It was a very pleasant thing, Tavington reflected, to make one's friends and family happy. The glow from knighthood and promotion did not soon fade. Tavington moved through the world smiling, relishing the vindication and recognition after years of danger and social ostracism. The pleasure he felt at being addressed by Lord Cornwallis as "Sir William" when they met at Horse Guards was not easily to be described. He was a general—and unlike Cornwallis—was not a general who had surrendered an entire army to the enemy. Cornwallis had also politely mentioned the Memoirs, remarking favorably on Tavington's generous portrayal of his soldiers. The words that pleased him most, however, were the last.
"And tender my compliments to Lady Tavington," Cornwallis had added. "She is a brave woman."
Tavington brought the courtesy home as a gift to Jane. He had never forgotten how dismissive Cornwallis had been of poor Jane at that ball in Charlestown so long ago. He was not disappointed: Jane was pleased to be mentioned by name. She, too, had a long memory for slights, and smiled all through dinner.
The Tavington family, in fact, was very much at the apogee of fame and success. While Jane and Tavington might feel the keenest joy in their own situation, it was John's peerage that attracted the attention of a large part of fashionable London. Mothers of eligible daughters pricked up their ears at the name of the new-made peer, and just as quickly sighed with disappointment at the news that he was to be married in May. Women who had not looked at John before, now found much to admire in his tall person and affable manner.
"But the Tavingtons have always been a handsome family," agreed the ladies at the ball at Almack's, watching the brothers move through the figures of the dances.
Said one, "Lady Tavington cannot be called beautiful, but she is very accomplished and elegant, and has a certain je ne sais quoi. How well she dances."
Her friend replied, "The French are so understanding about such things. One might almost call her a "jolie laide.Something of a heroine, if Sir William's book is to be believed."
"I'm inclined to credit his stories. Everyone has heard about her fearlessness with those highwaymen. And yet she is quite well-bred. Very musical, I understand, though not her sister's equal, of course."
"Oh, certainly not! I quite dote on Lady Fanshawe! Such beauty and sweetness—and such a voice! How delightful is will be when she is able to take her place in society once more. I have heard that her house is exquisite. I expect her salon will be the most refined and exclusive in town!"
The lady patronesses of Almack's, always quick to notice those who would be an ornament at their balls, were eager to have the Tavingtons subscribe for the Season. John was indifferent, since he knew that Emily would have little desire to be seen in public. Their hasty marriage, when others might think she ought to remain in mourning for her first husband, would certainly raise some eyebrows. Nonetheless, his sisters told him the ten guineas was worth it to secure a future place for his lady. Jane agreed with them, and Tavington bought a subscription himself, though ten guineas was a substantial sum, given that their income was so much less than John's.
"I am very fond of dancing," Jane urged him. "And Almack's is such a handsome place! Consider it an investment in the future. As long as we have a good dinner before going there, it is very agreeable."
"A very good dinner," Tavington grumbled. "That was the sorriest excuse for a supper I've ever endured!"
"Worse than my squirrel stew?" she teased.
He surrendered, smiling. "Considering that it was at a ball in London, during the Season!"
Not too long thereafter, a visitor presented himself at Mortimer Square when Jane and her sisters-in-law were at home. Rivers did not know the tall, well-dressed gentleman, and was a little surprised at the stir, when he announced, "Mr. Strakes."
Penelope nearly jumped from her chair. "Oh! Mr. Strakes!"
Jane and Caroline repressed their smiles and came forward to greet him. "What a pleasant surprise, sir," said Jane. "We are very happy to see you in town." Seeing Penelope's pleading look, Jane added, "We hope to have the pleasure of your company at dinner tonight."
"I thank you," the schoolmaster replied briefly. He had never been a talkative man, except among close male friends. There were too many strangers here for him to chat comfortably. Caroline and Penelope guided him over to their friend Mrs. Montagu, whom they knew had views similar to his own.
Jane hardly had time to speak to him herself, for Mrs. Tazewell had something she wanted to speak to Jane quietly about, and it would not do to be rude.
"Has Sir William said anything to you about a command?" she asked, very curious. "My dear Charles is certain that he is to be offered something very soon."
"A command?" Jane echoed. "I have not heard a syllable."
"I hope it is a staff appointment," Mrs. Tazewell encouraged her. "A man of his experience should advise Lord Amherst. Charles thinks very highly of Sir William."
"That sounds like a splendid idea," agreed Jane, thinking that the best possible place for William—if he could not be always at home-- was in a comfortable office at Horse Guards. Surely there would be hunting and shooting and exploring parties to absorb his energy and vigor. She must not let him feel hemmed in. But an aide to the Commander of the Forces—that sounded like such a safe, sensible occupation. She had news of her own for William, and wanted to talk to him privately as soon as possible.
After a few minutes, Strakes came over to speak to her quietly. "Do you expect Lord Wargrave to join you at dinner tonight?"
"Yes. He comes nearly every day. He will certainly be here tonight."
"Good. I wish to speak to him and to Sir William, Lady Tavington, on a matter of some delicacy." He looked very stern, and Jane thought she had never seen anyone appear less than an ardent swain. Uneasily, she wondered if he really intended to propose to Penelope. They had jested about it, but what if he really did? And what if Penelope accepted him? How would Caroline feel about it? Where would they live?
She made herself smile, and then attended to her guests. The room bloomed with beauty as Letty and Harmonia arrived. They were full of news about their new drawing teacher. Letty was learning to work in charcoal, and the man had seen Harmonia's earlier work and praised it. The talk turned to painting and portraits. Letty wanted a miniature of Jane, and then a companion piece of Sir William. Would Jane sit for such a picture?
"I have always loved miniature portraits!" Letty exclaimed. "They are like jewels, with their rich colors and lovely settings! Mr. Valentine says that Mr. Cosway is the best painter of miniatures, and his wife, too, is a splendid artist. I should like to know them. Wouldn't you like to have a picture made?"
