The King`s Commission

Chapter 4

There were a lot of "teas" in the next week or so. Once more Alan was thankful that in harbor officers stood no fixed watches, and once what few duties were done for the day, could absent themselves to their own amusements.

If I spend the rest of my career doing this, I shan't cry, Alan thought smugly as he lay back on the soft mattress, panting for air in the close tropical heat. The linens clung to them, crinkled with perspiration, and he fanned them with a corner of the sheet.

"You insatiable beast!" Betty Hillwood uttered with a gasp for air herself. "Pour us something cool, Alan dear, whilst I try to recover my senses."

He hopped off the bed and filled their wine glasses with lemonade-she was a lot more fun if he kept her out of reach of the gin, or at least cut down on her consumption during the early hours of their trysts. He stood over her and offered her a glass, enjoying the slim form, still beaded with mutual perspiration, and her incredibly soft skin reddened in all the most interesting places by having his body pressed so close to hers. Over forty or not, she was more woman than most men could stand and live to talk about.

"The pot calls the kettle black, love?" he told her as she took a sip. "Now who's insatiable, damn my eyes."

"You're even more impressive than I first remembered," she said, shifting to sit up on one elbow and pile pillows behind her head. She gave a delightful groan when she said it. "Before, you were a randy boy, for all your eagerness."

"Clumsy, was I?" he chuckled, climbing back into bed and laying against the footboard pillar so their legs entwined.

"No, my chuck, just… exuberant," she crooned, plying her toes around his groin playfully. "A year's hard service has made you even more a man to suit my taste. Harder… leaner… the most impressive and satisfying fuck I've known."

Once out of polite society, and her clothing, Betty Hillwood had always had the mouth of a farrier-sergeant. Perhaps it was the gin that loosened her tongue and her inhibitions, if she truly had any.

She demanded pleasure as her due, since she would not get it from her husband, who preferred to live inland on one of his plantations and bugger the field hands and the house-boys. There was no longer any coy pretense of seduction between them, no more teasing conversation or tea to be poured, no guests to shoo off so he could return after he had made a proper goodbye, so they could play innocent for Society. He came to her after a morning or afternoon with Lucy and her parents, sometimes came to her direct from the ship, and the black servant let him in and then took her leave. Betty Hillwood met him in morning gown or her bed-clothing, under which she tantalizingly wore nothing. They would have a drink, no more than one, while she let her clothing fall open, and they would be grappling with each other within a quarter-hour, making it to the bedroom at the back of her cool apartments most of the time but not always-there was a good assortment of settees and chairs to roger on, an escritoire of just the right height to support her small buttocks, and a marble-topped breakfast table by a shuttered window that made a cool change if the day was too hot.

Every visit was a revelation, a learning experience in just how many ways two people could give each other pleasure, and Alan Lewrie was all for education-look how much the Navy had taught him already. It beat whores all hollow, in his estimation, didn't cost him more than "fiddler's pay"-compliments and wine-and took the rapacious edge off his manners with Lucy Beauman, whom he would have ravished by this time if he had not had another outlet for his frustrations. Being around, and tantalisingly near, such a delectable young girl with no chance to grapple would have killed lesser men by this time. One could hardly be considered a respectable suitor to conjoin with such a fine (and wealthy) family if he spent all his time goggling at Lucy's breasts, or fondling her on the sly. Not that they hadn't played lovers in daring, and heart-breakingly brief, moments of privacy. The common wisdom said that too much spending of one's vital fluids in fornication made a young man spineless and weak-his breath shallow, his eyes watery, and his general condition little better than a victim of consumption-but Alan was of the opinion that too little spending made one so full of humors that one would explode if restrained from the sport too long. Either that or begin to squirt semen from one's ears. If too much spending led to pathetic lunacy, then so be it; he could drool and cackle with the best of them, sooner or later.

"I have something for you, my chuck," Betty whispered, once she had gotten her wind back. She slunk out of bed, brushing her body the length of his, kissing him open-mouthed, then skipped coquettishly out of reach and down the narrow hall to the parlor as he grabbed at her. She returned with a small package and held it out to him, then busied herself at the bedroom wine-table to pour herself a drink while he undid the ribbon and opened it.

It was a watch-chain, a particularly fine one, with rectangular links of small and cunning workmanship. Depended from it was a braided band on which rested a small fob of silver and gold damascene worked in a fouled anchor over crossed cannon. It was beautiful. More to the fact, a well-made chain from an expert craftsman could cost more than a watch did.

"God's teeth!" he exclaimed in delight. The silver and gold chain, the dark blue ribbon, and the silver and gold fob were magnificent, and he told her so. "Whatever possessed you to do me so much honor?"

"You're truly pleased?" she asked, flinging her arms around him and drawing her delightful body the full length of his.

"And flabbergasted," he admitted. "It's so damned grand! How may I ever thank you for it?"

"By doing what earned it in the first place, my chuck." She nibbled on his ear, reaching down with one hand to dandle his member against her belly. "You have given me so much pleasure, and so much delight, I had to reward my darling lad. Ah, there's a stirring of gratitude, methinks? Shall I be rudely speared for my pains to please?"

"Methinks milady is right," Alan growled, seizing her buttocks and hauling her in closer.

