The metropolis shuddered with the political earthquake. Lord North was out of office. The vote of "no-confidence" on the twentieth of March was a resounding defeat for the King and his party. While as whole this was bad news for the Tavingtons, they took some guarded pleasure when they heard that William Pitt had been offered the post of Vice-Chancellor of Ireland. Pitt, however, refused it, telling John it was too subordinate, and that he would wait and hope for better things. He did not think Lord Rockingham, the new Prime Minister, would last long.
Emily returned home to prepare for her wedding, taking Fanny with her. The little girl was pink with all the kisses she received from her aunts-to-be. Ash wailed at her departure, and could not be consoled, even when Fanny kissed him and told him he was her favorite little boy. Jane sent an urgent request to Lucy, who arrived with Ned. Ash moped a little, but his friend was the best cure, and after a good romp as pirates and a gooseberry tartlet apiece, the world seemed a better place. Jane also took Ash with her on her next visit to Letty's—a brief visit, but a pleasant one. There was no harm in Ash being reminded that he had another sister who cared about him. Ash craned his head about, looking at the pretty rooms, and he stroked the velvet sofas with great pleasure. He admired the little rectangular pianoforte that Letty had purchased for the morning room, and was allowed to touch the keys, if he was careful.
But events were moving swiftly. Not a week had passed when Tavington and Jane found themselves again at Court, this time in the presence of the King.
Jane knew she would never make a courtier. The stultifying atmosphere and the insipid conversation set her teeth on edge. It was hard for her, so used to be doing something, to stand still so long and to move so slowly. All of it was worth it, however. Stupid talk, tiresome people, and the presence of the King, about whom Jane had decidedly disapproving views—all of this was nothing compared to the joy of seeing William receive the honour of knighthood.
Tavington's personal triumph was one to be savoured. To receive a knighthood marked an epoch in his life. He had carried the news home to Jane proudly, longing to see the joy lighting her little thin face.
He had not been disappointed. Jane tried so hard to pretend that she cared nothing for titles and public acclaim, but she could not hide her delight when those very things suddenly came her way.
"Sir William and Lady Tavington!" she burst out in excitement. Then she clapped her hands over her mouth, embarrassed at her outburst. He laughed at her embarrassment and had taken her in his arms and kissed her soundly.
She kissed him back, warm and passionate, so very happy for him. When she broke the kiss, she whispered, "But will it not be very confusing?"
"How do you mean?"
"Two Lady Tavingtons? Emily and I will not know who is meant when we are in the same room."
"Ah, well—" he smiled, and kissed the top of her head. "That is not all my news. Emily Martingale will never become Lady Tavington."
"What!" Jane was horrified, imagining that the engagement was broken. Her husband only smirked in that impossibly superior way he had.
"I hardly think that either Mrs. Martingale nor her parents can object, since on her marriage she shall become Lady Wargrave instead." He saw her look of wonder, and assured her, "I am not dreaming, nor are you. John is to be elevated to the House of Lords. The King, apparently, has decided that he needs more loyal peers in the upper house. John is to be Baron Wargrave of Wargrave Cross."
"Lord Wargrave! How fine that sounds!"
Tavington gave a nod, and rested his cheek against her, still holding her close. "Some men might be vexed at being forced to leave the Commons, but John wanted Emily to be a peeress—and the Wargrave seat in the Commons is still his to control."
Jane scowled, thinking about the possibilities. "Does that mean you are going into Parliament?"
Tavington shuddered, and then laughed at loud. "Good God, no! I can't imagine the horror of sitting through endless debates and committees. John and I have a better candidate in view."
Thus it was that the two of them appeared before the throne, weighted down with Court dress and hair heavily powdered, and Jane saw William dubbed knight. Not wishing to seem a country bumpkin, she schooled her face into a mask of blasé composure, as if it were every day that her William was honoured by a king. It was not so difficult, since she smiled whenever no one was watching, and her cheeks were beginning to ache with such unaccustomed exercise. The whole family was there with them: even Lord Colchester, who was beaming with delight, happy to see 'dear Will" honoured, and looking forward to being present as his other nephew took his seat in the Lord's.
They drove home, and were met by an unusual number of servants at the door, all eager to greet them. There were bobs and bows and murmurs of "Sir William" and "my lady." Jane cheeks began hurting again.
A bath was the first thing, she decided. A bath to wash off the smells of crowded bodies, and rid herself of hairpowder and caked cosmetics. She had ordered one before they left that day. William thought it a good idea. "I hate this powder myself," he confessed. "I'll have Doggery brush what he can out of my hair. And then, my lady, I shall be joining you."
