Horatio Hornblower Fanfiction: Blue Devils by Jedishampoo

"Mr. Kennedy!" Sophie whispered as loud as she dared, and cast a glance over her shoulder, sure that Lucy or her father would hear her and catch her. Sophie had waited, and waited, hoping to get him alone, and here he was. "Wait, please!"

The light of her life turned and looked at her with surprise. He cast a quick look behind her, as if also afraid her father would appear. "Miss Persalt! Good God. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. But I would like to talk to you!" Her love seemed about to balk. Sophie hastened to add, "You see, I’ve no one young to talk to, and I am not ready to sleep."

He seemed to relent. "Not here," he told her. Sophie was warmed by his response. At least he hadn’t refused her, how cruel that would have been! He had to know of her regard for him. She wasn’t sure what they would talk about yet, but she would figure that out when the time came.

"No—we’ll—we’ll go into your room." At his look of shock, Sophie slapped him lightly on the arm. "We’ll leave the door cracked, stoopid."

That would not quite satisfy the proprieties, Sophie knew, but no one would possibly find them out. He cast one more look both ways down the hall, then gestured her in. The door was left partially open behind her, and Sophie seated herself on a chair out of view of the hall, just in case.

He didn’t sit but loomed over her with his arms crossed, just like Papa might. Sophie took a breath and began.

"First, I—I just wanted to apologize for Papa. I wanted to assure you that Lucy and I enjoy your company. You are welcome here. You have both been so helpful, and Lucy thinks so, too. Papa is just a bear. I think he was absolutely horrid to your friend, Mr. Hornblower."

He had relaxed a bit; he sat across from her and looked at her earnestly. Sophie’s toes curled, his eyes were so blue even in the firelight. She had made such a good choice! What lovely children they would have. They would live in the country, mostly, and teach their adorable blue-eyed offspring how to ride, that is, when they weren’t away at sea, which surely wouldn’t be too often, for who could stand to leave such darling children behind? And--

"You don’t need to apologize for your father," he said, interrupting her favorite dream.

"But I do!" Sophie said, reminded of the present. Often she’d been horrified by her father’s cuts and criticisms of those he thought were below him. "You helped your friend so kindly. You and Mr. Hornblower are regular cater cousins, are you not?"

He laughed, as she’d known he might. "True," he said. Then he leaned back and just smiled, lips all quirky and delectable. "Where did you learn such language, anyway?"

"Oh, the London servants mostly," Sophie waved a hand. "The groomsmen thought it was capital fun to teach me. I wrote a lot of it down, so that I could study it."

"Really?" He was grinning widely now, teeth white under his pink lips. Sophie’s own mouth went dry.

"Oh, yes." Sophie was in her element now, showing an officer that she was a Worldly Woman. "I’d listen to the coachmen speaking when no one thought I was around. I could always find someone to translate. Except when they wouldn’t, beastly creatures. For example, no one would ever tell me what ‘laced mutton’ means."

"Well, it means a prostitute."

"Oh. Is that all?" She was disappointed that it was not spicier. "Why?"

"That I will not tell you."

"Ooh! In that respect, you are just like Captain—I mean, nobody." Sophie caught herself at the last moment.

"Who?" He only looked concerned.

"Tol rol," she said. "I shall not say his name. A gentleman I was to marry, in London. But Papa didn’t approve, and he found out that I was to—well, I mean, he said No. And he put me into the carriage in the middle of the evening, in the middle of the Season, and I was not even allowed to pack. Lucy was incensed at first, but then she took Papa’s side. I have been here ever since."

He seemed intrigued, as if he might press her further, but he did not. Sophie was relieved. He was so understanding! "You are lonely, aren’t you?" he said.

"Yes, alas."

Now he was all sympathy. "Weren’t you going to have a house party?"

"Ugh. That was only so Papa could auction me off to the highest bidder." The highest bidder who wasn’t an officer, that was. Lucy had chosen the men, Papa had reviewed the list and broadcast her dowry, and that had been that.

"Surely not!" Nose scrunched, he looked more adorable than ever.

"Oh, yes."

"But who was this fellow you were talking about earlier--"

An interruption came in the form of Mr. Hornblower, who stood in the doorway gaping at the intimate scene before him. Sophie couldn’t decide if she’d been caught or saved. She hadn’t wanted to discuss Captain Rundell, not even with her love. Gentlemen did not really want to hear other beaux discussed, no matter how they pretended to.

Mr. Hornblower was furious. "Mr. Kennedy!"

Sophie curtseyed at him and inched toward the door. "I was simply passing on some news from my father. Good night, sirs!" she said and nipped around him for an escape.

"I can explain," she heard her Mr. Kennedy say as she ran down the hall.

***

Again Horatio awoke in a bad mood. He lay there for a moment, staring at the bed hangings, pondering the mess this situation had become.

Of course he’d believed Archie when his friend had said he’d done nothing with Miss Persalt except talk. But even talking, especially alone, was dangerous. Archie seemed to feel sorry for her, but Horatio did not. Of course she would be married off to some near-stranger; wasn’t that how the aristocracy propagated themselves?

With a groan—his limbs hurt worse than they had yesterday morning—he pulled himself out of bed and to the window for his regular weather check. The sky was clear, the newly-risen sun was shining, and water was dripping across the glass from the eaves—

Water! Dripping! That meant a thaw. And a thaw meant that they would soon be on their way to London.

Horatio’s prayers were being answered. He greeted the manservant with a smile, downed his hot coffee with a gulp, smiling even at the burn to the roof of his mouth, and prepared to shave and dress. What a lovely day it was going to be. Perhaps they could even leave this afternoon.

But alas it was not to be. He and Archie met Sir Roger in the breakfast-room. Horatio was disappointed to see him but it would have been impossible to back out once they were in. That gentleman greeted them with a ‘morning,’ at least.

"M’servants tell me there is a thaw," he continued, then sighed. "But even if the snow melted you’d never get to Crawley today. There’s a stream crosses the road just north o’ here, with mud all ‘round and horses and coach’ll be stuck if you cross it in the mud after this snow. You’d be right back here and with mud on your boots. Leave before dawn tomorrow, and with any luck the ground’ll be froze right up."

It was worse news than Horatio had wanted to hear, but better than hearing of no thaw at all. Tomorrow they would be in London, and he calculated that if they left before dawn they’d arrive before four bells on the forenoon, and could report to Captain Jordan by six bells, if he’d even made it to London, and see how the victualling and loading of the ship and the men--

"That is indeed happy news," Archie was answering with admirable gallantry. Horatio was grateful, he’d been so lost in his own thoughts.

