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Blue Devils (Part 2) by Jedishampoo |
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Title: Blue Devils Part Two Author: Jedishampoo
***
Lucy did not feel brave. She felt quite foolish. When Combs had told her that Sophie had bundled up to venture outside, Lucy had hardly believed her ears. She’d probably gone out after the officers, despite her denials of the previous evening.
Chasing a man was not worth much as an everyday exercise, and certainly it was not worth risking death. Lucy’s excuse was that she had to fetch Sophie back inside before the silly thing froze her toes off.
But it seemed it would be Lucy who froze her toes off. These boots had seemed so sensible when she’d put them on, but she was barely a half-mile from the house and already she couldn’t feel her feet.
"Lucy! You’ve come to join us! You see, Mr. Kennedy?" Sophie turned to the fair-haired lieutenant. "Ladies are brave!"
"I had no doubt of it," the young man replied with admirable gallantry in the face of such fustian. "But--"
Lucy interrupted. "I’ve not come out here to play, you silly girl. I’ve come to fetch you back! You shouldn’t be out here with these men--"
"Don’t worry, Lucy," Sophie cut her off. "It’s too cold for canoodling."
But the exasperated Lucy was going to finish. "And bothering them while they try to work! And don’t say ‘canoodling.’" It seemed her words fell on deaf ears, whipped away as easily as her frosted breath.
But the other lieutenant, the tall, slender, dark-haired one, turned from his work and gave her a half-bow. "Do not worry, ma’am," he said, kindly. Lucy felt a hundred years old. "The weather is getting worse. We will all be returning to the house soon."
Sophie just laughed and grabbed Lucy’s arm. "Then let us play while we have the chance," she said. "Only look at how deep the snow is over there! Have you ever seen the like?"
"Not here," Lucy had to admit. It was pretty, just very, very cold. She decided she could stand the weather for perhaps five more minutes. They really weren’t in the men’s way, and the Lord knew Sophie had little enough fun in her life anymore.
Neither had Lucy. Once she’d married John Daventry, seventeen years ago, she’d given up her life of girlish gaiety for the life of a respectable matron. It had not been a hardship; she and John had cared for each other, and they’d cultivated a warm circle of literate friends.
When John died she’d lived more quietly, first out of grief and then out of comfort. Then her dearest Letitia had passed on, and Lucy had clung to Sophie to assuage the loss of her best friend. She’d taken the thirteen-year-old girl to Devonshire and found her a governess and had done all she could to nurture the girl’s mind in the absence of her mother.
At Sophie’s come-out last spring, Lucy had remembered what it was truly like to have fun as they’d explored London together and tripped from ball to dinner to rout to ball, making new friends and, in Lucy’s case, reacquainting themselves with old ones. That Captain Lord Rundell had seemed a good enough fellow at first and Lucy had encouraged the relationship. But when Roger objected to the match the captain had turned into a sort of blackguard. Rather than respect Sophie’s father’s wishes, he’d convinced her to run off with him and to force Roger’s hand. The plot had been reported by a loyal maid, and Roger had made some threat which drove the Captain off. Thinking back, Lucy wondered if the man had only been after Sophie’s dowry, which was considerable.
Lucy heard a giggle and she turned to see what mischief Sophie was up to now. But the girl was only laughing and playing in the snow while the men examined the coach. She decided a few more moments wouldn’t hurt either of them.
Icy crystals stung her exposed cheeks and Lucy angled her face out of the wind, stepping over to the relative shelter of a fir. But the gale whipped about, coming from all directions, and she didn’t know which way to turn. Her foot must have found a depression in the ground, hidden by a drift of snow. She overbalanced, leaning forward in snow up to her waist. A quick, hard gust caught her from behind and she pitched face-first into the drift. Her open mouth filled with snow.
Lucy’s first thought was that snow that crept under one’s collar and beneath one’s skirts stung like pricks from many sharp little knives, at least until it numbed her already-cold skin. Her next thought was that she couldn’t hear for the snow in her ears and was not sure that anyone had seen her fall. She was buried, and they would search and search for her yet not find her until the snow melted and left only her frozen corpse behind.
Then she felt hands squeeze her ribs, just below her breasts. She was being lifted, and the hands upon her were quite indecent. She opened her mouth to say so but spat out only caked ice. She was set on her feet and the hands grabbed her shoulders to turn her about.
"Ma’am?"
It was Mr. Hornblower gazing down at her with worry in his brown eyes. He steadied her with one gloved hand and brushed at the snow on her cheeks with the other. His face was flushed with the cold and beautiful in its concern, and mortification filled her.
"I--" she began to say, but couldn’t find the words to continue.
"Are you all right?" His full lips curved in a small smile of relief.
"Lucy!" That was Sophie. She and Mr. Kennedy were running to join her. There were tears in her brown eyes. "Oh, Lucy! If you are injured, I shall never forgive myself."
"I-- I am all right," Lucy managed to choke out. "Let us return."
"Yes," Mr. Hornblower agreed. His hand still gripped her shoulder. "Men! Time to give up and head back."
