“Damn my eyes, Sewallis,” Lewrie said with a sigh, coming to a stop in the back-and-forth stroll. “When my father wrote and told me you’d run away to sea, I didn’t think you’d be up to it. You always struck me more suited to the Law or something suitable for the eldest son, and the heir to whatever I leave. I didn’t
“I know, sir,” Sewallis glumly agreed. “I’ve known for a long time that I’m not as… rambunctious as Hugh. Not as suited to be like you. That you never quite knew what to do with me, when you were back from the sea, and…”
“Damme, d’ye think I loved ye less than your brother?” Lewrie exclaimed, aghast that Sewallis felt that way; aghast, too, to confess that sometimes, yes, he had. Hugh had been so much “all boy” that he had been so much easier to understand, and to relate to.
Sewallis said nothing to that; he just stood erect, shivering in the cold snow, and frowning.
“Hell if I did, Hell if I
He stepped back, still gripping Sewallis by his upper arms.
“No father wants t’hear his children’ve gone and done something daft, Sewallis. Knowin’ how hard life at sea is, d’ye think I wished
“Thank you, Father,” Sewallis said at last, looking happy and relieved. “Thank you for that. I can stay aboard?”
“Benjamin Rodgers thinks you’re shapin’ well, and I trust his judgement, so, aye. You’re on your own bottom. And when he gives ye leave t’come ashore with me for a day, you’ll come back aboard much better dressed. We can’t let ye continue on so ‘rag-tag-and-bobtail’.”
“I must admit I look forward to a larger coat,” Sewallis said with an outright laugh.
“Let you stuff yourself at the George Inn, again, and fill up your sea-chest with goodies, too,” Lewrie promised. “Have scones and tea, or a
“With whom, sir?” Sewallis asked, checking his pace.
“Lady I met in London last Spring, at the palace when I was presented to the King and got knighted,” Lewrie said, though he winced to have blabbed her existence. “Sister of Viscount Percy Stangbourne, and quite nice. I’d saved Lord Percy’s intended aboard one of the ships in that convoy in the South Atlantic, years ago, when I had
“They reside here in Portsmouth?” Sewallis queried.
“Uh, no. Their country seat’s near Reading and Henley,” Lewrie tried to breeze off, “but they have a grand house in Grosvenor Street. You’d like Percy. He raised a cavalry regiment, all on his own, and got it taken onto Army List last Summer, and posted to the Kent coast.
“You are
“We’ve become friends,” Lewrie cautiously allowed.
“Oh. I see,” Sewallis replied. “It has been three years, now, since Mother… even so…”
“I’d not wish t’hide her under a bushel basket, but… if you don’t care to, we won’t.”
“Well, ehm… I’d…” Sewallis said, groping to express his true feelings. After another deep, pent breath, he, very gravely, added, “This comes as most surprising, sir. Had you written about her… the lady’s existence… first, to prepare the ground, as it were?”
“It’s still early days, and ’til lately, there wasn’t much to write
“No, sir, I suppose not,” Sewallis answered. “If you wish, then I would be pleased to meet your Mistress Stangbourne.”
“Fine, then,” he said, instead. “Damme, but there’s a tale to amuse ye, the how of gettin’ a title t’boot.”
“I look forward to hearing it, sir,” Sewallis replied,
“Damme, but it’s cold up here! Do I keep you any longer, after all your boat-work in this foul weather, you’ll catch your death. And I should be going back aboard
“I expect so, sir… Father,” Sewallis said, grinning at last. “And, in port at least, Captain Rodgers allows us the use of a Franklin stove. For a few hours each day.”
“Oh, don’t get me started on bloody Franklin stoves!” Lewrie cried. “There’s another long, sad tale that ended up costin’ me dear! Well, then, ’til I make arrangements with Captain Rodgers for a shore liberty for ye, I’ll take my leave.”
“’Til then, Father… sir,” Sewallis said, doffing his hat in a formal salute, with a slight bow from the waist.
Lewrie doffed his own cocked hat to his son, as well, a grave exchange from one naval officer to another.
Even if Lewrie still thought his son had made a bad decision, one that he might come to regret.
CHAPTER FIVE
The “hour over tea” with Sewallis, Lewrie, and Lydia had become a late second breakfast that had lasted a bit longer than two hours. Not that it could be described as a resounding success, for Sewallis had had his “grave face” on, like a wary investor offered a “fail-safe” stock. He’d been polite, and had
“You saw her, Sewallis, when we all attended Daniel Wigmore’s circus,” Lewrie had breezily reminded him. “Met her face-to-face when they paraded through Portsmouth, too. Eudoxia rode her white stallion right up to us, remember?”
“Oh, that was she, sir?” Sewallis had said, “Rather racily and scantily clad.” He’d been purse-lipped and dis- approving of
“She is fearless, I’ve come to learn,” Lydia had chimed in, “and a crack shot. When Percy brought her up to the country in the fall, we all went birding, and she out-shot me every time. Quite sweet, too.”
“You… hunt, ma’am?” Sewallis had all but gasped, though he’d kept his tone level. He’d dis-approved of women with guns, too.
Their long tea-time had gotten chillier and stiffer from there on, and it was with a shared sense of relief that Lewrie had seen his son to the docks, and back to his ship.
“Dear Lord, Alan, but I think you’ve reared a
Supper with Benjamin Rodgers went much better; at least