Author's Note: I am writing this one for my own enjoyment, so its pretty linear without much padding but that's just sort of how it came out and having not even finished the first version of this story to the end, I don't have the time or inclination at the moment to go back over it and pad it out with overly floral descriptions of Regency costume internal decor and everything else so you'll have to imagine all that for yourselves. It does seem to want to be read in long chunks, so chapters will probably be long but there might be long gaps between posting. I have tried to spellcheck it but Fanfiction seems to want me to use American English so I might have missed a few. I loved the film Belle that came out last year and I really wanted to include Danny Hunter in this story as I object to those historical stories and television programmes that pretend only white people existed, or that conveniently forget the fact that most wealthy and influential people of the Regency period had their riches as a result of Slavery. In this story, Danny Hunter is the child of an aristocrat, Lord Hunter and a slave woman from Lord Hunter's plantation. Other details may divert from canon (it is an AU after all) and there are things like language which may not be entirely typical of the period. Please also be aware that this story does contain racist attitudes and there is likely to be the need for a trigger warning for sexual assault in a later chapter.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory or in any way factual.
Chapter 1
Major General Sir Harry Pearce stood in front of his desk and nudged a paperweight slightly. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, the large mahogany desk in the richly furnished room. Oak panelling, Persian carpets, brass door knockers and an ornate fireplace with gaudy ceramics. Such an office was unthinkable as a young man when he'd first joined the Army. It was strange, all round, being back from war. One minute it was endless marches and battle plans and counts of the dead. The next, Napoleon is exiled to Elba and here he is, back in London. City of Empire. Certainly, the city he left is not the one to which he had come back.
Carefully, Harry glanced at the chair behind him and sat himself down. It was a slim, elegant design in wood and leather. The latest style. It didn't quite go with the old desk he'd been assigned but then, that hardly mattered.
In front of him was a packet. The orders he'd received this morning, his first day in his new office. Beside it was a pile of invitations his assistant had collected in his absence. Clearly news of his divorce had travelled fast. The fact that he'd agreed to his wife's request astonished many, Sir Harry knew, but a man who had spent most of the last twenty years away at war and in the company of many other women, could hardly hold his head up high and refuse the request. They were, after all, all but divorced already. Their relationship, what remained of it, was completely unworkable. He'd burned his bridges there long ago.
What surprised Harry more was that he had been successful in securing the Act of Parliament. No doubt there were those in position of government who felt that agreeing to pass his divorce was something that would curry favour with him should Sir Harry Pearce ascend as far as some expected. There were those who said he might end up in the most senior position of all within the Army. As it was, his desk was filled with invites to all the upcoming social events. With Napoleon Bonepart's defeat at the end of March 1814, Sir Harry had been unfortunate enough to return just as the social season was entering its prime with many young girls coming into society and hoping to secure a husband for themselves by the time Parliament broke up for the summer. With six weeks to go, the arrival of a single man of stature and fortune had clearly piqued the interest of many of the ruling aristocrats.
As he shifted the pile of invitations aside, Harry reminded himself to avoid as many of them as possible. Debutantes had never been his thing, more so since he aged. His wife had been a virgin when they married, arranged between their families. Now after years in the Military he swore away from young girls. As a red-blooded male he liked a mature, experienced woman more than any young rose. It was the married ones, more than the unmarried, that Harry was interested in.
Yet there would be time enough for summer flings. With his wife living apart and his son and daughter both refusing his letters, there was little for Harry to do but work.
Picking up the engraved letter opener at the side of his desk, Harry reached for his orders and broke open the seal.
With a great sigh, Sir Harry reminded himself to make an appointment with his tailor to order a new uniform. It seemed he wasn't getting out of the social season after all.
It was the fifth ball this week and Sir Harry was hovering in the corner with a fellow soldier he'd met on the continent. Avoiding the debutante crowd was a full time job at these things, but with his new assignment the invitations could not be refused.
