Chapter Text
“I declare you, Theodosia Bartow Prevost and Jacques Marcus Prevost, husband and wife!”
The cheering of family and friends was subdued as they took each other’s hands, intertwining their fingers to create the message “W R I T F W R O T E” across their knuckles. Everyone was born with letters tattooed on their knuckles, (ladies on the left hand, gentlemen the right hand, as Theodosia’s grandmother had told her long ago) and when one laced their fingers with their soulmate, it completed a meaningful phrase to them. Neither of them were sure what it meant to them yet, but they were willing to wait and find out, with each other.
They were brought back to the present, “Mister Prevost, I do believe it is due time that you kissed your new bride.” The preacher smiled at the couple.
Jacques gazed adoringly at their hands together, then slid his hand around her waist and brought Theodosia into a tender kiss. When they opened their eyes, flower petals were drifting around them and cheers were still trickling from their family and friends.
“I love you, Jacques Marcus,” she whispered with a small grin.
“I know. I love you too, my darling Theodosia.” His breath was warm as it fell on her face. They squeezed each other closer, sharing soft warmth. The world felt light; the world felt right.
****
Theodosia opened her eyes carefully. From where she was lying in bed, she could see grey morning sky between the branches of the cedar outside her window. She yawned. It was time to start another day.
Marcus had left for Georgia three months ago, kissing her sweetly and inadequately on the cheek before he boarded his carriage. She waved goodbye- he didn’t see it as he drove away. Theodosia sighed and moved on.
Ferris- the butler- had brought breakfast and the mail when she came into the dining room. She tied her dressing robe and took a seat. The children were thankfully still asleep, it seemed. She thanked him and sifted through the letters; a few postcards from Marcus, a letter from her mother, and an invitation. The latter had sparked her curiosity. Setting the others aside, she opened the envelope and read about the event.
Washington had invited her to a “Winter’s Ball” of sorts, some fancy party in the city. Theodosia sat back in her chair. It had been ages since she’d gone to the city, and far longer since she had gone to anything social. She sighed a laugh – if she went, would she even have anything to wear? Taking a bite of eggs, she set the idea aside and read the rest of her mail.
After breakfast, she retired to the study to reply to her mother’s letter. However, Theodosia found herself frequently distracted with thoughts of the ball. She remembered the glimmering eyes, the ringing music, the light warmth of champagne in her belly. This was something she realized she desperately wanted.
Despite having other things that really did need to get done, Theodosia found herself standing in front of her open dresser. Satins and velvets passed between her fingers in pastel greens, rich navies, cherry reds and pale yellows. Her finest gowns; each with special memories of their occasions woven into them. She paused to recollect, before grabbing a hanger and holding the dress against her frame. It was a silk crimson gown that she had made for her 18th birthday. Theodosia was 23 now; but the memories of five years prior flooded back with every bit of vibrancy as the day they had been made. They had made a whole roast pig, apple in its mouth and all, and Marcus had danced with her until her feet were sore. His eyes had shone the brightest she could ever remember that night, and she let herself be taken by their beauty.
“Madam?” Ferris asked. “What are you doing swinging around the dressing room so? And with your old dress?”
Theodosia came back to the present. The butler and two of her children were peeking from the doorway, curiosity riddling their faces. She tiredly listened as her heartbeat slowed in her ears, and with a strange feeling in her heart she knew she could not let this go. Inhaling, she made the decision.
“Ferris, I was invited by George Washington to a Winter’s Ball a fortnight from tomorrow. I... I am going.”