"Aye aye, sir!" The relief written on the men’s faces was evident even to Lucy’s ice-fuddled eyes.
"Can you walk?" asked Mr. Kennedy, he of the concerned blue eyes. Sophie clung quite brazenly to his arm in her terror, but Lucy was too cold to care.
"Of course," she answered him. She tried to turn, to take a step, but her feet seemed frozen to the ground. Her legs wouldn’t obey her commands. They only wobbled.
Mr. Hornblower slid an arm about her shoulders with shocking familiarity. "You’re not walking anywhere, I don’t think," he said. Without warning his other arm caught her behind her knees, which buckled at last. Then she was hoisted into the air like a sack and he began to carry her towards the house.
"Ah!" Lucy started to protest, but had to wrap her arms around his neck to keep from tumbling to the ground.
"I’m sorry about this, ma’am," he said, turning to face her with a genuine smile. "You will forgive me, I’m sure."
Lucy couldn’t answer. His smile showed a wide mouth with straight white teeth. His dark eyes were full of humor and at that moment Lucy would have sworn he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen.
Perhaps it was their shameful proximity, she told herself. Lucy hadn’t been this close to a man in a decade, and she fancied she could feel the heat of his lean body through both their coats. She only shivered slightly and averted her gaze but that was no better. Here she was forced to examine the way his dark hair curled about his ears. With an utter licentiousness she hadn’t known she possessed, she imagined licking melting drops of water from his earlobes.
Closing her eyes and banishing the thought, Lucy held on tight. Either an interminable length of time later or all too soon, Lucy couldn’t decide, they reached the house and she was whisked off to her room by Sophie and a group of concerned servants.
***
Horatio and Archie whisked themselves off to dry out in the drawing room. A roaring fire boiled in the grate and Horatio gratefully stretched out his stockinged toes to it.
The time had come to be philosophical. It was snowing again. The coach required much more work. Thus, the decision of how to leave had been taken from their hands. They’d done everything they could for the time being. But he did send up a brief prayer that the other recruiting lieutenants were stuck in the snow as well. Somewhere safe, of course.
"Well, we tried," commented Archie from the chair beside him, as if echoing his thoughts. He looked worried.
"That we did." Horatio smiled and waved a languid hand to show that he was not angry. "I only hope that poor woman is all right."
"I am sure she is. Ladies are much more resilient than you might think. Only think of the women belowdecks."
Horatio hmphed. "Yes, but they are not ladies…"
"I agree. Yet Sir Roger is no gentleman, whatever he may think."
As if summoned, that gentleman strode into the drawing-room with an "ahem" to catch their attention.
"No luck with your coach, eh?" he said, not showing any evidence that he’d heard himself mentioned. He brushed his jacket sleeves and scowled. "Demned snow is falling again. Suppose you’ll have to stay another night."
It was obvious that he wasn’t happy about it. Horatio and Archie looked at each other. Horatio couldn’t trust himself to speak at that moment, so he let Archie reply.
"Only if you are not inconvenienced, sir."
"What? No, er, wasn’t saying that, eh?" he said and waved, as if only just then becoming aware of his own rudeness. "Dinner at six, as usual. Just ask a maid if you want the tea-tray before then. Er. Thank you for taking care of Mrs. Daventry. Obliged."
"My pleasure," Horatio told him. "She was a little shaken, but I think she will be all right. She shows an admirable concern for your daughter."
"O’ course. Gels need watching." He straightened his already-straight waistcoat with a nervous jerk, then turned about. "Going to check on her now. Shall see you later." With that, he was gone.
Archie just rolled his eyes at Horatio again. Words were not necessary, and neither of them was going to risk once more being caught denigrating their host. But Horatio for one was not looking forward to dinner.
Neither was he feeling philosophical any longer. "We need to get out of here," he said.
***
Sophie sat at Lucy’s bedside and tried to assuage her feelings of guilt. She really was a sore trial to her godmother, she knew.
But Lucy had been stripped and dressed in dry clothes and was now as comfortable as could be, tucked into the covers, propped against the pillows and supplied with an afternoon hot chocolate. The dear lady had assured her over and over that she was fine. Sophie couldn’t help but think that she looked unnaturally flushed, however.
"Lucy, darling, are you sure you are all right?" Sophie asked for the fourth or fifth time, adjusting the covers to be sure her friend was adequately snug.
"Please do not ask me again, dear!" Lucy laughed in an almost-normal voice. "I assure you I am quite well. I am almost completely warmed through."
"You should not have had to go out into the cold." Sophie sighed and decided to come clean. God was probably watching her and waiting for it. "I was chasing after the men, I admit it. I am such a hoyden."
"You have been making a bit of a cake of yourself." Despite the words, Lucy favored her with a gentle smile. "I just don’t understand why you cannot chase after someone suitable."
"You mean someone Papa will approve of?"
"Yes." Lucy’s tone was dry, and Sophie was encouraged.
"But his views are so narrow!" The intimacy of the conversation was too much, and once Sophie had started to unburden herself she decided to go all out. She was in love! She needed a comfortable coze with another woman. "Is the Lieutenant not divine?"