Jane laughed ruefully. "I can think of other faces more worth the paint!"
"Nonsense!" Letty disagreed. "It is your face I like to look upon! I wonder what would be prettiest? Perhaps that French cap of yours? Or even a hat? Oh! I have an idea! Pearl necklaces are too small and white to show well in a miniature, but if you were to wear a black velvet ribbon around your neck, and pin your pearl brooch to it, it would look very well, and would show off your long neck!"
"That is a pretty idea!" agreed Harmonia, resolving instantly to wear such a ribbon herself. Lady Fanshawe had wonderful ideas about clothes and ornaments. "It might set a new fashion!"
Jane agreed to schedule a sitting with Mr. Cosway immediately, and to do her best to persuade her husband to join her. "I admit that I would like to have a little picture of William for my dressing table—or on my escritoire in the morning room."
"It would be very handsome!" Harmonia declared, and then blushed. Jane and Letty were kind enough to refrain from laughing at her or scolding her.
Jane looked up and saw Caroline in earnest conversation with Mrs. Tazewell. Penelope and Strakes were not to be seen.
"They left the room together," Harmonia whispered, noticing Jane's glance. "Mr. Strakes and Miss Penelope. Perhaps they needed to confer privately about one of Miss Penelope's charities!"
She seemed unable to imagine what else two middle-aged individuals might have to discuss, so Jane and Letty caught each other's eye and continued their conversation about portraiture. About five minutes later, Penelope and Strakes returned. His face was unreadable: set in its usual grim lines. Penelope, however, was pink as a rose, blushing like a young girl, and radiant with happiness. She sat demurely by her sister and joined the conversation in progress.
-----
After the ladies had left the table that night, Strakes wasted no time.
"Your sister, Miss Penelope, has been so good as to pledge herself to me." he told the brothers. "It lies, then, with you. I cannot pursue the matter without your consent."
John was still mulling the matter over his wine, when Tavington asked forthrightly, "And how do you propose to provide for her?"
Strakes replied with cool pleasure that he had lately—very lately—come into his inheritance at last. "The Duke, my cousin, has relented. I found myself at last in a position to be my own master. You must understand, my lord," he said to John, "that I will be resigning my position as schoolmaster, but I can recommend an excellent man in my place."
"Of course," John said faintly. "Glad you've come into your rights. Damn good thing. Can you provide my sister with a home, or—"
"There is a house I have long admired," Strakes informed them. "It has been empty for some time, and the owner lives in London, and wished to be rid of it. Perhaps you have seen it. Templar's Grange, near the village of Larrowhead."
"You will be nearby!" John said, looking pleased. "You must understand that we would be very sorry for Pen to go very far away—you too, for that matter."
"Yes. I never wished to leave the country I have grown to love over the years," Strakes answered. "And it is convenient to the excavations at Old Wargrave Hill we have discussed. The house is not very large, but it has always pleased me. I have secured it, along with the single farm that appends to it. The farmer, Hayward, is a reliable tenant. You may believe that I shall always care for your sister's comfort and happiness."
"And she's said yes?" John asked, rather dazed by the reality. "Pen has so many friends here in London. Living in the country will be a great change."
"An agreeable one, I trust," Strakes replied stiffly. "She has assured me that she has no fear of a country life."
"Of course not," Tavington muttered. "Well—our sister is of age and fully mistress of her fortune. All we can say is—"
"—Bless you, and may you be happy," John finished the sentence. "Have another glass, Strakes. When do you wish to plan the day?"
"As soon as the banns can be pronounced," Strakes said instantly. "We think it would be pointless to wait any longer. On the other hand, I see no need to waste money on a special license. In three weeks. That would be the seventeenth of April."
"So soon…" said John under his breath.
They joined the ladies, and the announcement was made. There were cries of excited delight, and some of surprise, and some that betrayed a hint of consternation. Caroline had never imagined that her sister and life-long companion would actually leave her after so long. Jane saw her brave attempts to hide her distress, and held her hand sympathetically. "I know what it is to have a sister move away," she whispered in Caroline's ear. "I shall do my best to make good her absence to you."
Caroline forced a smile and squeezed Jane's hand in response.
"Templar's Grange!" John said aloud. "I remember it now. We always called it 'The Yellow House.' The Conants lived there until the last of them died out. Fellow who bought it didn't much care for the country after all. Good land there, and I recall the garden had the jolliest quince tree!"
"And it is only a few miles from Wargrave Hall," Jane added. "I believe I saw it when I rode to Larrowhead once. A very respectable-looking residence, though I did not see the garden, of course."
"You must make a list," Letty suggested, "of what you will need in your new home. Does it have an instrument?"
Strakes, in his laconic way, assured them that it was decently furnished, but he had not noticed any musical instruments. Penelope forced him to describe the rooms in detail—far more detail than he would normally have troubled with. It sounded adequate, if a little spare, to Jane. Penelope, of course, owned books and her own little writing desk; and the harp in the drawing room had been purchased for her. Strakes might be more interested in the books left in the study he had already laid claim to, but the ladies quizzed him mercilessly about the available stores of linen and china, and Jane resolved that Pen should have a handsome wedding present from her.
"The four thousand apiece we received can be put to good use, I see," she whispered to Caroline. "Penelope will enjoy making her purchases."
Caroline was very pale. "I shall buy her a pianoforte from my own share," she said in a determined way. "Her house must have one."
"That is a lovely idea," Jane agreed. "And I was thinking about going to the Wedgwood display rooms in St. James Square to purchase her china. I suppose I should have her come along and choose the pattern she prefers."
"Let's all go!" Letty suggested. "I would like to find something for Sir John's wedding, too." She added, after a moment, "But let us do it after we have called on Mr. Cosway!"
After so much excitement—such a tremendous announcement—Jane felt unaccountably shy about revealing her own news to her husband. He had much to say in private to her about Penelope's marriage prospects with Strakes. He liked the man, but wondered if Penelope was really prepared for such a change.
