Ah, how about some classic Lizzie/Simcoe argument fluff?

“Well, surely you don’t blame me?”

Innocence - or at least, the pretence of innocence - did not suit John Graves Simcoe at all. Lizzie couldn’t make up her mind whether it was the irritating little self-satisfied smile that tugged on the corner of his mouth, or the way he widened his eyes, as though to feign child-like naivete. The trouble was, he was infuriatingly unable to shake, even a little.

‘If Sergeant Murray loiters about the Three Cripples in his own time, that’s his own business...’ he spread his hands, as though showing helplessness. ‘Surely he’s not caused trouble? 

‘I’m not an idiot, John. It’s not his own time, is it?’ Lizzie put her hands on her hips. ‘He doesn’t drink, does he? The Widow West tells me he’s a Scottish Covenanter. And he’s told her he’s been ordered here when you’re gone. So... tell me the truth, this time. Not some faradiddle about how you can’t control your own officers. Because I don’t believe that for one second…’ she paused, before delivering another verbal broadside. ‘Are you having me watched? In my own home? Like some jealous Italian in a third-rate revenge tragedy?’

He looked indignant at that. ‘Certainly not. I have no desire to play Othello in my domestic affairs.’

‘All right then. So... do you suspect me of rebel sympathies? You think I’m a dangerous conspirator, in secret communication with Washington?’

‘Why, has he asked for a painting?’ John said innocently. ‘I wouldn’t take his commission if I were you, my dear. You’d certainly lose on the speculation. Congress’ money is barely worth the paper it’s printed on.

Lizzie turned towards the shabby settle, searching for a cushion to throw at him.

‘John, I will strangle you unless you-’

‘All right, if you will have it -’ He coughed. ‘Things are a little... uncertain, at the moment.’

‘Uncertain?’

‘Uncertain. Some of my orders suggest we may be moving out of New York. I simply wanted to take...precautions.’ He avoided meeting her startled gaze. ‘Murray’s a good man. Stoutest soldier I ever met, and he’s honest to a fault.  He’d see you safely out of New York if anything happened.’

‘Oh.’ Lizzie stopped, sobered. ‘John, surely it won’t come to that-’

‘Most likely it won’t. Still, I’m not some green fool who doesn’t make provision just because his officer’s plume has gone to his head and he thinks he’ll live forever.’

Touched, Lizzie went over to him, resting her chin on the top of his head as he sat in his chair. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me so?’

She could see why. He was frowning, reluctant to admit the possibility of failure, even now. ‘Because it shouldn’t happen. But... if it did...’

Lizzie closed her eyes and kissed his cheeks, gently cradling his head in her arms. They stayed like that for a full five minutes, before, shaking off the mood, he looked up at her.

‘I do have a secondary motive, of course.’

‘Of course?’

He gestured towards the bar. ‘Murray has something of a tender penchant for your good landlady. She’s a God-fearing woman, and they’ve been thrown together a good deal.’

‘Oh? And who’s to blame for that?’

‘Who?’ Simcoe turned his face upwards to kiss the tip of her nose. ‘Well, surely you can’t blame me...’