It still took some time for all the hot water to be brought upstairs and poured into Jane's bathtub. She had bought the tub in January, and was very proud of it. When in mourning, it was so gratifying to purchase something with strong color. The bath was white, with a band of dark green and another of gilt above it. It was a large one, and she was able, if she bent her legs, to put her head back in the water. She regarded it longingly, dressed only in a silky loose powdering gown, watching the cascades of steaming water as Pullen rhythmically and efficiently brushed through her long hair.
And then the pleasure of it, dropping the gown, stepping into the warm, lavender scented water, the little ripples eddying at her fingertips, the echoes as she dipped her head back and was completely underwater. She surged up again, revitalized. First, Pullen used fine Castile soap to scrub her scalp, and then applied the sweet, purifying rinse of chamomile and lemon. There was a final rinse of her perfume and a little olive oil. Pullen combed it through her hair, as Jane paddled her hands like a child in the tub.
"That will be all, Pullen," said Tavington, hearing the happy splashing. Pullen bobbed and vanished into the dressing room. Tavington looked after to be certain she was gone, and then shed his own banyan. He knelt by the tub, and ran the comb through Jane's wet locks.
She looked like a little girl, he thought—though a little girl with breasts. The wet hair, clinging to her head and neck, made her appear even smaller.
"I've had such a lovely bath," she smiled up at him.
"Is the water getting cold?"
"It's still quite nice, and there's another jug of hot water on the dressing table." She began lifting herself out, but Tavington gently pushed her back in.
"Not yet. I cannot be sure you are perfectly clean."
She huffed in mock indignation. "I am. I am absolutely spotless."
"That is for me to determine."
It took a little time. He made her lean forward, kneading the back of her neck with his strong hands until she hummed with the pleasure of it. Then he let her sit back against the tub and gently pushed her legs apart. "Have you washed here?" he inquired, his fingers probing.
She wriggled, and told him gravely, "I might have missed a spot. You should be certain."
And he made certain, with a bit of soap and a soft cloth and his hands, slipping into crevices and folds, the tip of his forefinger eliciting sighs and gasps.
"I don't think I could be cleaner," she murmured after a time, licking her lips, her voice grown husky.
"Then out you go. It is my turn."
He helped her towel her hair, and made a point of patting every inch of her. He hung the pretty powdering gown over her shoulders, and then got into the tub, with an "Ooof! The hot water, Jane."
She poured it carefully, wanting to warm him, not scald him. Tavington allowed her to wash his hair exactly as her own had been treated. "Powdering is a filthy custom," she declared, glad to clean the grayish residue away from William's long black hair. "Even a wig is better. It's hard to understand how it ever became the fashion."
"That smells wonderful," he said, enjoying the rinse of lemon and chamomile, "but for God's sake don't put that perfume on me."
"I love my perfume," she declared. It was especially compounded for her by their apothecary: her favorite lavender and lemon, now enhanced with notes of myrrh and ambergris.
"Yes," Tavington agreed, "It's very nice on you. Not on me."
"The olive oil is good for your hair."
"Then use a little of that by itself."
She poured a scant spoonful into the center of her palm and massaged it in. "I wish William Francis had hair like yours. It seems he will have dull brown hair like mine."
"He's a fine boy, and I like it that he also resembles you. So," he looked her over, "Lady Tavington! You are the first to bear the title since my grandmother. Of course, I am but a knight, and not a baronet, so it is not hereditary—"
"I don't care. I confess that I am just—enchanted—to be Lady Tavington! But how did it happen, Will, really?" She whispered. "The King must have been very grateful to have his papers returned—John made a peer, and you a knight—"
Tavington's smile slid away for a moment. "Yes," he said lightly. "The King was generous, but John and I felt we deserved our rewards."
"William!" Jane gasped. "Did you haggle with the King? Did you demand—all these things in exchange?"
"We never met with the King directly. We told the King's representative that we expected our loyalty to be rewarded. And then we held fast." He saw that she was a little shocked. "Jane, I feel no regret or shame. We were put at risk in quite a ruthless and calculated way. It is one thing to hazard one's own life as a soldier, but to have my family put in peril—it was inexcusable. I would be a dolt to permit it without recompense. I tell you that I will never feel about the King again as I once did—not since I knew the truth of those papers and understood clearly that the King does not feel himself bound by the laws that bind all other Englishmen. He has the effrontery to hold that duty, and honor—and marriage, even—are not what the law says they are, but what he personally finds convenient. We shall keep our bargain and our silence, but I will not be his dupe. John and I gave Claypoole our terms and we held to them."
"John demanded the peerage." She moved to the end of the tub and began washing his feet. William loved having his feet attended to, but he much to say to her.
