by Beverly Adam
Lady Fitzpatrick was not off the mark when she said she knew quite a few naval officers, immediately recognizing the guest of honor.
He was a handsome young man in his early thirties, playing the piano forte. A pretty lady wearing a charming blue silk gown with a necklace of milk-white pearls, which Kathleen could not help but admire, was standing cozily by his side turning the pages of music.
“Good heavens, if it isn’t Commander Robert Smythe and our own wise woman, Sarah Duncan!” exclaimed Lady Agnes, upon entering the room.
She hurried up to the handsome couple.
Standing, the dark-haired naval officer and the young woman of almost angelic appearance, greeted Lady Fitzpatrick and their newly arrived guests. The young woman, Kathleen was later informed, had a noted reputation as a wise woman. She was trained in the arts of healing and midwifery, and was much sought after by the chronically ill.
“Lady Fitzpatrick, this is indeed a most unexpected pleasure,” said the officer, bowing over her hand.
“I knew Master Powers’s guests were from Urlingford and that a sea captain’s widow was among his party acting as companion for his ward, Lady Langtry, but this is indeed a most delightful surprise to have you here among us as one of our guests.”
“And to be sure, the same can be said for me, Captain,” beamed the widow.
She said his title, Kathleen noticed, with a small amount of added emphasis. Beau had informed them that their host had recently been promoted from a first lieutenant and acting master commander, to that of a captain of full rank. It was for this reason they were dining together. It was a small celebration of the momentous event.
“So you’ve been told,” he said modestly. “Master Powers acted as my legal advisor to help clear my name before the Admiralty’s Board of Inquiries. After all that nasty business that took place aboard The Brunswick, there was quite a bit of tidying up that needed to be done. My good commander, Captain Jackson, whom you will meet presently, aided him in giving testimony on my behalf.”
“But did you know of his other most recent change in status, Lady Fitzpatrick?” asked Wise Sarah, the angelic beauty standing proudly by his side.
Lady Agnes shook her head. “No, do tell.”
Although the knowing smile on her wrinkled face gave away the fact that she suspected something special had occurred between the wise woman and the young commander, she remained silent. It was evident she wanted the young woman to have the pleasure of telling them herself.
“He is no longer to be on the ship’s lists as a bachelor. Show her, Robert,” urged the young woman.
Grinning, Captain Smythe lifted up his left hand for inspection. On it he wore a plain wedding band. He placed an affectionate arm around his lovely bride and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Captain Jackson married us on my mother’s island,” Sarah explained, beaming with pride at her husband.
“And it was a service I was delighted to do,” said a middle-aged officer of thin build joining them. The slightly yellow tinge of his skin informed them that he had recently been ill.
It had been reported in the local papers that Captain Jackson had been maliciously poisoned by a member of his own crew, creating quite a scandal. For no one expected such a villainous act to occur upon one of his majesty’s naval vessels, and most certainly not against this stern, but fair-minded, officer.
Espying the ladies with the magistrate, Captain Jackson bowed to her and Lady Agnes.
“I see Master Powers brought with him two lovely creatures to grace the table. I am fair certain all the food will taste like ambrosia tonight for I shall be dining among goddesses.”
Tittering, Lady Fitzpatrick lightly tapped his shoulder with her fan.
“Musha—such pretty words! I am after thinking, Captain Jackson, you have recently kissed the Blarney stone. For sure, I’ve never heard such flattery from a gentleman. Aye, sir, you meant two goddesses,” she indicated Sarah and Kathleen. “And one old Methuselah, didn’t you? At my age it would be foolish to expect you to put me in the exalted Venus category.”
“Not at all, ma’am. I am certain the good captain meant what he said,” put in Beau gallantly. “For does not the book of Proverbs say, as a man thinks in his heart, so he is. It is quite obvious to those of us who know you, Lady Fitzpatrick, you are not older than one and twenty at heart or in appearance. One can plainly see you are as winsome as any young lady still in her debutante whites.”
