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Chapter Text

           Adrienne was informed by Billy shortly after she arrived that it was official, George had gone mad.  In a different time, the notorious Commander-in-chief might have been her brother-in-law, which was the source of their problems.  Adrienne had half the sense to raise concern over these frequent bouts of melancholy he seemed to be plagued with these days, but what good would that get her.  

           For some reason, Martha Custis had fallen head over heels for that man not long after the end of her mourning period for her late husband.  It was a surprise to no one, except the General, for all his astute surveying skills. The man was frankly blunt minded, in her opinion. 

           Lady Adrienne Fairfax had never gotten to know her betrothed.  Lawrence Washington was a man twice her age who was arranged to marry her eldest sister, Anna.  However, after Anna’s passing, she found herself being the only one who could have fulfilled the marriage contract, as she had none of her own.  Anna died when Adrienne was 3.  And by the time she reached 13, Lawrence was sent off to fight a war for King and Country.  After that, he fell prey to the same illness that took Anna and died not long after.  Her family considered this as a sign.  The contract did not transfer to George. The same George that was rapidly going mad.

           Billy Lee reported to her, he had for quite some time. Adrienne’s own mother always encouraged having an ear among help; they often knew much more than they let on.  He was incredibly easy to manipulate for the General’s most trusted servant; a sweet smile and honey glazed words was all it took.  He believed that she wanted to help George.  That was not her intention, no, but the General grew too attached to “the last bit of Lawrence he had left,” and took her in as a charge to be a socialite in Alexandria town and Williamsburg and to act as company for Martha in his absence.

           Adrienne had always been stupidly ambitious, and she intended to use his naive attachment to her benefit.  Now, she was not a bad person, but she frankly had goals to reach.  Goals that she’d never achieve if she did not jump at all opportunities to achieve them.  Unfortunately, this godforsaken winter encampment was a sacrifice she must make to maintain her influence over the over-glorified Commander-in-Chief.  Though enduring another winter season in a household with Colonel Hamilton would be a task that would surely bristle even Adrienne’s steadfast patience.

           “Ms. Fairfax,” a voice interrupted her thoughts, “what a pleasure it is to have you with us in the valley. The weather seems more than agreeable for a woman such as yourself.” Lady Adrienne Fairfax emerged from the carriage, taking the hand the Colonel extended as a nicety, before coming to meet what was supposed to have been a cleared walkway, but was now starting to blend in with the rest of the snow-covered ground.

           He sent the Colonel to greet her.  He always did.

           She had to resist the urge to make a face at his underhanded comment, and instead plastered on an impassive smile, “Mr. Hamilton, it’s so lovely to see that no matter how much time passes, that smile of yours continues to mirror a dreary Pennsylvania winter.”

           The man simply gave her a curt nod and then began to escort Adrienne into the Potts family’s tiny household, whose home had been transformed into George’s headquarters for the winter.  She made no effort to look for the man she was currently betrothed to; why would she?  John Laurens and Adrienne Fairfax had never shown more than a polite interest in each other; their match was made solely out of necessity rather than chemistry, that much was clear.  The moment the two entered the house, however, the Colonel seemed to make for the back door.  Hm, how curious.

           Martha had arrived a few days prior to Adrienne and had gone out into the ladies’ camp for a stroll.  She made up the stairs behind Billy, who led her to her room, then told her of George’s current state. George Washington had finally gone mad. Technically, he was overcome by the melancholy in bouts. According to Billy, the last time he was under its throes, he wandered off into the woods and claimed that he talked to a fully corporal Lawrence. ‘Dear God,’ she thought, ‘everyone knew the General was under a lot of stress after the massive defeat that was the battle of Brandywine, but he’d genuinely fallen off into the deep end of it now.’ And so Adrienne began to unpack.

           Headquarters was beyond cramped.  It was in utter chaos, which spoke multitudes on the hastiness of the army’s residence in the once-prosperous valley.  Adrienne sat on the bed in front of a mirror mounted on the wall, a poor substitute for a vanity, as the household servant Martha and herself had brought with them put the finishing touches on her hair for dinner.  She was certainly taking her time; Adrienne was at least 15 minutes late by now; she had to be.  

           “All done, Miss.”

           “Very well, thank you, Ona.  You are dismissed.” 

           Ona stood, giving a slight courtesy to Adrienne, “Ms. Fairfax.”

           Adrienne watched as her form retreated down the hall, waiting as she entered the General’s room.  After deeming herself presentable, giving herself a quick look in the mirror, because if she was going to be late, she might as well have something to show for it, Adrienne made down the staircase.

           The chatter coming from the dining room was louder than it should have been, and after noting the time on the clock in the main hall, she sighed in relief.  Her antics had merely been getting to her.  She was barely past the five-minute mark, surely they hadn’t started eating yet.

           Adrienne had intended to arrange for a dinner with one of Philadelphia’s ladies tonight; however, she was met with the request she remained at the Pott’s House to meet the officers joining the camp.  Martha had purposefully mentioned that they came from Europe.  

           The chatter did not come to a halt as she entered the room, no one had even sat down for dinner, and to be honest, a few of the aides still sat on the sides of the room with writing desks on their laps, finishing up their day’s work. ‘Clearly showing who was there for the station, and who was there for “the cause.” Of course, there was Colonel Hamilton right in the middle of a conversation,” she thought.  While sweeping the room’s inhabitants, Adrienne made a long pause of eye contact with the Lieutenant Colonel, then quickly averted her gaze to Martha, who simply looked back to Laurens.

           Making her way across the room was slightly more challenging than it should have been, but given a soldier’s disposition to ignore social courtesy completely, she was not surprised.  Finally, Adrienne reached Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, her fiance, engaging in polite discussion with a foreign officer.  As Adrienne approached, the conversation came to a halt, and John met her gaze with a polite smile, stepping aside to allow her a spot in their discussion.

           “Colonel Tadeusz Kościuszko, may I introduce you to Lady Adrienne Fairfax, General Washington’s charge?”

           She extended her hand to the stately man, who, in turn, brought it to his lips, ‘there was no room for him to properly bow in here’ is what Adrienne would tell Martha later, as his eyes met hers, he offered her a charming smile. 

           “I have heard of your beauty from the Lieutenant Colonel, but I believed him blasphemous,” the silver-tongued Colonel, who still held her hand near his lips, had certainly just been acting out of courtesy. She’d tell that to Martha later as well. “I’m afraid I now owe him an apology for not believing in the angelic beauty that now stands before me.”  

           Adrienne, in order to save the situation, lest tension began to run high at the impropriety, responded lightly, “that is certainly high praise, sir.  I only hope it is well deserved.” She stepped back precisely one pace from John as a sign of deference. Had John not told the fetching Colonel, they were betrothed?  Adrienne turned to acknowledge her Fiancé politely, he only granted her a curt nod, blink and you’d miss it, as the only visible sign of his displeasure.

           The two gentlemen continued their conversation, and Adrienne waited until the conversation slipped into the topic of camp engineering and design to excuse herself.  She made her way through the men, returning the polite greetings offered to her as she passed by.

           After a few more minutes of fluttering about the room in a flurry of introductions and pleasantries, the Commander-in-Chief called the dinner proper.  A few moments were spent scanning place cards added to ease the seating situation with the new additions.

           Adrienne could have sworn that there was not nearly enough space in this dining room to seat such a large crowd of people, but Billy, like always, made it work beautifully. However, with slight annoyance, Adrienne realized that George had elected the newly returned officers to sit in the spots usually assigned to his aides.  This would not only mean that she could not gossip with Martha, who was seated at her right on the opposite end of the table from her husband, over the charming new Colonel.  No, Adrienne was also, unfortunately, seated with the piqued Lieutenant Colonel across the table from her and the ostentatious Colonel Hamilton to her left.  A few more aides, including Tilghman, Fitzgerald, and Meade, sat between her and a gentleman within George’s selection of young men she would consider a close friend.  The Marquis de Lafayette was seated closer towards the farther edge of the table, mixed with the hour’s officers, mixed with the hour’s officer.

           At least Colonel Hamilton showed light annoyance at his placement as well. 

           “Ah, Ms. Fairfax, I was unaware we had such admiration in common that I should be placed as close as the Lieutenant Colonel and Lady Washington to your angelic beauty,” he said with a particular glimmer in his eye. John’s shoulders tensed slightly in his vibrant woolen jacket. 

           “Mr. Hamilton, I assure you the feeling of surprise is mutual.  I was unaware of the severity of the attention you paid to me.” 

           Adrienne moved to pull out her chair, reaching out with a hand, but rather than finding it on the chair, it seemed to land in the Colonel’s hands. “Please, allow me, Ms. Fairfax,” he stated with such false modesty. ‘How predictable,’ she thought.  Colonel Hamilton released her hand, then took hold of the chair, pulled it out for her, and then pulled out his own seat.

           Adrienne extended a brief expression of gratitude towards him, accompanied by a slight nod and a faulty smile.  John became invisible to her for the rest of the meal.  Adrienne was far too taken by a particularly eye-catching and respectable Colonel at the table’s far end. 

           When dinner finally came to a conclusion, a few of the aides and officers, as well as the General, decided they would lounge about to catch up in the workrooms. Adrienne excused herself to follow Martha, who had retired some minutes previous, upstairs. She was greeted at the top of the stairs by a familiar figure standing just short of the landing.

           “Monsieur Marquis, what a lovely breath of fresh air it is to see you well and on your feet once more. Your last letter left me with deep concern. What happened to rest?”

           The Marquis Chuckled lightly, “it is a pleasure to have you with us this winter,” he paused, “madam.”

           “Do not think that you can avoid my questions with polite flattery, sir.”

           He broke into a small smile, “I would never dream of it.” The Marquis stepped forward, cupping her cheek, “I did come up here to retire early in an attempt to aid in the last bits of healing necessary for my wound, I promise, Addy.”

           Adrienne smiled warmly back at him, “very well then. I do not wish to impede your rest,” she paused before adding, “All I ask is that you arrange a gap in your schedule for our annual tea, Motier.”

           The Marquis moved his hand from her cheek to squeeze her hand in silent affirmation, “of course,” he released her and continued to speak to her on the landing as he began his room, “good night, Addy.”

           As the Marquis opened the door to the room, he shared with Alexander, Tench, and Laurens that he smiled slightly. Adrienne had always managed to lift his spirits, and they’d taken to each other splendidly. They had created a formal tea tradition when they first met at a winter encampment and now performed it annually, with just the two of them in attendance. ‘That will be hard here,’ he thought, what, with all the chaos and work to be done in such cramped quarters. They would make it work, they always had; he liked that about her. Ms. Fairfax was a proper English Lady of an utterly extravagant and moral upbringing. Due to this, she tended to come across as stiff and ill-mannered towards improvisation and change. He knew the young girl who was something between a sister and a daughter to him far too well to believe that, however. No, Adrienne was freakily flexible and could change plans and adapt to new situations without having to exercise even her smallest whim. She loved to laugh, her favorite tea was a particular hyson green, she loved the color yellow, and adored the constellations in the stars. Adrienne also had a fondness for a French-style coffee, Lafayette had been more than pleased to discover, including melted chocolate in the blend. The two of them were quite the pair, there was no doubt.

           As the Marquis moved himself on from his musings to disrobe himself of the officer’s uniform he was wearing, the door opened to reveal Alexander. The latter had apparently deemed it late enough to retire. The shorter man stepped into the room to immediately greet him with a hug.

           “It’s Good to have you back with us again, Monsieur.”

           “Ah, Monsieur Hamilton, it is good to be back, and just in time too.”

           Alexander snorted at that, “What it is precisely that you find charming about Ms. Fairfax I’m afraid I will never understand, my friend. I rather think her an uptight prude.”

           Lafayette let out a soft laugh, then jabbed back, “What it is precisely that you find prudish about Ms. Fairfax, I’m afraid that I will never understand, my friend.”

           The Colonel nodded to him in deference, calling a truce as he moved to disrobe himself as well. He sat with a sigh, “Some days I do have to ask why it is that I am seemingly the only one who can see it, today especially. That Polish friend of yours barely did so much as look at her and then couldn’t stop admiring her all evening, the poor man.”

           The Marquis shook his head as the Colonel pulled back the perfectly made blanket on his cot and began muttering to himself in his diluted, but usual fashion, about Ms. Fairfax.

           The Potts’ household was up and running far before the sun saw it fit to rise, the aides were back to their desks and hard at work for hours before Adrienne was woken by her personal attendant, Ona Judge, for breakfast. ‘Somehow, the state of the dining room was more chaotic than it was the previous night,’ she noted while entering the room, taking a seat next to the Marquis, who offered her a brief smile between bites. They certainly did not follow any kind of traditional style of breakfast; officers were passing in and out of the dining room with varying parts of their meals on their way to continue the work for the day, very few taking the time to sit down for a full plate. There at the mahogany table in the center of the room sat the Marquis — who was engaged in a conversation with the handsome European Colonel— enjoying a full plate of food; Colonel Hamilton nursing one of his many morning cups of coffee while pouring over a stock report; and Tench Tilghman who simply sat with his head in his hands and eyes closed, a half-full cup of coffee sat, cooling by the minute, in from of him.  

           No George, not even a trace. ‘Huh, that’s odd, he’s usually the first to awake, hours before the sun starts to rise.’ Adrienne raised an inquiry to his whereabouts to the Marquis, who simply stated that the General was working. Deciding that was all the information she would likely get from him, Adrienne decided to make a plate and plans for the day. She would have to make an appearance in the city soon, she’d have to if she wanted to get out of the squalor of an encampment full of half-dead soldiers every day.   Perhaps Adrienne would ask George to write a letter of introduction to the honorable Mr. Tench Coxe, who once was quite active in Virginian high society, having been gone to Philadelphia for far too long.  

           If she was correct, he was one of the few congressmen who had stayed when Howe took the city, Doctor Rush and Tench Coxe’s families had likely been the only ones who remained in town now. ‘Well,’ she thought, ‘I would have to find him first.’

           “What do you have planned for today, Ms.Fairfax?”

           Adrienne was ripped from her thoughts, quickly realizing it was the Colonel who seemed to occupy her thoughts quite often for having met the man last night. “Well, Colonel, I was entertaining the idea of going into the city to become reacquainted with a few old friends.  However, I would need the General to write a letter of introduction before that is possible due to how long it has been since we last saw each other.  Much more frivolous plans than anything on your schedule, I imagine.”

           “Ah.  Yes indeed, but I assure you, your plans sound twice as promising, to be sure.  A few officers, including the General, Marquis, Colonel, and I will be headed to the home of a Doctor Benjamin Rush tonight for a business dinner as an attempt to get more supplies from Congress.”

           “Oh, I was unaware that Doctor Rush had remained in the city.  May I inquire about the contact you will be hoping to make through the good doctor?”

           Hamilton saw this the perfect opportunity to butt into their conversation, not even looking up from his letters as he spoke, “I do not believe you are privy to a response Ms. Fairfax, as this is a matter of an army you are not a member of.”

           Adrienne gave the man a sharp glare for his reckless rudeness and blatant disrespect towards her person; however, he simply continued with his letters, not sparing her a passing glance.

           At this, Lafayette slowed in his chewing, eyes darting around the table, observing the silent tension that overcame it as Hamilton finished his sentence.  Finishing his bite of eggs, he looked around the table once more before opening his mouth to speak in an attempt to diffuse the tension in the air. “If you could give me a name, I will be sure to ask the General to write an introduction for you, Addy,” a short awkward pause passed before he continued, “how was the trip here?”

           “It was very well, once one overcomes the chilly frost of winter.  I am clearly far more adapted to much softer winters, Monsieur.”

           He pursed his lips slightly and entirely met her eyes, his own filled with concern, “You were sure to pack lined cloaks, yes?”

           Adrienne simply offered him a smile and responded, “Yes Monsieur, I was sure to bring plenty of furs and stockings as well having learned my lesson last winter encampment.”

           “Very good, I had to be sure I did not need to stop on our journey this evening to purchase more once again because of underpacking the essentials Ms. Fairfax,” he teased.

           She laughed lightly at his doting jokes, alerting the resting Tilghman. “Careful, you two, keep talking like that people will think you’re married,” he joked while stretching in his chair.  Tilghman then proceeded to toss the remaining coffee in his cup back before leaving to attend at his desk once more, leaving the rest of them in a far more comfortable silence as they finished their meals.

Chapter Text

           Adrienne sat minding her embroidery on the chair of her small room she had pulled in front of the window, with the bed’s drapings hiding her from the announced visitor who had just knocked and entered her room. “You know dear,” so the visitor was Martha, “it’s not very becoming to hide away in a closet all day.”

           Adrienne, completely absorbed in her embroidery, pursed her lips into a thin line, “I am not hiding, I am simply attempting to occupy space as far away from Colonel Hamilton as possible.” 

           Martha took this as an invitation to enter the room completely, stepping in to sit on the bed, “Ah, yes, Colonel Hamilton. I heard about your altercation with him at breakfast.”

           “Lovely, I see it has already begun to spin it’s way through the camp,” she replied, with a bitter undertone in her words.

           “No, It has not left the dining room, Adrienne. It was the Marquis who told me about it,” she stated. “You could have told me, I would’ve spoken with him.”

           With a deep sigh, Adrienne placed the embroidery to lie on her lap, “No, I couldn’t because if I told you, then you would have spoken to him, and I am grown enough to fight my own battles, Martha.”

           “Yes dear, I know, but you don’t have to. That’s the whole point.”

           Martha extended her hand to Adrienne as a silent request to join her on the bed. Adrienne moved from her little chair to the bed, placing the embroidery hoop on the lid of her trunk. When she was finally seated, Martha took her hands to hold in her own, allowing a moment of silence to pass through the room as she handed Adrienne a caring and motherly smile. After a few seconds, she broke the silence, “I didn’t come up here simply to scold you, you know. I need the name of the family you were supposed to pass to Motier? He didn’t see you around all day, figured you were hiding.”

           Adrienne nodded, “Of course. I hadn’t taken note of the time, I’m sure they should be leaving soon.” She stood to open her trunk, place the embroidery inside it, and remove both pen and paper. She wrote out the two names: Tench Coxe & Benjamin Rush , and handed the paper to Martha.  

           Martha grabbed the piece of paper as it was extended to her, furrowing her brow as she read the names. “Tench Coxe and Benjamin Rush? Now, what business do you have with those two?”

           “Well,” she replied, “I had caught words of both them and their families remaining in Philadelphia for the time being. There’s certainly no need for me to linger around Headquarters when there are friendly faces better befitting a young lady nearby.” 

           “But you have yet to see either of these families in the several years since the Coxe’s moved back to Pennsylvania so Tench could serve in Congress,” she paused as she thought about it more, “And what can the Marquis do with such a list? The only person aware of your involvement with these families is- oh. He’s going to ask George to write you an introduction letter, isn’t he?”

           Adrienne smiled, “Yes, that was the plan. What, with George constantly being plagued by meetings and dinners, I’d hardly be able to ask him myself.” Martha laughed a little at this before rising from the bed to head downstairs. As she began down the stairs, she spoke back to Adrienne as she continued down the stairs, “Come join me downstairs in a few short hours, dear. Dinner should be prepared by then.”

           Headquarters was so much quieter when the aides were gone and a lot emptier too. The house was eerily silent, allowing for the sound of Adrienne’s heels as they made constant with the stairs to resonate through the staircase and entryway. A few lone officers were gathered at the dining table, with Martha at its head. Adrienne moved to take the seat to her left, noting the table was exactly how it was during breakfast, small and made with only necessities for the meal. Martha gave her a nod; the other officers, either too tired or terrified to speak to her, simply said nothing. Before she could even begin a conversation, Ona proceeded to bring the plated food from the kitchen into the dining room. The food was passible, certainly nowhere near the luxuries afforded at Mount Vernon nor Adrienne’s childhood home at Belvoir. If she was honest, if it wasn’t plated on the exquisite fine china Martha and Adrienne had brought to camp with them, she would have no qualm in making the statement that they were eating the same diner as an ordinary foot soldier on the camp’s outskirts.  

           Most of the meal was spent observing the officers’ attempts to hide the state of their hunger from the two ladies, trying not to wolf down their meals in a few measly bites, no matter how much their eyes, and stomachs, might have wanted to. Beyond that, the meal passed with little significance, that is, until Martha took to inquiring about Adrienne’s perception of the officers introduced the night previous.

           Adrienne smiled, fully intending to attempt to fudge her way through the conversation, “I regret that I did not get properly introduced to many of them, and certainly not nearly enough to make a fair or accurate judgment.”

           But Martha had seen what actually happened, how there was only one officer she paid any mind to that night. She smiled back at Adrienne with a glimmer in her eye as she spoke, “Ah, and what of the one you were introduced to, Colonel Tadeusz Kościuszko of Poland?”

           Adrinne’s back stiffened at the mention of his name, ‘so she had noticed then.’ 

           “I believe John was the one who introduced you two.”

           Clearing her throat before she spoke, “Yes I do recall being introduced to him. He had an affinity for camp engineering, he and John were quite taken with the topic.”

           Martha let out a soft laugh, taking a sip of Madeira, “Oh really, because it seemed to me like the Colonel was more taken with you than he was about any conversation the entire night.”

           Adrienne flushed a light pink in her cheeks, “Colonel Kościuszko was simply acting to appease John, I am sure.”

           Martha pursed her lips, throwing Adrienne an incredulous glare, “Yes, I’m sure the reason he came so close and took your hand to his lips was to appease your Fiance.” 

           “There was not enough room for him to bow,” she parried meekly, “the room was far too crowded.”

           A small snort of laughter came from one of the relatively young officers, a Major by the looks of it, with blonde hair tied back in a queue at his neck. The two ladies only spared the eavesdropper a brief glance before Martha continued, “See, even the Major does not believe you.” Leaving no room for Adrienne to continue to perdue her argument Martha dismissed the officers back out into the snowy cold, leaving the two of them alone in the house for the time being.  

           Martha found Adrienne still seated in her chair, gazing at the fire with a distant glance, “You have something on your mind, dear, what is it?”

           Her eyes snapped up from the fireplace to Martha. She opened her mouth to speak, she should tell her, she deserves to know, but simply closes it again. “It is nothing, I assure you, just my allowing my mind to wander is all.”

           “Allowing it to wander to the Colonel?”

           Before upstairs in her room, Adrienne lay in her chemise under the quilt on the bed, she had told Martha she was going to sleep, but no matter how long she lay there in the dark, she could not find sleep.  She kept it from her, she possessed something that Martha deserved to know from her, but that would defeat the purpose of having the information, would it not?  Adrienne sighed deeply, removing the blankets from her body and rising to light a candle in the small room.  George Washington was going mad, and she knew it, and she has yet to say a word.  George Washinton is going mad, and Martha is entirely unaware.  Unaware thanks to Adrienne, and she felt horrible about it.  So horrible, she could not even find rest.

           Adrienne heard the door downstairs creak open, and a variant of sluggish and rowdy voices floated up from the foyer, signaling the return of the officers and aides who accompanied George to dinner at the Rush family home.  She listened as they clobbered up the stairs, their boots pounding against the wooden steps staggered and slack in their movements.  Once the noise settled in the house, Adrienne tied on her dressing robe, grabbing the freshly lit candle in her room, and exiting her room.  As she descended down the stairs, she hoped that Motier had elected to remain up for a short time, if there was anyone who could make her feel better, it was him.  Adrienne walked down the narrow hall, searching for the sound of a specific voice in the rooms as silently as possible.  Recognizing the Marquis’ voice, Adrienne moved to enter one of the rooms but halted just short of entering, being met face to face with the man she had successfully avoided thus far, Colonel Hamilton.  He sat directly in front of the wall, facing the doorway, noticing her as immediately as she did him.  The Marquis halted mid-sentence to turn towards whatever it was that Alexander had become so fixated on.  His eyes landed on Adrienne, and he glanced between the two, neither spared him a glance, each daring the other to break eye contact.  

           “I thought you have been asleep by now, Ms. Fairfax,” it came from Colonel Hamilton.

           “I could say the same for you, Colonel.”

           There was an awkward pause that filled the room.  The crackling of the fireplace was the only thing heard in the room until the Marquis cleared his throat, “Is there something that you needed, Addy?”

           “Well, I had intended on speaking with you, but I realize now that you are otherwise indisposed.”

           Hamilton nodded dismissively, “Then off with you then, he’ll find you once we are finished here, Ms. Fairfax.”

           Adrienne’s head snapped back to the Colonel, with anger burning in her eyes, ‘Who does he think he is that he can talk to me like that and get away with it?  How I would love to slap that arrogant look right off his face.’  She barely remembered walking over to the Colonel till the Marquis grabbed her arm, “Adrienne, don’t,” he said, practically reading her mind.

           She stiffened, then straightened, then nodded in acknowledgment of his plea.  However, she had no intention of backing down, especially as the Colonel rose from his seat to greet her.  The moment Motier let go of her arm, she swung it around to smack the arrogant Colonel clean across the face, “You will not talk to me with such disrespect, Colonel.  It will not be allowed nor tolerated any longer.”

           Hamilton looked back at her in shock, shock at her words, her tone, her actions.  He obviously did not expect to be slapped across the face, and for once in his entire life, no matter how hard he tried to formulate a retort, he had nothing to say.  Lafayette spared one look between the two before stepping in the middle, “I do believe we’re done for the night, Alexander.”  He then turned to Adrienne, and in a tone that made it quite clear he was not asking, said, “Ms. Fairfax, please, grab your cloak and come on a ride with me.”

           After donning both riding habit and cloak, Adrienne met the Marquis outside the house.  She found herself struggling to breathe as she stepped out into the suffocatingly cold air of the night, and as it filled her lungs, so did the feeling of dread, an emotion she did not frequently experience.  There, at the post, tacked up and fed for a ride, was his horse.  She could hardly believe her eyes; not only was he extending nothing besides an icy attitude, but he was intending on her riding with him on his own horse like she was some form of an ill-mannered child.  Deciding it was not the time to argue, Adrienne grabbed the hand he offered her to mount the steed with the Marquis following in suit, wrapping his arms around her to grab hold of the reins, an easy task considering his figure loomed, by a few mere inches, barely less than a foot taller than her rather petite one.  They sat in complete and total silence as they trod along the outer edges of the valley, the Marquis refusing to do much more than breathe.  To Adrienne, the whole situation was quite eerie, but perhaps that was just her nerves talking.  They came upon a long stretch of field, untouched by the camp engineers, and coated in a thick blanket of snow with only the sound of the wind blowing in their ears to accompany them in their silence.   She felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck as Lafayette took a deep breath before beginning to speak, “Why did you do it?”

           Adrienne paused and decided to keep her mouth shut, but he did not find that to be an allowable action.  Pushing once more for an answer, he said to her, “What was that about Adrienne?  That kind of behavior was so unlike you, it’s disappointing,” his tone softened slightly, “You must tell me what it is that has gotten into you today.”

           She turned her head to the snow beneath them and said, in the quietest voice, “I don’t know.”

           The tension in the Marquis’ shoulders melted away immediately, but his grip on the reins in his hands tightened ever so slightly, “Surely it must have been something, Addy.  To be honest, if you were ever going to hit Alexander, I would have presumed it would have been done at a sooner date, over any of your larger arguments, not two measly comments.”

           Adrienne laughed lightly, feeling the tension that remained hanging in the air blow away into the breeze.  “I wish I knew why, but I do not.  One minute I was standing there and the next I had smacked him across the face.”  There was a pause for a shiver, “But I suppose had the means for such a temper and on my mind well before I came downstairs, it certainly did a brilliant job at keeping me awake.  That’s why I had initially come down to speak with you.  I figured that if anyone could ease my doubts, it would be you, Motier.”

           Lafayette, noticing her shiver, moved his cloak to hold Adrienne as well as him, giving her an extra layer, as they continued.  “Very well, I will drop the topic so long as I can be assured a similar situation will not be initiated by you once more.  Or I am afraid I will be forced to alert the General.”  Adrienne nodded in acknowledgment, ‘as if George would really be able to make her situation any worse,’ she thought as he continued, “Now, what is it that was keeping you awake, Addy?”

           She sighed, shrinking back into his cloak in an attempt to feel his body heat as well, “I fear that now, more than ever, I find my own morals and conscience being tried through obstacles created by the heavens.”

           He cocked an eyebrow at this, concern flooding his eyes, “First Alexander, now speaking in riddles?  Adrienne, are you sure you are feeling well?”

           “Yes, I simply,” she exhaled, starting again, “I fear that I may have kept something from Martha, something she deserves to know.  I had the opportunity to tell her, and I declined it, knowingly.  And the worst part is that I do not wish to tell her either,” the sounds of the camp were rapidly approaching once more, “And it’s been that exact realization that has been eating at me all evening, keeping me awake.”  

           “Do I want to know the severity of this knowledge?  Do I need to know?” 

           Adrienne paused, “No, at least I don’t think so, not yet.”

           “Very well then, what is it I can do for you then, Addy?”

           “I don’t need anything more than you’ve already given me, an ear to listen and a shoulder to lean on, though I suppose in our case it is a winter cloak to share,” she joked, attempting, and succeeding in lightening the mood.

           “You know,” he began, “When I asked you this morning if you had packed clothes for winter proper, you told me yes.”

           “Well, I’ve not had reason to venture out in these past two days.  How was I to know that Pennsylvania winters were so miserable,” Adrienne replied.  The sound of snow crunching under the hooves of the Marquis’ steed muffled their conversation as they passed by cabins and tents alike, remaining on the outskirts of the encampment.  “In Virginia, we are quite obviously accustomed to much softer winters.”

           “Ah, yes,” snorted the Marquis, “Softer winters for softer women.”

           “For your sake, sir, I shall consider that a compliment.”

           This morning, when Adrienne awoke, it was to a light knocking at her door.  She looked around the room, gaining her bearings still as she invited the visitor in.  On the other side of the door was Ona Judge, with a dining tray with a full breakfast and three letters addressed to her.  Adrienne sat up in the bed, moving to draw back the small curtains around it that blocked out the sunlight.  When she raised the question to Ona about why she was receiving breakfast in her bedroom, all she was told is that ‘it was a special request by Mr. and Mrs. Washington in order to give you more time to rest.’  

           Adrienne decided to put it aside, heavily doubting Ona’s ability to tell her any more, even if she wanted to.  As her door shut, she began to sip at her tea, deciding to open the three letters first.  For such a well-known, accomplished, and upstanding young lady, she could not recall a time when more than one letter would be presented at once, and even that was a rarity for her.  Indulging herself in the delicacy of reviving mail, Adrienne broke the seal of the first letter:

           Dear Lady Fairfax,

           I wrote to you in good faith, to assure you that I received your request from the Marquis

           de Lafayette.  I sent out the only remaining letter with this morning’s first post.  It shall

           be on the desk of Tench Coxe, assuming he remains in the city, by the time he and his

           family join together for breakfast.  I was certain to re-introduce you last evening to

           Doctor Benjamin Rush, who remembered you fondly and has extended an invitation to

           you to visit with his family for the day. 

           I hope this is to your liking,

           General George Washington 

           ‘How like him to be so formal,’ she thought to herself, overjoyed by the prospect of attending to ladies of finer society rather than remaining cooped here in the Potts household all day long.  Placing the letter aside, Adrienne made a mental note to call for Ona once her meal concluded.  Once more, taking her tea to her lips, she reached for the second letter.  With one glance at the letter, she realized with surprise, it was from Colonel Hamilton.

           Lady Fairfax,

           I wanted to extend my humblest apologies for my behavior towards your person

           yesterday.  Upon reflection, I realized that your actions, while not entirely proper, were

           entirely justifiable, and well-deserved on my part.  If I may be entirely blunt with you,

           my lady, my behavior was not that which befits an officer of the Continental Army, but

           rather that of a downright prat.  Please allow me to assure you that this apology is given

           willingly and meaningfully, without printing nor request, and I sincerely hope you find it

           acceptable.

           Sincerely,

           Col. Alexander Hamilton

           Aide de camp to Gen. George Washington 

           “Given without prompting?  Now isn’t that curious behavior,” she spoke to no individual in particular, coming to the conclusion that if he was willing to drop any aggravations at her actions, then she would gladly accept this apology.  Perhaps the Colonel is not such a lost cause after all.  Adrienne glanced down at the tray to reach for the final letter, fingers hovering just above it as she read, then re-read who the sender was.  She had received a letter from the dashing Polish Colonel.  Her hands trembled with anticipation as she slowly picked the letter up to break the seal.  Halfway through removing the seal, Adrienne paused.  Did she really want to know what lies in the letter?  Why would the Colonel even write to her in the first place?  He certainly had not asked her permission to do so.  Adrienne shook her head.  He already sent the letter, so not opening it would hardly be polite.  Polite, yes, that’s what she’d tell herself.  She’s merely being polite.  Polite to a man whose letter makes her heartbeat speed up after only one interaction.

           Lady Adrienne Fairfax of Virginia,

           I am aware that even as I begin to write this letter that you might elect not to open it when it is received or even to use it as fodder to stoke your fire, but I am more

           afraid about what shall happen if I am not honest with you ma’am.  Since our very first encounter, you have consumed both my mind and soul, but I find myself severely

           lacking in any proper knowledge about your person nor your characteristics.  I have been invited to dine with Doctor Rush tonight alongside you, and it is my hope that I

           will have such an opportunity to familiarize myself with the workings of such a beautiful creature as yourself.  Your indulgence of my wishes is not mandatory madam, if

           you deem them too bold, then I shall comply without complaint.  However, should you see it fit to bless me with such an experience, I will be more than greatly indebted

           to you, my Lady.

           My greatest Admiration,

           Tadeusz Kościuszko of Poland

           Colonel of the Continental Army

           Adrienne bit her lip to withhold a childish laugh from escaping from it, a giddy smile spreading across her face as she re-read the letter yet and yet again.  Before, she was excited for today, now, she was thrilled.

Chapter Text

           The small second-floor room was overtaken with clutter as Adrienne prepared for what seemed like the first time ages.  She sat on the bed half-dressed in her chemise and petticoat, a cream silk robe a la française hung from a hanger on the handle of the door, powder, and rouge lightly dusting the surface of the small desk.  Ona, who was placing the final pins into Adrienne’s high roll, shifted on the bed to stand, signaling the conclusion of her hair.  Adrienne, preferring a fairly natural look, had only a light layer of powder on her face and a slight dusting of rouge on her cheeks as she stood to place on the final layer of clothing.  After attaching the bodice, tying on a hat, grabbing her muff, and placing on her lined winter cloak, she was out the door and on the way to the home of Doctor Benjamin Rush.

           When she arrived, Adrienne was greeted by a footman and assisted out of the carriage.  Just shortly after her feet met the ground, the door flung open and out rushed a familiar young lady in a blue and yellow gown that mirrored Adrienne’s own dress. 

           “Addy!”

           “Emily!”

           Ann Emily Rush sprung down the stairs at lightning speed, taking Adrienne into an enthusiastic hug.  The two girls laughed happily, as the force created by Emily Rush propelled them into a spin. 

           When they finally separated, Emily spoke. “Adrienne Fairfax, it has been far too long since I’ve seen you last.  It worried me that you might be becoming a shrewd hermit all cooped up in Virginia,” she admonished.

           Adrienne scoffed at the notion, “Well, when all of Virginia’s respectable society has gone to reside with the Royal Navy in the harbors of Norfolk, one does not have many an opportunity to be seen.  For, in order to be seen in a social setting, there must first be a society present.”

           Emily raised her eyebrows, eyeing Adrienne, “Careful with your words, Addy.  One might think that you support the crown when you talk like that, and, despite who currently occupies the city, you’ll find that people here don’t take kindly to such beliefs.”

           Adrienne, smiling in response, responded, “Oh yes, I am well aware of the patriotism of the Pennsylvanian, Emily.  But you cannot expect me to accept an invitation from the timid and plain Madison household.  Nor the gaudy household of the Jeffersons,” she laughed lightly at the notion before continuing, “Especially the Jeffersons, it is highly suspected that the young Mr. Jefferson has lost many a battle to a fine bottle of wine.  It would be unseemly, dear.”

           Emily nodded her head solemnly in agreement as the two passed over the threshold, out of the bitter snow and into the warm clutches of the house.  The two moved to the parlor where, sitting on the couch was a young man, pretending to be invested in his book, “John, could you please leave?”

           “Why, Ems? I’m just reading.”

           “Yeah, and you’ve been on that same page for the past half-hour.”

           The young man shut the book and stood up, “Very well then, but since you deny me the ability now to socialize with Lady Fairfax now,  you shall surrender your seat beside her at dinner tonight to me,” then left the room before any protest could be given from Emily.  She sighed, and Adrienne laughed in amusement, “I’m sorry about John, Addy.  He just cannot seem to understand that you have a betrothed arrangement already, I have told him.”

           “That’s quite alright, there is no harm done, I assure you,” Adrienne replied with modesty, moving to sit on the couch, with Emily joining her seconds after. “I do have to admit, as much as I miss your presence in Virginia, I see the appeal your father has for Pennsylvania.  If there wasn’t quite so much snow, I am sure it would be quite a lovely place to live.”  

           Emily laughed at that, “One day, Addy, you’ll have to move up north, and you too will become accustomed to the weather’s constant change in moods.”

           “Oh no, thank you, madam, I will have you know that my betrothed is from South Carolina.  Location was an essential aspect in the match,” this sent both girls into laughter once more, but Adrienne continued, “Genuinely, I saw the quaintest little estate on my ride here.  It made me wonder what families of ladies remained behind rather than fleeing to Boston as many of the delegates did.”

           Emily thought for a second before replying, “Well, I can confirm that Arabella Coxe and her family remain in the city still.  As well as the Markoe and Chew families, who are far too attached to Philadelphia to leave it behind.”  

           Biting her lip in thought, Adrienne responded, “I must confess, I do not believe that I have had the pleasure of being introduced to a Markoe or Chew before.”  

           “I would not expect you to,” said Emily, “They may be prominent, but dare I say, they have rarely left the city, if at all.” Tea and cakes were brought into the parlor, cutting off the conversation as they each prepared themselves a cup.  Just as the conversion was about to resume, someone began down the stairs, then right into the parlor.  It was, presumably, Doctor Benjamin Rush, Emily’s father.  He was a youthful-looking man for his age, with a soft face and kind eyes.  

           “Ah, Ms. Fairfax, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.  I believe that yours has been a name of the highest regard in this household ever since my dear Emily went with her aunt to Virginia.  And just as it was starting to wind down, General Washinton mentioned it again at last night’s dinner.  My dear Emily was far too excited at the prospect of meeting you again for me to really have any other answer to his request,” he said politely.

           “Well, I am pleased I made such a lasting impression on such a highly respectable lady, such as Emily.  I must say I believe I found myself equally as excited once discovering who the General’s dinner was with.  I have heard many wonderful things about you, sir, and many I say your reputation surely precedes you.  The pleasure is certainly all mine, sir,” Adrienne smiled at him sweetly.

           Doctor Rush chuckled out a laugh, “Well, Emily certainly was not exaggerating your capability of casual flattery, madam,” he moved to sit in a chair, where sat a book and a cup of quickly chilling by the windows of the parlor. “How long have you been in Pennsylvania?”

           “Oh, I am afraid only for the past two days.  The colder weather found in the north is hardly agreeable with me, sir.”

           He nodded to her, “Can I rightfully assume that Virginian winters rarely reach such levels of snow?” She nodded to him in affirmation, and he continued, “I assure you, dear, you’ll find spring here in Pennsylvania is quite different from our winters.  Once the ground breaks, the whole countryside blossoms beautifully.”

           Emily nodded. “And, if I am correct, you have an April birthday.  You must stay with us in the Valley to celebrate.  I cannot guarantee who will be back in the city, who knows how long the British will stay, but just imagine the festivities,” she pleaded.

           “Well, if the General will expand his hospitality-”

           “Nonsense dear, you are more than welcome to resin here in our home once Mrs. Washington returns to Virginia,” interrupted Doctor Rush, “And I assure you we can likely provide much better lodgings than offered at the camp in the valley.” He downed the last of his tea, closing his book and standing, “please consider the offer, dear, we would be delighted to have you stay with us,” then he left down the hall.

           The two girls chatted and caught up for quite some time, and before they knew it, the hour for dinner had arrived.  More importantly, it came with the arrival of a very handsome Colonel at the porch.  The two ladies were still in the parlor when he arrived, and Arienne became completely distracted upon noticing the carriage in the distance.  So distracted, she failed to notice as Emily trailed off mid-sentence. “Adrienne?  Are you alright,” Emily’s words snapped her out of the trance-like state.  

           “Oh, yes, I am quite well.  I was merely distracted by the appearance of tonight’s dinner guest.”

           “That far out?  Addy, the carriage is hardly on the path to the house yet,” Emily continued, “And such, there is no reason to be so absorbed in its contents quite yet.  That is unless you have already met the particular guest and are holding something from me?” She leaned into Adrienne slightly, raising an eyebrow, “Perhaps about his appearance or charms?”

           Adrienne, blushing a light pink, leaned farther away and shifted towards the wall, away from Emily in hopes of her flustered state going unnoticed. “If you are asking me if he is an honorable gentleman, then I can surely say that I do strongly believe him to be.  However, if I am correct in understanding your intentions in asking such a question, then I must admit I have no more to report than one brief meeting.” Adrienne looked back to Emily, who smiled wide at the notion, “But I do wish that you would not think of it so, it was merely one interaction, not a scandalous affair.  Really, you ought to admonish such thoughts.”

          “Well,” started Emily, “If he could gain such a large portion of your attentions with only one meeting, one with nothing but the pleasantries you suggest, I surely must wonder of his charms far more.  Surely,” she spoke coyly, “You understand such curiosity.”

           The sound of the horses pulling the carriage coming up the path altered the attentions of both girls, halting their conversation.  Emily gave Adrienne a teasing glance and giggled slightly as her eyes lit up with an idea.  She spoke slowly, in an almost cautious manner, “Perhaps, it would be more pleasing towards his person if you were to be the one to greet him upon his arrival, Addy.  After all, it would hardly be acceptable for me to do so; we have yet to be properly introduced.”

           Adrienne began to fervently decline until she was cut off by Doctor Rush, who, upon discovering truth in his daughter’s claims, halted in his path towards the door and sat down in his chair, putting an end to the protests once and for all.  A moment passed, and he raised an eyebrow at her, motioning to the door as the Colonel climbed up the stairs, “Someone has to answer it, dear.”

           She took a deep breath before rising and heading to the foyer, perfectly timed, as the Colonel had just barely stepped through the door.  His cloak was born in the same manner as Adrienne’s had been earlier that morning, and as he turned to walk down the hall, he stopped dead in his tracks, making eye contact with Adrienne.  She trailed her gaze upon him, using the same analytical glance any lady in high society might befit to a gentleman they sized up, but there was no malice nor judgment in her intent this time.  Adrienne studied his face, somehow more defined in the brighter lighting of the hall.  Soon she realized that the lighting that night at the valley had not done the man nearly enough justice.  His well-toned frame stood much more handsome in his well-tailored suit of fine silk rather than the wool of the officer’s coat.  His hair too, she realized, was slicked back with pomade to frame his face, but let his dark curls hand free behind him, free of their military regulated queue.  His face, more unshaven than she remembered, but in the most dashing way possible.  Perhaps that was just Adrienne’s lack of alternate experience showing, for she was not used to such rugged-looking men wearing such fine clothing, interacting with higher society. ‘If he had been charming that night in the Potts’ small and dimly lit home, he was heart-stopping now in the Rush’s bright, spacious country estate,’ she thought to herself, beginning to feel slightly weak in her knees.

           After a short pause, he dropped into a bow, and, as he rose, he addressed her, “Lady Fairfax, it is a pleasure to see you here this evening.  You certainly look as handsome as ever, though I suppose that is to be expected.” The Colonel looked as if he wished to say more to ask if she had considered his proposal, but before he could do any more than contemplate the notion, the bell rang, and dinner was called.  Colonel Kościuszko walked towards her, offering his arm to escort her into the dining room. ‘Oh,’ she thought as she accepted it, ‘Emily is never going to let this go.’

           Adrienne sat at the table, observing the polite conversation that passed it’s self among the other members at the table.  Doctor Rush sat at his seat at the head of the table, Emily’s elder brother, John, sat to her father’s left, with Emily to his left.  The Colonel sat to Doctor Rush’s right, with Adrienne beside him.  She was pulled from her position of observation by a comment from Emily, “You know, Colonel, Lady Fairfax, and I were discussing how long it was she intends to stay with us in Pennsylvania.  I believe that you will have many an opportunity to join us in the same company during the entirety of winter encampment.”

           This certainly piqued his interest as the good Colonel turned to Adrienne, asking, “Is this true, madam?  I was unaware of your admiration for the encampment here in the Valley.”

           She smiled politely, “It is true.  However, I am afraid once Mrs. Washington returns to Virginia, I will be shifting residence from the encampment at the Potts House to remain here with the Rush family, who have been ever so kind as to open their home to me.”

           He nodded in understanding just as Doctor Rush began to speak, “Yes, Lady Fairfax will be remaining with us in the valley through her birthday celebrations, and we fully intend on showing her a proper Pennsylvanian festival.”

           “A festival,” Adrienne began, “Sir, that is hardly necessary.  Your kindness in opening your home to me has been more than appreciated as it is.  I would not expect such festivity from you as well; it would be severely unbecoming.”

           “Well dear, it is a good thing that you did not expect it, I offered it, and so I shall do it.”

           Emily let out a soft, high-pitched laugh, cutting off any hopes Adrienne had of protesting, “It is best if you don’t try to argue with him, I’ve found that once he has made up his mind, nothing, on earth nor in heaven can change his mind.”

           Adrienne sighed in defeat, conceding to Doctor Rush’s terms. “Very well,” she turned towards John and the Colonel, “But you two are my witness that I did try to convince him otherwise.”

           The rest of the dinner continued with the same light-hearted air.  Adrienne happily derailed any attempt of the Doctor and Colonel from discussing the Continental Army’s state or the Congressmen’s lack of action to assist them, often before either are aware of where their current course of conversation may be heading.  When dinner concluded, Doctor Rush, John, and the Colonel made plans to retreat to the formal parlor to have drinks and a cigar or two.  Emily had gone to oversee the clearing of the dining room, leaving Adrienne to wander into the informal parlor farther down the hall at her own pace.  When she turned the corner to enter the parlor, rather than the empty room, she was expecting one person was standing inside, by the crackling fireplace, facing her.  It was the Colonel.

           “Colonel,” she addressed his presence hesitantly, questioning why it was he had so obviously entered the wrong parlor.

           “Lady Fairfax,” he paused in contemplation before he opened his mouth to speak once more, “Why is it that you always address me by just my rank madam, if I may be so bold as to ask.”

           Adrienne paused before responding, “Well, if I may be equally as bold, I have only been introduced to you once before tonight.”

           “So you don’t remember my name then?” he asked playfully.

           “No!” she exclaimed in a jokingly offended tone, “Well, not entirely.  I believe I know your name, sir.  I am merely terrified that I will pronounce it wrong.”

           “Ah,” He smiled at her, obviously happy with the reaction he gained from her, “I would gladly accept any pronunciation you deem it fit to give me, my lady.”

           “Even if that pronunciation is ‘a bold gentleman’?” She asked him, biting her bottom lip with a playful gleam in her eyes.

           “Especially if it is ‘a bold gentleman.’” they both laughed happily, genuinely, at their antics.

           “In all seriousness, sir, you must tell me if I mispronounce your name, it is not one I’ve had much practice in saying.”

           “Then call me Thaddeus,” he said in a soft voice as he walked towards her, “that is the English pronunciation, I believe.”

           “Thaddeus,’ Adrienne hesitated, she couldn’t be right, that is a ridiculous notion, indeed, “that is your Christian name, is it not Colonel?”

           “It is.”

           “Ah,” and so she was.

           “Are you going to make the trade even, dear,” he said, stopping incredibly close in proximity to Adrienne, tilting his head down towards hers.  Her brain short circuits at the lack of distance.  She could smell his rich cologne clearly from such a distance. ‘They could kiss at such a  distance.’ The thought caught Adrienne’s breath in her throat, choking her briefly.  Quickly, she stepped back from him, turning her side away from him to cover the blush in her cheeks.  

           At last, she spoke, “Adrienne.”  

           “Excuse me?” he looked at her with light shock and confusion, unaware of her intentions.

           “Adrienne.  My Christian name is Adrienne,” she blurted out, “There, now our exchange has been made even.” She swallowed, allowing her heart rate to settle a bit before she gave him a slight nod, leaving to the hall as fast as possible and heading out the back door and into the gardens.  She needed some fresh air.

           All Adrienne could think about as she walked around the neatly groomed gardens was all that could have gone wrong in such a hazardous situation.  They could have kissed.  They almost kissed.  And she wanted them to kiss.  She wanted them to kiss, and instead of maintaining her aptitude, she fled his company, likely giving him the impression she tried to push him away.  That is not what she wants.  She wants more like she never has before.  Romance was always better left to novels of fantasy in Adrienne’s opinion.  Love has never before been considered as a basis for courtship for Adrienne.  She was first engaged to a man twice her age she never met.  Now she is supposed to be wed to a man who pays her nothing more than she does him, and for the first time in her life, a marriage of polite social courtesy sounds like the most miserable arrangement possible.

           She had come to the Rush house with high hopes and excitement.  Thrilled to be distracted from her guilt, but instead, she found it only brought her guilt to larger amounts.  It was indeed far too late for Adrienne to return to camp.  Too late for the Colonel, she would not call him Thaddus till she believed she had earned the right to do so, to return to headquarters.  Adrienne resolved to shelf her thoughts till later and head into the house once more to get some well-needed rest.  She would need to talk with the Marquis soon after she arrives at camp, but until then, she would not concern herself with emotions any longer.  No good could possibly come from chasing after the Colonel at the moment, so Arienne would avoid him if possible and provide only polite courtesy to him when it is not.  She had one final thought as she ascended the stairs towards the far more spacious guest room she could soon call hers more permanently in the months to come, ‘Yes, this must not get to her.  It cannot.  Not now.’

Chapter Text

           Several weeks passed by in the busy haze of setting up camp and welcoming officers before the Marquis and Lady Fairfax had a similarly timed gap in their daily schedules.  By the time Adrienne returned to camp the morning after meeting with the Rush family, it had reached high noon.  Thaddeus, no, the Colonel, had returned much earlier that morning in his own carriage, leaving her in the peace of the countryside as she rode back into the valley.  With headquarters teeming with officers of all ages and origins, Adrienne managed to slip upstairs with her belongings without a single person taking a second glance at her.  The next morning her pile of letters had tripled in size, with requests from various families of prestige wishing for a visit from her.  To keep up appearances, she set out every morning to visit with multiple families, either in the countryside or in the heart of the redcoat controlled city.  Not a single officer dared stop her carriage after the first unfortunate soul who dared halt the carriage of Lord Fairfax.

           Meanwhile, as she met with the Markoe’s, the Chew’s; the Shippen’s; the Coxe’s; and even interacting with such high ranking officers such as His Majesty’s Army’s Commander-In-Chief, Sir William Howe, the Marquis was heading up the enormous project of assimilating the foreign officers to the camp, the arrival of the Baron Von Stuben costing him a whole night’s worth of rest.   The two continued to trudge through the duties of their stations till, roughly three weeks had passed before the day a drained Adrienne entered the front door and headed through the hall, passing an exhausted Lafayette who was heading out the door.  She turned from her planned trajectory to follow him back out into the cold, calling out to him at the tacking station as he made to mount his horse from the stairs of the Potts home.  He halted in his mount, releasing the reins grasped in his hands after meeting her gaze.  Adrienne took his pause as an invitation, and she began to trek her way back through the miniature mountains of quickly amassing snow and ice towards him.  

           “Motier,” she smiled at him, still rosy in the cheeks, “I hope I am not interrupting your schedule.”

           He smiled at her, picking up on her chills, grabbing her hands in his, rubbing them together to generate warmth, “For once, no actually.  I was just going on a ride to relax now that I finally have a break in my schedule, madam. Do you require anything?” His eyes gleamed with humor, “Well, besides some time in front of a fireplace.”

           Adrienne huffed at his teasing, “Would it be a bother if I were to tack up a horse and join you, sir?”

           Lafayette raised an eyebrow, but did not question her, “Of course not. Who’s horse do you intend on taking?”

           She paused, thinking about it, “John’s horse is still housed in the Headquarters stables, correct?” He nodded to Adrienne in confirmation, “Then I highly doubt he would miss it, nor mind my borrowing it.”

           “Very well then,” the Marquis released her hands, “You wait here, I’ll tack it up for you.” He marched off into the snow before it could be brought into a conversation, leaving her and his horse at the post in front of the house.

           He returned shortly after, leading Lieutenant Colonel Laurens’ horse towards her.  Grabbing the reins from him, she stared in confusion as he headed in the house.  He resurfaced from the building’s front door with something draped over his arm.  Even as he approached, she hadn’t the faintest clue as to what it could be, that is, until he held it out to her.  The additional cloak of his came down far past her stature, about a foot of the fabric pooled on the ground. “I figured that since you have already been out for so long in the cold, you might want an additional layer.  Especially with how poorly-adapted to the cold you are,” he teased, eyes filled with concern and care for her well-being.

           Adrienne laughed, “Well, if I ever get hypothermia out here, I am certain it will be to no fault of yours, that is certain.”

           Lafayette laughed at her statement, offering a hand to assist in her mounting the tall grey horse.  Once they were both mounted on their respective horses, they began along a path that led through the camp’s outer edges.  This horse was far jumpier than Adrienne remembered John’s horse to be.  She raised this point to the Marquis, who just chuckled and told her that the Lieutenant Colonel’s unlucky interactions on the battlefield at Brandywine had cost him yet another horse.

           They rode like that for some time, playful banter and comments, the tension in their shoulders that had built up for weeks easing away with each teasing line and grateful glance.  As they trodded along, a few of the poorly dressed men scowled at the two of them, some nodded or tilted their hats to them.  The first kind was ignored as they continued on their conversation; the second kind was delegated a smile and a tilt of the hat.  

           Eventually, the conversation came to Adrienne’s obscenely busy social schedule, and the Marquis began to ask what exactly had happened at the Rush household that had made her so popular in a matter of days.  She replied that she did not really know what it was exactly that had happened, only that Doctor Rush seemed to be incredibly pleased by her presence. 

           “Do you think that perhaps he was attempting to pair you with his son,” he proposed laughingly.

           She responded in a false admonishing tone, “Oh, I am quite sure that if it had been so much as mentioned at George’s dinner with the good doctor, John would have put any thoughts of pairings to a stop immediately.”

           “Well, all I know is that your performance was exemplary.  Whatever it is that you did leave quite an impression on the Polish Colonel, I believe his name is,” he hesitated as he began pronouncing the name, “Tadeusz Kościuszko?”

           Adrienne laughed at his clearly botched attempt at pronouncing the very name she had been trying not to think of these past few weeks. “Well, as far as that goes, I am afraid I know exactly what happened,” she said with a far more somber tone than either of them had used so far.

           His brow furrowed deeply as he slowed the trod of his horse, “What happened, Addy?”  

           She paused, the words that might have formed an explanation were caught firmly in her throat, prohibiting her from answering.  At her silence, the Marquis pulled his horse to a complete stop beside her, reaching out with a hand that no longer grasped the reins to hold her hand.  He looked her in the eyes, concern, and confusion cracked like a flame in his, “Addy?”

           She cleared her throat, seemingly coming back to reality, “My apologies, I don’t mean to frighten you, I have just found myself rather confused these past few weeks from the Colonel and I’s interaction.”

           Lafayette continued to push her, knowing she was not quite at her boundary, “Did he behave improperly towards you, Addy?  I don’t understand what happened.”

           Adrienne took a moment to think over her answer.  When she was finally satisfied with a vague reply, she spoke, “Have you ever wished your marriage with the Marquise  was a marriage of mutual infatuation rather than polite social courtesy?”

           “I-” he hesitated, sending her a concerned glance, “Yes, I will admit that sometimes I see soldiers whose wives have followed them into camp.  As well as the obvious love they share and find myself wishing my Adrienne would attempt to put a little affection into our relationship, rather than treating like another duty of the court.” His eyes briefly flashed with sadness before he trailed along, “Addy, I am not sure where it is exactly that you are going with this”

           Ignoring his question, she continued, her face dazed by the sadness in her eyes, with another question, “Is that wrong?  For someone in our station to want that infatuation and romance in real life, to want something more than a smart and sensible match?”

           Finally, he understood, the realization washing over him like a tsunami wave, “You are talking about John.” She nodded wordlessly, still in her daze.  His gaze softened upon her, “Oh Addy, no.  You have every sensibility to wish for a more romantic or caring relationship.  That is the most important part of the match if he cares for you.  I can talk to John about this if you would like me to, it would be no problem.” She shook her head, lips pressed in a thin line. “Addy, if that’s what you want, you have to tell him, I-”

           Adrienne squeezed his hand, cutting him off, “No, that’s not where I was going.”

           The Marquis frowned, “What do you mean?  And what does the Colonel have to do with your unhappiness with John and your relationship?” She gave him a pointed look, and the last wave washed clearly over his face, “Addy, are you trying to tell me you wanna be with the Colonel?” She nodded wordlessly, looking down and hiding her face in the hood of his cloak.  He bit his lip and contemplated admonishing her, but decided against it.  He wanted her to be happy.  And if he were to tell her that she could not do such a thing to the Lieutenant Colonel, she would stop coming to him.  He decided that if he said nothing, he could help her ensure that this random appreciation would not destroy her. “Ok. That’s ok, Addy,” he finally spoke.  She looked back to him with a small smile full of warmth spread across her rosy face.  He laughed at her pink face, “Ok, now let’s get you back to headquarters and in front of a fireplace before you start to turn blue. I’d hate for you to have to spend Thanksgiving in your room under McHenry’s prodding.”

           Once the two returned to headquarters, the Marquis took the cloaks from Adrienne and led her into the room occupied by the work of the foreign officers.  Placing a chair by the lit fireplace and nodding for her to sit down, he left up the stairs to return their outerwear to its respective room.  Footsteps came back into the room, heard just barely over the regular shuffle of the many offices downstairs.  They paused behind her as if their owner had intended to question her presence.  A tricorn officer’s hat made contact with the desk behind her, where the chair had come from, and a voice spoke, “Ms. Fairfax?”

           Adrienne recognized the voice immediately. “Colonel,” she turned back to face him, realizing why it was he had approached her.  She was sitting in the chair that usually sat at his desk.  Adrienne jumped up from the seat with an exclamation, face flushed a light pink “Oh!  My apologies, sir, I did not mean to obstruct you from your work.”

           He stepped forward, ushering her back into the chair, “Oh no, please, madam.  Do not get up on my account.” Before she could fully state her comment of protest, he pulled up another chair from the nearest empty desk. “There, problem solved,” He looks at her, genuinely, for the first time, “How long have you been out in the cold, madam?  If you had spent any more time out there, I am afraid that you might have caught a serious chill.”

           Adrienne bit her lip, laughing a bit at how similar his reaction was to the Marquis’. “Yes sir, luckily, the Marquis de Lafayette deemed my case the same and escorted me back into the house.  It is by his instance of warmth I found myself occupying your chair, Colonel.”

           Thaddeus smiled at this, “He cares for your well-being quite deeply, you know?  I don’t believe that he is aware of just how often he talks of you, but I could easily say that you are his favorite topic.”

           Once more, Adrienne found herself laughing at his comments, the air of the conversation was as light as it had been that night at the Rush house.  Well, as it had been before the interaction that caused the night to end.  That did remind her, she owed him an apology.  Perhaps if it could come across better in conversation than in a letter.  Adrienne had to remind herself to stay on the track of the conversation. “Well, I am sure if you were to raise such a point to him, he would adamantly deny it, but the truth is that he is more than a good friend.  If I had to accurately describe our relationship, I would have to call him an older brother.” She paused, “Especially because of how much he frets over me.”

           “Well,” the Colonel defended, “With a track record such as your own, can you blame him?  Particularly when it comes to colder temperatures?” She shook her head in denial, confirming his statement, Causing the two of them to laugh quite heartily.

           The couple was so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to notice the entrance of the Marquis into the office once more.

           After taking the two cloaks from Adrienne, Lafayette climbed the stairs to the second-floor foyer.  Now that they had finally settled headquarters, rooms had been rearranged, and he now shared his room with James McHenry rather than Alexander.  Entering the room silently, Lafayette tossed the cloaks in his arms on his cot, removing the cloak around his shoulders.  His two cloaks went into the trunk that was temporarily holding his belongings and then sat down on the cot, letting out a sigh as he held Adrienne’s cloak in his hands.  This girl was going to get in so much trouble.  He should tell George, or Martha, or perhaps both of them.  Well, if he were to tell them both, it would certainly not be in that order.  He should tell them, but he won’t.  He can’t.  He ran a hand over his face in exhaustion.  If he failed to defend her now, even if it is from herself, what would happen to their relationship?  The Marquis shook his head, ‘No, let’s not think of that.’

           He stood with the tiny cloak in his hands, exiting the room and heading towards Adrienne’s.  When he opened the door, Ona had been dusting and cleaning the window.  She told him to leave it on the desk, she would put it away.  He complied without complaint, closing the door once more behind him.  Seeing no need to conceal his presence, he headed down the stairs somewhat louder than usual, turning the corner into the foreign offices.

           And there he stood, frozen at the moment.  As the bustle of the office continued around him, he stood in shock at the couple that lay right before his eyes. ‘Lord above, they really have no sense of self-preservation.  Do they even realize how public they are?’ he thought to himself.  Then he paused once more, halting in his intention of moving at the laugh, a genuine laugh that came from Adrienne.  Lafayette looked closer, her eyes shined with joy, a smile so large he rarely could recall a time where he had seen it before, rested naturally on her face.

           Most importantly, however, was the total adoration written so painfully obvious all across their faces as they talked.  The Marquis had never seen that happen between John and Adrienne. ‘She loves him.’ The thought hit him like a brick.  It seemed like such a natural assumption, even for the low number of interactions the two have had.  Shaking himself from his head, he began walking towards them, and even as he approached their immediate vicinity, they still paid him no mind.

           “Ehem,” Lafayette cleared his throat loudly, grabbing their attention and effectively snapping their conversation.

           “Oh!  Motier, my apologies, I did not see you approach.  Thaddeus was just telling me how constantly you talk of me,” teased Adrienne, oblivious to his thoughts.  Kościuszko smiled, and then with a guilty tone, admitted that, yes, he had been doing just that.  

           ‘These two are going to get caught, and if George finds out that I knew, I’m dead.’ Lafayette thought as he ushered Adrienne over to Pierre Duponceau, the military secretary of the Baron Von Stuben, in an attempt to distract her from the Colonel.

           Dinner came quickly, with no fanfare or honored guests to be expected.  Adrienne now sat between the Marquis and the Baron Von Stuben’s aide de camp.  The man himself sat across from her, with Pierre to his left.  The Baron was indeed an interesting man, she had come to find out that no one member of his staff, himself included, could neither confirm nor deny that he was indeed a Baron, but that was not important to the men at the table.  Adrienne saw the improvements he made around camp from her passing through, especially that afternoon on horseback with the Marquis.  She admired the man’s capabilities.  Had she been in his shoes, she never would have taken on such a seemingly lost cause up until the past few weeks.  And the Baron had undoubtedly taken a shine to her, that much was obvious.  The group attempted to keep the conversation in French, as it was their common language.  Still, Pierre and Lafayette would often get into miniature squabbles over the correct pronunciation of certain words, and the Baron often had to ask for a translation to French from his native tongue.  

           Apparently, Lafayette does talk about her as much as Thaddeus said.  Von Stuben said something to Pierre, who then transferred it to Lafayette, who shook his head in refusal, “Non, mon ami.” But after the Baron’s secretary pushed him twice more, he caved towards his will.  Lafayette turned to her, flushed in the cheeks as he spoke. “He wishes for me to inform you that the Baron finds your company quite pleasant,” he paused, giving a sideways glance to Pierre, who remained unmoving. “And to tell you how delighted he is that my infatuation with you,” his cheeks flushing a brighter color at the Baron’s selected wording, “has allowed him to learn of such an amazing young lady.” The Marquis paused to regain his composure before he spoke, “He also says that George has been hiding you from the officers.  Which might actually have some truth behind it.” He said this nonchalantly, taking a bite of his food afterward.

           Adrienne’s face held apparent confusion, “What exactly do you mean by ‘hiding me away,’ Sir?  If he has taken any such actions, I am afraid that I am completely unaware of him doing such.” She did not like this one bit, ‘who was he to restrict her behind her back when she is present upon his request?’

           “Well,” began the Marquis, far more hesitantly upon her reaction, “General Washinton did ask that unless approached by yourself, no officer was to disturb you.” Rapidly speeding to George’s defense, he continued at a Hamilton pace, “I can neither confirm nor deny that John may have had a hand in this.”

           Had she been anywhere else, she would have lost it right there, but because she sat in an office turned dining room with the men in question, Adrienne forced herself to school her features into a look of indifference. “Oh.  I see.”

           The Marquis sent her a side glance, fear of an outburst clearly in his eyes as they fluttered between Adrienne to Laurens.  He then cleared his throat and decided to continue the conversation as if nothing had happened, clearly tabling the discussion on John’s behavior for later that night.

           If the Baron, Pierre, or his aide, who she would come to find out, was named DuPonceau, noticed anything about the interaction between the two, they certainly did not point it out.  And so the conversations continued with plans for Lafayette and Adrienne to join the Baron and his staff for the evening the following night.

           Adrienne had moved into a room that was a mix of a parlor and more offices not long after the officers had been dismissed from dinner.  She sat on a small couch, reading a book silently in the dim candle-lit room.  The Marquis sat in a chair across from her, attempting to read as well, but his nerves were far too on edge.  His focus kept drifting to the sound of the Lieutenant Colonel’s voice down the hall.  His eyes kept drifting from the page to Adrienne, who continued to read peacefully.  When at last, the voices made their way closer to the parlor, Lafayette put the book aside altogether, far too anxious to even pretend to read any longer.  When John entered the room, the air became tenser than it had been before, if that was even possible.  Adrienne did not look up from her book when the Lieutenant Colonel entered, nor when he sat on the couch opposite her.  The tension in the room seemed to go right over Laurens’ head as he sat leisurely on the sofa, his glass of brandy from his previous conversation still in hand.

           Laurens was the first to speak, turning to Lafayette. “What book is that?  I don’t recall ever seeing it before?” Lafayette declined to reply, looking to Adrienne instead.  John had directly ignored her thus far, and it would not help his case if the Marquis were to indulge him.  John looked between the two, finally picking up on the mood of the room, “What is the reason that you wanted to talk to me?”

           Lafayette motioned to Adrienne, refusing to answer his question once more.  Adrienne sighed, putting down her book, “Is it suddenly a nuisance for me to call on you, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens?”

           For the first time that evening, Laurens finally acknowledged her, “No, but I am sure that the instance in my presence here tonight is hardly an ordinary occurrence, Lady Fairfax.”

           “Well, attempts to control who it is I interact with through George is, hopefully, also an out of the ordinary occurrence, sir.” Lafayette sat back, ‘She was not beating around the bush tonight.’

           John sputtered at her bluntness.  She was usually quite mild and polite around him.  If Lafayette had to guess, he’d never seen her show raw emotion, let alone raise her voice towards someone.  She showed no care for this, continuing to push, “Did or did you not heavily influence the General to tell officers to not speak to me unless I speak to them first?”

           John finally came back to himself and answered the worst possible answer with complete confidence. “Yes.  Yes, I did.”

           Lafayette did have to applaud Adrienne for her show of self-control.  His motion to grab her was entirely unnecessary as she sat, still as can be in her seat. “Why,” she demanded coldly, her tone contradicted the calm on her face entirely, but Laurens was unshaken. ‘He’s never known when to back down,’ Lafayette thought to himself, ‘And I don’t think he will start regretting his actions now.’

           Laurens looked her square in the eyes and responded to her. “Because you are to be my wife.  Because I am entirely within my rights to ask such a thing.  It was only to ensure that you speak with those officers of whom,” he paused for a moment, “Officers who know better than to make comments beyond their rights.  I fail to notice exactly where it is that you disagree with me, madam.” Lafayette knew this would get bad, John’s voice rising in volume as he spoke to Adrienne.

           “The part where you limit my ability to make my own decisions.  I am not a child.  I am fully capable of making my own decisions,” she responded harshly, all understanding wiped from both her face and tone. “What I fail to understand is how you can be entirely at peace with my visits to the city, but not ok with my discussing politely with an officer in this very house.”

           “Because those in Philadelphia understand social courtesy and boundaries,” he snapped back immediately, aggressiveness clear in his tone. As he shifted on the couch, Lafayette sprung forward, his hand tightly gripping John’s shoulder in warning.  John looked to Lafayette, then back to Adrienne before he continued, “I do not have to justify myself to you.” He spoke harshly to her, uncaring about who might overhear.  “From now on, there will be no more arguing with my decisions.  That is, still assuming you intend on honoring your promise” he threatened, making an incredibly low blow at Adrienne.  He shrugged Lafayette’s hand off his shoulder when it went slack in disbelief. John stood up, storming out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Adrienne and Lafayette there in stunned silence.  

           “Addy,” Lafayette began to speak but was cut off before he could say any more.

           Adrienne stood abruptly, angling her eyes to the floor, “Don’t.  Please.” He conceded, remaining silent as she took a deep breath. “I,” she stuttered, “I think I am going to retire for the night.  Thank you for your help, Motier.” He had no choice but to sit there in silence, watching her figure retreat up the stairs.  He was sure now of what to do.  There was no healing this relationship, his Addy would never be able to find happiness in this match, and definitely not to the scale he witnessed this afternoon.  She had no intention of honoring her promise, and as much as Lafayette hated to admit it, Colonel Kościuszko was the best chance she had.

Chapter Text

           Lafayette sat alone in the parlor, silence quickly invading the room.  That had not been the goal of the conversation, and while Lafayette knew John better than that, he hoped Adrienne would discount his words on the premise of the amount Laurens likely had to drink tonight.  He would try to talk to Alexander in the morning, perhaps convince him to persuade John to apologize, but for now, Lafayette headed upstairs and donned his cloak.  There were other matters to attend to.  McHenry hadn't even had the time to ask him, groggily, where on earth he was going at this hour before he was darting back down the stairs, as silently as possible, and out the door into the cold.

           Practically drenched from dredging through the snow, Lafayette arrived at the portion of camp belonging to Horatio Gates, where many of the foreign officers were staying for the time being.  He knocked on the door to one of the few entirely constructed log huts that were to be used for barracks. 'Of course, they'd be the first ones to construct one," he muttered to himself, shivering in the cold of the night outside the door. "I swear if they are somehow asleep already after I walked all the way out here," he grumbled, only for seconds later the door to be opened by the very man Lafayette came to see. 

           Colonel Tadeusz Kościuszko stood there in his sleep shirt with his hair down, and a pair of breeches haphazardly thrown on.  His face scrunched into confusion at the sight of the freezing Marquis before him, "Marquis, ah.  What are you doing all the way out here this late at night?" He gave him a once over before speaking again, "Jesus man, did you walk here too?"  Lafayette's lack of response was more than enough to answer that question.  The Colonel stepped aside, now shivering as well, "Come in, man, you'll freeze to death out here."

           Lafayette stepped into the doorway to find that he was not far off in his grumblings; almost all of them were asleep already.  There was one by the door, another across the hut from Thaddeus, and then the man himself that were awake.  This wasn't ideal, but much better odds than he expected, so he would not complain. "Can I please have a word with you, Colonel?  I apologize for the lack of advance warning," he said sincerely, removing the gloves from his hands but keeping the cloak on his person.  

           "Of course, sir, I would hate for you to catch pneumonia all just to be turned back out in camp.  What can I help you with?" The Colonel spoke as he finished putting on his breeches, deciding to also throw on his officer's coat over the sleep shirt, seeing as Lafayette was still fully dressed.  

           "It's about Lady Fairfax.  Adrienne, I mean."

           Thaddeus froze, his arms stuck in the motions of shrugging on the coat, one thought and one thought only ran through his head, 'Oh shit.'

           "I know.  About," Lafayette hesitated, deciding what exactly he could call this, "Your situation." The Colonel opened his mouth in an attempt to deny or rebuke his statement, but Lafayette did not allow him to even begin, "I am going to help you."

           Thaddeus was now even more confused, but his shock was evident, as clear as day, in his eyes as he spoke, "Sorry, but help me with what exactly?"

           Lafayette sighed, "I know you are a smart man, and I know you know she is engaged to John Laurens.  She told me earlier today about whatever it is exactly that you two are hoping to do, but that will not be possible without my help.  I was hesitant to offer my assistance, but after what I saw tonight-" Lafayette cut off, letting out a sigh of exhaustion, "After what I saw tonight between Adrienne and John, I cannot, in good conscience, support him any longer.  He does not have her best interests in mind, and you make her happy.  So incredibly happy, whether you realize it or not.  I want to help you for her."

           Once the Marquis finished, Thaddeus stood there, staring at him for a short period, absorbing all he had just been told.  Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his loose curls, "Okay. Okay, I was avoiding any attempts to advance on her out of respect for John, but if what you say is true.  Well, frankly, if it's a truth as horrid as I think it is, I honestly might end up in a duel with him.  But as far as things go now, if this is what she wants and if I make her happy?  Then who am I to oppose the will of a strong-minded woman."

           Lafayette laughed at this assessment of Adrienne's character, "As far as any duel goes, you might have to take a number, sir.  And yes, I am afraid that may be the only thing John and Ms. Fairfax have in common, which is inherently the source of their disagreement."

           "No, they look alike too."

           The next morning as he was making his way down the last flight of stairs, the last thing Colonel Hamilton was expecting was to be cornered by Lafayette on an empty foyer atop the stairs.  Hamilton does have to admit that this feat of isolation showcases quite a hefty amount of talent for the Marquis, as time alone was undoubtedly a challenge to get in the Potts house, even when one is actively seeking it out.  The Marquis' impressive feat did not have him stunned for long, being more concerned with the fact Hamilton was cornered by him.

           "What on earth are you doing?  I have to get to work.  Have you seen the translation pile on my desk?"

           "And they can wait a few more minutes; if it takes any longer, then that will not be because of me, but because of your stubborn nature."

           Hamilton huffed, "Fine, what is it that you want from me?"

           Lafayette smiles, taking a step back from him, studying directly in front of the stairs, "Talk to John."

           Hamilton furrowed his brow, "Motier, I hate to break it to you, but I do that every day.  You are going to have to be more specific.  What am I supposed to speak with him about?"

           "Adrienne," Hamilton snorted, but Lafayette continued, "I need you to talk him into his senses."

           "Motier, I hate to break it to you, but I am also not the person to try to tell him anything about Ms. Fairfax.  Why can you not do it?"

           The Marquis sighed, "Because he will not listen to me.  In his eyes, I am too biased.  John  needs to come to his senses and quick, you are the best man for the job, Hamilton."

           Colonel Hamilton sighed, "What has he done now that has offended her high-born Virginian sensitivities?  Forgotten to kiss her hand?"