"He is handsome, I suppose," said Lucy with the repressing sense of the older generation.
"His eyes are so blue, I swear I could not feel the cold when I gazed into them."
"Oh." Lucy looked surprised. "You are talking about Mr. Kennedy?"
"Of course, stoopid!" Sophie laughed, and then a strange thought occurred to her. "You do not think I meant Mr. Hornblower? He is not to my taste at all. His nose is as big as Papa’s, I swear. No. Mr. Kennedy is adorable." She dropped her voice. "I know it is wicked to say so, but the way his earlobes curl makes my insides feel all funny."
Lucy choked on her chocolate. Alarmed, Sophie took the mug and patted her on the back until she stopped coughing. "I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?"
"No," Lucy said. "But you do need to curb your tongue, dear. You have been taught how to go on in polite company. I do not understand why you do not do so!"
"I know," Sophie sighed. Her earlier guilt was evaporating under the new lecture. She did not understand what upset Lucy so much. Hadn’t her grandmother once told her that in the old days, women spoke their minds? She, Sophie, had made a study of the ‘flash lingo,’ and she’d never failed to elicit a laugh whenever she displayed her talents to the soldiers. Captain Rundell, especially, had told her how very clever she was.
Sophie patted Lucy’s shoulder, and sighed again. Captain Rundell was gone, but she was lucky to have such a handsome and brave and good-humored man to replace him. That thought reminded her that she still had to contrive to see as much of him as possible while the snow lasted.
She stood and smiled at Lucy again. "If you are indeed well, then I shall leave you to rest."
"I do feel a little tired. I shall see you at dinner. And behave yourself!"
***
Lucy had never felt less tired in her life. Her thoughts were in turmoil. She lay back against the pillows and tried to clear her mind.
Perhaps women were weak. Both she and Sophie were being a little bit silly over a pair of very young men. Sophie more understandably so, of course, considering her age. Yet Lucy had thought she was past all that.
But when one thought about it, thirty-six was not so very old. On impulse she crawled from under the covers to sit at her dressing-table. Her dark, unpinned tresses flowed about her shoulders. The curls showed no signs yet of turning to grey. And her skin was still clear if not as firm as it had been on the eve of her own come-out. Tiny lines graced the corners of her eyes, but Lucy decided that they were hardly noticeable.
A knock on her door heralded the arrival of a visitor. Feeling more foolish than ever, Lucy leapt back into the bed and pulled up the covers before calling out for the visitor to enter. It was Roger.
"Hallo, Lucy," he said, taking a couple of tentative steps into the room. "Feeling up to snuff, I hope? May I visit for a moment?"
Lucy was warmed by his concern. "Of course, you may, Roger! Sit down."
Always observing the proprieties, Roger left the door open the requisite two inches before seating himself in the bedside chair so recently vacated by Sophie. "So you took a tumble in the snow, eh? Bet you haven’t done that for many a year."
He chuckled and Lucy chuckled with him. For a second she was reminded of Roger when he’d married Letitia all those years ago. He’d been a dashing and amiable fellow, and Letitia had been thoroughly in love with him for all that he was twenty years older than she. Barely a hint of his family’s pomposity had shown in him, then.
After Letitia’s death they’d comforted each other as friends. But without the laughing, playful influence of his wife that hint of consequence had taken him over until he was full of it. Still, Lucy could not deny his kindness in visiting her now.
"So it appears our party is to be postponed," Lucy said with a smile.
"Yes, more’s the pity," he said, and sighed. "I was hoping to have Sophie puffed off without bearing the expense of another Season."
Despite knowing him as she did, Lucy was a little shocked at his lack of paternal feeling. "We both want her to meet suitable young men. But surely you would like to enjoy her company while you have the opportunity?"
"Bah," he said with a smile and a wave of his ringed hand. "Too much frippery. Plaguey things, women."
Lucy did not remind him that she was, in fact, a woman. "Sophie is young yet. She will find someone. Not all young people can be as lucky in marriage as we were."
"Eh. I suppose." He looked uncomfortable at the intimate conversation. Lucy was again reminded of the past, and of a time when she had wondered if perhaps they might have been more than friends. But she had been cured of that wonder long ago.
"Perhaps--" she started to say.
"I hope--" he started.
They both laughed. "You first, please," said Lucy.
He nodded. "I hope you will be well enough to join us for dinner."
"Thank you Roger." She smiled at him fondly. "I believe I shall."
"Good," he said. "I count on you and your good sense to keep my Sophie from making sheep’s-eyes at those young niffy-naffy fellows."
Lucy couldn’t believe her ears. "They have been perfect gentlemen, Roger."
But he had worse to say. "Gentlemen. Ha! That Mr. Hornblower is the son of a doctor. Did you hear that?"
"I had heard." Lucy tried to keep her tone neutral. "But nevertheless, he has been very kind--"
"Naval officers!" Roger was on a roll now. "One the offspring of a doctor. The other a Scot. At my dinner-table! Have you ever heard the like?"
