The Invasion Year

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Oh Dear Lord above,” Lydia Stangbourne muttered, setting down her tea cup and sighing resignedly. “The bloody papers, the bloody scribblers!”

She was back in the gossip columns again, as was Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, Bart. Though no names could be mentioned, anyone in London who followed the news could figure out who was involved.

Last evening, a dashing Naval Person, recently made Knight and Baronet, was seen in the company of a Lady best-known to our readers for obtaining a Bill of Divorcement, which was an infamous marvel in our pages two years running. Perhaps the Lady in question may teach the heroic “Sea-Dog” some new parlour Tricks, or, has our Jason obtained a fresh sheet-anchor for his good ship Argo?

If it had been the Times or the Gazette, the jape might have been printed in Latin or Greek, though both papers were not immune to such smirks in English, these days, she realised, laying the newspaper aside. She shook her head and let out another sigh, thankful that the damnable “observer” had only seen them together at supper, not later as they entered Willis’s Rooms for the night.

“Hallo, sister, and aren’t you a picture?” her brother, Percy, commented as he came breezing into the small, informal dining room, as chipper as ever.

“Good morning, Percy,” Lydia said, forcing a smile on her face… and folding the paper so that that item would not show. “Cook will be delighted that you came to breakfast on time, for a change. Have a good night, did you?”

“Smashing night!” Percy crowed, sweeping his coat-tails as he sat down. There was a pot of coffee for him on the side-board, and a servant poured a cup for him at once. “Good ho! Bacon and kippers! I’m famished. Thank you, James,” he said as his plate was delivered. After creaming and sugaring to his taste, and a first sip, he went on. “Yes, the cards were with me… at Almack’s, not the Cocoa Tree. The change was good for me. Oh, I was down about five thousand for a bit, but finally broke even, and then a couple of side wagers put me a thousand to the good. What did you do with your evening, and was it enjoyable?”

“Most enjoyable,” Lydia said, colouring a little at the memory. “I went to supper with Captain Lewrie. He knew of this perfectly fine chop-house in Savoy Street, and you simply must go there, Percy! They have… it’s like an ‘all-nations’ dram shop in a way. Emigre French chefs, a Neapolitan who specialises in fish dishes, even a Hungarian who prepares the most marvellous medallions of veal or lamb, something called a ragout, one they call a goulash, and there was an appetiser of smoked oysters in a sweet, hot sauce that was heavenly!”

“With Captain Lewrie?” Percy said, his fork paused halfway to his mouth, took his bite, chewed, then got a sly, teasing look. “Damn my eyes, Lydia. Has the gallant Sir Alan caught your interest?”

“He is most charming and amusing to me… without the unctuous smarm of most of the men I know,” Lydia replied, going arch, bland, and imperious. “He’s a most admirable fellow. Soon to leave us, more’s the pity. Admiralty’s ordering him back to Sheerness on the morrow… a confidential matter, was all he could tell me of it. He should be at the Admiralty this minute, being told what it may be.”

Lydia strove to make it all sound of no real concern to her… concealing the smile that threatened to betray her as she thought of when, and where, Lewrie had told her of his letter from the Navy, and what they had been doing minutes before.

“He hasn’t thawed the coldness of your heart?” Percy japed.

“I do not have a cold heart, Percy,” Lydia rejoined with a languid drawl. “But, after that beast, Tidwell, I’ve a wary one. Had our late parents not settled so much on me, and upon you, my wariness might not be necessary. Or, my fear that one day you will squander it entire on one bad turn of the cards. Should you render us both penniless, I’d have to settle for one of those… those!” She produced a real shiver of disgust. “Who most-like would not have me, did I not fetch them a fortune!” she tossed off with a brittle laugh.

“Oh, don’t start on that, Lydia, not this lovely morning,” her brother protested. Both looked to the windows that looked out upon the back garden; it was a misty morning of light rain, and they both had a laugh over it. Percy took another bite or two, then returned to coffee, looking over the rim of his cup. “I didn’t get the impression that our heroic Captain Lewrie was all that well-to-do. Perhaps he’s just one more of your avaricious suitors? Wary, wary, wary, pet!”

“We’ve known him for not quite two whole days, Percy,” Lydia scoffed with another light laugh, busying herself with her tea. “I’ve seen no sign he intends to woo me, and besides… wooing’s rather hard to do when one’s a thousand miles out to sea, or halfway round the world!”

“Well, there’s that… though you could do a lot worse,” Percy tossed off, intent on a nicely smoked kipper and his scrambled eggs.

“He said something over supper last night,” Lydia continued with her own attention on her own breakfast, “that may aid you getting your regiment posted to the coast.”