Pleased, Lady Agnes smiled. “I am surrounded by blind flatterers, but faith, what can I do, ladies? They are such splendid gentlemen. And I’ve often been told never to argue with a man who buys ink by the barrel, as most assuredly you do, Master Powers.”
Those around Lady Fitzgerald laughed, knowing she was referring to his professions both as a solicitor and magistrate. This happy merriment continued until a bell indicated that dinner was to be served. The only guests they had not yet met were introduced at the table.
“May I present First Lieutenant Litton; we served together under Captain Jackson aboard The Brunswick,” said Captain Smythe, introducing them to an amiable, cherubic faced gentleman in his late twenties.
He stood and bowed to them.
“And this is his sister, Miss Emily Litton,” he said, indicating the young lady seated across from him with mousy brown hair and spectacles.
She wore a tartan styled evening gown of green with black ribbons and red garnet jewelry. Despite her prim appearance, Kathleen was soon to learn Miss. Litton was a spirited young woman. The spinster kept them in stitches throughout the evening regaling them with tales about her past adventures as a rich widow’s traveling companion.
The young lady explained, “Mrs. James Hamilton was from America. A place called Trenton, New Jersey. She hired me because I was English. She said she thought I would be able to order the Irish porters around better than her because of it.”
At this remark, Lady Fitzpatrick interrupted with a loud harrumph.
“Shall I continue?” asked Miss. Hamilton, sensing the Irish lady’s antagonism towards her late employer.
“Please . . .” said Lady Fitzpatrick stiffly with an indifferent wave of her hand.
“She was very eccentric, Mrs. Hamilton. She consulted a spiritualist in New York before hiring me. He told her I would not try and make-off with her jewels and other valuables—and suggested to her she should hire me. The lady, after checking her astrologist, then hired me on a day considered lucky. It was really quite grand traveling with Mrs. Hamilton. We stayed in some of the loveliest homes and hotels. But she was very superstitious. I cannot count the number of times we almost did not take a coach because she thought the day would bring misfortune. It was a wonder we traveled about as much as we did.”
At that moment the cook arrived, a woman whose thin stick figure belied her ability to create delicious fare. She personally set the first course of beef soup, still steaming hot in a large Wedgwood tureen, on the table. The gentlemen helped serve the ladies.
Candelabras with branching arms lit the dining room. A large display of fruits, nuts, and grapes decorated the table’s center in tiered serving platters.
The courses were served simply with Sheffield plates. They were made of silver and copper melded together. A Wedgwood porcelain dinner service with scenes of Greek temples and flowers in green and white were their plate settings. The utensils had matching ivory green-stained handles.
“These were gifts from Robert’s crew,” Sarah said, indicating the crystal wine and glass decanter etched with the Royal Navy’s coat of arms. “They were specially ordered from Waterford.”
“Well then, we must toast the Royal Navy and your husband’s new rank with them,” said Beau merrily as he poured the wine.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said standing, gently knocking his fork against his glass, summoning their attention. “I wish to toast to the great success of my friend who recently showed unprecedented courage, and has now become newly appointed to the
rank of captain. Please raise your glasses to Captain Robert Smythe of his Majesty’s Royal Navy. Huzzah!”
At which point several other huzzahs were added by the guests. Beau raised his hand asking for a moment more. He said, “And to his lovely new bride, Mrs. Sarah Smythe, who has provided us with such delightful company and food.”
“Hear, hear,” was heard by everyone as all took a moment to sip from their wine glasses.
The toast was followed by a short prayer said by Captain Jackson, blessing the food and giving thanks for Robert’s recent promotion. As was the custom, the guests helped each other choose from the dishes nearest them. This occasioned great gallantry among the gentlemen as they would not let the ladies lift the heavy platters.
“My dear,” said Beau, frowning as Kathleen reached for the soup tureen containing beef broth. “Please let me assist you. Your small wrists, although lovely to view, should not have to lift such a heavy ladle.”
He poured the soup out for the ladies nearest him and made excuses throughout the evening. Not once did they touch a ladle or serving fork.