"Take whoever you need of m’servants to get your coach fixed," Sir Roger said, and left them.

The ladies were not yet arisen, so Horatio and Archie gulped down a quick breakfast. Within an hour they’d found Matthews, Smith, the coach company’s men and a few stablemen, and were working again on the coach. The weather was much improved and the work went well.

Horatio and Archie only had to supervise while the men labored. Smith utilized his expertise to keep everything moving along, and much of Horatio’s own supervision involved stepping about in the snow every few minutes, trying to decide if it was shallower already or not, and whether his boots were sticking.

Sir Roger’s servants had found extra parts in the carriage-house and stables that fit the stage-coach. Horatio gleefully pledged the word of the coaching company that the items would be paid for, and the coachman did not dare to contradict him.

Still, the work seemed to take forever. The lazy landsmen were less well-trained than seamen and tended to dither about. His own men had been without their accustomed spirit-rations but Horatio suspected Combs or the housekeeper of sharing gin with them; there’d been an air of it about when they’d reported to their officers. But even so, they were better-fed than they’d been in months and were, as always, far better workers than their lubber counterparts. Horatio indulged in a brief fantasy of reading the stablemen into the King’s service and showing them what discipline was.

That good man, Combs, brought out coffee and pastries at noon, and Horatio decided that he and Archie were being thoroughly spoilt as well. Extra servants carried something for the men. Whatever it was they were well-satisfied and rejuvenated by it, and the coach was fixed by one.

The ladies hadn’t joined them and he was glad. They were a distraction, no matter how little he minded picking one out of the snow now and then. It was a sign. Things were looking up.

***

"How very depressing," Sophie said with a pout. "They’ve missed luncheon. Will they ever be finished out there?"

Lucy watched as Sophie set her book down for the fifth or sixth time and stepped to the window to see if anyone was coming up the drive.

"Really, dear, you can’t expect them to stop working just to entertain you," Lucy told her, though she had to admit a bit of disappointment herself at their solitary state. She’d kept the girl inside only by convincing her that she would not appear to advantage with another interruption, especially if covered by the newly-formed mud.

"True," Sophie sighed, and sat in letdown as she apparently saw no one. "I love a man who works. I don’t know why you and Papa insist on leg-shackling me to some boring, lazy nobleman."

"I don’t know, either," Lucy admitted. Naval men had indeed become very exciting to her as well. "But some noblemen work. They must care for their tenants, and their lands…look at your own father!"

"But they are so stuffy. Them with their nozzles in the air, always expecting one to say the correct things," Sophie moaned.

Lucy hid a laugh. "I expect you mean noses?"

Sophie nodded, abashed.

Lucy chose her next words carefully. "Where, pray tell, did you learn such terms? Certainly not from me."

"No," Sophie admitted. "But darling Lucy, I don’t really wish to say…"

"Then don’t." At Sophie’s look of surprise Lucy smiled. "Keep your secrets. I only trust in you to know when it is appropriate and when it is not."

Sophie was excited by this show of understanding. "I don’t always, I admit, but I will try—Oh, I think they are returning!"

Lucy forced herself to sit and not follow Sophie to the window. Really, she was becoming as silly as her charge. "I do hope they were successful."

"I don’t."

"Do you not? I fear you will be disappointed--"

Lucy cut off as a stamping bustle sounded in the hall. She and Sophie listened, and a few minutes later the officers, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed and looking quite edible from their time outside, joined them in the saloon.

"Sit by the fire, gentlemen, and I’ll call for tea," she told them, curbing her lustful thoughts. They thanked her and did as she suggested while she rang the bell.

"Is the stage-coach fixed, Mr. Kennedy?" Sophie asked without much hope in her voice.

"Indeed it is, Miss Persalt," he told her with a smile.

All was silent for a few uncomfortable moments until the tea-tray was rolled in. It had come in record time—bless Combs, thought Lucy as she poured. The hush fell again once everyone started drinking and nibbling. It lasted several minutes until Horatio-- Mr. Hornblower-- began to talk.

"We need not impose on you any longer. The roads are bad they say, but we’ll leave before first light, and it should be frozen enough for the coach to cross the stream. If we give an hour for the ride to London Bridge, Archie, I think we should be at the Kestrel by six bells, don’t you think?" he babbled. He looked excited and nervous, shifting about and finally turning to Lucy. "If we can beg sandwiches from the cook, ma’am, we won’t have to stop except to change horses--"

"You can have ‘em," Roger said, entering. "Anything to help, ‘eh?"

"Could we get someone to clear it of snow and clean it up a bit?" asked Mr. Kennedy, forestalling further patter from Mr. Hornblower.

"Yes, yes, I’ll get someone on it. So you’re leaving first thing? All right and tight? Good, good. Er, can’t have you missing your ship, and all."

"Thank you, sir."

Horatio-- Mr. Hornblower-- sucked down his tea and fairly jumped from his chair, shaking his legs surreptitiously as if clearing away the last of the snow and cold. He had very good legs, well-formed, Lucy noticed. How hadn’t she noticed that before? A little ache formed somewhere below her stomach. It felt quite nice.

He spoke. "Well, Mr. Kennedy, we still have work to do. Shall we make sure things are packed and the men know when they are to leave?"

"Of course, Mr. Hornblower." Mr. Kennedy did not point out what Lucy knew, that there was precious little to pack and few people to inform.

"You will join us for dinner, won’t you gentlemen?" Lucy had to know.

"Of course we will," Mr. Hornblower answered for them with a smile. He really was in a very good mood, she thought.

Then they were gone. Sophie had been nearly silent throughout.

Lucy experienced an odd pang of loss. When they left tomorrow, things would go back to how they had been before. Just the three of them, she, Roger and Sophie, unless their guests decided to arrive after all, and then there would be a houseful of people she suspected she’d now find insipid. And Sophie might become engaged, with or against her will, and then she, Lucy, would go back to Devonshire and her life of lonely respectability--

"What?" she roused herself to say. It seemed Roger had been speaking.

"I said, I’ve decided I’m feeling poorly and all. Going to my rooms and I’m going to stay there. Send a footman up with dinner."

"Roger! Do you need a doctor?" Lucy asked, surprised. He looked perfectly fit.

"O’ course not. I just don’t want to sit through another evening o’ naval chitchat," he said, confirming her suspicion. "I count on you to be sure no one plays fast and loose with my Sophie before we send ‘em packing."

