Chapter One

"None of these will do," Mary Cornwallis said languidly, gesturing at the high pile of dresses strewn about her mother's sitting room, "I want another gown in blue, you know, cornflower blue, not that awful, ghastly Rebel blue."

The seventeen-year-old turned back toward the window and airily twisted a strand of her violently red hair around one finger as she stared out over the green, fertile grounds of Middleton Place. The four seamstresses behind her raised their eyebrows but said nothing after murmuring that they would certainly find something in cornflower blue, setting to work removing the vast array of elaborate dresses in front of them. Elizabeth grit her teeth and scooped up a handful of clothing herself, nodding at the other three women, similarly clad in plain brown dresses, to walk out ahead of her. She'd been here for no less than a week and her friend had exhibited such finicky tastes in clothing that it bordered on the extraordinary. Mary was a sweet girl, but her demands were made no less vexing by that fact. Elizabeth's childhood friend had failed to recognize her, with her hair stuffed up in the bland cap that was part of her uniform and her head ducked low at all times, which she supposed was for the best. Everyone who was anyone in America stayed at Middleton Place at least part of the time, and even though the servants had their own passages and routes they were supposed to follow in the house, it had been difficult to maneuver around the myriad of people who might recognize the servant girl with the soft hands of a lady.

By the time General Cornwallis's brother had announced the planning of an elaborate ball, Miss Fairfax had decided that her time as a servant had run its course. She'd learned from the other girls that the Duke was no less picky than his daughter, and balls meant endless hours of scrubbing floors, polishing silver, and countless alterations on gowns in the weeks to follow. Though she could bluff with the best of them and fake her way through belonging in the house most of the time, it would be difficult to explain why she was the only one who didn't feel inclined to pitch in on the menial labor she was supposed to be skilled at. Due to her almost complete lack of practical skills (and reluctance to acquire them) Elizabeth had been waiting for the right moment to corner Mary and reveal herself, but the moment had never come. As a girl Elizabeth had been quite fond of having time to herself, but her friend was scarcely alone for a second. Between the array of hired help and other young ladies who frequented Middleton Place, the young "servant" hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise, at least until now.

"Finally," she said through gritted teeth, tossing the gowns on the floor and quickly shutting the double doors as the other women left.

Mary turned around at the sound of the doors closing, a confused look on her face. Elizabeth yanked the cap off of her own hair and knelt in front of her friends voluminous skirts.

"Mary, shh! It's me," she said pleadingly, as her hair tumbled about her shoulders, finally free of its austere prison, "You have to help me."

Her friend stared down at her for a long moment and Elizabeth held her breath. What if she didn't recognize her? Mary had been in the colonies for nearly three years, after all, even if the pair of them had grown up together.

"Elizabeth!" Mary shrieked, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass, "It's really you! You're here!"

Attempting to mimic Mary's heart-felt reply proved futile as she was crushed in the red-head's vice-like grip against her voluminous skirts. Mary squeezed her tightly, only relinquishing Elizabeth in order to stand up and examine the other girl's attire.

"You can't go about dressed like a servant," Mary continued in a confused tone, "Why are you even wearing those ghastly clothes in the first place? Were you in my room with the others the whole time?"

"Of course I was. I just kept my head down, Mary. People aren't terribly concerned with what their servants look like."

"But Elizabeth," the other girl interjected worriedly, "Why are you here now, like this? Where are your parents? The last thing about you that I heard from my Uncle was that you were still in England."

Elizabeth looked at her friend and suddenly felt old. Mary hadn't been able to piece it together, that much was clear in her blank blue eyes. She couldn't conceive that her fellow heiress had simply run away from home, all the way to the colonies, and Elizabeth couldn't fault her for it. The story, when replayed in her own head, seemed dubious at best, and she knew that she was going to have to provide as many details as possible to satisfy Mary's curiosity. Her friend was more social than she was quick-witted, but Mary was no fool and would definitely want to hear anything and everything that Elizabeth had to say about her voyage.

"Mary, I don't know if it's a good idea to talk to like this," Elizabeth replied, glancing worriedly at the door, "Especially with everything happening with the party. I'm afraid someone's going to catch us. No one knows I'm here, especially not General Cornwallis or General O'Hara."

She shuddered at the thought of running into either one of them. Thankfully Cornwallis and O'Hara had kept to themselves after arriving two days prior. Mary's uncle probably wouldn't recognize her, having left for the colonies almost three years before Elizabeth, but General O'Hara had been in attendance at her nineteenth birthday and had barely left nine months before Elizabeth did.

"So you ran away?" Mary asked, her brow knit into a frown, "All by yourself, without even a chaperone? And now you're not even going to stay?"

"You don't understand! I had no choice. I had to leave. And I would love nothing more than to stay here, but I simply can't. You must understand. If anyone saw me I'd be sent back home immediately."

"Lizzie," the youngest Cornwallis girl said solemnly, grasping Elizabeth's hands and looking up into her face, "You have been very wicked. But as your friend, I will help you with whatever you need."

It felt as if a huge weight was lifted off of Elizabeth's shoulders and she sighed, affectionately squeezing Mary's hands before she let them go. Opening her mouth to begin telling her tale, Elizabeth quickly shut it as the pounding of horse hooves began sounding outside, growing louder with every passing second. Looking to her right, Elizabeth felt herself being toward the second-story window and Mary silently followed her. A double row of green uniforms was riding quickly up the thin brown road leading to the estate, and though she couldn't see his face, Elizabeth's heart gave skipped a beat when she set eyes on the man riding alone at the cavalry's head.