"Do you think she understands much about marital relations?" he asked Jane anxiously, as they lay curled up together, on the edge of sleep. "She is so sheltered."
"Not as sheltered as you might think, William," Jane murmured. "After all, she is a patroness of the Magdalen, and has heard some shocking stories from the women there. She is not a young girl, after all."
"Still," he insisted, "it's one thing to hear stories and another to experience the reality. What if Strakes hurts her? When it comes to it, I know nothing of the man's personal life!"
"The consent has been given," Jane reminded him. "All we can do is hope for the best." She remembered the fright and pain of her own wedding night, and sighed. William was naturally concerned about the sister whom he loved—far more than he had been for the Colonial girl whom he had barely known when he took her as his wife. She shuddered, hoping Penelope would not be treated likewise. She was such a sweet, gentle soul. "We must make the best of it, and give them a lovely, practical gift to start married life upon. I thought of taking her to Wedgwood's and letting her choose a china set."
"Very nice," he grunted sleepily. He began snoring, after a moment, and Jane smiled into the darkness, envisioning elegant colors and patterns until she too drifted away.
-----
At breakfast the following morning, Tavington received a note from Lord Amherst, Commander of the Army, requiring his presence. Tavington's eyes brightened, reading the flowing script, and his heart swelled at the possibility that this would be the day he was given his first command as a general officer. He glanced around the beloved faces at the table. Everyone was still raking over blushing Pen's prospects. He would say nothing now. Better to have news of his own when they met again later. He made a point of kissing Jane before he left, and then was off, barely able to contain his anticipation.
At Horse Guards, he strode smartly through the halls, a swing and swagger in his step, and was shown in at once. He made his bow to Amherst, and glanced about the room. He felt a faint twinge of foreboding when he saw Sir Edward Claypoole warming himself before the fire, smiling like a sphinx.
Cornwallis was there, too, looking very serious and tired. Tazewell gave him a faint smile and nod, and seemed not entirely satisfied by whatever had been in discussion before Tavington entered the room.
"Come, sit down, Sir William," Amherst waved vaguely to a chair at the table. "We have much to discuss. Come away from the fire, Claypoole. Let's start directly."
Tavington slid into his chair, watching Claypoole narrowly. Something was afoot, and Crown was involved in it.
Claypoole sat opposite him, still smiling. He eyed Tavington with something like amused sympathy, and then spoke.
"His Majesty, in his concern for his devoted subjects in the rebellious Colonies, wishes especial care be taken for their relief and security. As you know, Sir Guy Carleton has lately embarked to replace Sir Henry Clinton as Commander in North America. It is His Majesty's particular wish that you, Sir William, join Sir Guy in New York as his aide, with a special commission to see the unhappy provincial troops settled as justly and expeditiously as possible."
It took every shred of self-control to master his expression. "And what troops are to be under my command?" Tavington asked, with commendable calm.
"None." Amherst told him bluntly. "I've none to spare. You are being sent out in an advisory capacity. I can well imagine that this is not what you might have hoped, but His Majesty is quite set on this." He glanced coldly at Sir Edward, who bowed with a faint, debonair smile. "His Majesty seems to think that only you can see to the poor wretches, after reading that book of yours." His level gaze told Tavington all he needed to know. Tavington's honour and credit were at stake: any refusal would brand him a hypocrite and a fraud.
"I'm to have no men at all?" Tavington asked, delaying the inevitable.
"No regular troops. I really have none to give, and no funds to victual them abroad if I did. However," said Amherst, with another frigid look in Claypoole's direction, "find yourself an aide or two—and I'd advise a secretary. No doubt you'll be smothered in paper. You'll want your own manservant, of course, and I'll authorize a guard of four Dragoons. If four from your own regiment will volunteer, so much the better. That's all I can scrape for you. You'll have your commission, and will have authority in this matter over any other officer of the Crown, save Sir Guy, of course. I daresay much of your time will be spent in Nova Scotia, where the greatest number of the soldiers are to be given land."
Tavington felt as if he had taken a beating. "How soon am I to leave?"
Another glance away. "His Majesty is very anxious for you to undertake this as soon as possible. The frigate Hagar sails from Portsmouth to New York in nine days. Passage for your party is being arranged as we speak. Do you accept this mission?"
He was trapped, and knew it. All he could do was not display his pain and disappointment for Claypoole's sport. With a cool smile, he said, "I do indeed, and am grateful for this opportunity to assist my old comrades." He fixed Claypoole with a steely gaze. "And do please inform His Majesty of my appreciation."
There was some further discussion, which Tavington hardly heard, and then the meeting broke up. Tazewell shook his hand in commiseration, whispering, "It doesn't do when the Palace tries to tell us our business. I daresay this is looked upon as some sort of reward, but of course—being sent out—no proper force—" he trailed off. "Good luck to you."
Cornwallis, too, said as much. "It is a very important task, to be sure, though they could as easily sent out a parcel of surveyors and clerks, as send a general!" He too, did not understand that this was indeed a punishment, and accepted the Crown's ignorance in burdening Tavington with it. "I wish you well, and Godspeed."
Tavington accepted these good wishes, and found a quiet corner to pull himself together. The news would break Jane's heart. She had not yet come to grips with what his career might mean for their life together. She would know, of course, that it was indeed retribution: an act of spite and anger against one who had dared to defy the Crown and knew its ugliest secrets.
However, he decided, as he walked out of the massive building, head held high, it could be much worse in her eyes. While this situation was humiliating and insulting, he would be in no physical danger—aside from the ordinary acts of God on sea and land. It genuinely was a mission of mercy to those for whom he had considerable regard. 'Surveyors and clerks,' indeed! He at least knew the men. As he walked, some of the swagger returned to his step. He could do them good, and perhaps he would be the one to bring the news of their inclusion in the regulars. Sir Guy he knew slightly. A cold, hard man, but an intelligent and principled one.