"Spies?" Danny asked.
Sir Harry grunted in agreement and took a sip of punch from the ornate silver mug.
"I suppose I'd never thought about it."
"I only ask because I'll need men. A small team I can trust," Harry put a hand on Danny's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye.
Lance-Corporal Daniel Hunter had always been a favourite of Sir Harry's. Starting out as Sir Harry's assistant, the young black man had shown himself to be sharp and astute with an extraordinary capacity to blend in with almost any social or military situation. Harry had first taken the soldier on as his assistant at the request of Danny's father. Were the man's circumstances different Sir Harry had no doubt that Hunter would be a commissioned officer by now. As the illegitimate child of a slave and an aristocrat however, Danny would never achieve great rank. Yet precisely because others tended to underestimate him, Sir Harry had concluded the young man could prove quite useful and seeing the familiar face at yet another loathed ball had lifted Harry's dour spirits somewhat.
"All I need is for you to keep your ear to the ground. Hang out in the coffee houses, in the public bars, anywhere you think sedition is rife. What I need is information. Names. The slightest hint of French spies. I can't promise you awards or glory, but there will be a steady wage in it."
"In these dark days a steady wage is as good as a free man like me can hope for, I suppose," Danny mused. Although Hunter's father acknowledged him and favoured him even above his legitimate daughter, Sir Harry knew that Hunter liked to make his own way and objected to living off his father's income coming as it did from the family plantation in Jamaica. Looking around their present company however, neither of them could fail to notice the ill looks of others at the gathering at Danny's presence. No sane man in society would refuse entry to the most favoured son of Lord Hunter. Nevertheless, there were many within the upper class who felt a black man had no place being present in such a gathering. Not as a guest, at any rate. Such was the economic power of his father, however, that few could afford to ignore Lord Hunter's social whims.
"Your father brought you here, I take it?" Sir Harry pressed.
"He wants me to find a wife," Danny sighed. "A white wife," He added, "From a 'good family' whatever that means."
Harry took another sip of his punch and surveyed the room. "There are plenty who would take your money for a quiet life, Hunter. True friends will always value you for who you are."
Danny screwed up his face in disgust at the trite remark, turning away to hide his expression from General Pearce. He respected the old man greatly and he knew the senior officer meant well but Pearce would never, could never, understand what it was to be the son of a slave in society London.
As the conversation came to a close the music in the next room ended and shortly after there was a flood of people as men and women left the ballroom to let others take their place. Sir Harry carefully eyed the flood of new blood into the room and from his position near the punch bowl, noticed a dark-haired balding man of indeterminate middle age and a kindly expression. The collar around his neck showed him clearly to be a man of the church and Harry shouted him over, recognising the vicar from many years before.
"Malcolm!"
"Harry!"
"Its is you!" Harry grinned. "How good to see you! I find myself surprised, I thought you'd be out in the country."
"A short break. I'm visiting a cousin. Nice chap. New to London, said I'd show him the ropes..."
"Of course..." Harry muttered. The less said about Malcolm's 'cousins' in polite society, the better.
It was at this precise moment, as he was making conversation and quickly realising he should probably introduce Malcolm and Danny, that Sir Harry's eye drifted across the room to a point almost exactly across from where they were standing. A plain woman stood on her own against the wall, a fan in her hand. Her dress was modest, her eyes disinterested. Yet something about her drew Harry's eye. He couldn't stop staring.
"...down at Parliament the other day..." Malcolm continued talking, unaware of Harry's disinterest.
"Who's that over there?" Harry cut across his good friend, unaware at that moment that Malcolm was even still talking.
"Who?"
"That woman," Harry's eyes drifted back, "By the sideboard. Plain. Modest grey dress."
"Ruth?" Malcolm queried.
"You know her?"
"A second cousin. You remember Admiral Evershed? Died of typhus in the Med? Ruth's his daughter."
"Malcolm, my good man, is there anyone in London to whom you're not related?" Sir Harry teased.