That was a lie; she had brooked the subject to Lewrie.

“Oh, really!” her brother said, perking up.

“If Horse Guards seems loath to accept, might it not help to go down to the coast and meet the general in charge, or ask for an audience with the Lord-Lieutenant for Kent?” Lydia laid out. “Were they aware of a regiment of Yeoman Cavalry so well horsed, equipped, and trained, and readily available, might not a request from them to Horse Guards turn the trick for you?”

And a regiment so hellish-expensive, even for people with their wealth and incomes! As much as Lydia approved of Percy’s new “hobby,” for it got him out in the country and away from the gaming tables, the few times her brother had let her see the accounting ledgers, with his typical male “tut-tuts” about why a woman would wish to, or was able to understand them, she’d been simply appalled at the costs. If they did not go “smash” due to Percy’s gambling, then his “toy soldiers” would drag them down to poverty!

She was thirty-one, whilst Percy was twenty-seven. There had been a brother born between them, but he’d not lived a year, and after Percy, their mother had not produced another. She felt older-sister-protective of him, but frightened, too, by how boyishly he’d fling himself into things. Kicking his heels in London, he could gamble every night of the week but Sunday; with his regiment called up and out in the field, living rough, soldiering would put a stop to all that, for the duration of the emergency, Lydia hoped.

She reckoned that he could just as well have gone shopping and purchased whole brigades made of lead, foot, horse, and artillery, and been just as content arranging them on the long formal dining table!

The pity of it was that so many people who mattered, the Prince of Wales included, who already had regiments named as “His Own,” had told Percy what a dashing and patriotic thing he was doing that it was far too late for him to turn the endeavour over to someone else to let them bear the expense. His pride, his repute in Society, would suffer! And that was just as un-imaginable as Percy swearing off gambling!

“That’s a shrewd thought, by Jove!” Percy exclaimed. “Your Sir Alan Lewrie’s a sly one, no error, to have thought of it. An admirable idea, hey? Get it? An ‘admiral’-able idea from a Navy officer?”

Well, Percy found it amusing.

“He is not my Sir Alan, Percy,” she pointed out. “Though, it may be good to strike while the iron is hot. He will have to coach to Sheerness tomorrow. We could go with him. Offer our own coach, then stay to tend to your business.” She tossed that off between sips from her cup, as if it was spur-of-the-moment.

“Tomorrow?” Percy frowned. “With Lewrie?”

“Quite early, I’d imagine,” Lydia mused, gybing him for his slug-a-bed ways. Despite the vigour of her night, she had been back in her own bed by 2 A.M., and had risen, remarkably refreshed and enlivened, at 8. Almost singing, she would own.

“Crack o’ dawn, all that?” Percy queried, furrowing his brow and pulling a face. “No, no, it couldn’t be done tomorrow. There’d be need of letters written, first, the ledgers to gather… next week, maybe.”

“Well, if you will not, Percy,” Lydia said, feeding a strip of bacon to their springer spaniel, who’d been begging and whining, “then I will take the coach and offer conveyance to Captain Lewrie, myself.”

“You’d what?” her brother exclaimed, appalled. “Alone? All the way to Sheerness, then back without a man to protect you?”

“I am almost your equal at shooting, Percy,” she breezed off as if it was no bother. “Father taught us early and well, do you recall? Our coachees are good shots, too. They should be, since you’ve recruited them into your regiment,” she pointed out with a smirk, and one of her eyebrows up. If Percy could not be cozened into it, then she would be brazen; she gave him a very level and determined look.

“To the further ruin of your reputation, and it might not be…,” he said, scowling.

“Percy, good Lord…,” she said, “do I ruin my reputation even more, that may be a good thing. The parents of my damned admirers at last could put their feet down, I’d no longer feel hunted like a stag through the woods, and be spared all the grasping bother!” she blurted, laughing in his face.

She busied herself with a bite of buttered toast, chewing while Percy got his wind back.

“What decent family would have the likes of me, anyway, Percy,” she went on with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Were it not for my ‘dot,’ they’d most-like tell their young men to find someone a lot more attractive, more…”

She would have added a scathing “Assuming your gambling leaves me anything” but thought it was the wrong time to nag.

“Oh, Lydia, I don’t know where you ever got the idea you’re not attractive. Why… you’re as fetching as most,” Percy tried to assure her, though it was back-handed and clumsy. And it irked!

Lydia could have told him where she’d gotten the idea! Their father had loved her dearly, though he’d naturally hoped for a boy and heir. Despite having a girl-child as his first-born, he had delighted in amusing her, talking to her, and calling her “my little funny face” or “you little monkey face” with the tickles and treats and affections that made her squeal with joy; it had been as dear to her as if he had said “my little princess.” ’Til other children began to taunt her as “Miss Monkey Face!” most cruelly, and she’d seen the why in her mirrors.