"Why should he not? He deserves it too! If Charles James Fox's father can buy himself one with the money he stole from public funds, then John, who suffered danger to himself and his betrothed, should receive equal recognition! I would have liked a baronetcy, but I was satisfied with the knighthood—to give you a title. For myself, well, there is something that might follow, but I shall say no more for the present."
"Oh, don't keep secrets!"
He grinned at her, and she splashed him in retaliation.
"I will just say that when you hear the news that the provincial regiments—namely my own men and Tarleton's British Legion—have been incorporated into the regulars, with all the increase in pay and rank that involves, you might guess that it was not simply an impulse of generosity on the King's part."
"Hm. But that it is how it will seem—because of your book, I mean."
"Yes. It makes it all so much more palatable. But that is not all. Bordon, I thought, would not object to money, and so, very discreetly, will receive a tidy sum, and the promise of future promotion in the Church. Strakes—well—I felt I owed him something as well, but it is up to the Crown either to persuade the current Duke of Barcaster to release the ten thousand pounds that his predecessor left his grandson in his will, or to make good the money from the Privy Purse."
"I am glad. He has been a good friend to us, and he has suffered great wrong."
"So has our own Moll, for that matter. It will be given out that her story moved the King and Queen to tears, and thus the pension of fifty pounds a year, which Moll should be hearing about in a day or two."
"Fifty pounds a year! She'll be over the moon! Oh, thank you, Will, for thinking of her!"
"Don't stop. And be sure to wash me there—" he indicated, catching her hand. "You know, this solemn occasion would be a delightful time to be depraved in the Fanshawe style."
"William!" she scolded, but there was gleam of excitement in her eye. Her little fingers tended him cleverly, and soon he was aching for release. Out of the tub he rose, water dripping, and there was a hasty, half-hearted attempt at drying. Jane's little dressing stool was pulled closer to the warming fire, and Jane found a cushion to kneel upon. Hesitantly, she looked up at him. "You must tell me if I hurt you."
"Yes, of course, Jane, but I don't see—Oh, God!" He caught at her as she tried to close her mouth, and whispered. "My darling Jane, you are not hurting me. It is exquisite."
It was very pleasurable and very intimate. The towel slipped from Jane's hair, and the gown from her shoulders. If it were easier to be clean, Tavington thought—when he could think—this would be far more popular. Whores would not do this, preferred to be buggered rather than to taste their customers. He was unable to stop a low grateful, moaning, and Jane proved very inventive. It was over too soon, and Tavington clutched her close, his eyes rolling back blissfully.
"Let me tidy you," she whispered, rubbing her jaw.
"Was it very unpleasant for you?" he whispered back, utterly spent.
"No—only very strange. I gather you quite liked it. I just need a drink of water."
She got up unsteadily, stretching cramped muscles. He let her drink her fill, and then got up and wrapped her in his arms, her back to his front. "I think the bed would work best," he muttered, and before she could register more than a gasp, he was carrying her to the big four-poster.
"My towel!" she demanded. "I don't want the pillow to be wet."
He dutifully wrapped up her wet hair once more, and then considered the small body lying supine beside him. He had never even thought of pleasing a woman in this way...
In the end, it was easy enough. Jane lying back, her soft thin legs on his shoulder, his face nuzzling close to her warmth, his lips and tongue seeking—
And it made her cry "Oh, God!" as well, he thought with satisfaction.
-----
The matter of the seat in the House of Commons was discussed at length by the Tavington brothers. As Sir William was so very unwilling to replace Sir John—now Lord Wargrave—they decided that perhaps it was time that their brother-in-law, Edward Protheroe, should enter Parliament. At a private family dinner that very night, the subject was broached.
Lucy was ecstatic at the idea. Protheroe himself, typically, thought it over carefully, and then began to smile at the prospect.
"I think, Lucy, that it might be time to look for another house," he said slowly. "With your inheritances over the past few months, our income is much increased. It would be better for you not to have to travel so far to see your family. I was thinking of taking a house near them—there is one to let in St. George Street—"
"Oh, Ned!"
Caroline whispered to Jane, ""At last Lucy will be restored to her proper sphere in life. A Member of Parliament and his lady are always respected and welcome. They must present themselves at Court as soon as he takes the seat!"
Old Mr. Protheroe nearly burst with pride when he received the news. "I always knew Ned would do something splendid," he told anyone who would listen. "Always knew he was something special. My poor Nell and I never had but the one child, but better only one of Ned than a dozen others!"
-----
Not many days later, Tavington brought home more surprises. Late one afternoon, he arrived, glowing with fresh air and exercise and caught Jane by the hand. "My Lady Tavington, it's a fair day, and so, " he said, sweeping his handsomest bow, "I should be honoured to take you for a carriage ride."
Jane mind swept over all her duties and tasks, and then recklessly swept them away like so much chaff. "I should be delighted, Sir William! Perhaps I should change, though, if I am to go out."