Malcolm grinned at his old friend's good humour. "Would you like an introduction?"
"Don't be absurd," Sir Harry took another swill of punch as Danny laughed at Sir Harry's remark. "She strikes me as rather out of place, that's all."
"Yes, well, she's playing chaperone tonight. Its Zoe's first season."
"Zoe? Not little Zoe?"
"Hard to believe, isn't it?"
As Malcolm chattered on, Harry found his eyes once more drifting across the room to the plain woman trying to blend in to the far wall.
Across the room, Ruth nearly physically flinched as she felt the man's curious gaze come back to her. She wondered who he was. His insignia told her his rank and seniority and he was clearly someone important. One of her father's old friends, perhaps. Quietly Ruth wished that Zoe would hurry back from her latest dance. Ruth could see her through the open doorway into the ballroom, dancing with a young rich man who came across as rather a snob in Ruth's own opinion, but then as someone who had achieved the stately age of thirty seven without one respectable offer of marriage, she was hardly someone in a position to offer advice about future marriage prospects. In truth, if it wasn't for her father taking her into his confidence all these years and the constant friendship of her cousin Malcolm, she wasn't sure what she should do.
Of course, Malcolm himself had a few problems. Time was he'd considered marrying her himself, Ruth knew. There were questions asked about Malcolm's peculiar association with a series of young men, but as he'd settled down Ruth assured him that living with a male bachelor 'cousin' and having no wife at home was hardly a modern concept in Georgian Britain.
Ruth glanced back at the officer, a General if she was not mistaken, for only a moment. She hadn't meant for their eyes to meet. Hazel eyes. Deep sad pools that opened themselves to her as Ruth stared. She hadn't been prepared for the sadness in the depth of those eyes or the way his weary body straightened slightly or the sad smile he tilted at her with a nod of the head. Hastily she broke his gaze, fidgeted with her purse and prayed for Zoe to come back. It was with great relief that she notice the music stop a few minutes later and she took the opportunity to rush over and speak to her charge.
In spite of how much she wished that to be the end of her torment, when the dancing was finally broken for dinner, Miss Ruth Evershed unfortunately found herself and her charge seated in such a position as to afford a clear line of sight across three full tables to the officer she'd found staring earlier.
"That's Major General Sir Henry James Pearce," Zoe informed her chaperone, "He's looking at you again," Zoe teased Ruth.
"Don't be absurd," Ruth admonished her. "And eat your vegetables."
"You could do worse than a Major General, Ruth," Zoe continued.
"I thought you were the one looking for a husband," Ruth snapped.
"You're never too old," Zoe grinned. "I'm sure Cousin Malcolm would introduce us."
"Don't you dare!" Ruth ground out through gritted teeth.
Zoe allowed a few moments of silence to fall between them, just enough for Ruth's ire to settle, before continuing, "I heard he divorced his wife."
"Well I heard she divorced him and considering he's probably been off shagging his way across Europe for the last twenty years, I can hardly blame her."
"There's a war on," Zoe shrugged, "Everything's different in war."
"There was a war on," Ruth corrected. "Past tense. I expect we'll get a lot of bored officers passing through London soon enough," she said with an air of dismissiveness. Ruth would not get her hopes up. Fiercely she forced down any slim glimpse of optimism. She was thirty seven, nearly twenty years past the normal marriageable age and old enough to have her own children as debutantes had she married along with her peers. The prospect of male interest at this point was well on laughable. After several unsuccessful seasons as a wallflower, Ruth had resigned herself to helping her father with his work and his household until his unfortunate death last year. It was work she enjoyed, overseeing his paper, translating correspondence, learning to read between the lines of military missives. Not exactly the sort of work that tended to set one up as a good housewife. Her sewing skills were particularly poor and the fact that she could hold down a game of chess with the best of them and drink half the Admiralty under the table were hardly points in her favour. Few men if any truly wanted an intelligent wife, never mine one who could out-think them on military strategy.