"Pitiful, tearful beseechings have no avail," she whispered as she steered them backward toward the bed once more. "Even offers of gold cannot soften the heart of a barbarian bent on rapine."

Damme, here she goes with another of her bloody fantasies, he thought, more than willing to oblige, but tiring of her ripe imaginings in which he had to play so many parts.

"A tender senator's wife, with Hunnish blades at her children's throats. Tender white skin assaulted so wickedly by callused hands and brutal urges… ah!" she urged, playing at fending him off. "No, please… Rome lies open at your feet. Spare me this, I beg you!"

"You lay open to me!" Alan grunted, trying to be rudely Germanic.

"No, please!" she cried, but not too loudly. They mock-fought, and she fell face down across the mattress, and Alan knew his duty. He flung himself down on her, forced her legs apart, and entered her dog-fashion, gripping her hips and lifting them up off the sheets, and she panted and pretended to weep until the "virtuous Roman senator's wife" was overcome with pleasures she had never experienced on the bridal couch, and the game had its usual ending. Betty groaned and sobbed, rolled her hips and thrust to meet him as he knelt between her thighs, tore at the bed-linens with her nails until she shivered and cried out in ecstasy, gasping for air once more, and dropped away limp.

"Oh God, but you're a bloody stallion, dear Alan!" she sighed in a swoon. "So long and thick and hard, and…"

He rolled her over, and she chuckled as he lay down between her legs, which flopped aside in exhaustion.

"Alan!" she protested as he raised her knees and slid back into her hot wetness. "I am spent, truly."

"Hermann ist gut, ja? Hermann not through." He grunted as he began to plunge at her again for his own satisfaction, which she finally shared, all protests aside, and she clawed at his back and shoulders and uttered a thin keening cry until they lay still once more.

They finally rose and sponged down with a bucket of cool water left standing by the shuttered bedroom windows, snacked on some cold tongue and chilled hock for him, some "Blue Ruin" for her in a large glass. They lay down together to nuzzle and purr until the urge came on them again.

"Would we could do this always," she said softly.

"I have to sail eventually," Alan whispered back. "Or at least I hope we do. This idleness isn't doing the crew much good."

"To where?"

"Oh, up around Cuba or the Florida Straits, maybe over to the Windward Passage."

"And how long would you be gone, dear?"

"Near on three months if we don't take prizes to sustain us," he reckoned, half asleep. "Back in two weeks if we take enough ships to deplete the hands for prize-crews. Wish we could-I could use the money."

"You are short of cash?"

"Well, not short, really. I was thinking of after the war when I'll go back to England. London wouldn't have gotten any cheaper. I've enough now for my needs, what with naval pay and my remittance." He shrugged and snuggled closer. "Enough as long as I stay at sea three months out of four, that is."

"Perhaps I can help," she told him, rolling over to look down on him. "I have money of my own, and as long as my dear husband may indulge his pleasures in discretion, and I play the proper wife, he allows me to spend as I will. He has bags of money. Perhaps the only endearing side to him," she concluded sourly.

"Here, now," Alan replied, warning her off as he got an inkling of a change in their relationship beyond the physical.

"As long as you pleasure me to utter ruin, I could support any desire you have," she promised. "You would be at sea part of the time, but once back in port, you could lodge ashore with me. No more visiting and having to skulk away."

"But what would that do to your good name in Society?" he protested, sitting up and fluffing up the many pillows to sit upright.

"This is not my only residence, dearest Alan." She chuckled, rising to get herself some more gin. By this time, she was a trifle unsteady on her feet, and he was sure it was the drink that had given her courage enough to make her proposition. "I have property of my own, mostly rentals. I cannot count on my husband to play me fair should he have the good grace to die. There are children to consider. But over the years, I have provided for my own security. Now I could lease you a lovely flat… I own this building entire. Would you prefer a suite here? Or would you like a set of rooms with a harbor view, closer to the piers. You tell me, and I shall move my things next door to you. We shall be no more than friendly neighbors, should anyone remark on our companionship. Of course, the rooms would cost you nothing. And I could furnish them to your taste, and put it down to my fondness for you. And the way you bull me all over the lot. The fob and chain are only a token of what I could offer the young man who so eagerly tops me so well… and often."

Her smile was positively vulpine, though she meant it to be seductive; the hawkish nose had a lot to do with it.

"Whew," Alan wheezed. "That's a damned handsome offer, from a handsome piece of woman, I might add."

"Then you will?"

"Seems a waste, when I'd get ashore so seldom." He stalled, gaining time to think this over. "And people would talk anyway."

"Aye, people would," she allowed breezily. "People already do, no matter what one does in Society. Rumors are more interesting than truth, don't ye know, and the naughtier the better. There's not one woman on this accursed island who hasn't been whispered about, only half of them with good cause. Only fools marry for love, unless they both have wealth and security of their own, or know how to pile it up, as I have. That victory celebration at the Beaumans'… I know more than two dozen women there who already have their own pleasurable arrangements with other men, and their husbands have theirs as well. God, don't admit you're truly an innocent!"

"No one in their right minds has ever called me innocent." Alan laughed.