He insisted, “You are such a delicate flower of femininity, Lady Langtry. You should not be forced to do any manual labor other than to be witty and charming for the rest of us to enjoy.”
At this Miss Litton gave a small laugh, for he had said a similar flattering remark to her. Whereupon Captain Jackson engaged the spinster with a question about one of her coach travels with the eccentric American.
“I see, sir.” Kathleen smiled at Beau, knowing that he and the other gentlemen were competing to see who could be the most gallant. “That if I were to drop my handkerchief this moment into the gravy, you would jump in and rescue it with all the chivalry of a knight errant bent on winning a fair maiden’s hand.”
“Ah, that perhaps is true,” agreed the Corinthian, turning his back on the rest of the company, screening his actions from view. He captured her hand where it lay lightly on her wine goblet.
“But it would not be solely the hand which I would be seeking, dear lady.” With that he boldly lifted it.
His eyes remained fixed on her face. He brought it to his mouth to lightly kiss the inside of her wrist. The same one she’d dabbed perfume on when they were in the village shop. “I’m glad you continue to wear my favorite scent. Whenever I’m around roses or jasmine, they remind me of you.”
Mesmerized, she could think of no reply. She felt as if his lips were branding her skin. Her blood swirled and her heart pounded with anticipation.
She almost chocked out her words, “I . . . am glad you are so pleased.”
Glancing around the table, she wondered if the others had noticed what had passed between them. Secretly she was relieved they had not. The moment was too intimate to be shared.
The rest of the guests appeared to be occupied listening to a lively tale Miss Litton was engaged in recounting. It concerned an overturned traveling coach and a handsome Calvary officer who had come to their aid.
“I never was so surprised when upon arrival in Brighton who should pass us on horseback, but our rescuer!” exclaimed the spinster, ending her story.
The evening proceeded with several more courses of fish, turkey with chestnuts, purled carrots and onions, fried potatoes, and meat pies. The side dishes were fewer than what normally were served at Dovehill Hall, Kathleen noted. But this was to be expected. The guests were not numerous and the household was a modest naval one.
She found herself enjoying the evening immensely. It had been a long time since she’d spent time in the company of anyone younger than fifty. Her late husband had frequently entertained. But most of their guests had been gouty old men.
She’d detested every forced minute. The language of her late husband’s cronies had been rough and crude. The conversations at the table had been rife with sexual innuendos and frequently the men unashamedly leered at the exposed portions of her skin.
Bangford had reveled in it. He made certain she wore low cut bodices to encourage them and would rebuke her when she dared to protest. “Not a word, Madame. You do as I say. I am your husband. I want my friends to see all of your lovely assets. I want their faces to turn pea-green with envy.”
And thus forced to obey, she would comply. She had no other choice. As his wife he could have her beaten if she didn’t. And he frequently reminded her of this.
The side dishes and tablecloth were removed. The last course, dessert, was served. A ginger pudding was set on the table with accompanying warmed custard and orange sauces.
As she took a bite, Kathleen was reminded that the late King George I, who’d come from Hanover, Germany, was known as “the pudding king,” because he enjoyed the dessert. It was served to him during his first Christmas in Great Britain, making it thereafter a national tradition.
She could not fault the late king for liking it. She’d never tasted anything so delicious. Mrs. O’Grady had never allowed her to partake in sweets.
She was sternly told, “It will make you fat—and we mustn’t allow that. You must keep your slim figure, your ladyship, in order to fit the gowns that Lord Langtry expects you to wear.” And so it was that her husband and his dinner companions would indulge in the most decadent desserts, while Kathleen was only permitted a piece of fruit and a wedge of cheese. Now, for the first time in years, she let the citrus-flavored sauce and matching sweet bread roll over her tongue and lie on her taste buds. Unknowingly, she closed her eyes, savoring her first morsel. Daintily, she licked the spoon, enjoying each tangy bite.