"Yes, indeed—into your very best. I want everyone to be thoroughly impressed."
Jane went upstairs and called for Pullen, wondering who would see her behind the closed doors of their coach. However, it was enough that William would be looking at her, and so within the limits of mourning, she made herself as elegant as possible, down to an impressive hat with a plenitude of sable-coloured plumes drooping and nodding about her like so many gloomy ostriches. Her habit was of black moiré, cut very well, glittering with jet beading and trimmed with black lace. Jane loved the watered-silk look, and studied it happily, the strange patterns shifting as she moved. Pullen fastened her best pearls to her ears and around her throat. Lastly, Jane dabbed on a little perfume, and then a little more onto her handkerchief. She gave it a pleased sniff, and then pulled on her black kid gloves.
"Are you calling on Lady Fanshawe, Madam?" Pullen asked, wondering at such sudden splendor.
"Perhaps—I don't know—the Colonel—it is such a lovely day and the Colonel wanted to go driving." Impulsively, she kissed Pullen's pale cheek. "You are a jewel among maids, Pullen! I believe I shall never wear that peacock blue gown of mine again—would it please you to have it? It is in quite good condition."
"That I would!" Pullen half bobbed a curtsey, and half jumped for joy. "That is vastly handsome of you, my lady! I shall make it over so no one will know it! I shall keep it for church---"
Jane smiled, and patted her cheek, going down the steps cheerfully to meet William, not hearing what Pullen muttered to herself afterwards.
"---and one of these days I really shall visit the Magdalen, and Matron will be so proud of me!"
William was awaiting her, an inscrutable smirk on his handsome lips, and offered Jane his arm. Rivers opened the door for them, and then Jane saw the equipage.
"Oh! That's lovely!"
Open to the soft April air, a new phaeton stood waiting. Scoggins' smirk was a match for his master's. Two liveried footmen would accompany them. Jane paused, astonished and admiring. The low, open carriage was fresh and shining black, the seats covered with silver-grey plush velvet, the trimmings brightly polished. Two matched blacks were harnessed, their coats glossy with combing. The Tavington arms were painted on the little door.
"You approve, then?" Tavington asked her, already knowing her answer.
"Very much! What a lovely surprise! How pleasant it will be to ride in on fine days."
"Days like today," he said meaningly, taking her hand and assisting her in. "Let us waste no more time, my dear."
The seat was wonderfully comfortable. Jane arranged her skirts, settling back against the cushions.
"Drive on," Tavington commanded.
Scoggins clicked to the horses, the footmen leaped up behind, and they were off, headed west.
"Where are we going? To my sister's?""Not today. Today is just for us. I thought you would enjoy the park, now that nearly everyone is in town for the Season. "Hyde Park, Scoggins," he told the coachman, leaning forward. "The South Carriage Drive." He sat back. "You have not yet seen Rotten Row in all its glory."
"Such a name!"
"Perhaps derived from 'route du roi—the King's Road.' In his day, King William wanted a pleasant way to travel between St. James and Kensington Palaces. I did not want you to see it until the spring."
Jane knew that Rotten Row was the place where the ton went to see and be seen. As they approached the park, she could see the fashionable set, dressed in their best, some riding a-horseback—even ladies—she noted, and some in open carriages. Spring had definitely arrived: with grass springing forth, the willows sprouting green feathers, and the maples crimson tassels. The young leaves softened sunlight and shadow as the Tavingtons entered the Drive.
"Are those lamps?" Jane asked
"Yes—oil lamps. It can be lit up quite well at night. But it is more pleasant to come at this hour—before dinner, before the chill of the evening."
Jane had never seen a finer thoroughfare than this: wide enough for three carriages abreast, and covered thickly with sand. "Does that brick wall go entirely around the park?"
"Yes—it looks well, I think. And it's partly to keep out the riff-raff. You'll notice that no hack carriages are permitted here."
"Only those rich enough to have their own equipages."
"Precisely." He sighed with content, hand on the head of his silver-topped cane. Jane thought he looked very impressive, though secretly she thought he was handsomer in the privacy of their bedchamber, his long hair loose and wearing fewer clothes. But in his black velvet mourning and hair elegantly dressed, he looked very much the part of an aristocratic scion of an ancient family, bred for courage and fine appearance, much like the horses and dogs who were the companions of those she saw about her.
"Oh, heavens!" Jane exclaimed, wishing she could look elsewhere.
"Trumfleet and Anne!" Tavington saw them too. "I did not know they were in town. Good day to you, Anne! How d'ye do, Trumfleet?"
"Charmed to see you," Lady Trumfleet mouthed at them, as if displeased by the taste of the words. "Papa is here, along with Bill and Kitty. I daresay you will see them soon enough."