           "No, he decided that last night he was going to yell at her, accuse her of invalidating her honor with no basis to support such a claim, and if I had not stopped him, John likely would have raised his hand to her."

           Hamilton blinked back at him, leaning into Lafayette, "Sorry, say that one more time?"

           "You heard me correctly the first time.  John needs to apologize to her before she brings this to George, and life becomes tough for all of us," he paused, "Well, more than it already is."

           Hamilton sighed, "Next time I get the chance, I'm going to shoot John in the foot." He rubbed his temples, "Yes, I will talk to him; George does not need the stress right now."

           "Thank you, Colonel," Lafayette stepped away from the staircase, allowing Hamilton to pass him and return to his translations.  

           Once the day had begun, Lafayette found himself in organizational meetings, probably as payback from Hamilton.  He had not had the chance to see Adrienne yet.  John has not been seen since breakfast, so he was crossing his fingers that they were together.  And that neither of them was dead or fatally maimed.  He could not do much more than speculate till later that night.  He needed to make sure that Stuben and his staff were on the 'okay for Adrienne to talk to' list before dinner.  The more he thought about that, the more he understood why Adrienne was so upset about it.  John was smart, he had to admit.  John also knew entirely what he was doing when he asked George.  He wanted to keep tabs on Adrienne, and Lafayette hoped that it would be because he wanted a reason to break off their horrible arrangement.  That was far less terrifying than the other prospect.  The second possibility was that Henry Laurens was pushing his son to tie a knot that was starting to look more and more like a noose.  If Adrienne got married to John, it would all be over, she could not go behind his back, and Thaddeus indeed respects him too much to even entertain it.  And so, Lafayette had decided last night he would help her try to get her happiness, but if the unbreakable will of Henry Laurens persevered, he was going to have a safety net in place first.  So, when the Marquis found a free moment in his day, he picked up a pen and wrote a letter to someone he had barely communicated with in the past year for advice.  

           The letter was sent out with his mail, and the Marquis hoped that he would receive a response.  His worrying was cut short as John entered the hall, heading towards the office of Washington's aides.  Lafayette jumped up from his seat, calling after John as he walked down the hall.  The man stopped and turned to face him, "Ah, Motier, how can I help you?"

           "I simply wanted to check-in with you.  Adrienne and I were invited to dine tonight with Baron Von Stuben and his staff.  I know you felt quite," he paused for the right word, "Passionate about certain officers, and goodness knows you two do not need reason for more conflict."

           John relaxed, releasing tension from his shoulders and neck Lafayette had failed to notice. "Yes.  Of course, that is perfectly acceptable." humor glistened in his eyes for a brief moment, "Just as long as she keeps all her clothes on." Laurens hesitated at the second part of the Marquis' statement but continued on, "And please, allow me to apologize for last night.  I honestly had been avoiding you all day in fear of another unpleasant conversation."

           Lafayette exhaled, "Well, I do not think I am the one who is owed an apology, but I will accept it nevertheless.  I only wish you would realize you must start showing her more courtesy and affection if your intentions are what I think they are.  Keep in mind, she had even less of a say in this match than you did."

           When he was finally allowed to speak, John nodded, "I agree, I have been rather frustrated with my father recently, and I took it out on her improperly.  I will give her an apology.  And as far as my intentions, well, they are not exactly mine, but rather my father's.  He claims I have delayed it far beyond what is reasonable.  He fails to realize Ms. Fairfax is five years my younger, having only a mere 18 years."

           "Good lord, please do not remind me that you are old," John opened his mouth to protest, false offense taking place on his facial features, "You are three years my senior, John." He teased John, "You're reaching old-age far too quickly."

           "I will have you know I am at a normal age for a young man. It's barely been a month since you yourself have not been a teenager," John rebuked him, "Actually, there's less of an age gap between the two of you compared to anyone else in camp."

           "Well, if you do not intend on consummating the marriage until she reaches a certain age, then perhaps you should not marry till that age. yes?"

           Laurens laughed like it was some sort of joke, putting his hand on the Marquis' arm, "My friend, if it was that easy to convince Henry Laurens, it would have been done already"

           Weeks flew by, Adrienne spent more time with the tolerable patriot partons in Philadelphia.  Headquarters was swamped by the rise of the snow, the bitter weather calling for more huts to be built, and more desertion than George would ever admit to.  And so, things continued at this pace.  The men would open their personal letters over the small breakfast table, often sharing their contents with the officers around them, and Lafayette would listen politely as he attended to official army correspondence.  That is until this morning, the Marquis De Lafayette now held, the letter before him in his hands, as reverently as he would a bible.  

           Hands trembling, he slid the letter opener under the familiar seal.  He scanned the letter the first time as slow as possible, drinking in each word, observing the familiar curve of the letters, running his thumb over the words imprinted into the paper, soaking up every phrase.  He continued like this the second time, and the third as well, and by the fourth time, he had fully absorbed the letter's contents.  Lafayette stood abruptly, rushing out of the room.  The eyes of a few of the aides followed him; this sudden outburst contradicted everything they knew about the young Marquis, curiosity prying behind their gaze.

           He had not expected her to answer him.  When he wrote the letter, it was a long shot at best for her to even accept it, let alone read it.  Lafayette rushed directly into George's office; usually, there was little the General asked for personally, and the request that he was not interrupted during breakfast was one of them.  So, the intrusion caused the man's gaze to rest on him immediately. "Dear Motier, it is still breakfast hours.  What is so urgent that it demands my attention during such time." George was trying his best to be polite, clearly seeing how shaken his boy was, his fingers clutching a letter so tightly, he wondered if he would have to pry it from them.  He stood, cautiously approaching the pale young man as if he were a vicious predator who could attack George at any moment. "My boy, what is wrong?" George asked softly, reaching out for the hand without the letter in it.  To the General's great surprise, the boy extended the paper out to him.  However, the death grip did not release until George put his other hand on the boy's opposing shoulder. "Do you wanna tell me what this is?  Or should I just read it?"

           Finally, George's heart eased when the boy spoke, "I did not think it would even be accepted, but she responded to me.  I just received it this morning."

           George knew instantly, the cause that shook the man who was just yesterday a teenage boy, was his wife, the Marquise de Lafayette.  Adrienne Noailles had written her husband his first letter since he left France a year and a half ago.  Rather than giving a verbal reply, George stepped forwards, moving the younger man's slight frame into a hug.  The close contact of it allowed George to feel the boy's ramrod-straight posture fade, the tension melting away.  Physical contact had always been the best medicine for his boy, soothing him when nothing else would.  When he finally pulled away, Lafayette looked at him expectantly, and he raised a brow, "You would like me to read it?"

           "Yes," the boy nodded, "I need advice; I do not know what to do."

           Rather than question what exactly that meant, George lifted the letter in his hand and made to read it.  He paused, shortly after, looking from the words on the message to the Marquis once or twice before raising his concern, "Motier, this is in French."

           Lafayette's cheeks flushed pink. He reached a hand back out for the letter, "My apologies, I suppose in my shock, it slipped my mind."

           George handed the message back to him, and the boy began to read, the General's heart swelling with pride when the young man stopped only twice to ask for a translation to English.  George understood now why the boy had panicked, and it warmed his heart that he would come to the General as a source of advice for domestic life.  The letter clearly stated that the Marquise de Lafayette would, indeed, be joining her husband in Pennsylvania for a collection of the remaining months of winter encampment and would be bringing along with their two daughters. "I know I did not clear such a request with you, sir, but it was written upon impulse," Lafayette said once he had finished his reading of the letter. "They are to arrive from downriver tomorrow, and there is hardly anywhere in the house for the three of them to stay."

           George sighed, returning to his breakfast as he spoke, now sitting in the chair behind his desk. "You will need to make arrangements for the four of you if she is truly intending on staying with us for such a period," George continued nonchalantly, "There are quite a few furnished but abandoned homes around the valley.  I will call for Doctor Rush to assist you in such endeavors today."

           Lafayette paused, unsure of staying away from camp, "I assure you, sir, that I still intend on returning to camp for my duties, of which I have many.  Especially today."

           George hummed in agreeance, "Yes, you should try to take at least five days of the week to be here for parts of the day in the upcoming months, but for, transfer your work to Lieutenant Colonel Laurens.  As I hear, he has an unusually light workload today." He picked up his quill, penning a letter to Benjamin Rush, then called for Billy to have it delivered to his estate with the morning express. "I will personally alert you once a reply is received, Motier.  There is no further need to stress over the situation."

           The Marquis released a breath he had no idea he was holding, "Thank you, George," was all he said, but the sheer amount of gratitude displayed in his face was more than enough.  He then gave a slight bow to the General and exited the room, letter in hand.  Breakfast now lay forgotten and cold on the table as the Marquis climbed the stairs and gathered his things for the day, preparing to move it all from the shared room he occupied at the Potts house.

           It was not long before Doctor Rush responded, the letter coming to Washington during a meeting.  In turn, Billy passed him a note stating that the doctor would be arriving in just a few minutes shy of eleven.  As the carriage carrying Benjamin Rush pulled up the path to headquarters, Lafayette wasted no time in collecting his things for the day and making down the stairs and out the door to greet him.  The two men wasted no time, the lanky youth climbed into the carriage, and it immediately set off to the first estate they were to visit that day.  

           In total, they visited approximately five of the surrounding estates that were looking to be financed, each one better and more refined than the last.  Lafayette knew he would not be capable of mirroring the great halls of Versailles, of which his wife was most accustomed to, without starting from the ground up, but finally, he found the perfect match.  It had been the summer home of the Royal Governor of the state, and its design, furniture, fountain, and grounds were the best of the region, designed to the fancies of the man's wife.  Lafayette paid Doctor Rush the sum he would need to deliver to a delegate of the Continental Congress, the new owners of the house.  His wife, his beautiful Adrienne, was no mistress of frugality and had used a ship from her father's naval command to travel to the colony, bringing with her the preferred house staff, so he did not attempt to hire new ones.

           He returned to camp at nightfall, full of jitters and nerves.  The General admonished his fears, doing the best he could to soothe the boy.  Mrs. Washington even went as far as to invite him to dine privately with George and herself for the night.  In turn, he asked the two of them to join him and his wife the following evening.  The Marquis slept that night, much better than he would have thought possible, oblivious to the world.

           George had never seen Lafayette so anxious before.  Whoever the girl he married was, she certainly had quite an impact on him.  George managed most of the day free for the boy, only having to return late in the evening for a meeting when the Marquis could return to the newly purchased home with the Washingtons in tow. "Stop that.  It is unbecoming," he admonished, watching his boy wear a hole in the floor from all his pacing. "You are making even I anxious at this rate, come, sit down, have a drink," George continued, motioning to the decanter of whiskey in the corner.

           The boy shook his head, "Non, she does not find myself indulging in a drink becoming." It was clear as day to anyone who looked that he wanted her to like him so badly.  Honestly, George was not at all surprised that he would accept such a statement from his wife.  Little did he know, Adrienne Noailles sat restlessly in the carriage, clutching her two daughters to ease her own anxiety.

           Looking out the window, Adrienne marveled at the amount of countryside these colonies had; she had never so much empty space in her life.  This is what her husband's home must look like; the quaint country estate of Chavaniac differed very much from her far more lavish upbringing.  It is no wonder he was attracted to the colonies.  What startled her the most was the realization that they were no longer on even a dirt road; in her musings, she missed it as they turned off, the loud sounds in the distance bringing her back to her senses.  Deciding not to wake Virginie or Anastasiefor their arrival at the camp, they would only be picking up the Marquis and heading for the house after all.

           Adrienne had no idea what she was expecting of a military camp, having never seen a real one in her life, but this was not it.  The carriage stopped outside of an incredibly small stone house, and she felt her heart rate pick up.  She had argued with her father over visiting her husband after the letter she received.  The last he wrote her, he had been shot, and she could not stay in France for one-second longer after reading that letter.  It was the first real letter she had received in a year and a half from him.

           Her heart had stopped when reading the letter, he had written to her saying that 'there was an ongoing issue that could prove fatal in some time.' She knew he did not want to say it in the letter, but she understood well enough to read between the lines, and immediately the thought of her husband dying in some foreign country without a comforting hand had torn her to shreds.  When the Marquis climbed through the door, still lanky but far more solid than she remembered him to be, Adrienne almost started crying.  It was okay.  He was okay.  He was okay, and it was all going to be okay. 'Thank you, God, for hearing my prayers,' she thought, sending a glance at the sky above the carriage as it pulled away from the camp.  

           Her husband was still jittery, that much she noticed by his bouncing knee.  She also noticed that he was far more confident in himself.  He fit better in the Continental uniform than any of the finely tailored suits he had back in France.  He was changed, that much was obvious, but she could not care less.  All that mattered to her was that he was okay.  He was okay and with her once again, right where he belonged.

           The remainder of the trip was present in silence; the two little girls woke up just before they entered the gates of the estate her husband had purchased.  They knew better than to bother their father, especially while gaze was pointedly trained solely out the window, even as they pulled in front of the house.  The staff had headed straight for the house and arrived an hour before them, and the footman opened the door of the carriage, allowing the two little girls, desperate with curiosity, to run towards the house.  Next out was the Marquis, followed shortly after by the Marquise.  

           She trailed behind him, watching as he made his way up to the doors.  The girls' giggling could be heard from inside, and for a moment, she thought, 'Maybe, he'll be happier his way.  If we stay like this forever, maybe he'll be happy.  And maybe, if he's happy, he'll stay.' And she wanted to believe it was true.  She wanted to believe it so badly.  She wanted to make it true, to make it possible for him to settle down with her and be happy with such a life, but he never would.  This was his home, these colonies, and it was clear that no matter how hard she tried, she never would be.

           Adrienne needed a moment alone to collect herself.  She feared that if she were to do so much as look at him, she would burst into tears.  He deserved better than this; he deserved someone stronger than her, but she loved him, and so Adrienne would continue to pretend she was strong enough to be worthy of him.  So she climbed the stairs, closing the door to the master bedroom just before the tears began to fall.  

           Her hand lingered on the door for a brief moment before she turned and leaned against it, wrapping her arms around herself as she cried.  The tears were a mix of everything she was feeling, relief, joy, sadness, exhaustion, and love, with all of those emotions focused on the man she left downstairs, the man who left her for colonies.  It felt like every time she tried, and she tried so hard, he took two steps back.  Every action was equivalent to shooting herself directly in the foot, but he had called for her, had he not?  In the letter, he begged her, if she had it in her, to forgive him and come to him in Pennsylvania.  So then why did Adrienne feel like she was the one inconveniencing him, like her presence was an obstacle for him to overcome?  She was tired of feeling lonely while surrounded by people.

           Adrienne moved to the chaise couch that rested at the foot of the bed, sat there, and leaned against the back as she cried.  It came to her as no surprise when her imagination began to sound more and more like her husband.  The voice called her name, asking her what the matter was in a tone so soft it caused more tears to flow down her cheeks.  It was not until she was pulled into lightly-toned arms that she realized the voice was not her imagination.

           Lafayette had not noticed his wife climb the stairs; he was distracted by the two beautiful and vibrantly young blondes, his daughters.  But nevertheless, he noticed quickly that she was not on the first floor. A member of the staff suggested that perhaps she was tired from travel, so the Marquis made his way up the stairs to thank her for coming all this way with the girls, assuming she was still awake.  What he did not expect, however, was to find his wife, his Adrienne, sitting at the foot of the bed with tears freely rolling down her face.  

           Concern was instantly alight in all his features; he closed the door behind him to give her more privacy from the prying ears of the house.  Walking towards her, he called her name to alert her of his presence, even asking what was wrong, but received no reply.  His heart ached at the sight of his wife in misery, but he did not know what he could do to alleviate her sadness, so he simply did what always has helped him.  Sitting down beside Adrienne, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, and just held her there, not saying a word as she cried onto his shoulder.  

           He did not care when her tears soaked through his officer's coat, nor if her powder and rouge would leave residue upon it.  The only thing he cared about in this moment was the woman in his arms.  They stayed like this for some time, the sound of her sobs filling the room.  He wished she would say something, speak to him, tell him what's wrong, and he would move heaven and earth to make it right for her, but when she finally did, he wished he had not.

           Adrienne breathed in sharply and sobbed into his chest, her tone full of emotion and relief, "You're here."

           His heart shattered on impact.  Tears began to prickle in Lafayette's eyes too.  He responded the only way that he could, by holding her tighter and whispering reassurances to her, "I'm here."

Chapter Text

           When the tears finally began to subside, Adrienne looked up at her husband and hugged him at the same moment he moved to let her go.  This was entirely unexpected for the Marquis, who let out a surprised noise, “Adrienne, please tell me what is wrong.  You’re beginning to frighten me.”

           She sniffled, and in the quietest little voice she could procure, said, “I thought you were going to die.”

           His face fell instantly, the knife that had taken up residence in his chest twisted. “No, no, I’m okay now, barely even a limp. I’m perfectly okay, please don’t worry.”

           “When you wrote, I thought, oh lord, I thought you had gotten worse.  The way you worded it,” she paused to take a deep breath, “The way you worded it, I was so scared.”

           Lafayette suddenly picked her up bridal style, gown and all, heading for the bed and laying her down upon it.  As he walked to the other side of the bed, he spoke, “I did not mean to frighten you so.  And I am sorry for that, very deeply.” He sat on the side of the bed, removing his boots, waistcoat, and officer’s jacket before he too laid down beside her.  The moment Lafayette was situated, to his surprise, Adrienne moved to him, resting her head on his chest.  Out of instinct, he wrapped his arms around her, and it clearly was the correct move, if the pleased hum she gave was any indication. “They are amazing.  Those little girls downstairs, I mean.”

           She smiled sadly into his shirt, “But they are not sons.”

           “That is of little consequence to me, my dear,” he dismissed. “We lost one daughter and had another, it is God’s will that we have our two beautiful girls, and I would not change that for the crown of France itself.  And besides,” he said, rubbing small circles in her shoulder, “I would not mind having a thousand daughters if it takes that many tries for that boy your father so desperately wants.”

           She giggled mischievously, looking up at him through her lashes, “Oh, really?”

           The house staff did not question the amount of time the two spent in the bedroom.  They simply watched the children, making sure they remained on the first floor of the house.  Meanwhile, upstairs the newly reunited couple had resumed their position, blissfully resting in the silence.  Adrienne had dozed off on his chest, and Lafayette lay there,  happily playing with her loose curl.  He noticed that the sun was beginning to get more and more dim, hearing the clock chime down the hall, then remembered.  He jolted up into a sitting position, stirring his wife from her slumber.  He climbed out of bed, stepping into the breeches that lay forgotten on the floor, “I have a meeting back at camp I must attend to.” His eyes scanned the room, finding his waistcoat and officer’s jacket; he fumbled with the laces to his breeches for a moment before fastening them.  He put on his waistcoat and jacket and made to leave the room but halted immediately at the laugh coming from his wife.  Turning towards her, Lafayette raised an eyebrow.  Had he forgotten something?  He had.  The Marquis watched her rise from the bed and approach him, his cravat in hand.  Lafayette bowed slightly to allow her to fasten it around his neck before giving his wife a kiss atop her head.  “Thank you,” he moved toward the door but stopped once again, turning to her, “Oh, and when I return, I will have two dinner guests with me.  The General and his wife, Martha, are quite anxious to meet you.”  

           Adrienne nodded to him, watching from the door frame as he headed down the stairs, grabbing his hat and heading out the door. ‘That part of him hadn’t changed,’ she thought amusingly, ‘He still moved a mile a minute.’ And that was her husband.  Always on the move.  

           Lady Adrienne Fairfax sat on a couch made of high-end silk in the Shippen’s ballroom, surrounded by the girls from the city she has henceforth deemed tolerable, none of which included Ms. Shippen herself.  If there was one thing that was true about the girl, it was that she was as vain and dry as she was wealthy.  Peggy Shippen had no discernible personality, that much was certain, her morals as fickle as southern rains.  No, Adrienne would much rather enjoy the company of Miss Arabella Coxe, Anna Marie Chew, Elsie Markoe, and her dearest friend, Ann Emily Rush.  

           The group all arranged within a few years from each other, Elsie Markoe being the oldest at age twenty.  Elsie was a well-bred girl with ruby red hair, often neatly arranged in the fashion of curls rather than a roll, she was pale as paper too; it was no surprise, therefore, when she became engaged to John Rush, Emily’s elder brother.  Next in age was Arabella Coxe, who had a slight tan to her skin, her father allowing her to roam outdoors perhaps a bit longer than was necessary to make up for his frequent absences from her.  She had deep brown hair placed into elaborate buns, not a pin moving as she placed down the playing card from her hand.

           After Miss Coxe is Ann Emily Rush, who sat to Adrienne’s right waving her fan to cool herself in the relatively warm room, little wisps of light brown hair sticking to the back of her neck.  Then there was Adrienne, the only blonde of the group.  Perhaps that was intentional.  Peggy Shippen clearly believed it, having started spreading rumor claiming that Adrienne only kept those less pretty than her inside the inner circle so she would always look the best of them all.  One light blonde curl of her feather-light hair rested over her shoulder as she played her own cards against the one placed down by Arabella Coxe.  And finally, the youngest of the group, having a birthday a mere few weeks following Adrienne’s own, was Miss Anna Marie Chew.  Marie was still baby faced compared to the rest of the girls, the rouge on her cheeks emphasizing the young woman’s youth.  Her thick pitch-black hair was styled similar to Adrienne’s own.  She was far too involved in her own conversation with another young blonde in attendance, who apparently also has an influential patriot father if rumor is to be believed.  Adrienne can not recall even inquiring for her name, as it was of little consequence to her.  

           Across the room, the incredibly small circle of the insufferable Miss Shippen sat around an ornate table, playing their own game of cards, their frequent glances drawing Adrienne’s own attention. “You know,” Adrienne addressed the group, “For someone who has held such extravagant social gatherings every year since she was of age, she is getting rather old to remain,” a pause for decency passed before she spoke again, “Uninvolved. Don’t you think?” Emily Rush let out a laugh from beside her, declining much more comment.

           Marie, however, did not hold her tongue as well as Miss Rush. “Well, there is no need to wonder why the guest lists have been getting so very relaxed,” she quirked her eyebrow to the blonde she was conversing with as if waiting for a response, but none came.  The blonde, however, seemed to become slightly uncomfortable by the statement, her ability to mask her emotions was disheartening to Adrienne.  This was a clear sign that the young lady was no socialite, and it was clear how the statement would have invoked such emotion, as the girl could not have been much younger than Peggy Shippen.

           Arabella Coxe did not allow the silence to halt such a conversation as she addressed the group, “Well, who can blame her poor father?  She has to strain his resources horribly.  Surely, the desperation for her to get married can not be a one-sided ordeal.”  

           The five girls laughed at this like tittering birds. Adrienne smiled contently, mischief gleaming in her eyes as she spoke, “That much is true.  I should think the next time an invitation including her comes across, I shall ignore it.” The ladies nodded silently, understanding the meaning behind her words immediately.  They soon returned to their activities once more, their comfy chatter blending with the other voices in the room.  Adrienne did notice, however, that the blonde had stopped conversing with Marie and now was making her own way towards a British officer in attendance. ‘There it is,’ she thought to herself as she watched the two over her cards, ‘I was beginning to wonder when some of the less virtuous vices of the British would arrive.  Wherever there is light to be found, there will surely be a moth nearby who cannot resist its temptations.’

           The card game ended as Adrienne laid her hand on the table, winning for the second time in a row.  “I swear,” Arabella Coxe huffed, “I have no clue how you do it.  You will have to count me out on another hand, I am afraid my pride could not handle it.”

           Adrienne cracked a smile, allowing a childish giggle to escape her at this comment, “What can I say, Madam?  It is a gift.”

           “A gift indeed, Lady Fairfax,” spoke an unfamiliar voice behind her.  The sound of military regulation shoes on the floor made her turn on the couch to meet the man as he walked toward her front. “I am afraid we have not had the pleasure of meeting quite yet.  Allow me to introduce myself,” he removed his hat, bowing properly to her, “Lieutenant Gamble of the British Army, at your service.” The Lieutenant kissed her hand once it was offered and made a request for a dance.

           Adrienne rose from the couch, giving a glance at Arabella and Emily as she accepted.  The British officer led her out onto the dance floor for a minuet, Jonathan Cooke of the commissary, a dear friend of her father, and the tall blonde from earlier joining the dance beside them.  The young officer was quite talkative, asking her all very personal questions, starting with the most obvious, and he was not pulling punches. “I do wonder, m’ lady, if you are aware that the young women who you fraternize with are daughters of known traitors.”

           Coolly, Adrienne responded, “Much better dressed and interesting than any woman considered a shining jewel by the British Army, especially in Pennsylvania of all places.”

           He snorted at her response as they turned, “Then do you, as an English heiress, share their views, madam?”

           “Lady.  An English lady, who’s father sits in the House of Lords, sir,” she corrected sharply. “I have no view on this war.  Anyone who does is concerning themselves with frivolity.”

           “Frivolity? That’s not what the King calls it.” They pass into another turn.

           “And you would call England by any other name if the king called it so?”

           “Touche, Madam.” Lieutenant Gamble was certainly nimble on his feet, that was certain as he spoke again, “And how is it you maintain your so-called neutrality, then, Lady Fairfax?”

           “Well, while my father is in England serving in the House of Lords, I remain here, in the colonies with other guardians,” a skip step, “Mr. & Mrs. Washington.”

           The man’s eyes blew wide, but humor was the dominant emotion within them.  “The old fox?  And how precisely did you end up there?  Are you in need of a swift rescue to York City?”

           “No, Lieutenant.  My presence amongst them is one with a rather lengthy and private series of events that I am afraid will not be disclosed to a total stranger, sir.  But it has proven rather useful, allowing me to keep my family’s vast estate in Virginia untouched by the state’s patriot Congress.”

           “So then you are close to him?  Washington, I mean.  You mean a great deal to him?”

           It was this that gave way to his intentions, making them clear as day to Adrienne, who simply snuffed him with a far too vague answer, “Perhaps, at a time, here and there.” Before the Lieutenant could respond, the dance ended, and she excused herself from his presence, returning to the couches. “What a miserably bold young man he was.” She spoke to no one in particular, aware that all or none of the girls around her might be listening, so she lounged on the couch, sipping at a glass of sherry when the most unusual person approached her.

           The young lady was recognized instantaneously, not by name, but by seeing her beside Peggy Shippen practically every waking hour.  What on Earth could she want with Adrienne?   Her distaste for the Shippens, while not precisely evident to the bald eye, was well-known.  So why would she risk her standing with Peggy by venturing off from her side of the room? Adrienne’s eyes searched around the room looking for the young Miss Shippen to see if she had abandoned the poor girl, but when she finally found her across the room, Peggy was looking right back at her. “She would like you to come to play a round of cards with us if you are so amenable,” the poor thing spoke.  

           “Oh no, I am afraid I do not find playing against my host a polite thing to do.” Adrienne tried to dismiss her with this, but the girl did not leave.

           “Really, we must insist you join us, even if you so decline to play my lady.”

           So that is what this was about.  Adrienne was almost touched that Peggy wished to speak with her, almost.  Rising from her seat, she strode confidently across the room towards the ornate playing card table, where there now sat an additional empty chair.  Peggy Shippen placed her cards face down on the table as she approached and spread her arms to greet Adrienne as if they were old friends.  For the sake of gratitude towards her host, even if she be lewd and desperate, Adrienne returned the gesture of affection, even topping it off with french-style cheek kisses on both sides. “Lady Fairfax!  I am so delighted you were able to be present this evening.  I am certain all the snowfall down in the Valley could not have made your travel easy?”

           The low jap did not go unnoticed, and Peggy Shippen was the only one who could play this game. “Indeed, but to maintain such a schedule as mine, one must make sacrifices.  I am sure that you would know all about that.” The comment was vague for Adrienne, but the point of the message got across to the other woman.

           Peggy released her arms, nudging her towards the chair, “Will you be joining us in the next hand?”

           Adrienne never did know when to stop, “Oh no, I must decline.  I do not find it proper to play such games with such a generous host or friend.”

           Peggy, to her credit, bit the bullet, pulling her lips into a smile. “Very well then, but you must join us for a short discussion at least,” She playfully swatted Adrienne’s arm, and the two sat down. “So, please tell me how is Anna?  Oh, sorry, Anna, your mother, not your sister.  You do still hear from her, don’t you?”

           Adrienne decided that was fair, but she would not let her get away with it either, “Countess Fairfax is doing quite well.  She has found the castle to be rather quiet with father away at the House of Lords.” Continuing to press as much as she could to Peggy, she spoke, “Have you heard, Beccy and Colonel Jameson are to be married this season?  Oh, Sorry, Beccy Pugh, not the eldest Miss Shippen.” There was a pause between the two, the rest of the table pretending not to have noticed, carrying on as usual.

           It was well known that Peggy was quickly approaching her final socialite seasons, looking to end up like her elder sister, Beccy, who at age 27 was still unmarried.  The sight of the poor girl at any event was enough to make one feel pity like never before.  After attending every single social event and soire for the past nine or ten years, she still stood alongside the edges of the ballroom, without a single dance partner. ‘The Spinster’ was what many of the young girls, especially Adrienne’s own circle, had taken to calling her.  In Adrienne’s opinion, Peggy’s desire for a marriage of her choosing was a foolish move, with a family record such as the Shippens, but to each her own, she supposed.

           When she finally worked up the courage to speak to Adrienne once more, there was no underlying meaning.  Having seemingly learned her lesson, Peggy spoke, “Speaking of which, You will quickly be approaching your own marriage season if I am correct?”

           “Eventually, yes, I do suppose now it is becoming more and more of a frequenting topic.”

           “And your father still intends on the heir to his title as Viscount to be the traitor?”

           “As far as I am aware unless he has written it into a letter I have not received.”

           “And you are alright with that?  A seat in the House of Lords belonging to a known traitor to England?”

           “You are asking me if I am considering any other options?” Adrienne asked her skeptically, and Peggy nodded to assure her of a correct assumption.

           “More specifically, have you looked into any of the numbers of fine young gentlemen found within the ranks of officers in the Royal Army?”

           Adrienne allowed curiosity to douse her tone, “Why do you ask Miss Shippen, have you someone in mind?”  

           “As a matter of fact, I do.  Have you heard of a particular Admiral Thomas Mackenzie?”

           Thomas Mackenzie, yes, she knew of the man. Adrienne’s own father had used the ships of the Late Admiral Mackenzie to transport himself and her mother to England at the start of this revolution.  She also knew that he was currently sitting in a South Carolina prison in American custody, at least he was last she had checked.  Their families had been friends, Lord Fairfax, having grown up with the elder Mr. Mackenzie.  So, when she got the letter notifying her of his captivity shortly after arriving at Valley Forge, Adrienne was more than delighted to allow him to write her, should it be a source of happiness for him.  But now only one thought climbed to the top of her head, ‘How on earth did Peggy know this?’

           “The same one that sits in an American Prison in Charlestown, South Carolina?” Adrienne asked Peggy genuinely, trying to approach cautiously to her real question.

           “Yes, the very same.  I have heard,” Peggy paused, a smile spreading across her face, “That he has quite an interest in yourself.” Adrienne opened her mouth to protest such blunt speaking, but Peggy cut her off before she could even begin, “And his occupation would finally allow you to rejoin your parents in England.”

           She knew.  Adrienne wanted nothing more to be rid of George, constantly in the shadow of the man, more people recognizing her as his charge than the future Countess Fairfax.  She missed her parents, her father’s endearing remarks, and her mother’s soothing presence; it has been years, and the letters are not the same. “Perhaps, I am sure if he were to write my father with,” Adrienne paused in thought before adding, “Requests.  I am sure that he would be more than willing to whisper into a few ears to ensure the happiness of a childhood friend.” Nice and vague, Perfect.  That was just how she wanted it. “I imagine that his father is quite distraught with his imprisonment.”

           The round of cards finished in silence, and Adrienne, once more declining to join in the game, excused herself from their presence back towards her spot.  Emily Rush raised an eyebrow at her when she returned, “Well?  What did the hag want?” The honest humor in her tone overshadowed any of the statement’s malicious or demeaning possibilities, and Adrienne was more than willing to indulge.

           “An attempt to connect me closely with a few officers of the Royal Navy.”

           Marie snorted, “Should she not be more worried about her own prospects as far as men go?  Or can she not snag a Royal officer?”

           Elsie Markoe laughed as she admonished the youngest of the group, “Oh come now, don’t be so harsh on her.  I am sure the poor thing is simply attempting to see where she has failed.  Heaven knows her sister has not given one.  Beccy Shippen has only proven what a perfect poor example is.”

           Arabella said nothing, but the polite smile on her face grew to hide the blatant laughter that was attempting to boil over.   But Adrienne, to her credit, had the decency to allow for another to respond before speaking once more, “It is truly such a shame, I almost feel pity for poor Beccy.” Emily Rush looked at her as if she had grown two heads, but Arienne continued on nonetheless, “I mean, think about it, really.  Becky goes around, wasting her time at these parties and soirées with no one to dance with. It’s a shame.” A smile spread across her lips, “But, while Becky does not have beauty to rely on, Peggy does. Yet she doesn’t seem keen on using it.”

           As the girls chittered around her, Adrienne’s eyes were focused on the front door; the mysterious blonde left the Shippen’s house, Lieutenant Adrienne had danced with earlier going shortly after. ‘How curious,’ she thought, ‘Perhaps she isn’t aware of the social indecency being displayed.’ A voice called her name, asking her opinion of a topic she had not been paying attention to, drawing her thoughts from the door.

           The Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army was frankly disappointing compared to what she was expecting, having heard much praise of the man.  He did not speak a language besides English and was sorely acquainted with the classics, rendering Adrienne de Lafayette silent for the majority of the dinner.  Her husband barely had time to eat between translating the many comments and questions the two talkative little girls aimed towards the Washingtons.  To her credit, Martha Washinton was undoubtedly delightful.  Even if Adrienne could not understand her, she clearly saw the patience and kindness the woman radiated.  She was homely, and it was obvious why she was married to General Washington.  The man needed a softer but unmoveable opposite to truly balance him out.  She muttered under her breath to her husband to remind him that he still held a plate of food in front of him that head barely touched.  The Marquis glanced down, mid-sentence, blushing a light pink when he realized that, indeed, he still had an almost full plate in front of him.  Sending a bashful glance around the table, he stopped talking, looking like one of the girls when they are reprimanded for their own overexuberance. ‘His enthusiasm hasn’t changed either,” she almost laughed at the thought, ‘The girls certainly have his energy, that is certain.’ The girls took their father’s silence as a hint that they too needed to eat their food.

           One prominent thing she noticed was the General’s behavior towards the Marquis.  Her husband might have missed it due to his own father being absent from his youth, but Adrienne noticed immediately.  Washinton treated him far better than any average aide de camp; the man looked at him as if he was looking right at his own son.  The levels of pride and joy in his face and tone were unparalleled.  It comforted her to know that even when she could not be there, he would have family within arms reach.

           Her father had expressed that taking a position as an aide was a move for the cowardly who lacked ambition, but Adrienne could not have been happier when she received that letter.  Low rank and proximity were a guaranteed aspect of the job, and if he never left George’s side, he would make it out of this war alive.  Her father had never respected his aides during the Seven Years’ War, calling them glorified paperweights.  He took more than several jabs at the Marquis once he found out, swearing up and down how predictable it was, even going as far as to say that her husband has been no good at anything but serving as a paperweight since he arrived at Versailles.  But Adrienne did not care, he was away from harm’s way, and he was shielded by his low rank, and he was okay.  Giving the Washingtons a polite smile as they headed out for the night before it got too late, Adrienne sighed.  And she was satisfied.

Chapter Text

           The sun rose over the Lafayettes' estate on the outskirts of York far sooner than any of its inhabitants did.  The halls of the house shone with its light, and the song of the birds wafted through the glass pane of the windows.  It was the most peaceful Saturday afternoon that Lafayette could remember since his grandmother died.  Adrienne lay asleep on her side of the bed still, her light blonde hair sprawled out on the pillow and over her shoulder.  He could vaguely hear the little girls' movement in the room down the hall, and he closed his eyes, looking up at the ceiling above him.  Basking in the silence of the moment, with the birds and his breathing, it was easy for the Marquis to notice when his wife woke up.  The shift in the mattress when Adrienne propped herself up on her elbow, leaning over his face, caused him to open his eyes. "Good morning, my love."

           Her lips pulled into a soft smile, "Good morning, sleepyhead."

           His face scrunched into a playfully admonishing look, "The only thing you have on me, my dear, better hair first thing in the morning." The laugh that escaped her lips caused him to let out a triumphant cheer, "Huzzah!  She can laugh!"

           Adrienne denied him a verbal response, but the firm swat to his shoulder was more than response enough. "If I wanted someone to make fun of me, I would have stayed at Versailles."

           Lafayette smiled up at her, "Well, now you are stuck with me instead."

           "I hardly think that's a bad thing."

           "Well then perhaps," he spoke, mischief in his tone, "You do not remember me as well as you think." With the conclusion of the statement, he wrapped his arms around her and flipped underneath him all in one fluid motion, causing her to make a little noise in surprise.

           "Well," there was laughter in her voice, "It is good to see these colonies have not drained the Courtier out of you yet."

           "Oh, you have no idea the things that I've overheard, my dear," his eyes ran up and down her figure, moving to whisper in her ear, "And in a position like this, it would barely be hard at all."

           She flushed red across her cheeks, turning her head slightly from him, "You are insatiable."

           The Marquis smiled, cheekily down at her, "I know."

           The doorknob twisted, and the moment shattered as Virginie and Anastasie entered the room, climbing on the bed to join their parents.  Lafayette rolled off his wife with a sigh, the youngest of the girls, Virginie, curling into his side. "Well, hello there, my dearest.  How are you this fine morning?" 

           Virginie did not shy away from responding with all the energy that she could muster, "it's actually Good Afternoon because it's 10 am, daddy."

           Anastasie did not hesitate to jump in on the conversation, saying, "No, it's not!  It's not afternoon because it's not yet after noon, silly.  I wouldn't expect you to understand that yet.  You're just a baby."

           Virginie snapped her head to look at her sister with as much anger as she could muster was displayed on her tiny face, "I am not a baby! You're just a meanie!"

           His wife sighed, and Lafayette noticed that he had missed when she closed her eyes, "Play nice you two.  You know better."

           "Please, girls, do not give your mother any unnecessary stress," he admonished.  His tone sparked with a heavy dose of humor, "That is my job." The girls contented with this reply, giggling softly at his remark.  

           "Careful dear, they hear enough of that at court.  They will begin to believe it to be true."

           "And it is not?"

           "It is not."

           "You are aware that lying is a sin, my dear heart?"

           "Contrary to my father's belief," she spoke as she played with Anastasie's blonde ringlets, "I am absolutely delighted that you took a position as an aide.  That means that your leg injury should be the worst of it."

           Lafayette froze.  He was not an aide.  He was a Major General.  He was a Major General, an officer consistently in the line of fire, and his wife had no idea.  No matter how confident he may have attempted to sound, his words came out clipped and wavering in a tone that offered no assurances, "Right, of course, love, the worst of it."

           Adrienne snapped up to a sitting position, Anastasie falling back on the bed sharply at her mother's abrupt actions. "Marie du Motier,  what in heaven's name is that supposed to mean?" He did not answer her, causing her to climb all the way off the bed to stand.  She spoke again as she began marching over towards his side of the bed, "You will answer me right this very moment, Marquis."

           Lafayette shifted Virginie over and made to stand to meet her, "Dear, I did not want to tell you in fear of worrying you further-"

           Adrienne met him face to face, yanking the collar of his shirt down to meet her eyes, "You will tell me the truth.  What is your position in this war?"

           "Major-General.  I am a Major-General of the Continental Army."

           In another show of swiftness, Adrienne raised her leg, and before he could realize what was happening, proceeded to knee him in the groin.  The Marquis let out a groan as he sunk to the floor in pain.  When he spoke, his voice was gravely and course, "Fair enough."

           His wife sighed, running her hands through her hair, "Girls, go get dressed."

           "Adrienne-"

           "Don't.  I am not interested in hearing it." He nodded in acceptance of her statement, and Adrienne called for some ice and a hand to move her husband onto the couch in the corner of the room.  She watched as he was propped up into a comfortable position facing towards the window, the sun shining on his face.

           When he was at last settled, wrapped ice resting atop his breeches, he spoke, "It seems that I have quite the habit of attracting feisty blondes."

           "A Habit?" Adrienne asked, pulling her stockings up her legs.

           "Yes, the same habit that caused me to ask you here, although quite spontaneously."

           Adrienne pursed her lips as the handmaid continued to dress in her undergarments, "Ah, so I am only here to satisfy your infidelity?"

           "What?  Oh no, not that kind of habit, madam.  She is a friend of mine, the ward of General Washington, Lady Adrienne Fairfax."

           Adrienne spoke as she stepped into her petticoat, "Lady?  Are her parents nobility?"

           "Yes, her father is a Viscount," he said dismissively, "Although the real reason I called you here is the Lieutenant Colonel she is promised to, another feisty blonde named John Laurens."

           Her gown was on, and the handmaid was attempting to tie a ribboned pendant around her neck, "What precisely is wrong with him that needed my expertise?"

           "He does not yet grasp that he is to be married to her unless he can use such a fact to make her incredibly miserable at any given moment."

           "Well," his wife straightened her gown before walking over to lean on the side of the couch, "Contrary to our experience, arranged marriages are often incredibly miserable.  Bright blossoms of young ladies stifled by the indifferently rude behavior of their husbands."

           "Yes," he tilted his head back to look up at her, "But this is not France, my dear heart.  One may find their husband to be their only company."

           She laughed at her husband and reached out to smooth his hair, "Oh, how miserable.  Yes, I will speak to them."

           "Perhaps," he closed his eyes at her touch, "You should not speak to them at the same time.  I have found that approaching them individually yields more results than resistance."

           "Very well then," Adrienne clasped her hands together, "When is the soonest I can meet this Lady Fairfax?"

           Lady Adrienne Fairfax was miserable.  She woke this morning to find several feet worth of more snow had fallen while she was sleeping and that there was no hope for roads to be cleared till Monday.  Adrienne Fairfax was utterly miserable because she was snowed in at Valley Forge with no one but George's miserable aides and Martha to keep her company.  This was how Adrienne found herself wrapped in a winter coat tending to Lieutenant Colonel Laurens' horse in an attempt to free herself from the dull Potts House.  However, today was full of surprises, and that was how she found herself all but cornered by a young Major who would not stop talking.

           "Madam, if you require assistance, I can show you how to-"

           "Thank you, Major," Adrienne cut him off, "But for the fourth time today, I do not require any assistance."

           "But if you would just let me-"

           "I said, I do not require assistance, Major.  Do not make me say it again."

           "My apologies, madam," he bowed his head in deference, "I only wish to help."

           Adrienne sighed and ran the brush down the side of the horse once more, "You can help by telling me why it is you have lingered here so long, surely not just to bother me.  Otherwise, you can keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself."

           The officer in question jumped to attention at these words, startled by her assumption. "I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe in any way, madam, I assure you.  I had no other intentions beyond helping a young lady, such as yourself.  I cannot say that I am used to seeing those of wealth, one of whom you clearly are due to your gown, performing such tasks themselves I-," he cut off abruptly, "My apologies, madam, I was rambling, and I did not mean to say such things."

           "And yet you did," Adrienne spoke, "You think me incompetent then, Major?  That is why you have remained?" The officer froze, realizing he had been trapped, and decided to say nothing in return.  Adrienne sighed, placing the brush down, "My apologies, Major.  It is not my intention to be harsh or cruel with you, I am simply not having a very good day, and you seem to have fallen victim to my frustrations."

           "That is quite alright, madam.  I sympathize with you entirely.  I am not having too much of a good day either," he paused before rewording his statement, "Well, not much of a good month really."

           "My apologies to you even further then, sir.  Though I would understand the lack of want for excessive pity." He smiled at her, and she noticed how charming the officer indeed was.  In turn, she offered a smile of her own. "And I am furthermore sure that my day's problems could not hold a candle to yours," she paused, realizing that in the hour or so she had been in these stables with him, they had yet to exchange names. "Pray, tell me, sir, I seem to have forgotten to obtain your name."

           "Benjamin.  Major Benjamin Tallmadge of the 2nd Connecticut Light Dragoons, at your service, my lady." His name was fitting for him; he obviously grew into it quite nicely.

           "It is a pleasure to meet you, Major Tallmadge," she smiled brightly at him as she continued, "My name is Lady Adrienne Fairfax of Virginia;  I am a guest of General Washington's."

           Major Tallmadge's figure went rigid at this comment, and when he spoke, it was clear his intentions were to drive them away from such a subject. "If it is not too bold of me, madam, might I inquire as to what exactly put you in such a displeased mood this morning?"

           "The roads," Adrienne said as she sat on a stool, "So much snow fell last night that all the roads out of camp and into Philadelphia are blocked and will not be cleared till Monday at the earliest."

           "Philadelphia?" he looked back at her, confused, "What business do you have there?  And how on Earth do you gain entry?"

           "Well, my father is Viscount Fairfax, so they do not dare stop my carriage," she said offhandedly, "And as for the first question, well, it varies from time to time.  I am most upset that I will be forced to miss the weekly lunch between Lord Howe and I tomorrow."

           The Major's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped open of its own accord.  It took him a couple of moments to compose himself beyond his stuttering ramblings to make coherent sentences.  When he finally regained his ability of speech, he pulled another stool over and took a seat across from her. "You have a weekly lunch with General Howe?"

           "Yes, he is a dear friend of mine.  Why do you ask?"

           "Madam," he hesitated, his tone dropping in volume, just above a whisper as he continued, "Would you be willing to do me a favor?"

           "Depends on what the favor is, Major."

           "I am a member of general Washinton's staff," he began speaking again before she could cut him off, "I work intelligence for the whole of the Continental Army and with connections like yours, imagine the things we could discover.  The number of lives we could save."

           "You wish for me to participate in espionage," he shushed her for her loud tone, and she forced herself to resist the urge to roll her eyes at his paranoia, "Against some of my dearest friends, nonetheless."

           "I know what I am asking is a lot, but even if you were to simply pass along the things you happen upon or notice while in the city can help us make substantial progress, madam.  We could give you an alias, no one besides me would even know your name.  Please at least consider it before you decline," he begged.

           "Very well, but observations only.  I will not go hunting for trouble, is that clear?"

           Major Tallmadge's face and body relaxed with relief, "clear as day, madam.  Thank you.  I will pass along any necessary procedural information to you before Monday.  You will have until then to change your mind." Adrienne nodded in understanding, and the Major jumped to his feet, a newfound rigor in his steps, as he headed towards the exit of the stables.

           Adrienne called out to him as he opened the door, drawing his attention back to her, "If there is time tomorrow in your schedule, please, Major, come by the Potts House.  I would feel horrible for forcing you to listen to my woes and not return the favor in kind."

           He smiled at her and tipped his hat to her, "I will, madam, even though you've just reduced many of my own with your actions here today.  Thank you, sincerely." and then he walked out the door and was lost in the snow and wind. 'What a peculiar young man,' she thought as she prepared to leave, deciding she has had enough of the cold.

           Headquarters was still as cluttered as it was weeks ago, but somehow it was far lonelier.  Lafayette was no longer present in the building anymore, he apparently had taken up housing outside of York like any sensible person should have, but it hurt her to see him go so soon.  Adrienne found herself missing his presence even more as she sat at his desk in the foreign officer's workroom, attempting to tend to her embroidery.  All the noise in the building faded together in her mind, and she realized, vaguely, that she must look as absolutely inconsolable as she feels as yet a single officer had yet to say a single word to her, even Hamilton.  The latter usually jumps on such a chance.  The door to the tiny house creaked open again, and the cold air whisked through her skirts and against her stockings, but this was not new, so Adrienne paid it no mind.  She did notice, however, when her heart skipped a beat at a familiar voice, recognizing its owner before her own eyes could.  There he stood in the doorway, snow on the shoulders of his cloak, cheeks rosy, and escaped dark curls, blown from his queue, framed his face.  He was breathtaking. 'Her Thaddeus,' screamed her heart before her head could remind it that such hopes were just that, hopes.  She wished him hers, more horribly than Adrienne cared to think.  She looked for his face at every event she attended, even though she knew he would not be there. Adrienne's heart yearned for him beyond the sensibilities of her head, and it was for this reason that her heart paused for a moment when he made eye contact with her from down the hall.  His smile bright spread across his face, eyes scrunching with such joy and admiration as he looked at her.

           Thaddeus clapped Lieutenant Colonel Laurens on the shoulder and made his way down the hall to the office, stopping in front of Adrienne. "Good Afternoon, Miss Fairfax.  What do we have the pleasure of seeing you for today?"

           She stood to greet him, "Well, the roads out of camp are all blocked with snow, so I regret to inform you that those here are merely enduring me today."

           "Well," the corner of his lips pulled up, showing humor at her words and boldly reached out a hand to grasp hers, "That is a downright outrage, madam.  Will you allow me to attempt to console you during such a trying period?" He glanced down at the fabric, resting forgotten on the Marquis' desk, "That is if your embroidery could spare you, madam."

           "Nonsense, there is no need for me to choose.  I am fully capable of being pleasant in conversion and working on my embroidery," Adrienne teased.

           "Ah yes, you ladies and your sewing circles," Thaddeus smiled at Adrienne with that adoring smile again as she laughed.  The door opened once more, and the draft cooled her little desk, and Thaddue's taking note of the chill, inquired, "Please, madam, come sit by my desk.  I fear you might catch a cold staying here."

           As she moved to accommodate his request, she spoke, "That seems to be everyone's fear these days.  Catching a cold, I mean." Adrienne spoke with such innocence that Thaddeus realized she had no clue about the actual state of the camp, "I cannot fathom why it is suddenly such a fearful aspect.  General Washinton even sent to York for warmer winter garments for Mrs. Washington and I."

           Thadeus' eyes shifted to a figure walking up behind her, "Well, I am afraid we might have to take a raincheck on that conversation, Miss Fairfax."

           Adrienne turned to see who he was staring at, fearing that it would be Lieutenant Colonel Laurens to drag her away from a far more pleasant time with the Colonel, but she found it to be the General himself standing just behind her.  His face was as stoic as usual, but his eyes shone with happiness as he looked upon her, "Adrienne, dear, might I speak with you in my office?"

           She smiled at him and nodded, "Of course, lead the way."

           George's office was kept exactly as she remembered his office at Mount Vernon, less lavish but with that same intimate and organized air about the room.  There was a map of Virginia hanging on the wall, and Adrienne's heart ached at the sight of it.  Her own father had one like it hanging in his private office at Belvoir, and she remembers sitting on his lap as a child as he would explain the affairs of the day to her, despite her mother's wishes.  The General must have noticed her staring, speaking to her, "It reminds me of home too.  The map." He moved towards her, far more relaxed now then he had been a mere moment ago, "Your father gave me a copy.  I believe he had the original at Belvoir."

           Adrienne nodded to him to confirm his suspicions before turning around to speak with him, "Is there anything that you needed, George?"

           "Not particularly, but I have yet to call for you since your arrival, and we now have an overlapping intermission in our schedules due to the blasted snow," he joked and moved to sit at a chair near his desk. "Please," he patted his leg once he was seated, "Join me, Addy."

           She laughed, "George, I am 17 years old.  I am afraid that I am far too big for that now."

           "Nonsense," he dismissed, "I distinctly recall that you just turned 15 last April."

           "No," she laughed, "That was April of 1776.  I am to be turning 18 this year, George."

           "Well, you certainly haven't grown much since '76." he then motioned to a chair next to the desk, "Sill, join me." Adrienne smiled and plopped herself into the chair that sat behind the desk, causing George to smile at her antics, a glass of brandy mysteriously appearing in his hand.  He swirled the glass, raising an eyebrow at her look, "17 is not quite old enough for this, Addy."

           "I have sherry at all these parties I attend.  What could possibly make it any different?"

           "Drinking sherry at two in the afternoon is socially acceptable.  Whiskey," he paused, swirling the glass, "Is significantly less so.  Especially for a young lady of station."

           "Yes, I suppose you are right," Adrienne said, glumly, looking down at the legs of the desk.

           "Eventually, my dear.  Although, by then, you will likely be Lieutenant Colonel Lauren's problem by the time you can," the General joked lightheartedly. "Heavens, 17?" he asked, eyes squinted, "Already?"

           Adrienne nodded, "It is likely that this coming year will be my wedding season."

           "You don't seem thrilled by that in the slightest."

           "Well," she sighed, "I am to be wed to a man who, on a good day, is indifferent to my very existence.  What do you expect me to do, leap with joy?"

           "He will come around, Addy, give him a chance," George pleaded. "He is still young, as are you, but unlike you, he has yet to face the reality of his life beyond the war." He took a sip of the whiskey, "Just give him time, and I am sure he will come around."

           Adrienne resigned herself to the prospect of George defending John and did not push the subject further. "I just wish we could do it back in England."

           "Well, you know, dear, that is not possible now."

           "I do.  It does not make it any less disappointing.  Especially with mama and papa away."

           George smiled sadly at Adrienne, "I will see what I can do, Addy, but I cannot make any promises.  You must remember that."

           "I will," she nodded, "Thank you, really."

           And that was how they sat, in peaceful and restful silence, the occasional light conversation passing between them for the next hour or so until Adrienne accidentally dozed off in his office chair.  George walked over to her, smiling at how young and peaceful she looked before deciding not to wake her.  He tenderly draped the cloak that sat in the corner of the room over her sleeping figure.  The facade of the General had dissolved into that of the tender father as he pushed a piece of her blonde hair out of her face and placed a kiss atop her head before exiting the room as quietly as possible.

Chapter Text

           Sunday morning was just as dull as the day previous.  Adrienne spent most of it sitting at the Marquis’ desk with her embroidery even though the workroom was far emptier on the Lord’s holy day.  So, when a pair of boots approached her from behind, Adrienne took notice, halting her attempt to thread her needle.

           “Might I assist you with that, Miss Fairfax?”

           Adrienne turned slightly in her chair, not recognizing the voice, but once she met his eye, her breath halted.  Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens stood behind her with a hand outstretched to grab the needle from her.  Adrienne nodded silently and handed him the needle and thread, watching as he pushed the threads straight through the eye of the needle on his very first attempt.

           She spoke just above a whisper with her eyes, diverted downwards towards his boots when she took back the threaded needle, “Thank you.”

           “You are welcome,” his voice was unchanging, just as clear and smooth as it usually was. John’s unwavering confidence as well had not changed since she last spoke to him.  Adrienne flinched slightly at the sound of a chair dragging against the floor as he pulled a chair over to sit next to her.  Her gaze remained down at the floor, not daring to move from the position she sat. “Please, do not do that,” he spoke with a blatant discomfort evident in his voice. “Look me in the eye, please, rather than to the floor.  You do not have to shrink away from me.”

           “That is not how you made it seem during our last interaction,” She surprised John with the meekness of her mild tone; she did not need to look at him to know.  Adrienne could have died there, she knew she sounded so small and pathetic at this moment, and she wished for nothing more than for him to go and leave her be.  

           John swallowed, the tension so thick in the air around the two it could be cut with a knife. “That is what I am here about.  I wish to apologize to you.” He sighed, “I apologize for cornering you this way to do so.  Well, really, I have wished to apologize to you about a month ago, the very next morning after my outburst, but it seems you have been avoiding me.”

           “And I am wrong for doing so?”

           “No, you are entirely justified.  I-” John cut off with a dejected sigh, and, with no warning, there was a hand under Adrienne’s chin, pulling her head up, so she was looking him in the eye. “There, that is much better.  More,” he paused, searching for the word, “Well, more you, Adrienne.”

           Her eyes widened at the use of her Christian name in such a public setting, “Lieutenant Colonel Laurens I-”

           “Oh, to hell with propriety,” he shouted, drawing looks from a few in the room bothered by his noise.

           Adrienne flushed pink at this and pleaded with him, “Sir, please!  Do not let your manners escape you upon an impulse.”

           “What does it matter?” he scoffed, “They could not understand me if they tried.”

           “Mr. Laurens!” she exclaimed at the unnecessarily rude comment.

           “Mr. Laurens?” he raised an eyebrow at her, “I am not Henry Laurens, thank you very much.  If you insist on addressing me formally, then please do so by my title, not my father’s.”

           “If I wanted to speak to your father, I would have asked for Congressman Laurens,” she snapped back at him.

           John sat there, fury written clear across his face, lips pressed together, and more than aware that her comment was more than true.  He squared his jaw and looked her in the eye before continuing, “I thank you for halting me from such behaviors then, madam.  I did not approach you to argue.” She barely finished a nod before he continued, “I would like for you to meet me in the parlor this evening after dinner, madam.” He nodded to her and moved the tricorn hat from his lap to his head as he stood. “Until then,” he gave her a curt bow and walked down the hall and out the front door in a whirlwind of anger, leaving her to sit there alone at the desk with no one but her embroidery for company.

           Adrienne’s second visitor came later in the day, around the time that a formal dinner would have been held in the house.  The Dragoon from the stables, Major Tallmadge she recalled, called her into the aides’ deserted office, the room where John worked, but she had never truly entered, not intentionally at least.  The space was completely empty, though Adrienne could not say she was surprised, considering the state of the house earlier that morning.  The Major was well-presentable, his uniform clean, and his hair tied into a neat braid, a simple black ribbon tying it off.  He was leaning slightly over a book that seemed to be bursting at its seams, quill in hand.  The Major glanced up at Adrienne when he heard her approach the doorway and finished off his sentence before placing the quill to rest. “Ah, Lady Fairfax, please, allow me to pull you up a chair,” he said as he rose from his seat.  Adrienne observed his actions quietly, delicately sitting down in the chair across the tabletop from him as it was presented to her. “I called you here because I would like to discuss proper protocol for any information you should pass along to me from Philadelphia.”

           Adrienne’s brow creased slightly with intrigue, “Protocol, Major?”

           “Yes,” he licked his lips, pulling out a loose sheet of paper from his notebook, “There are things that are to be done as safety precautions that Mr. Sackett and myself have put in place.  You will need to be well-versed in them, though I will do my best not to waste any of your time with the parts that will likely never apply to you.”

           She nodded to him and smiled, “It would not be any trouble at all.  Time seems to be more than abundant at the moment.”

           “Well then,” he chuckled lightly, “I apologize for that, madam.  The valley is certainly not as invigorating a social scene as Philadelphia, that is to be sure.”

           He looked at her with a smile as she laughed politely, intently listening as she spoke, “And the Marquis, my usual camp companion, is snowed out of camp due to his new residence.”

           “So I have heard.  The Marquis is a lucky man.  There are many men out there that would more than kill to be in his position.”

           “Well, that would be rather silly of them,” she spoke lightly, “Unless it is a common practice of continental soldiers to not withstand a light chill.”

           The Major blinked back at her, his brow furrowed, and utterly silent for a few seconds before he spoke once more. “I mean you no disrespect my lady, but what else could be expected when they no longer have proper cots, blankets, stockings, boots, let alone any such winter gear.”

           Adrienne scoffed, “Surely, the situation could not be that bad.  Congress would have taken action upon it if such things were true.”

           Ben shook his head and clasped his hands together, “One would think so.”

           “That is positively ridiculous.  Congress has declined to assist its own army?” He nodded his head solemnly, and she huffed, “Then they are fools, for there will be no Congress once they have let the army that protects them vanish amongst such preventable conditions.” This was apparently something that he enjoyed if the wide smile that broke out on his face and the laughter that escaped from his lips before he could trap it inside them was anything to go by.  Adrienne laughed along with him, finding his own laughter to be the rarest of forms, the contagious kind.  When they finally settled down, Adrienne cleared her throat, “Now, protocol, Major?”

           He nodded, clearing his own throat as well, “Yes, Madam.  Protocol.”

           The short meeting that was arranged between the two was precisely the opposite.  The two wasted no time finishing protocol discussions, leaving them to lengthy conversations about anything and everything.  The sun had begun to set in the windows shining in the room and in the hall, painting the room with a golden hue by the time they decided to conclude their appointment. “So, Miss Fairfax,” he began as he stood, “You will be meeting with Lord Howe for the whole week of Christmas then?  As a definite?”

“Yes, sir, that would be correct,” she reassured him, smiling at him as he nodded.

           “Well, as wonderful as this news is for the cause, we will miss you here in the valley.”

           “Then I shall be sure to leave a present with the Marquis for you.  I would hate to have any part in a dull Christmas for you, Major.”

He turned around to look at her quickly, shaking his head lightly, “Oh no, Miss Fairfax, that is really not necessary, though the gesture is deeply appreciated.”

           Adrienne tsked at him, shaking her head back at him, “I really must insist, sir.  I do not expect anything in return.  The spirit of the Christmas season is one of giving, if at all possible, not merely one of receiving.  After all, the whole point of the holiday is to celebrate God above gifting us his only son, without expecting a gift in return.”

           “Well, I am sure that anything I could hope to get you in exchange would not measure up to the many gifts you might be expecting.  But I do have to say, you have a wonderful grasp of the season’s religious morality.  Though, I would argue the devout belief in the Lord and abstaining from as much sin as possible is a gift he expected in return.”

           She smiled, shrugging in defeat, “Well, there you have me, Major.  I do not believe I have ever looked at it that way.  I know for certain my father’s preacher at Truro did not look at the season that way either.”

           “Ah, well,” he shrugged as he wrapped a cord around his notebook, “What can I say.  Once a preacher’s son, always a preacher’s son.”

           “A preacher’s son,” Adrienne raised an eyebrow, “Now that is something I would not have guessed.  Though I can not say I am surprised by it.  Is your father your only family, Major?”

           “I will consider that a compliment, Miss Fairfax.  And, uh, no, actually, I have a younger brother as well.  Though my father is currently staying in Litchfield, and the little squirt is with friends back in Setauket getting into more trouble than he should, as per usual.”

           She laughed gleefully, “He certainly sounds like a handful.”

           The Major nodded, “He attracts trouble like a moth drawn to the flame.”

           She smiled softly, a moment of silence passing over them before she raised a question to him. “Setauket, is that where you are from?  I cannot say that I know where it is.  Or that I have ever heard of it.”

           “It is where I am from,” he assured her, “And you would be far from the first to not know of it.  It is a sleepy backwater farming town just across the Connecticut sound on Long Island.”

           “Long Island?  Is that not awfully close to York city?” Adrienne asked him with a genuine concern in her voice, “Are you sure that it is safe for your brother to remain there alone?”

           The Major simply smiled at her, “I do not think I could convince him to leave it behind if I were to ride there and talk to him myself.”

           While George and his aides sat downstairs talking amongst each other, Adrienne took dinner upstairs in the master bedroom with Martha that evening.  The two had hardly seen one another since the winter social season began due to Adrienne continually being out of camp, either at an event or with one of her friends’ families.  So, Martha had been sure to call for her to dine with her these past two days. “How have you been, dear?”

           “I have been well, if not admittedly bored these past few days at camp,” Adrienne told her impassively.

           Martha hummed in agreement, “I am sure.  Though, are you sure you are well?  Getting enough sleep?”

           She smiled between bites, “Of course.”

           “I only ask because George is concerned,” she spoke as she cut the meat in front of her, “He said you fell asleep in his office yesterday.”

           Adrienne laughed, taking a sip of her Madeira, “Yes, I did, but it was more out of comfort than tiredness.  You must thank him for carrying me upstairs to my room as well.  I only hope it was not inconveniencing.”

           Martha’s fork clattered against the plate, clearly started or shocked into dropping it from her hand. “Adrienne, dear, George did not carry upstairs.  He assumed you retired yourself to bed.”

           She scoffed, “Well, that is certainly ridiculous.  If I brought myself upstairs, I would have not only remembered it, but I would not have woken up still fully dressed.”

           Martha’s brow furrowed, and she reached a hand out to Adrienne, placing a hand on Adrienne’s arm and locking eyes with the young girl, “Adrienne, he did not carry you upstairs.”

           Adrienne’s own eyes widened, and she began to understand why Martha was so shaken by her earlier comment. “If George did not carry me upstairs, then who did?”

           She swallowed, “I have no idea.”

           George sat in a wood-backed chair in front of the fireplace observing his aides as they interacted amongst one another.  Hamilton and Laurens sat side by side, hunching into each other, sharing slices of an apple, and talking between themselves, their moods shifting with the vigor of whatever they happened to be conversing about at any specific moment.  Tilghman and Harrison were sitting one across from the other at one of the tables playing cards, wagering free time versus paperwork rather than money.  God knows there was none to spare these days if it were to be found at all.  McHenry also sat at their card table, but he looked be fading in and out of sleep, resting his chin upon his hand.  Fitzgerald and Meade sat in what might have been a circle had Lafayette been there to join them like he usually did.  George had a hunch that was going to become a more and more common occurrence in the future.

           It was normal here.  The normality covered George like a familiar quilt, bringing him a rare commodity, comfort.  After the start of Pennsylvania’s trying and harsh winter months, it had become less and less of a frequently occurring sensation.  He thought back to the previous afternoon he had spent with Adrienne.  The girl was lucky.  She was a breath of fresh air, somehow managing to remain untouched by the stresses of the war that had steeped so far into the bones of seemingly every person in the colonies.  Her biggest concerns were missing her father and her dreading her wedding, and he wished it would stay like that forever for her.  She did not fear that her father’s house, her childhood home of Belvoir, would be raided, looted, or burned by either side of this war.  Nor did she grasp that there are men, good men, dying at George’s hands simply because he could not provide for them as a Commander-in-Chief ought.  As far as she is concerned, one day, both sides might wake up and tell the other they are done playing their little game called war and that things will return to the way they were before the spark of revolution.  And George was glad.  He was glad for her innocence.  Glad that she was blithely unaware of how impossible her views of the future were.  It would save him lots of trouble in explaining such things.

           It did pain him, however, to shield her so horribly.  It pained him because one day, when the war is over, one side will have won, and the other will have lost, and her view of the world will shatter into a million pieces.  If the British forces she dined with weekly were to win, she would likely witness him hanging from a random tree, and her friends ruined to poverty, if not imprisonment.  If the Continentals were to win, she would have to board the nearest British naval ship in her vicinity and sail to England immediately, likely never to see him, Martha, or Virginia ever again.  The glass will shatter, he supposed, it must.  The only question is how.

           The matter of her marriage did concern George slightly because John Laurens was one of his boys, and he saw the young Miss Fairfax as a daughter to himself.  Her utmost happiness was, by extension, George’s own, and he knew that once Adrienne had made her mind up about something, it would not likely change, and she certainly seemed to have made up her mind about John. ‘But then,’ he reasoned with himself, ‘Lord Fairfax was always the kindliest man to his little Addy.  Surely if he knew she did not wish to wed John, then the engagement would have been called off immediately.’ Yes, if she was genuinely unhappy that they were to be wed, then William Fairfax would have found out already, and that would be the end of it.  He pushed the thought out of his mind, making a mental note to call upon her more, seeing how at peace she has left him after just one visit.

           John was already waiting for Adrienne in the same parlor room he yelled at her in during their last evening together, but much like that evening, it would not be only the two of them.  This was clear once Adrienne stepped into the room, her heart skipping a beat as she locked eyes with Colonel Kosciuszko sitting in the armchair.

           “Ah, Adrienne, there you are.  I was afraid you had forgotten my request and retired,” John said, turning his head to look at her from his position on the couch.

           “No, sir,” She nodded politely to him as she walked around the couch to sit on his opposite side, between him and the Colonel, “Mrs. Washington and I merely lost track of time amongst our dinner conversation.” Adrienne turned to the Colonel, “I trust you had a pleasant dinner, Colonel?”

           “Ah,” Thaddeus shook his head politely, “Pleasant is not the word I would use for stale bread and cheese, madam, but we are grateful for it nonetheless.” He paused, and his eyes shifted to John before he spoke with humor in his voice, “Far better than half an apple, wouldn’t you say.”

           “No,” John poked back at him, “At least I knew that I would not encounter a spider in my apple.”

           Adrienne observed as Thaddeus roared with laughter, vigor suddenly coming to the two men she sat between. “I happened once,” Thaddeus laughed, “One time, and I am never going to live it down, am I?”

           “Never,” John affirmed.

          ‘Perhaps the Major was right,’ Adrienne thought to herself, ‘The army might be in such dire straits as he said.’ Smiling politely, Adrienne spoke, “Then I take it you have both had a good evening?”

          “Yes, indeed, madam,” John spoke to her, “Alexander had quite the opinion on a method to gain French support.”

          “And it was horrible, like all his others?” asked Thaddeus nonchalantly.

          “Absolutely horrid.” Adrienne's stoically polite features betrayed her when they suddenly lit up with surprise.  She turned to John, who looked back at her, “What?  Is it something I have said?”

          “No,” she cleared her throat and attempted to soothe her features, “I was under the impression that you and Colonel Hamilton agreed on all terms.”

          John laughed, “No, of course not.  I would imagine that you would be incredibly cross with me if I did, knowing Alexander.”

          “Especially his,” Thaddeus shifted his glance to Adrienne hesitantly, “Escapades.”

          John looked down at the fabric of the couch, “Well, that is certainly among the top things of the list.  His rather long list of persons he,” John scoffed at his attempt of humor, “Entertains.”

          Adrienne understood what they meant and was thankful for the quiet that passed over the darkroom.  She was grateful that they were kind enough to beat around the bush on her behalf, but she realized that the only light in the room was coming from candles, and the windows did very little to stop the draft from swirling around the room.  The silence broke when she shivered, both men moving to remove their coats to offer them to her.

          John slipped the uniform wool over her shoulders and smiled at her as he stood, moving to the decanter in the room and pouring three glasses of the whiskey inside.  He handed one to Thaddeus, who took it without complaint.  He then offered one to Adrienne, who moved to decline the glass, “Please, it will help warm you up.  Trust me.”

          Adrienne hesitantly took the glass from his outstretched hand, and John sunk into the couch once again.  She cradled the glass in both hands, resting it in her lap.  She looked between both of the men, who were staring right at her.  Adrienne furrowed her brow, and John motioned with one hand for her to take a sip.  She hesitantly brought the glass cup in her hand to her lips and took a small sip, cheeks flushing pink.  Thaddeus leaned forward in his chair as she went to take a sip, and John sat back, both of them bursting into laughter at the face she made upon swallowing the drink.

          “It’s alright, kid,” John clapped her shoulder lightly, still laughing, “It happens to all of us the first time.”

          She laughed nervously, “I have a strong feeling that such a reaction will extend for me far beyond my first sip, sirs.”

          The two men laughed heartily, and John took the glass from her hand, “Alright then, I won’t force you to finish it.” He then took the glass to his lips and tipped the entirety of its contents down his throat in one swallow, causing Thaddeus to laugh once more and grudgingly declare him a ‘show-off.’

          They continued like this for a while till the clock in the hall chimed midnight. “Ah, that is my cue,” Thaddeus spoke, rising from his chair, “I have first rotation Morning Patrol.”

          John groaned, “God, I do not miss morning patrols.  Not one bit.”

          Thaddeus laughed at him, “Well, if you all in here are not doing it, then someone must.  Unfortunately, that falls on those of us who are not members of staff.”

          “You poor soul,” John stood to bid him farewell, “I will pray you get called to be a staff member very soon then.”

          The Colonel scoffed humorously, “Oh yeah, and when was the last time you prayed?”

          John turned away from him and made his way to help Adrienne up. “Does that suddenly matter?” he snorted humorously.

          “No,” the Colonel called from the front door, “Not anymore.” He nodded to Adrienne before heading out the door, “Ma’am.”

          The door shut, and John’s boots sounded across the floor as he approached Adrienne, moving to stand right behind her as she sat on the couch.  He crouched down slightly to place his hands on her biceps, causing her to jump in surprise at the touch. “You don’t need to be afraid, Miss Fairfax. It’s just me.”

          Adrienne swallowed, “I do not think this is proper, Lieutenant-”

          “Why?  There is no one here but us,” he asked her, whispering in her ear.

          “Precisely,” she licked her lips, suddenly feeling very parched, “It is improper for us to be here alone.  Without a chaperone, I mean.”

          He was rubbing his hands gently up her arms to her shoulders when he whispered to her once again, “You are to be my wife.  I hardly think that is necessary.”

          Adrienne cleared her throat, angling her face down to hide the redness spreading across her cheeks from his eyes, “To be.  I am to be, but we are not yet wed, therefore making it improper, sir.”

          “John,” she looked back up at him as he spoke, still running his hands up her arms, with confusion written clear across her face, “When we are alone like this, I beg of you, call me John.”

          “Very well,” she sighed involuntarily as his hands began to work at the tension in her shoulders and neck, “John it is.”

          He smiled, placing a kiss on the back of her neck where the clasp of the ribbon tied around it rested. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear once more, noticing how she had begun to melt into his touch.

          She spoke now with her eyes closed as he rubbed her shoulders, “It is getting late.  I should retire.  I do not want to oversleep tomorrow and cause the General more worry.”

          “More?” he asked as he continued his tasks.

          “Yes, I fell asleep in his office yesterday, and he asked Martha to ensure that I have been getting enough rest.”

          “Well, I knew that,” he said softly, “I just did not know that it worried him.”

          She furrowed her brow and tilted her head back, eyes still closed lightly, “What do you mean you knew?”

          Even his chuckle came out smooth, “Who do you think carried you upstairs, my dear?”

          “Oh.” That was certainly a logical answer; Adrienne wondered why she had not thought of it earlier. ‘Likely because you wanted it to be Thaddeus.  As foolish as it would have been.’

          When he finally drew his hands away from her shoulders, Adrienne felt more relaxed than she had in ages. “There you go,” he said quietly, causing her to open her eyes.  They laughed together as quietly as possible at the position they found themselves in, and John smiled at her softly.  He moved closer and placed a kiss on her temple before he spoke again, “Alright, I will not keep you from sleep any longer.” John moved to the side of the couch to offer her his hand, which she took and found herself surprised at the smoothness his hands held. “I will take care of the candles, go on up,” he said, releasing her hand as he moved to hand her a candle to see herself up the stairs, lifting its tray and turning to see her making for the hall already. “Wait,” he called after her, “My jacket, please.” He grabbed another candle, blowing out the rest, and walked towards her to offer her one of the trays.

          She removed the jacket from her shoulders and traded it for the candle, and moved to the stairs, offering him a tired smile before making her way up to her room for the night.

Chapter Text

           Days passed in the final countdown of the Christmas season, and it seemed all of Pennsylvania was buzzing with energy.  Lord Howe’s household was preparing for the stay of Lady Fairfax, his goddaughter.  A large shipment of holly berries and a tree as large as life sat as main decorating elements of the house, as Adrienne preferred.  The planning of the Christmas ball for the army officers and the city’s elite was moving along swiftly, invitations reaching every corner of the army’s reach.  The valley bloomed briefly for moments as packages, and letters from home began to arrive to those whose families were not present at camp.  The rooms of the Potts house felt lighter as even the aides seemed cheerier.  Even the Rush home was wholly decked out in greenery and candlelight when Adrienne arrived upon its doorstep so that Emily Rush, Arabella Coxe, Marie Chew, Elsie Markoe, and herself could leave with Doctor Rush to spend the following day in York shopping for Christmas gifts.

