The Lieutenant and the Lady
Chapter Two
A Kind of Dangerous Distinction
Evie stood rigidly, properly, in her spot at the end of the receiving line, and fought the urge to pull and tug at her ill-fitting dress. It had never been attractive on her, of course; the bright lemon yellow had always been a horrible color for her, making her look sallow and cross, but it had fit reasonably well when it was made the previous season. She had difficulty believing she had grown so very much since then, but her bosom must have at least as the fabric was now stretched uncomfortably across that area. The skirt was also bunched up oddly, having been cut to go over a different set of stays and petticoats with a much different skirt. Unfortunately there hadn't been enough time for her to change anything more than her outermost layer, and so she was stuck in an unflattering dress made even more unflattering by the improper undergarments. Not that it mattered, of course; Evie was of the firm opinion that everything was unflattering when worn with a cap.
It didn't help that she'd also found it necessary to wear her spectacles. She really only needed them for reading, but she had found that even though no tears had fallen earlier, here eyes were still suspiciously red. The spectacles were fairly hideous, sure, but they at least hid the evidence of her distress and ensured no one would ask anything untoward during the ball. In some ways she had found it pleasant to be able to scrutinize people rather closely without them being able to read her in return; it was a miracle how distancing those thin lenses of glass really were. Evie had especially enjoyed her mother's reaction to them: pure, unmitigated horror. Served her right, Evie believed.
The most trying aspect of the evening thus far was the reaction her bizarre appearance received from nearly everyone: none at all. It was quite distressing to stand there, feeling as though she had never looked worse in her life, only to realize that most people noticed no difference. Except, perhaps, the three men approaching her now; though there was nothing improper in their expressions, Evie somehow knew they were all three shocked by her appearance, and it soothed her. One was tall, bluff and blond, with a red face, blue eyes and shining golden epaulettes proclaiming the rank of captain. Evie recognized him, she thought, from far earlier days, but couldn't quite put a name to the face. He had two subordinates with him, his lieutenants she'd guess, and Evie was certain she'd never seen those two men before. One was fairly nondescript, a bit portly with brown hair and a benign expression, but the other was so handsome it fair hurt to look directly at him.
He was tall, slightly taller than the captain even, and lithe, with long limbs and a graceful yet masculine walk. His face was well-proportioned, with high cheekbones, full lips and an elegant nose, and despite his scrupulously blank expression there was something good-humored about him. The gray blue of his eyes was set off beautifully by his Royal Navy uniform, and his long dark hair (pulled back properly into a plain queue) provided a splendid contrast with his pale skin. A scar ran from below one eye, across the bridge of his nose to the other side of his face, and Evie thought it added a kind of dangerous distinction to a countenance which would otherwise have been handsome yet forgettable. As it was, she didn't think she'd ever be able to forget this man; there was something about him that drew her in a way she couldn't explain. God how she wished she were pretty!
His attractiveness, and her awareness of her own lack of same, was so great that she was unable to truly smile at him or his two companions. The best she could manage was what she hoped was an arch, welcoming expression but she rather doubted she had pulled it off. "Gentlemen, welcome to our home," she greeted nervously, curtseying with as much elegance as she could muster.
The captain bowed with a charming flourish. "Lady Evelyn, I nearly did not recognize you; I have not seen you these six or seven years at least. But I hardly hope that you remember me, my dear."
Something about the man's voice was so familiar, and of course the face⦠Suddenly, she realized she was speaking to one of the guests of honor of the evening. "Of course I remember you, Captain Aubrey. My father continues to speak quite highly of you. And this recent action with the Acheron has certainly not lessened his respect." That was a shocking understatement; ever since the news had reached them in London, Admiral Fanshaw had spoken at least once daily of the captain's courage and skill.
The man himself simply shrugged modestly. "If we're to speak of the Acheron, my lady," he began, "you must allow me to introduce Mr. Pullings, my first lieutenant." The captain indicated the man who had so enthralled her, and he bowed with restrained grace. "It was Mr. Pullings who took command of the Acheron after we captured her, and defended her from her original French captain, who had hidden on board," Captain Aubrey continued.