Lucy didn’t answer at first. What a horrible, pompous old man he was, she thought. A dried-up old stick. But he was watching her with an expectant smile. She chose words carefully and forced them from her lips.
"Well, I suppose your dignity can bear their presence for another day or two. This weather won’t last."
"Let’s hope so, eh?" he barked. "But I don’t even want to see ‘em unless I have to. You will keep a sharp eye on them for me, won’t you?"
"I will." That Lucy could answer truthfully. She would watch them as closely as possible for as long as possible. And she would enjoy it. As an added inducement, she would be spared Roger’s company during those times.
"Good, good." He stood and smiled the smile of a man who had no idea what was going on in a lady’s head. "I shall see you at dinner, eh?"
She managed to agree that she would, and he left. The very air of the room seemed to freshen and clear, and Lucy felt a long-buried, long-dormant seed of rebellion begin to burst forth within her. If all that her aura of respectability had gained her was that Roger, someone she’d known for longer than almost anybody, would think her capable of his level of pomposity, then she wanted none of it.
She decided then and there that she would let Sophie do whatever she wished while she was young and could enjoy it, short of ruining herself. Lucy got up to dress.
***
After a light luncheon off the tea-tray in the drawing room, Archie retired to the library, followed by Horatio. Archie flipped through the books while Horatio stared out the window with ab apparent deepening moroseness as the minutes ticked by and the wind continued to blow.
Archie regarded the available reading material with a jaundiced eye. It was a better selection than he might have on board ship, but certainly not impressive in relation to the rest of the house. The ‘library’ consisted only of two walls of books, apparently chosen more for aesthetics than as an indicator of anyone’s particular taste. Books of sermons shared shelf space with ancient travel tomes that had probably never been opened.
"Oh, you don’t want to read those books," came the voice of Miss Sophie from the doorway.
Archie turned to greet her with a smile and a small bow. Over by the window Horatio stood but otherwise hardly acknowledged her presence.
She strolled into the room accompanied by a small, dark maid. Personally, Archie welcomed the interruption, since there were no good books to read and flirting was an enjoyable substitute. And she was an appealing sight. She’d changed into some blue thing which was just as impractical as the pink thing she’d worn at breakfast, and which showed an equally delectable expanse of bosom. Her time in the snow had left her cheeks even pinker. Youth and exercise were to be applauded.
"Why do I not, Miss Persalt?" he asked.
"Nobody reads those books," she said, waving a dismissive little hand and confirming his earlier deductions. "The really good ones are here."
She floated over to a black-lacquered cabinet in the corner. When she bent to its doors she faced him and revealed her plump breasts to him in almost their entirety. She even gave them a little shake as she jerked the doors open. Archie would have sworn she did it all for his benefit. After a brief moment of shock he imagined kneeling by the cabinet and burying his nose in their soft flesh, just to see what she would do.
In all likelihood she’d slap him, the maid would scream, and he and Horatio would be thrown out into the snow by the manor’s army of footmen. That brief thought was thus swallowed, but still she was gesturing at the books. Clearly, she wanted him to look. At the books.
So he did step over to kneel and look. At the books. "It appears you have a fiction selection after all," he said, examining the bindings, and making a great effort not to turn his face into her décolletage. Somehow he registered that a row of novels occupied the top shelf, including the complete works of Mrs. Radcliffe and the three volumes of Burney’s Evelina. Another shelf consisted of bound plays and poems. Restoration titles, mostly, Lovelace and the like. And of course the requisite copy of Burns.
"Yes! These are mine and Lucy’s. Papa never looks here."
Archie was disappointed at the lack of Shakespeare but surprised by the mix of other titles. "The Way of the World?" he asked, pulling out one very slim, engraved volume.
"I love that one! So romantic. Lucy took me to see the play once, in London."
"Romantic?" he asked. "I would have said a mercenary satire."
"Oh, well." She stood and waved a blithe hand at him. Her skirts brushed blue silk at his hand. "Mirabell is a bit of a queer cove and he does pull a rum bite, but it’s all for love, and all turns out well in the end."
Across the room Horatio choked on something. Air, perhaps.
"Do you think so?" Archie laughed at her unique summation of the plot. "But you are forgetting--"
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." The voice was that of Mrs. Daventry. That lady waved off the maid and seated herself by the library fire. She was flushed, but otherwise seemed to have recovered from burial in the snow. "Do not mind me! I am here to play chaperon once more."
Horatio showed a little more interest in her arrival than he had Miss Sophie’s, but after a bow he reseated himself at the window.
"Mr. Hornblower," Mrs. Daventry was smiling at him. "I apologize for my clumsiness sir, and I wanted to thank you for taking care of me after my foolish fall."
Horatio showed a rare animation at that. "Please don’t apologize!" he said. He had flushed a little as well, probably embarrassed at the memory of having carried such a fine lady like a sack of grain. "I’m glad to see you recovered."
Miss Sophie grinned, once more unrepentant. "My Lucy is a trooper!"
