"A moment." She summoned a maid and spoke rapidly in French to her, then turned back to Kydd. "So, tell me what is it you are doing."
Kydd was uncomfortable in his old uniform but he thawed at her warmth, and by the time the maid returned with another glass and a cake stand he was chuckling at her misapprehensions of the sea service. "Rousin' good cakes," he said, having sampled one of the tiny, lemon-flavoured shells.
"Ah, ze madeleines," she said sadly. "The old King Louis, 'is favourite."
It did not seem right to dwell on past griefs, so Kydd said brightly, "Have you heard? The Duke o' Shwygery is t' be honoured with a banquet, an' we're all invited to attend. Your husband will have an invitation, o' course?"
"I am not married," she said quietly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, madam," he said. "Ah—that's not t' mean I'm sorry you're not married at all. I — er, please forgive . . ."
"Forgiven, M'sieur," she said gently.
"Will I see you there?" he asked hopefully.
She looked at him steadily. "I have not been invited."
Kydd's heart went out to her, so elegant, beautiful and serene. No man had begged her hand for the occasion, unwilling to risk the mortification of being declined—indeed, in the normal way he would never be noticed by a lady of such quality. It was so close to the event it was more than probable there would be no more offers forthcoming and she would be obliged to stay at home. Any gentleman . . . "Madam, I am not engaged for the occasion. It would be my particular honour t' escort you, should ye be inclined."
There was a fraction of hesitation, then she smiled. "I would be delighted to accept, Lieutenant," she murmured, and the smile moved to her eyes.
"What do ye think, Nicholas.?" said Kydd, rotating in his new full-dress uniform coat. The white facings with gold buttons against the deep blue were truly magnificent and he looked forward to making his appearance in it.
"Dare I enquire, dear fellow, if you have a lady of suitable distinction marked out for the occasion?" Renzi asked doubtfully.
"I have." Kydd was going to give nothing away before the night; all he had to do was take a ship's boat to the landing-stage, then make his way to the house. Therese had said she would find a carriage.
"It is at Government House," Renzi stressed, "and although we shall not be prominently seated you do understand we will be under eye, possibly of the Prince himself."
"Thank you, Nicholas. I will try not to disappoint. And y'rself?"
"I have my hopes, dear fellow."
The day of the banquet arrived. Captain Houghton addressed his officers in the wardroom as to the seriousness of the occasion, the honour of the ship, the correct forms of address to the Prince and to an Austrian duke and duchess and the probable fate of any officer who brought shame to his ship.
Later in the day Tysoe jostled with others to begin the long process of bringing his officer to a state of splendour: a stiff white shirt topped with a black stock at the neck under the high stand-up collar of the coat, gleaming buckled shoes over white stockings, and immaculate tight white breeches. It had been shockingly expensive and Kydd had borrowed heavily against his future prize money from Minotaure, but he was determined to make a showing.
One by one the other officers departed, some to share carriages, others to walk up the hill. Renzi left, with a troubled glance at his friend.
Kydd trod the same path as before, the early-summer evening tinting the garden with a delicious enchantment. A footman waited and escorted Kydd to an open carriage. "Madame will attend you presently," he intoned.
Therese emerged and Kydd was left struggling for words: there must be few in Halifax who could possibly reach her heights of fashionable elegance. He took refuge in a deep bow as she came towards him in a full-length, high-waisted ivory gown, perilously low-cut and trimmed fetchingly in blue, her elaborate coiffure woven with pearls and a single ostrich feather sweeping up imperiously.
"Bonsoir, mon lieutenant. An' such a clement evening, n'est-ce pas? "
With the footman holding open the door of the carriage, Kydd helped her up, her long gloved hand in his. It seemed so unreal, and all he could think of was that he must not let down Cecilia after all her patient tutoring on gentility.
The chaise lurched into motion, keeping to a sedate pace. Kydd sat bolt upright next to his lady. Thankfully, the grinding of the wheels made conversation an effort, and he concentrated on the journey, imagining the effect on his shipmates when he and his lady were announced.
As they approached the town he was given a measure of what to expect by the reaction of passers-by. Some gaped, others pointed. Kydd swelled with pride—they must make a striking couple indeed. The carriage clattered along the streets and headed for a large building between two churches, illuminated in every window, and with the sound of fine music coming from within.
They drew up outside among the crowd of sightseers and Kydd was gratified once again by the impression he and his lady made. He bowed graciously this way and that, then hastened to assist Therese down. He offered his arm, and they swept into Government House through a lane of gaping onlookers. His confidence soared.
Inside he glimpsed the levee room, packed with glittering personages in animated talk, jewellery sparkling in candlelight, and a military concert band in full flow in the corner. A bewigged major-domo at the door hesitated. "Er, Madame Therese Bernardine-Mongenet," Kydd said importantly—it had taken hours to learn, "And L'tenant Thomas Kydd."
The man looked petrified; possibly this was his first important occasion, Kydd thought. Nevertheless, he coughed and bawled resolutely, "Lieutenant Thomas Kydd and—and Madame Therese Bernardine-Mongenet." With her hand on his arm, Kydd stepped into the room. If only Cecilia could see him now!
Every face in the room turned towards them: conversations died, the band's efforts faded uncertainly. Kydd's head was spinning. This was what it was to be in high society! "You will introduce me?" Therese whispered.
Overflowing with happiness and with the broadest smile, Kydd turned to his left and approached the nearest group, who started with apprehension. He bowed deeply to the elderly gentleman and made a grand introduction. The man's wife curtsied, staring wide-eyed at Therese. Kydd moved on graciously, trying to think of suitable small-talk.
He knew he would never forget the night—or the effect of a truly beautiful woman on society. Around them conversations stopped, then picked up again as they progressed down the room.
To the side, he saw Houghton staring at them as if at a ghost. Next to him stood Bampton, clearly in shock. "My captain," Kydd said happily to Therese, as they approached. Houghton seemed overcome at the introduction, gobbling something indistinct, but Therese, clearly delighted, bestowed on him special attention and offered her hand to be kissed. As he watched his captain grovel before a grand lady, Kydd believed the evening could promise nothing more satisfying.
Prince Edward stood in the centre of the room surrounded by aides-de-camp, courtiers and military men in gleaming regimentals. Kydd summoned every ounce of courage and led Therese over to him. "Y'r Royal Highness, may I be allowed t' introduce Madame Therese Bernardine-Mongenet?" Therese's graceful curtsy was long held. "An' myself, L'tenant Thomas Kydd, o' HMS Tenacious." He bowed as low as he could.
"Lieutenant, tell me true, have you been in Halifax long?" The Prince had an aristocratically hard face; Kydd had heard stories of his unbending attitude to military discipline, his early-morning parades and merciless justice.
"Not long, Y'r Royal Highness, an' much o' that in the United States."