Freedom for Felicity, Chapter 3
Nov. 29th, 2012 12:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
osprey_archerTitle: Freedom for Felicity
Fandom: American Girl - Felicity
Rating: G
Pairings: I don't even know anymore. Felicity/Ben? Felicity/Elizabeth? OT3? Maybe no one will get together with anyone and they will all run away to be highwaymen!
Warnings: Mangling of the Federalist papers. Minimal research on minuets. Vaguely erotic hair-brushing.
The ball at last was winding down. The dancers drifted languidly around the floor, waiting for the orchestra to start the last dance. Felicity adored dancing, and as much as her feet hurt, she wanted terribly to have this last dance.
But would she find a partner? Stuart stood over by the refreshments table, determinedly drinking his way through a punchbowl, and Humphrey – Felicity looked around the room, and smiled to see that Humphrey and Elizabeth stood examining the Lees new Gilbert Stuart painting. Their two heads bent together, gold hair and copper gleaming in the candlelight.
Elizabeth seemed to feel her eyes, because she turned and smiled at Felicity, waving with the hand that was not still in the crook of Humphrey’s arm. Felicity’s heart lifted. It was a pity she couldn’t dance with Elizabeth again. The ball was short on men, as balls often were, and Felicity was always happy to dance with Elizabeth and let the other girls have a chance with the men. It was always more fun to dance with someone you loved. If only Ben –
No.
And Elizabeth must have the last dance with Humphrey: the last dance, after the first, was the most meaningful. Felicity sighed.
The orchestra retuned, a low shimmer of sound that sent a pleasant shiver up Felicity’s spine.
At least she thought it was the music. But afterwards, she was never sure if she hadn’t felt Ben’s approach, somehow, because when he said “Miss Merriman,” she was not half as surprised as she should have been.
She turned slowly, and dropped a curtsey. “Mr. Davidson,” she said, so glad to see him and so mortified by that gladness that her voice came out starched and stiff.
The formality between them sounded terrible and false. Felicity forced herself to look at him. He wore his brown hair in a neat queue, still, but his warm smile was gone.
Her hands felt icy. She bunched them in her skirt. “I thought you were still in Philadelphia,” she said, and her voice seemed like someone else’s to her.
“The convention wrapped up,” he said, very grave. He looks like he hasn’t smiled in a long time, Felicity thought. She wanted suddenly to make him smile, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.
Neither could he. “Well – ” Felicity said. Why had he bothered to speak to her, if he had nothing to say?
“It’s good to…see you again,” said Ben.
“Yes,” she said. “You look well.”
They lingered, awkwardly. “I should – ” Ben began.
The orchestra began to play in earnest. “Oh, I’m going to miss the last dance!” she cried.
But Ben held out a hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Merriman?” he asked. An uncertain smile lifted his mouth.
They stood up across from Elizabeth and Humphrey. Elizabeth looked between Ben and Felicity, eyes wide. Felicity gave a tiny shrug, and then the minuet music began, and she put her hand in Ben’s.
The dance began: the curtseys, the bows, the taking of hands. A girl down the line giggled, a little shrill with tiredness. Humphrey murmured something that made Elizabeth laugh. Ben and Felicity danced in silence. Her skirts swished on the polished wood floor.
“I hope you found the conclusion of the convention satisfactory,” she said.
“No,” he said. “This new constitution is an outrage.”
Felicity was surprised. “But I thought Washington was for it?” she said, releasing his hand. She knew how Ben idolized General Washington, ever since Valley Forge.
“He does,” Ben admitted, bowing to her, as the dance demanded. She curtseyed, and they came together again, their two hands together. “But he is wrong,” Ben said fiercely. “Hamilton has misled him, I’m sure of it.”
Washington misled? That Ben could even think so infuriated Felicity, but the dance steps took him away, to bow to Elizabeth. Perhaps Elizabeth saw something in his face, for she looked at Felicity over his shoulder, concern etched in her brow. Felicity forced a smile, which usually calmed her, but now the falseness of that smile simply fed her fury.
The dance forced Ben back to her. “I cannot imagine a man as brave and gallant and dignified and – I cannot imagine General Washington misled,” she said.
Ben’s cheeks flushed. “But don’t you see, Felicity, it is that which would make him easy to mislead. He’s such an honest man, he doesn’t understand the foul plans that a man like Hamilton can hide behind his arguments. We did not throw off the yoke of London, just to be ruled by tyrants in Philadelphia!”
“I cannot agree!” Felicity replied. “I cannot agree. How long do you think we will remain independent if we go our separate ways? Will not London pick us off one by one, until we are all colonies again, and our revolution useless?”
Ben’s nostrils flared. “It’s not ladylike to read newspapers,” he said.
