Dewey Lambdin - Sea of Grey

Caroline then demanded that half his inheritance from his grandmother Lewrie's plate and paraphernalia be turned over to her; that he could live on his damned Navy pay, and the Ј150 per annum that Granny Lewrie had granted him long ago as an annual living, once she had rediscovered his existence during the Revolution.

Sewallis and Hugh must be schooled, she continued; their daughter Charlotte would soon require schooling and "finishing" in the arts, music, dance, and deportment necessary to a young lady to-be of her due station, then "dotted" when finally espoused.

The children, she accused, were already inured to his years-long absences on the King's Business, so they would treat his estrangement as just another extremely long active commission. And be the better for't!

"Damme, she's dotted all her I's, crossed all her T's," Lewrie sadly marvelled. "Minds her P's and Q's… pints an' quarts, pence'n shillings. Worse'n a publican… pick yer pockets for the reckonin', 'fore he tosses ye in the gutter."

Her note was, except for the occasional spiteful slur, of course, remarkably icy, as if she'd written a dry commercial contract to a complete stranger!

"Warmin' pan's in yer bed, sir, and yer covers turned down," his servant announced, padding stocking-footed back into the sitting room.

"Night, Aspinall," Lewrie said, slumped in defeat.

"Aye, sir," Aspinall said with a jerky bow, then departed for a bed of his own in what amounted to a large closet, though the children's beds in a proper, separate room were empty, and better-made.

Of a sudden, the carafe of wine was more than tempting. Lewrie poured himself a goodly measure, a brimming glass.

"Oof!" he was forced to exclaim, spilling a few drops on his new snow-white kerseymere breeches as his ram-cat Toulon jumped up into his lap. "Hallo, Toulon. 'Least you ain't abandoned me, pusslin'."

The black and white torn, now grown to nigh a stone-and-a-half in weight, and as firmly muscled as a well-fed basset hound-like petting a log with legs-made mouth-shut trills and grunts in welcome as he kneaded Lewrie's lap, rubbed his head against his chest, and slung his bulk against him, his thick, white-tipped ebony tail a brush that lazily twirled and tickled under Alan's nose.

Lewrie managed one sip, then set aside his glass to pet him and stroke him, else he'd be a pluperfect pest for a full half-hour. "Aye, I know, big baby, been gone too damn' long. Left you behind, did she? Been just you and Aspinall, hours and hours? Well, I'm back now, just you an' me, yyess……"

An' by God, ain't it just.! he sadly told himself; me and a damn' cat, the rest o ' my days, if Caroline don't come round… somehow.

And how his wife could ever reconcile herself with such a faithless hound as he, he couldn't quite fathom… yet, anyway. She wasn't the sort to pine away; she'd proved that by running their farm as well as any man during his other commissions. Rearing the children, becoming such an astute woman of commerce, never given to the vapours, just coping deuced well, with her stillroom, jams, and jellies, the domestics they employed, neighbours, skin-flint horse-copers, homemade vinegars, wines, and spring ales, her sewing, knitting, and economies…

She didn't need him, he realised with a start of revelation; he was a

sometime amusement, like a visiting troupe of jugglers and acrobats! Caroline was complete unto herself, and had been for years; what ties of affection and custom there had been were now severed!

Caroline had kith and kin, the house, the village, and the church, and the long, predictable roll of the seasons in peaceful and settled country life, home and hearth, whilst he had the sea, and…

"Murff, " Toulon muttered in his lap, strewing hair over the new breeches that he had bought for the celebration ball that they should have attended this evening, done up in their best finery, dancing with the great and near-great in glittering triumph and praise.

Toulon turned about in his own length and slunk inside the sling that bound Lewrie's left arm, stretching out once inside, feeling like a hairy 18-pounder shot, with but his whiskers, nose, and slitted eyes showing after he'd turned about once more. He gave out a long, happy yawn, stretched out his front paws and legs to dangle either side of his master's wrist, and began to purr, rattling like signal halliards and light blocks might clatter in a stiff breeze.

Lewrie was too tired to think anymore, too drunk and too numb for self-pity or a good, cleansing admission of guilt. He was certain those'd come, though, as he picked up his abandoned wineglass and took a melancholy sip. Now that he was alone, and still.

And it was goin ' so bloody good this mornin ', he mourned as he recalled how promising the day had started out…'til that encounter in Hyde Park…

W ell, that came off well, Lewrie thought for a hopeful moment, as Theoni bade them all a gracious goodby, took her sons and her maidservant and new-fangled wheeled perambulator off down the pale gravelled path. Polite and innocent as anything! Whew!

He had turned back to face his wife, after perhaps allowing his gaze to linger just a blink too long on the departing Mrs. Connor.

Ka-whap!

Caroline's stinging blow made his jaw feel as if it was broken!

"Oow!" he'd yelped in sudden pain and astonishment, face reddening. "What the bloody…!"

"You… beast!" Caroline fumed; her upraised hand-just used to slap him halfway into next week-now fisted, as if she'd contemplated boxing his ear, or making his nose spout claret! Her parasol, a flimsy thing good only for languid strolls, was held low and furled in her left hand, its pointy brass ferrule winking in the wan sunshine, putting Lewrie in mind of a sword-point.

"What was that for?" he'd demanded, though he knew damn' well.

"You…faithless… lying… bastard!" she'd accused.

"Caroline… dearest!" he'd assayed, hoping to cozen her from her pet. "You're sadly mistook! It's not… oww!"

The fragile parasol had swept up high on her right, then slashed downwards and leftwards, catching him on the scalp (proving harder than advertised) and sending his ornate new cocked hat flying over the dun December grass. He'd lifted his wounded left arm in its sling to ward her off, too late, making him grunt with sudden pain.

Christ, she'd hit a wounded man? he gawped as he'd skittered to the rear in retreat; mean t'say, me… and a wounded bloody hero?

And this was the gentle wife and mother who'd spank the unruly child, then go off and weep into her aprons, the most kindly and…?

"Bastard!" Caroline had insisted, moving that parasol into her right hand, taking a swordsman's lunge at his offending groin, making him squeak in alarm and retreat a step or two more.

With a pang of chagrin, he had realized that he'd fired a hulling shot into himself. Caroline might have been chary, and less than sincere with cordiality when presented with the sight of the handsome Widow Theoni Kavares Connor and her youngest drooling "git" in the perambulator. Impossible to avoid on the park's pathway, since Theoni's party and their skirts took up so much of it, impossible to snub her when here came the bold captain who'd saved her in the Adriatic, here came his father, General Sir Hugo, who'd called upon her before; glorious in his best uniform, glittering with gold lace and chain gimp.

Caroline hadn't voiced the slightest cattiness when shown the pudgy little bastard, who, unfortunately, was enough grown a "crawler" for the uncanny resemblance to her loyal husband to begin to be evident, no! The vertical furrow in her brows that sprouted when she was wroth with him hadn't sprouted 'til Theoni was leaving. She hadn't accused him of that… yet.