Before he even broke the news to Jane and the rest of his family, he must begin seeing to his staff. Amherst said 'one or two.' If he would pay for two, then by God, Tavington would take them. He would need good men—patient ones, too—for they would be dealing with the very 'surveyors and clerks' of whom Cornwallis had spoken. He wondered if any of his own officers knew anything of surveying.
He longed to take Bordon with him, but knew it for a lost cause. Harriet had made Bordon promise never to leave her again. Tavington grumbled aloud at that. Bordon would have been ideal—a man who knew the soldiers, knew New York, knew the Indians, knew quite a few of the bloody rebels, too. No doubt he had dabbled in surveying and was a tactful man in the bargain. It was hopeless. He would send an express, but could already foresee the answer. He would send the express anyway. If Harriet relented—no, he must not indulge in false hopes—he would pay Bordon's passage and salary out of his own pocket. At the very least his friend might have advice and contacts that could be useful.
The barracks were his first stop. He greeted the officers on duty, and mentioned that he would be dining in the mess that night. "I will be leaving for New York shortly, and will need some likely officers on my staff," he told them. "Put the word about, if you please." He noticed that no one present looked very enthusiastic at the notion. "I will also take four of the men with me. I would prefer volunteers, but one way or another, I'll have them. I want you to compose a list of reliable, unmarried men." He was out and away, already considering what to do next.
What would Sir Guy think, on his arrival? A court favorite, come to look over his shoulder? He must do his best not to irritate Carlton. With luck, the man would welcome someone to relieve him of some of the work. Tavington knew he was not the smoothest or most diplomatic of men, but he would do his damnedest, this time. He had his promotion and his knighthood, after all. There were worse ways to pay for them.
His traveling kit, of course. He must get it put together right away. He had come from Charlestown in fairly disreputable condition. He would have some uniforms made immediately—warm ones, to bear the Nova Scotia winter, and cool weather ones, to bear America's summer heat. He would have a good supply of boots. Plenty of paper and ink, God help him! A book about surveying. He would learn what he could of it on the voyage. Perhaps surveying tools as well. It might be wise to have his own. He was going as a bloody general, for God's sake, so he would take a chest of tea and sugar and all the luxuries that would certainly be in short supply in besieged New York. A chess set. A folding camp bed and folding table and chair. A first-rate tent. Nova Scotia was not heavily settled from all accounts.
Nova Scotia! He knew next to nothing about it! He must find someone who did, and squeeze every drop of information he could before he left. Protheroe might know men in the City who had traveled there. He would write a note to him. He must consult experts, and must buy the best maps of the place to be had.
Tarleton, he guessed, would not go, but he knew his own men well, and could advise Tavington about their characters and ambitions. George Hangar, the British Legion's second-in-command, was in New York, from all accounts. Tavington would try to make use of him, though he thought Hangar was an ass. He was the officer on the spot, though, and no doubt was heavily involved with whatever was being done for the British Legion, at least.
Good God! He would have to tell Doggery. He could not force his valet to go to New York, but he would hate to lose the man. A clever, loyal fellow, and stronger than he looked. He would have to offer to raise his wages.
By the time he had visited his tailor's and bootmaker's and all the other necessary shops, he had completely resigned himself to his mission, and was intent on making a success of it. Going home, he forced himself to remember that it would still be a shock to Jane. How to break it to her?
Privately, of course. When Rivers met him at the door, he told the butler to ask Lady Tavington to come to the library. He stood before the fire, gazing at the flames, and thinking regretfully of all the balls at Almack's he would miss, all the summer pleasures at Wargrave he would miss, all the joys of seeing the boys learning to walk and talk he would miss. It sobered him, and when he turned at Jane's light step, his throat was aching.
"William? What it is?"
"My dear Jane!" He strode quickly to her and took her in his arms. "I have grave news. The King—" He turned her face up to his and smiled wryly. "The King, it seems, will have his pound of flesh. I should have known he would find a way to have his revenge on our family. Luckily, it falls to me, and it is hard, but not a catastrophe." Her hazel eyes were wide with alarm, so he told her quickly. "I am commanded to join Sir Guy Carleton in New York, and am charged with settling the provincial soldiers on the lands the Crown has provided for them. Not a dangerous duty, but one that will separate us, I fear, for some time."
"No!" she seized him by the shoulders. "William! You can't go! How can you go when we need you? How unkind—how arbitrary of the King!" She shook her head. "Tell him you won't go! Tell him to find someone else!"
"Impossible!" He blew out a breath. "My book—I have done it to myself. I have set myself up as some sort of champion of the Loyalist cause, and now the King has called me to make good on it. I cannot refuse without losing every iota of credibility I have. I will make myself a laughingstock—a figure of scorn. I must go, if only to prove myself an honest man."
"Oh, William!" she moaned and held him fast. "This is horrible! Can't you put it off? This is such a important time—Penelope marrying, and John marrying, and Lucy due to have a baby in June, and the children so young—"
He told her the worst. "I must sail in nine days. That means I must leave London on the fifth."
For a moment he thought she would faint. "The fifth! That is no time at all!" She pushed away and began pacing the room. "I hate the King! I wish he would die!"
"Jane!"
"I hate him! Selfish brute! This is nothing but pure spite!"
"Jane—we may know it, but we cannot let it appear that we do. I must put a good face on it, and after all, it is not an ignoble mission."
She paused, and sat down in a chair rather limply. "Yes. There is that. And you will not be fighting, but helping good people. There is that," she repeated. "Will you take your regiment?"
"No. Lord Amherst can spare nothing to me but a pair of aides and four dragoons as a guard. That is what is worst, from my point of view. I am merely an advisor, sent out as aide to Sir Guy. I shall see if I can't find my aides tonight, when I dine with my officers. I must find a secretary. I'll also take Doggery, of course, if he will go."