“Not ladylike!” Felicity said, loud enough that one of the violinists skipped a note.
Across the minuet set, Elizabeth flashed Felicity a worried look. Felicity smiled at her reassuringly. She was not going to create a scene and ruin Elizabeth's first American ball!
Felicity continued, more quietly but just as passionate. “It's not ladylike to take an interest in the affairs of our country?”
“Miss Merriman,” Ben said. “Please loosen your grip before you crush my hand.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, loosening her grip. His hand had never regained its full strength since he’d lost those two fingers to frostbite. “But I can’t agree with you that women shouldn’t read newspapers. Who do you think will raise our children as good republicans if not women, Benjamin Davidson?”
“Our children?” said Ben, so surprised he stumbled. A blaze of mortification flushed through Felicity, accompanied by a strange triumph: did he care for her, still?
“The nation’s, I mean,” she said. “I believe if we had children, they would be born with such lust for freedom in their blood that they would hardly need training.”
“On their own behalf, at least,” Ben said. “They would need to learn to care for other people’s freedom, I think.”
Felicity flushed. “You are unfair,” she said. “We freed our slaves, two years past.”
He had the grace to flush as well. “I know,” he said.
“You know? If you knew, then why didn’t you – ”
He spun, and bowed to her, but she was too startled to curtsey back as the dance demanded. “People talked of little else for weeks! How often does a girl get up at her birthday dinner and tell a whole plantation of slaves that they’re to be manumitted?”
“I only meant to hurry things along,” said Felicity.
“Impatient as always,” Ben said.
“You are unfair,” Felicity repeated, fiercely. “You are always unfair, Ben: to me, and the people I love. Why did you come here?”
The smile dropped from Ben’s face.
They finished the minuet in silence. Years of dance lessons carried her through the steps.
If he knew about the manumission, why did he not speak to me before?
***
Elizabeth smoothed the brush through Felicity’s hair, a long soothing stroke. They had long since passed the hundred brushes that were supposed to make hair beautiful. But it felt so lovely having her hair brushed, Felicity did not want Elizabeth to stop.
“I’m sorry you and Ben fought,” Elizabeth said.
Felicity grimaced. “Oh, don’t let’s talk about that.”
The candlelight cast deep soft shadows in the drapes on Felicity’s bed and the corners of the room. Elizabeth began to plait Felicity’s hair. Her fingers brushed Felicity’s neck. “It was a lovely ball,” she said, tugging the strands tight.
“Lovely as London?” Felicity asked.
“Lovelier,” said Elizabeth, firmly. “The young men here are so much more handsome, you know.” She gave Felicity’s braid a tug.
Felicity fell back, head in Elizabeth’s lap. She tilted her head back to look at Elizabeth. “Did you like Humphrey very much?” she asked, wistfully.
“I believe I could,” Elizabeth said. Felicity sighed. Elizabeth tilted her head to look down at Felicity, blue eyes mischievous. “He looks rather like you.”
Felicity looked thoughtfully up at Elizabeth. “Ben doesn’t much resemble you,” she said. She tugged at one of Elizabeth’s dangling curls and closed her eyes, feeling sudden tears gathering there. She would not see him again, most likely.
Elizabeth batted her hand away. “I’d be terribly jealous if he did,” she replied, playfully.
Felicity rolled to kneel on the bed, facing her. “Should I be jealous of Humphrey, then?” she asked, teasing, and not quite teasing.
“No!” Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed in the candlelight. Her chemise had slipped off her shoulder. She tugged it back in place, and blew out the candle. The air smelled sweet with bayberry wax. “I still love you best, you know,” she said, in the darkness, voice soft beneath the rustle of settling blankets.
Felicity reached through the dark to find Elizabeth. “You only just met him tonight,” she said, and draped an arm over her friend.
Elizabeth shifted drowsily under the arm, but did not pull away. “I could like him very much,” she murmured.
“I hope you do,” Felicity said. She felt very tired suddenly, as though a pall of melancholy had settled on them with the blankets; and she closed her eyes, and slept.
Fandom: American Girl - Felicity
Rating: G
Pairings: I don't even know anymore. Felicity/Ben? Felicity/Elizabeth? OT3? Maybe no one will get together with anyone and they will all run away to be highwaymen!
Warnings: Mangling of the Federalist papers. Minimal research on minuets. Vaguely erotic hair-brushing.
The ball at last was winding down. The dancers drifted languidly around the floor, waiting for the orchestra to start the last dance. Felicity adored dancing, and as much as her feet hurt, she wanted terribly to have this last dance.
But would she find a partner? Stuart stood over by the refreshments table, determinedly drinking his way through a punchbowl, and Humphrey – Felicity looked around the room, and smiled to see that Humphrey and Elizabeth stood examining the Lees new Gilbert Stuart painting. Their two heads bent together, gold hair and copper gleaming in the candlelight.