           Adrienne was the last to arrive, with the sun setting on the horizon as she walked across the threshold of the house.  The smell of chestnuts, oranges, and cinnamon wafted through the house, and the slight hint of the wood burning in the fireplace and pine from the greenery tinted the air.  The crackling of the fireplaces could be heard from every room, and the chattering of the young girls echoed slightly through the entrance hall.  Adrienne entered the room where the girls all sat, drinking a seasoned cider and eating holiday treats on the couches.

           Emily smiled at her upon her entrance, “Adrienne!  Thank goodness, I was beginning to fear you had gotten stuck in the snow!” She moved over on the couch and patted the now empty space, “Come, join us.”

           Adrienne maneuvered her way through the girls’ skirts to the seat, her red silk gown sparkling in the light of the flames which illuminated the room.  A teacup decorated with a mistletoe design full of cider was handed to her by Marie Chew, and she fell right into tune with the girls’ conversation of plans for the following day.

           Dinner was plentiful and pleasant,  the homely feel never once leaving the room as each girl jested, laughed, and poked fun till it finally concluded at the latest hour possible.  Doctor Rush stood from the table and dismissed the girls to bed, assuring them they would need rest for tomorrow’s journey.  Each was shown to their room, and the house fell silent for the evening.

           Breakfast the following morning was an equally energetic affair, the youth of the girls shining through in their exuberance and excitement.  Each girl was well dressed in various delicate and expensive fabrics in the colors of the season, cloaks to match as they trod out into the cold to board the carriages of Doctor Rush and Arabella Coxe.  Once arriving in the city, they grouped at the townhouse Doctor Rush owned, where he begged them to return before the dinner hour and sent their party on their merry way. “Where to first?  I was thinking about the millinery,” Emily spoke as Marie and Elsie turned around, walking backward to face the other three girls.  

           “Yes!” squealed Marie, “I need some new ribbons before the ball, held in your honor, of course, Addy.” 

           “And I need a proper Christmas gown,” said Arabella, agreeing with a far more dignified tone.

           “Yes, I think the millinery sounds like an excellent idea,” hummed Adrienne.

           The group made their way down the snowy sidewalks, entering the millinery with the beginning of windburn, making their cheeks and noses pink. “Oh thank goodness,” sighed Elsie Markoe at the warmth of the shop, moving to stand beside the crackling fireplace to obtain some of its heat.  Arabella went to the counter and began to place her order, Marie found delight in the ribbons and trinkets immediately, and Adrienne drifted to the felt and wools to look for a gift for a certain blonde Major.  Emily walked up behind her, and she ran her hands over the fabrics, looking for one that was both thick and warm enough for him but also pleasing to the eye.

           “You know, navy blue tends to be a good color to pair with a Continental blue.”

           Adrienne jumped, placing a hand over her heart once she realized who had snuck up behind her, “Oh, it is only you.” She let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, “Yes, I think you would be right.”

           “I am sure Lieutenant Colonel Laurens would like it,” Emily hummed, reaching out to a thick dark navy blue wool, “It is a very practical gift.”

           Adrienne abandoned the camel toned fabric she was looking at to run her own hands over the darker fabric, “This gift is not for the Lieutenant, but rather for an extremely kind Major who has been keeping me company when John is preoccupied with his work.”

           Emily raised an eyebrow, not turning away from the fabric, “And you are sure that is wise?” Adrienne turned to her, brows furrowed, and she continued, “Not only spending time with another officer but gifting such an item?”

           “It is not anything other than a kind gesture,” Adrienne swallowed, turning back to the fabric, “The valley is cold.  I simply do not wish for him to freeze.”

           Emily hummed, speculation evident in her tone, “If you say so.”

           Adrienne cleared her throat to signify the end of the conversation. “I was thinking double lining, then this,” she placed her hand on a dark blue satin, “As the outer lining to give the wool contrast.”

           “I think that is a wonderful idea,” Emily spoke, stepping back and then turning around to head towards the hat display.

           Adrienne considered it for a moment before nodding and calling over the shop attendant and placing an order for a men’s cloak to be delivered to the Lafayette household upon its completion.

           When the group of girls made towards the stationery and bookshop, Adrienne headed towards a German teahouse.  Lafayette had mentioned that it was a favorite of his when he asked her to drop by on her visit, so she had a clue as to why she was headed there.  What she did not expect, however, was to not see the Marquis at all, but rather to be directed towards a table with an incredibly wealthily dressed young woman. Who smiled at her softly as Adrienne’s chair was pulled out for her. 

           The beautiful young blonde spoke once Adrienne had been seated in fluent French, “Good afternoon, you must be Lady Fairfax.  My husband has told me lots about you, madam, and he cares very deeply for your well-being.”

           “Ah,” Adrienne spoke hesitantly, “I am afraid that I have not had the pleasure of such an introduction, Madam.”

           The girl laughed sweetly before responding, “Of course, my apologies.  Allow me to introduce myself, Marie Adrienne Françoise de Noailles, Marquise de Lafayette.”

           Adrienne herself smiled and failed in her attempt to suppress the laugh that bubbled over her lips, “My apologies, madam, but it seems I was aware of who you are after all.” Adrienne poured herself a cup of tea from the pot on the table, “I was unaware you had joined us from France, though I suppose such a turn in events would explain why the Marquis took up residence outside of camp.” She paused to add sugar to the cup, “And perfectly accounts for the additional delight in his behavior, which I had attributed to the holiday season.  Though from how he speaks of you, I now have no doubt that it spawns from your presence.” 

           The Marquise had not stopped smiling since Adrienne took her seat. “That makes me extraordinarily happy, madam, you have no idea.”

           “You make him incredibly happy,” Adrienne poured the Marquise a cup of tea as well, “And he loves you very much.”

           “And I him,” she spoke with a polite tone, but the sincerity of her words was bolstered by the lovesick gaze in her eyes.

           A young blonde girl, not any older than perhaps three years of age, came through the doorway, running over to the young Marquise, a governess walking steadily behind them. “Mama,” shouted the youngest one, pulling slightly on her mother’s skirts before the governess took her hand in hers, eyes pleading for forgiveness, which was offered generously.

           The blonde laughed with delight, “You must excuse my daughters, Lady Fairfax.  They are incredibly excited by the new surroundings.”

           “Oh, there is no need.  I understand that it is all quite exciting for myself, and I am from the colonies.” The little girl turned her face to look up at Adrienne, and her heart melted, causing a smile similar to the Marquise to spread softly across her face. “Hello, mademoiselle, and who might you be?”

           The little girl looked up at the governess, who softly nodded to her, encouraging an answer.  The voice of the little girl was just as sweet as she had expected, and it caused her heart to flutter when the little girl spoke, “My name is Virginie Motier de Lafayette.”

           Adrienne gasped dramatically, asking the girl, “Virginie?  Not possibly named after Virginia?” the blonde cracked a little smile as she nodded shyly. “That is where I am from, madam!  Is that not very exciting?” she explained, causing Virginie to laugh gleefully and nod. “You know, your papa tells me that you are not usually this shy,” Adrienne teased.

           “Papa?” the little girl’s face brightened instantly, all of the remnants of fear-driven away, “You know my papa?”

           Adrienne nodded, “Yes, indeed, I do.  He has told me lots about you, your mama, and your sister.  He loves you all very much, my dear.”

           The little girl had been inching toward Adrienne far before she looked to her mother for approval, and once it was given, she looked up at Lady Fairfax and asked, ‘May I please give you a hug?”

           Adrienne’s smile split wide open, ‘Yes, my dear.  You may.” She took the little girl in her arms, bringing her up to sit in her lap just seconds before Virginie threw her arms around her neck and hugged her as tight as her little frame could bear.  When they separated, the Marquise was looking on approvingly, and the girl made no move to remove herself from Adrienne’s lap, so she continued to speak to her. “Has anyone ever told you that you hug like your papa?”

           The girl’s blonde wispy curls bounded as she shook her head, “No because no one gives better hugs than papa!”

           “Well,” Adrienne dropped her voice into a fake whisper, causing the little girl to laugh, “Then we will just have to not tell him that he has some competition then.”

           The Marquise cleared her throat, and the governess stepped forward to take the little girl but halted when her mistress called her back, “She can stay, Marie.  Why don’t you go and explore the city on your own for a while?” The governess smiled brightly and nodded, giving her mistress a curtsey before excusing herself from the shop. “Now, back to business.”

           Adrienne cleared her throat and wrapped her arms around Virginie as she made herself comfortable in Adrienne’s lap, “Yes, let’s.”

           “As delighted as I have been so far by your presence, I do meet you upon a request from my husband,” she said, bringing the delicate porcelain cup to her lips. “About your intended, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, if I am correct?”

           Adrienne was hesitant to bring her own cup to her lips as she responded, “You would be correct, though I must question what it is about him that your husband could not speak to me about himself.”

           “Well, he knows far less about making a miserable, but suitably arranged, match tolerable than I,” she spoke nonchalantly as if she was not openly speaking about Adrienne’s discontent with her very future.

           “Oh,” she said, deciding to place the teacup entirely back on the table. “Perhaps the Marquis misunderstood me, madam, but I do not believe that I could find any contentment in my person with the Lieutenant Colonel.  To no fault of his own,” she quickly added.

           “Well, I will confess I have not met the man, but I do not doubt you one bit, Lady Fairfax,” she assured her. “I will also confess that if my husband was aware of the advice I intend to give you, he would not have sent me.”

           Adrienne raised an eyebrow, “And that is?”

           “Find another,” The Marquise spoke bluntly, “Find another who can make you content, or dare I say, happy.”

           “You are suggesting that I call off my engagement entirely?”

           “No,” she said, “Not in the slightest.  I am implying that you look for fulfillment outside of the constraints of marriage.”

           Adrienne swore that she must have choked on something that caused her to pass out because there was no way that the woman before her had just said what Adrienne had heard.  

           The Marquis laughed, “I understand for the English the idea of marital infidelity stretches to lying with any man besides your husband, but I assure you, with some discretion, no one would be any the wiser.” Adrienne nodded silently and, though she would never admit it, accepted the Marquise’s advice as a probability for her future.

           Adrienne met back up with the girls for their final shops, purchasing a gift for the Marquis before they were to leave.  Elsie Markoe and Emily stayed in the city with Doctor Rush, but the other three girls climbed into Arabella Coxe’s carriage and headed back to the countryside home where they would rest for the evening then return to their respective houses.  Adrienne was the first to leave the following morning, the ride to the valley being far and cold.  When she finally arrived, she was escorted inside the house, and her belongings were carried in.  Lafayette looked up from his desk as she entered the hallway and waved her over to him.

           “I trust your day went well, madam?”

           “Yes, indeed.  Though I believe a warning about our,” Adrienne hesitated, “Friends, would have been nice.”

           His brow furrowed, and he straightened up in his chair, “Friends, plural?”

           Adrienne nodded to the Marquis, smiling back at him “Yes, Motier.  I met with our friend and another rather amiable and sweet young blonde.”

           Realization dawned on him, his features falling into a resigned humor, a little snort escaping him as he ran a hand down his face, “Of course, she has been dying to see York for weeks.  You must excuse her enthusiasm.  She is just barely four and not old enough to properly understand her actions.”

           Adrienne laughed, “Nonsense, she was incredibly well-behaved for a girl so young.”

           Lafayette sighed, “I suppose it is natural to be so attached to one’s parents at her age.”

           She nodded and sat in the chair beside him, “Well, she actually seemed fairly uninterested in her mother.” He turned to her, confused, but allowed her to finish, “Considering I spent the whole of our proceedings with her sitting upon my lap.”

           A defeated laugh escaped The Marquis’ lips, and he hunched over dejectedly, his lips pulled into a smile and his eyes filled with humor as he placed his head in his hands. “Tell me she did not,” he looked over to her from his hands only to get a nod, confirming Adrienne’s previous statement. “Oh no,” he groaned into his hands.

           Adrienne laughed at his expense, “I must say she reminds me a lot of you, even if she looks like the spitting image of her mother.”

           “I know.  That is why I am worried,” the words came out, muffled by his hands as he held his head.  He lifted his head, “God knows I have given her enough stress already; she certainly does not need more.  Especially at my hands.”

           Adrienne stood, placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder, “It will be okay.  She seemed to adore the girl just as equally as she so adored you.”

           He looked up at her with puppy-dog like eyes, “That is still open for debate and not at all as comforting as you intended it to be, dear.”

           The following day was dull for Adrienne as she waited till she would be permitted to leave the camp in favor of her godfather’s home in Philadelphia.  She had very little on her schedule leading up to the day.  She had made sure of that.  It was because of this that Adrienne found herself in the foreign offices once again, turning her head from her perch on the side of Lafayette’s desk at the sound of Colonel Hamilton and Lieutenant Colonel Laurens heading out the front door, talking amongst each other.  Adrienne hummed and spoke aloud seemingly to no one in particular, but really to the Marquis working in front of her, “Where in the world could they be going with such enthusiasm?”

           He reached around her to dip his quill in the inkpot behind her, “To see our friend.”

           “Without you?” she questioned innocently, surveying the room.

           Lafayette sighed, the quill scribbling across the parchment, “I would be going with them if my work for today was done.” He glanced up at her as he spoke, “I wonder how it could have been done any quicker.”

           She laughed and made to slide off the side of the small desk, “Very well then, if you wish me to go, then I shall oblige.”

           She slid off the desk only for her hand to be caught in the Marquis’, “Stay, please.  It is far too late now for your absence to be useful.”

           Adrienne smiled and lifted herself back onto the desk, “Right, because if you cannot have one blonde named Adrienne, you surely must capitalize on your time with the other?”

           Lafayette huffed with a light laugh to accompany it as he continued once more with his writing. “I suppose you would not believe me if I said it was pure happenstance?”

           “No,” she replied, “I would not.”

           He spoke without looking up from his work, “Well, luckily for you, my wife agreed with you.”

           “Agreed?’ she questioned, playing with the curl rested over her shoulder.

           “Yes, when I first told her of you, she kneed me so hard I am afraid we might not be able to have another child.”

           Adrienne laughed, “I knew she had some fire in her.”

           “So do you.”

           She cleared her throat and fidgeted slightly. “I was thinking we could go for a ride once you finish?” Adrienne spoke impassively in an attempt to avoid his statement.

           “Yes, I noticed that when you came down in a riding habit and sat on my desk.”

           “Was that a yes then?”

           He sighed and shook his head in agreement, “Of course, what harm could it do.  I think I will stay until John and Alexander return to be sure that when I arrive home, there will be nothing to interrupt.” Adrienne smiled at him and looked to survey the room again, still not seeing the face she was searching for before the Marquis began to speak again. “Have you talked to Thaddeus recently?”

           “I have,” she affirmed, “We spoke briefly when the snow-covered the roads in and out of camp.  It was miserable being trapped here without you.”

           “So I have heard,” he replied, still not looking up.

           She sighed before declaring, “Well, this time, I am going to leave.”

           He nodded as she slid off the desk and made to move into the hall. “It is on the northwest side of the camp.  I will come to find you for our ride once I finish,” he called after her, stopping her in her tracks.  

           Adrienne nodded quickly to him, both agreeing and thanking him before grabbing the yellow winter cloak that matched her quilted jacket and petticoat and rushing out the door to the stables.  

           Christmas was this Wednesday, and Adrienne could tell that the soldiers were undoubtedly taking advantage of the holiday season to cease doing many of their tasks as she rode through the camp in search of Thaddeus’ cabin.  Eventually, she decided to ask a group of officers that sat around a fire, pulling the greyish brown horse to a stop in front of them, drawing their attention. “Gentlemen, have you knowledge of where Colonel Kościuszko is?”

           One of them looked up at her, running his eyes from her face to the hooves of the horse before grunting, “Usually we don’t allow English lasses in camp.  Do we, Will?”

           The man he was speaking to a Colonel by the looks of his uniform, ran his eyes over her too, before standing to clap the brash man on the shoulder, “Leave her be, Tom.  The poor thing just wants guidance, and lucky for us, the place she seeks is outside of camp.” He walked over to her, looking up as he spoke, “The Colonel is staying with Brigadier General Pulaski at the house he is renting.  You will be looking for a Brookmeadow Farm, madam.  If you give me a moment to collect my cloak, I will join you.  As protection.”

           Adrienne nodded, “Of course, sir.  Might I ask your name?”

           He nodded, “Yes ma’am, Colonel William Bradford, at your service.” The Colonel reached out for her hand with his own, now leather-gloved hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it politely. “Might I ask yours?”

           “It is a pleasure,” she nodded, “to meet your acquaintance, sir.  My name is Lady Adrienne Fairfax, of Virginia.  I am the-”

           “Ward of General Washington,” he spoke, cutting her off. “I had my suspicions,” he shrugged, “Tom was speaking true when he said that we do not often get such polite ladies in camp.”

           She smiled at him as he retreated to retrieve his horse. When he joined back with her, they rode off at a relatively faster place than she was used to, but she did not complain, considering how soon they arrived. The sun had set just minutes before they had arrived.

           “Here you are, madam,” he spoke as he dismounted, heading over to her and lifted her off her own horse by her waist with ease.  

           She squealed with surprise at his actions, straightening her gown once placed on her own two feet. “Thank you,” Adrienne spoke as he offered his arm to her and led her up the stairs of the house.

           She released her arm from his when he stepped towards the door, pounding heavily on the painted wood.  The door creaked open to reveal a Moravian girl, clearly a housemaid, and the Colonel spoke to her, “Is Colonel Kosciuszko in?  I have a Lady Adrienne Fairfax to see him.” She nodded and stepped aside, allowing Adrienne to enter.  The Colonel helped her inside and then turned to return to his horse, “I must leave you here, ma’am.  Do you wish for me to inform the General of your whereabouts?”

           She shook her head, “No, but if you would please notify the Marquis de Lafayette, he will notify the General.” The Colonel nodded and hurried down the stairs, mounting his horse and riding off.

           The maid closed the door and ushered her into a parlor, then rushing up the stairs to retrieve Thaddeus.  She heard his heavy steps coming down the stairs of the house and turned to the entryway of the room.  He was completely dressed in his officer’s uniform, minus his hair, which sat free from a cue, the curls resting freely on his shoulders like they were that night at the Rush house. “Adrienne,” a smile spread across his face, and he moved quickly to sit beside her on the couch at the same time she moved to stand, causing them both to laugh. “Standing it is,” he agreed, “I must confess I must have missed your letter asking for a call.”

           “I did not send one.”

           “Oh,” he swallowed, “Is there something you needed?”

           “No,” she struggled to get out, “I just wished to see you before I left for my godfather’s tomorrow.” 

           “Oh,” he repeated, “Well then, I am glad for your visit.” He looked around the room, “I am afraid I don’t have a gift to give you.”

           She smiled and stepped closer to him, grabbing his callous hand in her own soft one, “I did not ask for one.  Nor did I purchase one for you.  Yet, I feel as if there is still something that we could give each other.”

           His heart was pounding as much as hers was, “I am afraid that it is I who misses the meaning this time, Adrienne.”

           “Addy,” she smiled up at him, “Call me Addy.  Please.” He nodded and swallowed as she stepped closer to him, “And I am afraid I do not think it would be appropriate for me to speak my meaning out loud, sir.”

           He swallowed and furrowed his brow, “But I thought you and John-”

           “What about us?” Adrienne interrupted, “You knew about us back at the Rush house, and it did not matter then.”

           “But, it mattered to you.”

           “No, it did not,” she confessed, “That was why I excused myself.  Because I found that I wanted you to kiss me, even though I have never wished for John to do so.”

           He looked at her, amazed, with relief taking over his features, “You do not love him then?  Your whole arrangement is just that, an arrangement, not a relationship?  I thought that after the night with John and I, you two were-”

           “No, not a relationship, Colonel.  Especially not since that night at the Rush house.  How could I even attempt one when the man who has maintained full control of my heart is you.”

           He smiled, laughing breathily, taking her face gently into his hands, “And you mine, Addy.” She smiled up at him, and he moved closer, and this time she did not run from him as he took her lips in his, kissing her softly, passionately, gently, and rough all at the same time.  His hands drifted from cupping her cheeks to rest on her waist, backing her up against the side table on the wall, lifting her to sit on the table.

           Adrienne wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back with equal vigor, letting a few noises slip from her mouth and into his.  Thaddeus pulled back slightly, panting and smiling adoringly at her, “Hush, my dear.  It would not do well for Pulaski to hear us.”

           Her cheeks were rosy, but not from the cold this time, and her chest heaved up and down as she panted for air. “I was under the impression that men enjoyed the encouragement,” she replied, lips pulled into a mischievous smile.

           “And as soon as I can get you entirely alone, I assure you, it will be impossible to hold yourself back,” he teased, taking her lips in his once more.

           “Oh, I will expect to be utterly debauched, Colonel,” she said, rolling one of the curls near her hands in her hands as she gave in to his demand for more kisses in the firelight.

Chapter Text

           Thaddeus’ lips were blistered and course from the cold, and they kissed against Adrienne’s own soft lips hungrily.  His kisses traced the corners of her mouth, her jawline, her neck, till she found that the pins holding her jacket closed were being removed.  By herself or by him, she could not tell, but Adrienne found that she did not care to find such an answer.  He pressed hot kisses over her skin, forcing her to bite her lip in an attempt to be quiet.  Her hand found its way into Thaddeus’ hair once again as he placed his kisses across her breasts, throwing her head back.  Lost in the moment, she paid the sound of boots hitting the floor no mind.

           “Addy, I apologize for-.”

           Her head shot up, her eyes snapping open, and she gasped, pushing Thaddeus back and holding her clothes together with her hands. “Motier,” she squealed, flushing bright red.

           The man in question was frozen in place, his mouth still trying to form his sentence with eyes blown wide and hat clenched tightly in both hands.  He remained this way as Adrienne and Thaddeus’ breathing evened out till he regained his ability to speak in a clipped tone, “Outside.  Now, Adrienne.”

           She swallowed, nodding to him obediently and placing a hand on Thaddeus’ chest.

           He looked at her with concern pooling in his eyes, then behind him to look at Lafayette before his eyes turned back to her.  The question was clear.  He wanted to know if she wanted him to stand down.  So when she finally nodded to Thaddeus, he stepped aside, watching as she pulled her cloak around her and headed out the door, Lafayette trailing behind her.  

           The cold air hit the sensitive skin of Adrienne’s chest, even though her cloak was pulled tightly around her.  She heard the Marquis’ steps crunch angrily in the snow as he walked ahead of her towards where their respective horses were hitched.  Adrienne remained standing behind him as he prepared his horse to travel once more, not saying a word.

           Finally, he spoke to her, his gaze still wholly focused on his steed. “What were you thinking, Addy?” She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off before she could get any words out. “No, do not answer that.  If you had been thinking, then you would have never been in that situation.”

           Adrienne swallowed, bowing her head as he continued to lecture her.  She began to count the number of snowflakes that fell from their cloaks, memorizing the shape of the boots in the snow, as he continued till he went silent, calling her attention back to him.

           “Adrienne, were you even listening to me?” She looked up at him apologetically, and he sighed, running a hand down his face, “Of course you were not.  I asked you to move your cloak.”

           She nodded until it processed, and she blanched at his request. “But sir!” She protested.

           “I only ask out of care for you,” he explained, “For if he left any visible marks on you, I heavily doubt John or the General will be happy.  And I highly doubt that they will believe me when I say that I did not make them.”

           He reached out to her, causing Adrienne to back away from him, clutching the fabric of the dress together in her hands. “Sir, please,” she pleaded.

           “Adrienne, I love my wife very much.  So, please believe me when I say that I have no such desire to do anything improper to you,” he continued, “And I need you to keep this between us because I can kiss my ability to have kids goodbye should my wife catch wind of this.  Because she will not believe me either.”

           Adrienne considered this for a moment before her hands shakily released the fabric to hold back her cloak for him.  Lafayette then approached her closely, pressing his fingers lightly on parts of her neck, collarbone, and chest to assess any possible bruising that would not appear till later.  He stepped back and nodded to her, and Adrienne placed the pins back into her jacket to hold it closed.

           “You are lucky. It appears he did not leave any marks,” the Marquis said as he approached Adrienne’s horse, offering a hand to help her mount.

           She took his hand and thanked him for the assistance as he mounted his own steed with ease.

           They began to ride, and he spoke to her once more, “I apologize for lecturing you earlier.  I know you do not like being talked down to.” 

           “Like a child,” she added.

           Lafayette nodded in agreement, “Like a child.  We each have plenty of people who do that already, and you did not need to hear much from me.”

           “You are forgiven,” she told him with a sweet smile, “You should know by now that I could never hold a grudge against you.”

           “I know,” he smiled over at her, “I simply have no desire to take such chances.”

           “That is right because you could die tomorrow.  Or tonight.  Or the day after, as John constantly sees fit to remind me.”

           Lafayette sighed beside her, “I am sorry, Adrienne.  John means well, but he’s often misguided in his approach.”

           Adrienne looked around, distracted by their surroundings, “Where are we going, Marquis?  I am afraid I do not recognize this path.”

           “Ah, I was bringing you around the backside of camp,” he informed her, “Closer to the outskirts of Major Tallmadge’s dragoon camp.”

           “Oh,” she replied, “I do not think you have ever brought me this way.”  

           “No,” he said as the sounds of the camp began to echo in the distance, but they did not approach them as they usually would, “This is a shorter ride.  And after the night you have had, I thought it would be preferred.”

           It was hard to hear the first warning sign, the crunch of the snow underfoot, over those of the horses.  The second warning sign, the camp, while still the same distance away, was louder and busy once more, was ignored as they chatted on.  By the time they noticed the third warning sign was given, it was too late.

           A dark figure among the pale snow, barren trees, and greyish black sky caught Adrienne’s eye. “What is that?” she asked, cutting off Lafayette’s sentence telling her of the expected arrival of a new surgeon as she pointed towards its direction.

           He turned to see what she pointed at, squinting his eyes slightly to discern what, or who, the figure was. “Sir!” he called out to the figure once it moved but received no response.  So, he called after it once more before furrowing his brow and pulling out his spy glass from his saddlebag.

           As he brought the device to his eye, Adrienne spoke again, fear wavering in her voice. “Motier,” she whispered, “It is approaching us.” But he did not pay her any mind, still finding himself unable to discern what the figure was.

           When Lafayette realized he was holding out a pistol, it was already too late.  He opened his mouth to speak to Adrienne, to urge her to ride ahead, to flee as fast as possible, when the sound of a lone gunshot echoed amongst the trees.  He closed his eyes, bracing himself for an impact that never came.  The only thing that came was the sound of something, someone, hitting the snow behind him.

           The Marquis opened his eyes quickly to see the figure running away from the camp before he turned to check on Adrienne, only to find her not in her saddle. “Addy?” he called out before hearing a whimper from the snow below him.  He did not need to look to see who it was.  The Marquis dismounted swiftly, falling into a kneeling position as he cradled her body in his arms.  A large patch of scarlet stood out horribly against the bright yellow of her cloak and gown.  She trembled in his hands, from the cold, from the pain, from the fear.

           His cravat was suddenly too tight, suffocating him.  He pulled it from his throat viciously, throwing it down on the snow, allowing it to be caught on his hand as he lifted her reverently from the snow.  Adrienne hissed in pain as he moved her, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.  He paid no care to the blood that was now staining his hands, waistcoat, breeches, and saddle.

           Lafayette could not recall navigating around the edge of camp to headquarters, dismounting, or opening the door of the Potts house.  He did not hear the casual questions the aides threw his way, nor recalls hearing them approach.  He did recall the sound of shattering glass as Hamilton came to realize what, ‘No,’ he told himself, ‘who,’ was in his arms.  He did recall when she was pried from his grasp by Tilghman and Harrison.  He did recall when he was held back from following her body up the stairs by Fitzgerald and Meade.  Most importantly, he still could not shake the sound of her screams as they echoed in the halls of the cramped house from echoing in his head.

           Adrienne felt the bullet far before she saw it, the pain startling her so horribly she slipped from her saddle into the icy snow.  She was helpless as she watched the scarlet spot spread to a larger and larger patch across the front of her dress.  She felt the Marquis take her in his arms as she shivered.  She felt the hot tears as they rolled down her cheeks involuntarily as she gasped and struggled with the pain.  She felt him jostle her around as he mounted his horse.  She felt her blood seep through his fingertips, waistcoat, and breeches.  Adrienne painstakingly felt each and every step the horse took on the way to headquarters.  Adrienne could feel the pain shoot through her body as he dismounted.  She could feel the painful moan escape her lips as Hamilton approached.  She could feel Tilghman and Harrison pry her from the Marquis’ arms.  She could feel them trying to jostle her around as little as possible.  She could feel them lay her in a bed that was not her own.  She could feel them remove her cloak from her shoulders.  Most importantly, she could feel them rip the jacket of her gown open.

           Hamilton sat on the couch beside where Laurens, searching the decanters in other rooms for more whiskey, had been sitting.  All the aides that resided in the house had decided to wait up for McHenry to return to camp, to welcome him when he finally arrived back with the army.  They sat together laughing, some in chairs, on couches, tables, and practically anything that could support the weight.  When the door opened, he first thought it was McHenry standing in the foyer under the dark lighting of the moon.  He called out the man’s name but to no avail.  The General was absent from the house, but Hamilton did not dare risk calling out again.  As he approached, he realized that the figure was the Marquis, long thought to have retired to his own home.

           “Ah, Marquis,” He spoke, whiskey glass in hand as he approached the man, “Did you decide to join us in our wait for McHenry after all?” When this still elicited no response from the usually exuberant young man Hamilton clapped him on the shoulder, the unexpected feeling of the scarlet blood he could not see causing him to avert his eyes to the thing, ‘No,’ he realized, ‘The person,’ whose blood now covered the front of the Marquis.

           The glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor, its contents sloshing against the boots of the two men. “Tilghman, Harrison!” he shouted behind him, not daring to turn away from the Marquis, “Help me get Lady Fairfax upstairs before she passes out from blood loss in the hallway.”

           The men in question jumped into action, Fitzgerald and Meade moving to hold Lafayette back as he moved to join them upstairs.

           “Place her on the Marquis’ old bed,” Hamilton ordered as he climbed the stairs behind them, “It will be the best place for McHenry to monitor her health.”

           “Yeah,” scoffed Tilghman as they carried her into the room, “When he shows up.”

           Hamilton sighed and squared his jaw as John entered the room, “I do not think she has till then.” He turned to John, “I am going to need you to get that dress and her stays off of her if we have any hopes of getting that bullet out of her.”

           John furrowed his brow as Hamilton removed his officer’s coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. “And what experience do you have with that?” he asked.

           “Two years of medical studies at King’s College,” he replied, reaching for the pliers being offered to him by Harrison, “Which, unfortunately, makes me the most qualified person to do this until McHenry arrives.” John sighed but accepted his reasoning, allowing Hamilton to continue, “Dear God man, have you finished removing what I have asked so that I might at least reach the bullet?”

           “Right,” John turned back around and fumbled with the jacket of the gown before sighing and mumbling an apology to Adrienne as he grabbed hold of the bodice of her jacket and tore it off. “Ow, Shit!” he exclaimed, cradling his now broken nose, courtesy of Adrienne. “She has got quite the arm on her,” he spoke, turning around to Hamilton, who sighed as he checked the nose, affirming its broken state.

           “Right,” Alexander spoke, “So we’re gonna need someone else to get the stays off because there is no way she is letting John near her again.”

           “I think I can help with that,” spoke a soft but firm voice from the doorway.  Martha Washington approached the bed in her nightclothes with nothing but a dressing robe wrapped around her shoulders.

           Adrienne allowed her to get close and even remove the stays altogether but was startled at the sound of another pair of boots quickly ascending the stairs.

           “I have got it from here, madam,” spoke McHenry, “But Fitzgerald and Meade could use some help calming the Marquis downstairs.”

           She nodded to him before exiting the room and heading swiftly down the stairs.

           “Relax, Hamilton,” he said to the younger man, “I have got this.” McHenry shed his jacket as well, rolling his sleeves up, and taking the pliers from Hamilton to inspect them. “Well, not anywhere as clean as I would hope,” he shrugged, stepping closer to Adrienne, “But most infections are easier treated than severe blood loss.” He moved to rip a larger hole in Adrienne’s chemise, causing several in the office to call out to him.

           “Sir, I would not-”

           McHenry groaned, hand moving to cover his right eye, which had fallen victim to her elbow.

           It was Tilghman who rushed to his side, only to be waved away, prompting Harrison to speak, “We could try and restrain her-”

           “No,” McHenry groaned, “That will only make her more frightened than she already is.”

           Hamilton scoffed, “Frightened?  Try more like rabid.  She has already assaulted John’s nose once.”

           “No doubt,” McHenry replied, “Because of his attempt to strip her.” He walked back over to Adrienne, explaining, “She is clearly in fear of her situation, and her panic tells her that such actions will put her in more danger.  The shock her body has fallen into has forgotten about the cause of the wound.  It only cares that it hurts.”  

           “So what you are saying is-”

           “What I am saying, Tilghman is that shock has kicked in.  She is scared, and shock tells her to revert to her natural instincts.  A high born lady such as herself, must have had the rules of decency drilled into her at a young age.  So when you directly violate that basis her mind has defaulted to, it is only natural for her to respond in such a way.” A pause fell over the room, and McHenry attempted to lighten  the tense mood, “But that girl does have quite an arm on her.”

           This time when McHenry approached, Adrienne did not fight him, not willingly.  She withered in pain at inopportune moments, groaning and moaning, shifting in the bed, causing him to drop the bullet back into the wound whenever he could grab hold of it.  She screamed as he tugged the ball loose from where it was securely wedged in her side.  The room was silent beside her pained cries and McHenry’s steady voice calling for water, bandages, and thread.

           When he finally began to stitch her up, she screamed louder than any before.  He was confident the whole camp could hear her now.  Halfway through the stitching, Adrienne passed out, and McHenry did not have an answer for Laurens with his newly set nose when he asked if it was from the loss of blood or intolerance to the pain.

           McHenry tied off the final wrappings of the bandages by the time the sun was shining just barely in the windows.  The aides, himself included, headed downstairs to breakfast, as disheveled as they were, and not a word was said of any of their appearances.  No one dared question the drying blood coating the Marquis, the crusted scarlet trails coming from John’s nose, the quickly forming black eye on McHenry, or the exhausted appearance of the rest of them.  They sat in silence, a rare commodity in the Potts house, as they ate.  Drinking their coffee without a single sound.  It was eerie.  The familiar sound of heavy boots on the wood floors drew all of them from their own minds.  The General had returned.

           Martha patted Hamilton’s arm when he moved to rise from his spot on the floor to greet him. “I will go to him,” she spoke softly, addressing the whole room, allowing them all to go back to their cups and plates as she walked to the doorway, meeting George in the hall.

           The hallway was empty, and George snuck a kiss from her, taking her waist in his hands.  When they pulled apart, he began speaking in low tones, “Why is it so quiet?  Did I miss something?”

           She smiled softly, but it held very little happiness, and she sighed, allowing herself to be held by him for a moment before responding.  He waited patiently, breathing in her scent and holding her close to him. “I am afraid you did miss something, George,” she sighed finally, “And I wanted you to hear it from me.”

           He took a step back, his hands not leaving her waist as he bowed his head to search her eyes. “Patsy, what happened?” he asked her tenderly.

           Martha paused, thinking for a moment before taking one of his hands in her own, “Let me show you.”

           He nodded wordlessly and allowed her to lead him up the stairs to one of the aide de camp bedrooms.  George furrowed his brow as she stopped outside of the room, “Patsy?  What is wrong?”

           She turned to him, placing her hand on the doorknob, “Whatever you see in here, I need you not to lose your calm at any of the boys downstairs.  They did the best they could, and now we simply must wait.” She swallowed thickly before looking him in the eyes and assuring him, “Whatever happens in here will stay between you and me.  I Promise.”

           George nodded wordlessly once more, and she moved to open the door revealing one empty cot and one occupied one, as well as a table, stripped of its cloth with various surgical supplies strewn across it.  He approached the occupied bed slowly, still clutching Martha’s hand, and peering down at the pale figure underneath the bundle of blankets.  Upon seeing her drawn face, he dropped to his knees, releasing Martha’s hand to take Adrienne’s own limp hand in his.  He sighed with relief as he noticed her chest just barely rising and falling.  She was alive.  

           He placed the back of his palm to her forehead, and his lips pulled tight. “She is far too warm for her state,” he said worriedly, “I think there is an infection that might be setting in.”

           Martha nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder, “McHenry said there might be.”

           “He arrived?” George looked up at her before shaking his head, “Of course he did.  I can assume then that he was the one who did the surgery?”

           Martha nodded, “It was him, Alexander, Laurens, Tench, and Harrison.”

           “Dear God,” he huffed angrily, “Add Fitzgerald and Meade, and then my whole office will have seen her indecently.” 

           “They were downstairs with myself consoling the Marquis,” Martha added, “He was the one who brought her in.”

           George pressed his lips together with worry, “Oh, the poor boy.  Did he return to his wife last night?”

           “No,” she replied, “I could not even convince him to wash up.”

           “He is still coated in her blood?” George asked, receiving a nod in confirmation, running a hand over his face. “And the reason for more than half of my staff to see Lady Fairfax indecent?”

           “You will have to ask Laurens’ broken nose and McHenry’s black eye for that answer, dear.”

           George snorted, patting Adrienne’s hand, “It is nice to know that even in delirium, her sense of propriety is still strong.”

           “Sarah will be delighted to hear it.”

           “And William would have me killed.”

           Martha nodded, repeating after him in agreement, “And William would have you killed.” She rubbed his shoulder before heading out of the room, “I will give you two some time alone.”

           The aides remained in the same positions they had slumped into hours earlier when they heard George return to the main floor of the house.  He approached the room, entering behind the chair McHenry was slumped over in, sleeping on the table.  Hamilton sat on the floor nursing a mug of coffee in his hands, back up against one of the table’s legs beside Laurens, who sat in a chair at the table with his own mug.  Harrison, Meade, and Tilghman sat together, joining Hamilton on the floor, with Fitzgerald joining McHenry and Laurens at the table.

           What really drew George’s eye, however, was the Marquis, who sat slightly hunched over, eyes emptier than he could ever recall them being.  The most important thing was the blood crusted across his face, hands, and uniform.  Lafayette was silent, hands in his lap, barely breathing, let alone talking.

           The General waved the boys on the floor back down tiredly when they tried to stand to greet him, “Rest today, boys.  You have had a long night, and I thank you for it.” They nodded, some closing their eyes where they sat, others moving to head upstairs to bed.  George then clapped McHenry on the shoulder, jolting him awake.

           “Sir!” McHenry exclaimed, “There is a situation-”

           “I know already, McHenry,” George assured him. “Take the day to rest and attend to her for me, please,” he dismissed him, moving so McHenry could rise to head for the stairs as well.  Finally, George sighed, approaching Lafayette, “You too, son.”

           The boy made no reply, just blinking at the tablecloth in front of him, causing George to knock on the table.  The Marquis jumped, scared, at the sudden noise.  He blinked his eyes rapidly, turning to face George, shame clear on his face. “I am sorry, sir-“

           “Do not apologize to me, my boy,” he cut off, “That is not why I am here.  I am here to attend to you.”

           Lafayette shook his head, vehemently, “No, General.  You must go upstairs to our Addy.  She needs you.”

           “And she has had me,” he assured the young man, “McHenry is upstairs attending to her as we speak.  There is little that my presence could do besides get in his way.” George called for a water basin and a washrag before continuing, “So please, humor me.” 

           Lafayette pushed his face away from the warm rag as it came near in George’s hands. “I do not require coddling,” he said defensively.

           “And I am not trying to coddle you,” George replied, moving to bring the rag to the boy’s face, “I am only attempting to make myself useful.”

           Lafayette did not flinch away from the rag this time, leaning into the warmth of the water as the rag washed the blood from his face, neck, and hands. “Thank You,” he whispered as George rubbed the last streak of dried blood from his cheek.

           George nodded to him, placing the rag into the washbasin.  He hesitated before speaking, “Would you tell me how please?”

           “How she got shot?” the Marquis asked, prompting a nod of affirmation from George.  The younger man rubbed his chin tiredly, signing, before giving a nod, “I will try my best.” The younger man focuses his gaze on the table once more, “We went for a ride like we usually would since it was to be the last day she would be present for the week.  It was late, and I was anxious to get back to my wife, so I took her a different, shorter route.  The trail that leads through the furthermost outskirts of Major Tallmadge’s Dragoon camp.” The General took in a sharp breath, causing the young man to turn his eyes to him, his face asking if he should be permitted to continue.  George nodded firmly, and the Marquis’ eyes went back to resting on the table. “Adrienne noticed a figure in the distance, but I did not listen, assuming it was a stray Dragoon.  When the man did not move for some time, I called out to him and received no response. “The young man sighed shakily, “Then he began to walk towards us, as he got closer I realized he was already coated in blood and holding a single shot pistol.  I braced for impact and went to tell her to ride ahead to the camp, for her own safety, but then he fired.”  Lafayette’s eyes welled with tears, his voice dropping to a mere whisper, “I thought he was aiming for me.  It never even occurred to me that he would target her.” A pained tear rolled down his cheek, “I was foolish.”

           George took the boy’s face in his hands, wiping away stray tears with his thumbs, “No, my dear Marquis, you were not foolish.  You did the best you could with the circumstances, and I will not stand for you shouldering such blame.” The boy sobbed, and George took him into a hug, “I know the dishonorable man who shot her.  Gamble is precisely hardly any more than a dishonorable man.” George swallowed, “He killed Sackett last night.”

           “And now Adrienne as well,” the Marquis replied.  George wished he had a suitable answer and was aware that his silence did very little to comfort the boy, but he refused to make promises of hope he could not keep.

           They pulled apart, and the young man hurriedly wiped the tears off his flushed cheeks before George continued, “I will write to Howe and see him punished, I can promise that.  Go home, Motier.  Change clothes, rest, see your wife and daughters.”

           George rose, walking towards the exit when the Marquis spoke, his voice coming out strangled and defeated. “Non, mon genéral,” he sniffled, “I will not leave her.  I must be here.”

           “I must advise against-”

           “I know,” Lafayette cut him off, “But I have made my decision.  I will send for a change of clothes, for decency’s sake, but I cannot leave her.”

           George swallowed before nodding softly, “Then you shall stay in her bedroom while she resides in yours.” 

Chapter Text

           George sat alone in his war tent, eyes drifting in and out of consciousness.  He was exhausted, his shoulders ached for rest, his head pounded him blow after blow, but he could not sleep.  He refused to.  Every time George closed his eyes, he saw her, the still body lying in the sheets, bloody bandages wrapped around her waist, pale as death itself.  In a way, he supposed she was.  It was not official.  She still breathed, and when the strength could be found, cried in pain, but it was clear how little hope there was for recovery.  George kneeled beside the bed for an hour as she lay still, her chest barely rising in her unconscious state.  Lawrence had not looked like this.  He was flushed and sweaty.  He fought with every breath.  Lawrence was the strongest man George had ever met, and even he lost the battle against death.  Adrienne, his poor Addy, lay there without any color to her skin.  She was not sweaty, still smelling of rosewood oil and lemongrass perfume.  She was not fighting.

           George knew he was not supposed to have seen McHenry’s face when he sent for Benjamin Rush halfway through the day.  He did not wish to be the surgeon responsible for her passing.  He would not be honest with the General about her condition, lest he become inconsolable or irritated with the poor surgeon.

           When Anna became sick, William Fairfax had sent for every doctor of good repute in Virginia, even becoming desperate enough to send for some from Pennsylvania and Maryland.  After she died, Adrienne was his northern star, guiding him along his way.  She was the thing he drowned himself in to mask his sorrow.  He devoted all his love and time to her happiness and future.  Adrienne took Anna’s place in his heart, filling the gaping emptiness with her bouncy blonde curls and smiles galore, just like Anna.  And now she would die like Anna.  And there was nothing William Fairfax could do to help his daughter once again, being many thousands of miles across the sea.

           George had failed.  He tried his best to keep her as happy as he could, but he never managed to spark the same joy that was seemingly reserved for William.  George tried his best to ensure her a glowing and comfortable match but has provided nothing but discontent and the layout for a miserable marriage.  He tried his best to keep her safe, but now she lay dying in a house he can no longer breathe in.  William should be here.  He always knew what to do, and when he did not, he provided distraction like no other.  He would want to be here.

           Washington was brought back from his mind at the sound of a tin plate being placed on the table in front of him. “Mutton, potato, and cabbage, sir,” Billy Lee spoke, removing the covering from the plate, “With bread.”

           “Thank you,” he replied, blinking the emptiness from his eyes, lips strained to press tightly together as he cleared his throat.  He cut into the meat and began chewing it in his mouth before the man even stepped away from the desk where George sat.

“Oh, General!” Billy Lee exclaimed, remembering some piece of important information.  George hoped it would not be from any occupants in the house.  His thoughts dwelled there far too much already. “The northern post rider said latest he ought to leave for Connecticut is midnight, on account of the storm brewing.”

           George nodded as Billy turned his back to him to rearrange some items on a side table.  The more and more he chewed the same bite of meat, the harder it got until he heard a terrifying crunch.  The General opened his mouth, inspecting what appears to be a tooth that had fallen out.  Then, his mouth was assaulted by a strange tingling feeling as she began to spit up bloodied teeth from his mouth into his hands.  He let an audible gasp escape his lips, prompting Billy Lee to turn to him again, stopping in his organizational efforts.  

           “General?” he asked, concerned, “Need anything else?”

           George opened his mouth and moved his hands to show Billy Lee the cause of his panic, only to find that his gums were lined with teeth and his hands were empty.  George spoke just above a whisper, eyes wide with shock, “Summon the doctor.”

           “One more deep breath, please,” ordered Thatcher, the camp surgeon working under McHenry, as he pressed a stethoscope over George’s back. “No pain?” He asked, seemingly satisfied with what he heard.

           “None,” he affirmed, tone as reliable as possible.

           “Good,” Thatcher praised, “Very good.” He motioned to George as he spoke, “You may get dressed.”

           George nodded to him, lifting himself off the table of the tent and approaching Billy Lee.  The General raised his arms and allowed the man to pull a shirt over his shoulders, straightening up after it passed his head and shrugging his shoulders to allow the shirt to rest comfortably on his person.

           “The good news is that physically you’re fine. There’s no sign of typhus or typhoid fever, pneumonia, or scurvy.  None of the ailments currently afflicting the camp,” the surgeon assured him. “There’s also no reoccurrence of the malaria from your youth.  And you’ve already had the pox,” he rattled off.

           “I suffered from pleurisy as well,” George offered, wishing to ensure that all possible illnesses were accounted for, “It often saps the strength in my voice.”

           “Well, percussion has ruled out inflammation of the lungs as well,” Thatcher replied skeptically. “Any other history of illness I should be aware of?” he asked, closing up his case.

           George swallowed thickly before sighing, speaking quietly as he looked to the legs of the table, “My half-brother Lawrence died from the white plague.”

           “Age at death?” Thatcher asked, unbothered by George’s tone, not looking up from his case.

           “34.”

           Thatcher hummed as if it were an amusing piece of trivia, straightening up, case in hand, to look at George as he spoke. “Well, based on your symptoms, visions and sounds of objects not present,” he clarified, “I’m forced to conclude that you have developed a case of acute melancholia.”  George’s heart pounded in his chest, so loud he could barely hear Thatcher as he spoke, “It is an ailment that originates not in the body, but in the soul.” George knew this, everyone knew this, but Thatcher would not say it. “Now, there are two strains of the malady,” he prattled on reproachfully, “Unnatural and natural.  The former is caused by demonic possession.” George and Billy Lee’s gaze snapped to the man, causing him to sputter on his words, continuing quickly, “Natural melancholy is far more common!  It is brought on by a deep moral conflict within the soul.” Thatcher swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath before finishing, “This illness can be quite severe if not properly treated.”

           “How so?” George asked.  His stare was unflinching when Thatcher looked up at him, begging to be dismissed.  George would not allow this man to cower away from the truth or from him.  If he was going to be called mad, the man would say it to his face.

           “In the most extreme cases, the-” the poor surgeon was struggling with his words, tripping over them without an ounce of grace.

           “Yes?” George snapped, cutting the man off.

           “The patient succumbs to madness,” Thatcher replied forcefully, ducking his head upon concluding his outburst.  He spoke quickly to Billy Lee, “His Excellency should get a full night’s rest.”

           “Much obliged, Doctor,” Billy Lee thanked him politely.

The man then moved to duck out of the tent but stopped just before making it to the exit when the General called after him, “Doctor!  If anyone asks, it was not me you came to see.” The man looked at him weirdly, but George continued, “Billy has a pain in his back from when he was kicked by a horse.”

           “Uh,” the man looked hesitantly between the two before realizing what the General was asking. “Of course.  Yes,” Thatcher nodded quickly and moved to exit the tent as fast as possible.  A coward.

           George knew that he was harsh on the man.  Thatcher had done exactly what had been asked of him, and here was George snapping at him for every word he did and did not speak. ‘It was Lawrence,’ he reasoned with himself.  That must have been the reason, not at all the body lying motionless in an upstairs bedroom of the Potts house headquarters.  That could not follow him out into the cold.  He would not allow it to pass through the flaps of the tent.

           The General was pulled from mulling his internal thoughts by the twang of Billy Lee’s accent, “I’ll brew you that tea and then we’ll get-”

           “Coffee,” George cut him off quickly, frightening the poor man slightly with this newfound vigor, bouncing up from his chair, messing with papers strewn across the room.

           “Sir?” Billy questioned as respectfully as possible.  He instinctively took a step back from the General as papers to the left of his head were snatched by George,  

           “We,” he smacked the papers playfully against Billy Lee’s chest, and out of place giddy excitement ringing in his features and voice, “Are going to resolve this matter.  Tonight.”

           “We?” Bill Lee asked, stumbling, shocked over the word.  He clearly wished to say more, his mouth moving in what might have been words if there was any sound escaping them before he closed his mouth, swallowing thickly.  The man’s eyes were scared, confused, surprised, but George did not care.

           “William,” George said, using a familiar name to put the man at ease so that he would not go running out into the camp, spoiling George’s attempt at secrecy. “Do you know what a moral conflict is?”

           “No, sir.” Billy Lee shook his head, his brows furrowing as his mouth still hung slightly agape, and his eyes remained blown wide.

           “It occurs,” George explained passionately, “When one’s most deeply held convictions do not match one’s actions.”

           His brow furrowed further, but his mouth closed and his eyes narrowed. “Alright,” he trailed off, suspicious of where the General was going with such a statement.

           “Prior to my melancholic attack, do you remember what I was doing?” the General asked him, leaning his head slightly closer to the other man.

           “You had just sat down to dinner,” Billy replied, his skepticism poorly hidden on his face and not at all restrained in his tone.

           “Yes,” George dismissed, turning around and walking swiftly to stand beside the table, tracing his steps, “And just before that?”

           “I came in, set down the plate, and I told you about the northern post rider,” Billy replied, more descriptive this time, carefully thinking through each of the steps.  He continued to recount his actions, assuming the General would stop him when needed. “Said the latest he can leave camp tonight is midnight.”

           George turned back around to face Billy from where he stood by the desk, snapping his fingers as he pointed into the emptiness of the tent, then scanning its surfaces, looking for something. “There’s a piece of correspondence I have delayed sending for several weeks,” he            explained as he moved to search the desktops, “It’s an execution order.”

           “Execution?” Billy’s eyes went wide again with shock and concern, but rather for the man condemned to such a fate rather than George. “For who?” he pressed curiously, without even realizing his actions.

           “A royal officer held by our forces,” George gladly explained as he grabbed a piece of paper off a desk and dropped himself at its chair, he continued, waving a hand in dismissal. “The crime he’s committed most certainly merits death,” George reasoned, both to Billy and himself, continuing to explain the cause of his anxieties, “Our Connecticut 5th has been awaiting my instructions for a month.  If they do not hear word by tomorrow, they’ll assume they have my approval to proceed with the execution.”

           “Well,” Billy Lee asked him frantically, “Do they or don’t they?”

           “I don’t,” George froze and quietly stuttered out, “I don’t know.” He furrowed his brows, concentrating heavily on the dilemma. “Clearly something about this execution order is troubling to me,” he rationalized, pausing to think for a moment before setting his face into hard determination, “I must do whatever it takes to resolve it.” He rose quickly once again, pointing at Billy, “And you will aid me in this pursuit.” George rushed over to the stack of papers and scoured the room, grabbing a quill and ink before hunching over and beginning to scribble away quickly. “Tonight, you are to treat me as an equal,” he ordered Billy, “You are to spare me no quarter.” He let out a noise of triumph before handing the paper he had written over to Billy, “Read this out loud.”

           Billy Lee huffed, concern reappearing in his face at George’s request.  This time he stepped near him, holding onto him delicately as if intending to lead him back to the chair, “Let me call back the doctor. He knows better-”

           “No,” George spoke firmly, turning around and out of Billy Lee’s grasp, “Thacher knows too much already.” George began speaking once more, piling papers to straighten out on the large table, “You see, a commander who suffers from madness risks the life of every soldier under his command.” He looked up at Billy, hunched over the desk to evaluate his emotions as the General continued. “What we discuss here tonight will determine if I remain in command of these American forces,” he trailed off before sighing, then beginning to speak once more, “Or if I announce my resignation to Congress.” Billy Lee now grasped the full weight of the gravity of this situation, his face falling grim instantly, and George continued, motioning to him to read the notice, “Now, go on.”

“December 6, 1777.

Dear General,

I am Lieutenant John Chaffee of the Connecticut 5th.  As you know, my unit suffered a profound loss when our Captain McCarrey was murdered by the enemy. I’m writing to inform you that through diligent pursuit, we were able to capture and bring to trial the British officer responsible, Major Edmund Hewlett...”

           “So what’s the problem?” Billy furrowed his brow, sitting further back on his chair and tilting his head, “Don’t you want this man executed?

           “This,” he pulled a paper from the stack he had collected earlier, hanging it over to Billy, “Is the last report prepared by Major Tallmadge before he departed. It’s based on a letter from a female intelligencer on Long Island.” He nodded, motioning to Billy Lee to read its contents out loud, “Go on.”

“General Washington,

I’m saddened to report that our signal agent in Setauket has written to say that on the 1st of December, our man Culper was captured by the royal authorities while on assignment in York City and charged with espionage.”

           Billy Lee looked up from the paper at the general, who simply replied, “Continue.”

“As far as we know, Culper is still alive and being held at Livingston’s sugar house prison.”

           George shook his head, scoffing out a laugh, “Of all the decisions I make, it is this one which threatens my life and our future?” He asked, amazement and humor seeping into his voice, “Shall I pardon a brutal murderer in order to save a failed spy?  What should I do?”

           Billy Lee smiled at him as she spoke, “You always do the right thing, General.”

           ‘The right thing,’ George scoffed to himself at the idea.  He had not done that in a very long time.  That is how they found themselves in this situation, see-isolation as the cold seeped through the canvas walls of the tent around him. “The right thing?” George questioned, slightly more forceful and angry than he should have, “Was it right to get Nathaniel Sackett’s throat slit?    Was it right to have an innocent girl, a child, die at the hands of a bullet shot against a cause she does not believe in?  Or-- or to have the king’s ledger fall into the hands of Robert Rogers?  Was it right to lose the French alliance and the entire bloody war?

           “But-” Billy Lee began, likely to attempt to refute that Miss Fairfax was still alive in that house, but decided against fighting such a useless battle, continuing, “But the war ain’t lost.”

           George laughed cruelly, turning around and collecting more papers and returning others to their original place. “If he could see me now, he’d laugh,” George began.  He was talking about Lawrence.  His mind always seemed to come back to Lawrence. “He’d already know what to do. He’d have done it,” the General froze in his motions, a question striking him as he spoke curiously, tone shifting entirely, “How would he do it?”  Billy Lee looked upon him curiously, wondering where this new mood would lead them as George waved to a chair. “Have a seat, Billy.” he  ordered, “We’re going to stir the proverbial pot.”

           Billy Lee sat down hesitantly, realizing what George intended to do as he began laying out piles of cards. “But you can’t play whist without four men,” he said, skeptical and confused.

           George smirked, “Then let there be two Washingtons and two William Lees.” A moment of silence passed over them as they began the game, concentration taking full swing until George spoke up again. “My brother Lawrence taught me this game,” he smiled, playing as he spoke, “He used it to order his thoughts.” Sighing, George continued to talk to fill the silence, “Lawrence introduced me to a world of culture and opportunity.” George snorted, laughing lightly, “He taught me how to dance.  I was sort of a rough country boy.”  A smile washed over his face as he focused on the happy memories he shared with his dear brother, “He took me in at Mount Vernon and fashioned me into a gentleman.”  His smile soon dropped, however, as he pressed on grimly, “I recall it was I who watched over him when we went to Barbados where we hoped to cure his tuberculosis.”  George’s eyes went distant as he began searching around his satchel bag at the foot of one of the desk’s legs, remembering something Lawrence gave him and wishing to show Billy.

             There was a distant choir singing in the background, wind blowing lightly, scattering sand and rusting the palms atop the trees. Lawrence’s breathing was becoming more and more labored with each passing day, but George remained at his side for every waking hour, confident that he could will the older man back to health.

            Lawrence’s voice rasped, grabbing George’s attention as he struggled out a request. “Look in my bag, George,” he spoke, George shook his head in denial, refusing to look away for even a moment, but Lawrence continued, “I have something for you”

            The younger man’s curiosity won out, rising from his chair and opening the bag.  It was unusually empty, holding only one thing.  George stared, dumbfounded back at Lawrence’s pocket watch.   This was an engagement gift from Thomas Fairfax, an exchange of a promise to look after his daughter. Initially intended for Anna, until she passed, and it then extended to Adrienne Fairfax, the man’s youngest daughter.  He understood what Lawrence was asking of him, but he was not sure he could fulfill it. “Lawrence, no,” he shook his head, speaking just above a whisper, his voice shaking with every word,” This is your pocket watch.  I can’t have your pocket watch.”

            Lawrence shook his head as best he could, grabbing hold of George’s hand and looking him dead in the eyes, and for a moment, he was himself again.  Lawrence was strong and confident for his younger brother one more time as he grasped George’s hand, “Yours now.” His strong facade crumbled as his body was wracked by a coughing fit.  George rushed forward, holding a handkerchief up to his mouth to catch the blood from his lungs.  Lawrence wheezed again, voice quiet, “Be mindful of time, my brother.  It can easily run out.”

           “Must have meant a hell of a lot to him to give you that watch,” Billy Lee’s voice pulled George from his mournful memories.

           “I owe him everything,” He replied quietly, forcing back any tears daring to form in his eyes.

           Billy swallowed, smiling as comfortingly as possible. “I taught my brother to play, too,” he offered, explaining, “Soon after we was brought to Mount Vernon. Frank was missing Mama something fierce. Wouldn’t stop crying all through the night.” Billy Lee played both his hands as he spoke, not noticing the slight sorrow that appeared briefly in George’s face, “So I thought teach him a game.  Brighten his spirits.”

           “Is Frank any good?” George asked, taking a deep breath and offering back his own casual smile.

           Billy Lee hummed, lips pulling happily to one side of his face, “He ain’t better than me.”

           “I seem to recall,” George spoke slightly firmer than he had a second ago, “The Good Book mentioned something about pride coming before destruction.”

           Billy swallowed thickly, all comfort falling from his face as he hung his head, eyes focused on his cards, “You’re right. Sorry, General.”

           George smiled, laughing at his own joke, “I am pulling your leg, Billy.  Have another drink.” Billy pulled a face at the strength of the drink as he did what the General suggested, “Barbados rum is the finest.”

           George took yet another hand, clearly having the upper hand in the game.  Billy Lee huffed convincingly, “Counting them cards. Good memory.”

           George nodded, satisfied, “I owe my memory to my days as chief surveyor of Culpeper County.  Another debt I owe Lawrence.”

           “Culpeper,” Billy said, trying the name out on his own lips, “That sound like Culper.”

           “Abraham Woodhull,” George spoke casually, laying down another card, “That’s his real name.  His father is a county magistrate and a Loyalist.  And he has a wife and a young son.  His older brother was a captain in the king’s American regiment, but he died suddenly, tragically.” He won yet another hand, grabbing it from the table, “And so the second son became the first.”

           “Just like you,” Billy compared with an underlying question in his tone.

           “I am nothing like Abraham Woodhull.”

           “No, General,” Billy smiled weakly, trying his best to let the conversation fail, “You sure ain’t nothing like him.”

           “If you have something to say, say it.”

           “All I meant to say,” Billy began, not making eye contact with the General, “Was that you seem just fine to me.  Dr. Thacher probably making too much of nothing.  You strong as an ox.  You just having a bad night is all.”

           “It’s not just one night,” George began passionately, “This has been happening for weeks. I’m hearing things, seeing things.  Seeing Lawrence.” He shook his head, lips pressed into a firm line as he continued, passion seeping into anger, “No, this malady is real, and I’m not going to let it beat me.” He pounded the table with his fist, clenching his jaw tightly as he spat the words venomously, “I’m going to fight and I’m going to win.  And I’ll be damned if I allow you to deny me that!”

           “Deny you?” Billy Lee asked, this time, genuine confusion appeared, only fueling George’s own rage.

           “I told you to give me no quarter,” he spat, “But you’re throwing the game, hiding behind lies.” George tossed his cards face down on the table, pushing himself to his feet as he accused the man before him, sending a flurry of papers into Billy’s frightened face, “You think I don’t see you counting cards, too?” George swallowed, jaw still clenched tight, looked the man up and down once, before turning and walking around the tent as he spoke, “Clean up this mess.”

           A moment of silence passed over the tent, George’s looming anger filling the room.  Finally, it was Billy who broke the silence as he approached him, looking the General in his eyes, “No.”  George’s fury ran up the wall, but Billy Lee did not give him a chance to begin roaring once again, “No horseshit. That’s what you asked for.” Billy Lee squared his own jaw, determined, “Till midnight, you clean up your own mess.”

           George lost yet another hand to Billy Lee, smacking his hand frustratingly down on the table, “This is ridiculous.”

           “Beg pardon?” he asked the General offhandedly.

           “Gambling isn’t medicine,” George spat, “This is vice.” He shook his head angrily, lips pressed tightly together, “Lawrence would never waste time playing games with a servant.  He would serve justice and execute Hewlett.”

           Billy Lee raised an eyebrow, making a face “Just ’cause Lawrence protected you don’t mean you gotta try and be him.”

           “Watch yourself,” George warned, losing for the second time in a row and the entire game.

           “Whoo,” Billy Lee sighed, “What I tell you?  That brother of yours must have had a really bad hand.”

           The sudden roaring anger in George’s ears took over as he lunged across the table, grabbing the other man by the neck.  He was oblivious to the sounds that would have told him Billy Lee was choking, the anger roaring louder than anything else. “Never speak of my brother again,” he spat ferociously.  Billy Lee coughed, sputtering with his hands around his neck, tears falling at the pain and fear he felt.

           George gave the man one disgusted look before shouldering a cloak and stepping into the cold.  He ventured through the camp, searching for the trail the Marquis had brought my Adrienne along the night previous.  Eyes scanning the dirty slush snow for any traces of blood, he passed a group of soldiers, men building cabins in which to sleep.  They talked of uncouth things, making crude jokes in the way any enlisted man might.

           As George passed, he thought he heard one of them speak, “The old warhorse just takes it instead of hanging that redcoat what murdered McCarrey in Connecticut.” George made it to the end of the constructed cabin, hiding behind the spot where the logs linked together as he eavesdropped on the laboring men. “What’s he afraid of?” the man taunted as if he knew George was listening, the wind blowing through his ears, carrying the grunts of the men. “What’s he afraid of?”

           George sneered weakly, “I am not afraid.” He closed his eyes, squeezing his eyes together tightly before opening them once more.  When he opened his eyes, the snow was no longer slush and brown, but a crisp and pure white, minus the trail of bloody footprints, some firm and confident while others delicate and sluggish.  He began walking numbly, following the trail, as foolish as it was.  The General arrived in a clearing, a path among the trees, where a sizable scarlet blotch was heaped, hoof prints around it.  Here it was, the very moment George failed his brother one more time.  The wind howled as he stared numbly, mournfully, at the sight.

           The General looked away from the stain, diverting his eyes to the side of it, only for them to fall on a pair of British Officer boots.  His heart pounded, he knew he was foolish to come out here alone, without any work to defend himself, and now he would pay the price.  George looked up the figure slowly, but once his eyes resided on the figure’s face, he realized this was something far worse than a British Officer. “Lawrence?” he stared into the eyes of a pale figure of his brother. “What is all this?” George asked. “This war, was it a mistake?  Was it greed?  Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” he begged, “Answer me, damn you!” George fell to his knees and began speaking passionately to the older man, “I have done everything you ever taught me.  I tamed my temper, became a gentleman.  I sought opportunity. I’ve climbed and clawed and fought, and now I’m respected, feared, hated, and worshipped.  But for what?  I am not who they think I am.” George was aware his temperament contradicted his words as he exclaimed, “Oh, for the love of God, say something.  Please.”

           Lawrence’s confident and strong face remained impassive, dark eyes still focused straight ahead of him as he spoke. “As always, you ask what I would do and I will tell you what I would not.  I would never spare a murderer,” George bowed his head in shame as his brother listed his failures, “Nor lose Long Island.  Nor retreat at White Plains.  Nor be outflanked at Brandywine.” Lawrence paused, looking down at his younger brother and his face became more and more tender as he spoke proudly, “Nor crossed the Delaware on Christmas night… to claim a surprise victory.” George raised his head in surprise, looking longingly up at his brother as the man continued. “Nor led a campaign against the mightiest empire on Earth.  Nor wholeheartedly honored a promise that was not my own.  But then again,” Lawrence paused, building anticipation, “I am not you.”

           George blinked a tear from his eye, hearing the wind rustle through his ears, feeling his hair be blown from its queue, feeling the snowflakes from the ground be lifted into the air, whisked away with the winds.  When the General opened his eyes, he was alone once more in the cold, specks of red snow scattered across the white blanket coating the ground, the scarlet spot all but gone from its position in the snow.

Chapter Text

           Lafayette dragged himself from the chair once General Washington left the room, slowly climbing the stairs with as little emotion showing in his expressive face and eyes as possible. The Marquis knew he should sleep, that is what his General all but ordered him to do, but for once, he did not care for the will of George Washington. He could not sleep in that room. Not when it smelled clean with a sweet perfume mixed with the light air of a vase of Christmas roses that he knew resided on the small desk turned vanity. Lafayette had given Adrienne those flowers almost two weeks ago to keep her spirits up while she waited until she could attend to Philadelphia once more. She had been so bright, so happy, so alive then, and he knew he wished for it back. He wished for no gift besides her full return to health this yuletide season. That was why he told McHenry to send for Doctor Rush. He would pay for it.

           He would pay for any chance at hope, no matter the price. The man could demand everything he had, and Lafayette would give it over gladly if it meant she would live. McHenry tried talking to the Marquis after sending for Rush, and he saw the surgeon’s mouth moving but could not hear a single sound coming out of it. His ability to grasp McHenry’s words was fading in and out in the cold room. The large room was suddenly too big, Adrienne needed heat if she was to survive, and all warmth seemed to be seeping straight through the walls as if they were not there. The windows creaked with the whistling of the breeze, snow swarming the frame as the draft seeped through it. The Marquis wished she would move. Hours ago, he had begged for her to stop screaming, praying on his knees before the parlor fireplace. Now Adrienne was silent in her unconsciousness, and every bone in his body ached for her to wake. For her to scream and thrash as she had the night before. At least then he knew she was fighting.

           Lafayette sat beside her now as McHenry and Rush conferred in the hallway. They whispered in low voices, and vaguely he considered it was to keep their concerns from him. As he looked at this girl who had become much like a little sister to him in these past two years, he was scared. Her lips were a dull, faded pink, the fair skin appearing more of a pasty white, all the vibrant color drained from her cheeks. She always had so much life in her face, rosy pink cheeks, and when he first entered the bedroom, there were still tracks of dried tears on Adrienne’s soft cheeks, blood drying on her torn chemise. It pulled on his heart, aching it so heavily that he called for Ona, the maidservant responsible for preparing Adrienne daily, to bring him a warm rag and a clean chemise. She furrowed her brow at him, concerned by the activities implied by his request, but he persisted. Adrienne deserved at least that much dignity. Ona stood behind him the entire time as he cleaned the tears and blood from Adrienne’s fair skin. She attempted to stop him from changing out Adrienne’s chemise, offering to do such a menial task for him, but he waved her away.

           Doctor Rush finally entered without McHenry, sending a glance to the terribly disheveled Marquis followed by a questioning glance to Ona. Lafayette felt the strong hand slide over his shoulder in a comforting rubbing motion. The doctor did not ask him to leave or move, and he was grateful for it. Lafayette found he could not tear himself from this hard chair. He should write to his wife, his beautiful, living, breathing Adrienne, but could not find the energy to call for pen and paper. Lafayette could not even find the will to sleep, the ability to stand, the power to write. He was useless. And for the first time since Lafayette arrived in America, he was ok with that.

           Benjamin Rush was careful, aware of Lafayette’s eyes following his hands, desperate to protect the unconscious young girl on the cot. He sighed, huffed, poked, and prodded her, stopping several times to check her pulse. Lafayette oversaw each motion in his silence, observing as the surgeon’s face became grimmer and grimmer with each passing second. The Marquis jumped slightly from fright when the man put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. This time it was delicate, barely hovering over the fabric of his soiled officer’s jacket; there was no comfort behind it this time. Lafayette looked up at the man desperately, misty eyes pleading for hope of healing. The doctor’s words echoed around his head, words bouncing off the walls of his brain, pounding against his skull. Infection. Rush said nothing more beyond that one word, but it was enough to draw tears to well up in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks freely, searing his skin as they fell.

           The Marquis’s back ached, sitting upright in the wooden chair at the bedside for hours. Not a single sound was made amongst the three of them. Benjamin Rush was set up in a cot in the room as he forced McHenry to bed. Lafayette could no longer force his eyes open when Doctor Rush ushered him out of the room and down the hall like a concerned father. Lafayette felt the warm hand hot on his back. ‘A concerned father,’ he thought, ‘Now, how would I know what those look like?’ The older man was coddling the Marquis like he would his own child because that is really all he was.

           A child playing a man playing a soldier. The Duc de Noailles would approve of such an evaluation. It was then Lafayette realized, as Benjamin Rush was pulling the coat from his shoulders, that he could not write his wife about anything that had happened. If he ever returned to France, he would be shamed from court, breaking the heart of his wife, raised at Versailles. A man who indulged in pleasure and in turn got an innocent, ‘No,’ he thought, cutting himself off, ‘A foolish child who killed a girl. An innocent girl.’ He would return to the Château de Chavaniac, and his Adrienne would have to choose. Between her friends, family, and home or him and the countryside, she would never pick him. Even if it would break their hearts.  

No. His Adrienne should not find out about this, lest it return to court with her.

           It was Chavaniac he thought of as he was stripped of his waistcoat and boots by Rush. It was home, his home, he thought of as he was defeated by unconsciousness, drifting into a fitful sleep.

           Chavaniac was beautiful. It was the one place that he did not feel small or insignificant. There were no harsh whispers and crude gossip. No balls to attend and no courtiers to watch your every move. No one to laugh as he crashed and burned, nor as he tripped over his own feet. He was not lanky and awkward at Chavaniac.

           The gardens of wildflowers and classic stone fountains contrasted the false shaped hedges, overly manicured lawns, and ornate fixtures one could find at every turn at Versailles.

           The fireplaces were warmer at Chavaniac than Versailles too. The large marble and gold provided an eye-catching design, but the simplistic plaster decorated fireplaces of his home were always warmer. Versailles was always cold. Even the busiest of parties had a draft, but a dinner for two in the dining room of Chavaniac was always perfectly warm. He never shivered there like he did at court. The Potts house was cold, the winter freeze settling in through every door frame and windowpane. He was cold here, just as he was at Versailles. But here, in this room, he was warm. He was warm at Chavaniac, just as he was under these blankets and quilts that smelled of rosewood oil and lemongrass.

           Since arriving in America, there had been little time for dreaming as he slept. Exhaustion usually took the Marquis far more often than sleep did. Today would have been another one of those instances, especially under such circumstances. Still, as his breathing evened out, Lafayette fell into a dream on the subject that had been occupying his mind.

           Home.

           He dreamed of home, the stone exterior, simply adorned walls, natural but scarce gardens, and the millions of trees surrounding the property in all directions. There was a young boy, curly red hair tied back in a simple ponytail. The silk ribbon of royal blue holding back his curls was the only symbol of the boy’s wealth. He wore cotton stockings over his buckled shoes, brown linen breeches that might have been a cream color at one point, a mixed-fabric linen waistcoat that was a lighter shade than his breeches, and a simple cotton shirt.

           Lafayette recognized the boy was himself. He watched as the gardeners allowed the boy to carry baskets of vegetables into the kitchen as they picked them from the ground. The boy paid no attention to the heat, caring only for the delight of playing around with the dirt. He had always been like this. The Marquis’ mother had complained about him ruining his fine breeches with dirt and mud every day before she left. Now, with only his grandmother and widowed aunt for company, the boy could play in as much mess as he cared to, knowing that as long as he removed his shoes when he entered that his aunt would have no issue with scrubbing the dirt from his face and hands at the end of the day.

           There were no whispers here. His were always the fanciest suits, his were all the friends imaginable. There was no flowery language that sounded sweet but cut like knives; if there was something to say, it was said. If there was a feud between persons, it was kept private and resolved immediately. Most importantly, it was not court.  

           The dream’s view shifted suddenly to peering through the windows of one of the spacious parlors inside the house. The fire was lit, and it was surely after dinner, but there was no grand party inside, only his younger self as well as his aunt and grandmother. His aunt sat at the pianoforte in the corner, plucking the keys to a familiar melody as his grandmother attempted to teach him to dance along to it.

           Marie Catherine de Suat was a justly proud woman, raised in the overly luxurious era of France, but when the little red-headed boy stepped on her feet or tripped over his own, she did not scold or laugh at him cruelly. She taught him the difference between laughing at someone and laughing with someone, as well as how to tell which one an individual is receiving. She laughed gleefully as he tripped and pranced about the room throughout their dance. The little boy smiled at his aunt, who looked upon the dancing pair fondly, still delicately plucking away at the keys.

           The next scene he was brought to was terrible April day around mid-morning time. There was the older, taller, and lankier version of Lafayette’s earliest teenage years. He wore a stiff and thick silk taffeta three-piece suit, every ounce of its fabric was embroidered with a slightly lighter thread color so that it would stand out against his entirely black outfit. It was nothing like he was used to, but the boy’s uncle was insistent upon it, the same way that he was insistent by planting a firm hand on his shoulder. The young man refused to look away from the headstone, let alone walk away from it. Not a single guest feasting at her estate cared for his grandmother, and so the young heir did not care for them or their time. The only company that could console him was below his feet, and when Lafayette failed to move, his uncle sighed and walked to the carriage, escorting his wife into the carriage and leaving the young man to his own devices. The sky rumbled, and little droplets sprinkled his shoulders, but they did not bother him.