"He had better!" Jane blazed. She thought a little longer. "Perhaps I could go, too—perhaps—"
He had not expected this, and was deeply moved. It was impossible, of course. "No, Jane. Of course you cannot go. I do not want to risk the children on that long voyage again, and you must be with them. You must stay and keep our home and name in honour, and I must leave. We each have our duty, and must bear it bravely."
And now the tears. They grieved him quite a bit, and he held her again, trying to console her. "At least we shall have a few days, my darling. I have a great deal to do. I have already made some orders for what I shall need to take, but you can help me, too."
She wiped her eyes, and answered stoutly. "Of course I'll help you!
It had been a terrible shock, but Jane was already coming to terms with it. She decided that the King was a swine, but he would not beat them down. William would return to America better provided for than any general ever had. And then she remembered her errand this afternoon.
"Oh, William! Today I was at Mr. Cosway's, having my picture made. I must have a picture of you, too!"
"You can always go up to the ballroom, if you wish to see me," he laughed, very glad that he had posed for the portrait.
"No! I want a little picture of you too, that I can carry with me. I shall write to Mr. Cosway directly and tell him that it must be done instantly!"
"And I must have that picture of you, to take with me," he agreed, stroking her cheek.
"Yes!" She was better now that she had things to do. "I shall ask him to make a copy for you. And you must have a telescope! I had forgotten. I shall get one for you Monday and have it engraved. It will be my special present to you—except--" She stopped, and bit her lip. "Oh, William! I had news of my own for you, but I dislike to tell you anything that may distress you—"
"Well--tell me, by all means. What is it? he asked, alarmed.
"I think—I am not certain—but I think I may be with child."
"Jane!" He gave her a squeeze and then let her go, concerned. "Are you well? When do you think the child might come? Why did you not tell me before?"
"I wasn't certain!" she wailed. "My courses—" she told him. "They are late. Very late."
"Ah." He understood. He had not noticed. Women's courses were an inconvenient mystery. He had not noticed, really, but now that he thought of it, their absence had been pleasantly welcome.
"If I am expecting a child," she told him, "it would be due—perhaps—in December or January."
"And I will not be here."
"No." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "We must tell the others. They will be so sorry you cannot be at their weddings."
"I shall try to help you find presents before I leave."
"And you must help me choose names. A name for a boy and for a girl. You must."
He kissed the top of her head. "I promise I shall."
-----
The news of Tavington's mission to America was met by his family with grief and resentment: grief that they would lose his company, and resentment against the King. John was miserable, feeling guilty that he had wrung so much for himself, when the consequences were to be borne by his brother. They played a game of billiards when Tavington came home that evening, and talked it over.
"Damn it all! I shall miss you, old fellow. Ever since you returned, this family has been doing better and better! It's all due to you, and to Lady Tavington, of course!"
"Well, Jane isn't going anywhere. She offered, bless her, but obviously it won't do. I'm relying on you and your future lady to keep her company."
"No fear there! Emily thinks the world of her. We'll have her and the children out to Wargrave all summer, if we can! Fanny loves Ash, of course, and everyone will want to see what happens when Bordon and Strakes start digging into the Hill."
"I'll be sorry to miss it."
"Well—it's a big place. I daresay there could be years of work there. Of course," he said judiciously, "Your wife has Lady Fanshawe too, and her with a child on the way. She's made some good friends, and she'll have quite a bit to occupy her."
"It's possible that there's another Tavington on the way, too. Possibly around Christmas."
"Ha! Good news, that! Sorry that'll you'll miss the lying-in. Are you hoping for a boy or a girl this time?"
"My hopes are not much to the purpose. I'd be pleased with either, as long as the child is healthy and strong. Jane has charged me with giving her some names before I've gone."
"Hmmm. Richard is good. The head of the family was almost always Richard, until our father's older brother died. And there are so many pretty names for girls—sorry we've already taken Frances. I daresay Cecily is right out, though."
"I think even suggesting it would be a bad idea. Her mother's name was Clarissa, but Jane doesn't like the name particularly."
"Ha! Can't stand it myself. I fancy good English names. If Emily and I had another girl, I'd want to name her Sarah after our grandmother."
"Then I'll consider Sarah spoken for. Jane likes poetry—especially Shakespeare. I might suggest a name from the plays: Juliet, Viola, Isabel, Cordelia—"
"—Goneril, Regan, Gertrude—"
"Ugh!" He missed his shot cleanly, and John laughed at him. Tavington stood back, and said, "And then there are the Classical names. One can be very fanciful there: Artemisia, Lavinia, Valeria—"
"---Cleopatra, Cassiopeia, Andromache—"
"This is a serious matter, John! My child's future name is at stake!" Tavington laughed himself.
"Then give her a name that won't make people snigger, old fellow. What's wrong with Anne or Elizabeth or Emma or Eleanor?"
"Lucy's already claimed Eleanor, if she throws a girl."
"That's right. I forgot. Well, whatever you name the child, he—or she—won't lack for doting relations!"
-----Tavington was impressed by how quickly Richard Cosway worked. His studio was far smaller than Sir Joshua Reynolds' vast interiors. It befitted a man who worked in miniature. Tavington was introduced to the pretty young wife, as well. She was learning the art, and doing very well at it too. There was some talk between her and Letty about coming to Letty's house to give Harmonia lessons in taking likenesses. If the girl could learn to do what Mrs. Cosway did, it would be quite an accomplishment, and worth every penny in fees.
Jane's picture was shaping up to be very, very pretty. In it, she wore her wide-brimmed, plumed hat, the brim curving back elegantly to one side, revealing the brightness of her hazel eyes. The huge black hat threw her light brown curls and pale skin into relief. Her expression made Tavington smile: a little bemused; a little ironic, as if saying, "Are you looking at me? Why?" The little black ribbon around her neck was charming. Tavington hoped she would wear it often. The background chosen was a cool blue-green, with purple highlights that hinted of storms far away. Tavington liked it so much that it was hard not to speak tactlessly of how much he wished the picture were full-sized. After all, the miniature could be finished far more quickly, and a copy, too, that would be ready before he must leave.
