"Cut his way out!" Beauman, Sr., boasted. "Through fire and steel! My youngest boy, Ledyard, Lewrie."
"Delighted," Alan replied, offering his hand.
"Y're servant, sir, haw haw!" Ledyard rejoined inanely.
There was a middle daughter named Floss, bearer of the worst traits from the father's side of the union, ill-favored and swarthy; but her husband seemed happy enough, perhaps mollified by her father's gold. Master Hugh Beauman was married as well, to a rather good-looking young piece who evidently had realized it was impossible to get a word in edgewise in such a family, and had stopped trying. Anne gave him a sympathetic shrug, and a bit of a wink that in other circumstances would have had Alan scheming for a space of time alone with her.
There followed some rather uncomfortable minutes of chitchat, with Alan the unwitting victim for not knowing any of the people or events they referred to, a common fault in people full of themselves. And Alan should have known about that, from monopolizing past conversations, but it was a wrench to be on the receiving end. There was no chance to break away and go searching for Lucy, the prime object of his trip ashore.
"Think it'll rain?" Mistress Anne asked him as the tops of the trees began to sway, and the sky turned gloomier.
"I would not doubt it at all, ma'am," Alan replied.
"Then we must see to getting the side-boards indoors before it begins. And I see you are out of wine, sir," she offered.
"Ah, yes I am," Alan noted. "May I escort you, ma'am?"
"I would be deeply obliged, sir."
Alan bowed his way out of the family circle and offered his arm to walk the fetching Anne Beauman towards the buffets.
"Daunting, ain't they?" she smirked once they were out of earshot.
"Daunting is a good description, ma'am," Alan smiled back.
"And I doubt you'd care to spend the rest of the evening with them, when Mistress Lucy is the reason for your visit?" Anne rejoined.
"I had hoped," Alan agreed, waving the servant with the askew wig over to service them with a tray of wine. He traded their glasses in for two fresh flutes of champagne and offered her one.
"We have heard much of you, Mister Lewrie," Anne continued. "From Lucy's description, and from your letters-those portions which Lucy thought relevant to relate to us-I would have expected someone much older. More… weathered."
"As my captain says, ma'am, I've only been in the Navy little more than a dog-watch."
"Dueling for Lucy's honor, saving a ship and her distinguished passengers, escaping Yorktown…" Anne raised an eyebrow in appreciation. "You have led an active life. And now you wish to enamor yourself to the Beaumans?"
Damn the bitch, Alan thought. I didn't come here to be mocked by some parvenu.
"Lucy and I developed a great fondness for each other last year on Antigua, ma'am. Her father allows me to call, but as for…"
"Don't call me ma'am, Mister Lewrie," Anne assured him with a touch of her hand on his sleeve. "I am Anne, and you are Alan. With luck, we shall be related, so why not start out on your best foot? A bit of advice?"
"Thank you."
"Don't take them seriously. If you do they will infuriate you beyond all reason." Anne frowned. "Hugh is a good enough man, the best of the lot in many ways, but in better circles they can appear a bit crude. A little too rustic and earthy."
"It is hardly my place to judge yet, Anne. I'm sure Lucy has many admirers, and as for my hopes-well, we shall see."
"How romantic!" Anne gushed, with just a tinge of sarcasm. "To hang the larger issues and let love dictate your desires. You are a paragon, Alan. Always pay attention to the family. Daughters turn out remarkably like their mothers, and sons become their fathers, in most instances."
"You sound disappointed," Alan said, cocking his head to one side to study her more closely. Yes, there was definitely a come-hither glint to her beauty; long dark hair and dark eyes, skin more olive or tinted by the sun than was fashionable. A wide mouth, high cheeks and a face that tapered to perfection, spoiled only by a few small-pox scars, but altogether a damned handsome woman near his age.
"Walk with me," she insisted. "I shall lead you to your Lucy."
"My pleasure."
"Island society, as you may know, is not what one would choose if given the choice of a Paris salon or a London drum," Anne told him, her hand resting maddeningly on his left sleeve, her fingers prying at the broadcloth gently. "There is a difference between hiring servants, and owning them outright. It makes for a callousness. Wield the whip often enough and flayed flesh becomes commonplace. The same goes for emotions, for souls. And the civilizing influence of literature, of music and manners is only a thin veneer. Thinner here in the islands than at home."
"I stand warned that they are all brutes and ogres," Alan quipped.
"They have their charms, even so," Anne replied with a small shrug. "And they are hardly that bad. I apologize for being gloomy."
"And you are not from the islands originally, I take it?"
"No. My father was secretary to the Governor-General, and we came out here in '72, before the war," she told him. "The lure of sugar planting got him, and we stayed. Hugh and I have been married for four years now. We have two fine children. I am quite content."
The hell you are! Alan thought. That's about as broad a hint as I've heard in six months. She's bored beyond tears.
"As I hope to be, Anne," Alan told her.
"Ah, here's your Lucy," Anne said, pointing out a group of young men in high finery almost eclipsing the figure of a young girl with blonde hair. "Such a darling girl."
"Amen to that," Alan agreed heartily.
"Lucy?" Anne called. "Look who's here."
Lucy peeked from the crowd, gave a small gasp, fanned herself, and stepped through to rush to his side.
God Almighty! he thought as he took her in. How could she have gotten prettier?
Lucy Beauman's bright aquamarine eyes lit up, her lips parted in a fond smile, showing her perfect little white teeth. Gloved hands touched his arms, there was a whiff of some maddening scent as they stood gazing at each other. He noted her high-piled hair, so delectably honey-blonde, the perfection of her neck, her shoulders, the white and pink and maroon gown she wore daringly off the shoulders (the proud swell of her breasts against the gown even more bountiful than formerly); he took in how petite and lovely her figure was, how round and inviting her arms were.
"Lucy," he breathed, all other sights gone from his ken.
"Oh, you are here!" she sighed, like to faint, her lips trembling. "I shall die of happiness, surely."
Much as he wanted to crush her to him, he had to stand back and hold hands with her, his own hands trembling with emotion. Money be damned, she was so beautiful, so much more beautiful than he even remembered, that he would have carried her off that moment if she didn't have two ha'pennies to rub together.
"You look so grand as a lieutenant," she admired. "The uniform suits you so well!"
"And your gown is delightful," Alan complimented in return. "But no gown could hold a candle to your beauty, Lucy."
"You are such a rogue, Alan," she gushed, blushing prettily but mightily pleased that he took the time to notice. "Oh, I have missed you so much!"
"And I you."
"You must come and meet father," she told him.
"I already have. I would have been at your side long before, but I was intercepted. Father, mother, Hugh, Ledyard, Floss…"
"Oh, good then. And you have met Anne as well?"
"Yes."
"She is such a dear. Oh, I fear I am neglecting the other guests, the gentlemen who…"
"Damn their blood, I say," Alan growled.
"Alan!" she whispered, pretending to be shocked, with a glance over her shoulder in the general direction of her miffed admirers.
"I haven't seen you in almost a year," Alan insisted, leading her further away from the disgruntled pack of suitors towards the back of the garden, where there looked to be a bit more privacy. "Why would I wish to make acquaintance of your other worshipers?"