There followed some meaningless civilities, and Jane found herself unable to escape the necessity of accepting a dinner invitation. Trumfleet and Tavington, admiring one another's horses, had a pleasanter conference, and the Trumfleets were soon moving away, to Jane's relief.
"Anne thought you looked very well," Tavington observed to Jane.
"She said nothing about it to me, and only sneered as usual," Jane replied. "How can you tell?"
"Over the years, I have learned to distinguish amongst her sneers. The sneer she directed at you meant, 'How vexing! I cannot find fault with her appearance!'"
Jane laughed. "I must take you at your word, but indeed I care nothing for her opinion. Yours is more to the matter!"
"I think you look splendid, my dear Jane. Mourning becomes you." He put his hand on her, and gave her a private smile that made her melt. The moment vanished, as he saw others he knew. "There are our cousins, Lady Melmerby and her eldest daughter, Lady Helena. We must bow to them."
Bows and greetings were exchanged, and Jane murmured to her husband, "I am surprised not to see the other daughters. I rather like them."
"Helena is twenty-two now, I believe, and the family is determined to marry her off this Season. They don't want any of the sisters distracting potential suitors."
"Poor girl. This place is like a market, you know. Heirs and heiresses for sale and barter."
"All sorts of things are bartered here," he agreed, seeing another woman he knew coming the other way.
The carriage alone caught Jane's attention. A carriage out of a fairy tale--a pale, exquisite French blue, with wheel spokes and rims painted a darker hue and picked out in white. The seats were covered in pearly satin. Two white horses pulled it, their heads adorned with matching blue plumes, their white-and –blue harness immaculate. In it, rode a lady alone—a lady of startling beauty, Jane thought. She was dressed in a shade of blue that exactly matched her extraordinary carriage. In her arms was a little pug dog with a white jeweled collar and a blue bow. Jane took in every detail of the lady's dress, her hat, her jewels, her air of perfect insouciance, and was tremendously impressed. How could anyone—well, anyone not in mourning—afford to have a carriage to match a gown?
"Who is she?" Jane breathed. "Do you know her?"
Tavington felt his cheeks grow just the tiniest bit warm. "That is Mrs. Robinson, Ban Tarleton's mistress."
She was coming closer. She had seen Tavington, and was smiling, radiantly ironic, showing perfect teeth.
"Oh." Jane said, regretting that she could not acknowledge the vision. She was a bad, vicious woman, but Jane felt a little sorry for her. The fairytale carriage now seemed simply silly. Someday Mrs. Robinson's looks would be gone, and certainly her money, too, if she spent it on such absurdities, and then what would the poor woman have left? "She is very lovely, but her carriage and dress must cost the earth!" She looked away, as the two carriages passed each other, and studiously admired the foliage in the other direction. Besides, Letty was just as beautiful in her own way. When she was able to parade in Rotten Row, now that would be worth seeing!
Tavington, seeing Jane look away, gave Mary Robinson the slightest inclination of his head. She smiled again, perfectly at ease, and then was out of sight. Another rider—an unattached gentleman—followed her on horseback to exchange a few quips.
Jane asked, "Who is that little man in the maroon carriage? And why does it have a big letter 'Q' on the door, instead of a proper coat of arms?"
"The Duke of Queensbury," Tavington answered. The 'little man' passed, giving them a scowl and a brusque nod. "I saw him at Lord Fanshawe's funeral. He is known to have been a member of the Hellfire Club. The 'Q' is simply an affectation."
"A ridiculous one," Jane declared, hearing the language the little duke was using to his coachman as he passed. "Does he always—"
"—swear like ten thousand troopers? Yes, pretty much all the time."
"Hmph! It must be very disagreeable for his wife."
"There is no Duchess of Queensbury, and I very much doubt there ever will be. The Duke is—not inclined to settle." He smiled. "I've heard him described as an Epicurean—without all the philosophic pretensions."
"So much the better for the pretty young heiresses I see about me!" Jane replied tartly. "Being a Duchess might come at too high a price."
"My dear Will!" a deep voice shouted. It was Lord Colchester on horseback, waving at them like a fish-seller, and bursting with pride. "Look! There are Will and ha!—no--there are Sir William and Lady Tavington! Come over here, I pray you! Yes, come, come!"
The Earl was mounted on a magnificent chestnut stallion, and was stopped beside an elegant barouche bearing the arms of the Mortimer family. In it sat Kitty, Lady Sattersby, visibly expectant. She was a beautiful as ever, Jane acknowledged grudgingly, though Jane's keen and unsympathetic eyes considered her a little podgy at waist and chin. Don't be disagreeable, she scolded herself, it is the child. My figure was nothing to boast of at that stage either. Nor did her condition prevent Kitty from following favorite pursuits, for Jane saw her exchange a languishing glance with a handsome young man behind the Earl's back.