"The only important thing about our wretched English society is to be discreet, and one may do anything one wants," Betty Hillwood said with a sneer. "And if one has money, then no one will even utter one peep of remonstrance. You won't hear sermons preached against anyone like me, as long as I give to the alms box and pay the Poor's Rate on time. One only gets exposed when one goes broke."

"Or gets too careless?" Alan finished for her, taking a sip of wine from an offered glass.

"Exactly, though I hardly have to tell you that, Alan dearest. You're discreet in your visits to me, I trust."

"Completely," he assured her. The last thing he needed was for anyone to know that he was courting Lucy Beauman and rogering Betty Hillwood at the same time.

"Who knows, you may even wish to return to England with me."

"Eh?"

"After the war, when the seas are safe, I'll go back to London where I may live in a proper style," Betty prophesied, downing her gin and pouring another. "You shall be on half-pay by then, and as you say, London will not have gotten any cheaper. My husband can stay here and rot for all I care… he's probably peppered to his eyebrows with the pox by now, anyway. You would have servants, fine clothes, anything your heart could ask. And you would have me. And I could have you, every night and day. We could live together, or apart, but only a bit apart. I would want you to spear me and split me until I scream for sheer joy."

Now what do you say, fool? Alan thought, trying to plaster his most disarming smile on his face as he pondered this new development. She may be a good ride, but I'm damned if I want a steady diet of Hillwood mutton. And I'm not so poverty-stricken I need to be supported. Tis flatterin', I'll grant, but she's a little long in the tooth for more than a few hours.

"You must know, Betty, that I've been up to the Beauman place quite often." He temporized, trying to be honest without hurting her feelings. "Their daughter Lucy and I… well, nothing's been said one way or the other, but eventually, I would wish to settle down and wed… somebody, wouldn't I? And where would that leave you? I mean," he added with a sudden burst of inspiration, "it takes an Act of Parliament to get a divorce, and your husband could maybe stand going his own way, but no man wants to be known as an outright cuckold. Why risk his anger and your reputation going for more than we have now?"

"He's been cuckold since 72!" Betty declared, exasperated with his sudden cold feet. "Not, I'll grant, by anyone that could even approach your talent at it, dearest. And as for the Beaumans… that pack of 'Chaw-Bacons'! For all their airs, they've not been long off the hay-wagon, with the manners of stable-hands. Oh, they're rich, I'll allow, and you see security with that little chit, do you? Well, let me tell you, she's not been pining away for you to sail back into her life. No party is complete without her, and her pack of admirers just slavering for a grope at her, and she's not exactly been shy at being groped at, I'll wager."

"Now hold on!" Alan grunted, not wanting to hear anything bad about Lucy. He was indeed fond of her, money aside, and the last time Mrs. Hillwood had given him the dirt on someone, Lieutenant Kenyon for instance, one of his grandest illusions had been shattered. He would hear no smear on Lucy's character. "You may dislike the whole family. And frankly, they are a bit rough around the edges, I'll admit, but that's no reason to slander her."

"Oh, poor dear Alan," Betty muttered cynically. "Do you think you're the only buck pawing the ground she's walked on? She's young, beautiful and ungodly rich into the bargain. But could she ever give you half the pleasure I've given you just this day? Or would she most likely be so shy and inexperienced a jaded rogue like you would scare the breath out of her? Though where she gets her purity is beyond me."

"What do you mean, damnit?"

"Peace, my love. I speak of the Beaumans, of course. Father off with a girl he keeps… in one of my apartments, I might add."

"Really?" Alan blurted, sitting back on his heels at some really lively gossip.

"Hugh, the eldest son," Betty smirked, swaying her hips seductively as she came back to the bed and stretched out near him, "he's right fond of 'fancies,' he is."

"Fancies," Alan stated; he'd heard the term before back in the Carolinas with the Chiswick family, but hadn't known what it meant.

"Very pale, very elegant-looking Samboes. House-servant quality, half white or almost white. You've seen them around town." She chuckled, swinging her glass back and forth, without spilling a drop. "Hugh can't get enough of them. Over on Portland Bight, where they have one of their sugar plantations, Hugh keeps a stable of them; not in the house except when Anne and the children are in town, though. I believe Mrs. Beauman is the only one that doesn't know about her own men-folk, but I could be wrong. But then, many women suffer in silence for the sake of the children, or their security. Unlike me."

"Well, stap me," Alan said, amazed at the ways of the world, though he should have known better by then. "The whole damned family?"

"Mrs. Beauman, no," Betty sighed. "She really is a sweet thing, but not too observant of most goings-on. Anne, Hugh's wife… well, I think she's aware of it, but as long as she doesn't have to be enceinte over and over, I doubt she minds that much. No woman wishes to have a child a year and never have another hope of anything else until her womb shrivels. There was the most delicious doings two years ago, my dear!"

Betty snuggled closer to impart her intimate information.

"Do tell," Alan replied, leaning closer.

"During the slave revolt, all the women-folk came into Kingston for safety, while the men were off with the militia and the troops." Betty snickered in glee. "And there was this one glorious young officer from the garrison, a captain, who took a particular fancy for the handsome Anne Beauman. As far as decorum allowed, they were inseparable."

"And did you rent him rooms, too?" Alan mocked.

