• She sat near silently at the dark table in front of her, her fingers moving rhythmically up and down in a crude drumming pattern. It had been taken from the Yanks, if she recalled correctly. A soft sigh escaped her perfectly painted red lips as her green gaze studied the smooth, polished tabletop and her fingers. Tap, tap, tap, tap…

    He, on the other hand, stood in the doorway. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the left side of the square archway, his gaze stuck on the woman. Her vibrant red hair had been done up in a fancy bun of twisted braids, a few small locks of it were left down to frame her face, contrasting beautifully with her emerald gown. He watched as her gloved fingers tapped that awful Yank war song. An Irish woman’s revenge.

    She continued to tap, repeating the same rhythm over and over. His steps matched the marching tune, landing him quietly beside her. Her gaze remained down, watching her jogging fingers. He put a right hand to her left shoulder, feeling the soft velvet under his bare fingers. She jumped slightly, the tapping coming to an end mid-verse as she hastily looked in his direction. He chuckled. “Did I surprise you my dear?” he calmly asked.

    She let out a slow breath before nodding slowly. She’d been waiting for him to get prepared, but he appeared so already. He wore his powdered wig, tied back carefully with a black ribbon. His clothes, also of soft velvet, were darker in color than hers. Tonight he chose to wear a dark green jacket trimmed with gold over his blue-green vest. His white undershirt and ascot contrasted heavily with his black pants and boots. “Shall we go?” he inquired as his hand slid from the woman’s shoulder to float in the air near her. Her gaze dropped to the soft hand and masculine fingers before resting her own hand gently on it. She rose to her feet before following him to the front door.

    Another night of whispers and rumors; another night that women could wonder how a British Lord could marry an Irish common woman, another night for the men to think derogatory thoughts of her background, another night that she could pretend she was one of them.