"Papa!"

"You be quiet, miss, and be good, or I’ll hear about it."

"Yes, Papa." Sophie looked sulky.

"Of course, Roger," Lucy answered, the seed of a plan forming in her head already.

***

Despite their hours of rest and relaxation, Horatio appeared as tightly-wound as ever when he appeared at Archie’s door to walk down with him to dinner. He refrained from picking at his stockings, but Archie knew him well enough to see that his feet were twitching in their moorings.

"Don’t worry. I’ll be ready to go before first light," Archie grinned at his friend.

Horatio gave him a look that clearly said, ‘What?’ before his face relaxed and he smiled in reply.

"Actually, Archie, I was just wishing we could communicate with London via signal-flag," he said. "I trust you do to your duty."

"Thank you," Archie replied, allowing a dry tone to creep into his voice. "And it’s too dark already. Better if you had tried earlier."

"No doubt."

They navigated a straight path to the drawing room-- just when they were to leave, they’d learned fore from aft in this great pile of bricks-- but Horatio stopped just short of the threshold.

"What the Devil?" he whispered to Archie. The ladies were alone, sipping ratafia, though only scant minutes remained till dinner-time.

Mrs. Daventry greeted them with an explanation. "Sir Roger is not feeling well, and so it will be a simple meal, with just the four of us."

"I hope he is in no danger," Horatio said with commendable sincerity.

"No, he is fine," she said with an unconcerned and genuine smile. She looked very well this evening. A low-cut, wine-red dress, again with the waist in the right place, showed off her admirable figure. Her dark eyes shone.

Archie glanced across the room at Miss Sophie. She looked more delectable than ever. A thin white gown clung to her youthful figure, and she had one side of her skirt looped over her left arm, showing a delightful, shapely, pink-stockinged calf. With a smile she bounced a curtsey at him, and her bosom bounced with her.

Archie took a moment to imagine running his hand over every smooth curve, only half-ashamed at the naked lust that trickled through his limbs. After she’d cornered him in his room last night, he had decided she was a shameless hussy. She’d probably been seduced by that Captain, or the other way around, and that was why she’d been packed off in disgrace. Then he was reminded of his civilized surroundings and the presence of her duenna, and took a deep breath to reassert his gentlemanly instincts.

"You are in looks, Miss Persalt," he told her with every appearance of courtliness.

"Thank you, sir!"

A servant rang a bell and he took Mrs. Daventry’s arm, leaving the luscious Miss Sophie to follow with Horatio.

It was a simple dinner, with noticeably fewer dishes and theatrics than they’d been treated to the previous evening. But an air of suppressed excitement, almost decadence, hung over the room like an opium cloud.

It could have been the setting. They were very informal, with no one at either end of the table, just himself and Mrs. Daventry sitting across from Miss Sophie and Horatio. Horatio was positively emanating rapture, no doubt from the knowledge that they’d soon be gone.

Miss Sophie was a dynamo, bouncing about and chattering without the repressive presence of Sir Roger and his ahems and harrumphs to contain her. Even Mrs. Daventry was different, more animated. Her hairstyle was softer, he noticed. He wondered if it was for Horatio’s benefit or for lack of Sir Roger or both.

She smiled across at him. "We’ve planned no flaming beefsteak, thank heavens," she said. "Just beef fricandeau. And I’ve called for some better claret than we’ve endured these past few nights. We also have some Lisbon and old burgundy."

Archie chose a glass each of red and white, some beef, potatoes, and some asparagus that looked surprisingly fresh. He wondered if they had a hothouse. "No more fire-ships to subdue?"

Sophie laughed. "None, though I’m sure you would be up to subduing anything, Mr. Kennedy."

"I thank you for your vote of confidence, Miss Persalt," he told her, daring a wink.

It said much for Horatio’s frame of mind that he didn’t even flinch at the wink. He said little and ate heartily, though he confined himself to his customary one glass of wine.

Mrs. Daventry and Sophie were drinking like… well, like sailors. In between bites they gulped at their wine, furthering the informality by not even waiting for the men to make toasts.

The older lady broke the silence by saying, "Your ship does not leave London until four days after tomorrow, I believe you said. Where will you go when it does?"

Archie answered her. "We have not been told our orders, but I speculate that we will be attached to the Channel fleet."

"We may be posted to blockade duty," Horatio added, not saying where.

Mrs. Daventry sighed. "What a dangerous life you gentlemen do lead. Britain is surrounded by enemies. I will pray for your safety."

"Thank you," Horatio said to her with an actual smile.

Archie raised a glass in toast. "To His Majesty King George."

"And to His Majesty’s Navy," Mrs. Daventry added with a second gulp.

A servant reached around Miss Sophie to refill her glass, and she peeked over his arm at Archie in concern. "Are many men killed at sea?" she asked.

"Very many, I’m afraid," he told her, almost feeling bad as he did so. He thought her somewhat sweet in her ignorance, but it was not really a topic for the current venue. "Most die from disease or accidents, but battles carry off a great many as well."

"How horrible!" she said. "But what do you do with them? Do you bring them back to English soil?"

"That is not something we should discuss at the dinner-table," Mrs. Daventry finally told her, echoing Archie’s thoughts. Even she, however, looked at him with curiosity in her eyes.

"But Lucy," Miss Sophie said, wide-eyed. "How should I learn if I do not ask?"

Horatio sighed at her. "We read them a Christian service and bury them at sea."

"Really!" Mrs. Daventry said, no longer pretending to be anything but interested.

"Do they get coffins?" Miss Sophie asked.

"Most likely not. Coffins would float," Mrs. Daventry said.

"How gruesome you ladies are!" Archie told them.

"Well, now that we’ve started, you might as well tell us," Mrs. Daventry said, breaking her speech to sip her claret, then continuing. "We are both stout-hearted women."

They were looking at Archie so expectantly, he relented. He shouldn’t have had that third glass of wine, he thought, or he would have had better judgment. "Someone sews them up in their cots."

"Oh! And I expect the fish eat them. I shall never eat fish from the sea again," Miss Sophie said with a hiccup. "Only trout from the pond."

"It is the natural order of things," Horatio offered in a calm voice.

"If they die honorably and have no spirit to warm the vessel, then it is probably best," agreed Mrs. Daventry. "Just like burial on land. Dust to dust."

"Spirits!" Miss Sophie giggled with a shiver. "What if they were bad? Do their ghosts ever haunt you?"

