He was not exactly bored. But he was not exactly happy, either.
The crowning humiliation of being a shore sailor, no greater than a whip jack, was when Lady Maude decided to sponsor a ball and dinner.
Alan was loaned by Sir Onsley to be her clerk and had to suffer the twittering idiocy of Lady Maude and the other naval wives as he did up their shopping lists, their dinner plans, their music choices, and then issue the invitations, copying the same words over and over again in his best round hand. No midshipmen could be spared from the flagship or the dockyard for that duty—it was all his, since he was no loss to the demands of the Navy.
Lucy was there in the background, ignoring him for departing like a thief in the night without so much as a farewell note. Which made it much more pleasant to get away once the invitations were finished and go galloping or rowing to deliver them. The only sop to his feelings was that he was at least invited to attend.
* * *
He was tricked out perfectly in his best new blue coat, snow white shirt and waistcoat and breeches that had never known tar or slush, fine silk stockings and new gold-plated buckles on his well-blacked shoes. He might be a low addition to the ball but he thought he glittered properly. Very few other midshipmen had been invited, except for those that could sport “The Honourable” before their names. In the mob of lieutenants, commanders, captains and a commodore or two, civilians took him for some sort of staff person, which was good for his ego; or a servant, which was not.
Admiralty House atop the hill was a sea of candlelight, a rich amber aura most flattering to all, especially the women. The men in their floured wigs looked bronzed as golden oak from the sun, even if half of them spent their lives in counting-houses.
Alan strolled about, sipping at a cold hock. There was still plenty of Greenland ice down in the storm-cellars packed in chaff and straw to last the summer. His hosts had even been so profligate with it as to float large blocks in the punchbowls.
He could see Lucy, the center of attention from a host of young admirers, and some not so young. There was even a pop-eyed commander with the face of a frog off a Sloop of War courting her. Lewrie had to admit that she looked luscious. Instead of her own hair she wore a high-piled white wig, a reddish gold satin gown faced with a pale yellow filigreed and embroidered silk undergown, making her seem older.
“Devilish-fine looking young thing,” Keith Ashburn said at his side. Lewrie turned to him. “Hallo, Alan, how do you keep?”
“Main well, considering … yes, yes, she is.”
“Must have been a trial to be around her, knowing you, even if you did have the Yellow Jack.”
“That’s why they ran me off. Thought I was looking a tad too robust to be near such a sweet young tit.”
“Ever try to get into her mutton? Sorry.”
“No, I didn’t,” Alan glowered, irked that he, of all people, would speak of her so casually.
“My apologies. But you wouldn’t mind if I danced with her?”
“Not at all.” Alan shrugged as though it made no difference to him, but was suddenly queasy with jealousy at the thought of someone else paying court to her, or discussing her like cheap merchandise.
He knew there was no future in it for his career, and knew that her sort of affection would involve marriage. What’s more, he knew she was being ravishing to her circle of courtiers to get back at him, just as she had snubbed him earlier, and that his best course of action was to ignore her and spark someone else for the evening so he would not appear to her to be a foolish cully over a chit of a girl. But he found himself drifting nearer, as though drawn into a maelstrom.
“I throw myself on your mercy, Miss Beauman,” Ashburn was pleading in mock seriousness. “Allow me just the one dance this evening.”
“For such gallantry, Mister Ashburn, I shall make it two.” She laughed lightly. “Have you met Lieutenant Warner of the Dido frigate? Commander Ozzard of Vixen? Lieutenant Wyndham of the 12th Foot? Lieutenant Ashburn of Glatton … and Midshipman Lewrie of my uncle’s staff?” she concluded, dismissively.
He was drawn into the conversational circle against his will, having stood close enough to Keith to look as if he was with him, and had to suffer the looks of the Commission Officers at his affrontery to poach on their private preserve. But when she needed a fresh cup of punch it was Alan that she drew to her and linked arms with to escort her to the buffets, leaving the others fuming.
“Is it not a beautiful evening for a party, Alan?” she asked as he fetched a fresh cup for her. “It’s so exciting…”
“Indeed. Everything is lovely,” he agreed with a smile.
“And does my new gown please you?”
“I believe that you are the most beautiful young lady present. The gown is magnificent, as you are.”
“Why, thank you indeed, Alan,” she said, seeming really pleased. “I should not expect such a pretty compliment from someone who would toss me aside so easily.”
“Your uncle, and the Service, required me to leave.”
“But without a word, not a note, not even a hint…”
“As I said—”
“You can dissemble so well, Alan,” she told him sweetly. “Was I not desirable enough to tempt you to stay?”
“How tempting you were was the prime reason I had to leave. Do you think Sir Onsley and Lady Maude, Old Isaac, or those other servants who came from Jamaica with you would allow me to pay court to you without your family’s approval? I have more respect for you than to do anything to harm your good name,” he most courtly lied.
“While Mrs. Hillwood, and that gorgeous Lady Cantner have no good name to lose?” the coy minx posed.
“What do you think I should have done, sneak into your room to bid you goodbye?” he asked, half in jest.
“Not at all!” But he had half an idea that she might have entertained just such a fantasy. “You could, however, have considered my feelings at your lack of manners.”
“I shall in future. I should also wish to ask for a dance or two, if you are not too promised already.”
“Ah, Alan…” she said with a wistful adoring smile. “You are so … of course I shall dance with you. In fact, I would be most cross with you if we did not. I might remind you that I shall soon be seventeen, not such a little girl to you.”
“Believe me, I have noticed your maturing.”
“I shall not always be a gawky girl, and you shall not always be interested in trivial…” She turned away from him to avoid him seeing her distress.
“I am very fond of you as well, Lucy.”
“You shall be a post-captain,” she said proudly. “Perhaps even knighted for some act of great bravery.” She turned to him and smoothed a lapel for him. “But perhaps when you become a lieutenant…”
“And the war is over,” he added, almost piss-proud at what he was hearing from her.
“Pray God it is soon,” she agreed hotly. He took her gloved hand and brushed her fingers with his lips.
My God, she loves me! he thought wildly. Now there’s a new thing. There’ve been trulls enough glad to see my shillings, but here’s an admiral’s niece as good as saying she wants to marry me!
Not that he was that anxious to marry, but she had the best prospects he had seen since leaving London. Nor was he anxious for the war to end, for how else could he earn prize money, make more of a name for himself, gain that commission that would assure his future? And there were a hundred obstacles in the way; she was a girl, therefore fickle in her affections. Her father could go barking mad at the thought, and most likely had a better-suited young man of her own set in mind already, and it was never up to the girl to choose.