Dewey Lambdin - THE GUN KETCH

"Oh!" he fathomed with a furtive smile.

"Once we're wed, then, I know my introduction to the pleasure of marriage will be gentle and tender, and so full of joy," she said.

Marriage, he gasped? Sweet Lord Jesus, what have I…?

"You are so smart and knowledgeable, Alan," she sighed happily. "And you are a man grown, after all, and… a sailor. One might hope… somewhat experienced…" She beamed, stroking his cheek fondly.

"Uhm," he allowed with a sage nod, squirming inside, thinking it wouldn't do if she knew he'd rattled half of London. "I will own to… ermm… previous encounters, infrequent though they were, being so much at sea. And only when… well, when the need was hellish."

"Then you must teach me, sweetest Alan," she said, smiling an enigmatic smile which he was not sure signified that she knew he was lying like a butcher's dog. "I will be a most willing pupil," she ended with a most fetching shyness, and a heart-stopping promise.

"Ah… hmm," he mused nonplussed, with his erotic fantasies at a furious gallop. Right, then; could it be that bad?

"You do wish to marry me, do you not, Alan?" she asked.

"Of course I do!" he heard himself sputter, "I love you!"

"Oh, Alan!" she cried, hugging him. "The first banns could be read this Sunday. We could be wed three weeks from now! Let us go ask of my family right now, so there's no possible delay! Mother may be half-expecting our wonderful news… though the others will be all amort over it!"

"Most likely," Alan agreed wholeheartedly. And damme if I ain't amort meself! Christ shit on a biscuit- marriage!

"Not only have you saved me from any number of cruel, cold destinies, Alan," she enthused as he got her to her feet and they embraced close together once more, "but you've given me every last measure of happiness I ever imagined I could know! I was so fearful you'd want to make a higher rank in the Fleet before you'd wed. I was fearful you'd have found someone else, all the years you were gone. That I was only spinning daydreams. We are awfully young. Most wait until their late twenties, when they're solidly established and all…" A hint of doubt swept over her face. "Are you as sure as I, Alan my love?"

"I love you, Caroline," he swore. "We love each other. Now, why would I risk losing you after all this time, and run the risk of never finding your like again?" There was truth in that, as well.

"Then let's hurry home!" she beamed.

"Goddamn my eyes, sir!" Uncle Phineas screeched loud as some goosed panther once they bearded him in his study. "Goddamn my eyes! I'll not have it! And Goddamn yer blood, too, sir! Never'. Never, do ye hear, Mister Lewrie?"

"What possible objections could you have, Uncle?" Caroline inquired quite reasonably, having had an inkling or two as to what the man's reactions would be beforehand.

"Phineas, Alan Lewrie saved my sons at Yorktown, evacuated us from the wrath of those ignorant Rebels," Mother Charlotte hissed. "Why, without his continuing good offices, Governour and Burgess like as not'd be dead these five years past, and us, your own kin, lynched for Tories and buried under some crossroads in Wilmington!"

"This is man's business, Charlotte, and I'll thankee to remember that!" Uncle Phineas shot back. "Aye, ye may feel grateful to the pup, aye, he's done ye service. But, he's a swaggerin' rogue of a fortune hunter."

"I beg your pardon!" Alan snapped.

"Ye'll not coozen one acre o' land outa me, Mister Lewrie. Not one farthin' o' Chiswick rents ye'll have!"

The fight had been going on for a good five minutes, with Alan and Caroline, Governour and Mother Charlotte present, and the top was still on the decanter of brandy, nothing having been settled.

"My dear sir," Alan replied coldly, "for one of your farthings, I'd call you out for those slanderous allegations."

"Alan!" Caroline wailed, sure he'd blown the gaff. "Don't…"

"I've my Navy pay, sir," Alan said, getting to his feet. "Aye, I've no lands of my own. My father and his elder brother squandered the last blade of Kentish grass I'll ever hope to see. But there's two hundred pounds per annum from my grandmother Lewrie in Devon, and roughly six thousand pounds with Coutts Co. I stand to inherit from her. No land, though; that's spoken for by her late husband's kin, the Nuttbushes of Wheddon Cross. But there's another five thousand pounds of my own… prize money from the war, and from my last service in the East Indies. D'you think I need one whit of yours?"

The idea of posting banns, of publicly stating his love for Caroline, of being wed-much less betrothed-gave him the squirting fits so bad he'd not trust his own arse with a fart. But he had had just about enough abuse poured upon him, and upon Caroline as a foolish chit of a girl too stupid to know her own mind, or recognize a scoundrel when she met one.

"My stars!" Governour exclaimed, and gave a whistle at those sums. "Like to purchase freehold land, Alan? With that much, you could have your pick around here, hey?"

"Oh, do shut up, Governour!" Uncle Phineas snarled. "No, as head of this family…"

"My father is the head of my family, Uncle Phineas," Caroline pointed out.

"Bah! And a precious lot of good his wits'll do for ye, girl!"

"Phineas!" Charlotte gasped. "How dare you!" She put a handkerchief to her eyes, not for the first time during this battle, at that latest cruelty. "How dare you impugn my dear husband. Your own brother!"

"Any court in the land'd recognize my rights as elder in matters such as this, Charlotte. Forgive me me outburst, but this fella's driven me beyond all temperance." Phineas calmed. "In Sewallis's stead, it falls t'me t' decide what's best fer our dear Caroline, and I don't judge this best."

"Uncle, I will not be sold to Harry Embleton," Caroline told him. "I am old enough to know my own mind. Old enough to wed whom I will."

"Who said anythin' 'bout sellin' anybody to anybody?" Phineas Chiswick snapped, irritated beyond measure by her calm demeanor.

"Uncle, Alan has substance," Governour commented. "Not merely wherewithal to establish a household, or obtain lands. I've found him to be a most talented and capable young man. He's a fine future in the Navy. End up an admiral, like as not."

God spare me, Alan thought of that idea!

"Governour…!" Phineas harrumphed, as though Brutus had just slipped the dagger into his Julius Caesar."Yes, he does," Mother Charlotte echoed.

"And she loves him, Uncle Phineas." Govemour reddened.

"Good God, what's fleetin' heat got t'do with anythin'?" the old man groused. "Marriages'r fer-bloody-ever in our class. Let the young'uns run off with just any sparkin' rogue'r round-heeled lass, and where's sense, logic, and bottom t'be, I ask ye? Then where's a parent's wishes come inta play, a parent's better sense? And cream-pot, stableboy love don't last beyond the first swad-dlin' clothes, and then, where's the girl? Miserable, I tell ye, bound to a bully-buck scoundrel and halfway t'the poor's house!"

"I suppose that is why you never married, Phineas," Charlotte Chiswick muttered loud enough for all to hear.

"Charlotte, ye…!" the old man gaped, strangling on curses and turning red as roses in near-apoplexy.

"I approve," Charlotte stated, mouse-timorous of stating any opinion. "And, I am certain Sewallis would as well, were he…"

"Oh, Mother, thank you!" Caroline squealed, going to her.

"I don't!" Phineas barked.

"I do," Governour said, once the echoes had died away. "After all, I wed for love. Mother's told me long ago, before the war, she did. Were Alan Lewrie truly a black-hearted schemer, were he truly worthless, I would not approve. I had hoped, of course, that she and-Harry might…"