Archie laughed. This truly was an odd evening, with an even odder conversation. He just went along with it. "I don’t believe so. But sometimes the men say they can see faces of the dead following the wake of the ship during a full moon."

"Ooooh!" both ladies almost screamed in unison.

"Now see what you’ve done, Mr. Kennedy," Horatio said to him in a stern voice but with a glint of humor in his eye. "You’ve frightened them."

"Not us!" Mrs. Daventry said. She swallowed the contents of her glass and held it up for inspection, hand wavering only a little. "It is the wine playing with my mind, I am sure. I should drink more slowly, or I shall be ‘well-to-go,’ as they say. Foxed."

Archie goggled at her. That most respectable lady looked boosey, all right. And they hadn’t even gotten to dessert yet. He looked at Horatio, but that man was now only staring at his plate and trying not to laugh.

"Do you mean cupshot, Lucy?" Sophie giggled.

"Tiddly," was the reply.

"Three sheets to the wind?" Archie offered.

"Disguised." That from Miss Sophie.

"Fuddled?"

"Hard aground?" Archie said, getting into the spirit of the game.

"Slug-fired?"

"In your cups?"

"Totally dismasted."

"Mr. Hornblower!" Mrs. Daventry shrieked. "What a lovely phrase. You shall have to remember that, Sophie."

"Oh, I will, dear Lucy!"

Mrs. Daventry wiped her streaming eyes, and took a breath as if to restore her equanimity. "Very amusing, but I think we should find another topic of conversation."

"I agree," Horatio said, but smiled. Horatio was in a very good mood, thought Archie.

They discussed the drive to London through the remove of dinner and the placing of a dessert trifle. The women had switched to lemonade, thank God, and seemed to be calming down. Horatio talked to Mrs. Daventry about the roads, and Archie took a few moments to admire the delicate way Miss Sophie ate her dessert, licking the cream from her pink little lips. He felt a little tickle at his gut from watching it. Then he felt a tickle at his calf, wondered if he’d imagined it, then felt it again. Miss Sophie was watching him, slouched back in her chair.

"Huh?" he said and flinched involuntarily, feeling a definite flush of heat as a toe rubbed at his ankles.

Mrs. Daventry looked at him, then at Sophie’s guilty face, and rose with a cough, swaying only a little. "I think we ladies will retire, gentlemen. You must rise early tomorrow. Thank you for a lovely evening."

He and Horatio agreed to the ladies that they did not want to be left alone to drink port, since they had to be up so early. "We will retire to our rooms. If we do not see you, please accept our thanks to yourselves and to Sir Roger for your kindness," Horatio said with all due gallantry.

Archie bowed and agreed with that sentiment. He thought they might send a note from London. He was a little sad to be leaving them, but it was past nine and he did have to reaccustom himself to ship-hours. He cast one last longing look at Miss Sophie’s bosom before Horatio led them away.

A couple of very definite sniffs followed them.

***

Sophie allowed her maid to dress her for bed and then lay on top of the covers, thinking. She was unable to sleep because of the horrible fate that had befallen her. She was being punished by God, to be sure, to be so deprived of her love. And she’d tried so hard, using every trick she’d known.

Yet now they were to leave and she would never see him again. Her tipsy mind tried to conjure her rosy dream of a country-house and blue-eyed children, but all she could see was an expanse of grey sea painted on her yellow bed-canopy, carrying her one true love away from her. She, Sophie, had failed to nab him.

But then a vision crept in amid the swaying bedcurtains. It was of Mr. Kennedy’s face during dessert, when she’d put her toe on his delicious leg. He’d liked it, she was positive of that. How very bold she had been! Her stomach felt warm at the very thought of it, almost as warm as it had when Captain Rundell had once kissed her quite passionately at a garden party. She knew what it meant—Lucy had told her before what it was that men and women did together, when she’d almost been engaged to Captain Rundell. Lucy had thought it best that Sophie be prepared, in an intellectual sense at least.

Then, on the canopy, Sophie saw him again. Mr. Kennedy’s—Archie’s—golden face every other time he’d seen her—yesterday, in the library, when she’d displayed what she knew was an excellent bosom to him; the concern he’d shown last night, in his room. And his face when he’d admitted that life at sea was fraught with danger. Might he not die, and without knowing how she loved him?

If she, Sophie, had been very bold once this evening, then might she not be so again? And how wonderful it would be, to discover how one went about all this lovemaking, all this killing of the aches in her body, and to catch a husband at the same time! Sophie crawled from her bed to examine herself in her mirror, just to be sure she looked her very best.

***

Lucy lay on her bed, aching and feeling wretched. Her old life called to her in a monotone, telling her that if she was having these burning, lustful thoughts and feelings then the best thing to do would be to get respectably married to a good man so that she could indulge them.

The new life overrode that voice with one that told her she could indulge them now, and should seek excitement when she could, because who knew when it might come again? The thought of Mr. Hornblower’s—Horatio’s—athletic, so-very-alive body as a corpse, floating into the black depths in a canvas bag, was her undoing.

The wine and her body’s desire told her that she had to see him. She could only but try. He had never shown any particular interest in her, but if she was unsuccessful, it would be a sign. Her old life still awaited her, bleak and endless.

***

Horatio lay on his bed, trying to sleep and knowing he would be unsuccessful. The knot in his belly refused to dissipate. It was like waiting to sail to battle—knowing he needed the sleep but mind more active than ever. No combat awaited him, only a drive to London and perhaps some censure from their new captain which would be easily explained away. He knew this, but it didn’t help.

He took a tiny sip from the wine-glass at his bedside, hoping it would calm him. As he set it back he heard a creaking noise and felt a tiny draft of air. Someone was entering his room, and it was not Archie because Archie would have announced himself. He strained his eyes in the dying firelight. The figure was dressed in white like a ghost, but seemed to have dark hair, and Horatio did not believe in spirits anyway.

"Who is that?" he asked aloud.

The figure seemed to take a deep breath and then came closer, revealing itself to be Mrs. Daventry. "Oh, Mr. Hornblower. Horatio," she said in a thin, shaking voice. "You must help me!"

Alarmed, he jumped out of bed and grabbed her shoulders. "What is wrong? Are you injured? Tell me!"

"No, I am not injured," she said, turning her face up to his. With her hair down, she looked much younger. She grasped his arms and pushed closer, speaking warm breaths into his shoulder. "I—I saw a ghost!"

"A ghost?" Horatio tried not to laugh. This was all Archie’s fault. "Ghosts do not exist. You cannot possibly have seen a ghost. Was there an intruder? Did you rouse the servants?"