"No, but it was powerful wondrous how often Anne had to go out to shop, and never found anything worth buying, and how often young Captain Mclntyre was away from his quarters. A friend of mine, Mrs. Howard, the frumpy one you met? Well, servants may come and go with no notice, and she set her maid to watch, and it appears that Captain Mclntyre would enter certain lodgings every day, and soon after, the lovely Anne Beauman would enter those same lodgings and stay for three or four hours at a stretch. Then they would leave separately, she first, and him about a quarter-hour later."

"So what happened?"

"Ah, the estimable young captain was carried off by the Yellow Fever after he went back into the field, and Mistress Anne was seen no more about Kingston for about a year, off to Portland Bight, no matter that the slaves were still in revolt. 'Twas said Hugh came back in a furious choler and dragged her off."

"Damme, that's amazing. I'd have never thought her capable."

"When disappointed or crossed, anyone is capable, Alan dear," she told him condescendingly. "Not only capable, but eager and willing to do almost anything to get their own back."

He succeeded in getting the subject changed to one she liked a whole lot better, which did not require words, avoiding any more speculation on her offer as well. And once she took on a larger cargo of Holland gin than was good for her trim, he could leave her snoring it off. He sponged down once more, dressed and headed out, and the servant girl slipped back in the door as he slipped out, still as silent as the Sphinx. Down the steps to the courtyard with its fountain, fish pond and flower beds off which all the lodgings opened, then out the double iron gate to the bright street, which shimmered in heat.

He stood there a moment, almost sneezing at the change from a fairly cool, thick-walled building, to the sharp warmth of late afternoon.

I'm going to break this off, he decided. Good as Betty Hillwood wanted to be to him, and as wanton a ride as she was, her proposition was nothing he wanted to be part of. While he did not consider himself one of God's innocents, Betty Hillwood could make him feel like a gawking choir-boy with her sour, jaded outlook on the world, and he wasn't sure he was ready to share her state of mind.

"I mean, damme, pleasure's fine, but my God!" he groused as he began to stroll off, trying to stick to the shadows where the sun did not strike with such ferocity. I've never heard a good word pass her lips 'bout anyone or anything, have I?

He had just finished four straight hours with a woman who would fulfill his every desire, and he should have been skipping and laughing with delight at his good fortune. She had given him a chain and fob worth an easy fifty or sixty guineas, but he had little joy from it.

"I'm not one for the Blue-Devils," he muttered, pondering his moodiness. "Must be her, the sour bitch. No wonder her husband took off for the back-country, if that's the sort of thing he had to hear all the time. Well, thankee for the gift, and thankee for all the quim, Betty dear, but that's the last time I sport with you, or give ear to your poison."

Besides, he assured himself, looking for a cause for joy, wasn't he handsome and pleasing enough to have a younger and prettier wench if the humors took him again? Didn't Lucy Beauman go faint at the sight of him? He had bigger fish to fry, and Betty Hillwood was a possible embarrassment if word got out about their affair. She would be nice to look back on, but that was all.

He headed for "The Grapes," the cheery red brick inn and public house at the foot of the docks and the landing stage, for a last cool mug of ale or beer before taking a bum-boat out to Shrike.

The heat was killing, and all his pleasurable exertions had left him loose-hipped and a trifle weak in the knees, so when hearing the clatter of a coach coming down the road from behind him, he gladly shifted over towards the nearest wall, into a patch of shade, and leaned on the wall to take a breather. He turned to see if the coach would miss him in the narrow lane, and was amazed to see that the light open two-horse carriage bore Mrs. Anne Beauman and her maid. He lifted his hat and gave a bow as they neared, and the carriage squeaked to a stop, rocking on its leather suspension straps.

"Mistress Beauman, a good day to you, ma'am."

"Mister Lewrie." She beamed back at him, looking fetching in a white and pale-blue gown, and a wide straw hat that echoed her colors. "Are you forced to walk in this oppressive heat, sir?"

"Shank's ponies, ma'am, for journeys too short for a coach," Alan laughed lightly in reply.

"So formal, Alan," she admonished. "And just two days ago it was Anne. Get you in and we shall deliver you to your destination."

"My undying thanks, Anne," Alan said, as the footman got down from the rear postillion, folded down the iron step and opened the low door for him. Alan settled into the rear-facing forward seat next to a large, wrapped bundle. "I am only going to the docks, Anne, if that is not too large an imposition on your time."

"None at all," she replied, reaching over to touch his knee with her large laced fan as the coachee whipped up. "You come ashore, though, without paying court to our dear Lucy? How remiss of you," she teased.

"I only had the few hours today," Alan replied, reddening slightly.

"Then I shall not tell her I saw you, or she would feel slighted, no matter the reason." Anne chuckled, going back to fanning herself. With one backward glance, she got her black maid to adjust the large parasol over her head so the sun would not strike her and ruin her complexion.

Now why, Alan speculated in appraisal, would Hugh Beauman want to dally with one of his fancies, when he could sport with this one any night?

In bright sunlight, Anne Beauman appeared even more exotic than before, her hair and complexion dark, making Alan wonder if she were the off-spring of some island racial mix herself. Possibly some Spanish blood, or sprung from those "Black Irish" sired by the survivors of the Armada? There had been damned few Black island women that had tempted him, and he could not think why anyone would spurn the charms of such a handsome woman for those of some slave in the back-country, even if the slave was close to European. But then, why was he fond of chamber-maids and willing widows? he asked himself. Perhaps it was an acquired taste.

