Dewey Lambdin - The French Admiral

"You lost a lot, so Burgess told me," Alan said, trying to find a way to continue talking to her that didn't set off her bitter memories.

"Aye, we did, but not as much as others, more than some. If we had not declared for the Crown, in spite of how bad they tried to run the colony and how venal their appointed men were… well, it would have been a Tarleton or a Fanning that burned us out, anyway. Maybe God wants the Chiswicks back in England. Just the way that perhaps God wanted you to be a sailor."

In spite of his best efforts, Alan had to break out into a fit of guffaws, which prompted Caroline to forget her musings and try to cozen the reason for his humor from him, which, naturally, improved her own.

"Do you mock the Good Lord, sir?" she said, pretending to frown.

"No, and I don't mock you, either, but the idea of me being meant for a sailor set me off. Sorry. I'll tell you about it someday, but it wasn't my first choice for a career."

"Ah, second sons get no choice, do they?" She smiled, thinking she understood. "What would you have been otherwise?"

"A man who sleeps late and dines well," Alan told her.

"And a less somber one, I think." She grinned as though they had shared a great secret. "You really must smile more, Mister Lewrie."

"Me?" He laughed gently. "But I'm a merry sort almost all the time. Too much so for some. Ask anyone."

"So serious for… twenty?"

"Almost nineteen, in January. And you," he said, taking liberties with her good humor, "are such a sober thing for eighteen."

"Burgess told you of me?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow and turning her mouth up in a wry expression, as though she was trying to gnaw on her cheek. "He would. What did he say?"

"That you were the prettiest girl in two counties, but too serious by half, and that's an opinion with which I heartily agree."

Caroline made no answer to this, but turned away to savor the compliment from her brother, and the corroboration from a handsome young man at her side, trying to hide her pleased expression.

The bosun's mate of the watch, Weems, took a squint at the half-hour glass by the belfry and put his whistle to his lips. He blew the welcome call "Clear decks and up spirits" while the purser and an acting quartermaster's mate brought up a keg of rum. The hands began to queue up for their predinner rum ration.

"That means the men are to get their rum and water," Alan said. "They can get a tad rowdy, and dinner will be served aft, in half an hour. Best you get below, much as I hate to send you."

"Much as I hate to go," she replied. "Will you be here after we have dined?"

"Yes, but I shall be in the watch today, and I am sure the other officers think I have monopolized you enough." He chuckled. "Though you might wish to come on deck when four bells chime in the late afternoon. We stand to the guns for evening quarters then, and it is interesting to watch."

"They just rang seven."

"One for every half-hour turn of the glass, eight bells for a four-hour watch," he explained, walking her aft to the upper entrance to the great cabins to avoid the milling crowd of seamen on the gun deck. "After dinner there will be eight bells at four in the afternoon, then when you hear four bells again, that will be halfway through the first dogwatch, five in the afternoon."

"Every half hour?" she teased. "I believe you are making this up to make sport with me. More of your nautical cant and humbug."

"That's exactly what I called it for a long time." He laughed. "Enjoy your dinner, and my best regards to your mother and father."

She gave him one last smile and departed the deck for her cabins, leaving Alan shivering on the deck, though warmed by a glow inside at her evident fondness. He had enjoyed talking with her and laughing with her, for she had a merry disposition in her nature that she had to hide most of the time in her dealings with the world. And as the most rational member of her family present, she had her sobering responsibilities to consider first and foremost. But when free of them, she could be a charming and waggish companion, more so than any other female Alan had come across. Others did not pretend to so much wit and shunned repartee that would unsex them and make them a conversational equal to their men.

Alan thought that the Colonies did not regard mental feebleness as a desirable trait in their women, or spent more time and effort educating their daughters and allowing them free participation in discourse, much like what only a peer's daughter could expect. Still, she was not as free with her tongue and wit as a Frenchwoman at a levée , conversing on just any topic at hand in le haute monde salon society he had heard mentioned as the vogue in Paris.

He was looking forward to seeing her in late afternoon, but when she emerged on deck, it was Treghues who escorted her and her mother, and Alan had to stand down to leeward from them and attend to his duties on the watch. Alan felt a pang of… annoyance… (he would not dare to call it jealousy) at that development.

His captain was another new and different man with the Chiswicks, slightly raffish without crudity, jolly and charming, and was even heard to laugh lightly now and then, an event that made hands stop in their tracks and goggle at this unheard of novelty from a naval captain.

The humorless fart's wooing her! Alan glowered inwardly. I swear, there's a pretty picture. Trust the son of a lord to get what he wants, every time. And she's eatin' it up like plum duff, damme if she ain't! Just like a woman to sniff out the boss cock with the most chink and start spoonin' him up. And I thought she was better than that. Now I've got the proper reckoning of her. Let her lick his boots if that's her game. I've had better, anyway. Gawky bitch.

Alan contented himself with the thought that Treghues would not have any ulterior designs on her, at least, thinking his captain too holy a hedge-priest to do more than hold hands and gawp, even if he felt the urge, which Alan doubted as well. Treghues was too moral to even admit to the desires of the flesh. And he had to admit that if the Chiswick family was gone smash and reduced to impoverished misery, then Treghues at least had the blessings of future title, rents, land, and all that prize-money to offer them in exchange for what few lusty demands (if any, Alan thought smugly) he would make on their daughter. He even had to smile at the thought of somber and pious Treghues wed to the get of a bankrupt colonial, too tall and skinny for fashion, and how his aristocratic friends would make sport of them behind their backs every time they took the air or attended some "tasteful and acceptable" entertainment.

Hope you like praying a lot, my dear, he sneered. If you ally yourself with such a one as him, you'll be doing a lot of it.

"Watcher luff, quartermaster," Monk warned, coming to the wheel. "Mister Lewrie, attend yer mind ta duties, would ya please, sir?"

"Aye, Mister Monk," Alan piped, torn from watching the couple as they took the air on the windward rail.

"Han'some piece, she is." Monk grinned as he studied the pair. "Though slimmer'n an eel, an' not a spare ounce o' nothin' to grab hold of. I likes my women bounder."

"So do most, Mister Monk," Alan said, gazing up at the set of the sails, all duty again. "So do I."

"Still, she's got the captain laughin', damme if she ain't. Now there's a thing. Be good fer him. He's not had much joy these last few months. I never heard tell o' him messin' with the ladies much, nor even goin' ashore fer pleasure o' any sort. Holds himself taut as a forestay, he does."

"How much of that is Treghues, and how much of that is demanded of a captain, Mister Monk?" Alan inquired innocently.

"I've had captains'd take a girl to sea right in their cabins." Monk grinned. "Mind ya Augustus Hervey? When he was a young post-captain in the Mediterranean back in the sixties, he musta made sport with over two hundred women in one commission. Duchesses, servin' girls, an' two nuns ta top it off. 'Twas a wonder his weddin' tackle didn't drop off."