"No, I did not," she said, and seemed to take another deep breath. He felt it against his chest through his nightshirt; she was not wearing a corset and her breasts pushed against his ribs. Annoyed with himself at the twitch in his spine, he shook her lightly, but that only made the rubbing worse.

"Then what is wrong?"

"You have found me out. I only wanted to see you," she said.

Flabbergasted, all he could say was, "But--" before she threw her arms around him with such a sudden motion that he fell to the edge of the bed.

It was a dangerous position. She was kissing his chin, his cheeks, her wet little mouth moaning against his throat, and he was so tightly wound that having a lapful of warm, soft, desirable woman only tautened the coil in his gut so that it hurt.

Before he knew what was happening she was sucking on his earlobe, tongue teasing it inside her lips and little breaths teasing his ears, shooting chills down his eardrums to race along his spine.

The reaction of his body, celibate for so long, was instinctive. Blood rushed to his abdomen, throbbing and aching with the aroused pounding of his heart. But his spine’s instinct for preservation came through. It sent a message to his hands; he pushed at her shoulders to halt the torture. Then he could almost think. This hall was full of sleeping people.

"Mrs. Daventry," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "This is most improper."

"Of course it is. I am tired of being proper," she breathed at him. Her face was flushed, eyes half-closed and lips half-open. She didn’t look like a noblewoman, just a woman, and delectably wanton. Then her dark eyes widened as if she had been frightened. "You think I am old, perhaps."

"No! You are quite beautiful. Mrs. Daventry—Lucy," he amended, thinking that such a moment called for something less formal. And she was. He liked her, he really did, more than he should at this moment. But there was something… oh, yes. "I must depart tomorrow."

"I know. That is why I am here now, taking this chance. But if you wish me to leave..."

Horatio thought about it for all of a second. "No," he said, and meant it. He couldn’t argue with her reasoning—taking chances he understood. If it was his body and not his mind that was called for, that was easy enough, to enjoy the womanly curves pressed against him. His fingers crept from her shoulder to bury themselves in her smooth curls, a delightfully tactile indulgence. He leaned forward to kiss her; her lips were soft and parted in an instant and she moaned through her tongue into his mouth, and he was all done in.

Once the course was set it was effortless to lie back and let her crawl atop him. Her knees locked his thighs in a trap and she was sucking at his earlobes again, and pressing her lushly feminine belly with urgency against his erection through his shirt. It hurt.

She was crushed so close he could feel her breasts against his chest, her nipples little peaks of sensation through their clothing, but he couldn’t touch them. And he couldn’t find his way under her damned voluminous nightgown.

So with all the strength he could muster without leverage he flipped her over and finally found the cotton hem of her gown and snaked a hand underneath. Her skin was all that he’d imagined, sweaty and pliant beneath his fingers and oh so feminine and welcome.

But she was almost desperate; she curled her thighs about his hips until he felt her heels digging into his backside. "Oh, yes! Please, Mr. Hornblower--Horatio!" she hollered.

"Shh," he whispered against her lips, though the noise and the danger of discovery just made everything all the more urgent. His fingers found the triangle of curls between her thighs and then the petal-soft skin of her cleft. By God he wasn’t going to have to do a damned thing, she was so drenched.

It took only a second to yank up his own nightshirt and grasp his aching erection, suppressing a groan at his own touch, and then to guide it between her wide-open thighs. Then all was grasping, slick heat, a too-long missed luxury, and he released an "ah!" of appreciation.

The constriction in his belly grew and took over, and he didn’t have to think, only move, as she wrapped herself around him, enveloping him in the feel of cotton and woman. He buried his nose in her hair and licked at the smooth salt of her skin, losing himself in physical sensation for several very pleasurable minutes. Lucy’s hands grasped at his back, kneading his straining shoulders, urging him ever closer though that was quite impossible, he was so gone.

For a while they tread a precarious line of silence, with no sound except for breathing and the slap and squish of flesh. Then suddenly, in between thrusts, she set up a high, keening wail that was gratifying but alarming in its volume.

"Shh," he tried to whisper again, against her jaw, but she wouldn’t shush, so he shoved his tongue into her mouth to try and quiet her. Her wailing vibrated through his throat and he couldn’t concentrate or breathe so he just let her howl, hoping no one would hear.

That knot of pain and tension in his gut built and grew, and his dim mind told him it would be another minute or so, but suddenly she shrieked and jerked against him, clenching the ache in his cock, and his body was gravity itself. Tension uncoiled in a blessed bursting release.

Horatio collapsed on her and caught his breath. He found brain enough in the haze to note that Lucy was quiet at last.

***

Lucy snuggled back into the bedcovers, giving herself a moment to catch her breath and to luxuriate in the feeling of having a muscular young man splayed out atop her. She had been quite abandoned, she knew, but it had been so wonderful. How could she have forgotten?

Horatio emitted what sounded like a hiccup into her hair. It took her a moment to realize that it was a laugh. She hoped he had enjoyed it as much as she had.

"Oh, that was lovely," she told him finally, in a whisper. "I haven’t done that in such a long time."

The hiccup came again, then his whispered reply. "Nor I."

He rolled off her and reached out long fingers to pull down her nightdress as if to allow her some dignity, but she fended him off. "No," she said, sitting up to remove it and feeling deliciously wanton and cool and free once it was gone. "I’ll be much more comfortable without it."

"If you wish," was all he said.

Lucy lay back naked and watched him, his dark curls falling across his dark eyes in the dim firelight. His gaze flicked across her body and then away, as if guilty at being caught staring even when she was being so debauched. She wished he would take off his nightshirt, so she could get a good look at him in return. Her sensibilities at the moment were apparently much less restrained than his. She was a regular Jezebel.

He lay back with an expelled breath and stared at the canopy. Feeling quite daring, Lucy reached over to bunch her fingers in the white material of his shirt; even more daringly, she raised it, getting a delicious glimpse of a hair-dusted thigh. She watched his face. His profile was still, and she couldn’t read it.

Well, she’d already succeeded once, she thought. It was worth a try.

"I don’t suppose we could do it again?" she asked, breathless as she awaited his reply.

But he only turned to her and smiled with those lovely lips of his. "I wasn’t planning to sleep, anyway," he said.

Then he was naked and touching her all over, and this time she straddled his hips like a saddle and his lovely, long fingers were curled around her breasts and Lucy thought it was all just so very, very lovely.

***

Archie lay on his bed, staring at the deep blue canopy arrayed like the night sky above him. He didn’t suppose he could sleep, but he was going to try.