Pointedly ignoring the sad eyes directed her way from across the room, Ruth smiled at Zoe, determined to help her charge present herself to her best. "Now, if I can actually get through this dinner without getting it all over my best clothes, I think we should go over your dance card for the second half of the evening..."
Zoe couldn't help but look up in the direction of General Pearce. She hadn't seen him in years before this, not since she was a child, but he looked older and sadder and more world-weary. War would do that to a man, she supposed. Yet the fact remained that he had hardly taken his eyes off Miss Evershed all evening and it was clearly making Miss Evershed nervous. Zoe narrowed her eyes. Her chaperone's attempts at deflection were obvious, but she gave into for the moment. If Zoe was right about the military man, there would be other moments to push them together.
After dinner, Ruth got her way. Zoe danced with a succession of dancers including the handsome black man she'd spotted with General Pearce earlier, a man Zoe found to be quite charming and intelligent and had a level of integrity she had not expected to find in High Society. Not like so many other young men, gambling and drinking away money left right and centre. At the end of the night Ruth and Zoe went away grinning and chatting all the way home, with plenty of things to talk about and the prospect of a full dance card for Zoe at the next ball the following night. Ruth had been amused to see the older gentleman who'd been staring at her suffer through numerous debutantes which seem to have been foisted upon him by various overly assertive mothers and aunts. None of the girls seemed to make a good match for the General, the blushing roses and arrogant young aristocratic daughters wanting more from him, clearly, than he was willing to give.
It was at the next ball the next night, however, that Ruth finally made the acquaintance of the man. Zoe, having danced with Lance-Corporal Hunter at the previous ball, began to move in his direction in the hope of filling a vacant spot on her dance card. However it was the older man by his side with his thinning blonde hair and sad hazel eyes that Ruth couldn't take her eyes off. She found, for the first time in a long time, her stomach was fluttering alarmingly. Ruth noted he was slightly in need of a haircut, for where it was getting long the strands were beginning to curl and she had the sudden vision of giggling toddlers with blonde curls and blue eyes. Her face felt warm and flushed and Ruth was sure it was more than the heat of the room that was causing it. Feeling the need to escape for a few moments, Ruth had just opened her mouth to announce she was going to get some air when cousin Malcolm accosted them both and announced he needed to introduce Ruth.
No amount of babbling or protesting, it seemed, was going to divert him.
"Malcolm, really!" Ruth protested. Zoe was already acquainted with Hunter from the previous evening. There was really no need for Zoe's chaperone to go making a fool of herself, Ruth insisted.
"I'm just going to introduce you," Malcolm assured her, urging her ever forwards in the direction of the man she now knew to be General Pearce. When Ruth turned to Zoe for assistance, it was clear there was going to be no help for her from that quarter and she knew now, having listened to gossip all evening, exactly what sort of reputation he carried. While it was a strange sort of novelty after so long alone, to catch the attention of a philandering good-for-nothing like Pearce, Ruth Evershed was not entirely sure it was an acquaintance that ought to be formally made at all. There really was too much chance of her turning into a babbling fool at the slightest glimmer of male attention and she was so unused to any sort of attention at all that Ruth had no idea whatsoever about how to deal with it. Worse, she feared she might fall for his charms and ruin herself. Desperately she tried to remember her mother's advice and only came up with questionable snippets of housewives tales. Beside her, Malcolm rushed forwards.
"Harry!" Malcolm grinned beside Ruth, rushing forward to greet the man he seemed to be such great friends with. "Major General Sir Harry Pearce, Lance-Corporal Hunter, may I introduce my cousin Miss Ruth Evershed and her charge Miss Zoe Reynolds."
"Miss Reynolds and I are already acquainted," Danny smiled, "In fact, I wondered if I might have the honour of this next dance?"
Zoe smiled back and with Ruth's approval, the two of them went off towards the end of the room where a space had been cleared for dancing.