The boy crumbled as the carriage pulled out of sight, tears began to flow from the eyes, sobs tumbling over lips, the knees dully coming into contact with the stone pathway below. The wind whipped the hair from Lafayette’s queue, blowing it about his face as he slouched there, alone before a gravestone that should have read, “In Honor of Marie Catherine de Suat,” but when the dream focused on the headstone, it held a different name. Suddenly the young man was no longer a boy of 15, but a man of 20. It was the Marquis as he was at this very moment. The suit was the same, the churchyard too, but he now knelt before the gravestone that read “In Honor of Lady Adrienne Fairfax. ”

           The Marquis jolted awake, hitting his head on the low wooden post holding the bed curtains up. He did not know how long he had indeed been asleep, the sun still shone vaguely through the small window, and the house was still as hauntingly empty. He ran a hand down his face and rubbed at his eyes, laying back down atop the pillows, staring at the canopy above him as he felt the burn of tears begin to flow from across his cheeks.

           John Laurens let his hand hang down in offering to Hamilton, who sat at his feet, once the General dismissed them to bed. Pulling the exhausted man up from the floor as John himself stood, placing both of their mugs on the table and heading for the stairs, with an oddly sluggish Hamilton shuffling behind. He supposed it was a mix between the young secretary’s long work hours, the amount of rum and ale consumed the night previous, and the wearing off of the adrenaline that sprung him into action. That, John had to admit they climbed the stairs, Hamilton’s hand resting on the small of his back, was far more attractive to him than it should have been.

           The two men continued climbing to their shared room in the attic. The privacy was fantastic, true, but the number of stairs was enough to drain the energy on a good day, let alone one such as this. He was idling, head swarming with what-ifs. John knew this, and likely Hamilton did as well, but his hand was unwavering, acting as an anchor to reality. John could easily get lost in his own head, idling and stewing about silently, but Alexander Hamilton, his Alexander, always knew when he was drifting and pulled him back to shore every time.

They reached the small landing atop the stairs, and Alexander reached around him with his left hand to crack open the door, the right maintaining its calming position on John’s back. Hamilton motioned for him to go first, ushering John into the room. John did not speak as the hand was removed from his back in favor of stripping down to nightclothes. He slowly struggled with the coat, sliding it off his shoulders, folding it in half, and laying it over Hamilton’s own across the top of a chair. He noted that Alexander was moving faster than he, and John knew that he would suffer the speech that came along with dragging his feet, but John did not care, opting to fiddle with the knotted cravat around his neck.

           John’s eyes looked up from his work as a steady pair of lightly tanned hands came to meet his own fumbling ones. The steady hands gently held John’s trembling hands as their owner searched his eyes. Hamilton’s face was set in a soft concern as he furrowed his brow, “John-”

“Don’t,” he pleaded, cutting him off, “I do not wish to talk about it.”

           Hamilton sighed, releasing John’s hands as his own began to work on the knot of the cravat without asking, “You know that I do not like it when you stew like this.” John nodded, letting Hamilton’s steady hands slip against his throat as the red-headed man pulled the knot out. “Someone must pull you from your own mind before you get too far along,” Hamilton spoke tenderly, not looking up at John’s face as he unwrapped the cloth from the blonde man’s neck.

           “And you are that someone?” John asked softly, his voice quiet and mild

           “For as long as you will let me.”

           The solid confidence in Alexander’s voice always comforted John. The shorter man knew this, but now as he spoke with it, John saw clean through the facade. ‘As long as you will let me.’ That was not the words of a man who has confidently argued unflinchingly with George Washington in a room of superior officers, nor one who fights every day to be where he is, to prove that he has earned it. That is the words of a man who is afraid. Who loves so profoundly, clinging to his last bit of solstice. “You know my feelings, my dearest Alexander, and it will take more than this to change them.”

           The shorter redhead responded with a huff, nodding shortly as his hands moved down the buttons of John’s waistcoat, undoing each of them as they passed. He did not rush and was gentle with the fabric. Clothes like this were irreplaceable to Alexander; they always had been. He would meticulously care for his shirts, jackets, breeches, and waistcoats, outright refusing to allow them to be mended by camp followers, electing to sit on the chair in the attic room and sew them under his hand by the dim candlelight. John can recall many nights where he sat in bed, watching Hamilton scrunch his nose in frustration, scoff and grumble at uncooperative stitches, and squint his eyes to see the seams as he pulled the needle along. John had always wondered where he learned the skill so well. Alexander loved his own voice and could talk and talk and talk for hours if you let him, but there was one thing he would never talk about. Hamilton never talks about his family or home. He says he came from New York, and people leave it at that, and John, who knew only vaguely of his true origins, knew better than to push him further. Hamilton cleared his throat pointedly, shaking John from his own head once again, causing him to look down at his waistcoat, realizing that not only was Alexander undressing him, but he was creating quite a domestic scene. John sputtered out a quiet chuckle, drawing Hamilton’s attention to his face.

           “What has gotten into you now?”

           John smirked, bending his head to search for Hamilton’s face before motioning to the man’s hands as he spoke, “What are you now, my wife?”

           “Do not compare me to that blonde thing,” Hamilton grumbled, “I am not at all like that empty-headed little heiress.” He scoffed, continuing, “And I would not be willing to give you such a degrading amount of submission.”

           “Is that really all you think of her,” John scoffed humorously, “That all she is a bank, a child without guidance, who will cave into my will at the drop of a hat? Do you not remember the broken nose she gave me mere hours ago?”

           Alexander’s lips quivered humorously as he suppressed a smile, “Well, you said it, not me.” John looked down at him, astonished, and Alexander continued, “And before you rush to defense on account of my judgment being harsh, you must take into account that as an aide de camp, it is my duty to look after my commander and his best interests.”

           “And she is not in his?”

           “No,” he replied without hesitation, “And if I were bold enough to say so, I would tell you that she is not in yours either.”

           “And yet, here you are, once again being so bold,” Laurens shrugged the waistcoat off his shoulders, and Hamilton caught it before it hit the floor, sending John a scolding glance for his reckless treatment of the piece. “You and I are both aware that I had no such say in this engagement,” he sighed.

           “Speaking of which, the letter you received this week from your father?”

           “Four months,” John sighed glumly, “I have four months to confirm the proposal and marry her, or I will be discharged by my father and sent back to London immediately.”

           “Good God,” Hamilton sighed, making a noise of surprise at the firm hands that landed on his hips once he turned away from the chair to face John. He allowed the taller man to hold him a while, resting the top of his head on the chest of the other. The silence passed over the room once, then twice, before he spoke again. “You have torn part of the seam on your sleeve.”

John cracked into a laugh as he inspected the sleeve with Alexander following in pursuit, “Henry Laurens is preparing his carriage to come and scold me on the expectations of gentlemanly dress as we speak.”

           “Absolutely,” Hamilton joined in on the joke, “No doubt he felt it in the wind blowing under the front door of the congressional hall.”

           This inspired more laughter from the pair of men before Alexander stepped out of John’s grasp and motioned with his hand, “Take it off. I will try to mend it once we wake.”

           “You know, I would not mind sending it with the rest of the sewing,” John said, “God knows that I will demand your presence in bed for as long as today’s hours stretch. And I have other shirts.”

           “Absolutely not,” Hamilton dismissed, “I will not allow a single miserable stitch from those price-gouging camp followers on any one of your shirts.”

           John snorted, “Now you really sound like my wife.”

           “Because I mend your clothes?”

           “No,” John admonished humorously, lips quirking into a smile, “Because that is the second scathing insult you have bestowed in the past fifteen minutes.”

           “No,” Hamilton denied, “It has only been ten minutes.”

           John chuckled slightly before allowing his features to fall into an admiring gaze on the red-headed man.  

           Hamilton furrowed his brow in confusion, “What mischief is going about that mind of yours now?”

           “Women from the Caribbean,” John began cautiously, “They are curvy, are they not?”

           Hamilton scrunched his face together in confusion before realization dawned across his face, pressing his lips into a thin line as he took a cravat from the chair and snapped it against John’s shoulder. He sighed playfully as the blonde chuckled privately at his own insinuation. “And how about Virginian girls?” questioned Alexander as he finished stripping himself down and into his nightshirt, “I’m sure you got a good look before that broken nose.”

           John looked at Hamilton puzzled, “You could fathom that I am likely to compromise a lady’s honor in such a manner?” The lack of a response prompted a half-hearted huff from the tall blonde, “Of course you do, being so capable yourself. I removed the jacket’s closures like you asked, and nothing more. Not even a peak.”

           “Ah,” Hamilton sighed tiredly, any energy he seemed to have had disappearing, “Maybe it is a good thing I did not become a doctor then.”

           John finished dressing for bed as well, quirking an eyebrow as Hamilton dragged his blanket from his own bed, dropping his exhausted body onto John’s small bed. Hamilton replied nonchalantly as he closed his eyes, red curls spanning out across the pillow, that it was merely warmer this way. John collapsed beside him and began drifting to sleep, satisfied with the excuse, laying with his arm wrapped around the smaller redhead.

Chapter Text

           James McHenry had been exhausted on his feet for quite some time, as was expected when he barely found any time to rest between his duties to General Washington and assisting Congress with reports of the state of medicine in other Contentenial camps as well.  To be honest, he had been looking very much forward to this week of Christmas, for it would be the first he had off since the previous winter.  But fate was never that kind to him, and upon entering headquarters the night prior, he had been met immediately by a hysterical Lafayette and a struggling pair of aides.  Meade had managed to spit out what had happened, and McHenry bolted up the stairs; it was just his luck that the girl was placed in his room.  Hamilton had not yet begun the surgery, and McHenry was forced to take over with a black eye, courtesy of the patient.  

           James had attempted to rest at the breakfast table, sleeping head in hands until awoken by the General himself.  After being startled from his sleep, McHenry was not met with the same request of sleep as the aides de camp, but rather with more work.  So he lugged himself up the stairs to check on the girl for the first time since they left her about two hours ago.  James knew what could happen in two hours, so he kept his grumbling to a minimum and entirely to himself as he inspected the girl.  The General was right to send him back.  Infection from subpar cleaning was beginning to set in, and the sooner it was treated and broken, the more likely she was to survive it.  Checking his medical bag, still sitting with its fastenings open on the table in the middle of the room, McHenry sighed and knocked his fist on the table in frustration.  There were not enough supplies left in his bag to continue to treat her.

           How he had allowed them to get so low, he did not know, but he could hear Doctor Rush, his mentor, scolding him for such carelessness. “I’m sure you would never make such a mistake, Doctor,” McHenry spoke aloud to the voice rattling into a lecture inside his mind. “I would gladly allow you to take over and guide me here,” he replied to himself, scoffing.  James reached into his bag and froze.  That was not actually a horrible idea, but who would pay him?  The army did not have that kind of money to spend on its own soldiers, let alone an innocent civilian girl.  Then, like heaven itself had heard his question, there was the fall of boots sounding against the wooden floors, approaching the room to reveal Lafayette.

           The poor boy was torn apart last night, covered in her blood and his tears.  He was still disheveled, blood-caked and crusted onto his clothes, his face sunken and emotionless as he sat in the chair at the table McHenry stood before.  His eyes never left the girl’s pale figure, completely uncaring for his lack of wig, allowing his close-cropped auburn hair to be on full display.  Someone seemed to have washed the blood from his skin; if James had to take a guess, he would say it was done by the General himself.  The care he had for the boy was well known in America, England, and France, whether the boy wanted such affection or not.  

           McHenry felt terrible asking him at this moment for his money, but the moment he began to suggest it at all, Lafayette jumped on it, giving the surgeon a nod and a promise to pay, so long as there was any hope for her.  James nodded, leaving the room to write to Doctor Rush and plead his assistance and supplies, leaving the young Marquis alone with the pretty blonde.  He entered the aides’ workroom and penned a letter to the well-revered Doctor.  The surgeon exited the room, heading down the hall to send the letter with the morning post-delivery.   He handed the letter off to the messenger, turning back around only to be met with the Commander-in-Chief staring right before at him.  James swallowed thickly; not a word could be found between the two of them.  The General knew what he was doing, and so did James.  There was nothing for him to defend, no argument to be had so, when the taller man pushed past him and headed out into the snow-riddled camp, McHenry found himself releasing a breath he did not know he was holding.  Pouring himself a mug of coffee and sitting down on the couch in the parlor, James decided he would create some notes from the surgery and his own inspection of the patient for Doctor Rush to refer to while James and the Marquis awaited his arrival.

           The commotion of horses broke James from his notes, Benjamin Rush entering the silent house with a shiver.  His eyes scanned the foyer, presumably for the pupil that sent for him.  Mchenry re-arranged his papers off his lap and went to greet the man in the hall.  When James offered his hand out for a handshake, Benjamin Rush ignored it completely, pulling the younger man into a bone-crushing hug.  When they finally pulled apart, Benjamin looked him over like a proud father might look at his own son.  He then clapped the young man on the shoulder, “James, it has been far too long since I last saw you.”

           “Well,” James replied, “The army tends to do that to someone.”

           “I know my dear Emily has certainly missed you.”

           “Benjamin,” McHenry sighed, slightly chiding the man for his forwardness.

           “I am simply saying that perhaps you ought to join us one evening for dinner,” Rush defended, “And I am sure that Emily would be more than glad to see you in your blues as Lieutenant Colonel James McHenry.”

           “Would she, or would you?”

           “Do I have to pick only one?”

           James cracked a smile. Emily was a sweet girl, a good head on her shoulders and a small fortune to back up the good-breeding of her name, but the lack of shame this man had when flaunting this before his old apprentice was too blunt.  McHenry had grown to expect this kind of humor from the older man.

           The hand on his shoulder began to grip it more tightly, attempting to make out a shape, “Dear God, James, I might have to insist you join us before you starve to death.”

           McHenry had also grown to expect such fatherly hovering from the man, which may have been his reason for avoiding invites to the Rush house.  James shook his head with a playful sigh tumbling from his lips, “Wait here, I have drawn up some notes on the patient’s condition before, during, and after surgery to the best of my ability.”

           Rush nodded shortly, approving his request, and McHenry disappeared into the room, dowing the last of his coffee and grabbing the small stack of scribbled upon papers.  When he returned and handed them to Rush.  The man began to raise an eyebrow the more along he read. “Hysteria?  And this drawing, it could not possibly be accurate, James.  A man’s torso-” Rush cut himself off, before re-thinking the notes, “No, the drawing is correct because you did not call me to assist you with one of the General’s men, did you?”

           “No, sir.” he replied, “Our patient is a young lady who was at the wrong place at the wrong time, Lady Adrienne Fairfax, the General’s ward.”

           “Fairfax?” Rush asked, shocked, “That cannot be.  She was just at my house just two days ago.”

           “Well, bullet wounds work like that,” he offered, “Previous health does not usually mean anything.”

           Rush furrowed his brow back at the paper, “But there had to have been some kind of complication.  You write here that there is an infection setting in, and that would have to imply some kind of complication, none of which is mentioned in surgery notes, which would imply...”

           James paled, rushing quickly to the defense. “No, nothing happened while at your house, I assure you,” he rubbed the back of his neck, shyly, “The infection is kind of, in a way, my fault.”

           “Your fault?” the older man turned to him, raising an eyebrow, “How so?”

           McHenry rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, “I may have been willing to look over sanitation of tools for the sake of working quickly.”

           Rush’s eyes widened, and his lips pursed tight, “James, that is not a laughable jest.  Clean surgical tools are essential to avoiding infection and inflammation.  That is a basic I thought was thoroughly drilled into you long ago.”

           “I know,” he sighed, “I was stupid, but I had to step in or someone with only two years of medical studies and no previous experience was going to have at it, the poor girl was in a clear state of hysterical shock, and if I did not move quickly then she would have lost far more blood and possibly her life by now.”

           Rush looked at him, face still and strict, then sighed and began to climb the stairs, “You will have to point me to her bedroom.”

           “She is in mine at the moment, sir,” McHenry added, following up behind him.

           “Dear God, you did not even think to give the girl some privacy?  Has she been changed and the blood cleaned from her, or shall I make you do it?”

           McHenry opened the door, the Marquis’ chair now pulled up towards the foot of the bed,  and peered at the girl. “Yes, she has been cleaned up and changed, courtesy of the Marquis, I think.”

           Rush’s scowl scolded him far better than any words might have, truly unique in the way that only a father could muster. “I will tend to her for the time being,” He entered the room, McHenry trailing obediently behind, “You will not be assisting me.”

           McHenry blanched.  The General had specifically entrusted her into his care.  He could not wait in the hall; that would surely be considered a blatant act of defiance against orders. “But sir-”

           “I do not wish to hear your excuses, young man,” the older doctor spoke, “You will be resting until further notice.” This left the young James without a single word to reply, but Rush continued on as he unpacked his own case. “You will be resting till further notice, then getting some ice on that eye of yours,” he spoke, leaving no room for argument, giving James a pointed look as if he were still a boy.

           Sighing, defeated, James obliged him and began to strip out of his clothes as discreetly as possible, on the improbable event that Lady Fairfax should awaken.  He had missed Benjamin, sure, but he always hated how easy it was for the older man to take the role of a father figure in his life.  Benjamin Rush would treat him as his son, married to Anne Emily or not, never failing to make the grown man, a Colonel in the Continental Army, feel like a young and slightly disobedient boy.  But, much like his youthful self, all thoughts were wiped clean from his head, falling soundly asleep the moment he made contact with the pillow.

           John slept like a rock on most days.  This was a well-known fact to Alexander Hamilton, who had been forced to become creative in waking the man in time to begin work in the office every day.  Today was different.  When Hamilton woke up, John’s arm was still wrapped tightly around his waist, but the hot breath against his neck alerted the man that John was indeed already awake.  John must have noticed that the redhead in his arms had woken up, nuzzling his face into the warmth in the crook of Alexander’s neck.  A small contented sigh tumbled from Hamilton’s lips, the touch comforting him immensely, but he knew why John was awake.  The brilliant mind of his sweet and dearest Laurens was often a solstice for the blonde.  Whenever things would become too much for John, he would retreat into the depths of his mind, delve into the memorized lists of flora and fauna, scientific names and diagrams of animals across the world, and worst of all, the warm, sunny face of the late Elanor Laurens.  The longer John was allowed to stew, the farther he ventured, and the harder it became to pull him from it.  A soft kiss was placed on Alexander’s own lightly freckled shoulder by the man in question, dragging the redhead’s attention to pulling John back to him.

           “Jack,” he whispered, voice still slightly gravelly from his slumber.  The blonde hummed in acknowledgment against the tender skin of Alexander’s neck, signaling Alexander to continue, “Are you with me, Jack?” The blonde shook his head in denial, nuzzling farther into the smaller man’s neck. “Where are we then?” Alexander asked softly.

           “Abelmoschus moschatus from the Malvaceae family,” the blonde said, lips moving against the tender skin, hot breaths fanning out against it as he spoke, “Commonly known as Musk plans.”

           Musk plants are symbolic of weakness, this he remembered from listening to John as he explained the meanings of flora and fauna one afternoon previous.  Alexander huffed quietly, “And what about the Poppy flower?”

           “Papaver rhoeas,” John mumbled.

           “When shall you reach them?”

           Consolation is what the poppy meant if Alexander had remembered correctly.  And, from the long pause that settled over the room as John failed to reply, he figured that he was correct.  Finally, John spoke quietly against his skin, “I do not know.”  

           That was precisely what Alexander had been dreading, but he allowed a pause to fall over the room for a moment before he replied by lightly tapping his own hand against John’s arm so that he might get up.  His sweet Laurens complied with his wish, watching as the redhead dressed back in his uniform, draping his green sash over his shoulder.  Before Hamilton excused himself, he crouched down to eye level with the bed, “I shall be back soon, my dearest Laurens.  You should hardly notice my absence.” 

           Straightening up and smoothing out his clothes, Alexander headed towards the door, steps faltering for only a moment as a soft voice from behind him spoke, “I do thoroughly doubt that.  I always notice when the sun has gone, for it often leaves this room rather chilly.”

           Hamilton dismounted outside the house of Brigadier General Pulaski, attempting to stuff himself further into the unlined cloak around his shoulders as he trudged through the snow leading up to the porch of the averaged size farmhouse.  He knocked heavily on the door, then resumed rubbing his hands together to generate some attempt at warmth.  If John would not talk to him about what was bothering him so, then perhaps he would listen to the man who had quickly become one of John’s closest friends these past few months, Colonel Kościuszko.

           Luckily enough for him, the man greeted him at the door, ushering the freezing aide into the warmth of the parlor Adrienne had visited just hours prior. “Colonel Hamilton,” Kościuszko spoke, “This is quite the surprise, sir.  To what do I owe this visit?”

           “I am afraid,” Hamilton began, “My news is rather glum.  It concerns Lieutenant Colonel Laurens and some events that transpired last night.”

           Thaddeus swallowed, perhaps a tad bit too thickly.  Had there been marks?  Had Adrienne kissed him and suddenly decided that he was no longer what she wished, preferring to keep him as an idea rather than an action?  And worst of all, had she told John?  Or did John know without Adrienne saying a word to him?  That would explain why Hamilton was here.  The blonde could not face the man he considered a good friend any longer, knowing what Thaddeus had done.

           The Colonel touched his arm, dragging his worrying mind back to the conversation.  The redhead had a look of concern across his face, brows furrowed, “Are you well, Colonel Kościuszko?”

           “Yes,” the man replied, forcing a small smile onto his face, “I think I just need a drink; I did not sleep well last night.” He looked Hamilton in the eyes, “Would you like one as well?”

           Hamilton nodded sharply, releasing his grip on the man. “It seems like no one slept peacefully last night,” Hamilton began casually as Thaddeus poured two cups of whiskey from the decanter in the room, “Heavens knows that no one at headquarters did.”

           Thaddeus’s hand trembled slightly, causing some drink to miss the glass and land on the tray.  He decided that he had poured enough, handing Hamilton the first glass as he spoke, still remaining standing like the man before him was. “So,” he took a gulp of the drink, “What exactly can I do for Lieutenant Colonel Laurens and yourself this afternoon, sir?”

           “Last night, there was an ordeal involving the Marquis de Lafayette and Miss Fairfax,” Hamilton began. “From what we know,” he spoke casually, “There was an unidentified assailant along the edges of the camp while they had been out riding, and Miss Fairfax fell prey to the man’s violence.”

           Thaddeus’ heart stopped, he could have sworn it, but he plowed on.  Clearing his throat, he placed the glass on the side table and began. “That is horrible,” Thaddeus offered, “I am sure the girl is severely shaken and Laurens as well.”

           Having the audacity to treat this like a funny joke, Hamilton snorted as he sipped from his glass, emptying its contents before placing it down beside Thaddeus’ own. “Startled,” the redhead began, “Would be a gross understatement.” This dragged Thaddeus’ attention even more as the redhead looked him dead in the eyes, the words fuzzing in his mind as they drifted through the air. “Miss Fairfax was shot and has been in critical condition since the Marquis brought her in last night.”

           Thaddeus’ ears echoed with ringing.  It was shock that he was able to identify immediately.  Swallowing thickly, Thaddeus opened his mouth, words hovering on his tongue that would not come out. “You will excuse me for a moment, Colonel?” he more stated than asked the aide de camp, rushing quickly out of the room and into the room across the foyer.  He leaned against the wall blocking him from Hamilton’s sight, allowing tears to cloud his vision, stuffing his first in his mouth to keep his sobs hidden.

           Shot.

           Critical condition.

           Miss Fairfax, Lady Fairfax.  No, Adrienne.  Helen of Troy herself lay on a military cot in some house that existed in a place that resided in maps alone.  He did not know for sure, but the idea that she was alone in her pain.  It ached.  He ached.  He ached, and he could not stop it.  He tried to imagine her, skin warm, flushed cheeks, in that yellow dress.  He tried to imagine her as she had been, just moments before the fateful bullet struck her.  He tried to imagine her as she had been, with a thick red pooling around her, staining a stark contrast against the bright jacket he had unpinned minutes prior.

           The first one was easy.  Adrienne was beautiful, an angel on earth.  Her image burned itself into the memory of each person who laid eyes on the heavenly figure.  The way her blonde hair shone in the light of the fireplace entranced all those present, shining more spectacularly than any precious gem, more cherished than any sum of gold.  Her sweet voice captured every man lucky enough to be spared a word by the heiress.

           Helen of Troy was who Thaddeus thought he had laid eyes on that night in the dining room of Washington’s headquarters when he complimented her perhaps more boldly than he should have with John by his side.  The blonde had told him in an accent that sounded far too European to belong to a South Carolinan that the girl he was promised to was if a bit boring, incredibly pleasing to the eye.  He did not describe the beautiful blonde locks, the soft bluish-grey eyes that held exceptional amounts of intelligence for a lady of her age.  Nor the poise with which she carried herself, the way she analyzed the room, deciding who was and who was not worthy of her time based on a million factors all at once.  When he had heard that she was to dine at the Rush house, Thaddeus’ brash behavior took over once again, writing Benjamin Rush begging for an invitation on the same night.

           Thaddeus recalled that he had told the older man that he wished to become acquainted with all the types of people these foreign American states had to offer, and his previous positions had never allowed him the downtime to do such.  After some forceful convincing, he had acquired an invitation, fussing over his appearance for so long in an attempt to impress this Lady Fairfax that seemed to have bewitched him that he bordered on arriving after dinner was to start.  The poor man had never found himself at a loss of words, especially when it came to wooing those of the fairer sex, but whenever Thaddeus laid eyes on her, he barely remembered to breathe, let alone speak to her.  He had written a small note to himself on what he would say to her that he attempted to review in the carriage ride there, occupying his worrying mind with squinting at the parchment in his hands.

           That night had gone horribly.  He only made it through the opening of his rehearsed speech before she was dashing out the door.  She had seemed to entertain him as an asset, allowing Thaddeus the ability to continue to pursue a friendship with her.  That is until the Marquis showed up at his temporary quarters when the Colonel was dressing for bed, trudging all the way through the cold and snow to tell him that she shared his affections.  Thaddeus fell into his assigned bunk that night, a wide smile split across his face.  He had felt giddy again like he was experiencing his very first childhood crush anew.  

           Thaddeus could not imagine that picture of a girl laying half-dead in a cot, bleeding out under bandages.  He could not imagine that holy smile falling from her cheeks as she slipped into shock and pain, bleeding out beside that same boy who had risked hypothermia and pneumonia, among other things, just to tell the Colonel that he would help him, simply because Thaddeus made Adrienne happy.  It just was not possible.  He tried, and all that he could conjure was her.

           “I’m afraid I now owe him an apology for not believing in the angelic beauty that now stands before me.”  

           Adrienne stood there in the height of her pride, a thorough grasp on propriety calling for her feet to step away from him, panging his heart with the pains of distance, responded lightly, “That is certainly high praise, sir.  I only hope it is well deserved, Colonel Kościuszko.”

           “Colonel Kościuszko?” A voice echoed in his ears, its tone soft with such a hefty amount of concern that blended almost perfectly with the sweet chimes of Adrienne’s own voice, but it was not her speaking.  That was impossible. “Colonel Kościuszko, Are you alright?” The echo belonged to Alexander Hamilton, who was crouched slightly to meet Thaddeus’ eyes, searching them as if they were dazed from heavy shelling.  He wished he could have replied, but when he opened his mouth, a sob rose from his throat, choking him as it wracked his body, tumbling out his lips.

           Hamilton had grabbed him by the front of his coat, that much he was sure of, but the fiery redhead was stunned into silence when he finally got a good look at the Polish Colonel’s face.  There were half-dried tracks that contrasted against his skin like any burn or bayonet scar might; hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks against Thaddeus’ will.  They tumbled out one after the other, only to fall in splotches on the skin of the man holding him up against the wall.

           Hamilton’s tight grasp on his coat was the only thing keeping Thaddeus from falling to the floor under buckled knees.  He could feel the strain in the man’s hands and knew that his deadweight would likely bring both of them down to the floor.  Thaddeus tried to push the man away, willing to take a slight fall, allowing his knees to hit the floor if it meant that the other man was unbothered.  Hamiltons should not see this.  There was no explanation for such behavior.  He was not her fiance, they were just barely friends as it is.

           He tried to push Hamilton away, but the man refused to budge his hands, slowly lowering to a kneeling position as Thaddeus’ body weight dragged them both to the floor.  It was when his legs made contact with the floor he stopped fighting the aide de camp, allowing his body to collapse, shaking with sobs and tears, into the chest of Colonel Hamilton.

           He should have seen it coming.  This pesky blonde seemed to charm any man she interacted with, and Colonel Kościuszko was such a tender target that sinking her claws into him must have been the easiest thing she has ever done.  However, Hamilton recalled, Kościuszko was undoubtedly aware of John’s position as her fiance.  That could make things a bit messy.

           He should have seen it coming when he first saw them talking, some days after the dinner party at Headquarters.  They were by the fireplace in the foreign work office, and they were shameless.  If Hamilton had not seen Lafayette approaching, he might have gone to fetch John.  That certainly would have been enough proof for the blonde Lieutenant Colonel to abstain in marrying the heiress his father had arranged for him, at least for a few more months.  

           He should have seen it coming when the man excused himself from their conversation.  The distant look of a soldier in shock was evident in his eyes.  Hamilton knew what this looked like to a detailed degree.  His time as a field artillery Captain provided him with plenty of haunted faces to follow him around in the silence.  That is why he hated it so.  

           He should have seen it coming before Kościuszko collapsed into him, the fact that his knees had buckled from under him slipped past the dazed man’s notice.  He should have seen the signs before the Polish officer was crumpled into a sobbing heap on his chest, but he did not.  He should tell John about what he now knew, but Hamilton had already failed several things today.  What is one more to add to the list?  Alexander did not care for the girl.  He saw straight through her sweet and youthful innocence.  It was a facade; it had to be.  He knew the moment he looked her in the eyes for the very first time.  

           Adrienne Fairfax was terrifying.  She was terrifying, and Alexander was the only one who acknowledged it.  He had seen it in her eyes so easily because he sees it in his own.  There was an amount of intelligence, ambition that no woman should have.  She had intellect, industry, and a charisma that could charm any person she came across, bending them to her will like a little girl with her dolls, and it was terrifying.  General Washington had this connection to her that Alexander could never quite place.  He never talked about how he came to know this family of aristocrats, how he was chosen by a man with enough wealth to fund his own revolution to watch over and protect his only child.  Alexander could never quite place it, but she used it against George, whatever connection they have, strong-arming the man into actions that would have never been made if not for her coercion.  Alexander could never quite place it, and that was terrifying.

           Hamilton’s surprise as the Polish man cried into him, a man that the dark-haired Colonel had only shared perhaps two or three casual conversations with, was tremendous.  The thought hit him just as suddenly, but he found himself searching for some truth in it.  If this reaction was anything to go off of, as well as John and his sudden and quick connection, Alexander might have just walked headfirst and blindfolded into something he did not want or need to know about.  The night Kościuszko, Lady Fairfax, and his John had met after the house had gone to sleep, came to the top of his head, and Hamilton decided then that he was not protecting the terrifyingly manipulative blonde, but rather his relationship with John, his dearest John.

           So the men kneeled, crumpled on the floor for quite some time before Colonel Kościuszko’s legs were strong enough again for him to make his way upstairs.  Hamilton left the house alone, riding back empty-handed, but with a full mind.

Chapter Text

           Alexander Hamilton dressed himself for the day, donning his breeches and cravat in a timely manner, shouldering his coat, and attaching the green sash to his waist. He moved with purpose, grabbing John’s discarded shirt from the small desk in their shared room as well as needle and thread before marching down the stairs to the second floor of the Potts house. He cracked open the door to the room that should have been shared by the Marquis de Lafayette and McHenry quietly, taking a seat at the chair that had been pulled up beside the cot now occupied by the girl.  

           McHenry was sleeping, not a sound coming from his cot in the corner as the man laid still as the dead. The only sound in the room was Alexander’s boots against the wooden floors.  

           Curiously, the redhead reached out with his hand, placing his palm against the forehead of the girl before him. Her skin looked as cold as ice, and felt it too. No infectious fever had set into her bones yet. But he knew this familiar parlor in the tone of her skin, the chill one felt upon touching it. He had seen it before. He had seen it in his mother, Rachel, all those years ago. He had seen it in his cousin Peter after he was found. Alexander had seen it on himself. There was an infection, and it certainly seemed to be winning.  

           Hamilton sighed to himself, placing the shirt in his hand down on the room’s desk, right beside the open medical case, before leaving the room. The redhead slipped silently back up into the garret room, grabbing one of the standard-issue blankets from John’s cot and marching back down the stairs. Entering the room once again, he unfolded the wool blanket and draped it out over the girl. The extra layer would do her some good. Alexander knew she had an aversion to the cold, even on her healthiest of days. Her slight frame gave way to a certain kind of intolerance and susceptibility.

           Looking over the girl, Alexander began to feel the chill of the room himself, and his eyes drifted to the fireplace. The small amount of wood piled next to it suddenly looked very appealing. The additional warmth would certainly do her good, and perhaps a wet rag over the bottom seam of the windows at night would as well. So, Hamilton approached the fireplace, placing a few of the logs in its hearth and sparking a small flame. It was not much, but it was undoubtedly better.

           He took a seat in the chair by her bedside, once again being in possession of John’s shirt. Alexander threaded the needle, pulling it through where the sleeve met the shoulder seam at the first bit of fabric that began the small tear. She was barely breathing, he noted such as he continued his stitching. “You should be doing this, you know?” Hamilton said aloud as if she could hear him. “Though no doubt you would simply purchase an entirely new shirt and call it done,” he muttered to himself, “But we can’t all afford that.”

           He spoke to fill the silence. Alexander hated silence.  

           It did not take long till he was prattling on to himself about every little thing, his schedule, the work piling up on his desk, ranting about all the translation work that was still left unfinished. Between all of his muttering, time began to slip together; Hamilton had just finished his stitching when the soft murmur of another began to join him.

           He hated silence. Alexander Hamilton hated the silence, but for one moment of his life, he silently pleaded with the divine forces of the universe that it would return to the room once again. He knew what these little mutters and gasps were. The little girl before him had broken her silence, consciousness wavering before her, taunting her as she struggled. Consciousness had approached her only to torment the poor girl with the false reality of hallucinations and lucid dreams.  

           So, Hamilton watches, alert, as she struggles with her heavy limbs, face contorting in pain and fear. He watched, alert so that he might save her from any unnecessary pains. He watched, alert, ready to hold her down to the bed and stop the stitches from tearing open the already infected wound.

           Her mutterings were gibberish, and Alexander was thankful for that. There were no cries for parents who would never be here. Nor were there cries for friends that he knew. The Marquis should be here. He was the only one who could ever comfort the girl. There were no cries for lovers. Not his Jack, his sweet Jack Laurens that deserved so much better than his lot in life. Not Colonel Kościuszko, though Alexander wasn’t quite sure what the relationship between the two was exactly.

           Her mutterings were gibberish. And Alexander was thankful.

           Her mutterings were gibberish and going to wake up Mchenry if she kept it up. Hamilton jumped to his feet, leaning over her body to hold her to the mattress by her shoulders. Adrienne began to thrash at his touch, forcing him to grip her tighter. She began to cry out, forcing him to hush her comfortingly. She began to hyperventilate, forcing him to remind her to breathe.  

           The blue of his coat contrasted against the fading blue of her once cream and pink skin.

She could die, and the last person that would ever see her living and breathing would be him. Alexander could be there when she died. And for some reason, tears began to water in his eyes.  

A voice, just above a whisper, spoke its owner, grabbing hold of the redhead’s uniform cuff. “Colonel Hamilton.”

           Adrienne regained her consciousness at the distant echo of crackling logs in a fireplace. She could hear the headache inspiring pounding of boots on the floor. She could not, however, move. She could not move a single muscle in her body, she could not speak, and she could not feel the cot supporting her.

           The echoes were worse when the voice spoke. The sound rung in her ears, any hope at comprehension lost as the muffled phrases cause her to struggle against the pressure holding her limbs still.

           The ringing continued until it numbed her brain. The distant crackling, mixed with the voice’s echo, forced her into a dazed state. She drifted away from where she lay, allowing her efforts at movement to flicker out as her mind wandered far away from where the tiny house in which she would likely die.  

           Belvoir was always warm to Adrienne. The imposing facade, elaborate decor, and imported marble floors were intimidating to most of the guests. It was designed for such an effect. The house was, by the family’s station, public grounds. But William Fairfax made sure that those who entered knew deep down it was not theirs.  

           Each room, hall, and staircase had no expense spared. The estate was expensive, the only one like it in the colonies, finer than the governor’s palace itself. It was designed to make the visitor feel its imposing nature. Adrienne could vividly remember her mother’s receiving room, decorated in lavish shades of pink, gold, and white.

           The furniture was not for comfort. Each piece was stiff and upholstered with various extravagantly expensive fabrics. Those who were permitted to sit in the Countess’ audience were made aware of their position the moment they sat down. They may be level with her, but the chairs were designed to become a nuisance.  

           Adrienne could recall how her mother would make the young girl sit in the chairs for hours at a time, insisting upon it as a part of her etiquette education. It was during such times that his mother told her why the chairs were uncomfortable in such ways. The well-trained and highly born lady would be able to sit in such a chair without a single complaint, her manners and demeanor staying precisely within the teachings of a strict governess.

           The proper lady never showed weakness and extracted it from those around them. It was how a girl protected herself.

           It was the only way a girl could protect herself.

           But Belvior had always been warm to Adrienne. 

           The rows of books piled up on the library’s oak shelves and the light of the fireplace as it illuminated her father’s office always glowed with warmth. The blue and white chintz contrast of her own rooms shined with happiness from memories of her youth. The entrance hall engulfed her in her father’s warm hugs that she would receive whenever he would return to them from Williamsburg.

           The family room and dining quarters were so etched in her mind that not even three years away from her beloved home could erase them.  

           And Belvoir was always warm to Adrienne.

           Adrienne remembered the day her parents set out for Norfolk to board a ship to England. They had not even told her they were leaving until the night before. They did not explain themselves. They did not give her a reason why. All they told her was that they were leaving.

           They were leaving.

           Adrienne was not.

           They were leaving, and they were leaving her behind.

           They were leaving her behind and sending her away. 

           She began to wonder that night if she would ever see Belvoir’s halls again. Mount Vernon was nice, but it was not Belvoir.

           Mount Vernon was always cold to Adrienne. It was hardly George and Martha’s fault. They tried. They tried to make her happy. They tried to pretend that she was not sad. They tried to pretend that they were not sad.

           Both families had lost a daughter. The Fairfaxes were forced to give up their youngest, their pride and joy, because of a revolution. The Washingtons were forced away from their youngest, little Patsy, because of the cruelty of nature and fate.

           The Washingtons would never see their Patsy again after that horrible seizure. And the Fairfaxes might never see their darling girl again after this gory revolution.  

           Adrienne was confused at first.

           No one told her anything. She did not know there had been a motion for independence at the Williamsburg assembly. No one had told her it passed.  

           Adrienne was confused at first.

           She had not seen the papers declaring the occurrence of the Boston Massacre. She had not seen George leave one morning for Pennsylvania. She had not been told why she was left behind, but she was a smart girl.

           Her father had always pointed out that she was an incredibly smart girl. She figured it out.

           When Martha brought her to Cambridge, she realized what was happening. She did not say anything, but she knew. She knew when she saw the muskets leaned against walls. She knew when she saw the maps sprawled out across the dining hall table. She knew they were at war.

           If anyone happened to ask her what side she supported, she always replied that she favored no sides, adding that the whole war was a gross misuse of the British citizen’s individual rights. No one ever saw it that way. They said she was stupid, that she was just too young to understand it, that she was a woman and would never understand it, that she was naive.  

           She was not naive. Adrienne knew this. She also knew that she took more pride in herself, emphasizing her title with more satisfaction than she ever remembered doing in her life. She dressed more elaborate, trading her linens and simple sash gowns for brightly colored silks, each embroidered and accessorized to utmost levels of luxury. She became colder, more calculated in her thoughts and actions. Adrienne knew this.

           Everyone called it maturity.

           She hated it. This was not maturity. This was self-defense.

           This is the only way a woman could protect herself.

           The ringing had stopped. She did not know why.  

           Adrienne tried to move, to clench her fingers, and they twitched. She could feel a hand. It rested carefully on her shoulder. She could feel the other hand, resting on the other shoulder. Her eyes began to crack open. She saw a red hue upon the head. The slightly tanned skin was her next clue.

           Through the pain flaring from her abdomen, she managed to inch her hand up to grasp the soldier’s cuff. “Colonel Hamilton?”

           He froze. She had woken up, even swallowed enough of the pain to speak. And the first thing she said since regaining consciousness was his name.

           He panicked. Lafayette should be here. McHenry should be awake. He should not be here.  

           He could not be here.  

           “No, my dear,” he whispered, “It is John.”

           “John,” she whispered, the name tumbling from her lips like a prayer. The name that was not hers to say flowed from her lips like a river.  

           Did she know he preferred to be called Jack? Did she know that he hated the way his wounds look upon his skin? Had she held him as an anchor for his wandering mind? How many times had she called him so casually? Had she called him such in passion? Alexander found that he had no desire to know.  

           Alexander knew that the answers to these questions would destroy him.

           Alexander knew that pondering these questions would destroy him.  

           “I thought,” she mumbled, stuttering through her words, “I thought I saw red-”

           Alexander cut her off, gently pushing her, urging her to store up her energy. “It is ok, my dear. Save your energy for McHenry.” she mumbled some more, likely as an attempt at a reply. The mumble was incoherent, and so he continued, “He will want to check on you.”

           She struggled, shaking her head weakly in a plea. “No,” she croaked out, “No.”

           She was pleading with him. Begging him to avoid the poking and prodding of a physician. He knew the dread of the ordeal. The poking of pain and uncomfortable positioning of the prodding were enough to make him want to never fall ill again. “He has to,” he offered as comfort, “You cannot get better if he does not know how to help you.”

           She whimpered, and Alexander felt a pang in his chest. She looked so young. She was so young. She never should have had this pain thrust upon her.  

           Alexander had known pain from a young age. It was how he survived. It was how he made it to America. How he survived everything that the harsh North American winters threw at the Continental Army. And it made him who he was. But no one should have to go through such experiences. That was what John would say.

           John was wonderful at comforting people. He was always so full of emotion and empathy. He was always careful and tender.

           So he did what John would do, slowly and carefully lowering his body closer to the bed, aware of every sound in the room. He bent down and allowed his lips to softly land on the chilled skin of her forehead, so close that he could not help breathing in her perfume. “It will be ok, my dear.”

           McHenry had awoken to an empty room. A proper check-up had been done on Miss Fairfax; she was deemed well enough to be propped up for a short while.  

           Now, however, she was laying back down, sleeping due to a large dose of pain medication. Lafayette sat beside her bed, eating his dinner when he realized there were two blankets on top of the blonde before him. Placing down his silverware, he got up and went to investigate, a blue ‘a.h’ sewn into the corner catching his eye. ‘Alexander, you softie,’ he thought affectionately to himself, pocketing the information for some light blackmail against the redhead later.

Chapter Text

            Major John Andre resided on the chair behind Benjamin Franklin’s desk, hesitantly tapping the top of his quill upon the mahogany. “So, explain this to me again.  You went through a series of interviews in the tent holding the information Howe desired, and rather than grab it and go, you slit the throat of the intelligence head, grabbed the wrong papers, and then shot at someone who you could not recognize?”

            Lieutenant Gamble stood before his superior, head bowed slightly, and lips pulled tight. “It appears,” he began, “That your summary would be accurate.” He paused before grudgingly adding, “Sir.”

            Andre sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw in thought. “I cannot overlook this,” he sighed, “Howe must be made aware of your actions.” Bradford opened his mouth to reply.  He might have begged and pleaded for forgiveness from the Major, termination of his ‘favorable’ position, or smacked the man clean across the face.  Unfortunately, General Howe chose that exact moment to enter through the grand doors of the house, completely unexpected.

            Howe marched down the hall to the room Andre and Bradford, and it was clear to both men that he was furious. “What is the meaning of this, John?” the man demanded, practically slamming a letter sealed with an unfamiliar mark upon the desk.

            He looked at the letter, addressed personally to the General, before meeting the fuming man’s eyes once more. “I haven’t the slightest clue, sir.”

            “Open the damn letter!” he roared, releasing a huff as he sunk into a chair alongside the wall.

            John was not commonly asked to look inside the General’s personal mail, so he approached the letter with all due caution, moving the already broken seal to unfold the paper.  His eyes scanned over the words, and he was hit with confusion and a growing sense of dread the more times he read it.  When he was finished, he placed the letter slowly back onto the desk as his eyes focused on the shakily signed name at the foot of the paper. “Sir, I am afraid that I do not understand.”

            Howe scoffed, huffing frustration seeping through his voice sharply, “What is there not to understand, John? It is all there clear as day.”

            “What I do not understand is why the Marquis de Lafayette would write to you personally with such accusations,” John spoke, letting a breath pass loudly from his lips, “And to do so under his own seal.  It does not make any sense, sir.”

            “You wish for me to question its contents?” Howe asked, raising an eyebrow in humorous displeasure.  He continued on with a further explanation at John’s own lack of reply. “It is not his seal the boy wrote under,” Howe replied, pointing out what seemed obvious to himself because of his own familiarity with the symbol, “He wrote under the seal of Lady Fairfax, my goddaughter.”

            “Has she not yet arrived?”

            “No,” the older man replied, “She has not.  This letter came instead.” He stomped his foot twice with no real severity as he spoke. “This letter from a trusted friend of hers, for some reason.  A letter that claims that one of your misplaced spies shot my goddaughter!”

            The brick dropped in John’s stomach at the realization.  He had not before been phased about selling Gamble’s misdemeanors out to the man mere moments prior, but now he was faced with a paralyzing decision. 

            A few lashes and court-martial was one thing, but revoking a commission and expulsion from the army was another entirely.  The first one, he would not feel any regret sentencing any offending man, enlisted or officer, to face.  The second one sat ill with him, however.  Many of the men here depended on the income they received for their families.  Many of them did not have families in the first place.  

            “Lieutenant Gamble, you will wait in the front parlor,” John spoke finally, “While General Lord Howe and I discuss this unexpected turn of events.”

            “I want the man, John,” Howe spoke passionately, slightly red in the face from their rather heated bickering. “I want nothing besides the man who shot my darling goddaughter to be discharged immediately and sent far away from both her and me.”

            “Sir, you are not rational,” John defended.

            “Oh, I am more than rational,” Howe chuckled threateningly, “If I had it my way, the man would have his head removed from his own shoulders and placed on a pike.”

John sighed.  This was going to be more challenging than he thought. “Sir, I am begging with you to choose a restrained punishment.  He will be found guilty by a court-martial, undoubtedly, and they will punish him accordingly.”

            “Those cowards?” the General scoffed, “They would not know what an accurate punishment is if it shot them in the left buttocks.”

            “Sir,” John pleaded, knowing how often the General often gets ahead of himself, “How about I send my man to the brig for the evening and we revisit this topic tomorrow after we both have had time to think about our actions, and our words.”

            “Do not address me as if I am a petulant child, John, I am your superior and Commanding officer,” Howe snapped, before sighing and rising from his chair. “I expect you at my office, at 7am sharp tomorrow morning, John.”

            Dinner was served late and was larger than normal.  That was at least a small mercy.

The last two days’ worth of events had left all of those on General Washington’s staff trained by both the emotional and physical exhaustion provided inside the tiny Pott’s house.

            Robert Harrison had seen quite a few things in his time as a soldier in the army, but this was one of the most absurd situations he had yet to encounter.  Robert had seen many things before they happened, the potential for lost paperwork, who would fall ill first, the likelihood for Laurens to fall out of bed in the morning.  It was merely what he did. Harrison had not noticed, however, a particular young blonde that frequented the winter encampment.  The familiar name was thrown around the work office occasionally, but he never had paid it any mind.  It was not until he was carrying the bleeding blonde up the stairs with Tench and Hamilton that he indeed took notice of her.

            She was a lot like her mother, but she never used to be. 

            She used to be so very different.  The bright yellow silk of her quilted gown was unlike anything he recalled seeing her younger self in.  The younger Lady Fairfax donned almost exclusively linen gowns unless so directed by her mother.  Harrison could remember the many times he saw the young blonde in her pure white linen, accented with variously colored sashes or flowered prints.  Her blonde curls were mostly left to lie freely behind her, having only the top of her head rolled into some sort of style.  

            Dinner was served late, and that was a blessing.  Harrison now observed the table’s topic, listening as the young girl’s name was brought to the conversation.

            “So, John,” Tilghman asked as he chewed, taking a stab at yet another vegetable upon his plate with a fork, “What exactly is that young lady upstairs like?”

            The unusually quiet Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens simply shrugged as he chewed, replying, “Stuck up.  High strung, like any of those spoiled heiresses are.  This one just happens to have a title to back her tantrums up.”

            Harrison frowned.  He could not recall that little girl, all of 15 the last he spoke with her, ever acting in the way John had described.  She was well-bred, indeed, and had no notion of the customs of those outside her own social class, but never in a self-absorbed or spoiled way.  She was a kind soul who was always eager to include others in her festive view of life.  On such a note, Harrison recalled that he owed most of his table manners to the young lady.  During his time in the Fairfax militia, the young girl was delighted whenever he would act as a courier for his commanding officer, often calling for an entire spread of tea to be arranged upon his arrival.  He could recall the many hours he spent over those two and a half years at a tea table in her very own receiving parlor.

            It was undoubtedly a comical sight, to be sure, but those visits had been the highlight of his weeks for quite some time.  His wives had not produced any children at the time, so the older man almost considered the girl his own.

            At Tench’s question, the Marquis, who had joined them to eat, stood, grabbing hold of his plate and silverware. “I am sure our dear Laurens means nothing by his comments, Marquis,” replied Tilghman, “Please, sir, stay.”

            “I assure you, sirs, this has nothing to do with the Lieutenant Colonel’s comments,” The Marquis replied respectively, “I simply have been struck by the desire to take my dinner upstairs.”

Meade sighed, calling after Lafayette as he retreated, “Hovering over Lady Fairfax will not magically make her better, Marquis.”

            The younger man paused in his steps to formulate a reply. “I cannot wish to single-handedly heal her, but the very least I can do is make every attempt to be there when she wakes.”

            The boy continued on his path, and Harrison’s eyes followed.  Those two made quite a pair, he was sure.  They were so similar in personality and character that there was no stopping such a solid bond from being formed between them.

            The room was silent when he spoke, “Those two are awfully close.  If I had not found out he was married, I would have expected him to propose.”

            This time all those at the table looked at him, prompting Harrison to raise an eyebrow in confusion.  It was Laurens who spoke up first with a jest rolling clean off his tongue, “I should rightfully hope not.  My father would be furious.”

            Harrison’s look of utter confusion did not move from his face, “Laurens, what on earth should such a jest mean?”

            At this, Hamilton snorted beside him as Laurens spoke, “Lady Fairfax is my intended, Harrison.  My father wishes to have us wed before the start of the summer campaign.”

            “That young lady is your fiance?” Harrison questioned, shocked, “Good God, she surely cannot have consented to such a thing?  She is still underage, is she not?”

            John snorted into his plate, “I do not think she was given much say in the matter, Harrison.  Lord knows she could have plenty of more willing men scrambling for a chance at her hand, had she been given the chance.”

            “Then perhaps that is why you were selected,” offered Tilghman, waving his fork as he spoke, “Because you did not scramble.”

            A momentary pause was followed by his comment as John refused to deny his assumption.

            “I just wanna know how he’s gonna screw her.”

            Every man at the table released a groan, except for Hamilton, who had spoken so brashly. “You know,” quipped Meade, “I do recall there being something in the holy book about coveting the wife of thy neighbor, Hamilton.”

            “As do I,” agreed Fitzgerald, adding, “I should be bothered by such comments if I were Colonel Laurens.”

            “Then perhaps we shall trade positions, sir,” John jested, poking fun at the older man, “As you seem to have taken to my fiance far more than I.”

            Tench snorted, “Now that would be cradle robbery, would it not, my dear old secretary?  A larger than 10-year gap surely constitutes the term?”

            “I do not know what you are trying to imply here, Tench,” responded Harrison, humorously accusing the man.

            “That you are far too old to have entertained a second wife of so few years, perhaps?” offered Tilghman humorously, lips quirked up in a smile as his eyes gleamed at his own humor.

            Harrison simply scoffed, refusing to refute his comments, deflecting with a grumble over the affectionate nickname his fellow aides had given to the office’s elder father figure. “But back to the original point,” Hamilton spoke casually, waving his fork to Meade and Fitzgerald. “The one I had I had brought up before being brutally attacked by these papists.  How is he gonna screw her?”

            “You are not going to drop this topic, are you, Ham?”

            “Not until I have been satisfied with an answer.”

            John sighed, allowing his fork to clatter as it fell upon his plate. “Alexander, has it ever occurred to you that I do not casually entertain such thoughts?” he asked, tiredness in his voice as he rubbed his temples.

            “It has, and it was promptly dismissed because I know you, John,” Hamilton replied cheekily. “All I ask is a simple answer to a simple question.”

            John looked at Hamilton, staring at him silently for a moment as the redhead paid him no real mind.  He then sighed, arms crossed and leaning back in his chair, “No idea, but I would imagine on a bed, and preferably in the dark.” The room was silent for a moment as the Lieutenant Colonel shifted up in his chair, releasing his arms from their position and picking up his fork to stab a piece of meat.  He spoke quietly, so much so that Harrison himself could barely hear it, fork pressed against his lips. “Assuming she survives.”

            After dinner was concluded, the boys went to join the General in his office for their evenings together.  Still, tonight Harrison declined to join them, sending a pleading Tilghman away as he wearily climbed the staircase.  Arriving on the landing, his eyes drifted to the closed door of the room housing Lady Fairfax in her deteriorating health.  He looked upon the door and debated in his mind, eventually rationing that he was only entering to collect the Marquis, who was likely still there. 

            Opening the door, letting it creak on its hinges, Harrison entered the room.  It was silent.  The fire in the fireplace had simmered down and was dying out quickly.  The room was cold, and poor McHenry, sleeping by the window, was shivering in his sleep.  The old secretary’s heart ached at the sight, Robert H. Harrison may deny it aloud, but he did care for these boys as if they were sons, regardless of their age.  He wished to comfort the boy, lend him another blanket, but there was not a single strip of fabric to be spared all the way around camp.  

            Harrison turned his head to the bed against the wall close to the fireplace.  Just as he had predicted, the Marquis still sat beside her in the uncomfortable chair.  The poor boy was hunched over, his chin dropping against his chest.  He had fallen asleep here.  Harrison carefully approached, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder and startling him from his sleep.

            The young Marquis looked groggily up at the older man, distorted for a moment as he straightened up. “My apologies, Monsieur Harrison, have you been sent to collect me?” he asked softly.

            “No, Marquis,” he assured quietly, “I came to wake you so that you might properly retire.” Lafayette looked at him, then shifted his eyes hesitantly to the bed. “She will still be here when you awake.  From what I hear, she even woke up for a short while today.  I do not think she would be pleased to see you in a miserable condition on her behalf.”

            “What would you know about her wishes?” the younger boy snapped, suddenly defensive over her, “you do not understand her nearly as much as I do.  She would want me to be here.”  Harrison was quiet for a moment.  He could not fault the boy for being defensive.  He would have snapped in such a situation too.  The Marquis was distressed, and there was no reason to feed into his distress.  So when Harrison remained silent, the Marquis spoke, softer, “I apologize.  I did not mean to speak so harshly.  I do not know what came over me.”

            “I do,” Harrison spoke tenderly, “You are worried for her.  Her condition distresses you, and you do not know how else to express the frustrations.” He squeezed the Marquis’s shoulder tightly, “I will not accept your apology, nor do I fault you for your actions.  Any such apology is wholly unnecessary.” The Marquis murmured a quiet thank you to the man and rose from his chair as Harrison talked. “You know, I do know her slightly more than you think.”

            Lafayette did not stop, shuffling towards the door as he spoke, “And how exactly did you come across such qualifications?”

            “I knew her father.  I met her when she was only 13 years of age, at her family home,” Harrison explained. “When I first joined the army, I joined as a part of the Fairfax militia.”

            The Marquis was quiet as he stood before the door of the small guest room, a short ‘oh’ begging spoken as he twisted the knob.  Lafayette turned to face the old secretary, giving his good nights, “Then I do believe you might know her even better than I, sir.”

            “I am unsure of that much confidence,” Harrison deferred, offering his own good night, “I simply knew her.  She appears to be much changed.”

            Lafayette spoke thoughtlessly as he entered the room, “So it would appear, but I assure you, it is the world that has changed, Colonel Harrison.  Lady Fairfax has not.”

Chapter Text

           Adrienne felt awful.  She had been poked and prodded and drawn out across this uncomfortable cot by McHenry as Rush sat preparing something on the table.  She felt nauseous as he pushed on her stomach, feeling the ghost of bile rise in her throat.  After a few dry heaves, she luckily managed to spit up something, settling her stomach for just a moment.  

           She wished to push him off her trembling figure as she felt more liquid rise in her throat.  Adrienne groaned, trying weakly to murmur out a warning before the liquid spewed from her lips, but alas, to no avail.  McHenry poked her in the stomach perfectly as the bile rose to her mouth, forcing Adrienne to vomit all over his front and her own lap.

           The Colonel cringed at the feeling, rising from his position on the cot slowly to wipe himself off. “I do not know what you expected her to do,” Benjamin Rush replied, “She did try to warn you.”

           “It is difficult to tell the difference between refusal of treatment and a warning,” McHenry grumbled in response. “If she did not insist on fighting my treatment, then this would not have happened in the first place.”

           He then walked back over to Adrienne, next forcing her mouth open to inspect her throat.  He was pleased, though by what she could not tell.  The soreness in her jaw from having it roughly held open overshadowed any victory of a satisfactory examination.  She was exhausted, wishing for nothing more than to be left alone as she usually was with the silence and cold.  They never brought her such pain.  

           Adrienne wanted it all to stop.

           Her stomach ached with pain, small bruises forming from all of the days of previous but similar treatment.

           Her stomach ached with pains of hunger.  She had not been fed anything since first waking from her coma-like state.  Nothing substantial, at least.  And surely not enough to withstand all of the purgings she was put through daily. 

           Shivering, Adrienne struggled with attempting to lay down the moment his hands released her, only to be caught by her shoulder and propped back up in the cot.  She ached, shivering as if she did not have a thin layer of sweat lining her skin, sticking to everything it touched.

           “I have only the bandages to rearrange,” McHenry spoke, more to Rush than herself, his patient, “I shall apply the last of the sugar of lead she shall need for the wound to help itself.  Then we may better focus on attending to the infection at hand.”

           “Then, there is no more discharge?” Rush asked nonchalantly, not looking up from his work.

           “None,” McHenry confirmed.

           As his hands reached out for her again, she tried to pull herself away from them, weakly pushing out protest, begging to the best of her ability for some respite from the pain.  Adrienne knew that the lead-covered bandages were meant to be uncomfortable, but she did not expect them to burn.  They did not burn like an open flame over her wound, but rather like the carpet burn she had become familiar with throughout most of her childhood.  They burned across her pale skin, leaving irritated and sensitive skin with brightly tinted lines of pink in their wake.  It often felt like she was being bound in a coarse rope, restricting her comfort and stationary position.  

           McHenry reached out for her chemise, and she tried her best to shy away from his hand, using up what little strength she had left.  However, her efforts were in vain as the hands soon found their way around her torso, cloth bandages in hand.

           Once the outer linen bandages were finished, Rush stood, placing his leafy mixture into a cup, pouring hot water over the leaves to brew a remedial tea.   He approached her with the mug in hand, explaining that it was a mix made of sassafras and dogwood to help with her infection.  Benjamin Rush also included that she would need to drink three mugs a day as a filler for her meals, crushing such hopes she might have had about soothing the ache beneath her bandages.  

           It was then, when the two men then retired from the room, calling for her maidservant to prepare her in a clean chemise, free of her own bloody bile.  

           After Ona had retired from the room, allowing her mistress to moan in pain upon filthy sheets, not due to be replaced until the day following, did a familiar redhead entered the room.

           Adrienne whined slightly at the sight of the blue uniform, her delirious pain induced state, causing her to fail to respond to Colonel Hamilton’s presence with any dignity whatsoever.

“Do not sit up on my account,” he assured her, standing just inside the bedroom’s door rather awkwardly.  He approached her with a bundle in his hand.  Had she been lucid, she would have realized the parcel as a napkin.

He had taken to looking at the table, noticing the churned flora in the mortar bowl and the pot of hot water beside it. “Is this intended to be a brew of tea?” he asked, picking up the mug rush had left uncleaned on the table. “It appears to be just about as edible as it looks,” Hamilton snorted, placing the mug back down on the table.  

           He thrust out the napkin to her practically just above her lap for her hands to grab.  He watched as Adrienne unfolded the corners weakly. “It is bread,” he stated, “I figured that you would be in need of something a bit more substantial than air, or in your case tea, so I snuck it from tonight’s dinner preparations.  From the kitchen.”

           She murmured out a thank you, eagerly attempting to use her remaining energy to eat as many of the slices she could.  McHenry and Doctor Rush would not take kindly to finding such a thing.  So, if she intended to have any, it had to be while Colonel Hamilton was present so that he could return the napkin and hide their trail.  Adrienne ate about a slice and a half before allowing the Colonel to retire with the remains, not wishing to further tempt her stomach after today’s purging.

           “They ought to get a fire started in here soon,” Hamilton remarked as he wrapped up the bread.  Rising to his feet, Alexander looked over at her and began as if he wished to say more but decided to start over before so much as uttering a single word. “This changes nothing between us,” he said- who he was convincing was unclear, “I still loathe you as much as I have always loathed you, but that does not mean that it is acceptable for me to watch as you are killed from a healable malady.” And with that, he gave her a curt nod, making his way out the door as quickly as possible, likely to join the rest of the staff for a meal she was forbidden from participating in for the foreseeable future.

           Adrienne finally allowed herself to collapse into a fitful sleep, the pain in her torso dragging her under as the pangs of hunger subsided significantly beneath the burn of the lead soaked bandages.

           Adrienne’s head was pounding as if McHenry had seen it fit to drop a massively large book upon her right temple.  The incessant pounding became so horribly painful; it jolted her from her sleep at the very same moment a pair of boots approached the door. “McHenry?” a voice called out through the door, its owner’s hand wrapping around the door frame.

           Adrienne cried out in pain at the voice’s volume, looking towards the door to see who was so loud.  John Laurens’s blonde queue sat behind his neck, neatly tied with a ribbon as green as his aide de camp sash.

           “Oh,” he said in a small voice.  John clearly had not expected her to be alone, or awake, an awkward mood falling between them.  John ushered himself into the room, politely averting his eyes aside from her indecent figure as he spoke. “May it be my place as to inquire on the success of your treatment, Miss Fairfax?” Adrienne opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed it as her eyes blew wide in surprise. “Miss Fairfax?” John asked cautiously, stepping closer to her in order to ascertain the cause for her sudden shift in demeanor.  He reached out to place his hand on her own, squatting down to the height of the cot, “Are you alright?”

           Her eyes did not get any smaller, letting out a panicked whimper as she failed to answer his question.  Before he could question her further, however, her stomach emptied itself once more unto the Lieutenant Colonel’s boots.  He grimaced, at the sight, noting the thin layer of sweat across her forehead as he replied. “I assume that treatment is not progressing as hoped then.”

           Adrienne panted, attempting to mutter out an apology and roll herself from the cot to assist him in cleaning the boots, but John’s steady hand upon her shoulder halted any further movement. “That is quite alright.  Please do not strain yourself for me,” he assured her in a most comforting tone that did well to soothe her guilty constitution.  John tenderly rearranged her back on the bed, draping the blankets over her. “I am more than capable of cleaning my boots, but perhaps you will allow me to assist you, madam?” he questioned. “I am sure that your temperature would much improve with your hair pulled back.”

           She nodded weakly, allowing him to pull a ribbon-like the one in his own hair from the uniform breeches.  He looked meekly from Adrienne and the ribbon back to Adrienne as he explained, “I tend to lose mine halfway through the day, so I have learned to carry extras.”

           He continued talking as he pulled her hair into a neat braid. “I have always preferred to forgo a braid in the mornings.  It allows me to sleep in a short bit longer after Harrison makes his rounds.” Adrienne smiled, laughter failing to grace her voice.

           But John recognized her attempted show of amusement and continued. “I am always the last of us aides to be in the office downstairs, usually sporting a rather large bruise from either knocking my head on the ceiling or being rolled out of bed,” he explained. “It is really a terrible habit of mine, comes from one too many years of doing nothing, I suppose.”

           He finished off the braid, neatly tying the ribbon into a bow.  One of his soft hands fell to hold Adrienne’s own weak one, squeezing her tiny hand lightly with his much larger one.  John offered her a small smile before he spoke, “I cannot stay much longer, my dear.  I have a few letters that are urgent for delivery that must be distributed, but I shall do my best to visit once more.” He propped himself back upon his feet, stopping halfway to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Get some rest if possible.  You shall need your strength.”

           The sound of boots coming up the stairs to the garret room alerted John as he sat in the room’s chair, scrubbing away at his boots.  The Lieutenant Colonel remained scrubbing the remaining throw up from his shoes as he glanced up to see who had cracked open the door.  He sighed, sitting up straight, allowing the rag to fall from his hand to rest beside his boot, “Alexander.”

           “Ah, so you are awake then?”

           John scoffed, “Dear God, do you all honestly believe me to be that horrible of a late sleeper?” 

           Hamilton just shrugged as he entered the room, “It is already past breakfasting hours, and we haven’t a glimpse of you yet.”  He threw himself down to sit on the edge of one of the cots, “I was sent to investigate.”

           The tall blonde tsked, bending down to pick the rag up once more. “You may descend those stairs and tell our dear old secretary that I am both awake and dressed, my dearest Alexander,” he reported, tone entirely dismissive. “You may also remind him that I lost a game of cards to Meade and have donned his courier duties for the week.”

           Alexander scrunched his nose, recalling that none of the aides actually possessed their own horses, with John and Meade being the exemption. “That is precisely why I do not keep a horse.”

           “And here I thought that it was so that you might escond with mine whenever it so conveniences you.”

           This time it was Alexander’s time to scoff at the other officer, “That would not be in existence if it was not for the ordeal of my command.”

           John had begun to wipe the last of the vomit from his riding boots, “I promise you, my dearest Ham, you have not missed out on anything by remaining at your desk.”

           “Of course,” The redhead scoffed, dropping back to lay on the cot, “it is only honor and glory.  How on earth could I have the audacity to be upset about being left out of that?”

           “Has it ever occurred to you that the General keeps you close to preserve your talents?” John questioned. “Because if there is a single aide in his office with the potential for a future, it is you.”

           “Don’t be ridiculous,” the redhead dismissed from his position on the edge of the cot, “Each member of this office has more of a secured future than I could ever hope for.”

           “That,” the blonde grunted, “was precisely my point.  If we win this war, the Marquis will return to his title in France, Harrison will return to his law practice, McHenry will continue to be a surgeon or physician, Tench will take the reins of his family business, as will I in my lordship.  We have had our legacies determined for us already.  You have the potential to do anything you so desire with the connections and aptitude for just about every field of work available.  Dare I be so bold as to say that you would make an excellent politician in the future.”

           A silence swirled around the room before Hamilton sighed, “Would it kill this household to not give me a lecture every 5 minutes?”

           John sat up, looking at the shorter redhead as he sprawled out without an ounce of grace across the cot. “If I did not care for you so I would toss this rag at your face and allow you to suffer the consequences.”

           At this, Hamilton raised his head off the bed to look at the rag in John’s hand. “What are you wiping off those boots that takes such time?”

           “Vomit,” John replied shortly, “I had a letter for McHenry.  He was not there.”

           The gears turned in Alexander’s head, his eyes lighting up as he crackled in attempts to suppress his laughter. “She puked on your shoes?”

           Ben Tallmadge ducked into the war tent in camp that Washington had taken up residence in for the time being.  Billy Lee holding back the tent’s flap so the Major could make his rather suddenly arranged meeting with the General.  

           The man in question stood with his back to the door, his proud shoulders confidently squared. ‘So this is one of those meetings then,’ the Major noted, preparing himself for the argument that was sure to come. “You asked to see me, sir?”

           “Yes, Major Tallmadge,” the General affirmed, not turning around to face the young man, “I had wondered why a report on your failings some days prior has not yet crossed my desk?”

           Benjamin cleared his throat, swallowing before he began. “I was not aware that it required a report, sir.”

           “Explain to me this, Major,” Washington spoke immediately with a cold tone, “I hired you as a member of my staff specifically so that you may be my head of intelligence, and, so far, you have seen it fit to forward me a report on every other activity you engage in except for the actual intelligence for which I hired you.  Why is that?” Benjamin was silent for a moment, unsure if the question was truly meant for him to answer. “Well, Major?” Washington prompted him, “I do not have an entire day put aside to listen to you paw around the silence for an excuse to justify such actions.”

           The Major swallowed thickly, biting his tongue to avoid entering into an argument with the man before him. “You are correct, sir.  My apologies.”

           Washington slammed his fist against the desk, turning quickly around to face the Major. “Oh, do not become a coward now,” he all but snarled. “Where has your spine run off to, Major?”

           Benjamin opened his mouth to reply, his words not anywhere near as confident as he had hoped, “I am afraid I do not understand, sir.”

           “Do not play with me, Major,” the General scoffed, “You have never been known for your ability to follow orders without an argument.  So, I shall ask once again.  Why has a report on the assassination affair that occurred some days ago not yet crossed my desk?”

           “Because as you have failed to notice, Mr. Sackett is dead,” the Major spat, dropping his facade and allowing his voice to drip with passion, “And unlike yourself, I have taken the time to respect and mourn for the man, as he deserves.”

           “You will excuse me, Major,” Washington’s voice boomed, “but I prefer to concern myself with the living.”

           “Then please!” Benjamin pleaded, “Enlighten me as to what could possibly have you so concerned that you refuse to mourn for a man that you dared call a friend.”

           “My charge, Lady Fairfax, was shot by the impersonator who slit the throat of Mr. Sackett,” he stated plainly, temper controlled as he spoke without shouting, “As it stands, I am currently more occupied with her treatment than I am with making wishes that I cannot possibly come true.”

           At this, the Major went silent, a sudden regret sinking into his features before he schooled his face into a stone-cold slab. “It is still not probable cause enough to dismiss his life so freely, sir.” With this final statement, Benjamin nodded curtly to the General and exited the tent without permission.

           “I heard she puked on your shoes.”

           McHenry’s voice carried through the workroom as he spoke loudly to John from its doorway. “You should have told me, you know.”

           “I did not think it of consequence,” John dismissed, dipping his quill into the inkwell atop the desk, “She holds a bullet wound infection.  I remember throwing up on many a person’s shoes after my last injury as well.”

           McHenry sighed, leaning against the doorway, “I have her on a purging treatment at the moment, so any vomiting could be signs of superfluous bodily activity.”

           “You mean the additional vomiting comes from her consuming food?” John asked skeptically, scribbling away at his translations.

           “Precisely,” Mchenry affirmed, “And on such a note, she is not to have anything in her system besides the remedial tea prescribed by Doctor Rush.”

           Laurens scoffed, dipping his quill in ink once again, “Dear God, man.  What deal of pain do you intend on putting her through, purging on an empty stomach?”

           “I intend on getting her out from the Marquis’s cot as soon as possible,” McHenry retorted, “For all of our sakes.”

           “Preferably before the General freezes to death of hypothermia in that tent,” Hamilton added, inviting himself into the conversation, as he so often does. “John, I think you placed one of your letters on my desk.”

           The Lieutenant Colonel turned around in his chair, furrowing his brow, “Depends.  Who is it from?”

           “Your Father.”

           John turned quickly around in his chair, picking up his quill once again. “No, I think you can keep that.”

           “Laurens,” Hamilton warned, “Ignoring your father may not be the best idea at the moment.”

           “Right,” he grumbled to himself, “because that is the only cause for my being here.” Meade, who sat beside Laurens, tensed in the shoulders at his grumblings, and John sighed, “Of course, give it here.  I will read it after I finish composing this translation.”

           Hamilton tossed the letter at the back of John’s head mere moments before he had begun to move in order to face the redhead. “Take your letter.  And be sure to actually reply to it this time?”  

           John said nothing, opting to remain silent and bite his tongue, then hash out an entire spat in the work office.  The blonde bent down in his chair and grabbed the letter, squaring his jaw firmly in absolute disdain as his fingers passed over the familiar imprint of his father’s seal.  The office was tense already, poor Meade jumping slightly in his chair as Laurens all but pounded the letter down on the desk.  But nevertheless, John persisted, refusing to leave the office and give Hamilton any form of satisfaction he so desperately craved.  The tall Lieutenant Colonel purposefully picked up his own quill as if he was oblivious to the tension of the room and immediately went back to scribbling away, allowing himself to become lost in his translations, begging to be capable of forgetting about the letter from his father.  Even if the relief of stress and anger aimed at the letter’s existence was for no more than a moment.

Chapter Text

           The small kitchen detached from the Potts house was teeming with activity: preparations for dinner had begun, laundry was being carried from the house, and a handful of the personal attendants to the members of the house stood around a small clearing of the counter to eat their own dinner.  This was usually how things went around the tiny house. The occupants could complain about the lack of space all they wanted, but the servants were the ones really affected by the shortage of space.

           “If he don’t hurry up, all is gonna be left is some rock hard bread.”

           Billy Lee sighed at the words of his female counterpart, knowing that she was right, “Berry gonna come as soon as he be able to, Ona. Ain’t nothing that we can do to hurry him along.”

           That did not stop him from watching the entrance for the flannel-clad valet of John Laurens, however.  That boy overworked him an unhealthy amount and often gave the valet cause for utter distress, though that was not too hard for poor Shrewsberry.  As if sensing his name, the very man walked through the door, urgently approaching the counter, a piece of paper in hand.  

           “A letter from Master Laurens in York,” Shrewsberry announced as he approached, pulling the gaze of both Billy and Ona as he spoke.

           “Did you take your master’s letter?” Billy Lee asked incredulously, mentally exhausted by the misguided antics of both Shrewsberry and his master.

           “I had to,” he dismissed, “y’all would never be believing me if I didn’t get some proof.  And besides, I doubt the young master Laurens will miss it.  He hates these letters just as much as he does anything from his pa.” Billy Lee sighed, leaning into the counter, waiting for the overexcited man to inform him and Ona.  The man waited until he was waved on to continue, “Master Laurens is set to be married before the summer campaign picks back up.  His father demanded he propose before the end of April.”

           Ona snatched the letter from him, squinting her eyes at the words that she could not read, “You don’t know it says that.”

           “Yes, I do,” defended Shrewsberry, snapping at the woman, “I was taught to be read.”