His mind wandered and remembered as it often did when alone in the dark. At the thought of that conversation at dinner, he laughed out loud. Now that had been amusing. Maybe he would miss Sophie more than he thought. Yet he had to remember that he could not tie himself down. He was leaving tomorrow, and he would never see her again.

He wondered how someone so unreserved and humorous and clever had been spawned from such as Sir Roger. It was probably the influence of her intelligent godmother. Still, she was a little more unreserved than an unmarried young miss had any right to be. She would get herself into trouble, if she hadn’t already.

His leg itched where that little minx had nuzzled him with her toe. He reached down to scratch at it but froze as he heard a noise from the direction of the hallway.

The door was opened, then shut, and the pitter-patter of light feet sounded across the floor. The face of Miss Sophie, blonde curls all tumbled, appeared between the bed-hangings.

"Oh, Mr. Kennedy!" Her eyes were wide and terrified. "You must help me!"

He sat up quickly, sending his head spinning. "What’s amiss?" Perhaps her father had threatened to beat her.

She crawled onto his bed, wearing the most ridiculous little white nightgown. It left her arms and most of her bosom bare, and barely reached past her knees. "Oh, I have seen a ghost!"

"A ghost?" he said, incredulous, then laughed. At her fallen face he continued. "There are no ghosts! Just stories. I told you that reading Mrs. Radcliffe would give you nightmares."

She just giggled and kneeled across from him on top of the bedcovers, tilting her head. "Do you not still think that you might comfort me?"

Archie gawked at her, amazed at the depths of her abandon. He had been right before; she was a shameless hussy, and obviously no innocent. No virgin would have crawled into his bed like that, taunting him with her body, with her delectable little nipples that pressed against the thin white silk of her nightdress. But he was still in her father’s house, he had to remember that. "Comfort you? But your father is--"

"Oh, hang it all!" she said, and launched herself into his arms, knocking him over and pressing kisses against his lips. "Archie, my darling, make love to me before you go, please! That’s all I ask!"

That’s all she asked? Well, when she put it like that, he was going to have a jolly good time of it comforting her. Who knew when such a little prize would come his way again?

Archie was already flat on his back and she was atop him; it was a good start. He slid his hands into her masses of blonde hair as he’d wanted to forever and pressed her face closer. Her mouth opened obediently and when he slid his tongue between her lips she gave a happy little start, pulling back to stare at him with round eyes, and then she came back for more, sliding her tongue over his teeth. All the while Sophie moaned and laughed and snuggled her delicious little body over every inch of him until he was quite aroused.

She must have felt it pressing against her belly. She gave a little "oomph!" of surprise and rocked back until she was sitting with her warm, bare bottom on his legs. All Archie could do was watch as she grasped the end of his nightshirt and tugged it up to expose his erection. Her gaze and the cool night air washed over it and he couldn’t stand it. Breathless and tense with erotic anticipation, he waited to see what she would do.

"Oh, what is this?" she said with wonder in her voice. For an instant he thought her coy but then she ran a slim finger up and down the tender, sensitive skin of his aching cock until a moan was torn from his throat. Her eyes were wide, fascinated, and she kept doing it, rubbing her palm against the head and it was an unbearable torture, and perhaps he really did love her—

"Ungh!" he said and jerked upright, startling her. But he forced his fingers to be gentle as he grasped her shoulders. "Not yet, my sweeting," he whispered and rolled her off him to reverse their positions.

She giggled again but rather than annoying him he thought it a sweet, feminine sound. When he kneeled with his legs between hers and lifted her nightdress to place a soft kiss on her navel, her giggles turned to ‘oohs’ of pleasure. He lifted it farther and took a peek underneath. In the quiet firelight her pert breasts were just as round and white and luscious as he’d imagined. As he licked a trail up her breastbone to nibble at the firm smooth flesh her oohs turned to moans and finally quiet gasps when his lips tasted one upright, pink nipple. He rolled it in his mouth, breathing in the clean, fresh scent of her skin, delighting in the taste of female flesh between his lips.

A tickle at his nape proved to be her fingers playing absently with his pigtail. Her nails scraped his neck with tearing little chills as she arched her warm flesh into his mouth and rubbed one thigh against his in mute appeal.

Archie could help her with that; he groped down her body, seeking the dark-golden nest of curls he’s seen earlier, and slid a finger into those moist little recesses. Sophie yelped.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she breathed, over and over as he stroked, and finally convulsed in his arms as she reached a climax. "Mr.-- Archie, how wonderful!"

He laughed. "I’m glad you approve," he said, and pulled his head out from under her nightdress to push it up over her waist. He leaned in to taste her sweet lips again. Her knees rose, scraping along the outside of his thighs, and her slick belly rubbed against the sensitive skin of his cock, seeking more of that touch that had so pleased her. She would never be more ready than she was now and neither would he. Dying from pain and arousal alone was becoming a real possibility, and he wanted to end it as soon as possible.

Propping himself on one elbow he curled the other hand around her slick thigh for an anchor. She just wrapped her arms around his back and moaned into his mouth. God, it had been a long time, and he was so hard and it hurt, and he nosed around with the head of his cock until it found the little opening and he pushed himself in and it was so tight and wonderful he had to work at it a little, and she cried out against him and froze.

Oh good God, he thought.

So horrified was he that he couldn’t move for several seconds, no matter how much he wanted to. He was a fool and she was a virgin and now she wasn’t any longer and he’d hurt her, and not only that but he was going to have to marry her--

"Archie, darling?" she whispered into his ear, little puffs of breath that chilled his heated skin. "Why did you stop? It only hurt a little. I’m bang-up now, prime, I swear."

Think think think, his mind told him. Finally his desire-fuddled brain hit upon the right thing to say. "Are you sure, my sweet?"

"Oh, yes," she said and nodded. Her whole body swayed with it, and the slight movement was torment.

Well, he decided after a few moments, there was nothing for it now. No undoing what he’d done. The throbbing was about to kill him, and she did feel very nice, he had to admit.

But he would have to be more careful now. He pulled out, just a little, and pushed back in, groaning with the purely physical pleasure of it, stretching her. She didn’t flinch, only closed her eyes in rapture. So he did it again, and once more, eventually finding a slow rhythm that would satisfy the ache in his belly yet not injure her.

It was an interesting state of mind, being both wracked with guilt and enjoying himself most carnally. And he was enjoying himself, much too much. He drew the pleasure out on purpose.

