Seeing the general’s contentment soothed me greatly.
“Ah, there you are,” he greeted.
“Here I am,” I sighed. “Do you have everything you need, sir?”
“I realized about an hour ago that I did not make sleeping arrangements for myself . . . or for you,” he said. “I was so busy making accommodations for everyone else that I forgot that the commander would be in my quarters.”
“’Tis not your duty to make arrangements for me, sir.”
“Samson.” He rolled his eyes skyward. “Of course it is.”
“I saw to it, sir.”
I had placed two pallets on the thick rug and moved some of our clothing from his quarters before General Washington arrived. The pitcher was filled with water for him to wash, and I’d made sure there was a tray of ham, cheese, bread, and fruit, in case he’d worked up an appetite. I’d pilfered it from the feast, worried that he would not sit down long enough to eat. I had not sat down all day.
“Yes. I can see that you have. And I am grateful, for the brandy too.” He raised his glass. “You are remarkable. An excellent aide, although this arrangement”—he tipped the glass toward our bedding—“is not . . . ideal. You should have some privacy.”
“I am accustomed to the lack of privacy, sir.”
“I am aware,” he grumbled, but he said nothing more, and I took that as acceptance of the accommodations, intimate as they were. I sank onto the little settee by the door and removed my boots, biting back a grateful groan as I tugged them off. My hair had begun to escape its tie, and I pulled it free, shrugged off my coat, and unwrapped my neckcloth.
“You are weary,” he said.
“I am.” I had visited the toilet and washed at the pump, and I wanted only to lie down on my blankets and rest my aching leg.
The general rose and picked up the tray, but instead of sampling the selection, he sat down beside me and placed it between us.
“Eat,” he ordered, and I complied without a word.
“No argument? You must be exhausted,” he muttered, laying a piece of ham on a slice of bread and taking a huge bite. I gave him a rueful shrug, and we ate in silence, making short work of the excellent repast.
“It went well, sir. You should be very proud,” I commented, revived by the meal and his company. “Everything was perfect. The colors, the sounds, the weather. All of it was wonderful.”
“Yes. It was.”
“And you even danced,” I said, giving him a small grin.
“Mrs. Knox would not take no for an answer, and she couldn’t find you,” he answered, wry. “It is easy to see why she and Henry suit. They both have dogged wills.”
“You did very well. And yes. Mrs. Knox is frightening. I would dearly love to be her friend someday.”
The general laughed out loud.
“I’ve never cared much for dancing. Elizabeth adored it so I did it for her, and she was never wanting for partners. Do you know how to dance, Samson?”
“Of course I do, though I have never been to a ball like that one.”
He brushed off his hands and rose to his feet. “Come then. Up you go. I’ve made you eat. Now I will make you dance.”
“Sir? We have no music,” I said, but I scrambled up, thrilled by the prospect.
My hair was loose, but I did not bother tying it back. Decorum at such a late hour, when we were alone behind a closed door, seemed unnecessary. And the general was as rumpled as I. The balmy air and the hours of dancing in the hall had turned his normal waves into curls that fell across his forehead and escaped his messy tail. Our feet were bare, and looking down at them, I saw our difference was marked. My feet were narrow and my ankles slim. His feet were large and sprinkled with hair. I curled my toes and averted my eyes, but not before he took in the contrast as well.
“You should always wear your shoes, Samson. Even your feet give you away.”
“But you already know who I am.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well . . . give me your hand.”
“I cannot think of a single melody,” I said, placing my palm against his. My hands were big, but his were huge. “The Thomases only sang the hymns.”
“Ah. But I know a hymn that will work.” He began to hum “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation” in a waltzing, three-count tempo and extended his hand with a small bow.
I hummed along with him as we found our rhythm and matched our steps.
“You are trying to lead, Samson. Stop that. You must be the woman or we will collide.”