A/N: I'm back and ready to write!
I'm truly so sorry I just left you hanging like that, school and Christmas and life in general has kinda gotten on top of me lately and consumed so much time. But hopefully you got a Jeffergelica fix from the Hamilton Advent Calendar I wrote over December, and if not, well, now I'm back and determined to write this! Re-reading some old chapters of this to prepare for writing this one really got me excited about this pairing again, and I've sort of fallen back in love with the story I've planned - I just hope my writing can do it justice!
Now, apologies and excuses done, allow me to say some things about this chapter: Lafayette shows up, (what a babe) with some conflicting ideas on the upcoming revolution. Gotta be honest, I don't know much at all about the French Revolution, we were meant to study it in year 8 history but all we did was watch Les Mis! So I've picked up what I can - the Marquis was sympathetic to the people and wanted change, but he was also a noble, and appointed to protect the royals. He wanted a peaceful transition to a fairer system, but this chapter kinda dramatizes his conflict. Jefferson was all for the revolution as it validated the American one, and in full support of bloodshed, though he admitted it was unfortunate that so many died, and of course he was upset at the consequences it had on his friend.
This has been such a long note. Well, anyway, let's actually get on with it!
Chapter 8: How do you say "Kiss me" - Part IV
Paris, Autumn 1787
Just as the cold Autumn air contrasted with the watery, bright sunlight tickling her rosy cheeks with warmth, the stiff forearm of one man, upon which the woman's left hand was set, was in sharp contrast with the teasing fingers of another man brushing against her right hand and occasionally squeezing her fingertips; for possibly the first time in her life, Angelica truly understood the meaning of that old idiom: Two would be glorious company, but three is most definitely a crowd. Still, if this crowd contains at least one man whose company I relish, I suppose it's tolerable.
She glanced up to the man on her right momentarily to find, as the tingling sensation on her cheek had warned, his eyes boring into her. Regardless of her husband's presence on her left, Angelica dared to lock eyes with Jefferson and cast a playful smirk in his direction, which he returned.
Even after an entire Summer's worth of flirtatious comments and risque suggestions, her heart in her ribcage still fluttered like a hummingbird at his smile.
It was Jefferson who was responsible for the three of them taking the short stroll up a long driveway side by side on that September evening. As ambassador, it was naturally mandatory that he attended events from time to time, always with the option of bringing a small party of his own for company. So at his suggestion, the girls, much to their pleasure, had been left under the care of the same nursemaid, and here they were, approaching an imposing mansion side by side.
Angelica could remember with perfect clarity the strange and endearing mixture of confidence and timidity as he had told her his intentions for this evening, both manifesting simultaneously in his tentative half-smile:
"I don't understand, Thomas; he's a good man, and he wouldn't be out of place by any means, yet I fail to see why you would voluntarily wish to attend a ball with my husband as your guest. If anything, I would have expected you to be keen to avoid John." On the other hand, perhaps he's simply incapable of feeling shame, in which case he might feel unaffected by guilt when sharing the company of his lover's husband. Angelica recalled the single interaction she had witnessed between Jefferson and her beloved friend's husband, a lifetime ago now, how Thomas had clearly rejoiced the opportunity to test Mr Cosway, knowing full well the artist couldn't truly express the extent of his rage in such company. Suddenly anxious, she warned, "This had better not be some ploy to reveal my infidelity to him."
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he rubbed small, soothing circles with his thumb through the fabric of her dress. "It's nothing of the sort, you needn't have so little faith in me. I merely feel it's high time I do a favour for Church - he is the husband of my very good American friend, don't you know?"
She chuckled at that, her dry wit scathing and sharp despite the obvious humour glistening star-like in her obsidian eyes. Bemused, she clarified, "You hope to thank my husband for permitting you to spend so much time in the scandalous company and open arms of his wife by inviting him to a ball where he might be able to use sycophantic praise to elevate his status?"
"No, that is not, strangely enough, the story we will tell him," Jefferson corrected, smiling despite himself. He didn't care to consider why he found it so alluring when the woman who exuded blatant intelligence challenged him. "Rather, we will explain that since you are such a dear friend to me, I, out of a benevolent desire to do all I can to increase the prosperity of you and your loved ones, thought that Church and in turn his family would benefit greatly from conversations with the influential figures sure to attend." A small flicker of something like worry in his expression begged her not to press for further information on what motivated him to extend the offer to John.