Her father had not been handsome; perhaps that was why he had married so late in life. He’d been all craggy-faced, with prominent cheek bones and bushy brows, and a Cornish beak of a nose, and as tall and rangy as a Clydesdale. Her mother, though… no matter his looks, he was immensely wealthy in lands, rents, and investments, and titled, a proper peer, whilst her family had been nigh as well-off, but commoners. Like had called to Like when it had come to land and wealth, and she’d brought almost an equal portion, along with her great beauty, of the sort that Society had applauded and worshipped.

“Lydia, I swear, you’re as thin as a rope, dear child! You eat like a sparrow! Do you wish to be called a ‘gawk’? No man will have you, then!” she’d said once, with a brittle laugh. And the once that Lydia had overheard them discussing her, her mother fretting that “she is such a plain child. Pray God she blossoms late, as some do, before being presented at Court, and to Society for her first London Season, else we must consider settling a large sum upon her to tempt the right sort of young gentleman!” And Lydia had been heart-broken.

Her debut at eighteen had been a miserable affair. Though her parents had deemed her pretty, by then, and her looks had rounded and softened to the point that she could, now and then, think herself adequate, even what little hope she’d had of success had been dis-appointed.

Young girls of her status in the peerage, young girls from the squirearchy or the newly-risen middling class, all properly schooled in music, manners, dancing, and “womanly attainments,” paraded at the many events… it had been the prettiest who had found success, and young men’s approval. Her dowry had been ?500, a goodly sum to go under some young gentleman’s “coverture,” yet… it had been the pretty, the ravishing, the cute, who’d shone at all the drums, routs, supper parties, the operas, symphonies, and subscription balls, whilst her own luck had been lacklustre.

Lydia had refused to try again at nineteen or twenty, preferring their country estate and her horsewomanship.

At twenty-one, she’d been dragged back to London, this time with ?2,000, and the change had been remarkable, and to her, sickening. That Season it had been the young beauties who had been ignored, whilst Lydia had been inundated in invitations and flatteries. Disgusted with the grasping hypocrisy, she’d treated the young beaus quite badly, but… no matter how arch and insulting, how flippant or scornful, she’d treated them, the greediest would abide her, declaring her bold, out-spoken, and intriguingly modern!

Lydia shook herself back to paying attention, squirming again at those memories; Percy was still blathering on about something.

“… then break the journey at Shooter’s Hill. Take a basket of goodies and dine al fresco atop it, hey?” he suggested, quite wistfully. “I swear, the sweetest, cleanest air ever did I breathe was at the top of Shooter’s Hill. Or, is that on the north bank, near Tilbury and the forts?”

“You’ve your geography wrong, Percy,” Lydia corrected him. “It’s a bit past Greenwich, on the south bank of the Thames… on the road to Chatham, and Sheerness. Why? If you’re not going ’til next week?”

“Well, if you’re so dead-set…”

“I am,” she coolly replied, sugaring and creaming fresh tea.

“First light tomorrow?” He grimaced. “God, I’d have to retire at sunset to get out of bed that early!”

“I am told that diligent soldiers are sometimes required to do so,” Lydia teased.

“Can’t let you gad off so boldly, what’d people say of you, or me for allowing it?” Percy said, shrugging surrender. “Should anything befall you… highwaymen… or worse, well.”

“Percy, do you mean you intend to accompany Captain Lewrie and myself?” she asked, relieved that he would weaken so quickly.

“I s’pose I could, yes,” her brother said, half his attention taken by the spaniel, who found him an easy mark, as well. “We will both go. Perhaps he can tell me more of his sea stories on the way to Sheerness. Begad, do you think they have a decent lodging house?”

“You are the best brother in the world, Percy!” Lydia said as she rose to go to his end of the table and give him a hug, and tousle his long hair.

Well, he had his good points, she thought as she returned to her seat, secretly thrilled. With Percy making three, there could not be any more intimacy, though she wished she could scheme a way. Those few hours over two nights were more pleasurable, pleasing, and passionate than any she had known in her little experience. She could, however, spend a few more days with Lewrie to learn more about him and his life at sea, of which she knew next to nothing; perhaps even be invited to go aboard his ship and see him in his proper milieu. And, stave off the loss of his presence just a bit longer!

Lydia determined to write to Lewrie’s lodgings, informing him of their offer of a more comfortable coach than any he could hire, of which he knew nothing yet… then caution him to take credit for the idea to help Percy find employment for his regiment! It was just as un-seemly to be a clever woman as it was to be a single one!