"You are so forward!" she protested, but not very much.
"Forgive my eagerness, but it has been a long time."
"Of course, I forgive you, Alan. And you would never do anything to cause undue comment." She acquiesced, matching him stride for stride. "Oh, do tell me everything. Your last letter said you had left that ship Desperate, and had made lieutenant. And you were in a new vessel, the name escapes me?"
"Shrike, a brig o'war. I am first officer."
"You captain your own ship?" she gaped. "Already?"
"Uh, no" he had to admit. "The captain is a Lieutenant Lilycrop, but I am next in command, his first officer, you see."
"Oh, but that is marvelous for you." She beamed. "Now you are no longer a midshipman. And you have an annuity. And your grandmother's inheritance. Oh, Alan, I could never have dreamed things would turn out this way. Dad can have no objections now. And do they pay you?"
"I'd hardly do it for fun, now, would I?" Alan teased. They reached a wall of lush tropical plantings, heavy with flowers and thick with bouquet. There was a narrow path that led under and through the thicket, and Alan grinned at her as he cocked his head in that direction. Lucy met his eyes and grinned mischievously in reply. They were just about to step through for some real seclusion, when the rain that had been threatening began to spatter on the lawn and the leaves.
"Oh, my gown!" Lucy wailed. She stood up on tiptoe to kiss him briefly on the lips, then tugged him into a dash for the house as the rest of the guests ran for cover as well, and the servants gathered up what they could before the storm ruined furniture and tablecloths.
They made it to the porch, where Lucy bewailed the state of her dress and her hair, sure she had been disfigured by the raindrops; and from the sound of it, was sure the condition was permanent.
"I must go change," she told him as he mopped his hair and face with a pocket kerchief. "I hope my maid may be able to salvage it."
"Hardly spotted," Alan pointed out as the rain gusted and blew in on the porch, swirling in the late afternoon light on the yard and the steps and railings. "It'll be fine."
"Just like a man to think so!" she snorted back, tossing her head as though her hair was still down in a more casual style. "Now you entertain yourself for a few minutes while I go change into something dry. But do not be too entertained. There are quite a few other young women here, and I should not like to see you being too charming."
"You have nothing to fear, Lucy, I swear." He told her with all innocence. She smiled once more, looked about to see if anyone was watching, and pecked him on the cheek. He kissed her hand, and she blushed again, before darting off, calling for her maid-servant.
Damme, what a lovely little minx! he crowed in silent congratulation at his good fortune just to know her, and to know that she was so fond of him. Ain't she fine, just! Lord, she's so perfect, so beddable, and admirers be damned, she's as good as mine. This time there'll be nothing to tear us apart. And if she don't fetch five thousand pounds for her portion, I'm a Turk in a turban!
There was a lot of fetching of towels, a lot of shaking of powdered wigs that left a slurry of wet flour on the terrace tiles as the other guests tended to their ruined finery, though no one looked particularly wet to Alan's viewpoint. Let 'em stand on a quarterdeck with me in a gale of wind, and I'll give 'em "wet"! he thought with a touch of contempt for lubberly civilians.
Lucy Beauman's conception of "a few minutes" was obviously not everyone's; the time passed slowly, forcing him to check his pocket watch to see how long she was taking to change. Alan occupied himself with a couple more glasses of champagne.
"Mister Lewrie?" A familiar, throaty voice spun him about.
"Ah," Alan managed to say, "Mrs. Hillwood?"
"I am so gratified you recall me," the older woman said. She was still lovely, in her lanky fashion, a bit less smooth-complexioned than he remembered from nearly two years before, when they had met at a supper-dance at Sir Richard Slade's. He had gone to her house the next day, after debauching himself to the wee hours with… whatever the little chick-a-biddy's name had been (it had been that sort of a party)… and Mrs. Hillwood had damned near killed him with kindness. If it hadn't been for her penchant for neat gin, which had put out her lights and let him dress and escape, she might have put him under for good.
"How delighted to see you once more, Mrs. Hillwood," he told her. "You are looking marvelous, as always."
"You are too kind, young sir. But what is this? You have made lieutenant. Still in that despatch boat?"
"No, ma'am. I left Parrot soon after docking at Antigua."
"And how is that young scamp we knew," she simpered, laying heavy stress on "knew," since she had "known" both Thad Purnell and Alan Lewrie, in successive evenings. "Thomas? No, Thaddeus."
"I regret that I must inform you that Thad Puraell passed over to the Yellow Jack on that same voyage, ma'am."
"Oh, how terrible." She frowned, dropping her teasing air. "He was a dear friend of yours. So young, too."
"That seems to be the way of the world, ma'am," Alan agreed somberly.
"Once you sailed, I never heard from you again," Mrs. Hillwood went on. "I am sure so much of note has happened to you. You must let me entertain you, perhaps come for tea, and tell me all about what you have been doing since last we had the pleasure of each other's company."
Damned if she hadn't been one hell of a bare-back rider, bony about the hips or not, chicken-chested or not, Alan remembered. It had been two months since he had even gotten a whiff of womankind, and he would not be doing much more with Lucy than holding hands and sighing a lot, he realized. Memories sprang up, like how predatory she looked with her face beaming a wicked smile up from his groin as they lay in bed and she coaxed him into just one more bout; the noises she made as she rode St. George on his member and stirred her hips and belly like an island woman grinding corn.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he told her, and she grinned in delight, curving up those talented lips. In repose, her face, with an unfortunately hawkish nose her only mar, could appear fierce, but a smile restored the great beauty she had once possessed.
"I am certain it would, Mister Lewrie," she cooed softly, as she toyed with her fan, using it to touch him on the cheek by his faint scar. "And you must tell me all about that. Your address?"
"The Shrike brig."
"You mind where I live?" she asked. "Not quite? How forgetful of you. I trust I shall not have to write it down more than this once."
"I am certain you shan't." Alan grinned at the meaning of that threat, and his groin got tight just thinking about it. "And Mister Hillwood is still inland, I trust, being-agricultural?"
"As far as I know," she sighed. "His particular passions require greater secrecy than mine."
"Ah, Alan," Lucy said as she re-emerged from the house in a new gown of creamy pale yellow satin with gold bows and trim. Her hair had been let down and brushed dry as well.
"A few minutes, hey?" Alan teased. "Half a dog-watch, more like. Lucy Beauman, I believe you know Mrs. Hillwood?"
"We have not had the pleasure, though the name is familiar to me," Lucy replied, looking somewhat vexed. "How delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Hillwood."
"And I yours, dear. My, what a lovely gown. You are fortunate not to have gotten it wet in the rain showers," Mrs. Hillwood cooed.
"I had to change." Lucy frowned.
"Would that I could, my dear. Or at least sponge this down."
"I would be happy to offer you the use of my chambers. Did you bring your maid with you?" Lucy suggested.