Elizabeth seemed to feel her eyes, because she turned and smiled at Felicity, waving with the hand that was not still in the crook of Humphrey’s arm. Felicity’s heart lifted. It was a pity she couldn’t dance with Elizabeth again. The ball was short on men, as balls often were, and Felicity was always happy to dance with Elizabeth and let the other girls have a chance with the men. It was always more fun to dance with someone you loved. If only Ben –
No.
And Elizabeth must have the last dance with Humphrey: the last dance, after the first, was the most meaningful. Felicity sighed.
The orchestra retuned, a low shimmer of sound that sent a pleasant shiver up Felicity’s spine.
At least she thought it was the music. But afterwards, she was never sure if she hadn’t felt Ben’s approach, somehow, because when he said “Miss Merriman,” she was not half as surprised as she should have been.
She turned slowly, and dropped a curtsey. “Mr. Davidson,” she said, so glad to see him and so mortified by that gladness that her voice came out starched and stiff.
The formality between them sounded terrible and false. Felicity forced herself to look at him. He wore his brown hair in a neat queue, still, but his warm smile was gone.
Her hands felt icy. She bunched them in her skirt. “I thought you were still in Philadelphia,” she said, and her voice seemed like someone else’s to her.
“The convention wrapped up,” he said, very grave. He looks like he hasn’t smiled in a long time, Felicity thought. She wanted suddenly to make him smile, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.
Neither could he. “Well – ” Felicity said. Why had he bothered to speak to her, if he had nothing to say?
“It’s good to…see you again,” said Ben.
“Yes,” she said. “You look well.”
They lingered, awkwardly. “I should – ” Ben began.
The orchestra began to play in earnest. “Oh, I’m going to miss the last dance!” she cried.
But Ben held out a hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Merriman?” he asked. An uncertain smile lifted his mouth.
They stood up across from Elizabeth and Humphrey. Elizabeth looked between Ben and Felicity, eyes wide. Felicity gave a tiny shrug, and then the minuet music began, and she put her hand in Ben’s.
The dance began: the curtseys, the bows, the taking of hands. A girl down the line giggled, a little shrill with tiredness. Humphrey murmured something that made Elizabeth laugh. Ben and Felicity danced in silence. Her skirts swished on the polished wood floor.
“I hope you found the conclusion of the convention satisfactory,” she said.
“No,” he said. “This new constitution is an outrage.”
Felicity was surprised. “But I thought Washington was for it?” she said, releasing his hand. She knew how Ben idolized General Washington, ever since Valley Forge.
“He does,” Ben admitted, bowing to her, as the dance demanded. She curtseyed, and they came together again, their two hands together. “But he is wrong,” Ben said fiercely. “Hamilton has misled him, I’m sure of it.”
Washington misled? That Ben could even think so infuriated Felicity, but the dance steps took him away, to bow to Elizabeth. Perhaps Elizabeth saw something in his face, for she looked at Felicity over his shoulder, concern etched in her brow. Felicity forced a smile, which usually calmed her, but now the falseness of that smile simply fed her fury.
The dance forced Ben back to her. “I cannot imagine a man as brave and gallant and dignified and – I cannot imagine General Washington misled,” she said.
Ben’s cheeks flushed. “But don’t you see, Felicity, it is that which would make him easy to mislead. He’s such an honest man, he doesn’t understand the foul plans that a man like Hamilton can hide behind his arguments. We did not throw off the yoke of London, just to be ruled by tyrants in Philadelphia!”
“I cannot agree!” Felicity replied. “I cannot agree. How long do you think we will remain independent if we go our separate ways? Will not London pick us off one by one, until we are all colonies again, and our revolution useless?”
Ben’s nostrils flared. “It’s not ladylike to read newspapers,” he said.
“Not ladylike!” Felicity said, loud enough that one of the violinists skipped a note.
Across the minuet set, Elizabeth flashed Felicity a worried look. Felicity smiled at her reassuringly. She was not going to create a scene and ruin Elizabeth's first American ball!
Felicity continued, more quietly but just as passionate. “It's not ladylike to take an interest in the affairs of our country?”
“Miss Merriman,” Ben said. “Please loosen your grip before you crush my hand.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, loosening her grip. His hand had never regained its full strength since he’d lost those two fingers to frostbite. “But I can’t agree with you that women shouldn’t read newspapers. Who do you think will raise our children as good republicans if not women, Benjamin Davidson?”
“Our children?” said Ben, so surprised he stumbled. A blaze of mortification flushed through Felicity, accompanied by a strange triumph: did he care for her, still?