After they were told the reason for hurry, the Cosways were very understanding. Mrs. Cosway undertook at once to paint General Sir William Tavington. He had put his dress uniform coat in the carriage, just hoping for this opportunity. In short order, the lady had him sitting down, and was hard at work.
"Nothing over-elaborate in the pose," she told him. "A direct gaze to the observer will tell the whole story. I shall use a very light background, too, to contrast with the rich colours of your uniform and your dark hair. You are certain you did not wish it powdered? I could paint it white with no trouble."
"No. The natural color if you please, Mrs. Cosway. Neither Lady Tavington nor I care much for the artifice of powder."
She glanced up at him keenly, apparently pleased by his answer. Tavington thought her quite lovely. It was vexing to sit for a portrait, but having a pretty woman to admire while sitting was a consolation. It was hard not to grudge the hour spent, when there was so much he needed to do, but it was necessary, in the long run. Jane would be happier, and he would be happier, if they had these souvenirs of one another.
Cosway came by, now and then, to admire the work, and give some advice and a few touches of his own. The light changed, and he was asked to return tomorrow, when the work could be completed. Everyone had had a pleasant visit. Letty and Harmonia had spent the time practicing drawing themselves. Jane was so happy with her little picture, ("though it flatters me too much!") which now only needed to dry and be copied and framed. The copy, it was agreed, would be Lady Fanshawe's. The original would be ready to accompany Sir William to New York. Cosway suggested a metal case that could be fastened shut to protect the likeness.
They parted soon after: Jane to be driven home by Letty, and he to go to join his officers at the mess.
He had hoped to find his aides that very night, but was only partially successful. Ambitious Guards officers were not eager to go so far to associate themselves with a lost war. However, one of his younger captains, George Lilly, was restless, and wanting to get away from a stifling situation at home. The idea of a long voyage, of seeing New York 'while it was still possible,' of accompanying a general on an advisory mission, seemed a welcome adventure. Tavington wished the young man knew something more substantial than how to cut a dash in town, but he did not seem stupid or malicious, and something might be made of him. He had no idea, of course, of the hardships that might fall their way, but Tavington saw no reason to treat him like a child.
He had not expected Lord Alan St. Leger to offer to go with him, and so was not disappointed. However, Lord Alan could recommend a mutual cousin who might be very eager for the honour of a staff appointment.
"A second cousin, actually. He's with the Hampshires, and hasn't much hope of promotion. He's a St. Leger, certainly, but the younger son of a younger son of a younger son, and there's no money, you see. Father's a clergyman. Very decent sort. I knew him a bit at school, though he was a few years older. Rather serious for my taste, but I think he'd be glad to make himself useful."
Tavington found himself interested in St. Leger's rather off-hand recommendation, and sent an offer to the man at once. There was something to be said for family ties, and Simon St. Leger was just as much his cousin as he was Lord Alan's.
He had heard from Bordon, and was prepared for the refusal, but his friend did send him list of men whom Tavington should try to look up in New York, and some books Bordon recommended reading. Knowing how particular Bordon was about his books, Tavington was touched to receive them.
He would not even try to bring horses with him, and certainly not his own. Trying to keep horses alive during the hard journey across the Atlantic was a sobering proposition. He would do better to buy horses in New York, though they might be expensive and hard to obtain. Perhaps he would have better luck in Nova Scotia. Someone must be raising horses there, he presumed. He could not see that he needed a carriage to prop up his vanity. He would take saddles and firearms, of course.
Captain St. Leger came by post-chaise, and was in London in two days. He was older than Tavington expected: nearly thirty. He was unmarried and unattached and quite at Sir William's service. Tavington rather took to him, and invited him to dinner at Mortimer Square, along with George Lilly. Neither of them really understood what service in North America could mean, and so he gave them a suggested list of what they would need and told them to have it ready by the third. It also occurred to him that St. Leger might not have infinite funds at his disposal, and invited him to stay at the house until they departed. It was more work for Jane, but she seemed to like the idea of getting to know a man who would be spending so much time with her husband.
-----
Jane did like Simon St. Leger. She rather preferred him to George Lilly, whom she considered too entirely ornamental. She thought Captain St. Leger was rather like herself: not very good-looking, but serious and sensible and anxious to make a good job of whatever was before him. It was clear that a staff appointment was something that had previously been beyond his hopes. Used to the tangled web of relationships in South Carolina, it was not hard to accept the addition of another cousin of her husband's to their household.
What was something new for her to think about, was how these relationships worked in England. Between primogeniture and entailment, this young man was virtually penniless. He might be the great-nephew of a marquess, but his grandfather had inherited only a mother's dower house and a small estate. That estate had passed to his son, and a younger son became a country clergyman with a decent living, but little to leave his own children. He, in turn, had given one of his livings to his eldest son, also a clergyman. The younger son had gone for a soldier. The family could purchase commissions up to the rank of captain; but no further. Thus, in three generations, Jane could see St. Legers declining from peers of the realm to private gentlemen of few resources or prospects. No wonder Simon was glad to attach himself to his more fortunate cousin, General Sir William Tavington.
"I was in very much the same situation when I went to America," William told her. "Very much a poor relation. I joined a provincial regiment because I could be promoted without purchase. My mother managed my later promotions by hounding her old friends. Otherwise I should still be in St. Leger's shoes."
"Oh," she laughed. "I very likely would still have married you, whether you were Colonel or Captain. Maybe your cousin will find himself an American heiress!"
"He could do worse!"
They were very tender with each other, these last few precious days. Jane was more and more certain that a child was on the way. The family drew close, and spent every dinner together. The Protheroes, even with Lucy great with child, came to visit. They would not be moving into the house on St. George Street until the first of May, and Jane had promised to help as much as possible.
