It all made, Sir Hugo slyly hinted, the perfect opportunity for him to write her, no matter that Caroline had said she'd burn anything that came with his name on it, unread.
"There is no better time for a Wife to appreciate a Husband than when crushed by Adversity," his father coyly nudged, "when the Weaker Sex, all at sixes and sevens, find need to lean upon her Stalwart Man with his innate inner Strength, and in the face of shared Adversities, 'form square' shoulder to shoulder in wholehearted Mutual Defence of their Children and their Welfare.
"No matter how slender a Reed that husband be (and I think we both know how Irresolute and Inconstant we Willoughby/Lewrie men turn out to be, God help our trusting Womenfolk) it is their Nature to look to Men for aid. Dispirited as Caroline is this moment, do you intend a Reconciliation someday with your good wife, then strike whilst the iron is hot, using your utmost Subtlety! Nothing too abrupt or promising at first, mind. Cajole her, with no Recriminations for her Foolishness, with no sudden Vows or Wishes for Renewal. But then I very much doubt that you are in need of advice when it comes to cossetting the Fairer Sex, ho!"
"Oh yes, I do!" Lewrie bewilderedly confessed to his empty great-cabins, and his nettled cat. "Ev'ry man does. And did ye ever have any advice, why the Devil didn't ye share it when I needed it?"
He plumped down in his desk chair once more, exhausted by fear and anger, by outrage. How to pen that letter to Caroline, posing stern and capable, and "reliable and trustworthy," he couldn't even begin to conjure. It would be implausible to beg her forgiveness… and much too soon to do so, too. He could not chide her for a brainless chit for being gulled by the vicar's advice, either.
And when you came right down to it, did he wish to reconcile?
Hmmm…
He had to give that one a long think, turning his chair to face Caroline's portrait hanging in the dining-coach; done back when she was a newlywed in the Bahamas in '85 or '86. Dewy fresh and pretty, with her features unlined, but for the natural merry folds below her eyes; long, silken light brown hair worn long and missish under a wide-brim straw bonnet…
T'wasn't all looks, or beauty, though… And damn being a sailorman! He was gone for a year or two, sometimes an entire three years commission, and people and things never were the same as they were when he left. Children sprouted taller, into the most amazing creatures, totally alien to who they'd been before, as strange to him as feathered savages in the Great South Seas. Wives…
Had be been a landsman, even a tenant squire with even a modicum of ability to work a farm (or appear as if he even tried!) he knew things would have been different between them. There would have been no shock of rencontre, at the changes. They would not have mellowed apart, too "set in their ways" for coping with life as independent agents, but would have slowly, gradually adapted to each other, so that such changes never came as a security-shaking shock of recognition. They would have aged… together!
And, most importantly, living cheek-to-jowl with a goodly wife, standing "watch and watch" with a woman so sweet and intelligent, and compatible as Caroline, it was good chances he'd never have strayed.
Well, perhaps now and again, but 'twould've been rare. Really.
Lewrie was certain that Caroline was still more than enough for him as a mate; hadn't he deemed her perfect marriage material once he and she had re-met in England in '84, long before they'd wed? Before that anonymous scribbler had exposed his overseas doings, hadn't they proved their mutually pleasing compatibility after each separation and re-adjusted to each other, caught up? So happy and light-hearted, so easily sociable and teasing, so much of the same mind… wasn't she the same spriteiy but serious, level-headed but adoring girl he'd wed?
Reconcile? Aye, he did wish it!
Could he shed Theoni Connor, though, and their bastard son? Almost completely, yes, though he did owe her an obligation. But, was a complete break called for, then so be it. Theoni was well-off in her own right, with no need of his financial support, or wish to bruit her boy Alan James Connor in genteel society as a bastard.
He suspected, though, that as long as the war went on, and the Admiralty had need of him (despite their qualms), once reconciled, he would be right back at sea, years and thousands of miles gone, putting into strange… "harbours," as all true sailors did, sooner or later.
Could he actually amend his roguish ways?
Sadly, he rather doubted it; or doubted such a vow surviving an entire year, unless he spent his time completely out of sight of land. He knew by then his own nature… and a lewd'un, it was, he was man enough to confess… to himself, at the least.
He eyed the larger stack of letters, all from Theoni. No! His solicitor, and Caroline, now took precedence. He scooted his chair up to the desk and stretched for paper, quill, and inkwell.
Mountjoy, then the boys, then lastly that vital epistle to Caroline. Well, to his father, thirdly, to give thanks for his ministrations and advice. Which thought gave him shivers! Caroline, last.
"Gawd," he said with a wondering sigh. "All this, and Choundas, too. Well, just thankee Jesus for all this bounty."
BOOK TWO
"En labor, en odiis caput insuperabile nostris!"
"Lo! a heavy task!-this man whom no hate of mine can overcome!"
– Argonautica, Book III, 510
Valerius Flaccus
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mister the Honourable Grenville Pelham, with Lewrie's agreement, determined that the Proteus frigate, and Lewrie's tender hide, would be safer did she sail for her hunting grounds at once, with Mr. Peel to accompany her, and Lewrie, so the "game" could be put afoot immediately… and someone sensible kept a chary eye on her captain, to prevent further folly!
While Lewrie didn't think he had much to fear from the Beaumans and their allies, still all a'bluster with rage over Ledyard's demise, and the undying shame and dishonour attached to it (in court at least) there had been some disquieting rumours bandied about involving knives, clubs, and dark Kingston alleys. The principal witnesses to the affair were of too-good standing, embarrassingly alive… and demonstrably unbribable, yet someone had to pay, so…! Which rumours, sworn even as the dust was pattering upon Ledyard's coffin in the churchyard, did, admittedly, force Lewrie to tug his neck-stock and gulp a time or two, and keep his head swivelling to see who was coming up on his off-side. The Beaumans always had been a crude and immoderate clan who never did anything by halves!
God sakes, look at Lucy! had been Lewrie's conclusion. Swiftly followed by / never get in much trouble at sea, then damme, but my men are goin' stale, swinging idle at anchor so long, and finally by let's get after that bastard Choundas, then, at once! He's no more vicious than the Beaumans… and I can see him comin ' a long way off!
So it was with A Glad Heart and filled with Righteous Duty that Lewrie ordered HMS Proteus to take in her kedge anchors, haul up close to her moor, unfurl tops'ls and jibs, and, on a fine and freshening slant of wind from off the distant Blue Mountains, stand out proudly past the Palisades, wreathed in the gunsmoke of her salutes to Admiral Sir Hyde Parker (perhaps with Staff Captain Sir Edward Charles eying them much as an owl might ogle an escaped tit-mouse, with shaken fist and a faint cry of "I'll have ye, yet, ye bastard!") to thread the reefs with a harbour pilot aboard, and make a joyful offing to the sparkling deeps! Where Captain Alan Lewrie, R.N., could savour the thought of… "Hah! Cheated Death, again!"