying not to laugh at her. "Believe me, Jane, I consider ours a binding marriage. When the war is over I fully intend for us to live together. For obvious reasons, I cannot give you a day or a time. I don't know when the war will be over."

"I could join you at camp. Captain Bordon says there are other officers' wives---"

"Absolutely not. You wouldn't last a week, living in those conditions."

"Then let me go stay with one of my relatives," she begged. Seeing him unmoved, she tried harder. "You said yourself you could see how unpleasant it is for me at home. I'm not suggesting that I go into the country, where everything is so unsettled. I could stay with my widowed cousin Mary Laurens. She lives on Bay Street, not a quarter of a mile from my father's house. I would still be in Charlestown, surrounded by the garrison. I'd be perfectly safe with her. Let us call on her tomorrow. She's very nice: I know you'd like her."

"We can talk more about it, at least. Now try to eat another crab pattie."

His grudging tone gave Jane some hope. He was considering it. The music was beginning again. The dancers were called from the supper room to resume the next set of dances. Captain Wilkins claimed her for these, and she took his arm, looking back anxiously at her husband, as he strolled about the garden, wineglass in hand. Eleanor Cotesworth was coming to talk to him again, this time with Mary Bull, who wanted to meet the man who had seduced Jane Rutledge into an elopement. She was a silly girl, too, but not the worst of her relations, and Jane did her best to pay proper attention to her partner.

The music was very fine. Jane had not danced since the ball at Cedar Hill, and found herself enjoying it very much. At Cedar Hill, she had had the responsibility (if not the name) of hostess, but here there was nothing but enjoyment. Captain Wilkins was really too tall to be a perfectly satisfactory partner, but he was a handsome man, and a surprisingly graceful dancer, given his size.

She had just opened her mouth to make some remark about the ball, when an explosion rattled the windows. Fragile wineglasses on a nearby table trembled and spun on their bases, shattering as they fell to the floor. The music squeaked and faltered to a stop, smothered by the frightened questions of everyone in the room, rushing to the doors and the windows to see what had happened. Captain Wilkins gave Jane his arm, and placed his big frame between her and the mob of onlookers, trying to keep her from being crushed in the excitement. In a moment, Wilkins had pushed his way through the door by main force, and the two of them stepped out into the starry night.

Jane looked where everyone else was looking, but she could see only heads of men taller than she, and smoke high up in the sky above the water. She laid her hand on Wilkins' sleeve, and pleaded, "What it is? What has happened?"

He leaned down toward her to make himself heard above the din. "A ship exploded out in the harbor. Might be an accident. Might be the work of rebels."

"How horrible! Do you suppose anyone was hurt?"

Wilkins scowled. "I'm sure of it. Here, ma'am: let's find the Colonel for you. I reckon the ball will break up, and he may want to you get on home."

It did not take long. Wilkins' great height made him able to see what Jane could not, and in a few moments, he had spotted Tavington and escorted Jane to his side.

Her husband, she could see, was very much discomposed by the incident. He spared her a sharp glance, and was more civil than usual in his thanks to Wilkins. He took Jane's arm himself, hurrying her away.

"Let us find your father. I daresay he will want to leave."

Evidently her father did. He had taken care that his own carriage should be ordered as quickly as possible, and was gently prying Selina away from some other excited ladies. Tavington turned her over to her father's care.

"You are not coming home with us?" Jane asked, concerned.

"No—there's too much to do tonight. We must assess the casualties and the damage to the cargo. There were arms aboard the ship, and some of the Lord General's own possessions. He's likely to be very displeased at their loss. I shall not return for some time, probably."

He seemed eager to be rid of her so he could attend to more serious matters. With a cursory bow, he was on his way, talking animatedly with another officer. Jane turned and found her family already dashing off to the carriage. It took some effort to catch up and not be left behind. As it was, her companions gave her dark looks as she climbed up the steps and took her seat facing her father and stepmother. Jane could not decide if they were accusing her of collusion with the rebels, or rebuking her for her failure to personally defend the ship. Either was equally ridiculous, and she ignored them.

From the height the carriage seat gave her, she could see the harbor, and little boats being rowed out to the ruins of the ship. Debris was floating in the water, and clouds of grey smoke drifted south on the night breeze. There was a strong smell of rotten eggs in the air, the signature scent of gunpowder. Then Silas chirruped to the horses, and they turned away, toward home. Jane smiled absently at Aunt Alice, who patted her hand, probably to comfort herself as much as Jane. She looked out the window as they passed through the streets, seeing twinkling lights from behind closed shutters, and an uncommon number of lit windows where people had opened them to find out the cause of the unnatural thunder. Voices chattered from the houses, as neighbor called to neighbor. Jane shut her eyes and leaned back in her seat, sorry that this ball had not been any better than the one at Cedar Hill, after all.

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Next--Chapter 15: A New Accomplishment