But then came the familiar shock to his tensed muscles as his own release was wrenched from him until he was shuddering. Breathing hard, he backed out slowly, not daring to look at the blood he was sure would be there, and fell to the side.

"Oh, Archie, that was wonderful!" she cried, and rolled over to clasp him in her arms.

"Thank you," he said, trying not to sound dry. But now that the flesh had been satisfied, the guilt was demanding to be heard. He was an idiot.

***

He was a god, thought Sophie, curling against her darling. Lucy had not told her everything, the wretch. But Sophie was lucky she had Archie to show her.

Her traitorous mind wondered briefly what it would have been like to do this with Captain Rundell, he who had kissed her so passionately in the garden. But that was just too naughty a thought, and she pushed it away. She was to be married to Archie now, and she would have to forget all other men.

It was fortuitous that gentlemen did not know what went on in a lady’s mind.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, quietly.

"Of course!" she told him. How could he ask? Sophie didn’t think she’d ever been better. She patted his stomach through his nightshirt. They’d never even taken their clothes off, she thought. How wanton.

His hand grasped her chin and turned her face up to his. "We shouldn’t have done that," he said, looking at her strangely.

"Why not? We are to be married, are we not?"

"Of course we are, my sweet," he said. Then he sighed. "But I must talk to your father first. You should probably go back to your room until then, so that he suspects nothing."

"Must you talk to Papa?" Sophie wanted to stay right where she was and be a wanton in Archie’s bed. Papa wasn’t going to be pleased anyway, so why shouldn’t Sophie please herself?

"It would be dishonorable not to," he told her. "You see that, don’t you?"

Sophie thought about it. How wonderful of him to insist upon doing the right thing. She wrenched herself away from his embrace, and straightened her nightgown. "You must try very hard to convince him!"

"Of course," he said, and sat up to give her a last kiss. Satisfied, Sophie ran to the door and out to the hall quietly. A strange, thumping sound was coming from the room, but Sophie daren’t go back to see what it was. She ran to her own room, smiling. She was a woman now.

***

Archie had waited until Sophie was gone before slamming his head into the thick wooden bedpost, repeatedly. He was dead. Horatio was going to kill him.

He took a moment’s break from destructive self-pity to lean back on the bed and grab the watch from his side-table. It was just past two and they were to leave at five. He still had at least two hours to ponder his fate and decide how best to confront Sir Roger. And Horatio.

He tried to sleep and couldn’t, just lay there for an hour. He didn’t really want to marry Sophie. It wasn’t horror of her that engendered this feeling, because he liked her well enough and she was a passionate little thing, at least.

But naval officers were not encouraged to marry, and there were good reasons for that. Among them was the time wives must spend alone and worrying; the chance of going on half-pay and living with a hungry family; the risks of dying and leaving behind a hungry family; the pension that the Navy had to pay in those cases. And Sir Roger would not look upon him kindly, no matter his family. He was only a lieutenant and had not the seniority or the record to guarantee him a promotion.

He also had no choice. He had to at least try, for he was honor-bound to do so.

After that hour of not sleeping he cleaned himself and packed his things and sat on the bed, waiting. Soon enough it was past four and Archie could hear movement in the hallways. He crept out and went in search of Sir Roger. Either through worst misfortune or dumb luck he found him right away. The man was in the breakfast-room reading a paper. Apparently Sir Roger was an early-riser, or perhaps he had just risen early in joyful anticipation of seeing his guests’ backs as they drove away.

"Good morning, sir," Archie said, trying his damndest to keep his voice steady.

"Oh, morning. So you’re leaving, eh? Good, good. Breakfast isn’t ready. Luck on your journey and all that."

"Thank you, sir. Sir, I must speak to you on a matter of business."

"Business, eh?" He set down his paper and looked at Archie with a tiny bit of annoyance. "Well, out with it."

Archie swallowed. "I must—I would like to ask your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter."

"What!" Sir Roger yelled. His eyes bulged. "Absolutely not!"

Archie stood his ground. "But sir, I think that under the circumstances I must insist--"

"You insist? Absolutely not, you—you—mushroom! The cheek! All you young officers are after my Sophie’s dowry, and I won’t have it!"

"That’s not--" Archie stopped, and swallowed again. Getting angry wasn’t going to do him any good. He chose careful words, and spoke them concisely. "I love your daughter, sir, and while my prospects at present are not--"

"No!" Sir Roger was not to be moved. He turned an odd purple color that had darkened with every word Archie spoke, and looked as if he were about to have an apoplexy. "I have already said no! Out! Out!" he yelled, jumping out of his chair to point at the door.

"But--" Archie tried to begin, but backed away as Sir Roger came around the table.

"Footmen! Somebody! Get in here and throw this…this… get him out of here!"

They came in record time; Archie had not either the opportunity or the courage to tell Sir Roger to his face that he’d deflowered his daughter. Before he knew it he was being dragged into the hall by his elbows and Sir Roger had stomped off up the stairs.

Archie was rescued by the appearance of Combs, who ran into the hall, half-dressed, and shooed the footmen away by assuring them he’d see the gentlemen out the door.

"I’ll just have your things brought down here sir, shall I?" he said to a grateful Archie. And a terrified Archie. His fat was in the fire worse than ever, now.

***

Horatio wasn’t asleep, not at all. He was stretched out on a sandy beach somewhere, someplace warm, and he was alone and trying to figure out how he was to get back to his ship.

Down the blue-sand beach someone was yelling in a hoarse voice, and he turned but couldn’t see the source of the voice and couldn’t make out the words. He strained and strained his ears and soon he could hear the voice saying ‘Where’s the other one, goddammit?’ then, ‘I’ll not have them in my home a moment longer!’ It was getting closer, that voice.

Horatio was truly awakened by the slam of the door against the wall. He jerked upright, clearing his eyes, and focused on the figure of Sir Roger, panting and heaving just inside the door.

"Sir, I demand that you leave at once, and take all of your—Lucy? Bloody Hell!"

Horatio remembered, and risked a look beside him. Yes, she was still there, and she was undressed but under the covers at least. She sat up sleepily and rubbed her eyes.

"What do you want, Roger?" she mumbled. Horatio took the opportunity to slip out of bed and into his waiting uniform.

Sir Roger started jumping up and down. "What is the meaning of this?" he shouted in between floor-shaking stamps. He looked at Horatio and pointed a pudgy finger. "You! Both of you! Taking advantage of the women in my household!"

"Sir, I protest--" Horatio started to say, wishing he was finished dressing already so that he might appear more dignified.

