Kydd continued to stare up at the deckhead from his easy chair. It had been an uneventful cruise. Stirk was still away in Polperro and there had been no sign of any privateer, leaving him time to reflect on events ashore. Things had come to pass on Dartmoor that had no explanation other than that Miss Persephone Lockwood had formed an interest in him, which was now personal.
"Nicholas, I—I'm out o' soundings on these matters. Y' see, I'm concerned that if I . . . press my attentions and you're on th' right tack about y'r ladies playin' with . . . Well, what I'm trying t' say is—"
"Fear not! If the lady wished to toy with you, then what better than before the large and distinguished audience at the princely reception? No, dear fellow, you must try to accept that for reasons which must escape mere men, you have caught Miss Lockwood's fancy."
"But—but if I . . . pursue her, and . . . it doesn't fadge, then it'll be so . . ."
Renzi snorted. "Dear chap, do you really believe that you'll be the first to suffer a reverse in the pursuit of an amour? If so, then shall I remind you that faint heart never won fair lady?" He gave a half-smile. "Besides, I believe that on this occasion you will find the logic unassailable. On the one hand if you hold back for fear of rebuff then, of course, you cannot succeed to win her hand. For the other, if you are active in your addresses and are repelled then you may fail—but equally so you may be gladly received and go on to a blissful conclusion. Therefore only one course is reasonable . . ."
Kydd gulped and pulled the doorbell. He had never been to the admiral's house before and its severe classical frontage seemed to frown at his audacity in visiting simply on a social matter.
"Mr Kydd calling upon Lady Lockwood," he said, as firmly as he could, to the footman, handing over his visiting card—his name in blue copperplate with an acanthus-leaf border, much recommended by Renzi—and waited nervously.
By the rules of society he could not call upon Miss Lockwood directly: that would never do for a gentleman. He had first to navigate past her mother and he dreaded facing the formidable matriarch. Perhaps the footman would return to announce that Lady Lockwood was not at home to him.
He heard footsteps and braced himself. The door was opened, but by the admiral in comfortable morning clothes. He appeared bemused. "Mr Kydd, this is a pleasure of course, but may I en-quire—Lady Lockwood . . . ?"
"S-sir," Kydd stuttered. It was not going according to the script that Renzi had patiently laid out for him. The footman should have admitted him to the drawing room where the ladies would be sitting demurely sewing. There would be polite conversation before tea was proffered. He would not stay less than fifteen minutes or longer than half an hour and could not look to seeing Miss Lockwood alone at any time.
"T' be more truthful sir, it was . . . Well, I was hoping to call upon Miss Lockwood to express personally my thanks for the reception."
The admiral's expression eased with the glimmer of a smile. Heartened, Kydd went on, "An' to be bold enough to ask her advice in a matter of music."
"My profound regrets, Mr Kydd, but I have to tell you Lady Lockwood is at the moment somewhat discommoded." He paused, but then said lightly, "However, I shall enquire if Persephone is able to receive you. Will you not come in?"
There was no one in the spacious drawing room. Lockwood turned and spoke to the footman while Kydd's eyes were drawn to the fine seamanlike painting in pride of place above the mantelpiece. "You like it, Mr Kydd? Persephone presented it to me recently—, damn fine taste for a woman, I thought. See here—not many artists remember to slack the lee shrouds in anything of a blow and, well, you were present at the action as I remember. A good likeness?"
"Master's mate only, sir—but this is a rattlin' fine piece o' work, t' be sure," Kydd agreed warmly, peering more closely at it.
Then the door opened behind him. "Why, Mr Kydd! How kind in you to call!" Her voice was charged with such unmistakable delight that he gave a boyish smile before he remembered his polite bow.
"Miss Lockwood!" Her hair was in fetching curls that framed her face and he found himself looking away while he composed himself. "Er, I called to express personally my sense of gratitude at your handsome conduct towards me at the reception."
Another bow could not go amiss and Persephone returned it with a curtsy of acknowledgement. "And—an' if ye'd be so kind . . ."
"Yes, Mr Kydd?" She looked impossibly winsome.
"Um, that I can ask your advice in the article of polite music, which you consider I might with profit, er—er—take aboard."
Lockwood had wandered to the other end of the drawing room and was absently looking out of a window.
"Music? Why, of course, Mr Kydd, I should be glad to assist." She beamed and crossed to the pianoforte, lifted the lid of the stool and pulled out a thick wad of music. "You have a fine voice, Mr Kydd, I'm sure we can find something . . . Ah, this will always be well received. A favourite of the Prince of Wales."
She set it on the pianoforte. "Do come and sit beside me, Mr Kydd. You'll not see the music from there."
Kydd hesitated. Lockwood had turned to watch but stayed near the window so he moved over to the instrument and discovered that the stool was designed to accommodate two.
"'Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill,'" she said, in a businesslike tone. "It's in two-four time and begins like this." Sweeping her hands gracefully over the keys, she picked out the tune and sang. "There! Shall you sing for me now?"
Sitting so close and singing to her, Kydd felt terror mingle with delight.
. . . and wanton thro' the grove,
Oh! whisper to my charming fair,
"I die for her I love."
O may her choice be fix'd on me,
Mine's fix'd on her alone!
I'd crowns resign to call thee mine . . .
There was the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and the door was thrown open. Lady Lockwood hurried in, her hair hastily pinned up and face with the barest dab of powder. Persephone's playing faltered and stopped; they both got to their feet.
"Oh! Mr Kydd—it's kind in you to call," Lady Lockwood said icily. Kydd bowed as deeply as he could, returned with the slightest possible bob.
The admiral moved over swiftly. "My love, Commander Kydd has called to tell Persephone of his appreciation for the way in which she rescued him at the reception, if you remember. Oh, and if she might have any suggestion as to any music he might hoist in, as it were . . ."
In any other circumstance it would have been diverting for Kydd to witness the look of scorn that words from his admiral received.
"Can that be so?" she snapped. "And with me lying in bed so ill, and wondering all the time what the commotion was about. Really, Reginald!" Without waiting for a reply she turned to Persephone, who stood with her head hung in contrition. "Your drawing master will be here at three. You will now allow Mr Kydd to go about his business, Persephone."
"Yes, Mama."
"He will no doubt have a list of your suggestions and be satisfied with them. Good day, Mr Kydd!"
Kydd bowed wordlessly and turned to go. Impulsively, Persephone went to him clutching the music and gave it to him. "Do practise this—for me, Mr Kydd?"
He swallowed. "That I will, Miss Lockwood." She curtsied deeply and, ignoring Lady Lockwood's furious look, Kydd left, his heart singing.
"Nicholas! Your note—a matter of urgency concerning Thomas's future, you said," Cecilia said breathlessly, ignoring Kydd, who was rising in surprise from his favourite armchair next to the fireplace.
"Miss Cecilia, allow me to take your pelisse," Renzi said smoothly, and handed it to Tysoe, waiting behind her. "Yes, indeed I did, and I rather fear it might require some action on our part."