"What are we reading, gentlemen?" Mrs. Daventry asked.
"Just looking at the moment," Archie told her. "We were discussing Congreve."
"Ah. Do you read, Mr. Hornblower?" She seemed determined to bring Horatio into the conversation. Archie remembered how the ladies had watched him the night before, and began to wonder if she was indeed in love with him. Horatio could be quite the hero when he wished.
His friend did not look heroic at the moment, only ill at ease. But he turned his chair to the company as if resolved to be polite. "I studied Greek and mathematics in school, but rarely read them anymore except when needed," he allowed. "I sometimes read a little history."
Miss Sophie wrinkled her little nose. "How very dry, Mr. Hornblower!"
"History is important, Sophie," Mrs. Daventry pointed out. "It gives us a context for the fiction, and shows us how we’ve evolved as higher beings."
"I still prefer fiction alone," Miss Sophie maintained.
"Like Mrs. Radcliffe?" Archie asked with a laugh, not above teasing her. Mrs. Radcliffe was famous for her overblown sentiment and gothic, noxious villains who stole young women away to exotic locales. He’d tried to read The Mysteries of Udolpho once, for a laugh. "Doesn’t it give you nightmares?"
"Pooh! The spirits are never real. The girls are very silly. And they are always being almost seduced, but it never happens."
Archie expected Mrs. Daventry to curb the sauciness of Miss Sophie’s speech, but outside of a raised eyebrow she let that one pass. Then he considered asking if she herself would rather have been seduced, but decided that would be going too far.
"I wouldn’t know," he only said.
They spent a pleasant, for him at least, hour or so in the company of the ladies. When Archie wasn’t trying to avoid being caught staring at Miss Sophie’s bosom or laughing at one of her youthful witticisms, he watched Mrs. Daventry trying to talk to his friend.
Without being too overt she drew out Horatio bit by bit, forcing him to talk in fits and starts. And Horatio made an attempt to be gracious, though Archie knew he’d rather have been alone to sulk. The older lady was well-versed in literature and history, and so she never lacked for conversational starters whenever Horatio appeared about to stall.
Archie was grateful to her for distracting him. Every minute that passed was one more minute that their newly-recruited men were either at the mercy of London or of the perhaps unknown warrant officers on the Kestrel, and Archie knew that if he was conscious of that fact then Horatio was at least doubly so. Archie wished for a minute that they’d sent Matthews with the men and kept Styles close by. But that could have been worse; Styles and his boisterousness would likely have had them thrown out already.
"Cook is planning something special. We have lots of extra food but since our guests aren’t coming, at least I don’t think they are, then you are to benefit by it! Cook does very well, as I’m sure you know. Papa refuses to hire a French chef."
Archie realized that Miss Sophie was chattering at him. "Oh?" he asked, lamely, fixing his eyes on her brown ones, and not anywhere else, as she played with her gown.
Horatio must have heard, because he stood and gave Archie a speaking look. "We should probably clean up before dinner," he said.
Archie didn’t point out that they still had a couple of hours before dinner, but stood and said his reluctant goodbyes.
***
Horatio followed Archie to his room and paced for a bit while Archie sat upon his bed and watched him. It was good to have a bit of quiet. Mrs. Daventry was an intelligent and good-looking lady and their conversations had not been all that terrible. But it had been a fleeting distraction at best. He had responsibilities and his powerlessness in the face of the weather was wearing on him more and more. It was like prison in Spain, but instead of guards they were hemmed in by snow drifts and cold.
But though he’d wanted some time out of company he wasn’t ready to be alone just yet. Archie wasn’t the most patient of men either, but he must have read Horatio’s mood because he just sat and stared at him, waiting for him to speak.
"I think the snow is stopping," Horatio said after a few rounds of the room.
Archie leaned back on his hands. "It will have to sooner or later. Don’t worry, Horatio. Once the roads clear we’ll be in London within hours."
"Not if we can’t get the coach fixed." Horatio pointed out the window.
Archie gave a half-turn and rolled his eyes as if damning the stage-coach. "Sir Roger will send us in his private coach, I am sure, just to be rid of us."
"He will if you keep flirting with that girl." Saying it reminded Horatio of yet another of his worries. "I think she has decided she is in love with you. She is shameless. Did you see her gown?"
Archie just laughed. "You noticed! Unlike you to be so perceptive, Horatio."
"I could hardly not notice!" Not only had the silly girl bent over several times, showing her navel to the company, she’d twitched her gown about as if begging for someone to look at her legs. Horatio couldn’t believe that the sensible Mrs. Daventry would let the girl run on so. And Archie certainly had done nothing to discourage it. Horatio lowered his eyebrows in a glare and again pointed a finger, this time at Archie. "Be careful. Don’t lead her on. We must get to London. And you don’t want Sir Roger for a father-in-law, do you?"
"If only! But I doubt Sir Roger would take me." Horatio stared at him, suddenly terrified, and Archie smiled to show he was teasing. "Don’t worry! I’m in no danger of falling in love."