"Not much wind today," Alan observed as the coach clattered on its way towards the center of town. "I wonder you're out yourself."

"House-keeping errands, I'm afraid," she replied with a brief frown. "My newest gown in that bundle next to you was spotted with soup, and no one seems to be able to get it out. I was hoping my dress-maker could run up a new panel so I could wear it Sunday. And what brings you ashore?"

"Oh, just some shopping."

"Only poor shops up the way you came," Anne pointed out. "You must have been in search of a bargain."

"And a little sight-seeing. Just to get off the ship for a few hours, see some new faces."

"And did you see anyone interesting? Any new sights?" Anne rejoined, mildly amused, as though she knew what he had been doing, and with whom.

"Not much up that way, you are right," Alan replied, flushing with heat under his clothes at her probing. "Might I offer you some reward for saving me from a long, hot walk? A cool drink, perhaps?"

"There is no need to reward me, Alan, though I must admit something cool would feel welcome. I had no idea it was this hot!" Anne said, plying the fan more energetically. "Where would you have in mind?"

"Well, there's 'The Grapes,'" he suggested, unable to think up anyplace else on short notice-he had not been ashore in Kingston often enough to know all its establishments.

"Hmm," she frowned, "a sailor's haunt, I fear. Not quite genteel, is it."

"I thought it was rather nice." Alan shrugged.

"A bit too many Navy officers and merchant captains, trading factors and such. There are few places a lady may go away from home. Ah!" She brightened. "There is, however, a small public house near my dress-maker's. Baltasar's. The emigй Frenchman who is the proprietor styles it as a restaurant, quite the latest thing in Paris, he says. No lodgings, just food and drink. Can you imagine?"

"The hard part is imagining how the man turns a profit," Alan said, grinning. Chop-houses and public-houses were usually close by bagnios, had rooms to let for private dining and discreet sport with dinner companions, or could trot out a chambermaid or a prostitute for their patrons. Without that sideline, he could not see how money could be made, not in a harbor town, at any rate.

"If you do not mind me seeing to my errand first?" Anne asked, as though eager to try the place. "If I do not delay you from returning to your ship at the proper time?"

He was forced to walk her into the dress-maker's shop, where several island ladies of social note were taking rest from the day's warmth, gossiping and killing time, while fabrics and laces were considered, the latest points of style were admired or denigrated, and the small staff bustled about to fetch out requests. Alan felt like a total fool standing by the door with his hat under his arm, feeling the cool gaze of the women. They glanced at him, scowling a bit at the effrontery of a man to invade their sanctuary from husbands, shot glances at Anne, and then shifted to gaze most significantly at each other.

Damn all this feminine truck! Alan fumed, trying to look patient, calm, and innocent, though he felt as examined as if he had gone in naked as the day he was born.

The restaurant a few doors down was almost empty, thank God, but not a bad sort of place, screened from the street by a high brick wall and an iron gate, with a second false wall behind the gate for discretion. The small front garden was sheltered from the sun by thin slats of wood in an overhead screen supported by trellises, all adrip with vines or hung with flowers in hanging baskets. There was another fountain to cool the air. A series of French doors at the back of the garden terrace led into the main dining room and kitchens, and more doors and windows overlooked the harbor from a back terrace with the same sort of screen overhead. Except for a small brass plaque on the iron gate, Alan would have never known it was there; he had walked by it before and thought it a residence.

They were seated at a small table near the back terrace where the shadows were deepest, and the thick walls of the building, the stone floor and the light harbor wind gave the impression of coolness.

The proprietor, a Frog dandy-prat who appeared lighter in his pumps than most, tripped over and bowed deeply and elegantly, making the usual gilt and be-shit flowery words of salutation to what were probably the only new customers he had seen in a long afternoon. And he was disappointed that they did not wish to sample his solid fare, but only wanted drinks. He did, however, serve them a treat he told them was known in the Spanish Indies as sangria, a fruit juice and hock concoction, made to a recipe he had received in Havana during his service to the court of the Captain-General himself.

"It's quite delicious," Anne said after taking a sip. "And most refreshing. I have been told that too much acid fruit is bad in a hot climate, but I never saw the sense of it."

"Hmm, not bad," Alan had to agree. "Must keep it on ice. It's almost cold."

"Or in a hanging ceramic jar," Anne told him. "Everyone in the islands learns that if what the Spanish call an olla is hung in shade where there is a chance of wind, water or whatever it seems to cool on its own. One may see beads of water on the outside, and it feels cold to the touch. Quite remarkable, really."

"Hmm, one could do that aboard ship, below decks, and God knows out at sea, we'd have bags of wind."

"Your shipmates would think you quite ingenious, Alan," Anne promised. "Well, I hope you were not bored by the sights of our poor city today, or by having to escort me to the dressmaker's."

"Oh, not at all," he assured her.

"You looked as if you would strangle back there," she teased.

"Well, they did make me feel dawkish," Alan had to admit, easing back in his chair. "All those ladies eyeing me like I had the King's Evil. And at you. I hope my presence gave them nothing to talk about."

