AN: and here is another chapter…which contains a rather hungover Groves. I have much sympathy for the poor devil...
12
Despite a pot of fragrant coffee, and toast so thin it was nearly translucent, the morning found the Commodore in no better mood than the previous evening.
He cursed the weather for daring to be so brilliant in contrast to his filthy temper, and cursed the single glass of champagne he had drunk, which seemed inexplicably to have left him with a stinging headache, and which was not improved by the harsh sun.
His mood was further worsened by the thought of the postponed picnic, which had once seemed so appealing. Having no longer any desire to make Miss Alicia Groves' better acquaintance, due to her aloof manners the night before, and having a strong and unusually melodramatic desire to wallow in his own misery and solitude for the rest of time, the idea had somewhat lost its attraction.
However, he felt, after much agonising and soul-searching, that it would be decidedly impolite to withdraw the invitation after all the preparations for the picnic, and he was unwilling to face a lynching by his men if he deprived them yet again of their day out to the beautiful island.
With this obligation in mind, he set about unwillingly arranging a new date for the picnic, and compiled lists of necessary equipment, foodstuffs and personnel for the excursion, albeit with a distinct lack of enthusiasm in comparison to his previous zeal.
Meanwhile, in the Royal Oak, Groves was in a far less mobile state.
He lay prostrate across his bed while his wife resignedly mopped his brow with a damp cloth. Every so often, the indisposed Lieutenant groaned miserably and professed his inclination to die.
'Don't be foolish, Theodore,' Elinor Groves said briskly. 'I see you are as incapable as ever of coping with alcohol. Perhaps this will teach you to exercise a little…restraint when you are next at a party.'
Groves was in no mood to quarrel with his wife, for fear that she might raise her voice above its usual ladylike murmur. He frowned at his sister, who was sitting composedly in the corner, reading, and showing no after-effects at all of the night's carousing.
'I must say,' he said accusingly, 'you were rather rude to the Commodore last night.'
Miss Groves looked up and glared at her brother. 'I most certainly was not.'
'I must protest – you were. You hardly said a word to him all night.'
'I hardly said a word to you, dear brother, yet you are not complaining.'
Groves sat up rather quickly, felt the world spinning about him, and fell back into the pillows. With his eyes closed in pain, he berated his sister. 'But you knew his situation, Alicia. You knew what sacrifices he made to be there last night, and rather than make him feel welcome and diverted, you stood gossiping with Freddie Armitage most of the night.'
Miss Groves put her book to one side coolly. 'Theodore, if you would accuse me of telling Mr Armitage the reason for the Commodore's ill humour, I beg leave to acquit myself. And you certainly seemed to have no objection to my spending time with him yesterday.'
'Alicia, you know as well as I that I was in no state to judge the situation well yesterday.'
'That much is evident,' his wife said with a disapproving sniff, fluffing up the pillows further.
'So you would wish me to dedicate my conversation and company to Commodore Norrington exclusively, despite the great disparity in our ages and intellects, Theodore?' Miss Groves asked, not without a hint of aggravation in her low voice.
'I never suggested anything of the sort, sister,' Groves replied. 'I merely think you would not find him half as disagreeable as you have evidently judged him to be at present, should you endeavour to spend more time with him.'
Miss Groves opened her mouth in slight shock, and furrowed her pale brow. Finally, she stood briskly. 'I never said I found him disagreeable,' she snapped before storming out of the room.
Once in her own small bedroom, she locked the door and looked out of the bay window, out over the wide street towards the mighty fort. She suddenly felt the prickle of inexplicable tears at the back of her eyes, and sniffing delicately, she finally let them fall.
It was too bad, she thought as she tried to stifle her sobs. That her brother should read her so poorly, and believe her to be deliberately snubbing the Commodore, when in fact it was timidity and an awful sense of inferiority that held her back from pressing her mediocre company on the admired officer. Surely it was obvious to Theodore that she deemed herself to compare better to the brash Mr Armitage than to the gentlemanly, lauded Commodore Norrington?
Being in his presence made her blush and retreat within a protective shell, for fear she might embarrass herself through some awful social faux pas. It was worse to know that his tastes were as impeccable as to include the fearsome Miss Swann, a woman Miss Groves had admired greatly at the ball.
During the course of the evening she had concluded that a man with such prospects, a man so widely esteemed, was far above forming even a platonic attachment with a woman such as herself, and consequently she had endeavoured to distance herself from him, so that she would not find herself falling hopelessly in love with his green eyes and quiet smile.
As her weeping abated somewhat, she remembered the one dance they had shared the night before, and cursed her own reticence, that she had barely responded to his kindly questioning. And yet, it was for the best, she surmised, recalling the wonderment in his eyes as her beheld Miss Swann. There would be no competition at all.
She had internally pleaded for another chance to spin in his secure arms, to forsake Armitage's babbling company for Commodore Norrington's refined silence, but realised all too swiftly that he had only obliged her that once for the sake of social appearance, and was indebted to him at any rate for saving her from standing alone during the festivities.
Watching the Port become steadily busier, Miss Groves rebuked herself for upsetting herself so over such men, and over the ignorance of her foolish brother. She wiped her face daintily with her handkerchief and reminded herself that they would be moving to a plantation within a month, whereupon she could spend the days drinking tea and receiving young ladies from neighbouring estates and forget the feeling of the Commodore's steady hand on her arm as he led her to the floor.
As she tidied herself, studying her slightly peaky reflection in the glass, there was a sharp knock at the door.
'Yes?' she called, her voice quavering a little.
'Alicia, dear, are you quite all right?' came Elinor's motherly tone.
'Indeed, yes, Mrs Groves,' she replied more firmly. 'I shall be out directly.'
Mrs Groves paused briefly, evidently disbelieving her sister-in-law. 'Well…please, do not mind Lieutenant Groves. He is still suffering from last night, and was not thinking properly when he said such things to you.'
'I assure you, madam, I am quite well,' Miss Groves said more cheerfully than she felt.
'Good. I have a letter here for you from the Commodore, if you wish to read it.'
Miss Groves promptly sat down again on her window-seat. It was most unfair of him to do this to her, to write her letters, when he evidently promised nothing. Her heart began to beat most inconveniently.
'Alicia?' Elinor sounded worried.
Miss Groves wiped her face once more and unbolted the door. Elinor Groves handed her the sealed parchment and smiled conspiratorially. Miss Groves felt her mood droop. She would rather both the Commodore and Frederick Armitage were out of her life, so that she might continue, unruffled, reading her novels.
AN: one more to go…