Just in lust, thought Horatio, but didn’t say it aloud, because Archie had very kindly not pointed out that Horatio had been known to be distracted by the fairer sex himself. Horatio wasn’t completely immune to the charms of a woman, after all. They so rarely saw females. At least, such attractive females, he amended to himself. There had only been one or two...
But there was no excuse here. That girl was an utter twit, mooning after Archie in so blatant a manner, and would probably get them all into trouble. Now, if Archie had decided to flirt with the widow, Horatio would have been less surprised. She was all squishy and womanly, he remembered with a twinge of shame at himself for doing so. Besides, one knew better where one stood with a mature or independent woman. Young society virgins were dangerous territory.
"Just be careful," was all he asked, finally.
"She’s just a jolly girl. And well-protected," Archie said.
"Archie…"
"Yes, sir," Archie sighed and finally said with a commendable lack of salute or irony.
Horatio decided to change the subject from the uncomfortable one of ladies to ships. Now ships, he understood. "Do you think that the Captain even has the ship stocked yet?"
"He’s the captain. We must trust him to take care of that without us. You can’t be responsible for everything."
"I know," Horatio said, feeling a sudden need to sit down. He did so, next to Archie. There came a time when one had to laugh at oneself, else one would go insane. "You’d think I’d never been on land before to hear me, wouldn’t you?"
Archie punched his shoulder and laughed as well. "Don’t be so afraid, Horatio. Only a day or so more, and you’ll be back in your element. Being asked to dine with Duchesses and Marquises."
Horatio felt better for the teasing. He had been through much more frightening social situations than the one he currently found himself embroiled in. But then another thought struck him.
"They’ll want us to tell more stories, won’t they?"
Archie sighed. "Sing for your supper, Horatio."
***
Cook had outdone herself with this dinner, thought Lucy as she watched the first course being rolled out. Mock turtle soup, pigeons, kidneys in rice, fricasseed chicken, a fish remove, salad, harricot, beef olives and more followed one another until the table seemed bent under the weight of the food piled upon it.
She had been ravenously hungry but wondered if she’d be able to eat a bite. Outside the wind had died, and the silence compared to the night before was noticeable. Inside a nervous tension hovered over the room. Lucy wasn’t sure she could pinpoint its source.
It could have been Roger, sitting at the head of the table and glaring awfully. The two young lieutenants, stiff in their freshly-pressed shirts, neckcloths and jackets were silent and goggling as dish after dish was placed before them. Even Sophie was mostly still, only giggling now and then at the quiet that pervaded the dining-room.
Or perhaps it was just her, Lucy. She’d had an odd day, to be sure, but that was almost no excuse for the nervous excitement that fluttered about inside her ribs like a trapped dove. She selected dishes at random, hardly knowing what she chose. Unable to think of anything to say, she smiled at the company in general, a forlorn hope to set everyone at ease.
Mr. Kennedy grinned back at her, white teeth bright in his weather-tanned face. He was quite handsome, Lucy supposed, and his manners were gracious and unaffected. One could see perhaps why Sophie was smitten. His golden hair had been combed flat over his ears, the ones Sophie had so admired, to be tied with a silk ribbon at his nape.
Almost unconsciously her gaze slid to Mr. Hornblower on her other side. He sat alone on his length of the table, staring at his nearly-empty plate. Perhaps he had tried to comb his hair. Nevertheless, unruly dark curls tumbled over his forehead and Lucy found herself examining his ears. One couldn’t blame her for noticing. One could hardly miss them, she thought. And Sophie had called his nose large, but Lucy thought it suited his face. He was strong-featured, like Roger, but where Roger had thin lips Mr. Hornblower’s were full and well-shaped, she’d noticed that earlier--
He glanced at her and reddened under her brazen inspection. An answering warmth crept into her face at being caught. Now she had to speak to cover her awkwardness.
"You should have some of the peas, gentlemen," she managed to say, thanking her years of social practice for helping her to sound almost natural. "They have been bottled and are still quite fresh."
"Thank you, ma’am," Mr. Kennedy answered. "We mostly eat dried peas at sea. These will be welcome."
"What do naval officers eat?" Sophie asked ingenuously, having found a jumping point into the sparse conversation.
"Dried biscuit, salted beef, dried peas, and water," he said.
Sophie’s eyes rounded in outrage. "You poor things!"
"That is the men, the rated sailors," Mr. Hornblower explained in the face of their agitation. "Usually the lieutenants purchase a few animals at the beginning of a voyage."
"But when those are gone, it’s back to dried beef and biscuit," Mr. Kennedy finished, and tucked into his pigeon.
"Surely the captain, at least, keeps a table," Roger roused himself to say.
"That depends upon the captain, but yes, in most cases," Mr. Hornblower said.
In the ensuing silence the footmen took away the removes, one or two of them untouched. A few new dishes took their places. One young footman, James, carried in a dish that was aflame. Lucy wondered if Cook was emulating the French, for it was a dish she hadn’t seen before and it wasn’t one she’d chosen for the menu. With a flourish James capped it with a silver lid and uncovered it again a few seconds later.