Silence stretched between the three remaining adults. Malcolm cleared his throat. "Erm, Harry and I were in Spain together, for a while. I was Chaplain in his unit. A very competent officer, if I may say so and popular with the ladies," Malcolm winked at Ruth, who rolled her eyes at her cousin's lack of subtlety.
"I see you are on chaperone duties again tonight, Miss Evershed?" The General asked at length.
"Yes," Ruth replied shortly.
"You are not dancing yourself, then?" The General enquired.
"It would be somewhat unbecoming of a chaperone in present company, although I wonder at your being here instead of at the court, General. I understand the Palace is entertaining tonight."
"I am exactly where I want to be, Miss Evershed," General Pearce confided, his words soft and, dare she say it, somewhat seductive. "Malcolm mentioned your father was an officer?"
"Yes, he rose to the rank of Admiral."
Harry's eyebrows rose. From her dress and demeanour he would have guessed her family was not of considerable social status.
"You are surprised, General. I'm afraid it took him rather a long time to get there and his prizes were never what they might have been. After he died and the debts were paid off..." Ruth tailed off. "I live modestly but happily, General, and I can play as much chess and read as many of my father's books on old battles as I like without reprimand from any man."
Harry nodded, "Then you must surely understand enough strategy to comprehend me when I say, an old soldier must pick his battles carefully." He nodded his head towards the crowd of young prospective brides. "All's fair in Love and War, isn't that what they say?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean at all sir. Pray, excuse my ignorance."
"I mean, Miss Evershed, that it can hardly have escaped your ears, since it seems to be the talk of the town, that I granted my wife's request for a divorce. The Act of Parliament being lately passed, I am now free to enjoy bachelorhood as I please. The danger is, with my new situation and a peace being presently negotiated, that I might be encouraged towards some sort of ill-suited match for the purposes of political or social expediency."
Ruth raised he eyebrows. She had, of course, heard the rumours. It was surprising for him to discuss the matter so forthrightly, especially considering how short was their acquaintance.
"My honesty surprises you," Sir Harry surmised.
Ruth nodded. He eyes searched his face, wondering at his manner as her fingers fiddled once more with the strings of her purse. In the distance Zoe and Mister Hunter danced, gaining loud tuts of disapproval from a loud group of clucking women which the dancers steadfastly ignored. Ruth wondered idly where Cousin Malcolm had gone. Wasn't he here a moment ago?
"For what its worth, I'm not sure I'm much safer over here," Sir Harry confessed, gazing warily across the room. It was the very same group of assertive mothers and daughters that Harry was hoping to avoid throughout the duration of yet another evening. A more intolerable assignment could not have been put forth to him than the need to socialise endlessly. Yet it would hardly do for a man of his station to refuse such invitations. Even the Prince Regent's court could not be avoided forever.
Beside him, Ruth was confused as to why anyone would put themselves in a situation they found so intolerable. "Why come then, if you dislike it so much?"
Sir Harry shrugged, "Because I must, for the most part, considering my position. It would paint the Military in a very bad light if I never came out in society. On these last two occasions however, I have also come out for Lance-Corporal Hunter. I took him on as my steward when we were on campaign and he has served me well these last years, its the least I owe him to let him earn the rewards of the association. His father's a wealthy man but there are many who say he has no place here. It goes against everything in me to abandon him to his naysayers here. Besides which I find I sometimes bump into some colleagues from the Army or the Navy whose attention I might need on a small matter or whose opinion I might gather on important matters of State."
"Yes," Ruth agreed breathlessly. Quite when she had become breathless was anyone's guess, but the suffocating heat of the room didn't help. "Yes, I do understand. I recall my father on many occasions struggling to balance society and work. I confess even I find myself hiding from the baying mob in here sometimes."
"Well then," Sir Harry smiled, "Let us hide from them together. May I fetch you a drink?"