Naturally, she recognized this, and refused to let it go unacknowledged.
Arching an eyebrow, Angelica enquired, "Kind as that is, I can't help but wonder what has possessed you to want to be good to my husband. You know as well as I do that simply earning a person's esteem doesn't make you exempt from their wrath should you cross the boundaries we have crossed." It wasn't phrased as a question, but it demanded an answer anyway.
Finding unexpectedly that he was swamped in unanticipated nerves, Jefferson's gaze darted to the floor as he bashfully confessed the truth. "If he comes, you'll have to be there, too." Reticent, he tried to look into her soft eyes, but after settling instead for watching her curved lips, he elaborated, "Your appearance will not be questioned or criticized, nor will the company you keep. Honestly, I want for once to be able to spend an evening with you, in public, unafraid of the assumptions people make."
Her heart melted at that, and she caved instantly. The plans were laid that very day.
Looking directly ahead, the woman smiled fondly at the memory. Noting this, her husband commented, "It's always good to see a smile lighting a lady's face, wouldn't you agree, Jefferson?"
Nodding politely, the ambassador responded, "Of course, and no woman wears one as well as your bride." The proud man seemed to absorb it as a compliment to him, and in some ways it was, since it seemed quite the feat that an aging, rotund Englishman was capable of tying down a wife such as the formidable girl once known as Angelica Schuyler. However the praise was all hers, which she knew, hence the fresh growth of her blossoming smile.
Failing to notice the flirtatious fingertips of his wife and the man whose respect he hoped to earn, John continued to converse, "It's very kind of you to invite us here, Jefferson - you seem to spend an awful lot of time ensuring my family is entertained; it's a noble task, and I can only thank you for endeavouring to make our time in Paris as pleasurable as possible."
A warm hand closed entirely around Angelica's for a tantalizingly short moment, and with it came the thrill of affection coursing through her soul, waves surging over rugged rocks with an almost terrifying power. Thomas' face revealed nothing of the secret they shared, save for the wide, smug grin as he loftily declared, "Believe me, the pleasure is all mine."
Maybe Church might have wondered why the other man seemed so illogically self-satisfied had he not been distracted at that moment. The trio had arrived at the large entrance to the ostentatious mansion, and a pair of guards were holding open the doors, having clearly recognized all three of the new arrivals. The moment they entered, a rare example of cohesion between husband and wife (and illicit lover) emerged in the matching gasps of unbridled awe. Everything within the vast room sang of decadence; the zenith of luxury was exuded from every furnishing, every swirl of marble and every shimmer of gold.
And amidst it all was a familiar friendly face radiating a sombre sorrow which seemed thoroughly out of place in those beautiful surroundings.
It was this face that caught Angelica's attention, and the second she made eye contact with the man who had once called himself her brother, and witnessed his subsequent pitiful attempt to smile, she knew what her immediate priority of that evening had to be.
"John, if you don't mind, I'm going to talk to the Marquis de Lafayette. It's been so long since I last spoke to him." She pecked her husband quickly on the cheek, before hurrying away without leaving him the chance to say a word of protest.
Left dumbfounded in his wife's wake, Church turned to his remaining acquaintance. Jefferson clapped a hand on his shoulder and remarked fondly, "Angelica Schuyler Church is a host unto herself - does what she wants, when she wants, whether you consent or not." Somewhat baffled about how much this man knew of his bride, John simply stared blankly at Thomas. After a slightly uncomfortable pause, Jefferson gestured towards a group of men gathered at the far end of the ballroom, and suggested, "There, Mr Church, is a group you want to become friendly with. Never fret about Mrs Church, she's in good hands with the Marquis. You just focus on your career, won't you." And leave me to focus on the bride you don't deserve.
If John registered the patronizing edge to the American's words, he revealed no sign of it. Taking his word as trustworthy, he followed the instruction, making his way to the group Thomas had indicated.
Alone but keen not to remain so, the remaining man glided swiftly through the crowds in pursuit of his inamorata, where she stood with his friend.
It was rare to see such discernment upon Gilbert's usually jovial features, and the crease in the Frenchman's brow looked decidedly alien, unnerving, even, to anyone who knew him with a degree of intimacy.