Tavington saw it too, and stiffened slightly, giving the lady a hard stare when she looked their way and blushed.
What the devil was I thinking? She went on about our deathless romance, and now has already found a new flirtation while she waits to give birth to her husband's child!
"Kitty received some vouchers for Almacks!" The Earl announced to Jane, rather excited. "I thought of the two of you at once! A ball always does one good, now and then in a way. Yes, Kitty, give two of them to—ha! Sir William and Lady Tavington! Are you free on the day?"
Jane glanced at her voucher briefly. It means ordering a new gown, and I shall to cut my visit with Letty short—
Then she saw the Earl's expectant expression, and said at once. "We have no prior engagements, my lord. How kind of you," she smiled politely at Lady Sattersby, "to think of us."
"Capital!" cried the Earl. "We shall all be together! I saw John—Lord Wargrave—today, and talked him into coming along. He wasn't happy about it, though. Had to insist."
"After the wedding, he will no doubt be more amenable," Tavington replied, with a smirk.
"He had better be! I was sorry not to be in town to meet his intended. A sweet, pretty creature, as I understand."
The unspoken question was obviously for Jane. "Mrs. Martingale is a delightful lady. We are all so happy that she is going to be part of our family."
"Yes," Tavington agreed. "A refined and gentle creature. John could not have chosen better. There is genuine mutual affection there." He glanced at Kitty with subtle disapproval. She tried to smile back at him.
"'Lady Wargrave!'" declared Lord Colchester, approving of the sound. "It only wants Sarah being here, but I can't pry her away from her place in the spring. Says she must be there for the plantings. Perhaps in a month or two…"
"I shall be happy to meet with Lady Sarah at any time," Jane assured him honestly. "I received a letter from her only a few weeks ago, full of her plans for some new specimens. Our correspondence is very pleasant."
"Glad to hear it! And you, my dear boy—Amherst told me the news! Couldn't be prouder of you!"
Jane looked puzzled, but Tavington only smiled, and said, "Thank you, Uncle."
They drove on, and Jane stared suspiciously at Tavington. "The other bit of news—the one you held back—"
"I have received promotion, Jane. The final word came today, and I was awaiting a propitious moment to tell you that I am now a General." He smirked. Words were never sweeter. "I am now a General," he repeated, and then squeezed Jane's hand.
"A General!" Jane stared. "I thought—well—you are Sir William now—"
He corrected her. "General Sir William and Lady Tavington!" he declared, with mock grandeur. "General of the Army and a knighthood! I tell you, Jane, it was so hard to keep it from you. I wanted to tell you when we were alone in bed. I have dreamed of this since I was a boy."
Jane tried to be happy, since it was so clear that he was. "Are you sure this is what you want, William? I somehow thought that you would be retiring from the army—I mean, the war is nearly over, and you have written a book, and I just thought—"
"Good God, Jane! Retire? Never!" He saw that she was not entirely pleased, and he kissed her hand. "Jane. I am a soldier. I was a soldier when we met, and I will always be a soldier. I never felt the least ambition to be anything else—"
"You have already endured so much—"
"Jane! I am but thirty-seven years old! I have years of possibilities before me! This knighthood could be just the beginning!"
"But when the Commission for the relief of the Loyalists is formed—"
"Oh, yes. Yes, indeed—I would be happy to sit on such a Commission. It seems to me a duty. That has nothing to do with my career in the military. I am a soldier, and now I am a General." Joy filled him again. "A General!" He shrugged. "It matters not if the war in America is all but over. We have troops all over the world."
"William!" Jane said in horror. "I don't want you to leave! What if they want you to go back to America?--or to India or Africa? You would not leave, would you?"
"If I were offered a major command, Jane, I would have to consider it seriously. I grant you, after years in America, the idea of the more hot weather in India or Africa does not sound particularly appealing. However," he considered, "if our resistance in Gibraltar is successful, I could consider the post of Governor there. That is not so far. You and children could come with me. It would be like a holiday! Or I might be sent to Ireland." He smiled again at her wide eyes. "I think you would like Ireland, Jane. Only a short voyage, and people speak English—mostly. Of a sort. And the horses are first-rate."
"The shorter the voyage, the better," she said with asperity. "Better yet—no voyage at all. Perhaps Scotland, if you really must remain in uniform—"
"Perhaps—or Newcastle!" he laughed.
"--Or Bath!"
"--Or Mayfair!"
They returned home, flushed with spring air and their almost too interesting conversation. Tavington handed her out of the carriage, and as they entered the house, Rivers told Jane that she had some letters.