Sitting in the carriage on the way home, Danny Hunter and Sir Harry Pearce sat side by side, each smiling to themselves. Miss Reynolds had danced twice more with Danny and he confessed he found her amusing and charming. Sir Harry had enjoyed an evening standing in the corner not saying very much and fetching enough glasses of punch to turn Miss Evershed slightly tipsy, quite a feat Harry mused, considering she was the lone child of an Admiral of the Fleet. Clearly she had inherited both her father's sea legs and his capacity for drink.
"So, you hope to meet Miss Reynolds again at the next ball?" Harry queried his young friend. Already he had spent the last several days visiting coffee houses and meeting places around town and the evening entertainments were a good opportunity for Harry to catch up on the young man's work without arousing suspicion. Unfortunately it also gave Danny a reason to pick apart the myriad problems that such social occasions threw up. Daniel's father had, after all, asked Harry to take special care of his son and while there were many quarters where people showed open disgust at a black man being allowed to circulate among such high society, they also knew that the Lord Hunter, Danny's father, was not a man of whom anyone wanted to make an enemy.
Yet still, Danny sighed at Harry's question. "I know they only humour me on account of my father," Was his response. Unlike Harry, Danny did not wear his uniform to social events. On account of his race he was barred from becoming an officer, no matter how many strings Sir Harry or his father pulled, and he got along better with the tailoring of his clothes and the currency of his father's name alone. If Harry had been the type of man to feel sorry for people, he would have felt sorry for the young man beside him but at present Harry saw no great cause for concern. Hunter was a good and capable individual and could cope admirably by himself, Sir Harry felt.
"Yes. Yes they do, because your father is a powerful man and any woman in London would be fortunate to have him as a father-in-law. You may be illegitmate but you are favoured by your father or he would not have asked me to take you under my wing. You are intelligent and hard-working and you do not drink or gamble excessively like so many other young men. Therefore, what favours your father bestows upon you, and anyone with a head can see they are many, will be kept within the family and not lost upon the card table the next time you imbibe too much drink. Danny, there are many people, throughout all our lives, who would wish us ill. At least those who display such feelings openly are easy to avoid. Its the ones who hide it through charm and deceit, of whom one must be wary."
Danny considered Pearce's words. They were headed back to Pearce's rented rooms now and he wondered what the General would think if Danny were to formally ask to court Miss Reynolds. Danny had the feeling that the young woman would be agreeable. He enjoyed her company and her sense of humour, but surely Miss Reynolds family would be opposed to the match. With a heavy sigh he decided to think on it more before approaching the General for his advice and Danny hoped a good night's sleep might help clear his mind.
A few days passed. Days with walks and carriage rides in Hyde Park. Days sat in his office overlooking the Thames going over missives, communiques, intelligence briefings and the latest mail packets from the med some of which was written in Greek of all things and which he cast aside as indecipherable. The most important piece of news was that a group of marines on board a Royal Navy vessel had had it from a brothel house in Gibralter that there was a high profile French spy in London. Identity unknown. If the gossip was going round brothels however, it could hardly be long before it was all over Europe.
There was also a pile of papers in Arabic, of all things. Quite what the devil he was supposed to do with them, Sir Harry had no idea and to top it all he had yet another interminable ball to attend tonight and he wasn't sure if his knees could stand up to any more dancing. In spite of his best efforts he had been put in a position of being unable to refuse the approach of several young ladies at all the previous evenings and unless he asserted himself in a most ungentlemanly fashion by turning the lot of of them down, it was highly probably he would be forced to go through the paces again tonight. Yet so it was. While parliament was in session all the families and daughters of its Members were swanning around London with nothing to do but go to balls and parties every night and where there were parties there was gossip. Aside from the considerable social obligations of his station, if indeed there were high profile individuals whose loyalty to the Crown had been compromised, there was every reason Sir Harry might pick it up through the loose tongue of a family member. Besides, he reminded himself, he might get to witness another bout of Miss Evershed's verbal diarrhoea. A smile crept over his lips as he thought of her intelligent eyes and the way she played nervously with her purse strings every time he approached.
