April 19, 1775

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       The moonlight flickered across the harbor as Jude’s hooves pounded against the brick road. The ripples of the starlight across the waves soothed the increasing anxiety mixed with dread that simmered in Darcy’s stomach as each hoof fall brought him closer to home. 

       He had been gone for nearly three weeks, his last assignment taking him close to the Virginia colony. As Jude thundered through the night, they veered away from the calm harbor and into the rapidly growing city of Boston. Shadows danced from building to building blanketing the road in their familiar shapes and the approached its center. 

       The dark silhouettes encapsulated his misery as they turned the last corner to a modest house, tucked between two grander ones. It's simple face was smothered with thick vines and aging moss, as if the house itself shamefully acknowledged its inferiority. The street boasted large, wealthy houses, leaving the small house easily recognizable. The house was dark and cold, no trace of life beneath the decaying exterior. As he dismounted, Jude nudged him slightly eliciting a smile and nuzzle from Darcy in return. The pair found the narrow, well-worn alley woven between the modest house in the middle and the grand house on the right, eager to reach the stable crafted especially for Jude. Rewarding Jude’s hard work with a cube of sugar and a bucket of oats, Darcy glanced quickly at his pocket watch; it was three-twelve in the morning. He unhooked the lantern and walked into the cold, empty house where the silence of the chipped, gray walls greeted him.  

       The walls seemed to narrow in as he made his way to the bedroom only to be greeted by the sight of his large empty poster bed. Each of the dark, wooden posts stared at him, as if taunting him for never being home. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he kicked his boots off and collapsed into the cold, vacant bed, the roughness of the pillow pricking his cheek. Sleep was gracious and took him immediately. 

       Several restless hours later, a crash followed by drunken amusement awoke Darcy. Dreading the moments to come, his body remained glued to the bed. Giggles resounded from the next room, followed by another crash, this time closer. The door opened seconds later and the unmistakable figure of Mary staggered into the room, her laughter faltering as her eyes found Darcy lying facedown on the bed. “Darcy!” He opened his eyes, reluctant to face the scene before him. “Darcy!” She screamed this time, “What are you doing here?”

       His body heavy like a barrel of gunpowder, Darcy heaved himself upward, unable to meet her gaze as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Mary.”

       “I was just–”

       “Out.” Darcy bit the word out like it physically hurt.

       “Well you see Elizabeth–”

       “No.” Darcy stood, cutting her off. She warily stepped back into the doorway, startled by his harshness. “Do not lie to me, Mary. Who is he?”

       “Darcy, darling.” Mary took a hesitant step toward him.

       Darcy winced, having seen this song and dance before. “Mary, I know that you are unfaithful to me when I am gone.”

       Mary took another step, “I would never.”

       Anger crept up his neck, “Please!” His voice rose sharply as he spun toward her. The agony in his eyes burned like a roaring fire as he tersely closed the distance between them. “No self respecting wife comes home at four in the morning! Not only that, but no faithful wife is disappointed to find her husband in her bed after he has been gone for weeks, with the possibility of never returning!”

       Mary’s eyes widened as she moved out of her husband's reach. “Don’t be dramatic, Darcy. You are just a spy.” Dismissing him with a wave, she started to unlace her dress.

       A haughty laugh escaped his chest as he turned to face his adulterous wife. “You have no idea what I do. No idea what I’m sacrificing.”

       “No. Darcy. I know exactly what you’re sacrificing for this bull-headed idea of liberty.”

       Darcy froze, the knot that had been forming in his stomach yanked taut by her words–Mary had never spoken to him with such resentment. His service to his country had clearly worsened the problems in their marriage more than he realized. “Mary, please,” he begged. Unable to finish the plea, he willed his gaze to convey the need he felt; the desperation to fix whatever this was, the need for her to love him again. He wanted her to understand that there were more significant issues than their hollow marriage and animosity. 

       “No, you sacrificed our marriage for your ideals a long time ago. ”Mary’s voice was cold and deliberate, cutting the facts as she saw them.

       “Mary…” How was he supposed to respond to that? Why could she not understand that he was doing all this for her. For them. For their future children. “I’ll sleep in the drawing room.”