"One of them, my lady, is somewhat travel-stained."
Jane considered her various correspondents, wondering who it might be. It was not Harriet's turn to write, and she had just heard from Deborah Porter and Lady Sarah. Miss Gilpin? But it might also be—
She ran to the tray on the table of the hall, and snatched up the letter, crowing with delight as she recognized the handwriting.
"Cousin Mary! At last!"
Tavington rolled his eyes, but smiled, and followed her into the morning room, knowing that she would want to tell him all about it. He slouched comfortably on a sofa, reviewing the pleasures of the day, while Jane read.
February 20, 1782
Charlestown
My dear Jane,
Thank you, my dear Jane, for relieving my anxiety about the little boys. I knew that if they survived the journey, they would be safe with you. It is such a comfort to know that they are in England, where nothing can possibly harm any of you, instead of in the hurly-burly of a town besieged. I hope they are good, dutiful boys and are always aware of the great generosity you have shown them by taking them in. How wonderful that kind Captain Bordon now has a comfortable home. I am certain he will prove a worthy clergyman. His wife sounds very amiable, even though she is from New York.You would stare if I told you the price of eggs! Everything here is terribly expensive, but Alice and I contrive as best we can. Despite all Colonel Balfour's fair words, we have three officers billeted upon us. Two of them are Scotch Highlanders and we can barely understand them when they speak. They keep spirits in their rooms, and sometimes I hear loud banging noises in the night. I have had to pack all the figurines away. The third officer, Captain Straitharn, I have not seen the worse for liquor, but he has a very satirical turn of speech. I had expected better of Colonel Balfour, who has always been kind to us otherwise. At least he is better than General Leslie, who is an odd-looking man of very bad judgement.
Prepare yourself for something extraordinary, my dear Jane. I hope you are not too shocked and horrified to hear about what that coachman of yours—that Seth has done. It is very horrifying that he would so prove himself unworthy of the Colonel's kindness in freeing him, but you know I have never thought that manumission was a sound practice. It gives the Negroes very strange ideas. Indeed the fault is not entirely his, since some of the British—and I must include General Leslie in this—do not understand the necessity of treating them with firmness. With charity, too, of course—but above all, with firmness.
General Leslie has taken it into his head to train some of the Negroes as soldiers! Yes, my dear, it is too true! He has armed them and is training them to fight against the rebels! There is an entire of regiment of them—called the "Black Dragoons"—and that Seth of yours sold the chariot the Colonel so kindly gave him—sold it! As if it were actually his!—and has joined this motley band—I hardly know how to describe it. Truth is best, my dear. Seth took his horses and an old fowling piece he must have stolen from somewhere, and he joined the Black Dragoons. They have uniforms—or at least uniform jackets, Jane, and they drill on horseback! Some of us have gone out to see such a sight, and there was Seth, sitting up high on his horse, armed with a sword! And looking mightily pleased with himself.They drilled—and it was shocking how well they rode. I prophesy that this colony will suffer because of this. It is all very well for the British, who will be leaving after the war is over, but those of us who live here will hardly dare to sleep for fear of being murdered in our beds! If the King approves this, then I must say that it is past time that South Carolina was independent! I am sorry if it hurts you, my dear, but I know you will forgive me. The British simply do not understand our special way of life.
Well, when the Negroes were dismissed by their officers, I called Seth over and I asked him what he meant by disregarding the Colonel's wishes and being so ungrateful. He had the impudence to tell me that he thought the Colonel would be 'mighty proud" of him! Indeed! He said the Colonel was a fine man and would be proud to know Seth was "a soldier in the King's Army!" that "He was a dragoon himself, now, and was fixin' to be a Corporal soon!" My mouth must have just hung open, for then he smiled at me and bowed, and turned his horse away. It was frightful! He dared to ape the Colonel—to the life! With what ideas has General Leslie filled these creatures' heads? I am sorry to have to tell you unpleasant new, Jane, but it makes me happier than ever that the little boys are safe. I hope you can keep Letty from getting silly ideas above her station, at least. Some of the British soldiers have actually 'married' women of colour! It is true! At least they claim to be married, but it could not be legal, could it?Enough of such things! Here is some good news. Eleanor has married Philip Middleton. He has a nice place, up the Santee, and waited until he could rebuild before he offered for her. They have known each other all their lives, of course, and so are unlikely to have any surprises. I could not help wishing that you could have settled down the same way with poor Ralph Manigault. It would have been nice to have you nearby.
That Lady Cecily sounds very hoity-toity to me! I hope you do not let her impose upon you, my dear. They may have titles, but you are a Rutledge—and that always counts for a great deal. They should realize how fortunate they were to have you marry into their family!