Everyone "aahed" in appreciation, glad for the distraction. James beamed and set the bowl on the table amid the other dishes.
Roger looked on with interest. "Is that the beef—what?"
Whatever was in the dish had caught fire again, flames licking dangerously close to the dried-flower centerpiece.
Without missing a beat Mr. Kennedy took the lid from the horrified footman and slammed it over the dish again, waiting a few moments to be sure the flame was doused. Then he handed the lid back to James in almost the same movement.
"Ooh, Mr. Kennedy!" Sophie gushed, and reached over to clasp his arm. "How wonderful!"
"Ahem!" Roger barked with a glare at Sophie. She removed her hand but grinned at the young man worshipfully nonetheless. Roger turned his ire upon the footman. "What is the meaning of this, eh?"
"Your pardon, sir," James stammered, shaking in his shoes.
"Back to the kitchens, James," Lucy said, and he scampered off. She would intervene on his behalf later.
Roger just continued to stare, and so Lucy stepped in again. "Mr. Kennedy. Thank you--"
"You’re welcome," he said with an easy wave of a hand. "Just like a fire ship sailing into anchorage, eh, Horatio?"
"Oooh, a fire ship?" Sophie said, clasping her hands at her breast. "What is that, pray tell?"
Horatio—Mr. Hornblower—answered. "An enemy will sometimes fill a ship with flammables, set it aflame and sail it into an opposing port, hoping to destroy helpless ships at anchor. They often succeed, because of course ships are filled with gunpowder."
"How awful," Lucy said, sure she sounded just like Sophie in her horror.
"Very dangerous," Mr. Kennedy agreed. "You were on one once, weren’t you, Mr. Hornblower?"
"You know very well that I was, Mr. Kennedy."
"This was during your examination for lieutenant, wasn’t it, Mr. Hornblower?"
Mr. Hornblower started to roll his eyes then seemed to remember that ladies were present. "Yes," was all he said.
But the trap had been baited. "Please tell!" Lucy demanded. "Do naval officers often take such dangerous examinations?"
"No." Mr. Hornblower glanced at Roger, but Roger was eating, not paying the slightest attention to the conversation now that James was not there to abuse for his clumsiness. He sighed and set down his fork. "It was ’96. I was sitting my examination for lieutenant in front of a board in Gibraltar, and was about to fail."
"Fail?" Lucy asked. "Surely not."
"Nevertheless, I was, and it was quite deserved," he said with a smug twist of his lips. Clearly he was more comfortable speaking of his failures than of his successes. "I was asked—well, never mind that, it was a question I could not answer. I was about to be failed, when we heard cannon fire and saw a rocket over Gibraltar harbor."
"A fired rocket is the sign for a general alarm," Mr. Kennedy explained.
"Yes," he nodded at the explanation. "There were fire ships in Gibraltar Harbor, sent by the Spaniards in Algeciras. The captains of the examination board had to force a rowboat’s crew at swordpoint to row out so that they could return to their ships."
Why would they want to, Lucy wondered with a shudder, but didn’t interrupt, engrossed already in the story and in the teller.
Horatio-- Mr. Hornblower-- continued. "One of the captains suggested that the closest fire ship could be steered clear if we could board her. He agreed to let me join him. We boarded, and the wheel was not yet on fire and the rudder was still answering, so we directed her toward the shoals of neutral ground. Then we jumped off."
Lucy was no sailor but could imagine the story in his native sailor’s jargon; how the heat from the fire roasted them, the terror felt by all as death sailed into the nest of ships. She hardly noticed the second course being brought in.
"Our rowboat was nowhere to be seen, and so we swam. It was cold, let me tell you, and neither Captain Foster nor I were the best of swimmers." He was getting warmed up now. "Finally, and luckily, we were picked up by another longboat. Alas, it was the Spaniards who’d set the fire ships upon us, and they were well-armed."
"All’s well that ends well," Roger said of a sudden, rudely, from the head of the table. "Lucy, d’ye suppose the Audleys are at an inn somewhere, or would they have even left Dover?"
Mr. Hornblower took a sip of his wine to cover up his unease at being interrupted. Mr. Kennedy smothered a grin with his napkin. Sophie gasped. Lucy simply stared at Roger in horror.
"Sir Roger," she finally said with a glare, past caring what he thought. "We have not yet heard how they escaped."
"Oh, very well. But then we should change the subject, eh?"
Lucy was mortified on Horatio’s behalf. "Please, finish," she begged.
He looked at Mr. Kennedy, then mumbled, "we were overtaken by two English boats, and that was the end of it."
"Were the Spaniards taken prisoner? Did you send one of their burning ships back to them?" Sophie asked. Even she was impressed and interested. Lucy wondered if Sophie would ask next to subscribe to the Naval Gazette.
"No, and no." He would say no more.
"You are a very brave man!"
"Indeed," Lucy agreed with a glare at Roger and a fond look at the officers. What remarkable young men they are, thought Lucy. She had never realized until that moment just how dangerous their lives were, and how they risked them daily in defense of King and country.