“The nation’s, I mean,” she said. “I believe if we had children, they would be born with such lust for freedom in their blood that they would hardly need training.”
“On their own behalf, at least,” Ben said. “They would need to learn to care for other people’s freedom, I think.”
Felicity flushed. “You are unfair,” she said. “We freed our slaves, two years past.”
He had the grace to flush as well. “I know,” he said.
“You know? If you knew, then why didn’t you – ”
He spun, and bowed to her, but she was too startled to curtsey back as the dance demanded. “People talked of little else for weeks! How often does a girl get up at her birthday dinner and tell a whole plantation of slaves that they’re to be manumitted?”
“I only meant to hurry things along,” said Felicity.
“Impatient as always,” Ben said.
“You are unfair,” Felicity repeated, fiercely. “You are always unfair, Ben: to me, and the people I love. Why did you come here?”
The smile dropped from Ben’s face.
They finished the minuet in silence. Years of dance lessons carried her through the steps.
If he knew about the manumission, why did he not speak to me before?
***
Elizabeth smoothed the brush through Felicity’s hair, a long soothing stroke. They had long since passed the hundred brushes that were supposed to make hair beautiful. But it felt so lovely having her hair brushed, Felicity did not want Elizabeth to stop.
“I’m sorry you and Ben fought,” Elizabeth said.
Felicity grimaced. “Oh, don’t let’s talk about that.”
The candlelight cast deep soft shadows in the drapes on Felicity’s bed and the corners of the room. Elizabeth began to plait Felicity’s hair. Her fingers brushed Felicity’s neck. “It was a lovely ball,” she said, tugging the strands tight.
“Lovely as London?” Felicity asked.
“Lovelier,” said Elizabeth, firmly. “The young men here are so much more handsome, you know.” She gave Felicity’s braid a tug.
Felicity fell back, head in Elizabeth’s lap. She tilted her head back to look at Elizabeth. “Did you like Humphrey very much?” she asked, wistfully.
“I believe I could,” Elizabeth said. Felicity sighed. Elizabeth tilted her head to look down at Felicity, blue eyes mischievous. “He looks rather like you.”
Felicity looked thoughtfully up at Elizabeth. “Ben doesn’t much resemble you,” she said. She tugged at one of Elizabeth’s dangling curls and closed her eyes, feeling sudden tears gathering there. She would not see him again, most likely.
Elizabeth batted her hand away. “I’d be terribly jealous if he did,” she replied, playfully.
Felicity rolled to kneel on the bed, facing her. “Should I be jealous of Humphrey, then?” she asked, teasing, and not quite teasing.
“No!” Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed in the candlelight. Her chemise had slipped off her shoulder. She tugged it back in place, and blew out the candle. The air smelled sweet with bayberry wax. “I still love you best, you know,” she said, in the darkness, voice soft beneath the rustle of settling blankets.
Felicity reached through the dark to find Elizabeth. “You only just met him tonight,” she said, and draped an arm over her friend.
Elizabeth shifted drowsily under the arm, but did not pull away. “I could like him very much,” she murmured.
“I hope you do,” Felicity said. She felt very tired suddenly, as though a pall of melancholy had settled on them with the blankets; and she closed her eyes, and slept.
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no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 05:49 am (UTC):D
no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 10:02 pm (UTC)And so should hairbrushing, vaguely erotic or otherwise.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 07:29 pm (UTC)Loving the political debate, and the ship tease all over the place. ("Vaguely erotic hairbrushing," hah.) :D
no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 10:01 pm (UTC)I'm planning to finish it! I may have to put it aside for a bit, because the end of semester crunch is coming up (with, you know, my actually scholarly paper about American Girl...too bad I can't give them Felicity/Elizabeth femslash), but I'm hoping not to do that because I've got some momentum going.
It's not ship tease so much as I don't know who's going to end up with whom! I wasn't planning for Felicity/Elizabeth originally but...it kind of crept up on me.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 10:42 pm (UTC)I guess that's more along the lines of what I was getting at--not ship tease, exactly, but more like...uncertainty? I like how everything's up the air at this point, despite how it was supposed to be a Felicity/Ben. (And I totally pictured Felicity cross-dressing for a ball so she could dance with Elizabeth. Because seriously, how fabulous would that be!)
no subject
Date: 2012-11-29 10:54 pm (UTC)Fun history fact time! I don't know if this was true specifically of colonial Williamsburg balls, but balls in general in both America and England were often short of men, so women did sometimes dance together.
Occasionally at military balls it went the other way: there was a dance during World War II, at Cairo just before the Tehran conference, where Winston Churchill danced with FDR's military aide, because there was a shortage of women.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 02:22 pm (UTC)Are you in the Hamilton hate group or the Hamilton love group?
no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 04:44 pm (UTC)