"Why is he here?" She asked, her panicked feeling returning in full force, "Why are the Dragoons here? Here, of all places! Aren't we fighting a war?"

She walked away from the window and began pacing in the large dressing room. Elizabeth felt as if she'd already been caught, as if her godfather would somehow sense her presence.

"Father did say that he was inviting most of our high-ranking officers," Mary offered tentatively, "And Colonel Tavington is…well, you know."

"I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here."

"Lizzie, I may have an idea. There is a friend of mine, Amanda Rochester, who lives about thirty miles north of here. She's—well, she's a colonial, but a fervent loyalist. Amanda lives with her sister Victoria and Victoria's husband. You'd be welcome in their household."

Elizabeth stopped pacing.

"That's brilliant, Mary. But what am I to do for two more days? I have money, but it's not as if I can order any clothes."

"I'm sure we could find something for you to wear," Miss Cornwallis replied, eyes twinkling with sudden mirth, "And in the meantime, you can tell me about your grand adventure."

Three hours later, a freshly-bathed and powdered Elizabeth grasped the corner of Mary's dressing table and held on with all her might. With a final, forceful grunt, the woman behind her finished yanking on Elizabeth's stay and deftly adjusted it to fit. The undergarment was not cut in the extreme French style, tightened until she couldn't breathe, but was slightly more comfortable and at least somewhat looser. Morosely looking at herself in the mirror as Mary's lady's maids helped her into the gown that Mary herself had selected for Elizabeth. It was simple but elegant, suitable for a quiet weekday dinner, and she had been assured that its light purple color with white accents helped "set off your eyes just beautifully". The sleeves, which fell a bit past her elbows, were frothing with lace, as was the dress's collar, but other than this Elizabeth could find very little fault with it.

"Well…Mary," she said finally, squinting into the mirror, it's lovely, but the top…"

"I'm afraid you're a bit more buxom than I am," Mary replied serenely, swishing over to Elizabeth in her baby-blue gown, "But don't worry, it will be fine. Are you sure you don't want to wear a different necklace? I have one with amethysts in it that is quiet lovely."

Elizabeth shook her head and touched the chain that her locket was on. The good thing about getting such high cleavage was that it completely obstructed the locket around her neck from view. No one would recognize it, but she still didn't want to put it (or its sentimental back-story) on display. Mary turned and nodded her head at the two women who were standing behind them, and they gave her a small curtsy before walking out the door. Mary waited until it was closed before turning back to her friend.

"Tell me about the breeches again," she said quickly, "I just can't imagine you wearing men's clothing for days and days on end! Or at all, for that matter. The whole thing is so scandalous. You should write a novel, you know."

"Really, Mary," she groaned, refusing to admit that she'd gotten the idea of masquerading as a boy from a novel, "I am not going to write a book about this."

Elizabeth took the chance to enviously glance around at Mary's sumptuous bedroom. The walls were as blue as her dress and the bed, a four-poster canopy, was skillfully carved out of the same deep, dark wood as the dressing table and armoire. Heavy brocade curtains hung on the window overlooking the gardens. Her room in the ship had barely been as big as a broom closet, and for the past week Elizabeth had slept in the decent-but-still-stark quarters that were provided for a seamstress—

"Mary!" She said suddenly, eyes widening, "My room! I have the money I sewed into my dress but there's still some in my room!"

"You left money down there? How much?"

"Almost five thousand pounds," she groaned, "I have to go back and get it; the notes are stuffed under the mattress."

"Mother and father will be expecting me soon—and stop touching your hair, Lizzie!"

Elizabeth jerked her hands down away from her brunette locks and ceased her incessant wrapping of one curl around her index finger. Having a bath, a real bath, and her hair done up was depressingly foreign to her. The months on the ship had taken an eternity. The two weeks Elizabeth had spent travelling had been slightly better, but there were no maids to give a young "boy" travelling alone hair or wardrobe assistance.

"We'll have to go down to the servant's quarters," Elizabeth said aloud, heading toward the door, "Just act as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening."

"But"—

"But nothing, my friend," she replied, squaring her shoulders, "You're Mary Cornwallis, and no one has any right to question you here, no matter how strange your actions may seem. Come along. We'll have to go down the main hall, but there is a shortcut halfway through we can take to a secondary hallway."

"Really?" Mary asked curiously, trailing behind her as Elizabeth glanced furtively around to see if anyone was walking around before dinner. The two girls walked quickly but didn't run, and made it down two flights of stairs without being seen by anyone who would recognize Elizabeth. Rounding the corner from the foyer into the main hall, Elizabeth gasped under her breath. General O'Hara was walking briskly toward them, seemingly headed in the opposite direction. She ducked her head and squeezed Mary's elbow tightly, increasing her pace as she did so.

"General O'Hara," Mary said shakily, giving him a brief nod as he took off his hat to them and moved to let the two women pass.

Elizabeth raised her head up only when they had passed General Cornwallis's right-hand man and heard Mary's small sigh of relief. Just when she believed they had made it without being detected, O'Hara's voice rang out down the long hallway.

"Miss Fairfax!"

Mary and Elizabeth whirled around to observe an irate General O'Hara striding toward them, his face beet-red. In an instant she felt all hope of escaping Middleton Place evaporate, and her shoulders slumped down in defeat.

"Damn," Elizabeth swore, setting her jaw and trying not to look afraid.

Author's Note: Another chapter down! And don't worry, Tavington shows up in the next one. Suggestions/comments are always appreciated!