He almost bit his cheek in alarm when he realized he wasn't to know about her alleged past dalliance, and his comment made it sound as if he did. "I mean," he qualified, "they looked like an idle lot. People like that usually misconstrue the most innocent event and turn it into a subject for gossip. Bored to tears with their own miserable lives, I expect."

"Yes, I suppose they could." Anne looked at him directly over the rim of her glass. "But since there is nothing between us but the hope of you becoming a member of our family, what harm?"

"Well, none, I suppose." He shrugged and hunched back forward over the rim of the table, trying to look innocent once more.

"Are you as worldly as you sound, then? Does our Lucy have cause to worry?" she asked softly, with a grin at his discomfort.

"Now you are teasing me," he said. "I've seen gossip-mongers in action before, though. And I would hate to do anything that would jeopardize the Beauman family name. Or do anything to hurt my chances, either."

"Then you shall be making a formal proposal for Lucy's hand? Perhaps I should tell her I saw you after all. And how you poured out your heart to me about your fondest desires." Anne smiled.

"Now you really are teasing me," he protested.

"I'll own to that." She laughed. "Are you that eager for her?"

"I'd not come traipsing by two or three times a week if I was merely entertaining myself, Anne. Let me try to explain." He began, trying to form the words carefully so he would not be misunderstood. "At first, on Antigua, I thought Lucy was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and the sweetest. But at the time, she was only a girl, my admiral's niece. I had no idea if I had a future in the Navy, much less what would happen to me when the war ended. I had a small annuity from my father, but no hopes for anything else. Lately though, there is a larger annuity from my grandmother, and an inheritance. Mostly her personal goods and paraphernalia. And I've prize-money coming due when I go on half-pay, so I can now offer something other than 'cream-pot love.' Never even thought I could really court Lucy and be taken seriously before, though we were allowed to correspond. I don't know what will satisfy the Beaumans, but I am willing to try my hand, even if the war isn't over yet. Maybe my timing is bad, but we may sail soon, and God knows when Shrike puts back into Kingston."

"Allow me to play the Devil's Advocate for you," Anne offered. "If you do not mind me prying, what is your estate?"

"Near on twenty-five hundred pounds in prize-money," he said, adding in his hoard of stolen guineas. "Twice that in inheritance, and two hundred pounds a year. Not a stick of land or rents, though, but…"

"Godamercy!" Anne laughed, throwing back her head. "Even if a girl brought nothing but her linens, you're a prime catch, Alan. For half a tick, I'd be interested myself, were I not already settled."

Don't say tempting things like that, he thought quickly.

"So I do stand a chance?" Alan asked. "I've not been too abrupt so far, have I? Do they doubt my feelings for her, or think me too poor to pay serious court to her?"

"Well, I would say you stand as good a chance as any, more so than most of the local lads," Anne told him. "I know they were concerned when they brought Lucy back from Antigua that you had no lands or inheritance. Yet you had fought a duel for her honor, and Uncle Onsley and Auntie Maude spoke well of you, both professionally and for your personal qualities."

"Thank God for that."

"Compared to some of the island boys of good family, though, her prospects would be better with one of them," Anne cautioned. "You must know there are many who've squired her. You compare more polished, more refined a gentleman to them. Educations and manners in the Indies can't match a Home-raised young man. But."

"Yes?" Alan almost groaned at that qualifying "but."

In sympathy for his cause, perhaps, or to calm his fears, she laid a cool hand on his wrist and let it linger. "You must know that her parents are just as interested in a suitor who brings profitable connections. Plantations, new opportunities for trade. Money to put into ships and cargoes, or places to raise new capital. Tis a curse of our Society that even now, after years of seeing the wretched results of marriage formed on pecuniary interests instead of worry about a young woman's eventual happiness, parents still follow their own desires. They may say they are looking out for Lucy's happiness and security, and certainly I am sure they shall, when the time comes, but you must know the Beaumans," she pressed, a slight sadness coming to her voice and her huge dark eyes. "It is just as easy to find contentment and a good life with a man more endowed with the means to security. To them, that may mean someone of their own station, even someone older and more settled in his affairs, as you should well know."

"I see." Alan nodded. Betty Hillwood had not put him in the most jovial mood he had ever experienced, and he wasn't exactly cherry-merry at this new information, either. "It's changing back in England, you know. As long as the suitor has stability, they seem to let the daughters have more free will."

"Would that was always so!" Anne exclaimed, sharp enough to make the nodding Frog proprietor glance up briefly, and she took hold of his wrist instead of merely resting her hand on it. "Wedding for love, all other things being equal, surely causes no more distress than marriages without it, and gives more reasons for sweet contentment later."

She seemed to speak from painful personal experience, but Alan was cautious enough to keep his rebellious trap shut.

"And finally," she said, seeming to wilt back into her chair and removing her hand to toy with the stem of her wine-glass, "there is your age, and Lucy's. They believe neither of you is old enough to know your own minds yet."

"Bloody hell!" Alan spat softly, too crestfallen to guard his choice of words. Was he truly wasting his time courting Lucy, and would be denied the joy of her company forever? Potential wealth be damned, he suddenly felt the need of someone sweet and young and unspoiled, someone even naive and in love with the world, instead of trulls like Betty Hillwood and their weary cynicism.