"Marquis, you look anxious, whatever's the matter?" Angelica enquired, her words insistent but soft. No matter the soldier's plight, she was determined to treat her old friend with tenderness and understanding.
The Frenchman rubbed his temple, not even trying to deny the correctness of her observation. "I'm afraid it's nothing you can solve, dearest Angelica. I doubt anyone could solve it..." He gazed mournfully into the middle distance as he continued, "The wall we have built between the rich and the poor will inevitably be broken, it has to be, sooner or later."
"And you fear it is to be sooner," she finished.
"I fear it is to be deadly," Lafayette confessed, speaking freely despite his surroundings; though surrounded by the elite who surely wouldn't take kindly to overhearing the pessimistic conversation, he was presented with the chance to discuss his worries openly, with a language barrier keeping his words private from his fellow French nobles. Shaking his head, he admitted, "Then again, whoever heard of a revolution without bloodshed? The two are practically synonymous."
A third figure joined the duo. "What's this talk of revolution?" Jefferson interjected, appearing like a ghost at Angelica's side, setting a protective hand on her back as if the cursed thing might ensue at any moment. "It's ugly business - very necessary in pursuit of true liberty, as seen in America's fight for justice, but decidedly unpleasant even so."
"We know that, we have lived through one," his lover reminded him, her consternation evident upon her pretty features. "It doesn't make the idea any less intimidating."
Lafayette groaned, looking around him and seeing, rather than the gaudy furnishings exuding wealth and power, a symbol of precisely the kind of corruption that condemned the masses to suffer. Disconcerted, he muttered, "Murmurs of discontent grow louder with each passing day, and soon I know they will transform into shouting demands for reform and screams for mercy. Being here, amongst all this finery, of course it's beautiful, but it's also tragic to see that we have such an abundance of wealth while the common people have none!" He seemed to grow more passionate with every word: "When I fought at Yorktown, I swore I would return to my home and light the spark of our own revolution, but since, I have been appointed into the ranks of the royals instead! And still, I empathize with the public, I want them to be victorious, but it contradicts everything I am supposed to be now!" True pain, a display of only a fraction of his inner conflict, shone from the Frenchman's emotive, patriotic eyes. His voice returned to a subdued murmur. "One thing alone is certain: the French Revolution is coming."
"Gilbert," Angelica spoke softly, reaching for his hand and squeezing, the only form of comfort she could offer when words failed her.
"I don't want you to be here when it strikes," he implored, bringing his second hand to cup hers, suddenly desperate. It was clear there was nothing but platonic, maybe even familial affection for his best friend's sister in law urging him to plead, "No matter what, make sure you are gone - America, England, it doesn't matter. I don't know what my family and I will do, but I don't want yours to have to face that same choice."
In a rare public show of sincerity, Thomas took hold of his friend's shoulder. Determined to ensure that it was so, he assured him, "Whatever comes to pass, you can be certain that you will have our full support. As a nation, and as a friend," he finished with a small smile, which the Frenchman mirrored.
"We'll help you if you encounter trouble, you can trust in that," Angelica concurred, placing her own viewpoint with Jefferson's without a second thought. She withdrew her hand from Lafayette and nodded once, a silent, solemn declaration that her words were not merely intended to placate the agitated man, but to bind the three of them into a promise.
The Frenchman beamed, resembling himself more than he had done for the entirety of the cool, twilight evening. Bowing low before them both, he decided, "You are both true friends. Alas, I have others I must talk to." A trace of regret marring his freshly resurrected optimism, he straightened and murmured, "If you'll excuse me, I should be going."
The couple nodded their consent, and Lafayette withdrew, nerves eased thanks to the conversation held with the two wise, political minds left standing side by side.
A beat of peace, then Jefferson pounced on the scrap Angelica knew the man would relish. Humour teasing at the corners of his lips, he smugly quoted, "'We'll help you.'" She rolled her eyes, eliciting a chuckle from her entertained lover. "We," he repeated, his voice marginally higher in pitch as he poorly mimicked her, "We, that is, Thomas Jefferson and I, will help you."
