The Invasion Year

* * *

That rant had been a tad too depressing for the both of them, so Lewrie had not stayed at Lloyd’s much longer after that one brandy was drunk. He walked back to the Madeira Club, hoping for a long nap to restore his flagging energies, but… it wasn’t Lydia’s promised note that the day-servant who manned the desk and cloak room held out to him. It was a letter from the First Secretary to Admiralty, William Marsden, requiring him to report at his earliest convenience upon the morrow to be briefed upon “certain confidential matters pertaining to the threat of possible invasion.”

“Good Christ, I guess it’s serious!” he muttered.

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