"And when, pray, do they think we should be old enough to know our own minds?" Alan asked sourly. "And please them into the bargain?"

"It's a rare girl who weds before her mid-twenties, even here," Anne told him gently. "With enough wealth, that may not answer, but I'd think even the most ardent swain from the best family'd have to content himself with a wait of at least three more years, till Lucy's twenty-one."

"Whew."

"And father Beauman has been talking of retirement lately," Anne went on. "Of going back to England and leaving the family business to Hugh, with Floss' husband to help him. They're thinking that Lucy and Ledyard would benefit from a couple of years in London society to put some ton on their manners, and give them a better future."

"Oh bloody-" Alan sighed.

"Could you wait that long, Alan?"

"I'd hoped not to," he growled. "I mean, God knows what could happen in the meantime, half a world away, even if the war ends and I pay off at home."

"You might meet someone more pleasing to your nature in that time, Alan," Anne said. "Lucy could meet someone else, and I know how much the thought of that causes you pain. But, perhaps it is not meant to be. No matter how fond we desire something or someone, there is always a just reason that we do not attain our wishes. We must trust that things may turn out for the best, though the pangs of our heart blind us to admitting the truth of it."

"You know, Anne," Alan scoffed, "every time I've ever heard that line of reasoning, it's been from someone who already had what they wanted. Like telling the poor that eating regular's a bother, when you get right down to it."

He was surprised that Anne chuckled with amusement at his statement, and after a moment, he had to smile in spite of his feelings of doom and gloom.

"It was presumptuous of me to preach at you, I'll own," Anne said with a smile. "It was the way you said it that tickled me. You must know I meant no cruelty at your disappointment."

"Oh, I know," he said, patting the back of her hand without thinking, and was surprised for a second time when she did not draw back from his touch. "At least I can still laugh. I think. I'm sure we've both heard what other people think's best for us. Off in some future we'll find something or someone better than what we wish now. But Lord, it's a wrench! T'will make a better man of ya, me lad!"

She laughed once more at the pompous tone, which he had meant to mock his father's pronouncements.

"You sound like my own father," Anne confessed, still not trying to disengage his touch. "You not so much younger than I, and I can assure you it wasn't so long ago I suffered these self-same pangs, in the name of love, and heard the same platitudes."

"That is comfort, coming from you, anyway, Anne."

"Though I must admit that what I yearned for, and what I have now, are close to the same sort of pleasurable contentment," she finally said, and slowly drew her hand back to her lap.

"It's just that I don't believe I've ever been in love like this before, Anne," Alan went on, fiddling with his own glass and topping up their drinks from the sweaty pitcher of wine. "Come to think on it, I'm not sure I've ever been in love at all."

"So jaded, so young." She shook her head in mock sadness.

"I ran with a rather woolly crowd back in London. Love was just a game one played to learn how to do it at parties. We were more interested in the baser aspects, and if we fell in love, then it happened two or three times a week. And then, the Navy's terribly down on it."

"Dear me, perhaps I should warn the family after all. I wish it was women who could treat love so casually and prosper."

"I've become a much more responsible person since joining the Navy, mind," Alan pointed out, with a grin.

"Oh, sailors always do turn saintly, do they not. Then tell me, pray, if you are so reformed, why would you associate with Betty Hillwood?"

"Ah. Eh?"

"Those were her lodgings I saw you leaving. Or do you know another party in that building?" Anne asked, not quite sternly, but not exactly amused, either. "That would not endear you to the Beaumans, should they learn of it. Not from me, Alan, surely. But perhaps you should consider reform, if you wish Lucy's hand."

Good Christ, she's got me by the short and curlies! he thought wildly. Had she led him on with all the hand-holding, to see if he was going to rise to her bait? Had the Beaumans put her on him to smoke him out, and had he blown the gaff to the bloody horizon?

When in doubt, lie like blazes, he decided.

"I made her acquaintance a year ago," Alan replied, trying to toss it off lightly. "And she was at your father-in-law's party. She invited me to tea, with the hint that some shore lodgings could be obtained cheaply between voyages. But she really is the most vindictive person I ever did see. And damme, but I was the only guest at what I thought was to be a tea. Frankly, she more than hinted at some fondness she said she'd developed for me. Not my sort, really. I heard more scandal in half an hour than I'd heard in London in a month."

"It sounds innocent enough," Anne commented with a skeptical cast to her features.

"I have already admitted to you that I'm no calf's-head in relations with the ladies, but I doubt a bosun's mate'd be that desperate," he told her with what he hoped was a disarming grin of rough honesty. "If I would have consort to answer brute nature, I'd do better than Mrs. Hillwood, surely. Excuse me if I distress you with my choice of words, Anne, but I'd like you to understand me plain."

"I am not shocked, Alan," she said finally, shaking her head. "You would have to speak much plainer to rival anything I've heard in what passes for genteel conversation in the Indies. I must tell you, I was pained to recognize you leaving her gate. I would not like to think that your talk of true love and your eagerness to pay court to Lucy was a fraud, based on mercenary designs on the Beauman guineas."

This mort reads me like an open book! he thought.