           Ona scoffed, waving the paper at him accusingly, “Lot of use it did Mister Laurens teaching you to read all that.”

           “Will you two please quit the fussin’?  You’re gonna give me a headache.” Billy Lee rubbed his temple, snatching the letter from Ona’s hands, eyes scanning over the words quickly. “He is right, Ona.  He wants them to be married and fast.”

           “She don’t even turn 18 till April,” blanched Ona, her face taking an outraged look that mirrored Miss Fairfax’s own perhaps a bit too well. “How he expect her to be married to a 25-year-old soldier she ain’t never gonna see?”

           “You know why Ona, Lady Fairfax talks enough about these things,” Billy Lee replied, “He wants her married to his boy before she has the independence to spend her own money, and she gets it once she comes of age. Nothin’ he can do about it.”

           “That much is obvious, after all, her money by the lady’s only appeal,” Shrewsberry replied, sparking the usual anger in Ona by a jab at her handiwork.

           “She be having many an appeal, thank you very much,” Ona defended, “Not my fault or hers that your Master ain’t seemingly interred in a single lady hereabouts.”

           “My Master just don’t want a little girl,” Shrewsberry snapped, switching to the defense, “He a grown man and need a grown woman.”

           Ona scoffed, but Billy Lee cut her off before she could reply. “You two are being children.  You can argue all you want for now, but you don’t go dragging her Ladyship and Colonel Laurens into it.” He sighed for what seemed like the millionth time, “And Lord, I pray you figure out to tolerate each other before they get married.  Because they’re fixing to be both your Masters.”

           Ona nodded shortly, “Plus, we don’t even know is she gonna be around come April, morbid as it is.  Things not getting much better since she woke up, those doctors and their purging.”

           “Do you think I ought to bring it up to the General?” asked Billy lee.  He knew the General had banned any news from headquarters from entering his freezing war tent but was even more confident that George would wish to be able to talk some sense into his boys.

           Ona contemplated it before shaking her head, “Give them a few days before taking it to Master Washington.  The wound has healed up already, so if he needn’t be worried, then that how he best remain.”

           Shrewsberry watched them talk, tearing into a roll as they continued on.  He had not thought that the little girl would end up being his mistress.  It had simply never crossed his mind with the dismissive way the young Lieutenant Colonel Laurens had always regarded her.  He wondered if Ona’s mistress was kind to her servants, if she simply dismissed any evidence of their presence, or if she was as unbelieving and oddly mannered as Lieutenant Colonel Laurens.  He hoped that the last one was the only supposition without truth.

           Shrewsberry watched the two of them talk as he swam in his mind, eating his roll, before a laundress tapped his shoulder and demanded his attentions elsewhere, leaving him to fold up the letter to place in his pocket and abandon his half-eaten roll.

           “Sir, with all due respect-”

           “Save your breath, Hamilton,” George dismissed, “I have already made my decision on the topic.”

           “Sir,” Hamilton grunted, frustrated at his commander, “  I know you have reached a decision, but I came here to plead with you to change your mind.  We do not even know if she will be alive in two weeks!  Are you willing to throw what little weight you have at the moment at the summoning of a prisoner in South Carolina?”

           The General sent Hamilton a harsh glare at the mention of Lady Fairfax’s health. “You will not speak of Lady Fairfax in such a manner again, Colonel.  When she has healed, there will be an extensive process to re-integrate her to camp before she may leave for Philadelphia or York.  I do not intend on placing all of that on the Marquis’ shoulders, for as much as I might long to be there, we both know my schedule would not allow it.” He silenced Hamilton before he could formulate a reply, “He is a childhood friend who has steadily kept contact.  If anyone might be capable of calming her frayed disposition, it should be him.”

           “But sir!” Hamilton pleaded, “He could be a danger, and they have already attempted to shoot her once, why not again?  And to do so through someone we practically allow to waltz right up to her?”

           “You are correct, Colonel,” Washington agreed, returning to the papers on his desk with a mischievous smirk across his lips, “I thank you for volunteering to be their chaperone for as long as the recovery may take.  Simply to ensure that nothing happens to Lady Fairfax or our guest.”

           Hamilton sputtered out some nonsense about his duties and translations, but Washington silenced him with a look. “You will distribute the bulk of your work around the office until further notice,” George paused, backtracking for a moment, “That is, as soon as she is cleared for recovery.”

           John was itching in his chair, eyes daring him to look away from the letters he transcribed to glare into the distance.

           The same distance Hamilton had marched off into.

           Gibbs had arrived three-quarters of an hour ago, and Alexander had donned his cape and marched off into the snow with the man when he left the Potts house to return to their Commander-In-Chief.  John had purposefully opened the letter from his father while Hamilton was still in attendance.  Unfortunately, the letter was nothing more than another push for a proposal.  There was no excuse he could offer the man in return, only an outright refusal.

           John was itching in his chair, and his eyes were daring him to look away from the letters on the desk and into the distance.

           Meade sent him what seemed like the thousandth concerned glance today, and John stood up abruptly, unable to tolerate it any longer, allowing the scraping sound of his chair against the wooden floors to echo the room. “I will be back later, gents.”

           The tall blonde became antsy as he mounted his horse, but the ride he decided what to do to release his steam was even worse.  Finally, while he shivered in his saddle, the thought hit him.  He would go to Thaddeus- Colonel Kościuszko.  The older man usually was good with lifting the spirits and occupying the mind with humor and alcohol at just about any time of day.

           John let himself in after standing out on the porch for about five minutes, not a soul coming to open the door.  As he opened the door, he was immediately met with the familiar twang of a saber coming into contact with another.  It echoed through the small rooms but halted abruptly with a triumphant cry from a voice that certainly did not belong to Thaddeus.

           The parlor of the house was cleared, furniture pushed to the edge of the room, allowing the two men dressed without jackets over their shoulders to have at each other pleasantly with their sabers.  They were fencing, that much John recognized from his studies in Europe, and it seemed that Thaddeus had lost.  The ever joyful dark-haired man laughed as he caught sight of a freezing John, uncaring for the saber pointed directly towards his neck. 

           “John,” the dark-haired man called out, moving around the saber to shake his hand in greeting.

           “How wonderful is it that you suddenly have started to receive all of these unexpected visitors, Colonel.” The other man spoke as he lowered his saber.  He had a heavy Slavic accent, but that did not stop the man’s sarcasm from being painstakingly obvious.

           “What can I say?” Thaddeus dismissed in his joking manner, “I am a very popular man, my dear old Pulaski.”

           “I am not much older than yourself, Colonel,” the man, Pulaski, scoffed, “And perhaps if you spent less time socializing and more time practicing, you would not lose so horribly.”

           “I do not lose horribly.  I am sure that I have beat you at least once during our ’bout today,” Thaddeus replied.

           “No,” Pulaski replied, “You have not won against me in quite some time, let alone today.”

           “And how about you, Lieutenant Colonel?” Thaddeus turned to face John, “Do you think I lose horribly as well?”

           “Well,” mischief gleamed, only slightly, in John’s eyes, “I may not speak on that matter until I have beaten you myself, Kościuszko.”

           Pulaski cackled at Thaddeus’s face as he attempted to look offended, cutting the Colonel off before he could ensue with his dramatics, “I think that sounds like an excellent proposition, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens.  You might use my saber for this round.”

           John pulled back a chair and entered the room completely, taking the saber from the man.  As the blonde weighed the blade in his hand, Pulaski moved to sit, sparking yet another well-intended jab from Thaddeus. “Has my losing tired you out already, old man?”

           “It has indeed,” replied Pulaski as he reclined on the chair John had moved mere moments ago, “One can only win so many times before it simply becomes exhausting.  It is the burden of experience, not something I imagine you are very familiar with, my young friend.”

           “Ouch.”

           John had studied the art of fencing in Geneva, and he considered himself merely average at the sport, but perhaps that assumption did not give him the credit he was due.  It was either that, or Thaddeus must have been genuinely horrible at the sport.  Out of respect for the foreign Colonel, John decided that he must have been much better than he recalled.

           It did not take long to have the man attempting a rather sloppy disengage movement. John marveled at how the man retained the saber in his hand, knowing full well that most would have dropped the weapon to the floor had they moved as he.  Pulaski also noticed this and snorted out a chuckle from his chair as he watched the two young men go back and forth in yet another burst of engagement.  John lunged toward Thaddeus, who, rather than parrying the blow, attempted to create a counter-attack with an opposition.  Thaddeus smiled as he forced John to halt in his lunge and parry the blow, forcing him from the offensive back into the en garde position.  

           “So have you simply been letting me win, or do you just wish to see Lieutenant Colonel Laurens lose this badly?”

           Both men declined Pulaski a reply as they continued, John’s hand quickly running down the buttons of his waistcoat as they beat back and forth at the other’s saber.  Thaddeus was obvious in his planning, and as he lunged into an attack, John pushed forward with his own saber, stopping the polish man in his tracks with a successful stop hit.  The poor man amped up his dramatics, letting out an “oof” as he bent in slightly towards John. 

           “I should think that while you may be miserable at the losing part, you are quite adept on the actual sport itself.”

           “So I am good at the sport, but only the losing part?” Thaddeus teased, and he lowered himself to sit on the wooden floors, leaning his back up against a couch

           “Well, when you put it that way,” John replied, trailing off towards the end, playing into the theatrics.

           Pulaski rose from his chair to meet John, sheathing the saber and moving back towards the stairs. “I will leave you young men rearrange the furniture to its proper state.  I have some work to do.”  Pulaski nodded to John, electing to climb the stairs, likely to return the saber to its proper resting place.

           As his boots echoed up the stairs, John and Thaddeus began pushing furniture over the floor back to their original positions, collapsing on the couch when they finished. “So,” Thaddeus started, “why did you actually come for a visit?”

           “Can a man not visit a friend without reason?”

           Thaddeus quirked an eyebrow in disbelief, “Of course he may, but you never come without sending ahead.”

           John sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I needed to get out of the office.  I was becoming too restless and jumpy.  Rather than freeze to death by going for a ride, I came here,” he shrugged, tiredness seeping into him as he sat still in his position.  

           “So that is all then?” Thaddeus questioned, his disbelief evident in his tone, “No reason, you just happened to stumble upon restlessness?”

           John breathed deeply, blinking his eyes a few times before replying. “There are some things happening at headquarters right now, Washington is on edge, and the rest of us are walking on eggshells even though he no longer resides in the house.”

           “I know.” Thaddeus replied, “I know exactly what happened, but it has been near a week since, so I was unsure if there was another reason for your visit.  Though perhaps your vigor during our match should have given you away.”

           Nodding along to his words, John spoke as Thaddeus finished, “Lord knows my father  has done none to help the situation.  He is pushing for a proposal in all his letters.”

           “A proposal?” Thaddeus questioned.

           “He wishes to see me engaged, properly, that is, before the summer campaign begins in  earnest.”

           A pause of silence fell over the room.  “She is a lovely girl,” Thaddeus offered, a slight patheticness to his tone as if he were searching for a positive aspect as he broke the silence.

           “I am certain she is.” the blonde replied shortly, “I have never claimed otherwise.”

           “But she is not what you want?”

           “No,” John replied, before making a face and continuing with a sigh, “Yes?  I do not know.”

           The dark-haired Colonel hummed, “I do not understand you, my friend.  Every man on this earth seems to be entranced by her, and yet, you, the one she has been promised to, would not have her if given a choice.”

           There was another pause as John thought up a response, finally settling upon a proper topic to blow off the elder man’s comment.  “Are you married, Colonel?” John asked, furrowing his brow, “Or perhaps promised to a lovely Polish girl back home?”.

           “No,” Thaddeus replied, “I am unmarried with no such obligation.”

           “Perhaps we should trade then,” John jested, poking fun at the man to lift the mood, 

           “Heaven knows you would find more satisfaction in married life than I.” 

           “You do not wish to marry ever?” Thaddeus asked, curious.

           “Not while there is a war going on.  There is too much room for disaster.  And do not get me started on the effects of consummation, especially during wartime.”

           “No marriage or children?” Thaddeus asked, joining in on John’s teasing, “You are quite determined to break your poor father’s heart.”

           “Oh yes,” John agreed, snorting out a joke, “It is what I do the best.”

           “I am quite lucky to have a father who expects so little,” Thaddeus conceded, “it allows for a great deal of pride with very minimum effort.”

           John snorted, laughing and shaking his head as he spoke, “My father would have a conniption over a single popped seam on a shirt sleeve.”

           Thaddeus laughed with him as the curly-haired man added, “Well, no wonder he took a shine to Lady Fairfax.”

           John paused, making a face at the notion. “He has actually never met her,” laughing once again, he continued, “Which truly adds irony when he attempts to sell her more attractive aspects in his letters.”

           The dark-haired Colonel choked on a laugh, stunned, “Your father sends you letters about your underage finance’s physique?  Is that not the littlest bit uncomfortable to you?”

           “It is very uncomfortable for me, and then he wonders why I do not reply, or at least in a timely manner,” John explained avidly, “Perhaps in my next letter, I might include the current state of her eligibility.  It is challenging to propose when the other party might be dying.”

           “Is she really?” Thaddeus asked, an earnest concern lacing his words, “Has she been declining in health under treatment?”

           “I am not a surgeon, nor a physician, but I do not believe her current treatment is actually helping her health.  McHenry did mention that her wound has seriously decreased in inflammation, though, so I could be mistaken.”  John was interrupted by the clock in the dining room as it chimed, causing the man to sit up properly  in his seat, “I am afraid I have lost track of time, my friend.”

           Thaddeus nodded to him as he stood, “Of course, dinner should be starting soon here.  You will want to leave before the sun finishes setting, it will be twice as cold out there, and you did not bring a cloak.”

           John rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I honestly did not think that far ahead when I left.”

           “I know,” Thaddeus chuckled, rising to walk the blonde man to the door, “Wish her well for me?”

           “Of course.”

           Thaddeus watched John mount his steed and ride off into the snow from inside the open door and hoped, with his whole heart, that what he spoke was untrue.  He could not bear to lose her to infection or marriage so soon.  Not when he knew that she would be just as miserable as Thaddeus, with a husband who did not want her, let alone love her.

Chapter Text

            January was freezing at Valley Forge.  

            The cold seeped under doorways and through the frames of windows, filling rooms and occupying the space between man and jacket.

            January was the beginning peak of winter at Valley Forge, and the cold seeped into the bones of the whole army.  The widespread camp seemed to be getting closer and closer together as if the camp itself was huddling together for warmth.

            Infection and disease ran rampant in the span of a week, swarming McHenry and Cochran as they scrambled to contain each outbreak as they appeared.  Adrienne did not need to be told this.  She observed it all from her sickbed in the small shared room.  Meade would show up at the door every morning at 7:25am, just as McHenry was finishing his breakfast, and drop a pile of papers on the small table.  He would give her a small smile as he left the room, racing down the stairs and mounting his horse to ride off into the cold with saddlebags inflated by the correspondence he carried out from headquarters.

            Benjamin Rush had left sometime after John’s visit, the worst of her injury fading into sweat and chills.  A regiment of peppermint and green tea was prescribed as he walked out the door, but she could not care less.  Two meals a day were given to her now, one was light late breakfast that arrived with the young girl who nursed her in McHenry’s sudden busyness, the second was a regular-sized dinner brought up by Lafayette when he joined her to take the place of the girl as she ate her own meal.  

            However, it was not the sudden shift in treatment or diet that Adrienne was most occupied with, but rather the little girl.  She never told Adrienne her name but had heard McHenry scold the girl for her constant glances in his direction and the tapping of her feet against the floorboards as they swung beneath petticoats.  He would not even look up as he spoke with a tone befitting a school teacher rather than a surgeon. “Miss Harris,” he would say, in that tone of his, and her swinging legs would stop in their path, or her eyes would turn down to study the cotton of her skirt.  She was restless in her chair beside Adrienne, having nothing to do besides stare at the wall and dab away sweat.  Adrienne felt sorry for her- at least she was able to read- but the little girl brought with her no books, not a doll, or even embroidery.  She just sat there, anxiously counting the chimes of the clock at the bottom of the stairs as they echoed through the house and avoiding eye contact, desperate to leave the little room and return to whence she had come.

            Another thing that made the little girl so intriguing was that Miss Harris preferred to be called Charlie, murmuring the name under her breath each time McHenry scolded her.  Such an idea was not only unconventional but improper, a girl her age would’ve known that.  It made Adrienne wonder where it was that she disappeared off to every day when McHenry dismissed her.  How did this young girl come to be in the employ of the army’s medical camp?  Adrienne had a few suppositions as to an answer for this question, from the simplistic design of the girl’s clothes, the braid that never failed to appear as if it had been tied upon climbing the stairs of the Potts house, how she always know exactly when Adrienne required a cool wash rag for the thin layer of sweat that would mysteriously appear, or a warm wash rag for chills that shook her body before she herself did.  The girl was likely in camp with her father, no mother to be found.  She was in better condition than the camp followers usually were, so Adrienne ruled that out as a possibility quickly.  Miss Harris was too familiar with symptoms not to be skilled in medicine, a skill she must have learned from her father, who Adrienne assumed worked as a surgeon or physician. 

            She never said a word around McHenry besides a greeting, dipping slightly as she addressed the Colonel, who gave her no more than a nod in return, and McHenry had not left the two of them alone in the room yet, not until this afternoon.  Far past when Ona had come to collect the dirty dishes, but far earlier than dinner. McHenry sighed, clearing his throat and rubbing his temple before rising, paper in hand. “I shall be just a moment.”

            The second the door clicked shut behind him, Charlie’s stiff posture drooped, allowing her shoulders to sag as she let out a small breath, resembling a huff. “Thank the lord,” she said clearly, pulling Adrienne’s mind and eyes from the lines of Voltaire on the page before her. “He is way too stuffy, probably from sitting in these uncomfy chairs all day long.”  Adrienne’s own attempt at stifling her laughter only led to Miss Harris attempting to suppress her own giggles. “There has to be some reason he’s so stiff.  What else was I supposed to assume?”

            Adrienne laughed sweetly at this, marking her page by sticking a finger between the pages of the book, “I have found that many of these men are self-important, they receive the title of “Colonel” and, no matter how honorary it is, their heads inflate to thrice their original size.  Four times as much if we were to discuss Colonel Hamilton.”

            Her voice was coarser than she would have liked, but Charlie paid it no real mind. “Is Colonel Hamilton really that bad?  I have never talked to him before, only assisted once or twice when he fell ill upon routine.  It happens every winter encampment.  There is always something.”

            Adrienne’s lips pulled into an amused smile, knowing that she has made her own comments of eager excitement, awaiting Colonel Hamilton’s annual malaria flare-up.  She only hopes that she does not miss it by being confined to a sickbed of her own. “You will find that he and I do not get along, barely managing pleasantries to the other.”

            “You are often around headquarters?”

            “Only when I cannot help it.  I am absent for as long as the social calendar of Philadelphia and York will allow me to be.”

            Charlie giggled but stopped rather quickly when the bedroom door creaked open once more.  This time, however, rather than McHenry or Lafayette at the door, it was John.  He looked hesitantly between the two girls before wearily entering the room and clearing his throat. “Might I speak with Lady Fairfax in private, Miss?”

            Charlie was silent, shuffling up from her chair and giving the Lieutenant Colonel a small curtsey before dashing out the door.  It clicked shut behind her, and it was John and Adrienne alone in the chilly shared room, left to stare at the other until someone broke the silence.

            “Colonel Kosciuszko desired me to express his well wishes to you.  For your health.”

            The Polish Colonel.  The dark-haired officer in buff and blues who took great interest in engineering.  A curly-haired man who had not been to headquarters since before she was shot.  She knew.  She had listened for the sound of his voice every day through the silence of the room.  She waited every night to see if he would be invited to a dinner, eating her meals with Lafayette in complete silence, even as he tried to converse.

            The Polish Colonel wished her well.  And he had set Lieutenant Colonel Laurens to do so in his name.

            She would not wait for his voice tonight.  Adrienne was no fool.  He was not coming.

            “That is very kind of him.”  

            Her voice was coarser than before, the building emotion she was attempting to suppress choking the sweet smoothness of her voice.  John recognized it, looking around the room for any form of liquid, sighing when he found there to be none.  

            “I hope I did not interrupt.”

            “No, of course not.  Miss Harris will be thankful to you for giving her an excuse to leave.”

            The blonde man only nodded, somehow understanding the girl’s predicament without any further explanation.  He took her seat beside the bed where Adrienne was propped up, reaching out to hold her hand in his, covering the icy hand entirely with the warmth of his own.  He observed her face with furrowed brows, a tender concern in his eyes as he squeezed her hand slightly.

            “How have you been, Adrienne?”

            “Treatment seems-”

            “No,” he shook his head, “I did not ask how Mchenry’s treatment goes, he is a skilled surgeon, and I do not worry for him.  How have you been?”

            Adrienne quietly sighed to herself.  She did not truly have an answer to give him. “I have enough to keep me entertained, at least enough to satisfy McHenry.”

            “Your books, correct?” Adrienne flushed as he asked.  She knew that her reading materials were not conventionally acceptable for a young lady, and no doubt John did as well. “No,” he rushed to defend his observations, “No, I do not think that is a bad thing.  I find it endearing, I assure you.”

            “I am grateful,” she replied, pulling the corners of her lips up in what she could manage of a smile, “If not, then I believe my mother would be quite cross at me.”

            “She does not support these habits?” he asked, curious.

            “She does,” Adrienne explained, “but she has lectured time and time again on how it is unbecoming for such activities.”

            “Because you are a woman?”

            “Because I am an unmarried woman.”

            The Lieutenant Colonel scoffed, gawking at the idea, “That is absurd.”

            “It is a reality,” Adrienne replied, “One that many women face.  And not all husbands or betrotheds believe the same as you, John.  Most are intimidated by an educated woman.”

            He shook his head in disbelief, frustration setting into his face as he reached out for the book resting on her lap. “ Candide ?” he asked, thumbing through the pages of the book.

            “Yes,” Adrienne whispered, careful of how and what she told him.

            “That certainly explains quite a bit,” he spoke, laughing slightly to himself, “I much prefer Locke to Voltaire.”

            Adrienne smiled at his predictability, throwing his own words back at him, “That certainly explains quite a bit.”

            “McHenry talks of the books quite often,” John replied, rolling his eyes playfully at her antics, “Says you are absorbed in them all day.”

            Adrienne flushed once more, embarrassed by his noticing. “There is very little I can do else wise,” she replied, quietly, “My hands are not strong enough for embroidery quite yet.  Colonel McHenry deems me far too pale to possess needles anyway.”

            “You could get some rest?” John suggested, “That will help you heal better than any activity.”

            “Sloth is a deadly sin, Lieutenant Colonel.”

            “I am certain the Lord will understand, just this once.”

            Adrienne had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the blonde.  She gave him no response, but he was not finished with his visit quite yet.  He sat beside her, his warm hands over her cold ones, a comfortable silence sitting between them.  She begged not to shiver or release a pained sound that had plagued the room from her sudden sweats.  The Lieutenant Colonel was rubbing her hands, swiping his thumb over the back of her hands, massaging her palms.  The more and more he did so, the clearer it became to Adrienne what he was doing.

            “I do not wish to sleep.”

            He huffed out a laugh, continuing to run his hands through hers, humming in disapproval as she tried to pull his hands from his.  His strong hands pulled her own back into his every time as she fought her own eyelids, which were beginning to droop shut.

            “It seems to me that you are far more tired than you appear, my dear girl.” He spoke in a whisper, not daring to disturb her as her eyelids finally slid shut.

            “I am not tired,” Adrienne murmured quietly, hearing his soft laughter as she slipped under, feeling a gentle kiss upon her cheek just before she succumbed entirely to sleep.

           The Marquis de Lafayette had become a familiar face in the kitchens, appearing each evening to take a tray from Lady Fairfax’s lady’s maid.  He would appear promptly at 4:25, reappearing each day, bringing him and the tray up the stairs only to emerge just after 5pm with one empty plate and another only half-eaten.  The pot of tea that went up on the tray always returned empty.  That was what really took so long for him to return.  The whole staff knew she did not take a full half an hour to eat.  

           She had to finish the tea.  She only had to finish the tea, then Lafayette would collect both plates and leave her be.

            He would collect both plates and return them to the kitchen, where the other newly familiar face resided during this time.  Miss Charlotte Harris was the daughter of an out of camp surgeon who had volunteered his services to the camp when they had settled at Valley Forge.  She was a kind and polite young girl.  The maidservants doted on her a little, slipping her breakfasts and re-plaiting her braid when it would start to slip from its ribbon.  

            The Marquis was upstairs, occupying Miss Harris’ chair, moving it from beside her to the foot of her bed.

He could not sit beside her.

            Not when every time he looked over at her, watching her weakly struggle with her fork, allowing his vision to shift into a silent snowy forest scene he never wished to see again.  

            So he sat at the foot of her bed, where it was harder to see her hands tremble, shaking her fork as she tried desperately to still it.  They could pretend that they were not grappling with reality, struggling to fall back into their usual affectionate banter.  

            So here he was, now, sitting at the foot of her bed.   The only sound in the room was the echo of porcelain, hidden fork as it made contact on the plate, her teacup meeting its saucer.  They did not say a word between them, barely being able to stand being caught by the other’s gaze.  So they took turns, falling into this odd routine where they danced to a song as they were still learning the steps.  He would look up, glance at her with worry in his features, eyes searching for signs of sudden recovery, then look away.  She would look up, nervous at the sight of a friend, something she had not seen many of, anxious by his distance.  Then she would look away.

            They danced this strange minuet together, stumbling through forlorn steps whenever their eyes made contact, throwing the dance off of beat for just a moment as they regained their bearings.  Dinner was always tense.  The room’s silence allowed the volume of the aides and their commander down in the work office turned dining room, various other voices mixing with them as officers were invited from throughout camp to attend as if there was not a sickbed just up the stairs.  As if they did not exist.  As if she did not exist.

            None talked of her throughout the day.  Not Hamilton to make a jest at her expense, not Lafayette to mention plans or dear conversations, not even McHenry, staying tight-lipped to everyone on the condition of his patient.  It was as if they were preparing for something he could not fathom.  He would not fathom, for once he began to entertain, the idea would surely consume him, tearing him clean apart.

            But nevertheless, he knew.

            They were preparing to lose her.

            She knew.

            Adrienne knew it was clear in how she never changed, never daring to give herself a fighting chance for the sake of her dignity.  She would not allow herself to express the pain that had settled into her bones.  And no physician could read minds.

            She knew.

            She knew that her health was not what everyone said it was.

            But nothing could be done to help her, not if the Marquis’ own suspicions were correct.  Any amount of honesty from her could only end badly.  She refused to give herself a fighting chance for the sake of her dignity.  

            Colonel Kosciuszko had not been in headquarters for just over a week now.  

            Not since just before the horrible night that plagued the Frenchman’s mind every time he laid eyes upon her.

            Lafayette could have said something.  He  could have dragged that stubborn slav through the doors of Washington’s headquarters by his ear like a cross mama, forcing him up the stairs and into the hellishly cold room where she stayed, resting all day as she became weaker.  

            Lieutenant Colonel Laurens had visited, stepping in for whole minutes at a time to stay with her, to hold her hand and coax her into the sleep she stubbornly avoided.  He could not blame her for such behavior.  If he thought that each time he closed his eyes might be his last, the Marquis would avoid it just as stubborn as she.  

            He knew he should be glad.  Lieutenant Colonel Laurens was warming up to her, and she to him.  What other choice did they have?  What other choice did she have?

            When Lafayette rose from his chair that evening, collecting the plates and empty teapot onto the tray they had arrived in, he had made up his mind.  There would be no more sitting here, telling himself all the things he should do.  He would take action on them, and if they backfired right in his face, then at least he could console himself with the notion that he had tried.

            He would go home tonight, no longer sleeping in her bedroom, walking around like a zombie in a weeks-old uniform.  Home to his wife, who had been fretting with nervousness since she was first told that he would be away.  Home to his daughters, young and pure of innocence and glee, just as Adrienne had been merely a week ago.  Most importantly, tomorrow, when he made for headquarters, he would drag that stubborn Colonel with him.

            “So, my dear Colonel, how is she?”

            “I am sorry,” Thaddeus spoke as he cut into the food before him, “I do not catch your meaning, sir.”

            “You know who I refer to. Kosciuszko,” scoffed the Baron, “Do not play the fool with me.  It is not a role for which you are suited.”

            Thaddeus swallowed thickly, freezing in his motions as he spoke with a quiet whisper, “I do not know.  I have no idea how she fares.”

            “Nothing?” asked Stuben, eager to further engage the conversation, despite the Colonel’s apparent aversion to the topic. “You mean to tell me you have not visited her?”

            “No,” the dark-haired Colonel replied, “I have not.”

            “Well, why the hell not, man?”

            “It is not my place,” Thaddeus replied, sounding more snappish than he had intended.  “Colonel Laurens has provided his own, rather jumbled account, and having no claim such as he or the marquis, I hardly think a visit would be appropriate.”

            Stuben scoffed at him once more, sending the young man a wary look, “And since when has proprietary ever stopped such a bold figure as you?”

            “You overestimate my insensibility,” Thaddeus replied, “Perhaps when I might brush it off as coincidence, I would be bold and brash, but there is too much at stake there now.  Hamilton-  I have cause to believe that Hamilton knows more than he is letting on.”

            “Well, the little lion has never been such a fool as to play all his cards at once.”

            “Well, for my sake, and more importantly, hers, I hope that he forgets about this card.” Thaddeus replied to the Barron, stabbing into the piece of meat before him, “There is no chance of such a possibility if I attend to her as I have wished to since discovering that she was shot.”

            The Baron stared at him as he chewed his own bite of dinner, narrowing his eyes to appear as if he was sizing the Polish Colonel up.  Finally, the Baron sighed, stabbing another piece of meat from his plate as he spoke offhandedly to the other attendees at his dinner table. “Pierre, I should think that I will require vodka as a filler for the decanters this week rather than the brandy rum.” 

Chapter Text

            Camp was emptier now.

            No one knew why they avoided the main camp and the Potts house the way they did.  Those who knew wished they did not, and they lived the blandest parts of their lives to forget.

            Thaddeus was one of those people.  But he could not seem to get away from it.  No matter how hard he tried, the painful reminder kept showing up on his doorstep. That was how today started: breakfast was interrupted with a sharp knock on the door of the house that Pulaski and Colonel Kosciuszko had taken up residence in.  Pulaski sighed as the familiar noise echoed through the house, dropping his silverware onto the table and rising to answer the door as he waved the two ladies at the table back down to their seats. "If this is for you, Kosciuszko, I will kill you."

            "That is not at all comforting."

            The ladies looked to the dark-haired young man at the far end of the table, their hesitant eyes showing just how seriously they took the Brigadier General that they were housing.  They only returned to their plates after Thaddeus waved them off with his fork, continuing to eat leisurely.  

            "Kosciuszko, I am going to kill you!"

            Thaddeus sighed, lowering the bite he had just put onto his fork from his mouth, placing his silverware and napkin on the table. "Excuse me, ladies."

            Upon approaching the door, Thaddeus began to talk once more, defending himself against Pulaski's disapproving look when he noted that this visitor also did not call in advance.  He ignored the older man as he clicked his tongue, scolding him for entertaining this many surprise calls, swearing up and down it would only lead to more, but once Thaddeus noted who was at the door, the Polish Colonel replied quickly that he would be back in a moment, returning with his uniform jacket, cape, and tricorn before disappearing into the snow with the Marquis.  

            They rode in silence, mostly, except for the few times when they were forced to call out to their mounts.  Just as echoes of the sounds of camp began to grace their ears, the Marquis broke the silence. "You have not visited, Colonel."

            The Marquis had called him away from his half-eaten breakfast for a guilt trip.  Thaddeus would have scoffed if not for the Marquis' use of his rank that informed him of the seriousness of the conversation the Marquis was about to attempt. "There was no reason for me to make a visit, sir."

            "No reason?" the Marquis snapped, eyes trained on the path ahead as he spoke, "You mean to tell me that you have no reason to feel concern for her?"

            "I am more than concerned for her," Thaddeus replied, attempting to keep his voice steady as his temper began to flare, "But as a friend of her fiancé, there is no real cause for me to visit her.  With all due respect, it reeks of impropriety, sir."

            Lafayette opened his mouth, only to close it once more, huffing out an audible scoff, murmuring to himself about just how similar Thaddeus's own headstrong yet stubborn behavior was to Miss Fairfax's own.  This was an undeniable fact, which might be why Lieutenant Colonel Laurens had taken to Thaddeus so quickly, insisting on introducing him to his fiance that fateful night at the Potts house.  Perhaps the Polish man should have thanked him.  He knew his credentials were hardly something impressive.  He was, after all,  just another soldier among the ranks.  She cared little for the "heroes" of this war, and he was hardly considered one of them.  All he did was his job.  He was hired to the army as an engineer, and so he did his job both here and at Saratoga, nothing particularly worthy of note in his opinion.  The Commander-in-Chief seemed to think otherwise, sending an aide to insist on his presence at a formal dinner in the General's headquarters.  The house was peculiarly small when he had first approached it, but all the houses around these parts were.  They simply had fewer people living in them than Washington's headquarters.  It certainly made the place less than ideal for a sickbed, but it was better than turning blue with hypothermia while in a medical tent in the peak of winter.

            January had the tendency to do that.  Turning men blue, prompting the loss of fingers and toes that they could, hypothetically, live without.  That was to say that they could still march and hold a musket without such things.  Poor old Henry Knox proved that.  Nothing else really mattered.  Not to the commanders of these men.  

            Not when the commanders of these men were forced to look away, being incapable of fixing the issues that plagued them, even if they wanted to.  Very few commanders had that much change to spare anymore.  All that they could hope was to put what few roofs that were left over their heads.

            It was among this chaos that he was able to avoid the Potts house for so long.  Thaddeus had been able to do his work at the dining room table of the house he occupied, and when he could not, he would occupy a desk in the Baron Von Stuben's office.  It was far from ideal—only collecting work when someone would venture into the house, never daring to enter it.  Not when he did not venture to see her.  There was too much guilt in his steps.  Thaddeus simply could not do it.  He would not dare to give her the false hope of a visit for something as mundane as a pile of papers.

            The Marquis had called him away from his half-eaten breakfast for a guilt trip, and it was working.

            After all, Thaddeus had no real choice.  He could not turn away now, just as they were within sight of her window.  No, it was far too late to turn back now.  They dismounted from the horses, passing them off to a stablehand. "You will visit with her.  Visit with her, and then you may leave."

            They did not say much.  Not now.  Not like they used to.  

            The General could not help but fall victim to her silence.  There was too significant a lack of purpose for his visit, the second one in almost two weeks.  She had been unconscious for the first one.  She had missed the tears he cried by her side.  She had been just as pale as she was now.  She had not had the strength to wake up then.

            She was awake this time, and she was supposed to be getting better.  Perhaps it was the fact that she was awake, draining her energy to be present as she was oogled and prodded at.

            She was supposed to be getting better, but she was only getting worse.  The Marquis had not managed a word from her in almost a week. McHenry only ever saw her take interest in her books, and Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, of all people, was the last to claim a verbal conversation.  

            She was in a pain that they did not understand, and she did not want them to.  Adrienne was shutting down, draining her energy quickly.  The sand was slipping, quicker than ever, through the hourglass that marked her lifetime, and George had hoped that a visit would have her in better spirits.  

            George could not help but fall victim to her silence.

            They did not say much, not like they used to.

            Not anymore.

            "McHenry says that you have been quite occupied with your books.  Do you wish for me to send to York for more?"

            She shook her head, declining his offer, fingers curled around the spine of the closed book in her lap, which her eyes had been trained ever since he entered the room.  He should have brought tea; it would at least make her avoidance of his gaze justifiable.  It would make the whole thing far more stomachable for him.

            He could palate distraction, exhaustion, and sickness.  George could not palate a whispering silence.  The way she refused to acknowledge him hurt more than anything else.  More than the chill of her skin, the pallor of chills that affected her more than she was currently letting him see.

            George could tell when he was unwanted, so he forced himself to his feet, making it halfway to the door when she scoffed at him, halting him in his tracks.

            "That is the shortest time that anyone has been able to manage so far."

            George had no words to formulate a reply.

            She had spoken to him.

            She had spoken, and her voice was coarse. He wished he had something to soothe her pains, but she would not accept it.  Not if it was given by his hands.

            "Do not let me stop you.  Close the door on your way out."

            George turned towards her to speak, but with one glance from her, the General's mouth closed, and he continued to walk towards the door. "You look so much like your mother, Addy."

            "Out."

            Lafayette had just ushered the Polish Colonel into the house before he had almost run, face first, into General Washington, who had his face set in worry.  

            "Ah, Marquis-"

            "General, my apologies-"

            The General smiled slightly at their rush, talking over one another at the very same moment. "It is alright, our dear Marquis," he assured the young Frenchman, "I was wondering if you might take a visit with Miss Fairfax."  Washington's eyes drifted to the Colonel, and he dropped his tone, "She has undergone another 'bout, I suspect."

            "Ah, my apologies, sir, but I do have a good deal of work to start on this morn," the Marquis replied, motioning to the Colonel as he finished, "I will send the Colonel up in my stead.  He is a familiar face.  I will do my best to pay another visit before dinner if possible, but I do not wish to overwhelm her with company."

            "Yes, yes, of course," his gaze shifted to the Polish Colonel at the Marquis' side, looking him over before giving the boy a nod and stepping out of his way, clearing the staircase, for the hesitant man to climb what felt like a death march.

            Adrienne had been bedridden for the past week or so. Getting shot in the torso does that to you, she supposed.  She sat upright when the door creaked open. She was still in the Marquis' bed in what would have been his shared room with McHenry; he had apparently moved to hers so that Mchenry could better monitor her progress. It was far too early to be Lafayette at the door, and besides, Lafayette's boots were loud against the floor; these steps were as silent as could be.

            Lafayette had been coming every day for at least one meal to ensure she ate, though she could not tell if it was by his own discretion or if McHenry had asked him to.  Her appetite was minimal, if at all, seriously hindering the healing process significantly.  Adrienne was lucky.  The bullet had not struck anything vital, thanks to her stays.  That was what McHenry had told her when she asked.  If she had been a man, Sutherland would have killed her at such a distance.  Killed her just like he did Nathaniel Sackett, quickly and without hesitation.  

            They ate in complete silence, with the muffled bustle of the camp providing a white noise background as it drifted through the half-open window.  By the time Lafayette had usually cleared his dish, she had only gotten through half of hers.  He would wordlessly stand, accepting she would not likely be eating much more, and grabbed her plate on his way out the door.

            This was how her days passed now, in numb silence.  Headquarters was quiet now.  That could have been McHenry, it could have been Lafayette, hell, it could have been George who had just finally visited her this morning.  Even Hamilton visited her.  She had not meant to see it, but she had.  He brought her a bouquet of white roses and camellia flowers- worthiness and pity- that was what they meant.  The rest of the camp had moved, somehow, farther from the house, as if it had a barrier around it, forcing them back beyond the comforts of a huddle for warmth.

            Lost in thought, Adrienne had all but forgotten the boots that still climbed the stairs and were not Lafayette's at all.  There was a knock on the door, and in her absentmindedness, she assumed it was McHenry, here for another checkup on her stitches and perhaps a replacement of the dry wrappings, she called numbly for the visitor at the entrance to come in.

            "Lady Fairfax."

            Colonel Kościuszko stood there, removing his hat and bowing entirely in respect.  A respect he had yet to extend to her before. 'I truly must be dying then.  If it has truly come to this,' she thought.  Adrienne would admit she was waiting for McHenry to walk through the door one day and tell her that the cause for the ongoing chills and hot flashes she was plagued with was that the infection had spread.  She was waiting for him to tell her, to be honest with her.  She was going to die.

            "Colonel," she replied, her face as emotionless and warm as her brittle tone.  So McHenry hadn't had the nerve to tell her himself then. He's sent the Colonel instead.  Or perhaps he had merely drawn the short straw in a bet.

            Adrienne's attention was drawn back from her mind and to the Colonel when he let out a loud sigh.  When did he move from the door?  He stood at the foot of the bed, his hat sat on the desk, hand gripping the back of the chair. "Madam, I-"

            "Did McHenry send you?"

            He was startled by her question, "Uh, no madam, I was unaware I would need his approval for a visit, I-" He caught himself before he continued rambling. "I came to apologize to you, I know I have not been to visit you sooner, and I am deeply sorry for it." The Colonel sighed, trying to steady his words as he stumbled over them, "I- I was afraid of what I would see."

            She released a sharp laugh, "Yes, Colonel.  I am aware I look worse for wear. "The laugh was quickly replaced by a scornful gaze as she continued, "You may admit that your interest in me was only founded upon the basis of my title and appearance; it is hardly a statement too bold for you." 

            He had not come prepared.  That much was clear.  He sputtered once again at her blunt remark.  He sputtered as if he had not heard her say far more brash or brazen things.  He sputtered as if he had not touched her.

            "Madam, I am unaware of what I may have done to give you that impression, but I assure you-"

            "Madam?" Adrienne snapped, giving him a harsh glare, "Honestly, Colonel?" Adrienne continued at him with her snappish tone, her glare remaining firm and unflinching, "You refrained from visiting me on what very well could be my death bed because you were "afraid of what you would see"?" A rare but well-deserved eye-roll ensued after her rhetorical questioning, "I am not sure if you are joking or genuinely as ignorant as you sound, sir."

            The Colonel gaped with his mouth open, clearly attempting to formulate an acceptable response.  When he finally decided on one, he closed his mouth before opening it once more. "Miss Fairfax, I did not intend that as an insult towards your person, nor in the context of which you have associated it with." His tone softened as his boots hesitantly stumbled forward, knocking on the legs of the wooden chair he was clutching. "Miss Fairfax," a sigh, "Addy, I was scared that I-" He cut off as he averted his gaze.  She realized that tears had begun forming in his eyes.  She realized that he was crying.  He wiped at his eyes and cleared his throat before continuing, making his best attempt at composure, "I thought that I was going to find your dead body lying in this bed."

            Adrienne shook her head in denial of his apparent confession, "You are many things, Colonel, but I did not take you for a heartless liar." She breathed out a sigh that was mixed with an exasperated laugh, "I would be willing to bet that you are not even here of your own free will.  Not a single person downstairs urging you to do so." He remained silent, confirming her statement.

            Adrienne started roughly laughing in earnest, "Do you care anymore?" she hated how it sounded like a plea, "Did you ever care? About me, I mean." More silence. "I did not think so," she said, a resigned tone showing her first emotion in a week, exposing just how many nights in the past week she had hoped to hear his footsteps, to see his face, or hear his voice. "Let me rest in peace, please, Colonel Kościuszko.  And do not call me Addy, nor Miss Fairfax ever again.  You have no such right."

            Thaddeus had just shut the door behind him, the handle clicking into place when the Marquis reached the top of the stairs.  

            "It appears you were incorrect, sir.  She does not wish to see me, and I imagine it will remain that way for quite some time."

            Lafayette scoffed, shaking his head in denial, "That is impossible.  I am more than confident that I was correct.  Perhaps you have simply made a fool of yourself." his eyes looked away from Thaddeus and to the door— Adrienne did not suffer fools.  She never had, but in this state, she was steadfast in this decision, throwing away all senses of politeness.

            Thaddeus had to agree with the man, even if he would never admit such out loud.  He had indeed made a fool of himself in there.  She had spoken to him.  She wanted him to visit, to talk with her.  She had wanted to see him, and he blew the situation to hell.  

            The guilt in his stomach was clearly placed.  The guilt of the dark-haired Colonel was an unsettling feeling of regret in his gut that he could pretend was caused by the lack of food and not from both his actions this morning and his lack of visits to her bedside.  Thaddeus needed out of this suffocating house, begging the Marquis for permission to return to what would likely be a cold breakfast.  The Frenchman nodded, allowing him to pass down the stairs.  

            That had not been the plan.

            The plan was for this to make her better, not worse.

            The General was in a bad mood the rest of the day.

            McHenry said that she did not do anything beyond staring at the paneling on the wall, and dinner was even somehow tenser than usual.  After dinner, the General snapped, calling for a name that had been all but banned from his presence.  

            Major Tallmadge was sent for.

            The General cared not for the idea that he might be taking his supper.  He was insistent the major appear in his office immediately.  Meade was sent to fetch him, layering up as he tore himself from the warm fireplace and braced himself for the whipping winter wind.  

            No one knew what to expect when Meade returned.  They had not seen the Major engage with the General since Hamilton witnessed the shouting match that occurred between them after the incident.  That was how they referred to Adrienne's wound, Sackett's death, the risk of the General's own life, and of course, the Major's role in all of it.  It was difficult to exclude the man from their normal workings, not so much in the performance of their duties, but in the sense that they were missing a brother.

            It was a lasting impression.

            It was a constant reminder of what had happened.

            The heavy fall of boots on the wooden floors silenced any possible thought and productivity as they echoed through the hall.  The creak of the General's office door had them holding their breaths.  The click of the lock leaving their own hearts pounding.  This was a bad sign.  This had not been the plan.

            She was supposed to be getting better, not worse.

Chapter Text

            Meade grumbled from atop his horse, wind whipping in his eyes, the lantern he should have brought with him to light the obscenely dark path occupying most of his thoughts. While regretting plunging himself into complete darkness, he was grateful for the distraction. Many things at headquarters had been disrupted recently, and it was starting to impact work schedules and productivity in this office. It was all Harrison would talk about now, just to fill the gaps of silence that were once occupied with conversation and jest. Hamilton and Laurens had yet to reveal what was causing this sudden rift between them, and they were even farther from resolving the conflict. It felt to Meade that they were regressing, moving backward in time to when Laurens had first joined the staff, and Hamilton had taken every chance to prove to everyone how much more capable he was than this new recruit.  

            It was a miracle the blonde man had stayed at all. He had a life, in London, South Carolina, and even in Philadelphia. He had a perfectly comfortable and effortless life he could return to at the drop of a hat, but he did not leave. He did not leave no matter how many times Hamilton went out of his own way to embarrass him. Instead, the young heir and son of the President of Congress grew on the fiery redhead, the two becoming one and the same, never mentioned without the other’s name following.

            Laurens and Hamilton.

            If an officer required translation, it was always Laurens and Hamilton. If there was an empty patrol to be filled, it was always Laurens and Hamilton. If there was a candle burning in the aide’s office at an odd hour of the night, it was always Laurens and Hamilton.

            Their names might as well have been the best-known hyphenate in the Continental Army. They were the closest of brothers and the best of friends.  

            Well, that was to say, they usually were.  

            Recently, they had been so stiff with each other that their tension had begun seeping into the bones of their fellow aides. Meade had been trying his best to avoid it, but it was clear that each time Hamilton’s chair squeaked, Laurens’ hand paused in its perfected proper cursive as it sprawls in neat tracks across the page, such uniformity being drilled into him at a young age because of his social station. That was something that Meade had noticed. No matter how comfortable Laurens got with them, some things never failed to be present with the man. Colonel Laurens seemed to have a naturally ramrod straight posture, which would have looked stiff on anyone else, but on him, it just looked casual and relaxed, as if he did not even need to be thinking about it. His handwriting was flawless and ornate, falling neatly in straight lines on the parchment, never blotting the paper, even when he paused. Laurens carried himself with an air, which usually seemed like a person clinging to their station or flat out being a metaphorical prick, but not with him. With the blond man, it was an air of experience, dignity, respect for himself and those around him that he carried himself with. Each step had purpose and direction. No motion was made without cause and direct intent.

            That was why he made such a good soldier.

            Even on the chaos of a battlefield, he excelled. Thriving in the fight where many a man would have stumbled and stuttered their way into an early grave.

            Meade only wished that he did not have such high mortality rates for the poor horses he rode. 

            Meade had always been the stablehand of them all, preferring to spend his time with the majestic beasts that the whole Army relied on. The best of these beasts belonged to the General, his beloved Nelson being trusted into Meade’s care. It was the second-best of these worthy steeds that Meade rode now, his own trusty mount braving the cold and darkness with Meade as he traveled to the far edges of the camp in search of Major Tallmadge. That was another blonde man getting on Meade’s nerves. Tallmadge was indeed a paranoid man. The reason he had selected a plot of land for his camp so far out from headquarters escaped the poor aide, who was usually tasked with delivering correspondence throughout the camp.

            The fires of Tallmadge’s men began to appear around the border of the very outskirts of Charles Lee’s own camp, fading right into the sparse fires of the camp followers who lived in the harsh realities of the Valley and her natural tendencies. Meade did not dismount to search for Tallmadge among the supper fires. It was not necessary because the whole of the dragoon camp had been set up to accommodate for horses between its hearths, tents, and cabins. Meade supposed to look first to the place the Major ought to be, the officer’s cabin, and just as suspected, the Major was not present and had not been present for the duration of the winter encampment so far. So he looked next in the unofficial tent that Tallmadge had taken up residence inside after ushering the men in the worst conditions from the tents and into his cabin. This tent, too, was empty, and Meade signed, resigning himself to wandering the area until he heard a familiar voice or noticed the Major’s face in the firelight.

            Tipping his hat in response to Lieutenant Brewster’s semi-slurred, soon-to-be drunken greeting from the fire, he sat around with various men unfamiliar to the aide de camp. Meade began to fall into the monotony of the faces. He greeted those who bore familiar faces, greeting other officers of a rank lower than the Major as he passed them, delighted when another familiar voice called out his own name to him.

            “Meade!”

            The mounted aide de camp reared the horse slightly, turning to look at the Major who stood in the path behind him, smiling happily as he kicked his horse to a trot, approaching the curious Major.  

            “Have you correspondence this urgent? It is the tail end of the Men’s supper time. Surely it mustn’t be that important for the General to send you all the way out here?”

            Meade could only shrug as he replied, “I have not a clue as to why the General has deemed it urgent, but he wishes to see you at once, sir.”

            The Major nodded, rushing off to collect his own horse and meeting back with Meade to head into headquarters. They did not ride in silence, this was yet another blessing for Meade, finding relief in the Majors pitiful but well-intended attempts at jesting with the aide de camp as Meade began to fill him in on what exactly he was marching the Major into. There was no real reason he could give the Major. Washington had not shared a reason, only demands. They dismounted in sync with one another, climbing the few stairs into the Potts house with ease, the Major filing behind Meade as if the man were a human shield. It was a position Meade had become quite familiar with in the past few days as the incident at the house got worse, the feuding between the two most trusted of the General’s aides strongarming him into the position.

            Meade walked the Major to the office door, where the blonde turned to him to speak his thanks, only to be cut off by a friendly clap on the shoulder by the aide in question.  

            “Do not thank me yet, Major. We have no clue what you are walking in on, and I would hate for you to thank me only to deal with the worst of his tempers.”

            The Major only nodded before turning back to the door, straightening his jacket, and opening the door. Meade did not leave until the General’s office door clicked shut behind the Major.

            Lafayette bobbed in the carriage, exhausted from his early morning, as he stared intently out the carriage’s small window and into the glaring darkness. He knew they were to approach York soon, and he would be in the company of his wife and two little girls, draining what little energy he had left. For the evening. He would walk through the door with weary limbs, and his wonderful wife, his beautiful Adrienne– whose name he had avoided speaking aloud thus far– would understand. She would usher the girls away once he had greeted them and press a kiss to his own forehead as she whispered to him to head upstairs. She would tell him to take a nap, rest his eyes between the time of his arrival and the setting of the dinner table.

            She was lovely that way.

            She did not expect him to cater to her, to be energetic after returning from camp. She expected him to be exhausted, taking his hat from his head and untying the cloak from around his shoulders, draping it over her arm as she pushed him subtly towards the stairs.

            His Adrienne was lovely.

            She would scoop Virginie up and place her on her hip, leading Anastasie by the small girl’s hand as he silently made his way up the stairs. He could hear the laughter of his girls as he pulled the queue from his neck, draping his uniform jacket across the chaise at the foot of the bed. She would wake him up an hour or so later, sitting on the side of their bed, smiling at him as he woke.  

            His wife was lovely that way.

            Just as expected, when he stepped down from the carriage, he could hear the excited young girls rushing towards the door to greet him, catapulting themselves at his legs the moment he crossed through the threshold. He greeted them with an energy to match their own, kissing their heads and offering hugs till their heart’s content, but their happy little party was halted by the familiar click of heels on wooden floors.

            His wife stood under the archway leading from the house’s foyer into the formal parlor with a knowing look on her face the moment they made eye contact. She called the two little girls off him and ordered them back into the parlor to clean up their dolls before she approached him. Just as predicted, she took the hat from his head and smiled as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. She then unclipped the cloak from his shoulders and draped it across her arm just as he had imagined she would.  

            “You are exhausted, my dear.”

            She was right. He was more than exhausted at this point. The lively Marquis’s limbs hung weary, and his eyelids drooped all throughout the day, despite how refreshed he had woke up.  

            “I know.”

            What else could he tell her?

            What else would she tolerate?

            He was not being honest with her. She knew that.

            She also knew that he did not wish to discuss any of the events that had kept him from returning home to him these past few days.  

            So she did not press him.

            Her silence did not make him feel any better.

            Her silence reminded him that every day he came home to a loving wife, eager to simply satisfy as much as she could of his exuberant nature. It reminded him that every day he looked her in the eye and lied to her.

            What else would she tolerate?

            He had left her, without warning, while she was pregnant to join a war an ocean away. He never again thought he would see her. Even if he were to return to France, by some miracle or another, he did not believe she would take him back to her. He did not think she would be able to bear being beside him, did not think she could bear to be associated with his treasonous and shameful reputation.

            And yet, here she was, an ocean away from her home, in a land so against the very way her heartbeats, simply because he had asked her to. All he had done was ask, and she was more than happy to drop her life, comforts, and court just to be with him, here, in the wilderness of Pennsylvania.  

            She was hopelessly devoted to him. She was lovely like that.

            A hand made contact with his back, and he could feel the gentleness of her fingers through his officer’s jacket. She applied the smallest bit of pressure to him, not forcing him up the stairs but merely suggesting it.

            He nodded, grabbing her hand as he passed her to pull her up the stairs alongside him. She did not protest, only placing his hat down on the console table as her skirts swept at its legs.  

            The door to the bedroom was open, a fire already burning in the fireplace, awaiting his frosty arrival. Of course, it was. After all, his wife was used to running houses twice the size of this one. Her soft touch made contact with his person once more, applying pressure to his shoulders. The pressure urged him to sit on her side of the bed, and he wordlessly obeyed, allowing her careful hands to untie his cravat as he shrugged off his officer’s jacket. Both items were moved to the chaise, his waistcoat soon joining them before his wife stepped back to remove the pins in her own gown. Kicking his breeches to the side, the Marquis assisted his wife in her undressing, delicately releasing the silk ribbon ties holding her petticoats and pockets onto her. His hands immediately went to the lacing of her stays as she untied the various articles of shapewear, allowing them to join the other clothing items on the chaise.  

            They both stripped of their stockings and climbed into bed, the Marquis rolling over on his side to unpin his wife’s hair, her laying on her stomach as his ringers pulled the pins from her own blonde locks.

            They laid down, and she immediately moved to rest her head against his chest, rolling over to face him. His heart still pounded. The sight before him never failed to make his heart rush in its tempo. She was lovely like this.

            His Adrienne was lovely.

            “A parcel came today from a millinery shop in York.”

            The words were murmured across his chest, her hot breath fanning out across the fabric of the shirt, seeping through its weave to dust against his skin. The warmth called on him to reminisce upon a memory with a great deal of irony to its bones.

            A warm summer breeze drifted across the field of grass, tall stacks of wildflowers behind rows of neatly trimmed bushes hid the two young voices from the view of the house’s windows, of which the house of Morristown’s encampment had many. A younger version of the Marquis, not very much by years, but my experience in the world, lay atop some of these tall wildflowers, crushing far fewer than his blonde companion, laying against him with her eyes shut.  

            “You better not be asleep.”

            She hummed, cracking a smile against the linen of his shirt, “Not yet, but I soon should be in this heat.”

            He looked over at her, both of them resting on one of his arms as a pillow, and cracked a smile similar to her own, “And how am I to explain that no foul play has occurred to the General when he inevitably discovers us in our hiding spot if you are not awake to assist me?”

            Lady Fairfax was not yet promised to a man several years her senior, and upon looking at her, the Marquis was able to notice the toll such a thing had taken on her. John Laurens would not exist until the very last days of the encampment. He would not plague her with niceties and longing, empty eyes. The young blonde beside him had not yet begun to gaze out of windows or get lost among stitches for hours at a time, as if waiting, desperately, to be released from a gilded cage, allowed a small bout of playful laughter to bubble from her lips as she turned her face further into him. “I am sure you will figure something out. In French, if not in English.”

            “You are quite cruel for such a small mademoiselle.”

            “We all are. It gets worse the shorter we are.” 

            He allowed an improper snort to escape him before affirming her statement and continuing with stating as the reason he was incapable of such malice was that he was so tall. This elected a feeble shove from the blonde beside him but very little else.

            A warm summer breeze drifted across the field of grass and across their legs.

            He had to admit that it was beginning to get too hot for them to remain in their position, his woolen coat of a bright royal blue hue long since discarded and Miss Fairfax’s petticoats pulled up to reach her knees.  

            His shirt and waistcoat were not overly warm in this weather, and he had no doubt that the poor girl beside him in her many layers of skirts and such would be soon overheated, catching a sunburn across her pale skin or becoming ill from the heat and all her layers.

            If it were not for her own sudden tiredness, he would have been able to note such a thing from the lack of sweat across her hairline and the pink warmth of her cheeks. He, on the other hand, was observing as she delighted in the breeze, the wind seeping through her silk stockings and blowing against her skin in the same way it did his.

            Blowing against his shirt, fanning out across the fabric and seeping through its weave to dust against his skin.

            A warm summer breeze drifted across the field of grass.

            It blew across their legs, tumbling across them as they stood from their crumpled spot of grass. It gently beckoned them back into the house, the billowing blows of the soft winds faintly reminding the Marquis of his wife’s own becking and gentle suggestions. The lie they had agreed to use as an explanation of their whereabouts on the tips of their tongues the moment that they were asked of them. 

            They had created a tradition at Cambridgetown’s encampment of a formal afternoon tea.

            They performed it annually.   

            That would be hard here.

            That would be hard here.  

            Valley Forge did not have such lush grounds as the Cambridge house nor the billowing lengths of wildflowers found at the Morristown headquarters.

            Valley Forge did not have anything. Not anymore.  

            “Marie? Gilbert, did you hear me?”

            This time when the Marquis looked down to his arm, the blonde resting on it was different. The face did not belong to a more innocent and free Addy Fairfax, but rather his lovely wife, Adrienne de Noailles. She was not the carefree daughter of a lauded and loyal Lord but rather a towering and momentous Duke of the hallowed halls of Versailles.  

            The face belonged to an innocent and free woman, even in marriage. And that was their difference. Addy Fairfax would never be more than a friend or a sister to be cared for. No, the woman who held the dearest spot in his heart was right within his grasp, laying in his arms.

            “Yes, my dear, of course I heard you,” he replied, “I was merely waiting for you to tell me more.”

            There was more. There was always more, and his Adrienne never had to be asked twice to share more. “It was addressed to a Major Benjamin Tallmadge, but the name on the bill of receipt was Lady Fairfax’s. Is there a reason that such a thing would be sent here?”

            She was looking up at him, awaiting a prompted reply, to which he simply smiled and responded. “Yes, she is out of town, Philadelphia with her godfather, and wished to see the gift safe till she returns.”

            This time he was honest with her. What else would she tolerate?

Chapter Text

            No one was able to stomach a single thing that evening. The General and the Major had been going back and forth for just over an hour when there was a crash from the room and a series of muffled shouts from both parties involved.  The door was thrown open and the aides paused in their late-night ministrations, some having courage enough from their perches to call after the Major as he blew past them.  The General only slammed his fist on his desk before loudly pounding up the stairs, careless of those more tender that might be asleep, and reasonably so, at such an hour.  

            Adrienne listened, eyes closed and face-up on the cot, still not daring to disturb the rough, scabbed, and irritated skin on her abdomen where the lead-soaked bandages had resided merely days prior.  McHenry was snoring away already in his cot in the corner of the small room, between the window and door, but she knew better than to make noise, for the moment she was to shift, he would shift, and if she rustled her blankets, he would be awake in an instant.  That was how she found herself wide awake and struggling with sleep in the pitch-black room, dim candlelight from the hall just barely seeping under the door.  She considered getting up and fetching a pot of Chamomile tea.  It would certainly help her sleep, and she had surely recovered enough to make her way down the stairs independently.  Her train of thought paused on the snoring figure in the corner.  The moment Adrienne moved her blankets off, he would be ushering her back to bed without even hearing the request, assuming she could get it past her lips.  She listened to the familiar boots make their way across the wooden landing, stopping hesitantly after taking a few steps towards the room she had been holed up in for almost two whole weeks. As the General stood there, debating to himself if he should peek into the dark room, Adrienne began to wish she had not been so cross with him earlier.  

            Her little bit of hope was shattered when the steps retreated to the master bedroom, resigning her to staring up at the unevenly caulked ceiling, as even the windows no longer glowed with the lights of camp due to its new position further from the Potts house.  Adrienne usually found no problem with the silence; it allowed her to be alone with her own thoughts, ideas, and anecdotes, each one the most agreeable, in her opinion, but more recently, she found that her thoughts had been swarmed with anger and frustration at her situation and the entire helplessness of it.  Tonight this was reinforced by the uneven smear of plaster across the ceiling to hide the beams as she glared up to it, unable to fall asleep and unable to retrieve anything to assist her in doing so.  Her anger was darkening the corner McHenry slept in and seeped into the hall to follow the General into his own room, where she spitefully hoped he suffered as little sleep as she did.  

            She hated feeling so passive in her own body.  Adrienne hated being reliant on the men around her; considering how greatly she had worked to distance herself from the men that stood behind the cause she could not scrub from her name if she tried.  She hated being so reduced to a condition such as this, alone and miserable with only her books for company.

            She never minded being alone, her books as the only companion.  It was expected in such a house as Belvoir with, for all its grandeur, had no neighbors near enough to expect constant amusement unless one could provide it for themself.  Adrienne had learned this very early on, and it had been one of the driving factors for the ever-expanding collection of books kept in the house’s library. The books her mother had forbidden her to possess— mostly due to their contents being unbecoming for a lady— were held in her father’s office.  They were kept secret from her mother, who did not honestly know how much time she spent curled into a rather unladylike position on the couch in her father’s office, nose stuck in the forbidden books as her father balanced his books behind the sturdy yet ornate mahogany desk.

            She was taught to embroider by her governess, who made it such an unpleasant hobby that her mother would sit her down and force her to work on a project to develop the skills needed for her to have properly mastered it.  Adrienne was able to escape her mother’s scorn by taking to other, more ladylike habits than reading day in and day out.  She excelled at the pianoforte, the violin and harp, and had an incredible voice for singing, all carefully curated by expensive tutors directly from England, France, and Austria.  These tutors also expanded her language abilities, teaching her their native languages of French and Austrian on top of the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew her father taught her.  Her mother praised her for such fluency and exalted, even more, her skills with charcoal and paint alike.

            Adrienne was an excellent dancer as well, and with the most pristine manners in the colonies and a pretty face and figure to seal the deal, her dowry was high.  Not so much as to provide for her, but more so to ensure that the man who should pocket it would not be in any real need of it and would be deserving of it.  The Viscountess Fairfax would not have any less than the very best for her daughter, often turning away any male acquaintance that she might have had many years before her daughter could hope to enter the marriage market.  

            Adrienne had heard her mother speak to her tutors, nurses, and governess.  She knew that, had this war never occurred, she would have taken her marriage seasons an ocean away from Virginia in the infamous lanes of Grosvenor Square.  Her parents had been preparing a house in the square for them to attend to, as well as their sudden interest in the great house on her grandfather’s property in Scotland.

            But things never went the way they should.

            The war broke out after several instances of insurrection and several more passionate and opinionated speeches.  Adrienne remembered seeing her father come home from Williamsburg for the last time.  It was the early spring of 1775, and whatever had happened, she knew it was monumentous.  Her father had lugged himself from the carriage, showing years he had not yet gained, as Adrienne watched from an upstairs window.  She heard his disappointed sigh as it floated up the stairs, him loosely embracing her mother, who looked less concerned than she felt.  They stood there, unaware of Adrienne’s snooping, and whispered to each other in low voices, her father still carrying his bag of papers as he said those terrible words.  Adrienne remembered the changes of the house, and for her parents’ sake, tried not to notice them.  She knew that time was limited, even then.  But the Fairfax’s continued as usual, or so she thought.  Adrienne could not see the hidden sentries the governor had left for their protection- they were always just out of the view of her bedroom windows.  She had no clue they were in danger.  All she knew was that while as many of her parents’ things as possible were all being packed away into traveling chests, hers were put inside the short distance cases.  

            Adrienne knew what that meant, and it made her stomach churn.

            “Perhaps we better attend to London sooner than anticipated.”

            They did not mean “we” as in their family.  They meant “we” as only themselves.

            That was why they never told her.  Because they were going away, and Adrienne wouldn’t be joining them.  

            Adrienne was glum and ill-tempered on the day she arrived in her carriage at the doors of Mount Vernon.  A hardbound copy of The Prince on a nightstand and a star-filled sky occupied all of her free thoughts.  She could not understand their purpose in leaving her behind, and it was beginning to drive her crazy.

            Adrienne hated not understanding things. 

            Adrienne hated not understanding people.

            George Washington was a man that she had thought she knew.  

            She had thought he was a loyal soldier of the crown, a protector and upholder of its laws.  She thought he was simple-minded but kind.  She thought he cared for her.  She was wrong.

            She had believed him loyal to the crown, as he always had been.  It was a constant in her life.  The Washington family name had been associated with the Governor’s own and the Fairfax’s for as long as she could remember.  She hated not knowing if any of that was real.  She hated to think that he would have lied to her, to them, for so long.  

            George Washington was a man she thought she knew, but she was wrong.  And she hated it.

            He had tried.  He had tried to welcome her, but by the time Adrienne and her glum attitude arrived at Mount Vernon, the house itself had a cloud over it.  It was in mourning.  They were mourning a daughter.  She was mourning her parents.  Neither of them wished to have that gap filled by the other.

            Adrienne’s room was directly at the top of the main staircase, directly to its left on the landing.  It was right next door to Jackie’s room, the only thing providing a barrier between her room and the locked bedroom door that had once belonged to Patsy—though Adrienne never called her that.  It was too familiar yet unbearably foreign on her lips. 

            He had tried to welcome her, but the house itself had a cloud over it.

            This cloud was far more prominent and darker than any death of a family member.  It was just large and dark enough for the death of a colony.  George had left for Boston with the promise of being home by Christmas.  She spent that Christmas in Cambridge.  

            Christmas at Cambridge was odd.  Before leaving, Martha had insisted they visit Williamsburg, and when asked why Martha simply replied that they would both need proper gowns.  Martha would be out of mourning, and, much to the young girl’s delight, Adrienne would be making her social debut— even though Adrienne was fairly sure that there was no polite society in Cambridge.

            Her days at what she would later call the Cambridge headquarters, known then as simply Cambridge house, were delightful.  The house was large and picturesque, if a bit more traditionally colonial than she was used to, and there was far more to do in a social calendar than Adrienne ever realized. 

            But she was not a fool.

            She knew that she was young and that Martha’s rush to see her on the social scene could only mean that something was being hidden from her.  So she did what any other clever 14 year old would.  She explored.

            And while she never made it very far, Adrienne was perceptive.  She saw the maps across the office table.  And the cannons hidden just under the brush at a slope in the terrain.  She saw the muskets leaned against corners of rooms they did not belong in.  And if she caught it at the right moment— before the carriage was pulled around to escort her and the Washington’s off to the evening’s social event but not long after the warm orange rays of the sunset fell across the sky— she could see men in matching coats change position among the tree line.

            They were preparing—no, not preparing.  They were at war.

            Adrienne was not a fool, and her discovery worried her far more than she let on.  If she had thought her future was uncertain before, it only worsened during her days in the sunshine as it streamed through the front parlor’s large pocket windows.  She would sit doing embroidery and work so meticulously and diligently to keep her from anxiously biting her bottom lip between her teeth.  Or from curling up in one of the pocket windows’ benches and staring right into the soul of oblivion for the rest of the day.

            All that time still did not make embroidery more tolerable.  To be honest, it only made her feel as though she were being punished, but the house had no instruments, so she had to make do.  It wasn’t until just after her birthday— her 15th birthday, that is— that her days began to become more and more exciting.  So far, Adrienne had yet to be able to catch one of these elusive soldiers from the tree line until one walked right into the parlor.

            He was very lost and very French, but Adrienne’s curiosity got the best of her as she cheerfully invited him to join her for the afternoon tea spread decorating the room.  He was French and very well-mannered, so he agreed but was nervously looking at the door the entire time as if waiting to be discovered, found out, exposed.

            Perhaps it was improper— to be alone behind closed doors with a man so close to her age— but he was respectful and kept plenty of distance as he provided a far better conversation than he thought he was.  He was very lost, and French, and well-mannered.  He was a Marquis.  

            From that moment on, they were the closest of friends, sharing stories and secrets and passing time in the other’s company.  He was aware of the sentry posts and knew precisely how to avoid them— he would be an outstanding officer in time— so that they could have a moment to truly act their age, away from the war and their social responsibility, engaging in behavior that would be scolded and could be scandalous were they not such an excellent pair.  

            He made it bearable, providing amusement by passing along letters from the French court members he knew.  All addressed to her.  It was wonderful to her 15 year old mind to be so wooed and doted on by such figures, knowing nothing beyond pure enjoyment would ever come from the letters.

            Pure enjoyment.

            That was how Adrienne saw all the men she danced and flirted with for quite some time.  

            That was how she saw them until she suddenly did not.

            The name John Laurens had not begun to plague her until just a handful of weeks before the end of the Morristown encampment.  It was then that she was pulled aside by George, a man she trusted to care for her, and told that she was promised to someone.  That she was promised to a Mr. John Laurens from South Carolina.  Someone she had never met from a place she had never been to.  But he would bring her and her family security.  And comfort.  

            So how could she refuse such an advantageous match?

            She wished she had been selfish then.  She wished she had refused the match the moment it was proposed. But a part of her was still grateful for it.  A portion of her recognized that she would have never been introduced to a particular Colonel.  Though that should not have mattered to her as much as it did at the moment.

            She had not experienced the feeling of pure amusement in men’s company after John.  Not once she realized just how many serious implications could come as a result of less than a dance and some flirting.  It did not stop her entirely, but it seriously dampened her mood.

            John Laurens and Adrienne Fairfax had never shown more than a polite interest in each other; their match was made solely out of necessity rather than chemistry, that much was clear.  It did not stop her from wishing for more.  Not at first.  And— if one ignored all the nights she spent wide awake and clinging to her pillow begging it to love her with a head full of what-ifs and alternate possibilities— she had long since come to her senses about her duties to her family and title as well as her position in life.  

            She had not experienced the feeling of pure amusement in men’s company after John.

            Not till him .

            Thaddeus was different somehow.  He was older than John was, but he did not seem it.  He had the most heartwarming smile and a boyish laugh that gave her butterflies every time.  He had an accent that she could never quite place, but it made her feel safe nonetheless.  

            It was not pure amusement.  It was something more.  Something she had not let herself think of for years.  Something she had not dared to hope for until him.

            Adrienne was terrified to say it, but she just might have loved him.

            And if she held her pillow long enough, she could convince herself that he just might have loved her too.  

            It was something she had not dared to hope for.  Something she had not let herself wish for in years.  But she did.  She did, against her better judgment, and now here she was.  Alone.  Again.  She could have laughed at herself for allowing her heart to hope for more than she was allowed to possess.

            He was not hers.  It was as simple as that.  He was not hers, and she was not his.  She was foolish to think otherwise.  

            It pained her to send him away.  She was so much happier to see him than she ever would admit but to compensate for that, she had been too harsh and sent him away.  She would not blame him if he did not come back.  She would not.  Her pride was far too great to ever allow such a thing.  But perhaps she might.  If it were him, she just might, and that was the most pathetic part of it all.  She would make a fool of herself as many times as he would let her, and she would be happy with that.  She would be happy just to have been noticed by him.  

            Tears began to form in her eyes as she stared at the uneven plaster on the ceiling.  None of them fell.  She would not allow herself to stoop so low.  And she was scared it might wake McHenry.  That would be mortifying, truly reduced to hysterics in front of someone she could never be honest with.  Someone who would never understand.

            Adrienne was not a fool, but sometimes she allowed herself to get lost in her daydreams only to be harshly reminded that they are just that.  Daydreams.  Nothing more.

            She was not a fool, but sometimes she wished she were.

            It would make things so much easier on her.

            Perhaps she would even be able to sleep rather than staring miserably up at a ceiling in a freezing cold room with a snoring man in its corner.  Perhaps she would allow herself to be spiteful a little while longer.  She would need to heal first, but then she could go.  She could escape to Philadelphia or York and not have to be reminded of her bleak reality as the future Mrs. Laurens.  She could pretend she was still young and available for suitors, far away from any reminders of the opposite.  

            She would heal, then she would go.

           Perhaps she would go all the way back to Virginia and avoid a proposal this wedding season from a Lieutenant Colonel Laurens who wished to marry her just as much as she wished to marry him.

            If only she could be that lucky.

            Adrienne’s life was very quickly closing in on her.  She should have been happy for such an early debut, or else wise she would have never been able to experience what other girls in society got to have.  She was a British Loyalist and member of the peerage outside of York City and in a desperate position that required her to acquire security in the most permanent way.  She did not have the luxury of being a patriot lady from a patriot family either.  She had no choice.  She had to get married far before she believed herself ready for such a serious obligation.  She was mature and collected in presentation, but she was young and had not gotten to live all of her childhood and youth as she should have.  Sometimes she could not help but hear laughter and want to join in, even if it was improper.  Or woke up with excitement at a fresh powder of snow only to realize that she was condemned to sit inside and stare at it through a window, not being allowed to participate in the diversions of youth because of her so-called maturity.  It was miserable, but it was all she had.

            Adrienne was not a fool.

            She would not be a fool.

            She would heal, then leave.  Leave to wherever she could and leave behind all the misery of the valley in her wake.

            But first, she needed to be able to sleep, and if McHenry did not stop snoring soon, he would have a mouthful of feathers after being bombarded with her pillow.

Chapter Text

           “I would like to take a bath.”

           It was the first thing she had uttered in days, and it stopped McHenry in his tracks.  

           He had collected some papers from his desk and made for the door just before she had asked.  She saw the timing window perfectly.  She would heal.

           McHenry was less confident than her about such an idea, and rightfully so, which was why he carefully asked her to verify that his own ears had not deceived him, “A bath?”

           “Yes,” she replied in the same casual tone as before, continuing, “Since you are headed downstairs already, I thought now would be the best time to ask.”

           He hesitated, his eyes flickering to his notes still on his desk.  He did not want to say yes.

           He did not want to say no either.