It was too bad they were only lieutenants and thus unmarriageable for naval officers, or else she might have thought either of them suitable as a match for Sophie after all. Of course, Mr. Hornblower did not have the sort of connections to provide a girl like Sophie with society when he was away at sea. Lucy would only barely admit to herself that distaste at the thought of Sophie sharing the intimacies of the marriage bed with Mr. Hornblower colored her opinion on that subject one bit.
Mr. Kennedy had a mischievous air about his face. "Didn’t Dreadnought Foster fight a duel with Black Charlie Hammond over the late rescue?"
"Duelling!" Roger grasped upon the subject with alacrity. "Now there’s a gentleman’s sport. Blood for honor, very commendable. Too bad it’s to be outlawed."
"It sounds a very dangerous business to me," Lucy said.
Mr. Kennedy smiled across the table. "Is it, Horatio?"
Sophie was predictably intrigued. "Did you fight a duel, Mr. Hornblower?" She turned to Mr. Kennedy. "Have you ever fought a duel?"
"Oh, hey. The haunch of venison. Finally," interrupted Roger again, picking up his knife. Poor Roger, thought Lucy without pity. He can find no safe topic of conversation. "D’ye want some, Lucy?"
That killed the subject as cold as the other. Mr. Kennedy finally gave up on his teasing, and as for Mr. Hornblower, he would hardly say another word the whole rest of the meal.
After nuts and sweetmeats the ladies retired to the drawing room. Lucy knew the men wouldn’t be far behind.
***
Archie had never thought that silence could be truly oppressive until he was forced to sit in a dining-room drinking port with Horatio and Sir Roger.
Sir Roger was a pompous ass, to be sure. Archie found it a novel experience, to be so wholly disapproved of on principle. That poor girl, to have to face that every day of her life. Archie had half a mind to run off with Miss Sophie, just to spite the old bastard.
And poor Horatio. He had a knack for making more enemies than Archie did, but how did one conquer rudeness from one’s host? Horatio could hardly run Sir Roger through with his sword, as much as he might like to.
"The beef was quite good, I think," Sir Roger said after a while.
"Indeed," Archie said.
"I did not try it," said Horatio.
"Hrm." Sir Roger clearly did not want to be in there more than either of they. "Suppose we should join the ladies?"
Both Archie and Horatio agreed with alacrity. They withdrew in silence to the drawing room, where they were greeted by glad smiles from the women.
Miss Sophie walked directly over to Archie and began to chatter about his heroics at the dinner-table. Archie was not averse to the attention despite the inherent danger in encouraging it.
But from the corner of his eye he could see Sir Roger scowling at this new situation. That gentleman effected a quick intervention. "D’ye gentlemen play cards? I suppose we can play for pins or something, eh, just to pass the evening?"
"Papa!" Miss Sophie looked alarmed. "You know I am hopeless at cards!"
"Well then you can find something else to occupy you, miss. Whist, gentlemen?"
At that Horatio admitted that he did indeed play cards. Reluctantly Archie admitted it as well. Playing cards with Horatio was torture. The man was single-minded and ruthless, and relished correcting Archie on his play.
Mrs. Daventry was to be the fourth, and Miss Sophie pulled a chair behind Archie to watch. The servants pulled out a table and they cut partners. Archie concealed a groan as he cut Horatio for first partner. They won the first rubber, through no help of his own. Sir Roger harrumphed, and Archie waited for the lecture. It was quick in coming.
"I see you still lead your aces, Archie."
Usually Archie took the criticism in stride, but after all he’d done today for his friend he felt the need to defend himself. "Of course. If I don’t, then they are useless when the opposition comes up short-suited."
Before Horatio could explain the wrongness of his thinking, Miss Sophie, bored already, stood and clapped her hands. "I know! I shall play the pianoforte for you all."
"Please do, dear," Mrs. Daventry concurred. "I should love to hear it."
Archie felt cheered immediately. Now Horatio would be the one tortured.
She was a more than passable player, not a professional by any means but it was clear she practiced. The playful, popular songs that tripped from her fingers lightened the mood of the room and made conversation unnecessary.
They all played at their various occupations until ten. Despite the distraction of the music Horatio trounced them all, as expected. Sir Roger came up the biggest loser, and Archie thought it a pity that they hadn’t been playing for real stakes after all.
But they all at least parted with civility. Yes, that was definitely a longing look that Mrs. Daventry cast at Horatio, and Archie found it inexpressibly diverting. He wondered if Horatio had even noticed.
And Miss Sophie. He was fond of her, he supposed, and a little intrigued. She was silly but not ignorant, and not a girl without feeling. Only see how she had warmed up even to Horatio, who of all people disapproved of her most.
But he could only feel sorry for her in fits and spurts. During dinner she’d pulled her earlier trick, leaning over to him at every opportunity and giving him glimpses of her pert, creamy breasts—she’d done everything short of spilling wine down her gown to wet it, and all under her father’s nose. She was a paradox.
As he reached to his room he was so occupied with thinking about everyone that he didn’t notice Miss Sophie following him.
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