"As you said yourself, one must always consider the family as well as the young lady," Alan said, scooting his chair up closer to the table for more intimacy for his confession. "I have no lands, no rents, and I'd be a fool to think Lucy and I could live on moonbeams. But with Lucy's portion, and my inheritance, the land could come, and I can't deny that the thought of what is necessary to keep her in her proper station hasn't crossed my mind. I don't want to sound harsh, but reality has a way of being harsh. I'd not even persist if I had no hopes of providing for her. And you mustn't doubt the depth of feeling I hold for Lucy!"

"I love her dearly as well," Anne relented. "So you must see my concern that she isn't fooled and her heart broken by someone who cares more for her dowry than her feelings. No, I don't doubt your affection for her, and I'm sure she has high regard for you as well, though it will be years before she may realize… I just don't want to see her hurt, that's all, Alan. Nor would I wish to see you hurt."

"So you are saying I should not aspire to too much too soon?" Alan asked, frankly puzzled by her statement, and her sad look. "Or is there something else I should know? A serious rival?"

"Just that you should learn to be patient," Anne said with an expression that was close to misery, and their hands found each other again in unspoken sympathy, and this time her fingers wrapped around his firmly. "And don't close yourself off from all the other young ladies you may encounter in the time you have to wait. I don't say you should behave without license, but you have time to be sure of your feelings and your desires before committing yourself. Once wed, it's not a thing one may change. If one makes a mistake, one has to make the best of it, even if it's sometimes unpleasant."

He gave her fingers a squeeze in commiseration, and she responded with a firm grip on his. "I'm sorry you didn't get what you wanted, or what you thought you'd have, Anne."

"What?" she snapped, almost jerking free of him. "Certainly not!"

"You sounded so bitter before. I thought you spoke from experience," he told her softly. She was trying to tell him something, and he didn't know quite what she meant; a warning that he was wasting his time with Lucy for some unknown reason, and telling him to spare himself some future pain? That he would never be truly considered for Lucy's hand? Whatever it was, he was grateful to her for trying to express herself. And he felt a flash of sympathy for her, married to Hugh Beauman, who had not been her true choice, it seemed, if he read her hints correctly. And then she had found comfort with that Captain Mclntyre, or so Mrs. Hillwood said. Had she been ready to run off and leave Hugh Beauman for him before he died? She was a proper lady, not given to aimless amours for the sake of amusement or quick gratification, a woman with two children to think about, and a place in society she would lose. She must have been deeply in love, he decided.

"Not bitter, Alan," she finally said after a long silence. "I am content. I'm sorry if I gave you a wrong impression. I thank you for your kind intentions, but they aren't necessary, though I think more of you now for saying what you did. There's more to you than I first thought. The girl who gets you shall be lucky, if she knows how to keep you interested."

"The right girl wouldn't have much trouble, if I let my heart rule, instead of my brain. Too much pondering is bad for you."

"And too little, dear sir, is just as bad." She grinned quickly. "Now, I'm sure your captain has need of your talents, and I must be on my way home. And when next I see Lucy, I shall praise you to the skies, if you are certain in your affections."

"Praise away!" Alan laughed and rose to dig into his coin purse for the reckoning. "With such an ally, how could I worry? If you will keep me current with what the Beaumans think of me."

"I shall," she promised. "And should you wish to discuss the progress of your suit with someone who truly likes you, you have but to drop me a note, and I shall make time for you. Feel free to call on me at any time should you have need."

He walked her out to her carriage and handed her in.

It was only after he was ensconced in "The Grapes" near the cold fireplace with a pint mug of beer at his lips that he thought again about what implications Anne Beauman had left unsaid. Surely, Lucy was daft about him. But what had she meant by describing Lucy's feelings as only "high regard"? Anne had warned him off Betty Hillwood, but had left the barn door wide open should he find someone else to dally with, as long as his intentions were sure, had practically shoved him into sampling what the wide world had to offer before he made his final choice and gave up his freedom.

Oh, surely not, Alan thought. She couldn't be suggesting that she and I… Lewrie, you're cunt-struck! If they smile at you, you want to put the leg over right then-it don't signify they want you. Best put that thought out of your lust-maddened little mind. Let's not try to bull every bit of mutton in the entire Christian world! Besides being related to Lucy, Anne's a real lady, no matter how unhappy her marriage is.

If ladies were willing, Alan Lewrie would be the first in line to alleviate their unhappiness. He had almost cut his milk-teeth on the ones who cast about for comfort and pleasure, but to work at seducing a properly respectable woman who had no mutual wish to initiate an affair had always struck him as a caddish deceit. Damnit all, he thought, I've some scruples, don't I? (Hell, maybe I really do, after all.) Why ruin a lady's reputation, and get an angry husband chasing me with pistol or sword, when there's battalions of 'em trailing their colors, just waiting for a rake like me to give 'em the eye? Not Anne-she's not one to give anyone a tumble or two and then walk away. Nor is Lucy, bless her. Right, I've had my fun for now. Let's do up our breeches and keep 'em done up, Lewrie lad. No more Betty Hillwood, no thoughts of Anne. Concentrate on Lucy.

The decision made him feel more grown up, more in control of his urges and his choices in life, though he doubted he would remain a celibate, but that was a different matter. And as he finished his beer, he could congratulate himself that he was finally becoming an adult with a clearer idea of what he wanted in life.