Penelope was very sad that her younger brother would not see her married. She took time from her own preparations to go with Jane and Caroline to find the finest telescope that money could buy, and have it engraved:
"General Sir William Mortimer Tavington, from his loving wife Jane
April 5, 1782."
The miniatures were completed and framed and taken home to be admired—and cried over. Penelope begged Jane to have a copies made for her. "I am so happy to marry my dear Mr. Strakes, but I am sad and a little frightened too. You will understand, I know, having come from your family into a strange land."
"I do understand. I shall certainly have a copy made of William's portrait. It is such a handsome picture! Why don't we make a collection together of your family? Lord Wargrave, and Caroline and all? We shall have a picture of you, too, wearing your wedding dress."
"And you must be in the collection, dear Jane. You are such a good sister to me. I know you will help Caro. She is not—entirely happy about all of this I know."
"Caroline wants you to be happy, but it is a great change for her. You must not forget that she is very important to me too. We both have sisters moving away, and will very much rely on each other's company—especially now…" Jane to her great embarrassment, began to shed tears. She tried very hard not to give way, but it was so dreadful that William must go.
Lord Colchester received a letter from Tavington, telling him of his departure and his mission to America, and appeared on the scene almost at once. He was not happy, not happy at all that Will must go, just as it seemed they had got him back. It was a hard thing to be a soldier, but a man must do his duty.
They would all go—the whole family—to the ball at Almack's on the third. They would show how proud they were of Sir William, and how his family loved him. Lucy, it was true, could not go, but she and Protheroe would meet them for dinner before the ball.
And so they did. The town spoke of brave and handsome Sir William, and how compassionate he was towards those unfortunate Loyal people. Jane smiled through the ball, accepting compliments on his behalf, and commiserations on her own. It was all well meant, and while she admitted she was very sorry it was necessary, she was glad her husband had been entrusted with the welfare of so many deserving souls. The evenings mattered little to her: the nights were theirs alone.
She made love to William with hungry fervor, hating the knowledge that these nights would be the last for a year and possibly more. William's mission would take time and painstaking care. They had baths together, they tried favorite positions together, they lay in bed and talked, wanting to save up memories for the lonely nights ahead.
At least she would be lonely. Jane sighed to herself, pressed against her husband's side, wondering what his life would be like in New York. He was a man in his prime, with a man's natural vigor and appetites. He might find himself a mistress or satisfy himself with casual encounters. He had told her he loved her, but what if he were to fall in love with someone else? Jane hoped he would not. She hoped even more that he would not return with a horrible disease, or with more children for her to raise. It would be quite bad enough to deal alone with the ones she had.
In the morning there was a new crisis. Ash had heard the servants' gossip, and now knew that William was leaving them. He cried and screamed and pleaded for over an hour. Jane tried not to be cross with him, knowing that he was simply acting the way she would have like to have acted herself. When he was worn out, she sat with him, holding him in her lap, talking about the good times they would have this summer, even with William gone.
Ash listened, tears on his long lashes, and then declared, "I'm never leaving home. Not ever! I wouldn't be a soldier for anything! Soldiers have to go away and fight!"
Jane was rather pleased. "You don't have to be a soldier, Ash. There are lots of other things men can do when they grow up. You might go away to school for a little while, but you would always come home."
He was not happy at this idea, but Jane assured him, "All boys go to school. Perhaps we can arrange it so you and Ned and Robin all go to the same school, so you can look after each other. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"Go to school with Ned and Robin?" That did not seem unattractive.
"Yes. Boys have good times at school. They learn important things, and play games and sports, and make lots of friends."
"Can Fanny come?"
"No, Ash," she sighed. "Girls and boys don't go to school together. If Fanny goes to school, it will be just with other girls."
"Like Susan?"
"Maybe. Anyway, not all boys grow up to be soldiers."
"I want to stay home!"
"Hmmm. Mr. Bordon is a clergyman, and he lives with his family."
"He lives far away!" Ash objected.
"Well, Mr. Protheroe is a lawyer, and he lives right here in London. In fact, he studied to be a lawyer right here in London too."
Ash gave a great sniff. "Then I'll be that!"
"If you like. I like London too, but this summer we'll go to Wargrave for a long visit, and you'll play with Robin and Susan and Fanny in the gardens."
"All right. William and Tom too?"
"Of course, but you'll be the oldest and the man of the family while the General is gone. Now, when he comes to say goodbye, you mustn't scream and fuss at him. You must be a brave boy and say goodbye nicely. He knows you're sorry he's leaving. He sorry to leave us too, but he has to go and help the poor soldiers who lost their homes."
"Will he get them new homes?"
"Yes, Ash. That is exactly what he will do. He will find new places for them to live, and make sure they get there safely. And those soldiers have wives and little children. He will help them, too. You wouldn't want little boys and girls not to have homes because the General wasn't there to help them?"
He allowed that it would sad not to have a home. Jane thought that was all she could expect for the present. William Francis and Thomas were too little to understand that their father was going away. Would they notice he was gone? The question made her heart hurt.
-----
The last night saw the whole family at Mortimer Square. The Trumfleets and Sattersbys were in attendance and all were carefully polite. Jane could not be bothered to see if Kitty tried to flirt with William. She had more important things to think about.
The family was quite kind to their cousin St. Leger, and very civil to George Lilly and to young Mr. Speke, Tavington's new secretary, who were also invited to dine. David Speke had only recently completed his studies at Cambridge, and his father was known to Lord Colchester.
Tavington tried to keep the talk light. Jane did her best to help, but was anxious to get rid of the guests and have her husband to herself. Upcoming marriages, upcoming births were spoken of, and then there were questions about Nova Scotia. Tavington was glad that he could answer most of them. His interviews with knowledgable men over the past few days had been useful. After dinner, there was music, and Jane played all of her husband's favorites, and then accompanied Letty in a song they both loved.