Six hours later however, it was a wince of pain and not a smile that adorned that General face when he sidled up to her at the latest ball.
"Save me!" He begged, a wince of pain from his knees crossing his features.
"General Pearce?" Miss Evershed looked up with alarm. What was he doing here. He'd been dancing all evening with young debutantes. What on earth did he want with her? He sounded like he might be in pain and Ruth looked up with alarm at the blond haired, hazel-eyed man who had just approached her. Her eyes searched his form for any sign of injury or trauma and then, finding nothing, searched the room at large for any sort of commotion or sign of upset. Finding nothing that could explain his distress she was forced to turn to the officer himself and found herself once more overwhelmed by the mere presence of the man. Ruth had noticed he had a habit of standing rather closer than she was comfortable with, as if he was bringing her into his confidence. He was just so very...male. His broad chest, his soft belly, his penetrating eyes, his breeches which were tailored so tight as to leave nothing to the imagination and the scent of him, so very masculine that she found it difficult to concentrate or even speak in complete sentences in his presence. Idly she wondered what it might be like to pillow her head on that chest, it looked so inviting. Her face turned red at the fact of his proximity after her mind had wandered so laciviously moments before but there was nothing she could do except pretend it was the heat of the room.
"I see I have alarmed you," Sir Harry commented.
"Are you unwell?"
"If only something as minor as a bout of ill health would deter the most determined of debutantes. If I have to dance with one more simpering seventeen year old girl I think I might do something I would very much regret."
"Marriage market getting to be too much for you?" Miss Evershed enquired. Where she found the gall to be so cheeky with a man of so short an acquaintance she had no idea, but the words were out of her mouth before she could catch herself.
"To be perfectly honest, Miss Evershed, I wasn't aware of consciously entering it and yet here I am, strugging to find a moment to rest my weary knees," And as if to prove his point, just as he uttered these last words a beautiful red-haired debutante glided in their direction clutching a dance card and putting on her prettiest smile. "No, Madam," Harry declined her dance card before the poor girl had the slightest chance of hovering hopefully around his person, "Pray excuse my bluntness but I must rest my knees. I'm sure my friend Mister Hunter would be more obliging were you to move in his direction."
The look Harry got for suggesting the debutante dance with Mister Hunter proved to Harry that his judgement was sound in refusing her. Miss Evershed however, seemed of a rather different opinion.
"Well that seems rather unkind," She commented immediately as soon as the girl was out of earshot.
"Was it?"
"You can't tar them all with the same brush," Ruth replied lightly, pointing with her fan to a gaggle of young women at the other end of the room, accompanied by their many chaperones.
It was at this point that Sir Harry leaned in. As if imparting a juicy secret he turned his lips towards her ear and spoke a warning under his breath, "They move in packs!"
It was all Ruth Evershed could do not to giggle at the genuine fear in his voice.
"You are in good company, General Pearce, if you find the social season a little trying but you must understand, they are only doing what they have always been taught to do: secure the best husband they possibly can. Most debutantes are told to look pretty and smile and show off their decoletage. That's the daughter of a Duke you so unceremoniously just turned down. You could have any woman in the room."
"You speak very forwardly, Miss Evershed."
"I..." Ruth immediately froze, realising she had done what she always did, spurred on by nerves at his continued proxmity she had begun babbling and in doing so had revealed much more forthrightly than their acquaintance allowed for. She unfurled her fan and nervously began fanning her face, now red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, General. If I have been inappropriate-"
"Oh, don't be sorry, I find it rather refreshing," Sir Harry mused and when she dared to glance up at his face his eyes were warm and twinkling with such mirth that she found herself caught in them for a moment. "You are right, of course. It is not only us Military men who are trained. You are telling me these young women are trained as well and, I think, that you disapprove of the general method of such training. May I surmise, therefore, that you offer rather different advice to my Goddaughter?"
