The Admiral's Daughter

Mrs Mullins and Cecilia exchanged a quick look. 'Pay no mind to we ladies, Mr Kydd, we do like our gossip,' Jane said, in a determined voice. 'Er, why don't you show Miss Lockwood the new bougainvillaea in our greenhouse, you having been in the Caribbean yourself, of course?'

In the expectant hush Kydd stood, heart bumping, but was so long in choosing his words that Persephone rose and offered, 'I'd be very interested, should you be able to tell me more of such tropical blooms, Mr Kydd.'

They entered the small garden together and Kydd steered his way through the vegetables and ancient fruit trees into the greenhouse and said in as light a voice as he could manage, 'This is your bougainvillaea, Miss Lockwood, an' I well remember seeing it in Jamaica, and Barbados as well and . . .'

But something was distracting her and she was facing away, not hearing his words. Kydd made a play of looking closer at the plant, then offered his arm to escort her back. Had he done something to offend?

Then she turned towards him and asked, 'Did Mrs Mullins marry in the Caribbean?'

'Er, yes, Miss Lockwood, and my sister was at the wedding.' He cast about for something else to say but no words came and she went on ahead. They wandered a few more steps, Kydd following helplessly, before she stopped and said quite casually, 'Your perceptions of society might lead you to suppose that I should marry as bade, but I can assure you, Mr Kydd, I shall only wed one I care for and I cherish. An odd notion, don't you think?'

Was she saying . . . ?

'I—I admire you for it, Miss Lockwood,' Kydd replied hoarsely, as she lifted her eyes to his, her expression softening unbearably.

He took a deep breath and said, in a voice that came out harsher than he had intended, 'If you married a—a man who followed the sea by profession, would ye—would you expect him t' leave it? Th' sea, I mean.'

She waited until his eyes held hers. 'No, Mr Kydd, I would not.'

The silence thundered in his ears until she turned and walked slowly to a little grotto of sea-shells set in the shady side of the wall. She looked back at him once and stooped to pick up a shell, which she admired in her cupped hands. 'I believe I will take this to remind me of you, Mr Kydd.'

Renzi scrambled to his feet when Kydd returned, eyes shining, an unmistakable air of excitement about him.

'Nicholas! Ye'd never smoke it! She was there an'—we walked together an' talked, and I'd lay out a sack o' guineas t' say before ye that she—she has a takin' for me!' He was touched that his friend was so evidently sharing the same soaring elevation of spirit.

'Felicitations, then, brother, but I trust you will hope to remember your speech in her presence—I am obliged to remark that at the moment it sorely betrays a lack of delicacy.'

Kydd grinned. 'She was wearing such a fine dress, Nicholas. Was it just f'r me? An' her hair, she had—'

Renzi's voice was odd—somewhat charged with emotion. 'Dear fellow, do you know what I have here?' He held up a grubby piece of paper covered with crabbed handwriting.

'Er, no, Nicholas. Pray, do tell me.'

'This,' Renzi said, 'this, dear friend, is the first—the very first evidence from the world that my humble conjectures in ethnical philosophies might indeed possess some degree of merit. This, brother, is a communication from Count Rumford himself! Praises me for a new insight and encourages me to go further.'

He sat down suddenly and blinked rapidly. 'And—and wishes that when in London I might consider attending with him at the Royal Institution in Albemarle Street.'

To Kydd the name reminded him more of fireplaces but there was no doubting the effect it was having on Renzi. 'Why, that's thumpin' good news indeed, m' friend. Count Rumford himself!'

There was just sufficient Cognac to steady them both, then Renzi was able to say to Kydd, 'I am forgetting myself, brother. Do tell me more of your happy situation.'

'Well, I've been givin' it a deal of thought. I'm t' call on Miss Lockwood, I believe—I have t' return her music, y' see,' he said smugly. 'But not afore I ask Mrs Mullins if she'd help me learn it. I saw a pianoforte while I was there,' he added.

Kydd pulled the doorbell ceremoniously and waited. He was in his most elegant attire: a dark-green morning coat over buff waistcoat and cream breeches, with a painstakingly tied cravat. And the sheet of music tied with a ribbon.

'Sir?' It was the same footman, but he gave no sign of recognition.

'Mr Kydd, to call on Lady Lockwood.'

'Thank you, sir,' he said, with a bow, and went back inside, closing the door gently in Kydd's face. His heart bumping, he heard the footsteps die away. It seemed an age before the footman returned. 'Lady Lockwood is not at home, sir,' he announced, fixing a glassy stare over Kydd's shoulder.

Kydd had seen the carriage in the mews and knew that she had not left the house. 'Then—then Miss Lockwood?' he asked.

'Miss Lockwood is not at home, either, sir.'

'Er, then please to give this to Miss Lockwood,' Kydd said, handing over the music, realising too late that he had just lost his best excuse for calling in the future. He turned on his heel and walked off, thoughts churning furiously.

Cecilia dismissed his fears. 'This is Lady Lockwood being protective, I do believe, Thomas. We shall have to find another way.

Now, let me see . . . Jane is being so obliging I think we can ask her to invite Miss Robbins and 'friend' once again—this time to a cards evening. She has some tolerably high-placed acquaintances who are martyrs to the whist table.'

It cost Kydd a notable effort to ingest the finer points of whist: the mysteries of the trick, the trump suit and the potential for delicious interplay between the partners, but he was determined to reach the point at which he would not disgrace Persephone.

Time dragged, but eventually the appointed evening arrived and Kydd found himself making inane conversation with a young army lieutenant while the guests arrived. At last he heard Miss Robbins's silvery laugh in the doorway and forced himself not to look round.