           “Can you-” he cut off, not sure if he should ask his question, but deciding that he must with a sigh, “can you walk?  Or even stand?”

           She nodded confidently, breaking eye contact for only a moment.  Adrienne frankly had no clue if she could walk.  Or stand.  But she would have to find out eventually.

           “You do not-“ 

           He hesitated.

           He did not want to say yes. 

           He did not want to say no either.

           “You cannot possibly know that.”

           “Then we shall just have to try,” she said, “will we not?” At any other time, there would be a peculiar gleam in her eye as she spoke, but she was not yet well enough to regain her complexion, let alone regain her charming little quirks.

           He did not want to say yes, but he would not say no either.

           Mchenry placed his pile of papers down on the green draped table, acting as his desk for the moment, grabbing a bound book from its surface.

           Approaching her, he held out the book before calmly stating that he would need to test her muscle tissue.  Encouraging her to take it into her dominant hand when she did not take it from him.  

           He was testing her.  

           He was testing her, but he was not testing her muscle tissue.  He was testing her stubbornness.  He was testing to see if she was pulling his leg with this sudden about-face.  

           So she took it from him.

           With her non-dominant hand.

           And there was where she held it in the air, not breaking eye contact with him and not allowing herself to shake with the chills she was suffering and the strain of the weight on her arm.

           He was testing her.

           She was challenging him.

           He stood there in front of her, eyes not breaking contact with her own and not saying a single word.  They remained like this for a while, two or three minutes if she had to guess before he broke the eye contact and took the book from her hand.  

           “Very well.  I will ask that a bath be drawn up for you.  Miss Harris,” the young girl perked up at her name, having sat at the foot of the bed wordlessly, watching their test of one another just moments earlier. “You will help Lady Fairfax in doing so.  Be sure that she does not strain herself.”

           “Yes, Colonel,” She replied quietly out of deference to him even though he spoke to her as if she were a doctor under his command.  She did not dare to speak beyond her hushed tone around McHenry, not usually.

           But she was no fool, Adrienne was perceptive enough to understand why he had volunteered the girl over her Lady’s maid.  If Adrienne wanted to show she was improving, she would have to impress Miss Harris.  That could be a more difficult task.

           When McHenry returned, it was to collect Charlotte Harris to assist Ona in preparing the bath, apparently being drawn in the General’s room for privacy.  And the warmth of the fireplace as well.

           When the girl returned, it was with one of Adrienne’s dressing robes of yellow and blue silk, carefully holding it across her arms as if terrified of wrinkling or dragging the white embossed pattern atop the yellow silk across the questionably clean floors.  It was the loosest that she owned, and that was likely why Ona had given it to Miss Harris for her.  The blistering around her abdomen had yet to go away, and was irritated quite easily, so she did not mind its size.  

           Charlotte helped her shoulder the robe and tied the peach-colored silk ribbon for her at the front of the robe to close it before helping the blonde to her feet.  If Miss Harris knew more than she let on— and it wouldn’t be surprising if she did—Adrienne would have to convince her she was improving as quickly as possible.

           But at the moment, she was more focused on trying not to collapse between the small shared bedroom and the warm water of the tub waiting for her just down the hall, so she was not inclined to refuse the help in walking given by the girl or the wall Adrienne was near.  

           The room was delightfully warm.  

           The fireplace had been lit, and the curtains closed, the bath was letting off some light steam and the scent of its oils into the room, but it was not humid or damp.  It was just warm.

           Adrienne removed the robe, handing the silk to Miss Harris to be put on the bed before taking a seat in the chair pulled up a few feet from the bath.  On the side table beside her was a roll of soft tight-knit linen and a fresh chemise, and Adrienne was almost thankful for all the years of being dressed by someone else as she carefully pulled the filthy chemise from her body at the request of Charlotte.  When one was so used to being exposed in the company of others, it allowed for an odd sense of comfort in otherwise awkward situations.  

           She sat in her chair as Charlie wrapped her abdomen in three layers of the rolled bandages, letting the smells of the room distract her.  She could recognize the distinct smell of tulsi, lemon, a soft floral scent— likely a lavender and rosemary— and bergamot bath oils rising into the air of the room as the scents rolled off the bath’s steam.  

           When Charlie was satisfied with her work on the bandages, Adrienne was finally allowed to don her clean and noticeably more decorative chemise than the plain one she had been wearing before.  It was a simple short-sleeved linen with an attached chain stitched scalloped trim around the finely pleated neckline, all of which would be both breathable and just enough for her to properly clean herself, leaving her quite satisfied with the whole ordeal.  

           Lowering herself into the bath was the most challenging part of the whole process.  Trying not to collapse against the metal of the tub by lowering herself excruciatingly slow, sighing with relief when she rested in the complete warmth of the bath and closing her eyes for just a moment as a screen was pulled around the bath and the lit fireplace.  

           Charlie took her seat in another chair between the bath and fireplace, ready with a sponge to help her clean herself, and while it was most usual for Adrienne to be bathed rather than bathe herself, she reached out for the sponge.

           She would get better.

          Then she would leave.

           She would get better.

           She would have to prove to Miss Harris that she was indeed getting better first.

           Adrienne reached out for the sponge and dipped it under the water, making a face at the smell of it before releasing the water across her arms, neck, and chest with a soft squeeze.  It would be a tedious process, not out of any particular excruciating pain, but because of how good the clean water felt on her skin.  She almost wished she could stay in the comfortable warmth of the tub for the rest of the day as the layers of built-up sweat were washed from her skin, and while that may not have been entirely possible, she would most certainly enjoy it like it was.

           From here, Adrienne worked with muscle memory, spreading the rose-scented soap carefully against her skin with the sponge so as to not irritate it. She even allowed Miss Harris to pour some warm water from a separate pail by the fire atop her hair— ‘allowed’ as if she had a choice.  The young girl had just done it without asking, saying that it would help her to not stretch so much and that her stitches might just pop if she went too far.  

           It did not take long for Adrienne to rub the lavender oil into her skin and find herself soaking in the sweet scents of the oils and Epsom salts in the last of the bath’s warmth as her hair was washed by Charlie with the warm tonic infused water.  The calming strokes of a conditioned hairbrush lulled her into her mind, allowing her to assemble her plans for the improvement of her condition.

           First, she would need to prove she was gaining in health, and while the bath was doing wonders for strengthening her constitution, she would need to recover her complexion and strength quickly.  

           She was reminded by this when the girl finished the task of bringing back to life Adrienne’s poor blonde ringlets, crushed by her laying on them for such a lengthy period of time, and that she would now have to stand long enough to get out of the bath, dry off mostly with a linen towel, and don her warm dressing robe once again.

           The screen around the tub was opened up to face against the wall by Ona, who had stealthily slipped into the room and had begun fluffing pillows on the bed.

           “Mistress Washington be wantin’ Lady Fairfax to stayin’ here in the bed with the fire going till she’s good and dry,” Ona commented to Miss Harris as she worked on peeling back the sheets and propping up pillows in the side closest to the fireplace. “She don’t want her Ladyship catching no phenomena or nuthin’ like that,” she continued, as if an order from Martha Washington herself needed to be justified, “Not when she’s just finally healin’ good.”

           Charlie only nodded, finishing the tie on the front of the silk dressing gown before bringing Adrienne to the bed, where she was able to help herself under the covers and even able to bite her tongue so that she could face toward the fire.

           “Now you can run along, Miss Harris. There’s some food down in the kitchen.” Ona spoke once more as if Adrienne was not there, but so was a standard in her life.  She pretended not to hear Ona when not being addressed directly, and Ona did the same in return.  

           “I can’t,” Charlotte replied with perhaps the tiniest hint of a pout in her voice, “Colonel McHenry left me in charge.”

           “Then you tell him you’re fetching lunch for the room if he says a thing to you, understand?” Charlie nodded before telling Adrienne that she would only be a moment; she would hardly even notice that she was missing.

           “Miss Harris?” Adrienne called after the girl just before she made it out the door.

           “Charlie,” the girl corrected, taking a moment to ensure that she was still presentable before rushing downstairs amongst the heavy foot traffic of soldiers and aides.

           “Right, my apologies,” Adrienne conceded, correcting her mistake, “Charlie, might you fetch me a writing desk and some materials upon your return?”

           The girl hesitated, making a face as she did so.

           She wanted to say yes.

           She wanted to say yes, but she was forcing herself to say no.

           “I really don’t think that you ought to try anything like that quite yet,” the girl trailed off, not having the heart to give a clear answer in favor or against the idea, “that might over-exert you. You’ve already done a lot today.”

           Miss Harris was peculiar.  She knew far more than she let on.

           And Adrienne knew she would have to first convince Miss Harris that she was improving in health before McHenry would even entertain the notion.  

           So she pressed again.

           Miss Harris was testing her.  Even if it was not intentional testing, it was testing nonetheless.

           But Adrienne was stubborn and quite determined in her plan.  Adrienne would challenge her.  

           She would heal.

           Then she would leave.

           “I would very much like to write my mother,” Adrienne pressed, “It has been a good deal of time between my receiving her last letter and my sending a response.” 

           Miss Harris was peculiar.

           She wanted to say yes.

           She wanted to say yes, and how could she possibly say no?

           Miss Harris hesitated just before conceding to Adrienne’s request with a silent nod as she slipped out of the room.  Adrienne had won.

           Now, if she were telling the truth, Adrienne would have included that she was writing to her mother more out of duty than out of love or concern.  It was not that she did not feel this for her mother, but because of the contents of the last letter she had sent to Adrienne.  If Adrienne was telling the truth, she would have included that she had received said letter just barely a week before being shot.  Adrienne had declined to reply for so long, not because of her injury— which did provide an excellent excuse. After all, how could her mother be mad at a lack of response during such an event?— but rather out of pure loathing for the letter’s topic.  Her mother was preparing for a wedding, and Adrienne had very little say in the matter.  

           She could not recall directly the exact contents of the letter— which were, frankly, unimportant to the matter— but it inspired a dull dread in the bottom of her stomach.  She had declined to reply because she did not want to enable her mother, so through a hostess to plan a wedding an ocean away from its happening, to continue her antics.  Adrienne had a plan, but there was a dull dread at the bottom of her stomach in the shape of a golden band telling her that things would not happen according to said plan.

           She would heal.

           Then she would leave.

           Perhaps she would go all the way back to Virginia and avoid the dreaded proposal altogether.  Why put her through it, ask her such a question when all parties involved knew she had no other choice but to accept?  It felt like they were testing her.  It was not a prospect she could bear to rising to, but she would have to.  It was not as if she had a choice.

           Perhaps she could evade that terrible situation if not her wedding.

           If only she could be that lucky.

           Ona did not say a word as Adrienne stared into the fire and had this reflection. It was the return of Miss Charlotte Harris that broke the room’s silence.  The young brunette entered the room with a slight struggle, causing Ona to rise from the chair she had been sitting in to help the girl.  Upon further inspection— once she sat up in the bed, that is— Adrienne realized the girl was carrying a large tray, passing it to Ona only to return to the hallway and enter with another, equally heavy, tray. “I have no idea what we are supposed to do with all of this food!” Charlie exclaimed, “And I think this might be tea— like a real tea, not coffee or that nasty herb stuff!”

           Adrienne made a noise of disgust, pulling a rather childish face at the mention of the abomination that some Patriots have the audacity to call tea, and Charlie laughed at her for it. “It is a benefit of having parents in England,” Adrienne replied from under the covers. “Acceptable methods of receiving a proper tea.  It smells like a Green Hyson,” she said, with an odd amount of confidence, “if I am correct.”

           Charlie took the lid off the porcelain pot, sniffing at it before she looked to Adrienne, astonished, “How on earth did you know that?”

           “It is one of my very favorites,” Adrienne replied simply, “I could recognize it anywhere.”

           Charlie only made a face in return, putting the lid back on the pot before she spoke, “Well, all I care about is that they gave us like….three whole pounds of sugar.  And honey.”

           Ona’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as she took the tray from Miss Harris’ hands, putting its contents on another, slightly smaller side table, much like the large one that the first tray was arranged on.  Two of the room’s chairs were pulled up beside them for Ona and Charlie as the side tables were already located near the bed.  Ona ushered the younger girl into the chair closest to Adrienne’s perch on the bed, pouring her a cup of hot tea and handing her the large sugar bowl with a small smile before moving on to her mistress.  Ona scooped three spoons of sugar rather than the usual four into the cup to make room in the flavor of the tea for additional two spoonfuls of honey before adding a half slice of lemon to the cup and handing it to her mistress on one of the empty trays to place on her lap.

           She then moved to start a plate of some of the light tea arrangements, beginning with Adrienne this time, when there was a knock on the door, interrupting her movements.  Ona placed the plate on her chair and went to answer the door and to ensure that no indecent events might pass based on who was at the door, as were her duties to Lady Fairfax as her lady’s maid. 

           The door creaked on its hinges as it opened and a familiar voice belonging to a blonde man in buff and blue. “I apologize.  All the traveling desks are out of the office today.  Meade and Hamilton are out with them, but I do have some paper,” he shifted the items in his arms, or at least that is what it sounded like, passing said papers of it to Ona followed by the clink of a bottle.  Or perhaps an ink well from how Ona had to take a moment and unload the items in her hands on the desk across from the bed.  She sent a face to Adrienne, who had to attempt to school her face, lest it give the Lieutenant Colonel a reason to stay for even longer than he already was.  

           The door creaked closed, and Ona placed a quill on the desk, murmuring to herself something about a particularly odd man, before looking to Charlotte and speaking once more. “We’ll need to move Lady Fairfax to the desk if she is to write this letter to her mother,” she pulled the letter Adrienne needed to reply to from the chest at the foot of the bed and held it in the air.

           “That is not necessary,” Adrienne spoke to Charlotte, belaying Ona’s order.

           She would need to heal.

           Then she could leave.

           First, she needed to impress Miss Harris.  

           Adrienne would do it herself, and besides, it was not a far trip by any means.  Adriene shuffled to the edge of the bed, shifting the sheets off of her robed body before hesitantly slipping off the mattress altogether.

           She managed to slowly make her way around the bed, grabbing onto the corner post, then crouching to make contact with the chest at the end of the bed, then reaching out to the chair and successfully making it into the seat unassisted.  Adrienne could have considered that solo act a miracle, and it seemed Miss Harris did too, as Adrienne caught the flash of a look on her face from the corner of her eye before she pulled the chair up to the desk only to release a breathy laugh.  There was a pile of perhaps 20 or more sheets of blank paper on the desk beside the quill and inkwell.  Adrienne spoke, astonished, “How many letters does he think I need to write?” which promptly caused Charlie to break out into laughter at Lieutenant Colonel Laurens’ expense. 

        “I only told him a  letter.  Singular,” the young brunette clarified,” I suppose he just doesn’t understand that a woman’s and a man’s letter are of the same length.”

           “Or he must think me a terrible gossip,” Adrienne added.

           Charlie only smirked with the gleam of humor in her eyes before finally saying, “Or both.”

Chapter Text

            The sun rose in the small guest bedroom of the Potts house as it did every day, casting its warm rays across the small curtain-covered bed.  For almost a week, it had been empty, having been thus far abandoned by the Marquis, until the room’s initial inhabitant returned one afternoon.  She had been getting up to the late rays of the morning sun and perching herself on the traveling chest at the foot of the bed— slightly assisted in comfort by layers of quilts placed over its flat top.  She would take her breakfast in bed, then spend the rest of her morning on that chest with an oak traveling desk on her lap, composing various letters till her soft hands approached a wicked cramp.

            Adrienne had first written to her mother in regards to her planned gowns for her looming wedding, one for the proper ceremony to be held at Truro Anglican Church and another more lavish ceremony at Belvoir itself.  From then, she had written to her godfather to assure him of her recovery, then moved on to replying to Thomas’s letter, as it would take the longest for him to receive her reply.  From then it was a series of letters between her and Ann Emily Rush, more wedding planning for Elsie Markoe— the to-be Mrs. Rush in September— and a response to Anna Marie Chew that even though their own birthdays were so close in time, Adrienne would still be attending the younger girl’s celebration.

            And, of course, lots of gossip.

            Three weeks of absence could leave someone high and dry for information in such a fervently active society as Philadelphia.  Luckily for herself, Adrienne had plans to rejoin it quite soon, and she would be grateful for the difference in scenery.  The valley was many things, but excitement filled was not one of them.  That was to say, the only ‘society’ that happened in this miserable valley was the dinners held behind the closed doors of a General’s headquarters.

            Adrienne was just starting her morning letters, curled up on the quilt-covered trunk, when Martha slipped her head into the room, pulling the blonde— who had been laughing at something in one of the letters she was reading— from her routine.

            “Good morning,” Martha greeted, “Are we taking a casual day, and I missed the order?”

            Adrienne had made her way back into regular gowns these past few days rather than just donning dressing robes over her bedclothes, but this morning she had not been up to the action of getting into a gown between breakfast and her letters, so she still remained in her bedclothes and dressing robe.

            “No,” Adrienne replied, “there was not.  I just decided that I would forgo it today.  I was clearly not expecting any such visits as this.”

            “Well,” Martha sighed, eyebrow quirked at the young blonde on the trunk, “I would suggest that you do get dressed today and do not exhaust yourself on your letters.”

            Adrienne now turned her full attention to Martha as she spoke, confusion lacing her voice. “Why is that?”

            Martha smiled at Adrienne warmly, replying, “Because we are expecting guests, and I am expecting you.”

            Adrienne unfolded herself on the trunk, straightening up as her legs fell to the floor, speaking to Martha as they unfolded, “I cannot join downstairs.  McHenry still deems it too much exertion.”

            “I know,” Martha responded, “That is why I am hosting upstairs in my personal parlor.” Then, when Adrienne continued to look at her with utter confusion on her face, Martha elaborated, adding that she would be hosting in the master bed-chamber of the house. “Oh!” Martha exclaimed, “And remember to bring your embroidery work with you!  We are to be hosting a sewing circle with some of the camp followers and perhaps an officer’s wife or two.”

            Adrienne was incredulous at this, hesitating for only a moment before filling the air with a million questions all at once, “Has Uncle George approved this?  And moreover, do they even have the skill— or the material— to join in our embroidering?  Have I been cleared by Colonel McHenry to handle needles yet?”

            Martha only laughed at her as she turned to leave, replying in the practiced swift motion of a mother of two grown children, “Yes he has, and yes you have.  They will likely have more to do than you and I, for those without embroidery will be bringing mending.  I assure you, dear that these are not lowly women, and this will likely be quite far from their first sewing circle.”

            “Will it?” Adrienne murmured skeptically under her breath as Martha closed the door to leave the girl to prepare for the afternoon’s events.  

            “I still do not see why you must invite them here.”

            George Washington was a principled man, and the idea of even having camp followers went against every single one of them, but now he was being asked to let them into his house, into the room he slept in with his wife every night. “I do not think that,” he hesitated, not out of a lack of words, but out of a lack of appropriate words before settling on a vague term, “this will do anything to help her spirits.”

            “She is a social creature, George, dear,” Martha replied without a moment of hesitation, “She needs more than just letters.  Keeping her cooped up in that little room is against her very nature, and you know it.”

            George nodded, reaching out to hold his wife’s hand as he replied firmly, “Keeping her cooped up in that little room keeps her safe.  That is more important to me than her natural disposition to company.”

            “And what of her current disposition?” Martha asked, “It is unfair to her to keep her so locked up.”

            “I am not keeping her ‘locked up,’ Martha,” he replied with a sigh, “I am keeping her within the safety of these walls for her own sake, and I am sure she is more than appreciative of it.”

            “And how would you know?  Have you gone to see her?” 

            Martha was challenging him.  Of course she was.  She always did, and she always won.

           “ No, I have not.  She does not wish to see me.” 

Martha sighed, perching herself on the side of her husband’s desk as she softly spoke to him. “Do you not think that she might have been upset about something else when she snapped at you?  And besides, she appears to be in far better spirits than she were a week ago.”

            “By ‘better spirits,’ do you happen to mean not vomiting and can lift her limbs?”

            “George.”

            He was telling the truth.  Better spirits from a week ago meant very little in terms of a positive recommendation.  A week ago, Adrienne was wrapped in lead bandages and vomiting so much she could not sit up without assistance.  Now she was bathing, waking up and standing on her own, and writing letters all day long.  Better spirits most certainly were present, but he was unsure just how much of them would be aimed at him.  

            “She is much contented with her letters, Martha,” he replied, “There is really no need to push for such interactions so soon.  On that matter, you and I have both known her long enough to be assured that she will push herself beyond what she ought for the sake of appearing unscathed.”

            “She would not dare,” Martha replied, knowing all too well that George was right, and he knew it, but she would avoid addressing that for the time being.  George knew this too, raising a brow at his wife in disbelief but thankfully keeping to his usual silence.  

            That was one thing she had liked about him.

            He knew when not to test his wife.  A scarce skill amongst all husbands.

            If there was one thing Adrienne disliked about her wound, it was the clear cast blemish that it left on her remarkably evenly toned skin, even after it healed.  She was grateful that there had not been many chances to see much of the puckered wound, otherwise, the impurity on her skin might have driven Adrienne to complete insanity by now.  

            The scarred over bullet wound was all Adrienne could look at while dressing for the day, wishing for nothing more than to change into a clean shift and don her silk satin brocade gown. But, instead, she was left staring at the miserable wound as Ona wrapped her torso with a layer or two bandages.  Even after it was covered by the cloth, she could not stop looking at the spot she knew it resided on, which was far easier than it should have been due to the phantom whispers of pain still firmly remaining in the spot.  

            When she was finally in her shift, a pair of partially-quilted red jumps were placed over her shoulders in place of her stays, due to the lesser amount of boning in them, and laced up the front.  A single petticoat was added— without any shapewear, to lessen the weight on her abdomen— but the rest of the routine was normal to the usual pattern of her days.  A more casual gown such as the one on her shoulders might be worn for such an occasion, she supposed, as the gown was sewn shut at the front, the stitches hiding behind the decorative deep red fabric and its golden lace trimming.  

            Ona remained silent and on task, pinning a red silk satin-trimmed straw hat to her head because even though she would be remaining inside, these were persons she were not familiar with, and it would have been obscene to arrive uncovered.  Adrienne continued her thoughts, planning out letter replies and trying to strain her ears to hear of any new arrivals that might cause her to need a quicker pace in getting ready.  

            Luckily for her, she had plenty of time to collect her current embroidery project and her materials as well.  It was only after Ona had finished arranging the things neatly in a bag that Martha knocked on the door to collect her.

            Adrienne was the only one in the room initially, having arrived early on account of the possibility of any mishaps or malfunctions that could very likely still occur.  She almost wished she had torn something on the ever so brief walk across the hall so that she could evade this unsavory meeting Martha had given her no choice in attending.  But alas, Adrienne sat, all too healthy, on her perch upon one of the master bedroom’s padded chairs.  She supposed she was thankful for it.  Adrienne had avoided all of the aides— including Hamilton and her fiancé-to-be— and she was healing rapidly.

            Adrienne had a plan.

            She would heal.

            Then she would go.

            She would go, and perhaps she could pretend for a moment that nothing was worrying her every nerve thin.

            She would go.

            She was anxious to go.  The sooner she was able to flee, the sooner she might rid herself of the metallic taste on her tongue that had been lingering there these past few months.  It was not blood— no, that was a taste she was more than familiar with by now— no, it was not blood but rather the taste of gold.  It was the taste of French gold fashioned into an originate cuff, leaving its imprint on her finger, its hovering and constant presence tying her, chaining her like a prisoner in her own life.  

            But what other choice did she have?

            It was almost ironic how she could sometimes feel it there on her ring finger, everything down to its exact weight, even though she had never so much as had it described to her, let alone seen or worn it before.  She was naive enough to hope she would be wrong but not so naive as to believe that she could be.  

            Martha left her well enough alone in her despondency, quietly arranging the tea service that she had managed to make appear out of, seemingly, thin air.  Adrienne could not fathom how she did it sometimes.  Somehow all Marthaever needed to do was simply arrive, and there would suddenly be an abundance.  The meals arriving to Adrienne’s room three times a day were of equal quality to what she ought to expect for a meal rather than what was usually given at the miserable Pennsylvania winter encampment.  The food was quite clearly not made by the camp cook who conjured up the most curious of concoctions and had the audacity to call them food.  The same most obviously applied to this tea service, whose pastries and sandwiches looked rather appetizing in their contents.  That was, for some odd reason, a consolation to Adrienne, who snorted shortly to herself at the very first notion that came to the top of her mind at the observation.  

            At least if the conversation was favoring the exceedingly dull— as she rather thought it would be— Adrienne might be so blessed as to forget the manners her mother had diligently spent hours drilling into her daughter’s ramrod straight posture and stuff her face with the array of food being piled around the room.

            The very first of the group arrived— well, the first pair, that is.  They came, arms linked together and walking in a painfully constricted path, yet moving in complete unison, eyes focused straight ahead and nowhere else, not even for a moment.  As the others arrived, Adrienne noticed quite a pattern, and it might have been a humorous thing indeed to see these poor terrified women enter the tiny house and parade up its stairs as silently as possible.  They were like a pair of lost little ducklings padding one after the other, doing their best not to be heard by any danger in their vicinity— which in this case was the possibility of disturbing one of the officers working in the rooms of the first floor— from the moment they stepped across the threshold to the moment the bedroom door closed behind them and they could melt into the warmth of the room, maintained by the boisterous flames crackling away in the fireplace.

            Adrienne would give them credit where it was due, and it was undoubtedly due.  They had cleaned up exceedingly well— that only being compared to the fact she believed them to live strictly in rags and tatters.  The room was full of an array of chintz gowns and a few solid-colored gowns, almost all of some kind of cotton blend, leaving very few in silk.  While none were particularly fashionable, per se, but they were acceptable, versatile even.  The group was not all camp followers, however.  A few officer’s wives were also in attendance, being a part of the few who wore solid and matching colored gowns as well as making up the whole of the silk category.  Some of the dresses had trimmings, a few held entanglements under their sleeves, making it a general toss-up.  The only real distinction between wife and follower was who had brought embroidery and who had brought mending.  

            There was a girl— she must have been in her late twenties— without a ring in attendance that entered with the officer’s wives, and Adrienne pitied her for the sight, offering to allow her a seat next to her own.  She was furthermore glad that the girl was, at the very least, not dull company for Adrienne, who was surprised at how well the two were able to get along for the time being.  All of this was lovely, but Adrienne could not help but notice the beautiful dark-haired woman with a simple band on her left hand that Martha had pulled aside into the hall.  It was hard to see what they were saying, but Adrienne selfishly knew it was something about her.  The woman further proved this by taking the other seat nearest to Adrienne and immediately introducing herself.  

            Adrienne realized quickly that in a time far shorter than she wished, these two women might become far more familiar to her own circles.  In a far shorter time than she wished, Adrienne realized she, too, would be a part of this mismatched group.  

            She was soon to be a wife like the girl in her mid-twenties to her left— Miss Kitty Livingston— would be.

            She would soon be an officer’s wife like the dark-haired woman to her right, Mrs. Catharine Greene.

            She was surprised as a whole to learn that Mrs. Greene’s husband was a Quaker, as she most certainly was not herself, and the conflict in religion deeply interested Adrienne, who had to force herself to withfrain from asking after it at the current time.  This reminder Adrienne gave herself was not so much out of fear that Mrs. Greene would take poorly to her questioning, but rather due to her fascination with the topic that Kitty, Catharine, and herself had begun to engage in from the moment that the notion had been brought up.  Though Adrienne would never admit it, the idea of the science of politics was always something that had thrilled her.  To her, it was one big game of society, of ranking and niceties, but unlike the games of society, ranking was not guaranteed, and respect for power was constantly shifting through the progression of time.  

            Some people managed to obtain their spot and the security of it through monumental progress. She did not have to agree with or even like the man, but men like John Adams who managed to make any opposition to their beliefs become an affront to the body they spoke within had learned this science, and she had to commend them.  That was the thrill of this new society.  There were things to be learned constantly and a flow of information that kept Adrienne’s mind in a buzz.

            She, too, would soon be an officer’s wife, but she would have preferred a politician.

            Not only were politicians generally free of the direct danger that many a soldier faced on the regular, but they were far more engaging.  Their social calendars were always filled, and never with a dull moment, they spent their days debating— the best of pastimes, in Adrienne’s opinion— the most frequent and delightful of topics of recent happenings, philosophy, and other academics.  And they were able to do it all without being called a gossip, dull, or uncouth.  Adrienne was never so blessed as to attend to Williamsburg with her father during the Burgesses season, but he did not always return empty-handed without paper or work that needed to be done.  So, when Adrienne would sneak off to her father’s office to read the forbidden books he kept for her there, she would also listen to him as he spoke casually about his doings.  Willam Fairfax would sit behind his desk, explaining them far beyond what could be considered speaking only to himself, no matter his tone.  He was talking to her, and it was clear as to his intentions.  William Fairfax knew precisely how to engage his daughter, even if he pretended not to notice her hanging onto his every word as they passed through his lips.  

            And so that is how this group of three spent the event, all three working on embroidery or pretending to as they discussed, debated even, current events.  While their conversation was lovely in hypotheticals, there was a massive elephant in the room: the Cabal situation.  Neither of the three addressed it, for to speak of it under the roof of General Washington would be a clear and great insult to the man, but all three quite clearly wanted to.

            Adrienne had always known George Washington.  For as long as she had been alive, he had been “Uncle George” and simply nothing more.  Uncle George occasionally attended to Williamsburg, but very rarely.  More time of his was spent in the grand rooms of Belvior during her youth than another place.

            Adrienne had always known George Washington, and while she believed the man to be capable of being many things, a commander-in-chief of a rebel army facing the greatest power in the world— let alone a man who was so foolish to think he could win such a fight— was not one of them.  But she was not sure how much she would favor the other options of Conway and Gates.  Adrienne had two choices: she could rush into a marriage that was starting to make smothering herself to death with her bed pillow quite an appealing option, or she could wait.  To wait was dangerous.  To wait was to hope that General Washington remained in command and that his favor with the congress of self-important men would be restored quickly.  Adrienne hated to admit it, but she relied on George for his ridiculous position in this army.  

            That was why she had been left behind.

            Adrienne was not a boy— not a proper heir to a title— and she never would be.  She was a girl, and girls are good for one thing: connections.  A female could be married to gain power, connections, wealth, protection, or even a combination of those motives.

            Adrienne’s purpose was protection.  And wealth.  Adrienne would have to marry soon.  She would not have a choice in the matter much longer— not once this cabal business reached England’s ears.

            Adrienne was not an heir.  She was a pawn.

            She was a pawn with a purpose to be fulfilled, whether she liked it or not.  And the elephant in the room began to make smothering herself with both of her bed pillows quite an appealing option for a final end.  

            Adrienne had a plan. 

            She would heal.  Then she would leave.

            She would leave, and— as much as she tried to deny it— Lieutenant Colonel Laurens would follow her.  Of course, it was not proper for her to mourn such a thing, but after all, how could she not when they both were so docilely opposed to this marriage?  How could she not when neither party to be married wanted to suffer the other?

Chapter Text

           Adrienne had become accustomed to late mornings in the past few weeks.  It had become typical to her sleep pattern.  That, perhaps, was why this morning after the sewing circle, she had taken to a sour mood at being woken at the earlier half of the morning.  It really was not Ona’s fault that she was woken up.  The blame for that fell entirely on the shoulders of Colonel James McHenry, who had done the most damnable thing and told Martha that she was well enough to begin making her way around the house— with supervision, of course.  

           It was due to this clearance that she was being awoken practically an hour or so after the late winter sun, and Adrienne was not very happy as she grumpily allowed Ona to slide the crisp silk dressing robe over her shoulders.  Ona led her sleepy steps to the small makeshift vanity that had been in the tiny closet of a room that Adrienne had thus far inhabited for the entirety of her time at the winter encampment at Valley Forge and began to ready her for breakfast downstairs.

           “You know,” Ona sighed as Adrienne closed her eyes in the small chair, attempting to sneak her way back to sleep, “it is a good deal easier to get you ready when you’re awake and not tryna slouch yourself back to sleep.”

           Adrienne only groaned in complaint that she would truly have to be awake for this to work— and Martha would not accept her to be anything less than Adrienne’s usual standard of impeccable presentation— if only to make it easier on poor Ona. The latter being the only one who had been tasked with a hard part.  Adrienne tried to consider that for Ona to be so awake and ready by now, she would have been awake for a far longer time than her, but somehow she could not bring herself to care very much for anything besides crawling back under the covers.  Alas, that would not be an option as Martha will likely try to fill her day with meaningless little tasks specifically to avoid such an occurrence.

           Adrienne patiently allowed herself to be put into a simple silk-blend periwinkle English gown with a blue flower pattern weave and for her hair to be assembled to its usual coffier before heading downstairs to the slightly more hushed than usual community resting below her feet that had been awake, working, for hours now.  They were not silent as they were when she was still abed in a room shared with McHenry, but they were far from their usual volume of voices and foot traffic, and it made for an almost eerie scene to be beheld.  

           The room that had once held the foreign offices was now empty, being repurposed into something else or another. Adrienne did not get a chance to see it fully to ascertain precisely what purpose had been found for it as it was too far to see clearly from the stairs.  Continuing down them with a degree of silence and a slower pace regarding to the quieter atmosphere and tiredness still being present in her bones, Adrienne attempted to eavesdrop on the voices that could be heard mingling with the clatter of plates, cups, and other pewter eatery in the aide’s office room.  It was so quiet, and Adrienne could not help but be reminded it was because of her.  

           She really didn’t care much about what they spoke of, but more who was speaking and who was not.  She was really straining to hear a familiar French tilt in the room, even though Adrienne was perfectly aware the Marquis would likely not be here, both for breakfast and dinner due to the new house he and his family were now far more well situated in than those remaining at the Potts House could hope to be.  Foolish as it was to look for his voice amongst the aides, she could still try for some hope of a companion awaiting her in the makeshift dining room.  

           It did not very much matter to her where the Marquis resided.  After all, Adrienne had a plan.

           First, she would heal, then she would go.

           She would go as far she could possibly be allowed to go.

           After all, Adrienne was merely a girl.  A pawn.  She could not possibly be left to make decisions of her own.

           Not on where it was she would flee to.

           Not on who she would marry.

           Not on who she was.

           Adrienne was not a proper heir.  She was a woman and, therefore, a pawn.  Not very useful for furthering a legacy— and not due to a lack of competency or a good head upon her shoulders, as many of the opposite sex would care to believe— but valuable for making deals.  She was an advantageous means to an end for her family, allowing them to use her existence as a bargaining chip towards whatever was most needed.  In this case, that need was security.  The Fairfax’s required a secure means of income and protection of god-given property, and the passage of money and lands through marital bonds was the best way to do so.

         Adrienne so greatly wished, even now, that she had declined the proposal when it was first brought to her attention on a warm afternoon in early spring of this very year.  It was a memory she remembered vividly, knowing that it was to occur— secretly hoping it would not— as she stood in the warm light that seeped through the General’s office windows. She had known it was coming when she was heavily encouraged and frequently reminded to write to a certain Mr. John Laurens, currently studying the law in England. He had broached the topic carefully, wanting her to be open to the idea as if it were her wish and not the arrangement of her father and himself.

           While Adrienne was merely all of 15 years of age— soon to be 16, thank you very much— this unfamiliar man who came with a complimentary recommendation from both her father as well as the General was sitting solidly at 21 years of age.  It made for an incredibly impersonal and stiff tone to their cordial and polite correspondence.  To say that both of them did not take advantage of exaggerating just how long it took for a letter to arrive into their hands would be an understatement.

           Nonetheless, they did as they were asked by those around them, and it landed her inside George’s office on the singular sunny day of that entire month with the question of if she would take him.  He was a good man of principles and philosophy, good breeding, and even better education.  He had prospects, a fortune, estate, and a family name.  That should be all her pride and breeding could want from a marriage.  He would treat her well, she would remain comfortable in her current standard, and there would be a beneficial alliance created through their union.  It was everything Adrienne had been raised to want of a husband, so she had conceded to the arrangement as she squinted into the sun as it streamed through the office windows.

           Adrienne had been contented then.

           Perhaps she was not overly excited or anxious, but there was a good deal of indifference to the subject nonetheless, and that was the best that could be expected.  No particular desire to ambush the altar nor enough disdain to flee from it was truly all that an arrangement such as theirs required.

           She had not expected anything to change.  How was she to know that when she finally met the Lieutenant Colonel for the second time ever that he would be accompanied by a man who would force her to experience love and therefore crave it?  If she had, Adrienne was not quite sure if she would have still promptly arrived to the Potts house or if she would have delayed herself in avoidance.  Things had been so beautifully simple with a stoic but socially polite relationship looming in her future.  Now every time Adrienne allowed herself to think on the notion, she was brought back to a dark night amongst the hedges of the Rush family’s gardens, where she came to the conclusion that the very idea of such a relationship would be the most dreadful life she could possibly live.  

           But John Laurens was a good man of principles and philosophy— even if Adrienne did not agree with those principles nor philosophies— good breeding and even better education.

           He had prospects, a fortune, estate, and a family name.

           That should have made her happy.  

           It would have to make her happy.

           It would make her happy.  Eventually.  That was what Adrienne told herself as she finished descending the stairs, making her way into the aides’ room where a breakfast of moderate size that was certain to have, unfortunately, originated from the camp kitchen was placed upon cleared work tables.  Adrienne was resolved as she entered the room.  She would be happy in her marriage if it killed her.  

           The sound of heeled shoes upon the scratched and worn wooden floors was a relief to hear this morning.  Usually, John Laurens would never stop for even a moment to notice such a mundane thing, but this morning was different.  This morning Adrienne Fairfax was to be joining them on the first floor of the house, no longer secluded to her rooms for the first time in weeks, and to say that John was eager to please would be an understatement.  

           One thing he has learned about Lady Fairfax through his whole duration of knowing her was that she was quite the stoic and polite little creature, and he hoped greatly that the progression of a breakthrough for their relationship that he had been making while she was bedridden, would continue.  It was true, John had never particularly tried to become close to her, not as he ought have, but he was trying now and surely that has to count for something?  Call him a hypocrite, but he wished her to feel as though she may be vulnerable to him, as though she may be real— not merely the figure on a pedestal that her rank and accomplishments have placed her upon— even though John rather thought she enjoyed the view from that pedestal, for how else could she remain so very far from the life that she lived every single day?  

           That was another thing that would have to be worked on.  This crumbly facade of indifference that Lady Fairfax held towards the war simply would not do from a Colonel’s wife.  The Lieutenant Colonel preferred to refer to this behavior as a facade because it was far easier to believe that one could change the views of another when their views appeared to be set on nothing at all rather than on the opposition.  Unfortunately, the facade was crumbly at best as there was an appalling amount of favoritism to the loyalist half of America’s inhabitants.  Of course, she brushed shoulders with every patriot who was anybody at all, but her tastes and inclination always appeared to lean towards the crowd in the buff and red than in the very same god-honoring blues as her intended wore.  

           John simply could not fathom how a single creature could not be in absolute favoritism of separation from such tyranny as was found in Great Britain.  Adrienne was undoubtedly a smart girl.  Surely it could not take her very long to come to her senses on the matter— with proper guidance, of course.

           Now, of course, none of this truly mattered in the slightest if he could not continue the momentum he had created on his progress these past few weeks.  

           “Miss Fairfax!” John greeted her happily, smiling from his seat at the two tables that had been pushed together in the aide’s workroom for this specific occasion.  Usually, the ladies would breakfast upstairs in their respective rooms, and the aides would take theirs at the desks pressed around the walls of the room as they worked.  However, today they had been given instruction to eat properly at a table with the chairs pulled away from their desks in order to mirror some normalcy for the young lady as she finally began venturing down the stairs regularly again.  

           The only issue with such an arrangement was the lack of things such as chairs in headquarters, which meant that the only chairs available were currently seated at the table, and all of which were occupied.  John realized this scanning the table as he went to stand to pull out a chair for her, luckily he was still sitting as he noticed that Hamilton— seated to the South Carolinians left, directly between himself and the General— took notice at the very same moment.  John took the moment it took her to make her way from the foot of the stairs to the entrance of the room to nudge Alexander with his foot and look towards the man’s desk.  The redhead blanched a slight of anger at him and whispered as quietly as he could to the blonde man beside him a firm and indignant refusal.

           “Alexander, please,” the blonde aide whispered back with more bite in his words than intended, “Make a spot for the lady.”

           “I will do no such thing,” the redhead retorted with a hiss, “This is my seat.  Give her yours if you must.”

           “Unlike you, I am still eating,” John replied, attempting to school his face lest someone at the table take notice of their small squabble.

           “Then you may eat at your desk,” the redhead snappily replied, “I will not be giving my seat beside the general to her of all people.”

           “Alexander!”

           “This is an indignity!” the man replied with a hushed exclaim mirroring John’s own as he picked his papers off the table and moved to his desk along the side of the room, allowing John to place his napkin and utensils— a rarity indeed— onto the table and rise to pull out the chair beside him.  

           “Thank you, Colonel.”

           Her voice was soft as he remembered it to be, far better from the coarseness of the purging and silence.  Adrienne wore an agreeable English gown, as she usually did during the daytime, in a fetching shade of blue.  The color was a testament to her excellent judgment, adding some much-needed color to her cheeks without flushing her pale skin out completely— to say pale, she was usually quite fair of skin, but more so during her recovery.  As John got closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder closest to the General, he noticed the blue flower embroidery print on her dress and smiled at the simple beauty it brought to her in the morning sunlight.  She did not look as pale in the color.  The sunlight through the two windows on the far wall streamed across her in a way that could fool a man into thinking it were warmer than it usually is out of doors.  

           It was quite a charming image, to be sure.

           His father was correct in his saying she was quite a sight for the eyes.

           Any normal man would have forgotten to breathe when she turned to grant him a small smile, but John simply gave her his own strained smile in regard for her, not even parting his lips as he did so, as she lowered herself into the chair.

           Perhaps the worst part of a marriage to the woman his father chose for him would not be the woman, but the mere fact that John could see himself satisfied with her and the knowledge that his father may have been correct...it was a chilling realization indeed.

           Henry Laurens had always had the nasty habit of insisting that he knew what was best for John, from what he studied, who John befriended, and even when— or if— he would marry.  John was not foolish enough to believe that he could go his whole life unmarried.  Even though his younger brother, Harry, was a perfectly eligible heir to the family name, John was still the eldest surviving son and, therefore, it would be unfair and, frankly, selfish of him to pawn the duty onto his younger brother.  Henry Laurens was a man that expected a certain kind of image from the man who was to be his heir.  John could never bring himself to make Harry suffer such a thing for his own happiness.  But if admitting to his father that he was indeed correct, in this instance, in insisting that Adrienne Fairfax would be suitable for John was all the torment marriage brought the tall blonde man, then he would be grateful and make the best of his circumstance.

           Adrienne Fairfax was a perfect candidate for such a position as John Laurens’ wife.  A woman of understanding and morals— even if the Lieutenant Colonel did not agree with the specifics of said items— good breeding with a fine head upon her shoulders.

           She had an undeniable amount of beauty, grace enough to spare, a family name that carried sway, and a fortune and estate sufficient enough to make any man willing to suffer her.

           Except he would not have to suffer her, he rather thought that— if they actually were to try— they could get along quite splendidly.

           That would make him happy.  

           It would have to make him happy.  He had to be married by June, late May possibly, or the life and ideals John had thus far worked to achieve, outside the influence of his father, would be stripped from his possession, leaving the son with no independence whatsoever.

           It was a bit ironic, really, that in order to maintain his own independence, he had to take hers away from her.  But nevertheless, she was quite an agreeable partner to have in life, perhaps even a useful one to have at his side, in time.  She was a very realistic girl, and John knew that for all his contentment, he could never love her.  But he did not worry so much about such a thing, for she was realistic with a sensible head upon her shoulders, and even though he had tried to foster some affection between the two of them, she would likely never expect it to evolve into something like love.  Theirs was not a marriage of such things, it was a business arrangement in which John was the sole victor, and they both knew it.  Perhaps her sudden openness to him had been inspired by a realization of the same, for if he were to be the one handed every disadvantage in a match that he had no say in, he would very much want to endear himself to the recipient of the benefits in hopes of kinder treatment.

           Adrienne was fully aware of her place and is prepared to act accordingly.  

           That should make him happy.

           It would make him happy.  In time.

           It was hypocritical of him to want her love while not being possessed with the ability to return it.  What kind of Gentleman would he be if he were to request such a thing with that knowledge that time would have minimal effect on his own feelings, as much as he might have wished the opposite?

           “And how are you this fine morning, Miss Fairfax?” John said with casual politeness as he lifted his napkin from the table.

           “I am quite improved, I feel, sir,” she replied in the same tone, mirroring his actions and assembling a plate for herself from the few plates of food arranged on the two tables.

           Given time, John was confident that the woman sitting beside him at breakfast could be someone that he would look forward to having at his table each and every morning.  He would have to since they were to be married.  That was what John told himself as he picked up his fork and began to eat once more, stealing glances with the woman at his left, and of course, feigning ignorance to the relief and glee on the Commander-in-Chief’s face as they progressed through the meal in a semi-silent harmony with one another.

           John was resolved as he allowed himself to fall into tune with her, his actions slipping into a soft comfort that he would see his soon-to-be wife well cared for in his marriage if it killed him.

           It was his duty as a Gentleman and his promise to her father when he had been given the pleasure of an introduction and subsequent acquaintanceship to the Viscount Fairfax, who was newly arrived in London at the time of their first meeting.  She meant a great deal to the man- for a daughter.  He treated her as though she were a proper heir and regarded her similarly.  John did not have any doubts as to the possibility of him raising her as if she were, and it was a testament to her— and her father’s— character.  If there was one thing that John could not bear in a woman, it was incompetence, and her, likely, extensive education was the perfect remedy to that.  Adrienne Fairfax was excessively accomplished for her age being of so few years, and William Fairfax most certainly lauded his daughter as though she were the most precious item in his possession.  He had made John promise when he began writing the girl— and she was precisely that, a mere girl— at his father’s request that she would not find herself in want of anything.

           It was the very least he could do if he did indeed intend to take such advantage of her, knowing that he held all the benefits and she had not even had a say in being put into his hands.

           If John intended to strip her of her own freedoms to preserve his own, then he would have to do this, at the very least, to offer a sense of peace to her as though a metaphorical olive branch.

           And that would simply have to make her happy.

           He could suffer her being satisfied at the very least, but happiness was the goal to which he strived.  John Laurens had always been an overachiever.  Perhaps he would not need to ask it of her.  Perhaps she could simply give him her love and be satisfied with his attention and affection in return, if not love.

Chapter Text

           By all accounts, George thought that this morning was going rather well.  

           He had watched discreetly as Lady Fairfax came down the stairs, fetching to the eye— as she always was— in a patterned blue gown that did not make her appear as pale as she undoubtedly was beneath the slight rouge that had been applied to her cheeks. A good call on Ona’s part, indeed. This, however, was only a small victory compared to what followed after.

           Once she had joined them in the makeshift dining room—and makeshift it was— Lieutenant Colonel Laurens rose to assist her into the seat to the immediate right of the General that had contained Colonel Hamilton merely a second before. Even though they did not speak much, if at all, George still felt oddly satisfied with himself.

           If Sally were here, she would have undoubtedly taken note of just how seamlessly the two at George’s right seemed to be as they ate, but George was frankly more satisfied by the morning’s reception of the pair by the other.  

           And on that note, the Commander-in-Chief had sworn that mere moments before Adrienne Fairfax had entered the room, Colonel Hamilton had been sitting immediately to George’s right, directly across from Colonel Harrison, George’s military secretary for his ostentatious campaign. Sometime before she had sat down in the red-haired Colonel’s seat, the man, clearly, must have moved. Which he, personally, believed was the work of the blonde Lieutenant Colonel now beside her.

           George was fully aware of the relationship or lack thereof between Adrienne and Colonel Hamilton, though he pretended ignorance, for his own sake really. He very much doubted that the Colonel moved from his coveted seat at George’s right on his own whim of regard for the girl now occupying the seat.

           Today was going extraordinarily well, by George’s count at least. Though, not a word passed between the— hopefully— soon-to-be-engaged couple. George was able to dismiss the matter of that minor setback known as silence by consoling himself with the fact that Adrienne did not talk at all to a single person throughout breakfast, not just Colonel Laurens.

           Martha would chastise him later for his apparent lack of care towards the young blonde’s quite uncharacteristic silence, but, frankly, one cannot win every battle.

           Today was going splendidly up until the, technically, midday meeting George held with his staff.

           “What do you mean there is a feral cat attacking horses in the stables, Captain Gibbs?”

           The staff member in question was on his staff to command the General’s lifeguards and had a decent enough impact on the camp’s general security to report such things at these daily meetings, should the need arise.

           “I mean that there is some miserable tabby cat,” Gibbs replied respectfully, “likely displaced from the British raid on the valley that’s been making its way across. Every officer and enlisted man who has tried to get it out has been scratched to hell— apologies for my language, sir.”

           George dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand, making his own reply to the captain. “Not everyone , surely,” George replied, skeptical at the mere possibility of the cat’s alarmingly high rate matching the report of his usually extraordinarily realistic and sensible staff member.

           “Almost everyone, sir,” Gibbs replied, allowing George his skepticism, “Major Tallmadge and I were able to evacuate a few of the uninjured beasts unscathed. The only issue is that stables are scarce and said horses haven’t a place to go in return.”

           George sighed, bringing a hand up to rub— slightly harder than intended— at his temple, “and the remaining beasts serve no purpose if left out into the cold, which is something we cannot afford as we are already short on mounts as it is.”

           “Sir, if I may-”

           George held up a hand to stop the words from exiting Colonel Hamilton’s mouth before they had even made themselves known. That was a headache he would not handle today, not when the day had been going so well. Of course, something so minor had to happen that, if not treated right at the moment, would be yet another massive failure upon the General’s shoulders. It would have to be handled today.  

           Of course, it would.

           George finally spoke as he moved from his chair to shoulder his cloak, breaking the room’s occupied silence. “Then we shall see what we can do for the issue now, gentlemen.”

           Some poor soldier had gotten into a catfight— literally— and, from the sound of it, the cat was most definitely winning.

           Adrienne sat in the small parlor room on the first floor of the Potts house drinking either her second or third glass of fortifying red wine— she had forgotten to count, and it was too late now for it to matter— relaxing into one of the chairs arranged in front of the fire crackling in the fireplace and listening in a comfortable silence to the showdown happening in the house’s stables. It was far too near and far too loud for her liking.

           Someone should really do something about that.

           Adrienne could not be bothered to care too much, as there was very little around the camp that could convince her to vacate her comfortable perch in the surprisingly plush chair. There was an even smaller chance of her abandoning the warm fire after becoming so comfortable. She was disrupted from her silent eavesdropping and staring into the fireplace by the winter wind whistling through the house as the door swung open, revealing a familiar cloak and a fashionably arranged and neatly powdered wig. 

           “Adrienne?”

           The Marquis had arrived just shortly before the chiming of the clock in the small hall, its sound echoing just after he uttered the words. If she had not been paying attention to the Frenchman at the door before, she most certainly was now.

           The loud echo of the clock in the hall allowed for neither party to speak further. Instead, the Marquis simply shrugged the snow off of the shoulders of his cloak and removed the tricorn hat from his head as he approached the other vacant chair facing the fire directly beside her. He nodded in acknowledgment of Ona, who sat embroidering on the couch behind the chairs that faced the wall, as he passed her. Ona had been sitting there all morning with her needlework and delicate stitches. She had been the one to help Adrienne make her own embroidery properly presentable. Before her arrival into the main house at Mount Vernon, the pictured stitches had merely been satisfactory, nothing to highlight, but the capability was there. The terms “capability” and “satisfactory” did not make for much praise when considering her age.

           “Satisfactory” for a crouchy 13-year-old meant a good deal less than it might sound.

           Adrienne had somehow thought the Marquis’ absence at breakfast would extend throughout the entire day. It sounded foolish now, looking back on the assumption as the man and his perfectly powdered wig now sat beside her. He raised an eyebrow at her in surprise upon his investigation of her rather stoic position. 

           “Really, Addy?” he asked warily with disapproval written clear across his face, “at 10 in the morning?”

           Of course, he would immediately pick up on the crystal flute in her hands and the bloody red liquid inside. It’s not that she held anything against the man, but sometimes she just wished that he would just let her be.

           Besides, the wine was good for her healing state. Everyone knew that red wine fortifies the blood, and heaven knows, she could certainly use that about now, considering how much blood she had unexpectedly lost recently.  

           He was also talking over the ruckus at the stables that she was attempting to eavesdrop on. It was really rather annoying.

           So she declined him an answer, continuing to stare into the flames of the fireplace and strain her ears to hear outside the house. While this was an ideal situation for Adrienne, who had thus far managed to avoid uttering a single word this morning, it was far from acceptable for the Marquis, who then pursed his lips, knowing full well that he was being ignored.

           “Is wine this early in the day a wise decision?”

           God, she wished she could have rolled her eyes like an ill-tempered child right then and there, but she simply continued her eavesdropping, staring into the fire as if it would somehow improve her hearing. The Marquis was not stupid by any means. Surely he would figure out her displeasure for conversation— this one specifically— for the moment.

           “How many glasses have you had?” he asked as if she had been counting. She certainly was not inebriated yet. That was not her goal. He gave her all of a handful of seconds to reply, which she did not do, before he turned behind them, speaking now to Ona. “How many glasses has she had?”

           Adrienne could feel Ona’s eyes fall on the back move her chair as if Adrienne might scold her for answering or calculating just how much the young Frenchman before her outranked the blonde zoned out in front of the fire. She apparently came to a conclusion rather quickly, as Adrienne felt her eyes shift off the back of the plush chair.

           “This is the third glass, sir.”

            So it had been three, then, noted.

           How many glasses could one have before noon without being considered a drunkard? More importantly, how many could she get away with just to be considered unseemly? She supposed that she would just have to find out. It’s not like she had any other plans for the time being.

           First, she would heal.

           Then, she would go.

           But, for now, she was more focused on testing to see how well the many balls and dinners she attended prepared her to hold her wine.

           “And it better be her last,” is what the Marquis had replied as if he were her father rather than her friend. Her father was currently an ocean away from the Potts House, and George was very unlikely to reprimand her for drinking, for the time being, seeing as he could not even speak to her. “At this rate, she will make a scene of herself.” 

           Would it be terribly unladylike to laugh in his face? Probably.

           What a shame.

           “I don’t think she very much minds that right now, sir.”

           That was two in a row correct from Ona, one more and she would have struck the French nobleman clean out of the game.

           It was true that she was not overly concerned about making a scene of herself. All eyes were on her here anyway, so whether she did something reckless or not, she was going to have to suffer their stares. Why not give them something to stare at?

           Adrienne was never this reckless, and if you asked her, she would not even define this as reckless behavior, quite honestly. After all, she knew well enough to not even think about making a foolish mess of herself, just an unsightly scene to behold.

           “Well, I do.”

           The Marquis had turned back to face Adrienne, to make demands she had no intention of following and likely a lecture she had no intention of listening to as well. “Hand me that glass before you regret yourself,” he demanded, “A hangover this early in the morning is unsightly.”

           Did he really think that less than three full glasses of wine would make her hungover? How ridiculous.

           The ruckus outside the house had settled to merely less than a whisper, and she was not sure if she regretted the loss of the noise or not.

           “Adrienne?”

            Dear Lord, he really had not gotten the hint yet. How much clearer could one possibly be?

 So she did the only thing she could think of that would not march her straight into a conversation with him. Without uttering a word, she turned only her face away from the fire to look at him, locking eyes with him as she brought the crystal glass to her lips, taking a single sip of its sweet red contents before turning her gaze back to the fireplace.

           It must have been around lunchtime when the usual volume of the office poured back into the house, and though the young blonde lady in the parlor thoroughly regretted gaining their noise, it was inevitable.  

           Adrienne had reached over from her perch before the fireplace to grab a small sandwich off the tray on the side table beside her, grimacing at the noise of scraping chairs on the hardwood floors. The sound of boots upon the floor, however, was perfectly normal, which is why it was only half as startling as it should have been when the Commander-in-Chief and a handful of his aides appeared at her right.

           To say that the General was all done with excitement for the day was almost true. His staff had solved the stable issue, taking far longer than he had hoped to return all the big-boned beasts to their proper locations. His fingers and toes were highly grateful for the fireplace in the parlor right about now.

           The cat from the stables had indeed been some house cat of the valley, its owners being long since gone, but its domestication holding firm. While the cat had undoubtedly done a number on the office, he was reasonably confident that under regular care, the animal could become quite friendly.  

           Or at least that was the plan.

           He hoped.

           And if it went poorly… well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it, but, for now, the freshly cleaned tabby cat would make for a perfect peace offering. Assuming it did not attempt to be vocal in its displeasure in being traded off, which was not a part of the plan.

           He hoped.

           Today had been going surprisingly well, from breakfast this morning to the aversion of a laughably created crisis, the General was reasonably confident that the good luck would continue.

           He hoped.

           Captain Tilghman had mentioned how the little lion-hearted beast was a favorite of many a lady and suggested the gift of it, and George took the chance eagerly. That and the general guilt he felt surrounding the girl was likely why he found himself amongst a small afternoon tea spread rather than sequestered away in his office.

           She turned her attention to the small gaggle of men that had crowded into the room, Tilghman holding the poor orange beast in a position that could not have been comfortable for either fellow. The cat was given to her with some confusion, making the movements of it all horribly awkward.  

           She did not vocally voice her confusion, but that did not stop her from looking up at George from her seat with a look that said more to her confusion than any words could have.

           “It is a gift,” was all that George could muster in all his eloquence. He was not negligent to the fact that it was the first time she had invited him to speak to her since her injury, so perhaps the short and sweet method was truly best. Do not overdo it, correct?

           “I rather think he has a temperament like our own Colonel Hamilton.”

           It was Captain Tilghman who spoke now, god bless him, attempting to add some levity to the unnecessarily tense mood of the room. The aide in question began to protest at the jest at his expense, but Lady Fairfax seemed to agree with Tilghman.

           “I believe you to be quite correct in that regard, Captain,” she spoke, for the first time all day.

           George signed internally. Dear Lord, give him strength. Of course, the first thing she would say would result in a weeks-long mood from Hamilton that George would be left to deal with.

           The day had been going so well.

           All eyes in the room shifted to focus on her once she spoke. “After all, I can hardly tell the difference between them myself,” she continued, a mischievous spark glimmering in her eye so subtle that, had the General not been so familiar with the girl, it would have gone unnoticed completely. “One,” she said firmly, “is a ginger alley cat with a rather frustrating and, frankly, unnecessary temper, and the other is the actual cat. So, you can understand the confusion that Captain Tilghman and I had, Colonel Hamilton.”

           Though George himself declined the statement as a reaction, he could hear two snorts of poorly withheld laughter from the aides working in the room next to the parlor, with its incredibly thin walls. No doubt Meade and Harrison were having quite a time with their eavesdropping next door.  

           They were not the only ones to laugh; Captain Tilghman was shamelessly proud of himself for the reciprocation of his own jest, and Laurens was hardly holding himself together as well.

           “I think it is a fitting name then, is it not?” She proposed, briefly locking eyes with the affronted red-haired man as she continued, “He will be, rightfully, called Alexander.”

           The mouth Colonel in question fell agape for a moment, looking at George as if the older man would interfere in his behalf and finding himself and a stumbling loss of words when the General declined to speak at all.

           It was then that Laurens and Tilghman cracked, the former following the latter, into friendly laughter at their fellow aide like a shameless pair of ill-behaved schoolboys. 

           The day had been going so well.

           The Marquis had stayed for dinner that evening at the request of the General, who thought he might not have admitted such out loud, sorely missed the boy’s presence. It worked wonderfully because the chair pulled for Lady Fairfax was not being used, opting to retire to her room for dinner on the basis that she was not quite used to such long days quite yet.

           It was a reasonable request, one that Adrienne was glad was so agreeable to the party. Though her sluggish nature did not come from an ill-adjusted sleep schedule. No, the practically empty decanter in the parlor told a very different story.

           She was not drunk.

           No, she was definitely tipsy.

           Being only slightly disappointed in her own abilities seeing as the decanter was, while mostly empty, not completely drained of its liquid, she had tapped out and made arrangements for her early departure off to bed.  

           She was, however, proud of herself for trying a little bit of displeasure she had managed to stir in her state. For some, alcohol makes them violent, sad, or clumsy, but for Adrienne, it dulled her social caution. The girl was usually quite witty, but she did not usually voice it unless, of course, there was alcohol involved.  

           Adrienne was fortunate in that regard, for when a woman was witty and entertaining at parties, she was adored, but when she was a mess— which was defined loosely, but might include sudden bursts of temper, or tears…or both— she was ruined.  

           Undoubtedly, George was aware of what she had been doing all day long by her lovely exhibition with her newest pet, who took to domestication wonderfully. But that did not matter very much now, at least not to her. It was far milder than she very well could have been, but she was not in the mood to get lectured for being crude, so she refrained.  

           The only unfortunate thing about the current state of the house was that the Marquis was staying for dinner, meaning that as she passed him on her way to the stairs to retire for the night, he sent her a knowing look.  

           They both knew that the Marquis was correct when he first cautioned her, but Adrienne was far too stubborn to ever allow such a thing to go unaddressed. “If I wish to retire at 5 pm and suffer head pains from a drink or two too many, that’s my decision,” she said, the Marquis simply nodding along silently, “Even you can’t save me from the consequences of my own actions, Motier.” He merely nodded, once again, not uttering a word before Adrienne let out a little huff from her lips and turned from him to climb the stairs

           A hum came from behind the young Frenchman, “You mustn’t take it personally, Motier.” It was Lady Washington speaking now, seemingly having observed their short interaction. “You will discover this soon enough,” she continued peacefully, “that when they get around that age, they take great pleasure in being difficult, never meaning what they say. It is more a matter of saying it at all.”

           Lafayette hummed in response, and a snort came from the other room. It was Meade that jested now, “Of course he knows that.  He’s just barely surpassed the age himself!”

Chapter Text

           The roads out of the valley were bumpy, but the road leading up to the church was worse if that were at all possible. The scenery hardly changed much either once they broke the treeline of the valley. Franky, if it were not for the sound of other carriages and chatter around the carriage containing all four members of the Washington household, Adrienne would have guessed that they were still hours out from the place.

           “You could have at least bothered to wear proper shoes.”

           The General had an impression to make today, and Jacky had decided to wear his riding boots with his suit. Likely on purpose, but no one said that.

           Jacky simply shrugged in response, and that was the end of the conversation. George rolled his eyes and shifted his gaze out the window of the carriage, face contorting into a tight-lipped smile as he waved briefly to whoever was behind the carriage before turning his gaze back into the carriage. Only backtracking to pull the curtain closed in the wake of the seemingly awkward interaction.

           Adrienne wished she could see who was in front of the carriage. At least that would give her something else to stare at besides the miles and miles of empty space she had been staring at all morning.  

           Martha reached for the General’s hand and squeezed it lightly, shifting her head to give him a slight smile. Adrienne did not move her gaze to observe the painfully domestic scene, but she heard it happen as the silk of Martha’s gown shifted with her movements. Frankly, this whole morning had felt like Adrienne had gotten stuck in some odd kind of limbo, stuck between what was real and what once was. It had been many years since she sat in a carriage next to Jacky Custis— who only joined them now because he had been passing through on some business or another on his return to Williamsburg, to the House of Burgesses. It has been even more years since she had done so with George present as well.  

           It was like she was stuck in this terrible limbo.  

           They all sat in this carriage together dressed as if attending service at Bruton Parish in Williamsburg or Christ Church in Philadelphia, but instead they were headed to some church that she had never heard of before somewhere in middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania— which could have been literally anywhere, there were not many cities at all in the capital state. It was a terrible limbo between silks and satins, and Adrienne almost hated it.

           Almost. This church was out of the valley and therefore is far more favor with her than her other options. The church would also have a few congressmen and their families in attendance today, hence the Washington’s attendance as well. They would likely stay after the service for some time. There was no reason for them to be so well-dressed if George did not intend some alternate motive that he deemed too official for her to be concerned.

           If there was one single thing she hated about being a woman, it was that. Adrienne hated when she was excluded from things of import as if they would miraculously not affect her simply because she was a woman. But, once again, she said nothing about it.

           It was not her place.

           This ride ought to be over soon, or else the tense silence would drive them all mad.  

           She must admit, it was nice to be going out, supervised as it was. She had put on a real proper gown for the first time in weeks and even a hat before she left that morning. It felt blissfully normal. It would have been nice to be in the carriage with all four of its passengers again if they were not long since separated from one another. The tense silence in the air felt blissfully normal for them.

           Adrienne remembered when she had first arrived at Mount Vernon, the whole house had avoided each other. She had initially thought it would get better, but after several excruciatingly silent and slightly tense dinners in the far too intimate dining room, she realized that was very unlikely. Those dinners reminded her a good deal of sitting in this far too intimate carriage waiting for the final destination so they could leave each other in peace— and it was no doubt that was what they would do.  

           First, Jacky would descend the steps of the carriage— she remembered when he would just jump out of it entirely before the footman could even put down the steps— and he would step to the side of the carriage. Then the footman would offer his hand to help her out of the carriage, and she would step to the side next to Jacky. Next would be Martha, who would simply step forward and await the General. Finally, George himself would descend and offer Martha his arm, and they would enter the church together, signaling Jacky to offer the same to Adrienne, and then they would follow.  

           It was standard procedure, really. They would be only one of many people in attendance today performing the social ceremony. Plenty of people stand on ceremony for certain things, especially now. War does that, she supposed, but this was simply the kind she was familiar with. So, to occupy her time and her mind, she replayed the steps of it all.

           Once they headed into the church, they would likely split from their set of four into pairs of two. Jacky would have no desire to discuss politics with the congressmen, and it would be most improper for Adrienne to remain if he retired.  

           If Adrienne could have had her choice in husband, she would have chosen a politician.  

           Politics was, theoretically, a giant game of society, and that enthralled her. The carriage came to a halt with a slight jerk, rocking her body from her seat. And so it began. They went through the very same motions that she had just walked through in her mind, first Jacky, then Adrienne and Martha, followed by George. The clink of the metal of his saber as it tapped against the General’s hip as he escorted his wife across the brick walkway before the church and onto its steps, Jacky and Adrienne following dutifully behind.

           The church was certainly homely but in a charming country way. The pew boxes resembled those at Bruton Parish, though these lacked the paint over their wooden surface. It was a well-lit and relatively spacious sanctuary, and the congregation stood in boxes and in the aisle chatting with each other. It was mostly those Congressmen and their parties in attendance, filling the church far more than it was used to, but she did not mind. The pair made their way through the chattering crowd slowly, arm in arm still as they walked towards what was to be the pew for the Washington household today. Just as she had predicted, Jacky all but avoided the politicians as if they had smallpox or the plague, and they had just barely made it into the opening of the box when a familiar voice called out Adrienne’s name. The pair turned, and Adrienne realized it to be Anne Emily Rush, who was being accompanied by her brother, John. 

           The girl rushed over to the box that Jacky and Adrienne stood in, exiting the one the Rush siblings had sat in, John following closely behind her. It was an odd limbo to be stuck in, but it reminded her a good deal of what the girl had worn the first time that Adrienne visited the brunette during her stay at Valley Forge. She wore a charming yellow anglaise that had a warm light pink stomacher with a matching petticoat— all of it decorated in delicate floral embroidery— and a simple straw hat with cream silk ribbon decorating its brim and crown. It was incredibly charming on her, and her few loose curls purposefully placed on her shoulders complimented her face just as Adrienne remembered. Adrienne, in contrast, wore something entirely different, a silk-satin based gown and petticoat, also an anglaise, with an off white base to a pink flowery printed fabric, complimented with a baby pink satin petticoat and pressed ruff trimmings on the skirt of the gown and the front of her petticoat. Her gown was a bit more decorative than Anne Emily’s, with a large coral bow on the center of the bodice and a baby pink silk-satin wrapped hat with matching ruff trimming the crown.  

           “Thank heavens you are well!” the brunette exclaimed as she reached the pew box, reaching out and holding Adrienne’s own hands in hers, “Letters hardly do anything to calm my nerves anymore, and father’s last report was so very dull— not that he goes about telling of his patients, but John and I were so curious-”

           “Heavens Emily,” John Rush interrupted his sister in the middle of her rushed words, “You have hardly given Lady Fairfax time to breathe, and she is not even the one speaking. It is a miracle you have not run out of air. Where on earth do you store it all?”

           She turned to her brother and pursed her lips, furrowing her brow and pointing her nose up in the air at him, “You are absolutely shameless, John Rush, and a horrid brother as well! Do not tease me as if you were any less concerned for her health.”

           “Yes, but I have the dignity and composure not to forget myself the moment worry or relief strikes me,” he replied, looking down a few inches at her, matching her airs.

           Emily then huffed and turned back to Adrienne as she replied to her brother. “I do not, and you know it, John.” He only hummed in response, and she huffed once more before continuing, speaking this time to Jacky and Adrienne, “You must excuse my brother for his attitude. It does not fair him well in the morning. I pity poor Elsie Markoe already.”

           “Very Mature, Emily.”

           “Pay it no mind,” Adrienne replied, cutting off any possible reply Emily might have had to her brother with a kind smile on her face, amused by the siblings’ banter but not able to endure any more of it at such an early hour. “Though I have little experience, I do imagine that being a nuisance to you is his job as your brother.”  

           “Precisely,” John Rush replied with a soft smile on his face, turning from Adrienne to poor Jacky. “I do not believe that we have been formally introduced, sir,” he said, “My name is John Rush, how do you do?”

           Jacky reached out and shook John’s outstretched hand as he introduced himself, “John Parke Custis, at your service, sir.”

           “And I yours,” was all John replied.

           “Oh!” Emily exclaimed softly, “My apologies, I seem to have made a mess of my Johns. I had thought that you were promised to Colonel Laurens, Miss Fairfax.”

           Adrienne smiled politely as Jacky stifled a laugh behind her. “There is no need for you to apologize to me,” the blonde answered, “You would be correct in saying that it is a Colonel John Laurens that I am promised to. Mr. Custis is the General’s stepson— he was passing through and decided to join us today. Unfortunately for him, that means he gets saddled with chaperoning me.”

           Jacky had finally managed his laughter and added a reply of his own, primarily directed towards Adrienne herself. “I assure you,” he began, “It is something I very much enjoy. You do not visit Williamsburg often enough for me to become aggravated with the task.”

           Adrienne never had siblings, not really. She hardly remembered Anna, if at all. When she had first arrived at Mount Vernon, the Washington’s had been grieving the loss of a daughter. Jacky was at a loss of a little sister. That did not last very long.

           Though he was married when he returned to find her at Mount Vernon, he had stayed there for a while so as to welcome her when his mother and the General could not. Adrienne never had any siblings she could remember, but she did have Jacky, which certainly counted for something.

           It was with Jacky’s final statement that the conversation ended, the Rush siblings excusing themselves to return to their box upon noting their father heading taking his seat. Jacky and Adrienne finally took their seats in the box, only to be joined by George and Mattha not long after as the service began.

           Major Benjamin Tallmadge was not having a good day— not having a good past few weeks, really. It had all started with a game of shuffle, a British ploy involving two spies, each with contradicting stories. Then, Sackett fell prey to the plot, costing the man his life. And, while he was distracted by that, Sutherland had shot Lady Adrienne Fairfax, the pride and joy of General Washinton, while aiming for the Marquis, who was riding with her. The ring was still resisting his necessary changes to their operation, and to top it all off, none of his men were obeying his orders.

           particular point was proven once again when Caleb entered his tent. The tent he had asked the Corporal to make sure no one— not even Caleb— entered for the next couple of hours so he could pretend to get work done. He sat at the desk in his tent, yes, but his focus was far from the high-piled stacks of paper and more on the Army regulation flask in his hands and its contents.  

           It had definitely been a rough few weeks.

           Caleb noticed it the moment he entered the tent, surely. The state of undress Ben sat in, the mess of his desk, and, more importantly, the open flask he had in hand, and Caleb took a wild guess. 

           “Drinking already, Benny boy?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow and shrugging his shoulders when Ben shot him a rather nasty look, “More than half of camp ain’t even awake yet!”

           Ben— minus the glare he had just shot at the shorter man— ignored him. To prove his point, the blonde man tossed his head back and took a long sip from the flask, his face screwing up as he swallowed.

           “Jesus, Ben,” Caleb replied in his usual gruff tone, “What you got in there?” When the Major failed to reply, he snapped his fingers in front of the taller man’s eyes, but Ben did not even so much as flinch. With a sigh as he made himself comfortable on the Major’s cot pulled right beside his desk because of course it was. “Are you even there?” Caleb asked, trying to get in front of Ben to search the Major’s eyes for focus, “Christ, I know this week’s been rough, but...”

           At the continued lack of answer from his friend Caleb sighed, giving up on trying to get Ben’s eyes to focus in on him, deciding to cut straight to the chase instead. “Have you tried talking to the old man since he chewed you out over his daughter?”

           “Lady Fairfax is not his daughter,” Ben laughed. Caleb pretended not to hear the bitterness in it— for his own sake, really. “She is just the charge he has dedicated years towards the care of —dedicated practically his whole being to and considers his pride and joy,” Ben replied, the bitterness becoming a bit much to ignore.  

           “So, I take that as a no?”

           Caleb probably should not be taking this with so much levity, but if the tent were to be any more depressing, Caleb feared divine intervention would make the tent burst into flames.  

           Ben sighed, a few more loose strands of hair escaping from his usually obsessively neat plait. “No,” he finally replied with a sigh, “Not since the argument a few days ago. I am fairly certain that McHenry would not even let me step foot in the building anymore, probably says that I raise the General’s blood pressure too much. He can hardly tolerate Hamilton as it is. He does not need me on top of that.” He paused before speaking once more, frustration evident in his voice as he finally turned his head to look at Caleb. “How can he be mad at me for not stopping someone when he was the one who failed to take the threat of the deserters seriously?” He was frustrated, and Caleb understood that, but frankly, not even Sackett had it figured out, so who could possibly throw such blame at the guy? “And,” Ben continued in the same frustrated rant, “he does not seem to have a single care about the fact that Sackett is dead!”

           And there it was. That was what Caleb had been expecting to hear, painful as it is. “You know that’s not true,” he denied the tall blonde’s ranted claims against the General, “The General’s just a bit distracted by the one who hasn’t died yet. Cut him some slack. No doubt it’ll hit him soon.”

           Ben opened his mouth to speak, then froze. “Yet?” He asked. In his defense, he has hardly heard anything about the actual truth of the situation at headquarters. What it actually was usually was quite different from what the camp says. “What do you mean, ‘yet,’ Caleb?”

           “The bullet wound on the lass has gotten infected, I don’t know how long it’s been since, but that was last I heard from Captain Hamilton.” Caleb was aware he was technically a Lieutenant Colonel, but Caleb would much rather be referred to as an Artillery officer than a glorified secretary. Besides, Hamilton never bothered to correct him anyway— at least not anymore. “Last he and I talked, they weren’t sure how long it’d take to flush it out or if she’d survive it, Ben,” Caleb explained, “You can’t fault him for not mourning Sackett right now. He’s got someone of far more importance to him weighing far heavier on his shoulders, you said so yourself.”