Could you send me some of the newest fashion papers? Mrs. Lewis Pinckney wore the strangest confection you ever saw to church, pleated in the back like the old "robe d'anglaise"—and said it was the latest thing! I did not believe her, for you know the Pinckneys and how they tell stories.
Speaking of them, Alice had a letter from Selina a few months ago. She asked after the boys, and made excuses, and then boasted about her new husband, and then said she hoped to see the boys "someday when this cruel War is over and Won." I daresay Alice's reply took the wind out of her sails, but we have heard nothing further. Alice believes she is—in an interesting condition—by her new husband. He may not be eager to take another man's children under his roof. Perhaps she wants to forget her old life, too, for she said nothing about taking the boys, even if she saw them "someday." All the more reason for them to be in your care!
Wargrave Hall sounds like such a quaint old place, Jane, but do not let those Tavingtons make a servant of you. I daresay Sir John does not own half the acreage poor Ashbury once claimed! Your letter sounded so happy, as if you were enjoying Christmas thoroughly. Of course you would, far from the war and its dangers. I do not blame you, Jane, but I confess I envy you.
My best compliments to the Colonel, of course. Whenever you see Captain Bordon, remember me to him. So much better that he is a clergyman!
Your loving cousin,
Mary Laurens
Jane groaned and laughed over the letter by turns. Tavington watched her with interest, and then said impatiently. "Oh, read the wretched thing aloud, Jane! You know you want to!"
"I hardly know what to make of it," she answered, but immediately read it out. She understood it better the second time, and tried not to be annoyed at her husband's vocal approval of Seth.
"I knew he was the sort to go for a soldier," he nodded sagely. "That's why I didn't bring him back as a valet. I have no doubt he'll do well."
"Do well!" Jane screamed faintly. "He'll be killed! If the British evacuate Charlestown, do you think they'll take him with them?"
"They might," Tavington said, sounding uncertain.
"Well, if they don't, he's a dead man. Every single one of those poor Negroes has a price on his head now. The planters of South Carolina will never forgive them for bearing arms. They might just as well give themselves up to be hanged directly!"
Tavington snorted. "I don't think Seth is the sort to give himself up!"
"So much the worse for him! Do you know what is done to rebellious slaves in South Carolina? They won't just be hanged—they'll be hanged, drawn, and quartered! I wish we could send him some money for passage! Maybe—"
"No." Tavington said. "He's a grown man, and he's taken the King's shilling. He'll not thank us for treating him like a child. Are you going to tell your cousin about Letty?" he asked, smiling slyly.
"Letty! Oh, Heavens!" Jane threw the letter to the floor. "Cousin Mary will fall down dead if she hears about Letty."
Tavington began to grin. "I think you should tell her—everything. The Dowager Viscountess Fanshawe—thirty thousand pounds—fifty thousand for her child. Be sure to describe her house in detail."
"That will only convince her of the utter depravity of the British!" She sighed, and sat down beside her husband. "I wonder if she would even believe me." Tavington laid a reassuring hand on her thigh and squeezed.
"And you can tell her I am 'mighty proud' of Seth. I wish I could see his impression of me."
Laughing, Jane leaned back against his shoulder. "I wish I could, too!"
"And you can helpfully explain what causes the banging noises she hears at night."
"Certainly not! She must know—she was married, after all, even if only briefly." She shook her head again. "Where shall I begin? So much has happened!"
"She will want to know, first and foremost, that you are happy." He tilted her face up to him. "Are you?"
"Very, very happy, William. And you? Are you happy?"
"Don't I appear to be happy? I tell you Jane, it was the luckiest day of my life when I met you!"
She smiled and kissed him, with a little secret sigh. I mustn't say anything else. I mustn't spoil this. Lucky for me that I had twenty thousand pounds! It proved quite enough to get myself a man!
Next—A Soldier's Wife
Notes: Attending a ball at Almack's was the summit of social validation. In time, it became, even more than at Court, the place where matches were made, since the Queen's Drawing Rooms were considered increasingly stuffy and dull. It was a hall of gilt pilasters, and cost a subscription of ten guineas during the twelve week Season for a ball and supper every week. The refreshments were notoriously mediocre—the place had such social panache that good meals could be dispensed with.
The Black Dragoons were real, and fought on for years after the British evacuated Charleston themselves (for years, in fact, after the official end of the war). With the departure of their British officers, they chose captains among their own and called themselves "Soldiers of the King's Army." A bitter campaign of annihilation was waged against them by the victorious Patriots. Most were killed eventually, but a few escaped west and a few south into Florida, where some joined the native tribes in the swamps, and others journeyed on to the islands in the Caribbean as free men. I would like to think that Seth was one of them.
Thank you to all my reviewers for your interesting ideas!