Well, it has certainly been a long time since I've updated here. I have no excuse for that, although I've been doing plenty of writing in this 'verse.

This particular piece is set just before the Continental Congress convened in Philadelphia. There's a reference to Britain closing the port in Boston. Beyond that, there's violence in the story ahead, on the part of England, that would likely be considered abuse. If this isn't your thing, you might want to skip this particular short story.

New Jersey is tying the rosemary for drying when she hears the pounding on her door. She startles, frowning, and sets the bundle down. She doesn't know who could be visiting her—she hasn't been expecting anyone, and she's due to leave for Philadelphia within the week.

The banging on the door cuts off abruptly, and New Jersey is about to investigate the raised voices she hears when the maid bursts into the kitchen. "Miss Susanna," she gasps, clutching at the door frame, "Lord Kirkland is here!" She looks over her shoulder worriedly and adds, "He's angry."

New Jersey swears. She runs her hands worriedly over her skirts, clutching reflexively at her apron. "Did he bring soldiers with him?" Many of her people are angry over being forced to quarter redcoats—the soldiers move in like they own everything around them—and she doesn't know what she'd do if England brought his men here.

She'd never make it out to Pennsylvania.

The maid shakes her head. "Jack didn't see any. He was out watering the horses when Lord Kirkland rode down the lane and order him to see to his stallion."

New Jersey grimaces. It's been getting harder and harder for her to temper the dislike sparking in her gut whenever she thinks about England. More and more, she wants him off of her land, no matter how unsure she might be of revolution as a solution.

"Miss Susanna," the maid says urgently. "You mustn't keep him waiting!"

"All right, Lydia," she sighs. "Okay. I'm going. Would you just—keep tending to the rosemary." New Jersey doesn't miss the flash of relief that crosses her face. England's appearance has shaken her deeply.

An uncharitable part of New Jersey thinks it isn't fair, that she's the one who has to confront England, while Lydia can stay in the comforting confines of the kitchen, where the scent of calming herbs is heavy in the air.

But New Jersey pushes that thought away quickly. Lydia is human, and she's younger than New Jersey is. England is her responsibility, and no one else's. He's come to see her, anyway, and he surely would take offense, if she were to force him to deal with the humans she employs.

She straightens her shoulders and unwinds the apron from her waist. "I'll be back in a bit," she says to Lydia, as much to reassure herself as the other woman.

"Miss Susanna," Lydia starts, "please just—"

"I know, Lydia," New Jersey says quietly. "I'll be careful."

She can't justify stalling any longer, and she knows that the more she avoids England, the angrier he'll be, so she forces herself out of the kitchen. Her footsteps sound louder than normal against the wooden floor of the hallway, and New Jersey belatedly wishes that she and Lydia hadn't hung the rugs out to air.

When she reaches the drawing room door, she wonders if England can hear her coming.

New Jersey takes a deep, steadying breath and enters.

"There you are, Susanna," England says when she's shut the door behind her. He's staring out the window and doesn't turn around. "What in the world could have possibly kept you so long?"

England's voice is quiet, but New Jersey can hear the barely-controlled anger underneath that deceptively mild tone, and she can't help the shudder that shoots up her spine. He's not even looking at her, she thinks, somewhat distressed.

"I was drying herbs," she says softly. She keeps her eyes trained down at his feet, and hates herself a little for that.

Massachusetts had stared him dead in the eye and had dared him to shoot, and New Jersey can barely lift her head.

England whirls around to face her so fast that New Jersey takes a step back, her eyes flying up to meet his.

"Governor Franklin has been very dissatisfied with you lately," England says. New Jersey's jaw clenches, but she bites her tongue, and when she doesn't respond, England continues. "Your Assembly has been belligerent, and the governor has been in need of your assistance in cooling them down."

He seems to be expecting an answer, so New Jersey says, tightly, "I cannot control them."