           Ben did not reply, just allowing yet another sigh to escape his lips to join the thousands of others from this conversation alone before he brought the flask back up to his mouth and took another sip, making a face at the taste once more.

           “What is even in there, Ben? I don’t think I’ve seen you make that face since-” Caleb cut off immediately, “It’s six o’clock in the morning. You’re not drinking any of that vodk           a shite.”

Ben was quick, even with the alcohol in his blood— of course he was. He moved the flask away from Caleb before the shorter man had made a lunge for it, but that did not stop Caleb from continuing to attempt to grab hold of the alcohol-filled canteen, and he succeeded. After some wrestling, Caleb triumphantly held the flask in hand. The shorter man brought it up to his nose to take a whiff of it as he lowered himself back onto the cot and was caught off guard by just how strong the scent of this particular brew was alone.

           Christ. Good thing that Caleb had wasted that pork on the poor Corporal at the door, or things could have escalated far too quickly. “This is strong enough to stop a man’s kidneys!” Caleb exclaimed, holding the bottle and its stench away from him as he spoke, “Where did you get this?”

           Ben shrugged as if this were the kind of thing that one could just stumble upon in camp. “One of Stuben’s aides,” he replied, “DuPonceau, I think? He said that the Baron “wanted me to have it after the week I’ve had”.” Ben took a breath of air, leaning back in his chair, “Apparently, he is the only one who isn’t upset at me for letting Lady Fairfax get shot.”

           Ben was definitely intoxicated if he was getting that dramatic, especially when they both know that no one thinks that all. “DuPonceau said that the Baron was taking it poorly— not as bad as the General, but you get my point— and he thought I might some help of a more substantial kind. That was…” he trailed off, eyes flicking up to the top of the tent as he let himself think back, “About two days ago?”  

           Caleb wanted to ask if Ben had this drink in his canteen for the past two days. He wanted to know how many times the tight-laced Major had refilled it. Caleb slipped the drink into an inner pocket of his coat, “Yeah, no offense, but I’m keeping this till you’re sane enough to be trusted with it.” Ben shot him a glance that all but asked what poor soldier Caleb intended to attempt to sell this canteen off to, but Caleb had other plans. “Don’t worry,” he assured Ben, “I’m not planning on drinking it— or selling it.” The portly man snorted with laughter, “I’m not that stupid, nor is there some poor soul I want dead that badly.”

           Ben glared at him. It was possible that the anger might have been at the fact that Caleb’s newest levity was at his expense, but the more likely reason was because of what the blonde thought Caleb was insinuating. Caleb paid the glance no mind. It was rightly deserved considering that the latter was the more likely possibility.

           “You have the week I have had,” Ben replied, “Then you can start throwing stones and scolding me for how I spend my time.”

           Caleb snorted at that, “No, thank you, unlike you, I put a good deal of effort into avoiding responsibility.” Caleb waved a hand over the general direction of the mess on Ben’s desk and his disheveled state as he continued, “But I am willing to help you try to fix this . All we gotta do is start brainstorming some ideas to pitch to the old man once he gets back to make up for whatever it is he thinks you did this time.”

           “Like it will be that easy.”

           Caleb grinned, “Who said that’s such a bad thing, huh?”

           Ben shook his head, cracking a smaller grin of his own, “Did you not just say you actively avoid doing work?”

           “No,” Caleb replied, his wide grin still spread across his face, “I avoid responsibility. I don’t mind rolling up my sleeves and getting to work.”

           “Yeah, sure,” Ben replied, humor in his voice, “you cheeky little shite.”

Chapter Text

           The day spent at the church in the fine company of Anne Emily and John Rush and the small gaggle of Congressmen was a breath of fresh air that was sorely needed by Martha, Adrienne, and the General.  The trio mourned the loss of Jacky to Williamsburg, who departed with the promises of receiving Adrienne in the capital soon.  Though not nearly soon enough, she reckoned.  She would likely not join him till nearly the end of the season, much to her own displeasure.  

           She would likely be married next she saw him, and that was enough to dampen her excitement at the invitation rather quickly.  

           The idea still left an ashy taste in her mouth, so she tried to avoid thinking about it altogether.  There was only so much she could do about that when John Laurens resided in the bedroom right above her own.  As a matter of fact, John Laurens now sat beside her on a stack of hay in the stables cutting slices of an apple with his knife, purposefully ignoring her words as he brought another slice to his lips.  

           “I do not see why I cannot!”

           He finished chewing the piece of apple he had just put in his mouth before replying.  “If you recall what happened the last time, I think it is a rather understandable request.”

           “Of course you would,” she replied, “You have not been the one confined to a bed for weeks.”  He turned his head to face her, allowing her to see the unimpressed expression on his face.  “It is not as though I am asking to go alone-”

           “You were shot when you were not alone.”

           “Yes,” she replied, “But frankly, what are the odds of that happening again?”

           “Far higher than you would care to think,” he replied, tilting his head up to look at her as she now stood before him.

           “Please,” she pleaded, “ I have hardly been out of the house in so long!  It would only be for a little bit.”

           “Did you not just spend an entire day out of the valley?” he asked, cutting another piece of apple, leaning back against the stable wall.

           “Yes,” she hissed, “And now that I have tasted fresh air, I find myself needing it with an increasing frequency.”

           “Technically, I am not supposed to even have you out here,” he responded, “But I let you talk me into it.”

           Adrienne smiled, “Well, if I were going to get in trouble anyway, I would at least make the most of it.”

           John stared at her for a moment, finishing off another slice of his apple before he leaned forward and pulled a small watch out of his pocket, checking the time across its face.  “Damnit,” he said, rising to his feet, “I do not have another meeting till 2.  Why not?”  Adrienne’s small smile broke out into a larger one as she bounced on her heels in excitement.  “But,” he continued, “You will ride with me.  It is easier to only tack up one horse, and this way, at least it will be easier to manage risk.”

           “I very much doubt there will be risk,” Adrienne replied, happily complying with him nonetheless.

           John tossed the apple and his knife back onto the haystack and shared with her a face of unimpressed disbelief, “You are impossible, you know that?”

           They both huffed out little laughs of their own when Adrienne responded with a nod and an unapologetically happy smile to the Colonel’s observation. 

           Adrienne did not pay overly much mind to John as he called for a stable hand to tack his horse, sliding the man who volunteered two or three shillings to avoid mentioning the use of his services before he fetched the apple he had been eating and gave it to the horse.

           “You are already proving quite expensive, you know that?”

           Adrienne scoffed, “As if you did not know what you had agreed to when the arrangement was made.”

           The General had taken to staring out the window behind his desk while Hamilton talked to him.  The man wished he could demand his superior’s attention, but he had been more and more distracted recently— much to the red-haired aide de camp’s chagrin.  It was because of the girl, and it was starting to get ridiculous.

           This was dangerous.

           The Army could not afford for its Commander-in-Chief to become spotty and distant over personal matters.  It was a heavy cross to shoulder— and God knows the General did not need any more of those— but they all knew it.  Even the General.

           They all were aware that there were plenty of more pressing lives to save than their own.  The number of medical tents had all but tripled in the past few weeks as the winter chill really sunk in.  Those who had left their commissions and bedrolls behind were considered lucky, and those who had been foolish enough not to lament their stupidity.  Morale in camp was at an all-time low, which was really just how things had been going for them thus far.  

           They would need a massive victory before this time next year if they had any hopes of keeping the few men they still had.  

           They could not afford for the General to be distracted.

           Hamilton could not afford for him to be distracted.

           “How long do you think they will continue to hide in there as if I am unaware of their whereabouts, Colonel?”

           Alexander was perfectly aware of who the older man was talking about, and it was not improving his mood. 

           John had slipped out the door with that pretty blonde thing about half an hour ago, smiling and giddy the whole way to the stables.  It was sickening.  She had been on his arm as they stumbled through the snow, laughing.  He could hear her obnoxious giggling all the way inside, sitting at his desk— he had to restart the orders he had been writing because he snapped the quill in his hands, ink splattering across the page.  He had blamed it on frustration at the monotony of the office, and the rest of the aides had immediately tuned him out as they usually did.  

           “I haven’t a clue,” Hamilton replied to his commander with his jaw clenched before he remembered to continue in his snippiest possible tone, “sir.”

           “Were my orders that she is not to leave this house unclear?” the man asked, turning back around in his chair from the frost-covered window frame to finally look at the secretary.  

           “No, sir,” he replied, “They were clear as crystal.”

           The General took a moment before he let out a ‘hmph’ followed by a sigh.  “Thank you for meeting with me, Colonel Hamilton,” he finally said, addressing the red-haired secretary for the first time since he entered the man’s office.  

           “I am at your service,” was all he could reply.  

           It was not as though he could have declined to meet with the far more powerful man.  They both knew that his presence in the General’s office was not something he had a say in, but the General was always one for formalities with his officers.  

           The General once more did not reply for several moments, picking up a stray playing card off his desk and tapping it on its surface like an ill-behaved child playing with his utensils at the dinner table.  “Before you were employed in my office, you were an Artillery Captain under Henry Knox,” he stated, looking up from the desk to look Hamilton in the eyes, “yes?”

           “Yes, sir,” he replied skeptically.

           That was most certainly not anything that Alexander had been expecting the man to call him into his office for.  They could not possibly be discussing a command because the Army was more than grounded for the winter.  No one needed him to be an experienced Artillery Captain on a supply raid right now.  Not since they arrived in the valley.

           “I want you to teach her how to shoot.”  That was all the General had said, and he was clearly talking about Lady Fairfax.

           Hamilton would rather die than teach her to shoot.  Hell, he would probably die just trying to teach her.

           “Sir,” he began, “I think that is a terrible idea.”

           “Thankfully, I did not ask if it was a good idea,” the General replied, “ I asked you to make the time in your schedule.”

           “Sir-”

           “I am sure you could find the time if you did not work through your lunch,” He interrupted, not allowing his subordinate to voice his complaint, “And breakfast.”

           “Sir,” Hamilton argued, “That is the only way this office remains efficient.”

           “Then you will simply have to re-distribute a portion of your work,” George argued back, “I will remind you that this is not a request, Colonel.”

           “Then it is an order?”

           Alexander was challenging him, and the General knew that a steely tone settled into his eyes as he looked at Hamilton, “If it will cease you in your arguing, then yes, Colonel.  It is.”

           “Very well,” the redhead replied, clenching and unclenching his jaw, “Is that all? Sir.”

           The General looked him over once, squaring his own jaw before allowing the playing card to fall from his hands on the desk.  He leaned back in his chair, turning back to face the snow-trimmed window as he replied, “That is all.”

           “You know,” John said, arms wrapped around Adrienne’s waist atop the saddle, “I never understood the purpose of those ridiculously tiny hats.”

           “What do you mean?” she asked, turning her head back slightly, brow and nose scrunched a little in confusion.

           “These ridiculous tricorn hats that women wear with their habits,” he replied, “They hardly cover one’s head.”

           She paused before offering him a shrug, “I am not quite sure, frankly.  Perhaps it is simply because it appears more delicate on a woman than a full tricorn.”

           “That is even more ridiculous,” he laughed, “Is the point of a hat not to warm the head?  To cover it?”

           “Perhaps for a man,” Adrienne replied, leaning a little against his chest, “But the purpose of a woman’s hat is assuredly more decorative than practical.  A man might forgo a hat and still be considered a gentleman, but a lady may not make the same choice without being assumed a harlot.”

           “That is positively ridiculous,” he scoffed, Adrienne nodding in silent agreement, “It is impractical and inconvenient at best.  Such a notion insinuates that women are inherently decorative— insulting would be a mild term.”

           Adrienne smiled softly, “And you do not think that is what I am to you?”

           “Not to me,” he assured her, “To my father, however….”

           “Give it time,” she replied in the same airy tone as she had used before, “and I assure you that you will see me as no more than a decoration in your room or an ornament for your arm.”

           “Do you really think so little of me?” he asked, peering down at her.

           “I think very little of every man,” she replied offhandedly, “in your defense.”

           He laughed and shook his head at her, not out of doubt to the sincerity of her words, but more on the fact that he could hardly name another woman in his acquaintance that could say the same.  Or would say the same.

           She was rather unique like that.

           At least she was not meek and mild— both polite terms for a dull girl and boring wife.  He would have to go mad if she was.  It would be the only way he could tolerate it.

           John rather thought that she could make him happy, even though she was a bit pesky.  Alexander had recently taken to calling her a pesky fruit fly, and while John had admonished him, the man’s words did hold some truth.

           But she was not truly that bad.  Not really.  

           She could make him quite happy, he thought, because she did not require him to love her.

           That, he could never do, but if all she was requesting was attention and respect, he was confident he could give her that.  

           “You are quite extraordinary, Addy Fairfax.”

           She cracked with a short bit of laughter herself before admonishing him with refusal.  “I assure you I am not,” she said, “I am very much like any young woman of my station.  You would do better to be careful with your compliments lest they begin to inflate my ego beyond repair.”

           “I would hate to do that very much,” he agreed, continuing, “But I must disagree with you.  You stand out amongst your peers, I assure you.” She gave him a rather offended look, sending him back into laughter before he continued, “In all the best ways, of course.  The ladies of London are far too tiresome.” 

           “I doubt that you will find me much changed from them,” she persisted, “We had the same nurses, tutors, and governesses.”

           “Yes,” he agreed, “but no lady of repute in London would ever think of truly voicing her opinion on any such matter, let alone on that of the male sex.”  He peered down at her and cracked a smile, “You are to be far more diverting than them.  Elsewise things shall become very tedious.”

           “They are not already?”

           “You really do have the bleakest outlook on us, Miss Fairfax.” He said through a playful smile.

           “And you do not either?” was all she had cared to reply.

           The house was bustling for dinner.  There was still work to be done before the table was set, but desks were few and far between as they were being commandeered for the house’s occupants and guests to sit around.  Adrienne was still seated before the fire in the parlor where John had left her to attend his meeting when she felt the fabric of the chair strain from his hands clasping its back.  

           “You look as though you have finally regained some color,” he said, leaning on the back of the chair with a casual tilt to the smile on his face.  “Are you quite ready for tonight?”

           Adrienne peered up at him from her position in the chair before shifting her eyes to regard the blue silk satin riding habit she still donned, then back up at him, “Hardly.”

           “What?” he asked, furrowing his brow, “Is there something wrong with that?”

           “Lieutenant Colonel,” she asked, “You studied in London, Geneva, and likewise, yes?”

           “Someone has been doing their research,” he replied, shaking his head at the offhand shrug that Adrienne gave him.

           “Then you ought to know by now that a lady cannot attend dinner in a riding habit,” she admonished, before continuing, “I suppose if you have already run out of work to do, that means I ought to head upstairs and begin to freshen up.”

           “You have some time,” he dismissed, “Harrison and Hamilton are still going in full force.”

           She nodded, shifting her focus back to the fireplace, relaxing her eyes before releasing a sigh.  “I better start now.  Lord knows how long it will take.”

           He offered a hand to help her from the chair, and she made her way up the stairs silently.

           This was not the John Laurens that Adrienne remembered prior to her injury.

           No, she surely must have died and was now stuck in a terrible purgatory known as Valley Forge.  For being the man she will marry, Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens had never shown this much interest or care for her, and Adrienne found it odd that she was selecting an evening gown with him in mind.

           She really hadn’t the faintest clue who would be in attendance tonight, so she would excuse her notions as a need to control perception, which was not entirely a lie.  

           It was odd to be receiving this much attention from him, and it scared her.  Adrienne was not foolish.  Taking a sudden interest in one’s intended surely meant an upcoming proposal.  Then she would be his fiance.  And not long after, she would be his wife.  It was a terrifying reality that she would likely not leave this miserable valley unless it was for a wedding.

           For her wedding.

           For her wedding to him.

           It was almost sickening, but it was not the worst fate.  There were far worse matches she could have made.  Lord knows her godfather would rather have seen her married to one of his staff like Cooke.  The idea of marrying a man older than her own father was chilling, so she was at least thankful that the Colonel was close enough to her own age.  He was charming too when he tried.  Though every time he tried, that same nauseous feeling settled into Adrienne’s stomach.

           She had known she would be this man’s wife for nearly two years now, but the longer she had time to dwell on the matter, the more and more Adrienne wanted to run whenever he approached her.  Though the feeling of dread has settled itself into her so very well that it has simply become a part of her nature.  She hardly remembered what it was like to be without it.

           She hardly remembered him.

           Him in his uniform— sans a hat, of course, because who wears a hat to a dinner?— illuminated in the candlelight as he had bowed to kiss her hand, holding it close to his lips even as he straightened.

           Him in his silk jacket, standing across from her in the hall— in the wrong parlor— of the Rush house, staring at her as if she were the only person in the world.  

           Him whose voice she was no longer straining to hear chattering amongst the other officers in the dining room below her feet.

           She hardly remembered him, but there were some things she could not hope to erase.

           Things like the feeling of his lips against her hand in the dining room.

           Things like the feeling of his hot breath against the side of her face when he had asked her to kiss him in one of the parlors of the Rush house.

           Things like the feeling of the first time he kissed her— it was easy to remember, it was the same night she had been shot— on her lips, on her neck, on her bosom.

           Things like the feeling she had felt straining her ears for his voice, waiting to hear that he had come to visit her.

           Sometimes she pretended she did not remember him at all.

           It was the far kinder option, in Adrienne’s opinion.

           So, as she dressed this evening— donning the snowy white delicate dupioni gown with bows of the same fabric going all the way down the stomacher, golden lace trim and entanglements to match— she dressed for her intended, John Laurens, just as she ought to.

           But, as a gold-plated diamond necklace was placed around her neck and golden silk roses were arranged amongst the curls piled on top of her head, she found herself dressing for someone it would be better to forget about.

Chapter Text

           This was not purgatory, Adrienne decided quickly.  

           This was hell.

           Her own personal ring of hell here to haunt her and she was forced to engage in every last second of it.

           The Potts house was certainly as hot as hell tonight— Christ, someone needed to open a window.

           She made eye contact with Billy Lee who was pressed on the far side of the hall and he understood immediately, looking relieved as he excused himself to open a few windows on her behalf.  As he hurried off, Adrienne’s eyes followed him as she descended the stairs, unintentionally brushing across the room with her gaze.  Just like the first night she had arrived, no conversations halted at the sound of her heels upon the staircase.

           And just like the first night, when her eyes swept the room, they landed on him. 

           They landed on him and her heart picked up speed in her chest as he locked eyes with her, lowering the glass of wine from his lips.  They landed on him and her breath caught in her throat like a noose attempting to choke her.

           They landed on him and suddenly she wished she had searched for John instead, as she ought have.

           This was most assuredly hell.

           Thankfully, a voice at the foot of the stairs pierced her ears and broke their stare.  It was John, standing in his uniform coat, queue re-tied for neatness, pomade sculpting its front, and now lightly powdered, lending his appearance to that of his station rather than that of his fellow aides.

           Speaking of which, the forest green of his sash was neatly tied across the waist of his breeches, contrasting their cream color and making it appear brighter than it truly was.  He had called out her name, a soft smile graced his face and an identical glass of wine to the man she was attempting to ignore as soon as she could breathe again.  His free hand was outstretched to her, offering it as a replacement for the creaky wooden banister.

           “I think I understand now,” he said as she took his hand, “the conundrum of you ladies and your evening dress.”

           She turned her eyes to his, regarding him as he spoke, differing to him and allowing him to continue in with her attention.  “This gown is far too fetching to be seen in anything less than candlelight.”

           “Then you approve?” she asked, demure as possible, aware of the pair of eyes as dark as the coffee that tainted the taste of his lips following her down the last of the stairs till she took John’s arm properly.  

           “I do believe that it is what a winter is supposed to look like,” he replied, “soft and powdery snow that crunches crisp under your every step.  Not the numbing ice and freezing discolored slush we have here in the Valley.”

           “I did not take you for the poetic kind, Colonel,” she replied, looking up at him in slight wonder as he directed her through the gaggle of officers crowding the hall and its rooms.

           “I am not,” he conceded, defending himself as if to be a poet was an insult, “I am simply observant.”

           “Perhaps,” she agreed, a contented smile resting in her face as the pair made their way through the crowd, his right hand in hers and his left hand resting on her back.

           The pair allowed themselves to lull back into silence till they returned to whatever group John had been conversing with— or more likely, tolerating, knowing him— before she had joined him.  Of course to Adrienne’s dismay, she realized they were headed to the same side of the house as the Polish Colonel she wished to avoid.

           As the pair passed him, the shoulder of John’s coat brushed the Polish Colonel’s own and the blonde Colonel only flashed the man a smile with his apology.  When his eyes flickered to her before returning back to John, she held her breath, now regretting her appearance knowing she would suffer his gaze all evening.  He then accepted the apology as unnecessary and waved them off.

           In total, the interaction took less than a handful of seconds, but it was enough to make her feel like a fife and drum corps had replaced the heart in her chest.

           “It is a bit overwhelming,” John said, speaking low in volume and only to her, “if you need to step outside, I would be more than obliging.”

           He was considerate— more than that, he was obliging— but she would be perfectly fine without fleeing to the nippy cold that waited outside, thank you very much.

           “No,” she replied, in the same low tone, “I can manage just fine.”

           “I am sure,” he agreed confidently, “I only offer it should it be needed.  At any time.”

           She nodded and thanked him for the offer as they continued to push their way through the sea of officers.  After a moment or two, John paused in his tracks and looked around, prompting Adrienne to turn her face up to watch him.

           As if feeling her eyes were on him, full of curiosity, he explained that the Baron Von Stuben wanted to see her, all without ever turning his eyes from scanning the room.  The only issue, he explained, was that the firecracker of a man kept moving before they made it to him, so John kept having to redirect her through the crowd.

           Finally, John’s eyes fell on the Baron and his aide, Pierre.  After a moment, he managed to catch Pierre’s eye and the smaller Frenchman turned to his Prussian counterpart and appeared to point the pair of them out from across the room.

           The Baron immediately excused himself from the conversation he had been engaged in and his constitution lit up when his eyes fell upon her person. 

           “My dear Lady Fairfax,” he began in French, the group’s only common language, as he approached them.  He then followed it with a very hearty and very loud, “It pleases me to see you looking so well!”

           With a slight grimace as to his volume, Adrienne maintained the polite smile on her lips and replied, “It pleases me as well, sir.  Some time out of the house has proven very good for restoring my constitution.”

           “I heard,” Pierre began with a mischievous look about him, shifting the group’s attention to him as the French rolled off his lips, “That Colonel Laurens and yourself spent the entire morning in the stables, no?”

           At the smaller man’s words, John coughed, clearing his throat while rocking back on his heels as if attempting to distract or deter the conversation.  Adrienne was quick enough to realize that she had missed something in the Frenchman’s words as the Baron huffed down his laughter at John’s reaction to what appeared to be no more than a simple statement.

           “Yes,” Adrienne said firmly, pulling the men’s attention to her, “Colonel Laurens and I went for a ride this morning on his mount.”

           Pierre crackled with suppressed laughter and John flushed with what Adrienne believed could be described as a crimson blush.  He then began to speak in a lower tone to their party.  “On a true steed, sirs,” he admonished, embarrassment hinting at his voice, “Do not plague the lady with cruel innuendo.  I beg of you.”

           Pierre conceded and the Baron agreed, tacking on an apology to Adrienne, assuring her that they meant no affront to her honor.  It was only until then that Adrienne picked up on the pair’s intent and her face now flushed too with embarrassment out of her lack of understanding rather than out of the implications— it was common to hear such things in nearly every society ball nowadays, so the topic was not as scandalous to her as it ought have been— because if there was one thing she hated more than anything it was appearing stupid in any capacity.

           Even worse was that none of them seemed to be phased by her missing the intent of the statements and while it was good for her alibi, it was a tad bit hurtful.

           Not even John was phased by it.

           How rude.

           Alexander could have killed her an hour ago.

           An hour ago, when she came downstairs in that powder white dress that reflected the candlelight to her complexion— a bit too well, in his opinion— and John had looked to her immediately, abandoning Alexander halfway through their conversation to put that obnoxious little thing of a girl on his arm and tote her around all evening.  

           It was insufferable.

           The blonde man had even moved seats at the table to bring her closer to him, forcing Alexander to sit there and attempt to make his gaze not so harsh that others notice, but still sharp enough so that she noticed it several seats down the table.  His teeth grated against each other when she did the most horrible thing.  Sitting beside John, she had giggled— giggled, like the silly little school girl she was— in the sweetest melody he had ever heard, shifting her gaze to her side where John sat and looking up at him through her lashes.

           To say that Alexander was not having a very good day today was an understatement.

           If he did not get up and strangle her now at the table— if only to be excused from Major Tallmadge, who had not stumbled his way back into favor but still sat across from Alexander near the General’s head of the table, and his ramblings— then he would most assuredly end up shooting her rather than teaching her to shoot.

           Was there more wine? Yes, of course, there was.

           He would certainly need more of it if Lee’s volume kept getting louder and louder as he read from that damned pamphlet.

           Laurens, bless him, appeared to cut Lee off with a show of the witty impertinence that the blonde was so well known for.  A handful of the officers around them chortled a laugh at Lee’s expense and rushed to aid John by claiming that he meant no harm by it.

           Yes, he did.  He meant every harm towards Lee-

           He could never say it aloud, even as the President’s son, but Alexander knew that the jab at Lee was fully intended to sting, though John was smarter than he in that sense, saying such among friends so that he might not reap the consequences of that impertinence.

           Alexander never thought so far ahead.

           That was why he was attempting not to go blind with white-hot rage as he watched the two of them be insufferable.  John was only thinking in the long run, and so was she.  It is what all people like that did, the General, Lady Washington, Rush, all those people who considered themselves to be above the average person.

           Alexander did not have that luxury, but he could not fault them for it.

           If marrying that wicked little blonde meant that Laurens would get to remain with the army, then Alexander would just have to bite his tongue— and that he was, a slight metallic taste had taken up residence in his mouth for nearly two weeks now.

           Once again his attention was drawn from the Major by the sound of John’s laughter and he could not starve himself of the quickest glance in the blonde man’s direction only to find that he had been looking at Alexander from the moment his head tilted forward from his laugh.  The two locked eyes for a minute and Alexander managed to send him a look depicting all of which he wished to say, and in turn, John simply looked to her, then back at him and gave him an apologetic face.

           Great.

           “You’re a downright traitor, John Laurens.  You know that?”

           “What on earth are you going on about now?”

           Alexander scoffed as he slid off his stockings, turning to face John in the dim candlelight of the lone candle propped up on the windowsill.  “You abandoned me to sit across from Tallmadge nearly all evening,” he replied, stopping a moment to pull the queue from his neck, “And then Arnold the terrible brute.  How am I supposed to enjoy myself in that company?”

           John rolled his eyes, unbuttoning his breeches and kicking them to the floor as he responded.  “You are being dramatic,” he assured, “You act as though the evening was more enjoyable for me?”

           “It most assuredly appeared so.”

           It was clipped and strained and nearly the last thing Alexander said to John for the evening.  John knew that the red haired Colonel was the nervous kind just as well as he knew that Hamilton was aware of his circumstances.  He had no choice in the matter and now he was being blamed for attempting to make the most disagreeable of circumstances tolerable at the very least?  Was he at fault for attempting to not make her miserable in marriage?

           In Hamilton’s book he certainly was, but not in John’s own.  She was far too young to be so downtrodden in a marriage, but for the most part, she didn’t have a say in the matter.  So he would try at the very least to make her feel cared for.

           He just had to be careful not to toe the line and make her feel loved.

            That felt cruel, but only because he himself held no regard for her in that manner of romantic love.  Though he could hardly ignore her, any man would fall for her lovely charm and that she was— lovely, he meant.  

           She had looked wonderful this evening and he thought he handled it quite well.  There was no harm in showing a girl that she is pretty.

           “What else did you expect me to do?”

           It sounded exactly like the plea he had meant as John threw himself down on his cot.

           He had to marry her.

           “I don’t-” Hamilton hesitated, the sound of the old wood floors creaking under his feet as he stood completely still, “I do not like it.”

           John didn’t need to point out that he sounded like a spoiled child, Alexander knew, but his point still unapologetically stood.  “Neither do I,” John replied, “and yet you fault me for attempting happiness in something I will be condemned to for the rest of my life.”

           “With your talents,” Hamilton retorted with humor in his eyes, “That shouldn’t be long at all.”

           John leaned back to snap at Alexander with his neckcloth with a laugh, pulling one from the redhead as well.

           It was too damn cold out here.

           If she didn’t show up soon he was leaving.  Better a scolding than frostbite.

           He had told her to meet him out here nearly thirty minutes ago so he could get this out of the way as soon as possible.  Unfortunately, knowing her, she would likely keep him out here till she ate breakfast.

           Damn her and her lack of agency. 

           Just as he finally began to make his way back into the house for some illusion of warmth to soothe his red nose and numb toes, the sound of footsteps crunching the snow off the path stopped in his tracks.  Alexander dropped his arms to his sides and sighed, tilting his head back as he did so.  When he titled his back in front of him, there she stood in a purple wool riding habit with black duchess silk trim on her collar, front, and lapels, with a hat that he was distinctly familiar with, the shiny center of its black cocktade reflecting the light off the snow and the white ostrich feathers recently stuck into the crevices for the hat left him grinding his teeth.  Not only had she done her hair— it was curled and arranged on her head, a ponytail of curls tied back with a black silk ribbon— and taken enough time dressing to decorate a hat, but she was wearing a hat he distinctly remembered belonging to a Colonel John Laurens. 

           Dear God.

           He was certainly going to need lots of coffee after this and preferably a proper rank for all the self-control he would have to exert not to shoot her again. 

           “Good morning, Colonel,” she greeted him, chipper as one could be when woken before breakfast to trek into the cold.

           “Miss Fairfax,” was all he curtly replied before turning on his heel and picking up the pistol from the stump of a tree felled for the men’s cabins.  He silently began to load the weapon, preparing it on instinct.

           “You know Colonel,” she interrupted, “I would very much appreciate it if you could tell me why you dragged me out of my bed before anyone else in the house has even awoken yet.”

           “The General wants you to shoot,” he replied, continuing with the pistol in his hands, not looking up from it to address her as he spoke.

           “I can shoot,” she replied, rolling her eyes, “I’m English and own half a colony.  I learned to hunt at a young age.”

           “I didn’t say hunt,” he replied, fiddling with something on the side of the gun, “I said shoot.”

           “And what is supposed to be the difference?”

           Hamilton just rolled his eyes and handed the pistol off from his gloved hand to hers.  “Have you ever used a pistol before?”

           “...No,” she replied hesitantly, adjusting the gun in her hands, “We always used proper rifles.”

           Alexander had to use a good deal of restraint to hold back laughter at the idea of her next to a “proper” rifle.  This was mostly because he had a fairly certain idea that his own army-grade rifle was taller than all 5 feet of her— it might even weigh more than she did too.  “I am aware it might have escaped your notice, Miss Fairfax, but we are at war,” he replied, “Any weapon is a proper weapon.”

           “You’ll excuse me and my forgetfulness then,” she replied, a sweet demure smile gracing her lips as she turned to him to continue her reply, “I suppose extreme memory loss must be a side effect of a gunshot wound.  Or perhaps it was a side effect of the infection that set in afterward.”

           He merely snarked a smile at her reply and stepped up next to her to position her, which she thankfully did not find time to argue with him over.  He lifted her hand with the pistol up to face the makeshift target he had inked out on a nearby tree but was fairly certain by the way she was staring down the pistol in her hand that his directions on how to aim it were not being listened to.  

           That is fine, he supposed, he could hardly blame her for that hesitation.  No one would, not in camp anyway.  Plenty of the ragtag group of men that remained at camp still were all too familiar with being fearful of the weapon in their hands and beside their beds.

           “Just be careful when you actually press the trigger,” he said, talking really for no one but him, but Adrienne nodded, so he continued, “Pistols are rather sensitive compared to rifles in that regard.”

           Another nod and a pause, no way to improve her aim now until she had a go at it first.   He had said all he could, and if he said anything more, he’d probably get in trouble— that was the way of things with him, and it didn’t help that she was here, holding a gun, looking ridiculous and wearing John’s hat— and he swore that his anger was going to off and be louder than the-

           It wasn’t a bang and it wasn’t a fire, but it certainly was a shot that was ringing through his ears, the birds flying away above them, their scared squawking doing nothing to help his temper and his anger- 

           And then he looked down. 

           God damn it. 

           Blood in the snow. 

           How fitting, how perfectly fitting-

           He was going to scream-

           But then he heard that voice, that sweet soft and distinctly feminine voice sticking a nail in his foot instead of a bullet-

           “Sorry!” she squeaked, practically launching herself backward, away from him.

           Alexander took a moment to breathe before he made contact with the snow, back making contact with the nearest tree, pressed up against it as he carefully lowered himself into the powdery white snow.  He just needed to sit down a moment, surely that was all, and he would be fine.

           It was a less than ideal situation— a bullet in his damn foot— but how bad could it really be?

Chapter Text

            Adrienne stood staring in shock at the man sitting, bleeding, into the previously pearly snow.  She was not directly in front of him, just slightly ahead and to the side, and her mouth tasted slightly rancid, a dull stone resting in the pit of her stomach that she identified as fear quickly enough.  

            She wanted to drop the gun.  That was her first instinct— get the wood burning a metaphorical scar into a hand as far away as she could and quickly— but Adrienne knew better.  Same as dropping a rifle, loaded or unloaded, it was dangerous.  Perhaps she should have done something, but the white masses of snow at her feet felt like it was sticking her in place like glue.  She could not move her legs till he hissed an order of “do something!” up at her.

            What unnerved Adrienne the most about the whole thing was that she had no clue which one of them fired the bullet into the Colonel’s foot.  She simply couldn’t remember.  One moment she was preparing to aim for the tree, and next, he was sitting himself and his cloak upon the snow, drops of thick red blood slowly rolling down the creases of the leather riding boots he donned.  

            When she finally snapped to, she placed the pistol down on the stump the Colonel had been sitting on before and made a mad dash towards the house’s kitchens.  They would be the only people awake so early in the whole camp and certainly the closest.  She flung the wooden door open, and it made a rather loud sound confirming contact with the stone wall behind it, which in turn drew far more eyes than necessary to the small girl in a dress far too extravagant for a country kitchen.  The first of the eyes to do anything was Billy Lee, who stepped forward and spoke cautiously.  

            “Lady Fairfax,” he greeted her, continuing on carefully, “do you require something?”

            Adrienne nodded, taking a second to breathe sharply before replying.  When she finally did speak, it was still far more choked than she had wished it to be, “The Colonel needs assistance.  Urgently.”

            A man in a striped flannel shirt, tricorn hat, and a well-used jacket and pair of breeches scrunched his face up and replied that Colonel Laurens wasn’t awake yet.  No one was.

            Billy Lee began to agree, attempting to assure the clearly distraught girl that nothing was awry, but she cut him off just shortly after he had begun.  

            “I do not refer to Colonel Laurens, sirs,” she replied, “I speak of Colonel Hamilton.  He’s been injured just down the way from the house, and I can’t get him back.  Please, we need help.”

            At this, Billy Lee paused, calculating the likelihood of such a thing before deciding.  He ordered Shrewsberry come out with him, asking if the Colonel was visible or if she would have to guide them.  When she affirmed that Colonel Hamilton was quite visible, the valet nodded and beckoned behind him, miraculously making Ona materialize from the crowd.  He ordered the lady’s maid to take Adrienne up to her room and get her changed to rest— it would do best for her nerves at the moment, so she did not protest— and then she was to wake Colonel McHenry and bring him down to the workroom to check on Hamilton.  

            “Sir,” Ona protested, referring to the older man, “I ain’t supposed to go in the men’s rooms.  Not with ’em in there at least.”

            “You’ll make do,” he replied, brushing her off before ushering Adrienne through the small crowd in the kitchen to meet Ona.  Both lead her just barely touching— or not at all touching— Adrienne on the arm and back into the rest of the house and its warmth.

            Someone ought to tell the General, but Ona and Billy seemed to have a silent agreement that the situation was somewhat precarious, and it was best to keep it in the house till both parties had settled their nerves enough to recount what happened.  With hope, nothing will have occurred between the two that would cause irreversible damage to the young blonde’s reputation.  The staff was well aware that a good deal of the girl’s fate would rest in whether or not Colonel Laurens would agree to have her still.  Colonel Hamilton would be such a disagreeable match, William Fairfax would return to the colonies just to protest it, but Ona decided she would table it for the time being. 

            Poor Lady Fairfax was shaken enough as it was.  No one needed to remind her of the potential peril she had walked herself into.

            When the pair finally made it up the narrow staircase to the smallest room on the second floor, Ona was careful in undressing the girl she had just dressed maybe an hour prior.  She was careful when removing the jacket from Adrienne’s shoulders and stood just slightly on her toes to unfasten the hat Ona did not recall from the girl’s head.  Pulling delicately on the black satin ribbon that held the blonde’s ponytail of careful curls together, Ona made her way around Adrienne, carefully dodging catching her skirts in the bed linens shortly before the petticoats and pockets joined each other on the floor at Adrienne’s feet.

            The elaborate white cotton nightgown that had recently been discarded was stepped into, and Ona began to tie the tiny pink satin ribbons that kept the gown closed in the front into tight bows.  The two worked harmoniously, having done these same routines thousands of times before, but remained in complete silence.  Lady Fairfax climbed under her quilt and sheets, and Ona released the curtains from their ties so the girl could rest without fear of the rising sun.

            Now that the easy part was done, Ona padded carefully down the hall, avoiding the squeaky board just in front of the General’s room before knocking— ever so softly— on the door of Colonel McHenry.  He opened the door groggy and in none but his sleep shirt, perking up immediately when he realized who was knocking upon the door, grabbing a camp blanket off of the unused bed near the door to cover himself.  

            “Might I be of assistance?” He asked, bashfully pulling the blanket tightly around him for additional cover.  

            “Billy Lee sent me for you, sir,” she explained, quite determined to focus her eyes anywhere but on the improperly dressed man in the doorway, “Colonel Hamilton needs a looking at, got hurt while out in the woods.”

            The Colonel before her hesitated for a moment before offering a sharp nod.  “If you’ll allow me to get dressed properly,” he assured, “I shall be down in just a moment.”

            Ona offered him no proper words, only a fervent nod and a whisper of a ‘thank you’ before scurrying off down the hall and back to the kitchens where she could be out of the way to prepare for Mrs. Washington when she wakes.  

            “You know,” McHenry joked as he wrapped the foot of his fellow aide tightly in a clean cloth, “When I was asked here to the General’s headquarters, I did not anticipate that I would be using my medical skills more than those of my quill for the office’s benefit.”

            Hamilton managed out a laugh proving his humor preserved before responding.  “I do not think any of us anticipated such either,” he jested, “I rather think that perhaps you might have brought the need for such skills with you as well.”

            “Unlike some of us, Hamilton,” McHenry replied with a smile, not looking up from his work as he spoke, “I do not attempt to inspire more work for myself than necessary.” The other secretary offered no quick reply of his own, only a small chuckle, and McHenry continued, “You will have to be off it till your foot heals, which means bed rest,” he held up a hand to stop the protest from his fellow aide before the words had even left the other man’s lips, “You can work from your lap desk, but I do not want to see you on your feet, understand?”

            This seemed to satisfy the redhead, and he nodded, shifting forward on the table to stand, allowing McHenry to grab the side of him with the leg he was not to use to balance him out.  “Someone will have to inform the General,” he noted as they carefully made their way up the stairs, “I can’t just disappear to my room, you know.”

            “I am well aware,” McHenry agreed, eyes flickering from Hamilton to the stairs below his feet, “I’ll be sure to make Harrison aware before his morning meeting with the General.”

            They paused at the top of the stairs so Hamilton could catch his breath before tackling the second set of stairs up into the garret he shared with a sleeping Laurens.  The pair made their way up, McHenry hitting his head twice on the roof once in the room.  Once Hamilton had been deposited in his bed, McHenry excused himself to get what sleep he still could before the workday started.  

            “What did you do?”

            Hamilton huffed from his bed, biting his tongue before replying to the blonde man across the small room from him.  “I didn’t do anything,” he defended, “If you’re looking for an aggressor, you can ask your lovely Miss Fairfax.”

            “Do not force her into your disagreeable countenance,” Larens defended from his bed, eyes still shut, “I only asked what you managed to get into.”

            “I am not forcing her, “he said, “She shot me in the damn foot- John Laurens, do not laugh.”

            The blonde man promptly ignored this empty threat, who freely laughed at his fellow aide.  “I am sure she did,” he agreed, “And I am sure that she was likely justified in it.”

            “You would endorse violence against my person?”

            “I am sensible enough to know she has plenty cause and justification for doing so.”

            “Now, you just antagonize me,” the smaller man huffed, “I will not suffer such a thing in my own bed.” There was a pause between them before Hamilton continued, “Frankly, I don’t even know which of us pulled the trigger.  It just happened.”

            “How is she holding up?”

            “She was whisked away to rest,” Hamilton replied, “I doubt she knows who did it any more than I did.”

            “Why were you even out there with her?  What use was the gun?” John asked, brow furrowing a little.

            “Am I to be interrogated all morning?”

            To say his morning started far more hectic than John Laurens had anticipated was perhaps a bit of an understatement, but he was far too tired to inspire himself to dramatics.  He had been awoken by the General himself, who had climbed the garret to see McHenry’s report of Hamilton’s injury.  After assuring the Colonel was well, he left the room as swiftly as he had arrived, claiming a need to check in on Adrienne on his way down for his morning ride.  John had half a mind to do the same.  No doubt she would be shaken by the ordeal.

            He was not particularly of the opinion that she could be so easily unsettled.  Still, the shock of it being so close to the time of her own injury most certainly would have had some impact upon her constitution.

            So, he dressed, as usual, passing off Hamilton’s travel desk to the bedridden aide before descending the stairs, rounding the corner once he reached the landing rather than continuing to the first floor.  He leaned himself carefully against the side of the door frame of her room and rapped lightly on the door’s wood with his knuckles.

            Just as he finished this, the hall was filled with the sound of a door opening from behind him, and John twisted his body to see who was joining him.  He straightened immediately, pushing himself off the door frame at the sight of Mrs. Washington dressed for the day standing in the open doorway.

            “Can I help you, Colonel Laurens?” She asked, without any hesitation or even so much as a scolding tone.

            “I just wished to check on Miss Fairfax,” he replied calmly, “I imagine this morning gave her quite a shake.”

            Mrs. Washington nodded, humming in agreement.  “Yes,” she continued, “Ona said it all left the poor thing with such terribly frayed nerves… she put her off to bed straight away, so I’m afraid that a check-in would not be appropriate at the moment.”

            “Right,” he replied, taking a step back into the hallway, hesitating for a moment, “No, I suppose it would be most improper.  Will you then express my concerns to her instead?”

            The woman nodded, smiling sweetly before dismissing him in a similar way a mother might dismiss an amusing child. 

            When the Colonel had finally made it all the way down the stairs, Martha sighed, her soft smile slipping into worry.  She had heard quite exactly what happened, and she disagreed with the impropriety of it all.  Were Colonel Hamilton not injured himself, Martha would have given him the same scolding she gave the General for not telling her of such plans and for allowing them to occur whilst the couple was alone and at such terribly suspicious hours.  She would have to do her best in assuring that Colonel Laurens was not put off by this, for she suspected he already had received as much detail as she.  

            With a breath, Martha crossed the hall and cracked open the door to the small room Adrienne resided in.  She smiled at the sight of her peacefully sleeping and, after a few moments, decided it would be best not to wake her when the nerves were still so easily distraught.  Closing the door behind her, Martha herself slipped down the stairs, and the house began about its usual bustle.

            “You done preening, Benny boy?”

            Caleb leaned against the post in the middle of the tent, watching the Major fuss over his bangs in the neatly tied queue.  He even swore the woolen jacket over the taller man’s shoulders had managed to become a brighter, deeper shade of blue in time Caleb had been standing there.

            “I am not preening,” Benjamin replied with a huff, dropping his hands after making a face in the small tabletop travel mirror, “I am making sure I am presentable for the General.”

            “For the General or for Lady Fairfax?” Caleb asked with a quirk to his brow before receiving a firm slap in the chest from a shaving foam-covered washcloth.  

            “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” the blonde replied, standing and tossing the satin-lined woolen cloak Lady Fairfax had gifted him for Christmas.  He had felt terrible about it, obviously, both not having a gift for her in turn as well as her state at the time being— indirectly— his fault.  Unfortunately, it was also the nicest thing he owned, so he could hardly decline to wear it to headquarters seeing as it would be the first time since the attempt on the General’s life and the incident that followed shortly after he would have been in the house.  It would also be the first time he’d seen the General since their argument.

            When he walked through the house, it seemed business as usual, the hustle and bustle all about, but he didn’t stray from his path to the General’s office for their meeting.  He caught a flicker of pink in one of the rooms as he paused and let out a breath he hadn’t even been holding, sighing with relief.  The Major knocked sharply on the door before opening it and stepping into this mystery meeting.  

            “You sent for me?”

            “Ah,” the General shifted his gaze to the door as if he had not already known Ben was waiting there, “Good.  I was worried you’d have left at the end of the year.”

            “No sir,” Ben affirmed, “I still intend to serve in some capacity till the very end of the war.”

            “If only the rest of camp felt the same as you, Major,” was all the General replied, casually as if the two had not had a massive argument throughout the past few weeks.  “No doubt you’re curious as to why I called you here,” the General moved on, “and while I have resolved to put our…argument behind us, I do require a favor on return for it.”

            “I-“Ben stopped himself before he could launch into the long-winded case he had prepared for himself on the way to the house, “Thank you, sir.” He was careful with his words, but not with his confusion— even if he did not openly express it.  

            “Do not thank me,” the older man replied, “If you just thank anyone, let it be my wife.” Ben nodded silently and watched as the General picked up a quill and played with its stem in his fingers.  “I want you to teach her to shoot, Major.”

            Ben once again found himself in the same state of paused shock and utter confusion before he gathered himself once more and found words good enough to speak, but the General had other ideas.  

            “I am sure you will have constructed some plan to land you back in favor,” he said offhandedly, “but I would rather we not murk up waters that are just starting to settle.  I want you to teach Lady Fairfax how to shoot a pistol.  I fear I will have left her unkindly at a disadvantage without it.”

            “Of course, sir,” Benjamin agreed, brows still firmly locked in confusion, “but if I might be so bold, why is it that you would not have someone else do so?”

            “You are always so bold,” the General replied, “but I will allow it nevertheless.  I had initially asked Colonel Hamilton to oversee this education, given his history.  Unfortunately, he found himself wounded today at their first lesson and will not be able to continue the lessons, I should think.”

            “He’s been injured then, sir?”

            The General peered up at him, “That is what I just said, Major.  I think it more a scuffle of her nerves, given the circumstance, no doubt when she is paired with a more agreeable partner, those nerves will be easily soothed.”

            Benjamin hesitated before nodding, “Very well, sir, when do we start?”

            “Well,” the General stated, “Martha wants me to have McHenry give her a once over before starting again.  I can send a note once she has been cleared by him, and the two of you can arrange a suitable place and time.”

            Ben nodded sharply, remaining silent as he did so, taking the moment in which the General turned his attention from the Major as a good enough dismissal.  Just as the Major turned towards the door, the General spoke up one more time, calling after him, “And make sure to arrange a proper chaperone, Major.  I should think if Martha were put through the same emotional distress as she suffered this morning, I should be very unhappy.”

            The major nodded once more in affirmation before slipping out the office’s door and closing it silently behind him.  This time as he walked towards the door, he allowed himself to be distracted by greetings and slight jests at his own expense.  He even treated himself to a smile from Lady Fairfax, who saw the occasion of a peaceful meeting—that meaning that the General and Major managed to leave it without a shouting match echoing the house—good enough grounds for a conversation.  

            He was grateful for it, honestly.  Ben had walked in with such tension to him and had hardly noticed her.  She was now clearly dressed for the day and seemingly fine from the morning’s excursion.  It appeared that the both of them were in a far better mood for a conversation.  

            It was more pleasant than Ben would allow himself to permit.  She was polite and just as he would imagine Laurens’ future wife would be.  Lady Fairfax donned a set of pearls around her neck, held together by a pink silk ribbon at the nape of her neck; a hat piled with lace, pink ribbon, and feathers—he couldn’t name what kind they were if it was to save his own life—and a light pink franicase topped with plenty of trim and lace filled flounces at her elbows.  She seemed more excited to see him than he was her.  No doubt it was because his was not a face she saw on a daily basis.  Lady Fairfax was a sociable creature, that much was certain.  

            “Good morning, Major,” she smiled, the sound of her heels clicking against the wooden floor as she made her way to him, “How have you been, all out in the cold?”

            “Well,” Ben huffed with a slight laugh gracing his lips, turning to her as he replied, “Cold, for sure.”

            This elected a proper laugh from her, and Ben was sure not to miss the way that Laurens’ eyes were pulled clean off of the translation whose ink was staining his cuffs to find the source of her laughter, sending a crooked smile to the Major before his eyes drifted to Lady Fairfax, the lopsided tilt of his smile straightening out for a mere moment before Meade kicked the blonde man under the table to shake his attention back to the translation on the desk before him.  After which, Meade and Tilghman began to snicker at the Laurens’ expense.  Ben huffed another smile before wishing his farewells to Miss Fairfax and tossing the cloak—which he made sure to thank her for—over his shoulders and heading out the door into the snow.

Chapter Text

            It had been an all-around rather interesting two weeks since the incident with Colonel Hamilton.  Adrienne had been cleared rather quickly by McHenry, and Major Tallmadge had begun to work with her immediately—up until he shot himself in the foot, of course.  Lady Fairfax had been quite adamant that this time she had absolutely no hand in this, and the major had not adequately seen the barrel unloaded before he began to show her proper aim.  It all worked out though most certainly, and the General was quite pleased with the results.  Even Colonel Hamilton, bedridden from a malaria flare-up, managed his way out to verify her ability.  

            Today had been relatively uneventful thus far, shooting lessons and injured aides behind them—minus Colonel Hamilton, of course, who remained abed from his own illness.  Colonel Laurens was entertaining Adrienne quite well, the girl laughing sweetly at something he had just said.  The Colonel smiled bashfully at the floor, his own deep laugh following her sweet one.  The pair stood in a little clove under the stairs, just before the door of the General’s office, chatting and laughing, ignoring the occasional watchful eye the older man sent towards the open door.  She wore a fetching close-fitted anglaise patterned with mustard yellow against a softer yellow background.  The fine cotton lace fichu around her shoulders and upturned cuffs of the three-quarter length sleeves took the place of the usual jewels that would have otherwise graced her neck and wrists.  The simplicity of the dress in the lowlights of the sun made their tiny hamlet far more homely than it would have been otherwise.

            John knew he would have to leave for his desk soon, the paper he had risen to retrieve held in one hand, her hand in his other.  The General chose his exit for him, clearing his throat rather loudly, cutting off the laughter outside his door.  John took a step back from her as he remembered they were in clear sight of the General’s desk, bringing her hand up to his lips for a quick kiss before dismissing himself as Lady Fairfax was called into the General’s office.  

            “The Colonel appears to be warming up quite well,” George sighed, waving for her to close the door on her way in, “I only hope the feeling is mutual.”

            “He is not as dull or daft as I originally supposed if that is what you mean,” she dismissed, arranging her skirts around her to sit more carefully in the camp chair, “But I cannot attest to much fondness.”

            George scoffed at her reply before commenting. “He looked as though he were to kiss you if I had not been watching.”

            “Did he?” she asked, feigning ignorance towards the statement.

            “He did.” George affirmed, “And you looked as though you would let him.”

            It was Adrienne’s turn to scoff, making her comment in following. “Is that not what a young lady is desired to be?  Pliant and agreeable?”

            George sent her a scolding look, not attempting to refute her statement, “Not that pliant, Adrienne.  Not when the young lady remains unmarried.”

            “We are to be married either way,” she dismissed, “I wish you would not make it seem so scandalous.”

            “Has he proposed then?” George asked, a brow quirked in her direction.

            Adrienne hesitated, confirming George’s previous statements before she even began speaking. “He will soon.  We both know that.”

            “We hope that,” George corrected, “I am not sure just how much longer my influence will be able to protect you.  The Virginia government has begun to shift its focus to getting an oath from Belvior.  It is only a matter of time.”

            Adrienne swallowed thickly.  Being reminded of the very reason she was being rushed to marriage was never a pleasant experience for anyone.  Virginia had begun to require all landowners into an oath against King and country.  With her father in England and her Grandfather being so far from civilization, she would be the one to face the consequences if the property was not secured.

            “I am well aware,” she spoke, far quieter than before, “there is no need to remind me.  I am trying my best.”

            George only set her another look, this one being far warmer and parental than before.  He did not reply to her.  They both knew what he was trying to say from his look. “That was not why I called you in here,” she continued finally with a sigh, leaning forward onto his desk, “Do you remember a Thomas Mackenzie?  Now Admiral Mackenzie?”

            Adrienne nodded, furrowing her brows slightly. “In his Majesty’s navy?  Yes, I believe I do.  Why do you ask?”

            The General nodded, affirming the man in question’s loyalties. “He is to be sent from South Carolina to York City on parole.” When Adrienne said nothing in response, George continued, “He will be stopping here for the proper documentation necessary to go through before he can be released to York city.”

            “Oh,” Adrienne hummed suspiciously, “That is uncharacteristically kind of the South Carolina legislature.  What benefit does Mr. Laurens gain from delivering Admiral Mackenzie back to the navy in port at York City?”

             George laughed, briskly remembering just how clever the girl before him was. “Nothing besides your good favor, I should think.  I believe that Admiral Mackenzie would enjoy a familiar face and a warm welcome on his way to release, do you not agree?”

            Adrienne huffed a, perhaps rather arrogant, laugh of her own, “I believe that Mr. Laurens will have to do perhaps a bit more for my good favor, but I will take his olive branch nonetheless.  Besides, it has been quite some time since I last saw Thomas.  It should be a nice reprieve.”

            “Wonderful,” the General conceded, “He is set to arrive in three days, on the 27th.”

            The 27th of January came faster than Adrienne could have hoped, thank goodness.  Colonel Laurens seemed skeptical about the Admiral’s release and even less pleased by the connection the man had to Adrienne, but he rarely made such opinions heard to her. Honestly, it would have been silly, all things considered.  Thomas Mackenzie might have been a childhood friend of Adrienne’s, but John was soon to be her fiance and then her husband, which was quite a big difference.  Perhaps it only bothered the blonde man so much because there was no information on when the Admiral would be leaving them. Nonetheless, John was fairly certain that when the man arrived, he could lay down what had become the law of the land and that the Admiral, as a gentleman, would abide by it.  

            He could not have been more wrong.

            A squeal of “Thomas!” came from inside the house behind the aides, who had been lined up outside to be introduced to their guest. And in one quick flurry of red silk, just as the Admiral made contact with the snowy path on the ground outside the carriage, Adrienne made contact with their guest, who wasted no time in enveloping her into a hug, practically lifting her off the ground as they spun.

            When they finally pulled apart, Mackenzie was the first to speak—an over-enthusiastic statement if you ask John—filled the air before the far too handsome and far too young man noticed her state.  Not only was she donned in a deep red silk gown with a black pattern across the outer robe, but it had a near scandalous neckline, and the lack of trim over the dress made the eye drawn to her bosom more than John was comfortable with.  Unfortunately, the Admiral did not seem to notice this, a perfect gentleman as he began to shed his cloak. “Good lord, Addy,” the Admiral said warily, “Where is your cloak?” He began to take the cloak that was now in his hands rather than on his shoulders where it belonged and moved to drape it over Adirnene’s shoulders, stating, “You will freeze out in this cold.”

            To her credit, Adrienne did make a good deal of effort to refuse the gesture, well aware of the impropriety of the act.  Even if it was only meant to be friendly.  She had mind enough to remember that John—the man she is to marry—stood just a foot or less behind her, and he was thankful for that.  However, to avoid the Admiral’s cloak, she simply insisted they all go back inside if only to spare her from the cold, robbing John of the precious opportunity to introduce himself.  Before they re-entered the building, the Admiral insisted they wait a moment and climbed back into the carriage, retrieving a rather large box with a tailor’s mark on the lid.

            Adrienne took it graciously, and the Admiral sheepishly informed her that she need not open it here, stating that it was a design of his own for a riding habit—based off the royal navy uniform—he thought she might fancy.

            John grumbled under his breath as the group made their way into the house. “Ought I be worried?” he voiced quietly to no one in particular.

            The Marquis answered as he passed the Colonel to head into the house. “More than that, my friend,” he said offhandedly, “He is winning.”

            They stood around the aides’ workroom, set up for a standing breakfast as the house’s inhabitants began to become familiar with their guest through the necessary pleasantries.  It was not unnoticed by John just how attentive Lady Fairfax was to the breakfast needs of a merchant’s son, watching as she prepared each cup of tea he drank from memory.  John was fairly certain that she did not know how he liked his tea or coffee, nor had she ever bothered to.  Her lady’s maid always served whenever such an occasion arose between them, but Adrienne appeared quite adamant on serving the Admiral herself.

            It took nearly 20 minutes for John finally get a chance to introduce himself to their British guest, who was already not on the Lieutenant Colonel’s good side.  She had been making the rounds of those visiting their office for breakfast with the Admiral, happily providing each one with an introduction, and the Brit had the audacity to offer his arm as they did so.  It painted a picture far too intimate for John, who was practically blowing smoke out his ears, face twisted sourly into his tea when the pair finally made their way to him.  

            Adrienne smiled at him softly as they approached, her eyes warning him to relax his face before they made it before him. “Colonel Laurens,” she began, the soft sweet smile resting on her lips as she removed herself from the Admiral’s arm to introduce them, “Might I introduce Admiral Thomas Mackenzie?” He conceded with a nod, and she began to inform of things John already knew. “He is a childhood friend of mine,” she said, the repetition evident in her voice telling John that she had said the same to nearly everyone else in the room, a mere formality.  However, as she continued, the repetition dropped, and he realized she was telling him something she had some desire for him to note, so he perked up his ears.

            “The Mackenzies have been one of the biggest suppliers for Northern Neck,” she explained, now regarding the Admiral with a merely polite smile, “Though, the war has made the transportation of such supplies far too costly for everyone involved.”

            “Then perhaps Northern Neck should learn to go without such British finery when its colony is at war,” John hummed in response, speaking of the Fairfax land like it was a child to be chastised.

            “Perhaps you would like to tell that to George Mason,” Adrienne offered in reply, “Or even the General, both of whom rely heavily on such trade to maintain their land.”

            This was quite effective in silencing John, who admitted he was not in a position of familiarity with the northernmost parts of Virginia as he ought, considering it was to be his one day.  This confused the Admiral a good deal, and the men deferred to Adrienne to smooth out the confusion, which she readily did.

            “Had you allowed me to finish, Colonel,” she scolded playfully, “I would have gotten there already.” John smiled sheepishly, offering a quick apology before she continued, “Admiral Mackenzie, please allow me to introduce to you Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens of South Carolina, my intended.”

            “Ah,” Thomas spoke, a distinct London tilt to his words, not quite as refined as Adrienne or even John’s own, but quite noticeable enough for such a ranking gentleman, “only intended.  So then you have not yet proposed?”

            “Yes, I have not yet formally proposed to Lady Fairfax,” John confirmed before Adrienne, causing Thomas to nod and pull his lips up into a smile. 

            “She is ever so careful with her words,” Thomas elaborated, smiling affectionately down at the young blonde with what John deemed as more than friendship in his eyes. “Our Addy would never lose a chance to show off her prize.”

            The use of the familiar nickname irked John even further.  The Marquis and the General being the only ones he knew to ever use such a term of endearment for the young woman before him.

            “And am I a prize?” John asked, directing the question to Adrienne at his elbow, quirking an eyebrow at her as he did so.

            “I fear that I am the prize to be won in this instance, Admiral,” she corrected, the sweet, polite smile John had seen on her face a million times before as she looked towards the Brit. “Colonel Laurens is at far more of an advantage over me in such a situation,” she expressed, a surprising lack of disdain in her voice as she spoke. “In times of war, things must shift,” she continued, glancing at John, “I know the Colonel agrees with me on that much.”

            “Only that much?” voiced the Admiral lightly.

            “Well,” that cunning little look taking its place on her face, “He might agree with the sentiments, but while I think there is too much changing too fast, the Colonel believes not enough is changing fast enough.”

            “You make me sound like some haphazard scoundrel rabble-rousing on a street corner,” John laughed in response.

            “I thought the term for that was Continental Soldier, sir?” Thomas said, quirking his lips up in an attempt at humor.

            “Now you are being cruel, Thomas,” Adrienne dismissed carelessly before John had even a chance of opening his mouth to speak. “I am quite sure that the Colonel has withheld a few choice comparisons thus far already. Tis’ only in fairness.”

            Thomas nodded, conceding to her point. “I do apologize for any cruelness, Colonel,” he admitted too earnestly for John’s liking, “It was meant as a simple jest and nothing more, I assure you.”

            “I should hope so,” John replied a bit too scathingly- if the look on Adrienne’s face was to judge by, “I doubt any proper gentleman would not be unnerved at the prospect of a gentleman insulting his far too gracious hosts.  Tis’ a matter of civility.”

            Adrienne nodded calmly, reaching out to place a hand on the Admiral’s arm. “And what is the British Empire without its civility, gentlemen?” she asked sweetly in another attempt to diffuse the situation, “I, for one, should hope to never know an answer to such a thing.”

            The British Admiral and the South Carolinian Colonel simply nodded at her words, the Colonel offering her a reply in turn. “I suppose we all might agree on that much,” he stated, “Though America no longer belongs to the tyranny of an Empir, the first and last good things England ever gave us were Tobacco and manners.”

            Thomas strained a bit at the statement but pushed the conversation forward from there in regards to America’s market. “I hear there are quite a few master distillers here in the colonies,” he said as if his being back in the colonies was a matter of pleasure and not the reality of war, “Have you any recommendations for me while I am here?”

            “Is that why you have come then, sir?” John asked, “Because if so, I regret to inform you that you began in the wrong Carolina.  South Carolina does not dabble in the whiskey trade, and if it did, you would not find such an operation surrounding our essential ports or in our State Houses.”

            Adrienne inhaled sharply, giving him the first truly harsh look in this entire conversation before smiling up at the Admiral as if the Colonel had just said a common jest about some mundane thing rather than a severe condemnation of attacks on his home and income.  That was the one benefit Adrienne had to hold against John in the entirety of their prospective matter.  It was her connection that allowed the Laurens’ slave and mercantile ships through the blockades, and that was quite a power to have indeed.  

            Adrienne reached out for the Admiral and maneuvered him around John, leaving the awkward tension of the conversation behind the swish of the silk train of her gown.

            Adrienne was admittedly shocked by the Colonel’s behavior at breakfast that morning.  It had weighed heavily on her mind throughout the day.  He was clearly displeased by the favoritism that the General appeared to be showing just by hosting him here in this main house.  That does not go as far as to say that there were not places that the Admiral was forbidden from entering, the General’s office and the aide’s workroom being only two of such places.  He was also preferred to remain downstairs, and with Adrienne’s constant company, to go upstairs could cause a question towards her honor anyway.  

            Colonel Laurens appeared to be much bothered by Thomas, and Adrienne simply attributed it to his loyalties.  After all, such things might matter to him .  Adrienne had no such luxury or affiliation.  How could she in her situation?  

            Adrienne was a British aristocrat’s daughter marrying an American Merchant-turned-Politican’s son in the middle of a war.  Personal loyalties were not something Adrienne was at liberty to entertain.  However, that did not mean that she did not carefully take these personal ideologies of those around her as the very basis upon which to navigate society.  

            It is to be expected, really, when one comes out to society the same year a war starts in the exact city where this first confrontation occurs.  

            Political affiliations are in the very lifeline of people like Adrienne—they always had been—but during war, it is felt more keenly.  During wartime, there are more requirements for an advantageous match.  People lose fortunes every day, daughters are sold off as if they are on an auction block to pay debts or gain security, and runaway marriages and elopements practically tripled in frequency.  It is complicated, but it is something Adrienne could say with complete certainty that she understood.

            Frankly, she understood it better than most.  

            There was a reason why Adrienne’s own circle of acquaintances was so very small in Virginia to the point it was near non-existent and why even now in Pennsylvania, her circle remains relatively moderate in size—at least when compared to other diamond debutantes out in society.  The number of respectable girls with respectable prospects and marriages was dropping rapidly, and so any hint at risk had to be avoided.

            No unmarried girl ever did well for herself with walking scandals for friends, and Adrienne could not afford to not do well.  

            So she picked her friends more carefully than a General making plans to head into battle.  Her friends in Pennsylvania might all belong to patriot-leaning families, but they lived the most ordinary lives.  They were not a Peggy Shippen, throwing herself like raw meat at any soldier with looks or rank without a care towards the soldier’s affiliations.  They lived their lives just as they would were there no war in Pennsylvania at all.  They attended proper advantageous events held by the right people with proper positions in society.  None of them ever went unattended or had a need for help in their household.  They chose suitors as prospective husbands, not just for the flirt, and required stability for their futures.  So Adrienne had gravitated towards them, and they had accepted her gracious act readily.

            Patriot-leaning families in a city controlled by the King’s Army were not advantageous.

            British loyalties with an estate under threat were not advantageous.  

            The group benefited off each other’s influence, as any group ought during a time of peace.

            Thomas was not an advantageous friendship.  The name Mackenzie meant precious little to anyone but the Fairfaxes in Virginia.  They were merchants, not an ancient name nor landowners.  If they had not already had the Fairfax name to vouch for them when the family relocated itself to Britain, Thomas would have never been acceptable enough to purchase an Admiral’s commission, let alone have the money for such things. Adrienne’s mother had never approved of the friendship and had appeared quite happy by the Mackenzies’ absence from the colonies, but Adrienne had missed her friend sorely.

            She was glad that war bent the rules of society, with affiliations taking priority over political affiliation.  Thomas was now a respectable Englishman and gentleman, an Admiral, all because of these bent rules.

            It was because of this that the Colonel’s reaction had unnerved her so much.  She had been so thrilled to see her friend that she had forgotten the necessary navigation of political loyalty, and John had most assuredly noticed.  With the General’s influence diminishing every hour that this winter encampment continued and the clock ticking on Henry Laurens’ presidency, Adrienne knew she would need a secure proposal soon.  

            Either that, or she needed to find an alternative as quickly as possible so that she did not squander time she does not have waiting around for the Colonel.

Chapter Text

           The sun had set many hours ago, and the aide’s office was finally emptied as Hamilton joined the blonde Colonel in their shared garret room to dress for dinner. For aides, that usually just meant changing their undershirt and washing up, as the shirt they had begun the day in usually had ink coated in its cuffs which had bled through to their wrists. They only began washing their arms and faces after Alexander joined them one evening with a black ink stain clear across his nose.  

           It did infuriate John a little that they were hosting dinner for a prisoner like he was among the politicians who liked to “see camp with their own eyes.” This much must have been clear as he was scrubbing away at his wrists when the red-haired aide entered.

           “What is wrong with you?” Alexander said near immediately, pulling the cravat around his neck from his waistcoat.

           “Is it that obvious?” John asked, not looking towards the man as he made himself comfortable. The evening dressing period was really meant for the ladies of the house and thus was unnecessarily long by John’s standards.

           “That you would like to shoot the man where he stands?” Hamilton offered, laying his clothes body down on the pushed-together cots. “Because if that is what you refer to, then yes. You have a terrible poker face.”

           John tossed a dry rag at the man across the beds, ignoring the face the red-head pulled at him upon its impact. “I just simply do not see a benefit in showing such blatant favoritism towards this man,” he said, “No matter he’s a gentleman, plenty of gentlemen get captured every day, but the General does not throw them a dinner party.”

           “So then it is not because you are jealous then?”

           John stopped slashing the sponge he was using to remove the ink from his wrists into the basin and turned to face Hamilton. “No,” he said genuinely. “I am not-” John paused, closing his mouth and starting again, “Just because I am fond of her does not mean that I am…concerned in that way.”

           “It is normal, John,” Alexander offered, sitting upon the cot, “You needn’t feel as though it is something to be ashamed of. Quite the opposite, really.”

           “I know that,” John sighed, “But you know that I do not- that I cannot feel that kind of attraction for her.”

           “So you have said,” Hamilton nodded, “But the more you do, the more I suspect it is said out of concern for my own feelings.”

           “It is not,” John affirmed, reaching out a hand to Alexander to lift him off the cot, “I would not lie to you for the sake of what I perceive as not hurting your feelings, my dear boy.”

           “Good,” Alexander stated firmly, taking the hand as it was offered, “Besides, what have I to be jealous of? The two of you giggling in some corner somewhere? I should think not when it is my bed you sleep in every night.”

           John smiled softly with an intolerable tenderness to it all. Leave it to his Alexander to come up with such.  

           He had been entirely honest with Hamilton. John felt an affection for Lady Fairfax and possessed a good deal of respect for her too, but neither amounted to love. Not the romantic kind, at least.  

           No, the thing that bothered him was the Admiral. Perhaps the disdain John felt for the man was worsened by the man’s connection to the suffering of South Carolina. He could not quite place it, but the man simply gave John a bad feeling. They did not start off on a good note, so perhaps it was just John jumping to conclusions, but he quite firmly did not like the man. He would keep a close eye on the Admiral, for Adrienne’s sake.  

           Heaven knows that she did not notice his impropriety as much as John.  

           “Don’t go all silent on me,” Alexander said, joining him at the washbasin, “Tell me what’s happening in that brain of yours.”

           “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

           “Not particularly, no.”

           John laughed and shook his head at Hamilton’s antics. “I just cannot find it in me to like the idea. I do not see why his position grants him more moveability and freedom than any other prisoner of war.”

           “And his connection to Lady Fairfax?” Alexander prompted, shifting his eyes to his side so that he might gauge the man’s reaction.

           “I only worry that he will act improperly with her,” John consigned, “We have all heard the horror stories of the Royal Army’s brutality against such prized things. I have no desire to see her suffer such a fate.”

           Hamilton snorted, “I suppose that now would be a bad time to stay that I am not sure I would mind?” John threw him a scolding look from the corner of his eye, affirming the Colonel’s supposition at impoliteness. Hamilton responded with a sign, continuing to work at the ink on his wrists with a damp cloth. “Would it matter to you?” he asked, “If she were…handled improperly, that is to say, would you still have her?”

           John hesitated, halting in his motions before setting the rag aside and moving to toss himself back on the cots as Hamilton had done when he entered. “I do not know,” he said finally, “I suppose it would depend on its circumstance, but even then, I do not know.”

           “Well,” said Alexander, “Then you better figure that out and soon because so far, I have to agree with the Marquis. He is winning.”

           “Why did he even bring her that gift anyway?” John groaned from the beds.

           “What did you get her for Christmas?” Hamilton asked, only acknowledging John’s question with a shrug before saying his own.

           “I cleaned her puke off my boots.”

           Laurens’ monotone response sent Hamilton into a fit of laughter till the aide was clutching his stomach. “Oh!” he exclaimed through his laughter, “I had nearly forgotten about that!”

           “It is not that funny,” Laurens admonished, “It was not as if the poor thing could help it.”

           “Oh, please spare me the “poor girl” sympathies and let me enjoy myself,” Hamilton admonished in return, “No harm is done by it.”

           “Ought I to get her something?” John voiced aloud, lightly voicing his question.

           Hamilton shrugged, tossing the rag used to dry the water off of him onto the washbasin’s table before walking over to Laurens, kicking his boot to move him over. “What would you even get her?”

           Laurens furrowed his brow staring at the ceiling as Hamilton lay beside him, “Well, what would you suggest?”

           “Why are you asking me?” the Colonel scoffed.

           “Well,” John flushed, “You’ve much more…you have no issue wooing women. Surely you must have more ideas than I.”

           “Should I take that as a compliment?” Hamilton laughed, continuing, “I do not often buy them presents, and even if I were, I do not have nearly as much resource to do so as you.”

           John groaned in response, “I wish you would leave such things out of this.”

           “How can I?” Hamilton replied, “It is a basic fact. Your father is a landowner and the President of Congress. He has far more disposable income as do you.”

           John only released a breath, deciding to drop the topic. “Surely there must be something else I can do that does not involve a couple hundred pounds?”

           “Would she be sated with anything less?” Hamilton asked, “After all, we haven’t a clue just how extravagant the Admiral’s gift is.”

           “Precisely,” John said, “And if I were to get her something of absurd cost and he offered something merely functional and sentimental, would that not make it look as though I insult her?”

           “You ask if she is shallow.”

           “That is not what I am asking,” John replied forcefully.

           “Well, she is,” Hamilton affirmed, “And I doubt that she would dare turn any gift of consequence away.”

           “Why am I even asking such a thing,” John sighed, “I am going to propose to her. What better gift could a young girl receive than an engagement ring?”

           “Are we back on the shallow thing?” Hamilton shifted his eyes to the side to look at Laurens as he asked the question, only to be met with a smack on the arm.  

           “Do not pretend to not know what it is I mean, Alexander,” Laurens replied, “You surely know how girls are with such things. They become near over the moon with themselves.”

           “Ah, it is the preening that you refer to then,” Alexander nodded. “Yes, young ladies of such stock do love to show off their rings and their beaus,” he said, pinching John on the arm.

           John groaned, slapping Alexander once again, more to tell him off than to hurt. “I would very much like to avoid that part.”

           “And that is why you have yet to propose?” Hamilton hummed.

           “It is perhaps a part of it.”

           “John,” Alexander said, pushing himself up to a sitting position to look at the man he referred to, “You don’t need me to say that this matter cannot afford to wait much longer.”

           “He will not do it,” John sighed, reaching out to return Alexander to his side, “My father attempts to spook me into marriage, but he would not follow through on his threat. He cannot afford to.”

           “That is not as reassuring to me as it might be to you.”

           The ladies joined them relatively early on, Adrienne sporting a dress of deep reddish burgundy with a black iridescence to the fabric. Beyond the elaborate silk, the dress was relatively common to those seen in drawing rooms across the civilized world. John did not recognize it, but the gown was in good condition, so either it was new—likely for the Christmas festivities of her Godfather in Philadelphia that she missed—or she disliked its simpleness and never wore it. He could not decide which was more likely.  

           John could tell one thing, the Admiral adored the gown on her, and thus John could not stomach it. The gown would have to go as soon as their engagement was cemented. He’d replace it if need be. Perhaps the new gown would be something more opulent than the Admiral’s seemingly simple tastes like a velvet. John had never seen Lady Fairfax in a velvet gown, but he imagined she would look quite fetching in the fabric.  

           “General Washington, sir,” Mackenzie spoke, pulling John’s attention from fantasized gowns and future plans to listen to his words, “I hope it is not too much of an imposition, but Lady Fairfax and I were hoping it would be possible to go for a ride tomorrow morning. If such a thing is possible, of course.”