"Yes, Thomas, I know what I said. If, however, you believe that is an adequate imitation of my voice, then I'm afraid your talents of impersonation are severely flawed," she fired back, quickly exasperated by the way he had mercilessly forced her to acknowledge her improper slip of the tongue. Even so, there was a distinct hint of coy flirtation which she felt within her, tugging her lips into a coquettish smirk.
Jefferson shook his head, almost childish with pride as he responded, "I don't seek to impress you with impersonations, but to remind you of the words you spoke of your own free will. You consider the two of us to be one, a single body, a single mind -"
"And by some miracle, after months of sharing one another's company, amongst other things," she used the innuendo to connote more than she wanted any passerby to understand, "That comes as a surprise to you." She shrugged, superior even to Thomas' complacent victory. To her mind, it seemed so obvious that she should think of Jefferson as an extension of herself that the only real surprise was not that she had unwittingly admitted as much verbally, but that he seemed so stunned by it. She laughed gleefully, her recent worries forgotten as she watched the delightful transformation from pride to shock as the true extent of her innermost feelings towards Thomas fell into place in his own mind.
Within a few heartbeats, Jefferson had regained his mostly inalterable composure, baring his familiar grin as he remarked, "You really are full of surprises. I might be, too, if not for the small matter of your husband being so nearby preventing me from catching you off guard." He sighed wistfully, daring to stroke his fingertips through her curls, brushing her cheek as he did so, yet not risking anything more scandalous than that mostly innocent motion.
Resisting the insatiable instinct gnawing at her heart to lean her face against his palm, the woman curiously enquired, half-sure of the answer, "What exactly do you mean by that, Mr Jefferson?"
Raising a single eyebrow, Jefferson exuded seduction as he told her in a breathy, sultry murmur, "I mean that if your husband and his peers weren't watching us, I would be kissing you right now, and taking your breath away with every one I laid upon your skin." He lowered his hand so that his knuckles grazed her collarbone, his eyes tracing the same longing line he wished his lips were able to travel.
Perhaps he can feel my heartbeat racing, she wondered absently, closing her eyes for a few seconds and simply basking in the thrilling anticipation his touch always evoked. Her incriminatingly rapid pulse seemed to echo in her ears, maybe he can even hear it. Snapping from her hazy dream, she placed both hands on his wrist, and removed his hand from her neck. Mischief glistening within onyx eyes which seemed to call follow, she tugged him through the masses of people milling about the ballroom, finding a door and shoving through it unnoticed. The relative but fragile privacy of an empty hallway was all the infamously demanding woman had the patience to seek out before she pulled Jefferson close by locking her arms around his waist, her deep, soulful gaze the mirror image of the hungry flame of desire in his. He hesitated, not exactly shy, but more reserved than she was.
"There is nobody watching us now," she helpfully notified him with a melodic whisper, daring him to be true to his word.
It was all the prompting Thomas needed to envelope her lips with his, bringing their bodies close together and holding her there with a hand on her hip and another in her hair, genuinely drawing gasps from his paramour as his mouth explored hers.
"Thomas," the name escaped Angelica's parted lips as little more than a sigh.
Needing nothing more to comply with the unspoken request, Jefferson took one of her hands in both of his and lifted it to his mouth, a chaste, modest kiss fluttering across her knuckles, light as lace or a butterfly's wing. He released her, confirming, "We should be going back."
The music and chatter from the ballroom was so faint that Angelica had all but forgotten the celebration taking place just a wall away. Nevertheless, she knew it was necessary to return to it; she couldn't begin to hazard a guess as to how much time had passed during those precious moments she had spent pressed against her lover, smiling as she felt his matching grin travel down her neck, yet she suspected it was long enough that their absence might raised some questions. So she slipped away from him and instructed, "You first. I'll wait just a little while longer." He nodded, and silently left her alone in the dimly lit hallway.
Taking advantage of the brief snatch of solitude, Angelica glanced at a marble pillar, using the reflective surface as a mirror to ensure that despite the passionate fumbling she had partaken in, not so much as a hair was left out of place.
Satisfied, she wandered back along the hallway, relishing the hushed quiet just before stepping back into the storm.
Bracing herself to face any of her husband's enquiries, the woman returned through the same door from which she had exited the ballroom, only to find herself immediately subjected to John Church's undivided attention as he spotted her from across the room and signalled for her to join him.