"To...?"
"Miss Reynolds," Sir Harry clarified. "You are her chaperone, are you not? Perhaps instead of looking so obviously like I am avoiding more tortuous dances we might pretend we are discussing a common acquaintance, or matters of great import." His tone was warm, joking. A footman passed nearby with glasses of port and Sir Harry snagged two, handing her one.
"I couldn't possibly."
"Don't be absurd, you're an Admiral's daughter. If you've never had port I'm Napoleon himself. You can probably drink half my men under the table. I lost count of how many glasses of punch you had the other night and you were barely tipsy when you went home."
"Well, when drinking prowess becomes a highly sought-after marriage trait, General Pearce, I might finally find myself a husband. Until then, I shall have to rely on my wits and ingenuity to find my way through the world. What are you smiling about?"
"Nothing. You were going to tell me about my God-daughter," Harry prompted.
"I'm not sure there's much to tell. She's always been bright and I confess I've encouraged her. She is remarkably well read for someone so young. I've been convinced for some time now that Miss Reynolds would be ill suited to any man who is after a stupid wife and so," Ruth paused, considering her next words. "Yes," she agreed with him, "I do council her differently. I encourage her to engage intellectually in the hope that she might find herself a man of equal education and good humour."
At this, Harry nodded and sipped at his glass. He seemed thoughtful. Pensive. "I suppose," He said at length, "We all have our methods of testing the character of others. I tend to find one's reaction to my acquaintance with the young Mister Hunter a much more useful judge of character than I could possibly guess from one's station in life alone."
Ruth felt there wasn't much more to say after that and so silence fell between them. After a while General Pearce offered to go and get her another drink and returned with two glasses of punch and asked polite questions about Zoe's progress that season and some carefully worded questions about any of Miss Reynolds other potential suitors.
It was some time later when Private Hunter came to fetch Sir Harry and suggest it was time to go home. Only then did Ruth Evershed take note of the time and wonder where it had gone. Ruth found herself at something of a loss without his gentle good-humoured company. He was in many ways the most eligible bachelor in the room. He had wealth and status, he was a war hero, he was decorated and she had even heard a rumour about his prowess in the bedroom. What on earth he was doing idling away his hours standing quietly at her side was anyone's guess.
Some minutes later when Zoe returned from her next dance, Ruth and Zoe went together to the powder room while their carriage was called. While Ruth waited on Zoe another idling chaperone commented inquisitively about the Major General spending so long in her company. She could feel her heart pounding, the blush fill her face, all words fail her at utterly the worst moment as exactly what she had feared began to happen – rumours. It was, perversely, General Pearce's own words which sprang to the front of Ruth's mind in her desperate attempts to nip this in the bud.
"Well its only that Major General Pearce is Miss Reynolds Godfather," Ruth blurted, thanking the heavens that it was at least true. Better stick to the truth in such circumstances, "And he takes a great interest in her welfare." Ruth thought about pointing out that his interest would surely not have been quite so great if he hadn't been quite so determined to spare his knees another gavotte but it seemed rather unkind to the poor General's knees and his health really wasn't a matter she had any business discussing anyway. With the other chaperone's eyes still on her, Ruth excused herself as quickly as possible and decided to wait outside. From that point on, she determined, she was going to be sensible about this and not let her head be turned by some lonely old officer with a reputation for toying with women and if the Major General looked hurt and later angry by her refusal to spend any more time with him that evening, Miss Evershed reminded herself that it was, after all, probably only just as well that she had come to that conclusion.
End Note: To obtain a divorce at this time, one had to secure an Act of Parliament which required both power and influence and was somewhat unusual in that many men would rather live apart from their wives but remain married rather than divorce them. The trading of slaves was abolished by Act of Parliament in 1807 however owning slaves was still permitted and was not abolished in the British Empire until 1833. (I think, if I'm getting my historical dates right).