She looked up and stared directly into Beau’s eyes. He’d been intently watching her. There was, she could not mistake, a hungry look in his. He stared at her mouth as if he wished to taste her. And she realized she wanted him to kiss her again, like he had that evening in front of the fire. And she also realized something else. She wanted to kiss him back. Not in reaction to his kiss, but in a bold, sensual statement of her own. The spark that passed between them was interrupted by the laughter at the other end of the table where Miss Litton had been regaling the group with another witty story.
Along with the wobbly sweet pudding and fruit, two different types of bramble wines were served. After dessert the newly named captain’s wife, Sarah Smythe, rose from the table, indicating it was time to leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars.
The ladies went back into the drawing-room for coffee, chocolate, and spice cake. They passed the time in genial conversation and a few hands of cards, until the men joined them.
Some music was called for, and obligingly, their host, Captain Smythe, again played the piano forte. They sang together Come Loose Every Sail to the Breeze a tune well-known among the men in their company for it was often sung at sea.
Captain Jackson led them through the first part, singing in a fine contralto voice,
“Come loose every sail to the breeze.
The course of my vessel improve.
I’ve done with toils of the seas . . .”
At which point he signaled to the rest of them to join in the chorus of
“Ye sailors, I’m done bound to my love.
Ye sailors, I’m done bound to my love.
I’ve done with toils of the seas.
Ye sailors, I’m bound to my love . . .”
With delighted laughter they finished. They gave applause in appreciation for Captain Smythe’s fine piano playing, or as Beau commented, “For gamely keeping up with us squawking wobblers.”
They paused, waiting to see who would lead the next song.
Beau boldly stepped forward. “I recently learned an Irish ballad called, Down by Black Waterside. I don’t suppose you ladies know it?” he asked Lady Fitzpatrick and Mrs. Smythe, knowing they were both Irish.
“That is a delightful song,” noted Lady Fitzpatrick. Mrs. Smythe readily concurred that it was a ditty worth hearing.
“Do sing it for us, Beau,” urged Robert from the piano.
“Very well, but I must warn you, I refuse to be held acco
untable for any ladies swooning,” he said rather immodestly to the delight of the rest of the guests.
“Indeed, sir, I shall try my best not to,” Miss Litton replied gaily.
But the warning, thought Kathleen, should have been directed at her. It was she who almost swooned.
Her heart felt as if it would almost hammer out of her chest as he sang out in his fine baritone,
“Nine times I kissed her ruby lips
I viewed her sparkling eye
I took her by the lily-white hand,
my lovely bride to be . . .”
As he sang out the last chorus, she could not help but think of how he had held her hand and kissed it but a few minutes before.
When he finished, he looked directly at her and gave a small bow to the rest of his audience.
Lieutenant Litton came up and clapped him on the back, declaring, “Demme, but you are a fine singer, sir!”
“Would you like to take to the stage, Master Powers?” asked Miss Litton.
“Many thanks for your kind compliment, but alas, I am no Sheridan,” he said, mentioning the famous Irish actor and writer. The Irishman currently ran Drury Lane Theater in London and was noted to be a fine singer.
“I prefer to save my pacing of the boards for the courtroom. There I am assured no one will throw rotten turnips at me,” he said with a grin. He then directed his attention to Kathleen. “Lady Langtry, how did you find my singing?”
“Very fine, sir,” she smiled, “very fine indeed . . .”
She could not help but clasp her hands together. A little nervous, she tried to hide them in the folds of her gown. She did not want him to think she connected the song with what had occurred between them earlier.
But correctly he interpreted her gesture.
“Merci,” he said in French and deliberately took one of her hands to bow over.
This brought a blush to her cheeks. He was undoubtedly one of the most gallant gentlemen she had ever met. The attention he paid her was more than flattering. It was head spinning.
The evening ended pleasantly. When they returned to the townhouse, she realized she’d never enjoyed herself so much. Beau had invited her to meet his friends and she’d been at ease in their lively company. In fact, for the first time in a very long time she’d felt as though she belonged, a feeling that brought her both comfort and joy. She did not feel as if anyone was trying to find fault with her. Beau’s friends had openly made it known they liked her.