But Lucy interrupted him. "Roger, you must watch what you say!"

Sir Roger turned his ire on her. "And you! Mrs. Daventry, carrying on like a demi-rep under my roof! After I’ve entrusted my Sophie to you for so long--"

"Oh, do shut up, Roger," she said, and stood from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her. "And leave at once, so that I may dress."

Sir Roger just stared at her, mouth agape like a fish.

"Lucy," Horatio started, but she ignored him.

"I shall do as I please, and so shall Sophie. Now get out of here so that I may dress!" Her voice had risen throughout until she’d ended the last sentence on a scream.

Sir Roger deflated, as if the very wind had been taken out of his sails. "Very well, madam," he said, finally. He shot one final glance at Horatio. "You! I expect to see you on my doorstep in five minutes." Then he was gone, door slammed behind him.

Horatio was only too happy to move as fast as he could to make that deadline. He risked a glance at Lucy. "Will you be all right?"

"Of course," she said, and pulled on her nightgown to run over and kiss him. "I shall take care of things. I always take care of things."

"I believe you might," Horatio said, smiling at her. She seemed a very capable woman.

***

Archie collected his things and went to wait in the stage-coach. It was as close to the house as possible, on the curved drive, and it was a short walk. The horses had already been hitched according to their original plan. The coachman, sober and quiet, and the guard with his gun sat on top. A few minutes later Matthews and Smith trooped out from somewhere in the dark and climbed atop the coach to their customary seats. Archie felt the coach rock as they climbed aboard. No amount of cajoling would convince them to sit inside with Archie. He checked his watch. It was a quarter-hour short of five.

Finally, Horatio joined them. Behind him, Sophie was standing at the door, crying and waving a handkerchief. Archie could hear her sobs from where they sat on the drive, and almost jumped out to console her, for as much as he didn’t love her, he still felt responsible for her distress. But soon Lucy appeared and urged her back inside.

Archie felt wretched. He felt more wretched as the coach took off with a jerk and Horatio looked at him without saying a word.

After a full minute of silence, Horatio only said, "Did you have to ask her to marry you?"

"Yes." Archie would say no more.

Horatio sighed. "Like Rome before the Fall," he said, and fell silent.

***

Lucy crossed her arms and stood firm. Behind his desk, Roger was trying to browbeat them both, but she was a new woman now and she was not going to take it.

"Roger, now that we fully understand the situation, Sophie must be married. Surely you see that."

"I’ll kill him, the jackanapes," Roger only growled.

"But Papa! It was my fault. I threw myself at him," Sophie said. She didn’t want her lieutenant dead, that was for sure. "Why don’t you understand?"

"Why would you throw yourself at a nobody, Sophie?" Roger wanted to know. "If you were so hell-bent on ruining yourself, don’t you owe it to your family name to at least throw yourself at somebody worth the while?"

Lucy could see the disbelief and hurt warring with anger on his face. She knew it must have been reflected somewhat in her own; had Sophie been doing any less than following her example tonight, or perhaps even all these years? The old, guilty Lucy searched her past, looking for any possible mistakes she had made, something she could have let slip. She couldn’t remember anything.

Then the *new* Lucy thought, there was nothing she had done wrong. She couldn’t very well have kept a *leash* on the girl. Let her do what she wished; she always had despite all Lucy’s best efforts.

"Well, I tried Papa, but you didn’t--" Sophie started, then appeared to cut herself off. She was quiet for a moment, then mumbled, "well, I love *him* now, and that’s that."

"Well, Roger, she has to marry somebody," Lucy told him. She’d heard that pause and what it concealed. The one thing both Lucys agreed upon was that Sophie must be given an opportunity to be happy. Lucy loved her too much to do otherwise. An idea formed. "Is there anyone else you’d consent to marrying, darling? Anyone at all? Someone your Papa might approve?"

"Well…" Sophie looked thoughtful.

***

Three days later, Horatio and Archie stood dockside at the London Bridge shipping pool, waiting for the ship’s boat that would take them from England’s shores for who knew how long. Horatio resisted the impulse to pull out a glass to see whether the longboat had sheered off from the Kestrel’s hulk.

The return trip to London in the snow had been fairly easy. They’d gotten the stage-coach stuck in the mostly-frozen creek bed, but a few minutes’ pushing had rolled them clear. They’d even beaten Captain Jordan to Town. His post-chaise from Portsmouth had been delayed at an inn in Petersfield for several days in the snow. The men they’d sent ahead had arrived safely and Styles had loaded them up.

But they’d spent the last few days and nights aboard, working, coming only to the docks this morning to see to the loading of the last of the water-casks. Now all was ready. The morning was grey and chilly but well above freezing. There was a fresh wind and the next hour’s ebb tide would carry them out to sea. They’d be ‘round Dover in no time.

Horatio tried not to fidget. He did turn to give a look at the large, noisy inn behind them. Its yellow windows were cheerful enough in contrast to the drab London morning, but he was ready to put to sea again. He wasn’t, however, looking forward to the seasickness that he knew would assail him after so long spent on land. No time in the Thames could prepare him for that.

The door opened behind them and a shriek rent the air. "Mr. Kennedy! Mr. Hornblower!"

It was Miss Persalt. Horatio felt his stomach drop; he was sure Archie’s was somewhere near his feet. But she was accompanied by someone, a tall Army captain, who glared at them awfully but nevertheless kept Miss Persalt’s arm firmly at his side.

"Oh, look, darling, it’s the naval officers who were so lately at my home!" the girl said, looking up at the officer who clutched her so possessively. "Lieutenant Kennedy, Lieutenant Hornblower, this Captain Lord Rundell. My husband." She held out a ringed hand and bounced with glee.

Archie was impressive. He didn’t miss a beat. "My Lord," he said, and bowed.

The Captain returned their bows with a nod. "Gentlemen," he said.

"You will never believe it. The same day you left, dear Lucy drove me to London, and we found my dear Captain, and he still loved me. He got a special license and now we are married."

"May I offer you my felicitations, My Lord, My Lady," Horatio said. His stomach had righted himself. He was surprised Archie didn’t faint from relief. "We are to sail today. Are you on your way out to sea?"

"Yes," the Captain answered, watching the naval officers carefully. He hadn’t batted an eye at My Lady’s intimate explanation of their courtship. "I have been transferred to Kingston."

"The tropics!" squealed Lady Rundell. "That is where we shall live."

"I wish you the best of luck," Archie told them, and there was sincerity in his voice.

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