"Soldier, oh soldier,
A-coming from the plain:
He courted a lady for honor and for fame.
Her beauty shone so bright
That it never could be told.
She always loved the soldier,
Because he was so bold…."
Tavington said his farewells, and kissed Letty and Lucy. He shook Protheroe's hand (after a lengthy private conversation in the study). His uncle and brother actually embraced him, looking quite distressed, and promised once more to look after Lady Tavington and the children.
When Jane came down to join Tavington in bed, she did not even wait for his request, but tossed her nightcap carelessly aside. She drew her shift over her head, and let it whisper to the floor.
Tavington took her in his arms, laughing at her. "You look alarmingly determined. Should I fear for my virtue?"
"Yes."
Later, he wondered if he would have bruises on his back from her heels drumming against him. She was a fierce little thing, his wife, and he gave her a warm kiss afterwards. She was fierce, and so was he, and whatever the world might make of them as a couple, Fate had chosen better for him than he would have for himself.
"I wasn't too rough, was I?" he asked.
"Lovely," she murmured, half asleep. The past few days had been strenuous ones.
He rolled on his side, whispering in her ear. "I really am sorry to go, Jane. I daresay I shall be a great deal sorrier once I am on the other side of the Atlantic."
"Umm. You still haven't given me names. You are a very bad father, and the angels will weep for you."
He pinched her lightly, and she squeaked a protest.
"Richard, if it's a boy. John is right. It's a good old family name. I'd really rather call a boy John, but that wouldn't be fair. John still has a chance for a son of his own, and naturally he'll want to name a boy after himself."
"Umm." Jane said nothing more, not wanting to picture William Francis disinherited. She loved Wargrave Hall so very much.
"If I name a boy, it seems right to me that you name a girl. I still don't see why we can't call her Jane after you. It's very much the done thing."
"I hate my name. It's so dull. 'Plain Jane.' I've had to bear it all my life. I want my daughter to have a pretty name all her own."
"We could call her Jenny."
"There must be thousands of girls in England named Jenny."
"John likes Elizabeth."
"If she were John's daughter, I would heed that suggestion. The name is good in itself, but there are thousands of Elizabeths, too. The child isn't John's, by the way."
"Little devil!" he chuckled. "Well, one of the Shakespeare girls would do, or one of the classical ladies. Just not an awful one, I hope. Not Phoebe or Titania or Juno, anyway."
"It's so hard to decide. I suppose I like Juliet best. I like Aurora too."
Tavington was getting drowsy. "Well, put them together, and call yourself satisfied. I am…"
-----
Friday morning could not be prevented, and the carriage stood ready to take Tavington away. Captain Lilly and Mr. Speke had arrived early, as planned, and their small trunks were added to William's and Captain St. Leger's.
They had sent the greater portion of the party's luggage ahead. The four dragoons who were to go with them had also already gone, and would meet them in Portsmouth. Doggery sat up on the coachman's box with Scoggins, both men looking very gloomy. The valet had behaved from the first as if it were obvious that he would go wherever Sir William went.
"Who'd keep him fit to be seen, if I weren't there to do it?" he had asked, and set about preparing himself and his master for their venture. His own battered trunk was there on the coach roof as well. Jane was glad William would have someone familiar about him. William waved his companions ahead of him, wanting to keep the last moments for himself.
The children had been brought down. The babies were kissed tenderly and Ash was granted a grave handshake—and then a kiss too, when he sobbed and threw his arms around Tavington's neck.
"Be a good boy and look after your sister for me, won't you?"
"I will! And you be good too!"
Tavington ruffled the bright hair, and Jane smiled at him through her tears.
Caroline and Penelope must be embraced and kissed, and special words of love and remembrance shared.
"You'll be an old married woman when next we meet, Pen!"
"Come home soon, dear Will," Penelope whispered through dry lips.
"And you—Caro. You'll probably have you're latest novel published. Don't put me in it!"
"You won't be here to stop me!" his sister replied, with an attempt at cheerful defiance.
It was time to say goodbye to Jane. How small she looked, and how bereft. He took her in his arms and breathed in her perfume of lavender and lemon.
"Oh, Jane!" he murmured into her hair, "This living-happily-ever-after business is more complicated than I could have imagined!"
He bent to take a kiss, but she was quicker than he. Her arms were around her neck, and her lips were on his, warm and clinging. It was one of their secret kisses—a kiss for their bed. Tavington did not care. He kissed her back with a full heart, and then stood back.
"Keep well, my dearest Jane, and keep all this well, too, until I return."
She could not speak, but looked after him with red-rimmed eyes. He stepped into the carriage. The door was shut, and he looked back as they drove away. He could glimpse a bit of Jane and Caro, as they waved. He waved back, and then the coach turned, and they were gone.
He sat back, looking at his companions. "Fine day for a journey, isn't it?"
The Tavington women watched the coach until it passed Colchester House and turned south. Penelope and Caroline put their arms about each other's waists and went silently into the house together. Rose and Jenny, with a nod from Jane, took the babies back to the nursery. Ash grasped Jane's hand tightly, while they stood side by side.
"'S'it possible to see Ned today?" Ash asked suddenly. "His Mamma said we could play in the park when it was warm."
"I suppose we could," Jane agreed. "Yes. We'll go fetch Ned after a bit and the two of you shall sail your boats."
"Could there be chocolate for after?"
"Why not?"
She smiled and took him back inside. Rivers shut the door behind them.
Note-- If a critical mass of reviews is attained, there will be a bonus chapter:
An Epilogue in SummerJe ne sais quoi—I don't know what
Jolie laide—difficult to translate—it could imply "so ugly she's pretty," or "ugly and pretty at once," or "interesting despite her ugliness."
Richard Cosway was one of the most famous of late 18th century miniature painters. His wife, Maria, was also a notable artist—and a writer and a one-time lover of Thomas Jefferson.