           It would very much be an imposition, and the General’s face said it before he opened his mouth, but Adrienne seemed to not notice—or at least pretending not to care—as she jumped to his aid. “The travel up from South Carolina must have been very trying for the Admiral,” she explained, “I think a ride would do him well, to stretch his legs.”

           The General gave the blonde girl a look, but it appeared to bounce right off her as she spooned soup into her mouth to await his concession. “I cannot endorse such a thing,” the General finally said, “because I haven’t a proper chaperone to give you as an escort. Usually, Billy would go with you, but I require him near all day tomorrow.”

           “Well, Oney could go with us,” Adrienne offered, “She is considered a proper enough chaperone for Colonel Laurens and me. Surely there ought to be no issue with her accompanying myself and the Admiral?”

           The General sent the girl yet another look, this one more parental scolding than before. “The difference between the Colonel and you going for a ride is that the Colonel is free to roam camp as he pleases,” George explained, “I will remind you that we do not make the entirety of our camp available to the enemy, gentleman or not.”

           “But surely someone would have some free time that early in the morning to chaperone?” Adrienne huffed, and John began to feel as if she were waiting for him to volunteer. It was rather comforting, despite the fact he could not spare the time.  

           “Colonel Hamilton might,” John spoke up, volunteering his fellow aide, “Heaven knows that he will be able to make up the lost time better than the rest of us.”

           “Actually, I-” Hamilton began, cut off by John’s sharp kick to his shin under the table. The two shared a look before Hamilton started. “I would love to,” he managed, strained as it was, “A good ride would do me good as well if you wouldn’t mind, Miss Fairfax?”

           The hope that the Colonel might’ve had on Adrienne’s rejection of his presence was, unfortunately, let down as she smiled pleasantly at him and accepted his offer. Adrienne made sure to send a smile of thanks to John, who sat on his normal side, much to the Admiral’s dismay.

           Mackenzie was sitting in the chair across from Adrienne, perhaps perturbed that he was more to the middle of the table than near the head and removed from her side. This obviously meant that John was quite satisfied with himself. The Admiral had remained downstairs and beat him to Adrienne’s seat, pulling it out for her and seeing her sit before pulling out the chair John now sat in to make it his own. Luckily John was not that far behind and slid clean into the seat, offering the Admiral thanks for his courtesy and a tap on his leg by Adrienne as what he assumed was a warning.

           He knew that Henry Laurens would never truly live up to his word. With half the army gone, how could the President of the Continental Congress escape backlash from pulling his own son? No, he was confident he would have more time, but now John found himself not desiring such. The easiest way to settle such a messy business of constantly being on the offense against the many men who attempted to woo Lady Fairfax from her duty was to remove her accessibility. No gentleman would ever try to publically sway a married lady.  

           Besides, he hated to say it, but she would not be the worst of his possible choices for the wife he would have to have. She would make him a formidable partner. She expected nothing from him and gave him nothing in return, erasing all the possible guilt he might have had in wishing a business deal for a marriage to her. John rather thought that she could be fastened into a weapon in his favor like an Excalibur of his own, pulled from the murky social waters that surrounded a divided America and its interests abroad in glittering pristine condition. However, John knew better than to rush himself into such things.

           He would enjoy his freedom and the lack of quarrel it brought while he could still afford to.

           They ate in casual conversation, nothing of much importance occurring. The familiarity of it was rather like a lulling lullaby for Adrienne, who had not been able to attend to her friends or Philadelphia for nearly two months. She was grateful for the lack of drama and the closeness with which the Colonel remained in his own seat. It was a sign in good faith, subtle but effective, at displaying his dislike to the Admiral without taking such a word out on Adrienne herself. Perhaps his ability to separate the two Brits would prove more of a problem than a blessing given time, but that was not something to be fretted over quite yet.

           It was hard to plan without a clue as to the longevity of companionship. Adrienne only wished she knew how long the Admiral would be staying with them. The weather looked as though it would cause enough snow to keep her inside for quite some time, given the General’s fortified protection of her condition. Though the long since healed bullet wound in her abdomen had very little to do with fickle and cold weather, he was adamant about keeping her inside and— preferably—in front of a fire at all times.

           He had a similar worry over her constitution in the summer, having seen her pass out cold on a sweltering summer day not too long after she had arrived at Mount Vernon. It was near 100F according to the thermometer that day, but the General—referred to as the Colonel still at the time—was having none of it and deemed her silk and satin frocks for cold weather only. She found the whole thing rather odd, as Adrienne’s mother had not willingly allowed her to dress in cotton frocks since she was of a mere six years of age. When Sara Fairfax did dress her daughter in cotton, it was of the purest white, delicately embroidered, and wicked with lace trim and joining, forcing the freshly 13-year-old girl into dresses that effectively kept her inside the house nearly all day. This was much to the General’s pleasure and peace of mind, but more to Adrienne’s own disliking, being forced behind a closed pocket window or pianoforte keys with so much unspent energy it kept her up at night.

           It was only Mrs. Washington’s insistence on her coming out into society that landed the girl back into elaborate silk dresses with full nights of peaceful sleep after running all over Virginia for balls and social calls. It was around the same time that Adrienne remembered Mrs. Washignton discussing with the General the issue of her lack of a ladies’ maid. Her parents had offered forth the money for one, and poor Betty was becoming far too old to make any trip with the family, let alone to tote after a young social butterfly and debutante on all her travels.

           That was when it was decided that instead, Ona would begin to take over her mother’s duties. Adrienne was happy for the companion nearer her age, though there was only so much she could express. Ona was 11 when Adrienne was 13, and though Mrs. Washington still went with the pair everywhere, Ona could tend to the young heiress around the house and its surrounding property. The poor girl was put through quite a fret the first time she lost Adrienne to the Marquis. The pair had snuck off for a walk around the battlements, which Adrienne had insisted upon seeing, and ended up laying in the tall grass behind the house’s gardens in the warm sun till they nearly fell asleep.  

           Adrienne remembered it fondly and mused the differences between the Marquis and the Admiral. Unlike Thomas, Motier did not infuriate John with his closeness. Then again, Adrienne also recalled telling Motier of John’s letters. At the time of the General’s instruction to write to him, she was still incredibly young, so she deferred to the Marquis for most of it. She recalled complaining of John’s tedious and dull nature, laughing at his misspellings and the slant of his writing. He would have been freshly out of University then, writing a young girl back in the colonies, and looking back on it, Adrienne realized just why his letters had been so bland. Were she in his shoes, Adrienne would not have put in nearly as much effort as he did.  

           That being said, she likely would not have written in the first place.  

           Even she did not want to when they began.  

           But things were different now; face to face, the Colonel was much more pleasing, and Adrienne imagined she must be as well. If only she could make the Colonel understand that Thomas was no more a threat to him than the Marquis. The notion that he might feel threatened was something she had thrown around with Ona while dressing, who agreed with Adrienne’s opinion. It was flattering, to be sure, and equally as reassuring, but it was becoming a nuisance already.

           Frankly, she wished the Colonel would just propose and get it over with. The timing and setting were not what Adrienne would hope for, but it would make this whole feud John seems to have concocted stop short. He would never, of course, but the misguided chivalry and pride behind such only seemed to frustrate and infuriate Adrienne more with what appeared to be an endless limbo of waiting.

Chapter Text

           The riding habit from the Admiral was exquisite. Its outer jacket was made of a rich royal blue velvet with a silk taffeta skirt in a periwinkle blue for contrast. The jacket was really more of an outer robe, and the drape in the back was polonaised up, the ruffle of a perriot jacket covering the buttons from the naked eye. It had golden hardware and gave the perfect illusion of a Royal Navy uniform under even the most scrutinizing gaze. And what was even more perfect, the whole thing fit Adrienne better than nearly anything she’d ever stood on a tailor’s stool to have measured and cut to her.  

           So, naturally, she couldn’t help but wear it on the ride this morning with the Admiral. She decided to forgo a hat, opting for a rather elaborate riding style, a curly twist braid with a string of pearls braided in draping over her shoulder and tied in a silk periwinkle ribbon that matched the petticoat she wore topping it all off.

           Colonel Hamilton and the Admiral were already outside when she joined them, her dark royal blue cloak with a light silk lining that complimented the ensemble tossed slightly over her shoulder. The Admiral gave Adrienne a smile and bade her good morning. Meanwhile, Colonel Hamilton just stared at the treeline, shrinking into the unlined wool of his cloak and rubbing his hands—which were covered in worn and faded leather—with minimal effort to keep himself busy. When he bothered to notice her mounting Colonel Laurens’ steed, he looked at her with scrutinizing eyes.

           “Good morning, Miss Fairfax,” he greeted dryly. “I apologize, but I feel underdressed,” he said, eyes sweeping over her upon the horse, sidesaddle, the silk on her shoulders and around her legs falling gracefully down the horse’s side, accented by the velvet of her jacket and the blue leather riding gloves she wore. The greyish blue that resembled her own, slightly more green, eyes paused on her bare head briefly as the Colonel noted, “You will not get cold without a hat, will you? It seems most impractical.”

           Leave it to Hamilton to point out that she appeared, admittedly, far overdressed for a ride upon horseback. Adrienne flushed a little pinker, knowing full well his “impractical” was one ounce of common courtesy away from being “improper,” which would have been truly mortifying indeed.  

           “No, Colonel,” she said sweetly, “I assure you I shall be fine. After all, we are not to be racing or going on the hunt.”

           He simply humphed before the Admiral trotted beside her, complimenting Adrienne on her appearance rather than criticizing.  

           That was the hardest part. Adrienne would be most embarrassed to be too colonial in the eyes of the Admiral, who—despite her peerage—had far more time in Britain than she. Adrienne’s outfit was incredibly impractical for a ride around a military camp, but such was not a concern for a woman of the continent. Women of the continent did not stay in camps. It was most improper. They only came to cities where the army—or the navy, if that was her fancy—resided already and attended the festivities on the King’s own dime.

           The Continental Congress’ dime was worth far less than the King’s and could barely provide its soldiers with food or cloth to sustain them. The idea of festivities in camp was utterly out of the question for the Continental soldier.  

           The Englishwoman from the continent was opulent. There was no such need for practicality, as Adrienne’s few memories of her mother reminded her frequently. It did not matter much that Sarah Fairfax had lived in Virginia her whole life. She was the perfect living form of an opulent English rose. More importantly than this, however, she raised her daughter with expectations of the same—though some obstacles hindered this.

           Despite her distance from Adrienne, Sarah was the one who approved Adrienne’s instructors, lessons, governess, and nurses. Many famed—and thus expensive—tutors, music instructors, and governesses made their way to humble Mount Vernon throughout her childhood. It was an endless parade of pomp, proprietary, and circumstance as far back as Adrienne could remember. Recently, those three things were found quite lacking in her own life of constant camps and harsh military truths.  

           Adrienne was determined not to allow Colonel Hamilton to spoil her mood with his prodding and jests at her own expense. After all, she had not donned the fine riding habit that morn for him.  

           What did Colonel Hamilton know of the continent? Surely no more than—possibly even less—than she did. Why rely on his simple colonial preferences?

           No, the Admiral was enjoying her fine cloak, elaborate hairstyle, and the fact she donned his gift to her, as was the goal. Adrienne would happily count that as a win in her favor.

           “Tell me, Miss Fairfax,” the Admiral began, “How has Virginia been in my absence?”

           “Virginia?” Adrienne asked curiously as she pushed her horse into motion.

           “Yes,” the Admiral affirmed, following her lead, “You have spent far more time there than I in quite some time.”

           “Well, I doubt you would find it much changed,” she offered, “It is much the same faces. The same gossip, the same parties.”

           “I rather think the Admiral would find Virginia much changed,” Hamilton spoke bluntly from behind them, “Considering the official vote that brought our Congress to the Declaration of Independence came from its’ statehouse.”

           Much to Colonel Hamilton’s dismay, the Admiral seemed to find this hilarious as he let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, my good man,” he began happily, “That is just the nature of proud Virginia. She must be the first towards all progress for it to be considered worth doing at all.”

           “Then you call our cause progress, sir?”

           “I call the American experiment exactly what it is, sir,” Thomas rebutted cleverly, “An experiment. It is a product of our time—the enlightenment they say it will be called—and thus far, we have witnessed many an experiment—even in London, if you can believe it.” The Admiral turned his focus to the young blonde beside him as he finished his statement, “You would love it, Miss Fairfax. London would suit you well. I just know it.”

           And she could not help herself but giggle in delight. She very much felt like she would blend perfectly into London’s society at the moment in her elaborate riding habit, sidesaddle alongside a uniformed Admiral. It was a lovely little thing to fantasize about. 

           “I would hope so,” she smiled over to him, “It is a dear wish of mine to visit one day.”

           She would not say that she wanted to visit now, to kick her horse to stride and take the next boat to Britain without a care of the cost or season. She would not say that she longed for her parents, especially her father, more and more each day. She would not say that she despised them for leaving her behind on this godforsaken continent every waking hour.

           Not yet.

           “I would say you ought to do more than a visit,” he conceded, “But I know better than to assume anyone would trade beautiful, sunny Virginia for gloomy, grey London.”

           “And I think you remember Virginia too fondly,” Adrienne corrected, “You’ll find that she, too, can be quite gloomy and grey.”

           “Not as much as Pennsylvania, though,” the Admiral huffed speaking slightly under his breath.  

           Adrienne knew why he did it. Colonel Hamilton was in a most disagreeable mood. All of Headquarters seemed to be.  

           “I believe the men out there would concur,” she said, aware of the Colonel’s shifted attention. “None here remain very fond of Pennsylvania.”

           After completing their loop around camp, the party returned to Headquarters to the hustle and bustle usual of the house. The Colonel waited impatiently on the stoop of the house for Adrienne, who was delighting in allowing the Admiral to assist her.

           The Admiral was a handsome man, that was undeniable. He was strong and handsome and well-fed, which was more than any she had seen in months. Perhaps that was why.

           Perhaps that was why when the Admiral’s strong hands met her waist and lifted her effortlessly from the saddle, she had the wind knocked out of her. Perhaps that was why she had forgotten to step away from the Admiral and release her hands from his forearms. They were close, and bless her, all Adrienne could think to do was laugh—giggle. Thankfully, it was contagious, and the Admiral joined in her laughter with a rich deep chuckle.  

           Adrienne scrambled to regain her composure, releasing the Admiral, claiming imbalance on the soft snow-covered ground as her excuse. The Colonel did not seem to buy it, but the Admiral took it happily, escorting her to meet the Colonel on the stoop—escorting her to safety, as the Admiral said.

           Colonel Hamilton was not amused, grabbing Adrienne rather roughly from the Admiral by her forearm, practically dragging her up the few stairs to the door.  

The two entered the house quickly, the door slamming on the Admiral.

           “You will thank me very much for not mentioning that gross display to your fiance, Miss Fairfax,” the redhead said quietly, still grasping tightly at her arm, “For I do not wish to trouble myself with the mess that would ensue.”

           “He is not my fiancé,” she asserted, “Not yet, at least. And I would expect not, as the Admiral is no more than a friend, and I would hate to see trouble made unnecessarily.”

           “I doubt Colonel Laurens would have called that interaction friendly.”

           “Then it is a good thing he was not there to make his own conclusions, Colonel,” Adrienne said, freeing her arm, “I’d advise you against making your own for him.”

           Adrienne hated that man.  

           It wouldn’t be seemly to react as she wished. To slap him for the affront and stomp on his foot with her heel for good measure. He would feel it keenly, as the leather of his riding boots was not very thick nowadays. He could surely not afford new ones either. Perhaps it would even re-open his wound if she was lucky. It would not preserve her dignity nor attest to her maturity to throw a tantrum here.  

           Without a word, Adrienne stalked off upstairs, furiously climbing past Colonel Tilghman, who attempted to greet her as she passed.  

           Who did that petulant redhead think he was to challenge her like that? He was insubordinate, not to mention rude. The peerage of her birth lent to respect. It was a social given. It was an expectation. The damn Americans.  

           If she had been in Philadelphia with her Godfather, she would not ever have had to suffer such an affront. If she was in Philadelphia, she would not be so cold all the time. If she was in Philadelphia, she would be surrounded by friends, and she would be dining on good food, and respect towards her person would never have crossed her mind.  

           Adrienne hated Pennslyvania.  

           And she hated Colonel Hamilton.

           And she hated how Ona always came with breakfast when she least wanted to be interrupted.

           There was a gentle knock and a soft “Lady Fairfax?” whispered before the door of the tinniest room Adrienne’s ever seen creaked open.  

            “I did not say you could come in,” the blonde offered offhandedly, knowing that the girl would drop off the breakfast tray anyway, and she was right. Ona placed the tray on the vanity without a word and bobbed to Adrienne. It wasn’t a proper curtsey because the girl was never taught how, but that did not bother Adrienne. At least she had the decency to attempt.

           If that petulant Colonel called her “Miss Fairfax” one more time, she might genuinely explode. True, it was technically the correct way to address her, as William Fairfax was only a Viscount, and she was not a Viscountess, but whenever he called her such, it was wrong. There was something about the way he said it which made it so clear he did so as a way to belittle her rather than out of respect to the protocol and procedure of the peerage. God, she hated him.  

           Adrienne knew she would eventually have to rise, to move to the vanity and eat. Ona would be back to remove the riding habit from her and dress the blonde for the day. Adrienne could busy herself with picking out an outfit for the day. Or she could find time in her embroidery. If it were not for the Admiral, she likely would’ve shed his gift and donned her dressing robe, determined to spend the rest of the day atop her trunk.  

           She rose from the cushions atop the trunk with a sigh, placing herself in the chair before the vanity to stare at the plate before her. It did not really look appetizing, and it did not smell it either. God, she hated Pennslyvania.

           Around midday, the Admiral returned to the Potts’ house, and Adrienne, who had been enjoying the illusion of silence and privacy her bedroom afforded her, finally made her way down the stairs at Ona’s notification of his arrival. This afternoon she donned a deep red silk quilted jacket that nearly covered all of her and a matching petticoat to accommodate the cold. She had not taken it into account this morning nor last evening, and she began to feel as though a chill could be oncoming.

           Heavens knows to get sick again in the Valley was the least of her desires. Lost in her thoughts, the blonde had not made it past the stairs when she nearly walked clean into Colonel Laurens.  

“My apologies,” she whispered, blinking off her daze to the bustle of the downstairs of the house. “I had not seen you coming, Colonel.”

           The Colonel, without uttering a word, looked her up and down, papers under his arm and quill in hand. “This neckline is much more suitable for company. Much better than last evening,” he said before stalking off down the hall.

           The nerve of these men.

           Whatever had she done to provoke such coldness from the Colonel and so unprompted? As if her day could not have gotten worse. If the Colonel was fixated on being so cold and cruel to her, she supposed the same treatment would be justified towards him. Besides, she had a guest to tend to now. There was simply not time to bother with the Colonel when Adrienne had the Admiral at her disposal.  

           The difference between the two was that the Admiral wanted to spend time with her. The Colonel had to, out of civility.  

           The Admiral was far better company than the Colonel, content with reading his book but not so involved that he failed to be attentive to her. This afternoon, Adrienne was tending to her correspondence. Her mother had written her again of wedding matters, and as much as she may have wanted to, Adrienne knew better than to ignore her. It would slow nothing. It would only mean that Adrienne would have no voice in the matters at hand.  

           It was trivial things this time: flowers she may like, something Sally witnessed at a nuptial in London that would be most fitting, and gown color suggestions. Nothing out of the ordinary. Included with her mother’s letter were several fashion plates of London’s seasonal wedding gowns that drew the Admiral’s attention.

           He was interested in her thoughts of them, what she imagined they would look like from a Colonial tailor’s hand. Adrienne was quick to remind him that the majority of her own gowns still usually came from London, despite the war. Hell, most of the General’s clothes still came from London, despite the war. He laughed at that, conceding to her happily, placing down his book to question her more.  

           That was the lovely thing about the Admiral. He was so willing to engage her. It did not matter the topic. Indeed, it didn’t. He was happy to indulge her—he sought it out even. The Colonel would not ever instigate conversation about the fashions of London, but that did not stop him from making his own unwanted commentary on her manner of dress. The nerve of that man.  

           “Well, goodness, that’s certainly a neckline,” Thomas said, referring to one of the plates. “I would doubt its attractiveness for a wedding gown.”

           “Truly,” Adrienne giggled, “I think she must have included such as a jest.”

           “Or a threat,” he laughed with her. “That would never do for you, Miss Fairfax. You are far too pretty and fashionable for such an insulting gown.”

           “With the way the Colonel has been behaving towards my person…” she sighed, “Perhaps I ought to. Just to spite him.”

           “Now that isn’t ladylike,” Thomas replied, “The Colonel seems miffed, I will agree, but I fear that is more my doing than yours.”

           She paused, placing the fashion plate down on the writing desk.

           “Are you implying that the Colonel is jealous?”

           Adrienne had not supposed that before. She supposed the Colonel could be the jealous type of Gentleman. What made Thomas so different from the numerous other Gentleman Adrienne interacted with? He had never before been so interested in whom she spent her time with. She certainly never noticed his care of who she danced with or whom was escorting her, not even when she was with her Godfather.  

           Could he really be jealous of Thomas?  

           Was it because Thomas was a part of the South Carolina siege? Perhaps it was more personal that way?

           “I thought that was obvious,” the Admiral said, putting down his teacup. “He holds some resentment towards me already, and he does not understand perhaps our acquaintance. He feels he has put in a good deal of effort only to be cast aside.”

           “Well, he was not,” she defended, “He chose hostility and rudeness towards my person. I will not be blamed for his sour mood.”

           “Nor was I blaming you,” the Admiral conceded.

           “Good.”

           The nerve of that man.

           Hamilton had told him not to make a big deal of it, but how could he not? It was one thing, brushing off John. It was another to blatantly flirt with his intended. Had this Admiral no shame of his own?

           Hamilton should not have reprised her the way he did. John would not deny that. It was impertinent, and she would not take it kindly, but good God. It was a relief to see her in that dark blackish-red jacket. Its high neckline would leave much to the imagination. John only hoped the Admiral would not be inclined to act on his curiosity. Perhaps he was also crass with her, but he had been in a rush. He would need to apologize for his brisk dismissal of her. It was not proper for him to draw attention to such things but goodness. Need she put herself on such display?

           And do not get him started on the Admiral’s gift. It had fit her perfectly, apparently. She likely covered up because she had been cold. Despite the warm nature of the habit, it had put her bosom nearly entirely on display. John would not address how much it bothered him that Hamilton had paid attention to that.  

           John would need to propose soon.  

           The Parlor was too secluded for his liking. He passed Ona, balancing a tray of an empty tea spread, and gave her a smile. Poor girl. Adrienne must be certainly testing her abilities with this sudden change in taste. John ought to check on them.  

           “That would never do for you, Miss Fairfax.” A deep voice said from the Parlor, “You are far too pretty and fashionable for such an insulting gown.”  

           Oh good God.  

           They were discussing gowns .

           John did not catch what Lady Fairfax said, but he had not missed her undeniable giggle. It was obscene. It almost sounded like her real laugh, soft and sweet like tinkling bells. What had she said?

           The Admiral said another muffled phrase, and John only caught a few words. “Ladylike,” “Colonel,” “fear,” and “my doing” left John furrowing his brow in confusion in the hallway. What on Earth? This man had no sense of propriety nor shame. Peering into the room, John could see her seated at the side table with papers strewn across it. She was seeing to her correspondence. That much was certain. The Admiral was sitting on the couch, leaning over towards her like a villain to his prey. A teacup sat abandoned on the corner of the deck, and the other rested in the Admiral’s hands.   

           Had she made the Brit’s tea as if she were preparing to be his dutiful wife? 

           Good God.

Chapter Text

           If Hamilton did not leave them alone, Adrienne would lose her mind.  His not-so-subtle huffs from the desk in the room let on his eavesdropping on Adrienne and the Admiral’s conversation.  

           How Hamilton had been deemed the most presentable and hospitable officer to supervise the Admiral, Adrienne did not know.  George knew very well that she and the Lieutenant Colonel did not get along on the best of days, let alone when he decided to exercise whatever power he had been invested by the General like a tiny tyrant.  

           Adrienne was trying her very best to ignore him as she delighted in the Admiral’s stories from on deck.  He was careful not to be lewd with her, refusing her additional details at times despite her pleading.  The particular tale he had taken to had Adrienne giggling into her teacup, stretched out on one of the two sofas.  Dressed in a deep red silk satin robe, a l’Anglaise with its overskirt retroused, and a ruby red garnet necklace and matching earrings gracing her person, Adrinene was curled up into a pile of fabric and leaning on the couch’s sidearm.  It was an incredibly comfortable setting for the two of them, her sprawled out on the sofa, legs crossed and resting on his lap.

           The Admiral was hunched over in his seat on the couch, slouching on the seat, so he too was sprawled out.  He sat beside her, animated in telling his story, with his waistcoat unbuttoned—another thing Colonel Hamilton disagreed with.  Every time the Admiral moved his hand in the telling of his story, Colonel Hamilton flicked his eyes over to the pair.

           “Colonel,” Adrienne called, cutting off Thomas, “If you want to join our conversation so desperately, you need only join us on the couches.”

           He scoffed at her, turning his head ever so slightly over his shoulder to reply to the blonde from the desk, rolling his eyes at the sight that greeted her. “I would,” he said haughtily, “But I am afraid I would not be able to match the spirit.  I have not yet forsaken my manners so thoroughly enough.”

           “My goodness, Colonel Hamilton,” she said, pretending to be shocked, “I was not aware you had manners!”

           She could not help herself but to laugh when he crumpled a piece of parchment and threw it at her like an upset child, returning to his papers tight-lipped. 

           “Play nice, Miss Fairfax,” Thomas admonished, “I am sure the Colonel did not intend to be met with claws at the ready.”

           “Oh, I am certain he did not,” Adrienne returned playfully, reaching for a tea sandwich off the side table by her head. “It is more fun when one’s victim is so unsuspecting. Wouldn’t you agree, Colonel?”

           It was incredibly petulant, even for her.  

           The smirk on her face said so.

           The Colonel looked as though he would begin sharpening his quill to stick through her heart like a stake, or perhaps his plan was to slit her throat with the tip. “I would not know, Miss Fairfax.  I am a gentleman,” he said through his teeth, “And I do not enjoy preying on helpless victims.”

           “Unless they have skirts,” she countered, “Then they’re free game.  You have greatly affronted Miss Livingston, do not think I am ignorant to such, Hamilton.”

           “It is hardly a slight if the girl is already a spinster,” he defended, the bold manner of his brashness so typical of the redhead, “And I hardly expect your defense of Miss Livingston to be genuine.”

           “Of course it isn’t,” Adrienne grinned, “But a gentleman would never act like such, and I could never hold back from such an observation.  Do you think it has endeared you much to her father, Colonel?”

           “She is petulant, and she is cocky.  I do not understand why you will not-”

           “Alexander, you have me sour her on your behalf, and what?  Believe she will wish comfort in me over that British bastard?” John scoffed, cutting into an apple with a knife on his cot. “Be realistic.  She is already displeased by me.”

           “It is his doing,” Hamilton claimed, “I assure you.  If I could prove it, I would, but-”

           “He would never admit to such a thing.”

           “Precisely.” 

           Annoying as it was starting to become, John had to admit that Hamilton was right.  This Admiral was becoming a problem, and he wasn’t sure there was much he could do about it.  The General was adamant about his presence soothing Adrienne, but John had failed to see where she needed such.  A familiar face from childhood was always welcome, but this familiar face overstepped and overstayed his welcome with each passing day.  

           Stories from on deck, gifts, and early morning rides, all reeked of impertinence and impropriety.  

           He would have to propose soon.

           Hopefully, the Admiral was half the gentleman he said he was.  If so, he would abide by the ring on her finger.  If so, John would sleep soundly without leaving Shrewsberry sleeping within hearing distance of her door.  It was a precautionary matter, of course.  He would not place such trust in the usually drunken enlisted men turned guards of the Admiral.  

           Perhaps it was paranoia.  Paranoia could be helpful on occasion.  

           “There is little we can do,” John sighed, throwing the cravat down on his bed.

           “If you were to complain to His Excellency-” Hamilton began before John cut him off.

           “I would think not,” John interrupted, “With her already cross at me for reasons unknown, I would avoid inciting his anger as well.”

           John wished he knew the reason for her temper with him.  It would be easier to solve the matter, but he knew better than to ask, for women and their emotions were so fickle at heart, his asking would only worsen her anger.  It was just how women behaved.  It was an essential lesson to learn, most especially with his sisters.  

           Honestly, he could not fathom it.  He had done nothing as of late to encourage Adrienne’s frustration.  Being nearly February, he ought to be concerned more than he seemed.  He would need to propose soon.  

           Would she be foolish enough to refuse him in her undecipherable anger towards him?

           For her sake, he hoped not.  John would not ask twice.

           He could not manage the words twice.  They already choked him, stuffing his throat in his sleep, making him wake up gasping for breath in a cold sweat.  If he married Adrienne at the end of the encampment season, he could get at least 4 months away, and he could hardly be expected to leave the army for such a critical campaign season.  

           If he was lucky, John would be felled during the same campaign season, dying a hero’s death and leaving her widowed but well-respected.  It was the best option for both of them, really.  The likelihood of her becoming pregnant on just the wedding night was low.  There would be no collateral, no complications, and everyone would get that which they desired.

           John desired honor and glory.  His father desired wealth and prestige.  

           Adrienne desired agency of her own.  Her father desired fiscal security.

           With John’s last name following her first name, everyone would be made satisfied.  All parties made happy with astounding speed.  

           John would wake to a pale and sickly Hamilton—Malaria, he would say it was—and he would regret these thoughts, but tonight they lulled him to sleep.  Peacefully.

           The Colonel had been taken up in the night by his annual Malaria flare, and Adrienne was thrilled by the very thought.  

           Without Hamilton being able to leave his bed, he could not be their chaperone, and there would be no more tiny tyrant breathing down their necks, holding back their fun. He would suffer for a few days, but it would ultimately feel like no more than an intense fever. It was perhaps insensitive, but given the recurrence of these bouts, Adrienne was reasonably confident that he would eventually—unfortunately—return to health.  

           She would take her wins as she got them.

           John was taking it less so.

           She was already gone in a burgundy silk Brunswick, had set out into the cold with the Admiral and Ona, leaving him livid.

           “Your Excellency-”

           “I cannot control her any more than she will let me, Colonel Laurens,” Washington sighed from behind his desk, shuffling papers around it without meeting the taller blonde’s eye. “It is a habit of hers.  You will soon learn.  Lady Fairfax enjoys her agency, for better or worse.”

           “She requires a chaperone!” John argued back, aware he was toeing the line by raising his voice to the General. “She may enjoy her agency, but she is not at liberty to make such decisions-”

           “As a woman?”

           “As she is alone,” John sighed, “She requires guidance.  You know this as well as I and as her guardian-”

           “I will not have you criticize my personal life in my office, Laurens-”

           “And I do not mean to, Your Excellency,” the Colonel responded, calming his fervor a little at Washington’s louder tone, “I am only worried for her safety without a chaperone.”

           “And who will chaperone them?” Washington challenged, “You?  I believe I have made my unease at her being alone with you known—for her reputation’s sake.  For your reputation’s sake.” He paused again, papers in hand, before looking up to meet John’s eyes, “The Admiral is not the type of gentleman one must worry over.  He has adored her since he was a boy.”

           “It is such adoration that I fear,” John stated bluntly, only for Washington to lift his eyes again from his papers and dismiss the blonde from his office.  Dear God.

           Adrienne was cold, and her cheeks and nose were flushed with the wind whipping at her face.  The snow making contact with her Brunswick, Mackenzie’s aim an unfair advantage against her.  She shrieked when a ball of fluffy snow hit her torso, giggling as she reached down at her feet to make a ball of her own, only to be hit again at her skirts. “I was poorly prepared for an ambush, Admiral!” she shrieked, laughing still.

           “Clearly!” he shouted from the trees, laughter evident in his own voice too.  

           “You would not let me win?” she asked jokingly, “As a Lady?”

           “Never,” he replied, “You are too ruthless to need my help to win.”

           “Ruthless?” she said askance, scurrying behind a tree of her own, “Since when have I been ruthless to you?”

           “To me?  Never,” he admitted, taking a ball of fluffy snow to the chest, “To poor Colonel Hamilton—poor Colonel Laurens, too?  Most certainly.”

           “I am not so ruthless to Colonel Laurens,” she replied askance with another snowball in hand, “I could hardly afford to be.”

           “He will likely be upset by our outing this morning,” Thomas hollered, rushing from his tree shield to hers, “Not many men are so willing to be contented with wives so independent.”

           “You mean to call me wild, Admiral?” she asked, running from his advance.

           “I know no Lady so willing to behave,” he called, “In the manner you do. You’ve a mind of your own, Addy Fairfax.”

           “Don’t I know it!” she shouted, “And so often it is only my mind that is correct!”

           The Admiral laughed, closing his eyes as he did and knocking her over as he fell on top of her, rolling over into the snow with a groan.  Adrienne lay laughing, her blanket of soft and wispy blonde curls in the powdery snow, and the pink glow of her cheeks from the cold made her look like an angel.  If the Admiral thought so, he didn’t utter a word.

           “I should get you inside,” he said, “You will be soaked through and sick like Colonel Hamilton soon.”

           “Was that your goal when you opened fire, Admiral?” Adrienne asked jokingly, “To be rid of me through a sick bed?”

           “Never,” he replied, “I refuse to accept such terms of surrender.”

           “Am I to be pelted again, then?”

           “No, but you must rise for warmth.”

           Adrienne hummed, pushing herself up to her elbows. “I should wish a warm drink—cocoa perhaps?”

           “Whatever you wish.”

           “And what would you have?” she asked, turning to look over at Thomas in the snow beside her, “for I may have any, but you are our guest.”

           “Is that what they call me now?” He laughed, “Or is that just you, my dear girl?”

           Adrienne rolled her eyes, not taking notice of the warm flush of her cheeks, pushing herself to her feet. “If we are to make it inside, we ought to head in now.”

           “Indeed,” he conceded, rising to his feet and following her towards the house.  They were met in the house by the sounds of men hard at work, the scratching of a quill, and the chatter of serious voices lofting down the hall. 

           Adrienne excused herself, calling for hot chocolate to be made in her absence for the two in the drawing room, where Thomas would wait for her return.  The house was oddly warm for the pair, the Admiral removing his drenched cloak as well as hers upon entering.

           On her way to the little room to change into warmer, dryer clothes, Adrienne was stopped by Colonel Laurens. The cherub qualities of the sight and the intricacy of the quilting on her Brunswick nearly made the Colonel miss her soaked backside. As much as he hated that dastardly red color, it did look charming on her, with her cheeks still pink from the wind and the cold and her curls still—by some miracle—intact.

           Adrienne Fairfax spent her days lounging on couches near fireplaces, only venturing outside of it atop a perfectly pristine steed.  Never a hair out of place and as proper as she could manage, so the sight was an odd one. 

           Adrienne Fairfax did not roll about in the snow foolishly.  She did not become drenched and freezing willingly.  

           It was an odd sight indeed.

           Odd enough to cause John to pause on the stairs, furrowing his brow.  She would never be so brazen as to pass him nonchalantly if impropriety had occurred.  Right?  If the Admiral, too, was wet, John would truly have cause to let his mind wander.  

           Thomas Mackenzie may be a gentleman, but he’s a dastardly Brit first and foremost, and John disliked his very being around Adrienne.  The man rubbed off horribly on her.  

           John was more livid than natural when he peered into the drawing room to see the Admiral’s very much soaked jacket hung over a chair to dry.

           He would wring his neck for it.

           He would talk with her and soon.  What indignity.

           When she returned downstairs, she donned a dark, royal blue English gown of crisp, silky satin.  The ruffle down the front of the robe’s skirts and around her neck and bosom was a lighter blue satin that matched her petticoat.  The long sleeves of simple, blue satin were alluring in the house’s lighting, and the reflective pools of fabric seemed to draw more than just John’s eye.  Indignity.

           Her bosom, highlighted by the light ruffles in a blueish periwinkle color that brought the blue out in her eyes, seemed to be the object of the Admiral’s attention.  Or perhaps it was just John’s eye line, but he was not so desperate a man nor skirt-chasing that he could not resist the impropriety.  The Admiral was less of a gentleman than John most surely was.  They would talk now.  

           Clearing his throat from the entrance of the drawing-room, John demanded her attention, motioning out to the hall. First, it had been Colonel Hamilton, and now it is him. She placed her cup of cocoa down with a bit of a sigh, following him out into the hall with a promise of returning to Thomas soon.  Petulant and tiresome was what his tantrums were starting to be.

           “You wished to speak to me?” Adrienne asked her tone not even pretending to be genuine.

           “I do not trust him,” John began, “Going about without a chaperone, no gentleman would dare.”

           “You did,” Adrienne bristled, “Before the souring of your mood, you and I would be without a chaperone often.”

           “That is different,” he scoffed, “I am your intended-”

           “Which is far more scandalous to be unchaperoned,’ she interrupted, “Than a mere childhood friend.”

           “Why were you drenched today?”

           “Excuse me?” She asked.

           “You returned drenched down the whole of your back,” he stated bluntly, “I would know why.”

           “I fell.”

           “And he did nothing?  You could freeze-”

           “He brought me back indoors,” She defended, “To change so I might not become ill.”

           “Is that so?” John asked, scoffing at her, “Or was it so he might be provided a more pleasant view of your bosom?”

           “Colonel!” she remarked, “He would never-”

           “I think he would,” John insisted, “I think any man would, Adrienne.”

           “Would you?” she asked, a sudden change in tone.

           Two could play this game.  Men were fickle creatures that Adrienne knew.  Prideful and jealous, they could not help themselves.  Lustful, too, they could never stop that.  This was the second time he had felt the need to bring up her bosom.  She would have the conversation finished.

           “I-I do not know what you mean.”

           “What would you do to see my bosom, Colonel, since it is such temptation?” she asked quietly, watching him flounder to respond. 

           “This is most improper,” he replied quietly, attempting to take a step back before Adrienne grabbed hold of him.  

           “Kiss me, Colonel.”

           John Laurens was her intended.  Even Adrienne needed a reminder of it.  

           Kiss him.  

           “I-I cannot,” he stuttered, frozen in place, trying to analyze her.

           “I am afraid you must,” Adrienne replied, “If we are ever to move past this oddity that is jealousy.”

           “I am not jealous,” he denied, swallowing thickly.

           He was thinking about it.  She knew he was.  She had seen it before in a room in the Rush house from a tall, dark-haired Colonel very different than the man in front of her.  He did not need to be invited to kiss her cheeks, her lips, her bosom.  

           It was a man’s nature to lust.  If it would reassure John, Adrienne would let him.

           “Kiss me, John,” she said, lips parted, looking up at him like she was waiting for it with her curls cascading over her shoulder.  A desirable scene to any sane man. “Please.”

           And then he did.

           He kissed her, and she let him.  She let him believe that he was leading.  Let him believe that it was his need to kiss her at this moment.  Let him believe that she was only letting him.

           When he pulled apart from her, not stepping back from her, with nearly no space between them, she spoke. “You are the first man to have done that, Colonel,” she said quietly, “To have kissed me.  What is there to distrust now?”

Chapter Text

           Why did he do that.

           John couldn’t fathom why he kissed her.  He just did.  

           His heart was hammering in his chest, and his mind was left racing when she smiled coyly up at him and excused herself.  He kissed her.

           Like a scoundrel, he kissed her in the same breath he called another man scandalous for doing less.  Dear God.  He couldn’t breathe down here.  Like a madman, he made a dash up the stairs, scratching at the cravat from his neck, whipping it off on the second floor.  It didn’t help.  He needed more space.  Standing outside her room did nothing to make the feeling of her soft, pink—annoyingly, frustratingly kissable—lips on his disappear.  To the garret, it was. 

           Bursting through his bedroom door to the same sight he awoke to this morning: Hamilton, sick with malaria in his cot.  The sick man’s eyes were drawn to his frantic figure upon the noisy entrance of the blonde Colonel, but he said nothing.  John was going to be sick, too.

            He kissed her.

           It was the worst thing he could have done at the moment—a running track record for John—and yet his body betrayed his mind and itself, wishing nothing more than to march back down those stairs and kiss her.  Kiss her again, better this time, less hesitant and not standing there stupidly staring at her after.  To kiss her in front of the bastard.  

           Why could he still smell her perfume?

           Jesus.  Rosewater and honeysuckle were stuck in his nose, keeping his feet on the garret floor and his head in the first-floor parlor.

           This was bad.  He should say something so Hamilton would stop looking at him oddly.  He should march back downstairs and confess his actions to the General—her guardian—like a gentleman.  He could hardly claim that title now.  

           Had he held her in his hands?  Was the slippery silk satin feeling in his hands from her gown?  It was charming.  He wouldn’t be able to get the feeling out of his head any time soon.  What was wrong with him?  

           When words failed the man, he grabbed his cloak and hat and vanished back down the stairs and out the door.  It was easier to breathe outside than in the house, and he stumbled through the snow to the stables.  John knew where he would go.  He couldn’t manage the words to Hamilton, and the thought of the General blocked his airway.  He would go to a friend.  A friend who would understand.  Riding through the snow in his cloak and gloves, he arrived at the little German hamlet, tying up his horse and mounting the stairs to the porch.

           He knocked on the door, and in mere seconds, it swung open to the face he had wished to see.  

           “John?” Thaddeus asked, concerned, “Are you alright?  You seem a bit flushed.”

           “I need to talk with you,” John replied, pushing past the man to invite himself into the house, “Privately.”

           Thaddeus moved out of his way, hesitantly replying that the house was too small for much privacy and pushing again for what was wrong with the tall blonde.  John began to climb the stairs, Thaddeus following after him, confused by his friend’s silence and worried for his flustered state.  “Is it the Admiral?” he questioned, ducking his head as he climbed, “Has he done something?”

           It was the only thing he could think of to be wrong—that John knew of—but John just shook his head, asking which of the two doors at the top of the stairs was Thaddeus’ room.  The dark-haired Polish man indicated it was the one on the left, and the blonde pushed open the door, sitting himself firmly at the desk chair.

           “John,” Thaddeus said, a little breathless, “What is happening? You have to explain at least a little if you come all the way out here.  Is Lady Fairfax alright?  Are you?”

           “I do not know,” John whispered, seemingly to himself, as Thaddeus settled on his trunk.  “I do not know, but I have done something I should not have.”

           “That is alright, you hardly meant to, and you are apologetic-”

           “I am no such thing,” John stated, “I find myself wishing to do it again.  It was reckless, dastardly of me.”

           “Dastardly?” Thaddeus asked, scoffing playfully, “You? Dear God, man, what happened?”

           “I kissed her,” John replied, shocked at himself like Thaddeus’ own ears hadn’t started ringing, “I kissed her for the first time.  It was her first kiss, and it was when I was chastising her.  And to make it even worse, I just stood there staring at her after.  I didn't even have anything to say.”

           First Kiss.  

           Her first kiss.  The ringing was getting worse in Thaddeus’ ears.  

           Had she forgotten him?  Or was it self-preservation?  No, John wouldn’t know it happened. That had to be it.

           It should have been her first kiss, Thaddeus knew that, but he also knew it was far from it.  She had been kissed well beyond a short peck on the lips, he would know.  Thaddeus also knew that a kiss from her was intoxicating.  It haunted you in your sleep. You woke up with the feeling of her soft lips on yours for months after they touched.  Thaddeus would know.  He had kissed her in his dreams—hell, he had done more than just kiss her in his dreams—and he knew the soft and sweet feeling of her lips was inescapable.

           He could not say that now.

           He could not confess such to his friend, not now in his state, not ever.  

           Had she wanted to kiss John?  Invited him to the most perfect pair of lips he’d ever seen with a smile?  Or had John stolen the kiss?  Grabbing her by her silks and pressing her lips to his?  

           Did she want to kiss John again?

           Thaddeus knew he wanted to kiss her again.  He got the feeling every time he saw her.

           Would John feel the same?  Didn’t he already?

           He should be happy for them, finding a semblance of love in an arrangement such as theirs, but the pit of dread settling in his stomach forbade it.  Was he getting nauseous?  Oh God. Was he going to throw up?  A pathetic ‘oh’ was all he could manage.  

           “You must think horribly of me as a gentleman,” John said, “I am amazed you might stomach the sight of me for having the audacity to call myself such still.”

           If kissing her once upon the lips was enough to make John no better than a common scoundrel, what did that make Thaddeus who knew what the soft creamy skin of her bosom felt like on his lips?  He should not think of such things at the moment lest his body ache give him away to the man before him.  

           “No,” Thaddeus choked out, “I do not.  I have once been in your shoes, perhaps too much.  I have tried to elope once in my lifetime.  I will think no less of you.”

           It should have disturbed him that John did not say anything.  It consoled him in the moment.  He couldn’t manage the explanation now.  

           Christ above.

           She kissed him.  Why did she kiss him?  

           Adrienne couldn’t answer that now.  She didn’t have the time as she sat delicately and straight as a rod on the couch across from the Admiral, pretending she did not hear the rushed falling of boots on the staircase reverberating through her rib cage like the pounding of her heart.  Pretending she did not know whom they belonged to.  He had grabbed at her skirts in the same way a child might, clinging to them to ground himself, and she could not seem to put the feeling of having him hold her in such a way out of her mind.  It was odd.  She had done it simply to silence him.  Adrienne had no expectation of a second thought. 

           But he had been tender with her in a way she had never seen from him. 

           He had never needed her as she had been at that moment. 

           Or at least he appeared to need her.  It was odd and foreign to think of him as a desperate man.  Adrienne found she did not mind it.  Except that she did, did she not?  Was that not dishonest to her home?  To her friend?

           Adrienne began to see why the Colonel had been worked into a fit over this precarious game of tug of war in which Adrienne herself was the rope, straining and breaking strand by strand.  Maybe the Admiral would be the pressure needed to split the rope entirely, split it in half.  The only question would be on which side of the line she would land.  

           She would get out of this boring and miserable camp and away from the dreaded possibility of becoming a fiancé, wife, then mother.  She had promised herself that.  Her heart was in New York, in England with her parents, in Philadelphia with the King’s army of gentlemen.  Her situation leaned towards these blue and buff-clad men, each clamoring and clinging to her, holding her back from running to all familiar like the souls of the damned in Hades’ underworld afterlife.

           Who would win?

           Is that not what every one of those buff and blue men out there wanted to know?

           Is that not what every one of the scarlet-clad King’s gentlemen was so sure of?

           Maybe this proposed marriage would be her ruin.  Maybe they really would lose—it certainly looked like they would—and Adrienne would be tied to a wanted man against her will.  She could have been a Duchess.  Or a Princess. Would she forever be saddled with this summary of inconclusive tests that made up Colonel Laurens?

           Adrienne had a dreadful feeling that she knew the answer to that already.

           A merry spirit was in the air on the 4th evening of February; the Admiral had stayed for dinner, and the aides had concluded their work early. Adrienne donned a relatively simplistic English gown of a dark burgundy silk accompanied by a muddy green petticoat.  The dinner was relaxed, the Colonel bit back his snarkiness, and Adrienne was very pleased by the improvement. His disposition towards her since the little peck—she knew it was only a little peck of a kiss.  She had found out what a real kiss felt like against a console table in the quarters of two Polish officers, one with the very finest head of dark curls—had improved exponentially.  He was light and happy towards her, polite and courteous in ways he never was before. 

           It was delightful. 

           With the Colonel no longer seething over her and the delight from the Admiral’s attentions, Adrienne felt light as air.  Perhaps that was why she practically floated light as a feather and fast as a brick down the stairs in a velvet green redingote jacket replacing the red she had just worn, the murky green petticoat remaining. The jacket was trimmed with lapels and gold cuffs with buttons to match. She donned the tricorn from John and her matching black leather gloves before joining the Admiral, very polished and fine to look at in his uniform, boots, hat, and cloak.

           She could only think of one man who may compare with the sight. 

           “What is on the schedule for this evening, Admiral?” She teased happily, descending the few steps before the house met the snow. 

           “We have had dinner, Lady Fairfax, and in true proper form, there is nothing to do but dance and be merry!”

           Adrienne laughed at his enthusiasm and dramatic flare of his arm at the end of his sentence.  “And with what music shall we dance to?”

           The Admiral scoffed, “Are we not good Virginians, Lady Fairfax?  Must we have music to remember the counts to a dance?”

           “No,” she smiled, “I suppose we do not. Such things can be muscle memory permanently engraved on our minds.  As Virginians, of course.”

           “Then perhaps you will indulge me in a reel?”

           “With just us two?”

           “It will be a fun task, succeed or fail,” he remarked, “Laughter is what is needed from tonight.”

           With a nod, Adrienne aligned herself across from the tall man, and the two looked up in wonder as the wind brushed snow from the trees, letting it sprinkle down on their festivities as if it were snowing atop them and swirling down to the ground at their feet. The pair laughed at the timing as they attempted the dance for four with only half the partners. 

           “What is it you seem so engaged with, Admiral?” Adrienne asked, “Have you never seen snow blown from its perch?”

           “I do not think I ought to share my answer, Addy”

           “Do it anyway.”

           “There is a poem or two about this moment.  “If I should think of love, I'd think of you, your arms uplifted, Tying your hair in plaits above, The lyre shape of your arms and shoulders-””

           “”No melody is sweeter, nor could Orpheus So have bewitched.”” Adrienne concluded with a smile, “Shakespeare.”

           “Yes. Though even then, it does not nearly do enough justice… And you are promised to the Colonel.”

           “It would please him a good deal to know you’ve respected him so,” Adrienne smiled, “he is quite the jealous man.”

           “Were I him, I would be too.  You are irreplaceable, Addy Fairfax,” Thomas said" "Of all my loves, this is the first and last.  My alpha and my omega, and all that was ever mine.”  If I could not have you, as I know I never could dare, then I shall have none.”

           Shakespeare once more. 

           This was walking on air.

           Thaddeus had not done much for his birthday.  Canon stability inspections, mapping the latrines, and a four hour meeting with Henry Knox had been his day. Perhaps that was why when John mentioned they’d have an early dinner Thaddeus thought to join them afterward. It was always good to spend a birthday with a friend. 

           When they returned to the parlor they saw it.  The pair heard the crunch of snow and could not refrain from looking out the window at the sight before them. The pair were dancing—or at least they appeared to be, the dance was uncertain—and she was smiling at him, laughing like he had told the funniest joke she’d ever heard. 

           And then they heard it.  Muffled through the window and snow came the unmistakable lines.  Shakespeare. 

           If I should think of love.  My alpha and my omega, and all that was ever mine.

           It was an insult.  A mockery. 

           Did she even know it was his birthday?  Had she any inkling he was here? Had she been so enamored she allowed him to pass right by without so much as notice?

           Could she not feel her intended’s eyes on her the way Thaddeus felt them brush the side of his skull?

           He squared his jaw and bit his tongue, clenching his legs to make them stay in place.  He wanted to march out there and drag her back inside. Drag her away from that lowlife fake of a gentleman.  He wanted to show her what a real gentleman was like.  Thaddeus’ charms could surely rival any half-baked man with the most obnoxious accent he’d ever heard.  How could someone so brilliant as she not see through the charlatan’s charms?

           It made his blood boil.  

           He wanted to act brashly, speak harshly, and commit some act he would certainly regret later.

           Colonel Laurens beat him to it.

           “He has crossed a line.” the blonde stated, jaw clenched, “Surely you agree he has given me little choice but to defend my honor.”

           The Colonel had a point.  If they were any closer, they could have kissed.  It was obscene.  It was an insult.  It was an affront to the honor of the Colonel that much was plain as day.  What choice did he really have?

           “You did what?” the Marquis whispered to Colonel Laurens in the Aide’s office the following morning.  “Have you lost your mind?” He asked, “The General will have you dismissed-”

           “Not if it is conducted before he wakes,” John responded, “It will be quickly done, I assure you.”

           “You plan to bury a man quickly?  And what will the General tell Lord Howe who expects him in New York?  How will you tell him the Admiral died?” Lafayette pressed.

           It was under-planned.  It was pathetically organized.

           She would not react well, forget the General.  Lafayette knew that much.  He was fascinated by how John so clearly did not.  His pride would be the end of him. That much was always clear, but this was a new level.  His pride would stifle her for the rest of her life.

           “You will stay out of it,” Laurens told him, “I have procured a second.  I only ask that you might mitigate the unpleasantness of discovery by Lady Fairfax.  She needn’t know it.”

           “I will not do damage control for your misguided actions, Laurens.”

           Lafayette would not be stuck to clean up a mess that was not his.  And heaven knows he could hardly bear it.  He had consoled her through too much this winter already.  Lafayette knew who this second would be.  It was hardly difficult to find men who would duel for her—kill for her—but one stood out among the sea of suitors from across the colonies and now even across the world.  

           She could never bear it.  She wouldn’t.  She would refuse even though she could not refuse her fate.  It was cruel of him to do it when he knew as much.  Cruel and thoughtless.  It was a terrible start.  Lafayette would go to the British Admiral. Perhaps Mr. Mackenzie could be reasoned with better than Colonel Laurens.  If nothing can be done about the matter, no solution to be made, he will stand—ironically—with the British Admiral as a second. The General would know his stance on the matter, and no harm would befall the prisoner Adrienne so cares about if the General has his culprits. 

           Lafayette silently hoped Mackenzie was against this duel. He hoped he did not so wholly agree to its necessity. If he had refuted Laurens’ claim and the Colonel continued to press foolishly on the matter this could end in disaster. 

           The worst part was, who knew what that disaster would look like?  Lafayette did not. 

           God help them all.

Chapter Text

           She screamed.

           She had screamed and she swore its echo was now ringing through the Valley back at her because she could not still be screaming.  She simply could not believe herself to have any voice left in her to do so, otherwise she would be.  She would be screaming at the top of her lungs to get to him, to reach his side in the very precious little time that he had left.  

           She was fairly certain she was not screaming, but how could she tell when her eyes were fixed on the limp figure that lay on the once white freshly fallen snow outside of the Potts house, just over the shoulder of the Colonel, whose strong arms held her back.  

           Damn him.

           Damn them both.  

           Damn them both to hell, for murder was a mortal sin, and Adrienne had just witnessed the most pathetically disguised, cold blooded execution that they dared to masquerade as a duel, all from the stone steps that made up to the Potts house from the snow.

           He was innocent to these quarrels.  

           She just knew her Thomas was innocent to these claims, she had heard him argue his points when she had first begun to inquire as to what the noise was outside.

           She just knew he had to speak the truth, for how could he do any less?

           When she realized what this was, nothing more than a grotesque show setting up on the front side of the house, she had bolted down the stairs in a flurry, damning herself for taking the time to fasten the front of her gown.  Blaming herself for being just late enough to see the cloud of powder from a pistol and blood splatter to the white canvas at his feet.

           She had screamed.

           She had screamed so loud she swore the earth shook.

           She had screamed so loud she had sworn that she had awoken whatever mythical figure that was the Valley.

           She had screamed as he fell limp to the ground, the matching pistol in his hand falling just beside where his boots had stood.  

           She had screamed and now the only thing stopping her from being at his side, recklessly throwing caution to the wind and disregarding the cold as it wrapped around her, tangling her skirts, and ignoring the numbing prick of the cold snow beneath her feet.  She fought against his arms, donned in that same blue wool jacket that had ruined her life. She fought and fought to be free of them, but found little success, and they tightened with her every move, thrashing to be at his side.

           “Adrienne!”  Lafayette’s face had fallen into terror the moment she appeared breathless on the small landing of the stone steps.  

           The moment the words left his lips, Thaddeus had turned to her too, and, unlike the Marquis— who would have had to dash between the crossfire to reach her in time— immediately made for her side, meeting her a quarter of the way between the steps and him .  The world froze as her Thomas stumbled in the snow for a moment, her sure footed and confident Admiral stumbled before dropping his own smoking pistol and falling in an ungraceful heap onto the snow, left to bleed out onto its white canvas.

           She had screamed, and his strong arms had caught her just before her knees could make striking contact with the prickly snow beneath her feet.

           She was fighting against those same strong arms, defined muscle coated in the royal blue wool holding her back, and she slowly weakened in his grasp as her thrashing changed to merely shifting in his impossibly tight grip.

           Thaddeus pulled her flush against him, a strong arm holding her body to his and an equally strong hand holding her head into his chest, attempting to completely block her view of the limp body several feet from where she—more or less— stood.

           She had screamed, and it had echoed through the valley, but as she cried into his chest, the sound simply blended with his gentle shushing of her hiccups and remaining pleas.  

           A strong arm held her flush against him, and an equally strong hand held her head into his chest as he gently hushed her cries for a man long since dead.  For a man she had watched die.

           “Don’t look.”

           It seemed like such an easy thing when he said it.  He made it sound like common sense.  He had seen far more bodies mutilated by far more gruesome gunshot wounds than she had.  It was such a simple thing for him, common sense as he whispered it among his other empty words of consolation.

           He made it seem so simple when he held her close, cradling her head into his chest, letting his black worsted cape fall over her shoulders as he attempted to move her back into the house.

           Back into the house and away from Thomas.

           She was not supposed to see this.  She was never supposed to have witnessed such a brutal end, but she would certainly never allow herself to forget the sight of it.

           The Admiral had stumbled, staggered for a moment, and left the imprint of his boots in the snow.  The pistol had dropped from his hand, and he fell into a graceless heap on the bitter white snow.

           Adrienne had always been taught that dueling was the worst of crimes, but she had never understood the reason why till now.  

           Good men— innocent, law-abiding men— could be massacred all for the sake of a roulette wheel of who would have the better odds for the best shot.  Dueling was not just the worst of crimes.  It had taken her seeing it happen before her very eyes to realize it, but dueling was cold-blooded murder justified by foolish pride and false senses of honor and dignity.  

           Though who was she to preach on honor and dignity at the moment when she possessed neither? 

           “You are trembling, my love.”

           It was an obvious and hushed statement.  She was shaking like a leaf in his arms.  That was undeniable.  That did not mean she liked his pointing it out any bit.  She paid no mind to his words

           He had whispered the comment to her, wrapping the cloak around her further so as to not disturb her.  He did not know if she was shaking because she was distraught or if she was cold, and, to be honest, neither did she.  

           She supposed she ought to blame it on the cold.

           She ought to push him away and stand up on her own.

           There were plenty of things she could have—should have—done to assuage the ruckus she was causing.  Plenty she could have done to maintain honor and dignity.

           Adrienne didn’t move a muscle.

           He had whispered it to her, that sweet affectionate name none heard but herself, and she could not bring herself to push him away.  Not this time.

           She had watched Thomas’ body fall to bleed out in the snow beneath her feet, and she could not bring herself to lie so that she might save face.  

           He had been murdered, and goddamn her, but she wanted them to see what they had done.  She wanted them to feel the distress she felt consuming her.

           She wanted to scream.  

           She wanted to cry.

           She wanted to sleep.

           Adrienne did not move a muscle.  Instead, she remained there in his arms until he finally managed to coerce her back into the house for her sake more than anything, as she had dashed out into the bitter cold of a Pennsylvania February without so much as an ounce of winter wear in her rush.  

           “Don’t look,” he had said.

           She was not supposed to see him die, but she had. 

           She finally collapsed and allowed the strong wool-wrapped arms around her torso to lift her from the ground and carry her into the house.  She did not pull her face from the woolen fabric of the uniform, she could not bring herself to do so as he climbed the stairs with her in his arms so gentle and tender she almost forgave him right there.  

           The evening had been a nice reprieve from the nip of winter’s breath that seemed to chase and nip at the heels of every man from Massachusetts and back.  The warmth of Washington’s headquarters as it was packed to the brim with officers and even a rare delicacy in the valley—ladies—was more than welcome.  The evening’s guests were all relatively wealthy, each lady in attendance a gentlewoman, but there was only one lady at this soirée that Thaddeus had any care about, and he watched silently from his conversation as Adrienne seemed to slip seamlessly through the house’s crowd and out the door.  

           He noted the lack of cloak on her shoulders, and with nothing but her silks to protect her from the deeply settled chill that had taken hold in camp, Thaddeus thought it only proper to grab his own cloak and slip out after her.  Just as he had expected, the cold began to nip at his face immediately, and he resolved to make the trip a short one for both of their sakes.

           “Lady Fairfax?” He asked gently so as not to scare her as he stepped outside, “Whatever are you doing out here all alone?”

           Despite the Colonel’s effort, Adrienne still jumped a little at the sound of his voice, turning quickly only to release the tension in her body when she realized it was only the Polish officer.  “Oh,” she said softly, “It is just you, Colonel.  You frightened me.”

           “My apologies,” he said, hanging his head a little low in light embarrassment, “I only came to ensure you were alright, is all.  It is cold out here.”

           “Yes,” she said, “I am aware.”

           She certainly didn’t look like it.  The burgundy and champagne-striped floral silk of her gown, reflecting the moonlight, made her appear as if she were glowing with it.  The dress was rich, even if it lacked the usual—and oftentimes copious amounts of—decorations of a lady’s gown, and it seemed to suit her well.  Paired with fluffy curls arranged in a soft take on the high roll fashion of Philadelphia, decorated with ostrich feathers that protruded from the top of her hairstyle, she looked truly like a British Lady.  

           Technically, she was a British Lady.  However, Thaddeus had not ever had to face the music of it so plainly before.  She was a British Lady of fine British breeding with a delicate English rose for a mother—who she no doubt was the mirror image of—and an elite British gentleman for a father who came with a seat in the very government they were fighting for freedom from.  Adrienne was British through and through, from her birth and upbringing to the cadence of her voice and the lilt of her soft, refined accent when she spoke.  

           It was a terrifying thought.

           What was more terrifying—well, equal parts terrifying and enraging—was that this blatant appearance of her birth and station seemed to have been brought about by none other than the General’s prisoner: Admiral Thomas Mackenzie himself.  She wanted to impress him, comfort him, and feel as if he were back home and not fighting for his life in a foreign sea.

           He was a bad influence on her.  With the Admiral’s encouragement, she had only become more and more proper and refined—and, if Thaddeus was being honest, more and more beautiful—with each passing day.  

           That was an even more terrifying thought.

           “I don’t like him,” Thaddeus finally said as softly as he could muster, dropping his voice in volume as he directly referred to the Admiral. “He seems dangerous.”

           Adrienne’s brow furrowed in a kind of bitter displeasure and contempt at his words as if she had just sucked a lemon dry.  “You don’t have to warn me against my kind,” she snapped, “Everyone else wants to.”

           “Don’t say that.”

           His ears echoed so loud he could hardly hear himself say the words.  It was as if a cannon had gone off just behind him, the deafening boom leaving him reeling.  Disoriented and confused, the words affected him greatly. 

           “Say what?” She asked so innocently, so oblivious to the words she had just spoken and how treasonous they could be.

           My own kind .

           “That you are- that you- that you could possibly be like them ,” he replied, his face going sour as well as he finished the sentence.  “You are nothing like them .”

           “Yes,” she stated angrily, “I am very much like “them,” thank you very much.  Why is that such a terrible thing all of a sudden?” She asked, frustration clear in her voice, a challenge raised if he ever heard one.

           Thaddeus could do nothing but scoff in reply.

           The British were brutes.  Everyone knew that—even the Tories.  They fought for a tyrant King in a land of democratic rule and desired complete and total submission from her fellow man in the most demeaning of ways.  His fellow soldiers were kept in the most deplorable conditions under captivity, with thousands falling victim to the plagues of prison ships or worse.  The redcoat’s detestability seemed to go without the need for explanation.

           “Everyone on this godforsaken continent thinks I am like them, so why should I not say it?” Adrienne continued angrily, taking his scoff as an opportunity to continue her argument.  “What is so wrong about it?” she challenged again.

           Thaddeus found himself staring at the beautiful and brilliant blonde before him, stunned.  He had no verbal defense at the ready.  He had not thought one would ever be needed, not when the reasons for such prejudice seemed clear as day.

           “I didn’t mean it like that-” Thaddeus said as at last, he managed to find his voice, but only managed those pathetic few words before she cut him off entirely.

           “Then what did you mean?” She asked forcibly—a challenge.

           “I-…”

           He never knew what to say to her.  He should have known she would catch him speechless.  He should have anticipated it.

           “And what do you know—what do any of you know?” She argued angrily as if suddenly lit aflame.  “Thomas has treated me out of kindness and respect. Not out of duty. Obligation. Or, when I was shot , pity,” she scowled, making a direct blow to the Polish man’s inconsistent treatment of her.  “He has not treated me like I’m an annoying child to be dismissed at a whim. He sees me as a Lady—which I rightfully am, mind you—I am his equal.  A superior, even.”

           Adrienne paused for a moment but only for air before tacking on one last bitter, disdainful statement to her fevered argument, “It is more than any of you could say.”

           “We treat you like John Laurens’ intended,” he replied more forcefully than he ought to have, but her nonsense argument and the blow she made at his person lit the flame of rage within him.  If she wished to challenge, she could not back down when he rose to her request.

           “And I hate it ,” she hissed.  “Do not a single one of you ever stop to think that the very notion keeps me up at night—makes my skin crawl at the very mention of it?  He is nearly seven years my elder.  It is sickening.”

           Thaddeus was a full ten, but that did not seem to be such he ought to say.

           Thomas Mackenzie made Thaddeus’ skin crawl for all the wrong reasons.  He was not nearly as honorable a man as he pretended to be.  The Admiral knew better than to sneak off unchaperoned with an unmarried lady—however innocent it might have been—and Mackenzie certainly knew that propriety demanded he maintain a physical distance from Lady Fairfax for the sake of her honor.  Further, the man had seemingly no problem stepping on John’s toes, completely disregarding the fact Adrienne was to be betrothed to the man—though Thaddeus supposed he had no real argument there, all things considered.

           There was much Thaddeus would tolerate.  Very much indeed, but that man’s arrogance was not one of such things.

           “John has treated you with nothing but kindness,” Thaddeus asserted, with an arrogant huff, “Despite your mistreatment and indifference towards him.”

           “Exactly!” Adrienne exclaimed, disregarding the second half of the Colonel’s statement entirely.  “He treats me with nothing but kindness ,” she stressed, “Not affection, or admiration, or even respect most days.”

           Perhaps she was right.  Perhaps John’s own interest in her had been relatively dismissive, but it was his right at the very least.  The Admiral needed a good reminder that he possessed no such right to be sure.

           Thaddeus only scoffed again in reply, his tone barking, aggressive, “You can hardly fault the man-“

           “I was to be a Duchess,” she interrupted, suddenly changing the focus of their unintentional argument.  “Or a Countess.  Or- or a Princess.  Did you know that?” She asked desperately, “If it had not been for these rabble-rousers and their war, I would be in a love-filled and regally titled and more than wealthy marriage in London by now.”

           This was something Thaddeus needed no reminder of.

           Adrienne was no lady of London.  Thaddeus knew her.  He had only forgotten that Lady Adrienne Fairfax was as British as they come.  Her birth, station, and breeding made the blonde the very model of an English rose and a perfect British bride.  She was the exact model of what a gentleman’s wife ought to be, and if he had to guess, she has been as such her whole life.  She lived and breathed British refinement, and it was never a question as to if she would be the lady of some great house, only ever a question of which great house it would be.

           It made perfect sense for her to be a Duchess.  Or a Countess.  Or even a Princess.

           It was what she was born for, but there was one thing she seemed to forget about her precious Admiral.

           “And he could give that to you?” He asked bluntly, already knowing the answer to his question.

           “I- excuse me?” She asked, stunned by his sudden line of questioning, already showing signs of embarrassment in the flush of her cheeks—or perhaps that was from the cold?  Whatever it was, she was glowing with it, and it was quite distracting.

           Perhaps she was right to be shocked.  Perhaps it was out of line for him to say—it was undoubtedly insolent, that he knew—but Thaddeus could not help himself.  She had challenged him, and Thaddeus had no choice but to do more than rise to it.

           “The Admiral,” he clarified, not backing down, “He could give that life to you?”

           “W-well, no,” she admitted quietly, the flush of her cheeks deepening as her greyish blue eyes flicked downwards to examine the snow, “He is just a merchant's son.”

           “Like John.”

           She paused before speaking again, careful to choose her words this time.  “That is not fair.”

           “I’d be more careful with your words,” Thaddeus replied coldly, taking satisfaction in his winning the argument, no matter the cost of such victory, “I do not think the starving men out there would be enthused by such a thoroughly proper British Lady living in such close quarters.  We should hope that they do not make such a connection.”

           A low blow but an incredibly satisfying one.  If only Adrienne knew how desperately the officers worked to keep their men in line so she could promenade with her precious Admiral, all pomp and circumstance through camp. If she knew how the men spoke of women at this stage—how they spoke of British women especially—perhaps that would place some fear into her overly confident demeanor.

           “Was that a threat?”

           “A warning,” he corrected.

           A beat passed before either spoke again, and Adrienne broke the silence first, looking him squarely in the eye as she went to speak.  “I don’t need your warnings,” she scoffed hostilely, only fueling the Polish Colonel’s frustration with the blonde.

           “If you say so,” he conceded through gritted teeth, allowing silence to fall over the two of them once more but only ever so briefly.

           British.

           She saw herself as British, despite the horrors she’d seen.  Hell, despite being shot by a redcoat, she still sought to please them like a child begging for their mother’s attention. 

           “You cannot be an Admiral’s wife,” he suddenly blurted out, turning back around to face her.

           “What?” Adrienne asked, confused at his sudden and drastic change of direction.

           “It- it would never suit you,” Thaddeus stuttered out quickly.

           There was a beat—a pause—before she spoke with a scowl on her face, “You do not know what suits me.”

           But he did—oh God, he did.  Thaddeus knew what suited her more than anyone.  He knew that while silks were the standard amongst her dresses, she looked the best in velvet.  He knew she was more suited to blues and greens in the daytime and gold, whites, and reds at night.  He knew she looked like a cherub when she awoke in the mornings and precisely how she liked her tea. He knew she took to port and wine well but could never stomach whiskey.  He knew she was not nearly as tough as she pretended to be and cared far more than she would ever admit because her pride would not allow it.

           Thaddeus knew what suited her.

           “Have you ever been at sea?”

           “No-” she began, only to be promptly cut off.

           “Have you ever felt the earth tilt and shift underneath you?” He asked, “Felt the salt air and the spray- it’s so cold. Colder than this hell, if you can believe it. It is rough, and shaken, and rearranging everything you know. And that is if it is not a disaster and he- he will not be there.  You will be living at some townhouse in some port town, waiting for him to come home. It is not different from being a soldier’s wife, Lady Fairfax.  It may be worse.  He will use your money to gamble and drink and make the sea better while you will be-“

           “You have a strong imagination, Colonel,” Adrienne said sharply, coldly, abruptly cutting Thaddeus off from his monologue, “Use it to scare a different pretty young thing.”

           “But it scares you too,” he emphasized, “It scares you, and I know it does.  You’re a cautious creature, Addy, and if that idea didn’t terrify you, you’d have left with his ring on your finger yesterday.”

           “You don’t know that,” she whispered pathetically, futilely.  Neither seemed to be able to tell whether the statement referred to her supposed terror or the statement about his ring.  She did not even correct his tenderness with her name.

           “I do,” Thaddeus asserted, “I do know that because I know you and this—this pageantry and pomp—this isn’t you. Don’t make a mistake you will regret.”

           It was a string of words Thaddeus had become quite familiar with.

           Thaddeus did not like the Admiral.  The Admiral was not an honorable man.  The Admiral was attempting to distract a promised Lady from her future.  The Admiral was endangering her honor as well as his own.  The Admiral should not make mistakes he will live to regret.

           Thaddeus should not make mistakes he will live to regret.  He was endangering her honor as well as his own.

           If he asked her to run off with him, to elope, would she go?

           “Is it not funny how my only options for the rest of my life are steeped in regret?” She laughed bitterly, “It is a notion I am more than familiar with.  Not an easy one to swallow, but one that must be swallowed nonetheless.”

           “You don’t mean that,” he pleaded.  He commanded.  He wasn’t sure what he did, really.

           “I am choking on all the decisions I have had shoved down my throat,” she stressed.  “What if I want to make the next miserable decision myself?” Adrienne said bitterly before turning to head indoors, “At the very least, he is a gentleman’s son.”  

           With the last of her words, the blonde slipped back through the door in the same manner she had come, leaving him alone, out in the cold for it to nip at his nose and heels and very bones, but none of that seemed to matter to him.

           “I am a gentleman’s son.” Thaddeus pathetically whispered into the darkness, speaking to no one but the wind.  “I am a gentleman’s son.”

           It mattered not.  He knew better.

           It was not in her nature to run away.  Not even with him.

           She was born to be a lady of a great house, and he did not have any such thing to give her.  With no title, no money, and no grand house, Thaddeus could never maintain her.

           She almost forgave him for everything.  All of it.  Every last thing down to the last inch.

           Almost.

           There was very little now that she could do to preserve her honor or dignity.  So very little could be done as she curled into his arms, clutched the fabric of his jacket, and buried herself into his cloak.

           She had to admit that he did look breathtakingly handsome in his full uniform, cloak, and tricorn included.  It was off-topic, she supposed, but it needed to be noted at the very least, considering how precious little she saw of it.  The way his curls were gathered at the nape of his neck into a tastefully styled curled queue, tied back with a simple ribbon, was mesmerizing to her under regular circumstances.  It was there she found solstice again in this terrible moment in time.  All as a woman—Ona, it had to be—hurried after him to open the door of her little room.  

           He took up just about the space there was to offer, laying her in the bed and forcing himself to step back, only to be stopped by her deathly tight grip to the wool of his uniform, feeling its coarseness under her hand.  It was unseemly, she knew, and she really did not want any company at all currently, but she could not let go.

           She could not let go, and she almost did not want to.

           But she wanted to be alone, and somehow he understood this.  He understood as his calloused hands carefully unfolded her fingers from the buff and blue.  She almost could have forgiven him for everything right then and there.

           Almost.

           She almost forgave him, and he knew it as he hovered over her for just a moment too long.  Just long enough to have kissed her.  She had almost forgiven him, but not quite for everything, and he knew that.  So he hovered.  He hovered over her for just a moment too long, and she knew.  

           Adrienne had pushed him away but he would be waiting, patiently waiting for her to open her arms to him again, and then he would not hesitate to return to her.  

           Thaddeus was hers, and she was his.  

           It was as simple as that.

           There was a commotion on the stairs she could not hear over the echoes his sweet nothings of comfort had left ringing in her ears.  She could not tell what was being said, but she was fairly certain she knew who was causing it, and she suddenly wished not only to return to sleep but never to receive another companion while at this miserable camp.  

           The door broke open, and Thaddeus was pushed to the back of the room as both the Marquis and her intended— Lieutenant Colonel Laurens— barged into the room in the middle of whatever argument they were engaged in, with Lafayette attempting to pull the blonde man from her room by force as the Colonel persisted. 

           “Adrienne-”

           Damn him.

           “Adrienne, you must hear us out.”

           Damn them both.