At his side was the man whose company she had only just left.
Masking her guilt with an angelic, mesmerizing smile, Angelica swanned through the crowds to stand opposite the two men. If Thomas has said something about us to him... She cast a glance up towards the tallest of the two men, only to find an impenetrable cloud of gloom concealing any identifiable emotion upon Jefferson's face. Confusion reigned within her, however Church was beaming, marginally appeasing her. Keen to discover what had come to pass, she opened by trying to explain, "I was just -"
"- Taking some air, I know, Jefferson was just telling me that he went to check on you and found you to be quite sickly, so he escorted you from the room lest you should lose your way. Truly, sir, you are an awfully good man," John declared, reaching to wholeheartedly shake the American's hand. He had babbled hurriedly in his impatience to share what he perceived to be a brilliant development. "It is you above anyone else that I have to thank for what's happened."
"What has happened?" The clueless woman was thoroughly unaccustomed to being excluded, and when the mysterious news had brought such joy to one man she cared for and such dismay to another, a lack of knowledge seemed to be something she simply couldn't afford to maintain.
Jefferson spoke. He was unusually formal towards her, his forced smile in clear contradiction to the pain in his eyes, and she could practically hear a thick wave of emotion scarcely held back behind his words. "It seems congratulations are in order. I'm certain you and your family will be most happy."
The tension between the two secret lovers would have been palpable to anyone not blinded by their own glee. Needless to say, John didn't notice anything more than mild curiosity in his bride's concerned query, "Why is that?"
"London, dear." John grinned as he broke the news, "I've been offered a position in the Houses of Parliament, starting in the new year." Thomas Jefferson's dejection suddenly fell into place, and the world seemed to tumble away from Angelica as her husband concluded, "Finally, we'll be leaving this country behind, never to return to it."
Leaving Paris means leaving Thomas. That solid and agonizingly inescapable fact was the sole thought reverberating through Angelica's mind, and for just a moment, she forgot her duty to present herself as the businessman's loyal wife prepared to follow him anywhere and permitted her face to reflect the chaos running amock in her heart.
"Look at her, poor woman, she's stunned!" Church cheerfully chuckled, regarding his bride with amusement and trying to share the joke with Jefferson. "Don't fret, dear, they still have shops in London, and with the wage I'll be earning, you'll have no shortage of pretty things to keep you occupied."
Angelica was certain she'd never witnessed such rage in Jefferson's face as she did in that heartbeat: She was seeing his pure, blatant venom towards her husband in response to his shameless sexism. Regardless of the weight in her chest, a bubble of laughter rose from within her as she considered (contrary to John's assumptions about thinking of riches and material goods) the drastic shift from the arrogant, dismissive man she had first been introduced to and the man who was fiercely defensive of her and took offense to any judgemental comment made towards her.
Thomas tore the daggers he was firing at Church away from him the instant he heard the familiar, beautiful laugh from the enchanting woman. Mustering an apologetic smile, he nodded sympathetically.
We both know what I must say, she realized. She had played her part perfectly for years before encountering Jefferson, and now it was time for her to return to being the compliant woman her husband had come to expect her to be. There was no true conviction, but it was a believable performance nonetheless as she took both of her husband's hands in hers and warmly congratulated, "That's wonderful, love, and I couldn't be more proud."
John beamed, and offered his arm for her to take. "I knew you'd be delighted just as soon as you understood," he remarked, a definite self-congratulatory tone to his words. "Excuse us, Jefferson, my wife and I ought to share our good news!"
He lead his bride away, stretching her heartstrings to the point of snapping as he did so. We're not leaving straight away, there's still time for him to change his mind, she desperately told herself, though her rational brain knew that there was no chance of an alteration in the decision: a position in the British government was what he had always sought out, and he would surely not allow it to slip past him.
She felt the achingly familiar sensation of longing eyes following her walk away, yet she didn't dare peek over her shoulder to return Thomas' sorrowful expression. Her one hope at saving face was to keep smiling and laughing, all the while hoping desperately that her performance was convincing enough to keep anyone from spotting the tears brimming within her eyes.
Yet that night, when her cheekbones ached from holding wooden smile for most of the evening, they fell freely, rolling hot and heavy down her face before falling, plummeting downwards into dark oblivion, just like her dreams.