England's eyes narrow. "Our King is even more displeased with you, with all of you," he says. His voice is deadly quiet, and New Jersey feels the first spark of fear in her belly. "You're lucky that Governor Franklin has put in a good word for you, at least, despite the annoyance."

New Jersey's jaw drops. "Annoyance?" She blurts, "Displeasure?" She closes her mouth with a clack when she sees England's face twist with anger.

"Exactly that, Susanna. The actions of these colonists are not befitting proper subjects of the Crown."

She knows it's a bad idea as soon as she opens her mouth again, but she can't seem to help herself when she cries, "You're the one who told us we've given up our rights as English subjects! You've told us that we aren't entitled to the same rights and protections as those living in Britain! And you've forced soldiers upon our people, and raised our taxes without consent—"

"Only to pay for that which you owe for protection against the French and those savages," England snarls.

New Jersey ignores him, voice rising hysterically, "And you've unlawfully closed our ports and massacred our people—"

She doesn't see the blow coming, but she feels the white hot burst of pain in her jaw when he hits her. She startles, yelping like a wounded animal, and loses her balance, dropping to her knees with a thump. New Jersey raises astonished eyes to England's and slowly lifts a hand to her mouth.

Her fingers come away bloody.

"You—" she starts. The metallic, iron taste of blood is thick on her tongue.

England steps forward, sneering when New Jersey jerks back, and crouches in front of her. His hand comes up to cup her jaw. He lifts her chin and stares directly into her eyes. "Do not cross me, girl," he says quietly. His hand shifts, and New Jersey feels his fingers curling around her neck. "You'll regret the day you do."

New Jersey trembles beneath his heavy hand, but she forces herself to say, "You've no right."

He squeezes, and New Jersey chokes on the words.

"I've every right," he replies. The pressure around her throat tightens, and she feels his fingers digging into her skin. "You're mine. My property to do with as I please. You exist for the pleasure of the Crown. Do not forget that."

New Jersey curls her fingers in her skirts, and tries to draw in air around the squeeze of his hand. England presses harder and only relents when New Jersey begins to see spots dancing before her eyes. She gasps, shuddering, when he drops his hand and stands.

"Remember," he says again, "Or I'll make you wish you were never born."

He turns away and leaves the room without a backwards glance. New Jersey can only watch him go with wide, terrified eyes, still trembling where he left her. Distantly, she can hear the front door slam, so she forces herself to her feet, though her legs are shaky.

She's not sure how she finds the strength, but she only stumbles twice as she tries to make her way back to the kitchen.

She walks as if in a daze till she finds Lydia where she left her, at the table with the rosemary.

The maid looks up when she enters, a smile on her lips, and New Jersey watches with a detached sort of fascination as her face twists in horror. "Lord above," she breathes, leaping to her feet. "Oh, Miss, what did he do to you?"

New Jersey flinches at the sudden movement, and Lydia is much more careful when she reaches to press a rag to her bloody mouth. It's only when Lydia rubs a thumb under her eyes that New Jersey realizes she's been crying, too.

"He…" she starts, voice raspy. She cuts the words off and starts again, heart pounding in her chest. She doesn't want to relive those moments. "I need to go to Philadelphia," she says instead. "Help me pack."

"It's so late in the day," Lydia starts, "and your face…"

"Philadelphia," she repeats, latching on to the one thing that will get her away from here. "I need—"

"Okay," Lydia says, "all right. Let me draw a bath for you first, and then I'll gather your things. And you'll need something for your throat."

"No tea," New Jersey croaks.

"Broth," Lydia replies. "Now come."

New Jersey does.

Notes:

I've covered a few of the things here that were among the causes of the American Revolution, including the closures of Boston port and the Boston Massacre and the quartering of soldiers. In addition to that, the American colonists did not believe that they were be treated like proper British subjects, because Parliament passed laws that affected the colonies without actually consulting the colonists who lived there. While independence was a last resort when no compromise with the crown could be reached, the tension had been building steadily for years.