Evie nodded, so unsettled by the handsome lieutenant that she couldn't quite bring herself to speak. He saved her the trouble by protesting: "I did nothing more than my duty."
His unassuming response was utterly unselfconscious and utterly charming, and Evie couldn't help but smile. "You must tell me the truth, Mr. Pullings," she entreated "for parts of the tale I can scarcely believe. Surely it is an exaggeration that you fought the French captain sword to sword on the rails of the ship, with the sea no more than a single misstep away?" She could picture the action very clearly in her mind, could easily visualize the striking, slightly dangerous young man before her risking all bravely. It was a very romantic image, of course.
The third man laughed at Mr. Pullings' diffident expression. "I assure you, my lady, it is no exaggeration," he announced, smiling at his friend. "I beheld the feat with my own eyes through a spyglass from the deck of the Surprise. I confess I never suspected Tom- that is, Mr. Pullings- of such swordsmanship!"
Mr. Pullings surprised Evie by actually blushing at his friend's compliment. "It sounds much more daring in the telling, my lady, than it seemed at the time," he assured her earnestly.
Evie feared she was more than halfway in love with the man already. "That I can well believe," she said, equally earnest. "Otherwise, you would hardly have been able to bring yourself to attempt it. I suspect you must be very brave, Mr. Pullings."
Mr. Pullings nodded uncomfortably, and Evie felt completely idiotic for saying something so admiring. Modest he might be, but he was still one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen, and a hero into the bargain; he obviously had no interest in a pathetic spinster throwing herself at him. Chastened by his silence, she turned her attention to the third man, who turned out to be Second Lieutenant William Mowett. After exchanging the customary pleasantries with him, she watched sadly as all three men proceeded into the ballroom, her eyes following the lithe, straight back of Lieutenant Pullings far longer than was necessary.
"Evie?" a familiar voice asked, bringing her out of her reverie. There was nothing specific about said reverie; in fact, it could hardly be called a reverie at all, as she was thinking nothing, only feeling a longing so strong she could hardly believe it. Thankfully, her friend's voice called her to reason.
"Beth! I'm so glad you are come," she exclaimed happily, tamping down on the jealousy she felt every time she looked at the lovely Lady Bethany. Tonight her friend wore a beautiful gown of silver tissue-silk over lavender satin, the cool, shimmering color combination setting off her porcelain complexion, deep black hair and equally black eyes to perfection. Evie rarely envied her friend her beauty; it wasn't her fault that she should be so beautiful when Evie herself was so plain. Still, tonight she fairly coveted Beth's dress, knowing that while the silver tissue-silk might not become her as well as it became her friend, the lavender would look well with her hair, and naturally anything would be better than the monstrosity she was currently dressed in.
"Goodness, Evie," her friend began, sounding shocked. "What on earth are you wearing?! Surely I never countenanced such a dress?"
"In fact you did," Evie corrected. "Last season."
Beth rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Well last season, of course! Yellow was quite de la mode then, as were shaped skirts and high necks. This season, however, has an entirely different sensibility, and that dress violates it most egregiously. I had thought you intended to wear the peach?"
Glancing anxiously over at her mother, Evie lead Beth into the ballroom. "I had," she admitted, "but my mother had other plans. I hope you can bear to be seen with me, in spite of my sad lack of fashion."
"I can," Beth answered dubiously. "But you must give me leave to doubt that anyone else will be able to bear it."
Evie shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. "But what is new in that?"
"Oh hush," Beth responded. "I must go find my partner for the first set, but shall we plan to meet after supper? You're wearing your spectacles for no apparent reason, which means you've been crying again, which means we must have a serious heart-to-heart, you know."
Smiling at her friend and feeling much cheered by her presence, Evie nodded. "Yes, lets. I have much to acquaint you with, of course; it seems an age since last we met!"
"Three whole days is an age indeed!" Beth agreed. "Until supper then, my friend?"
"Indeed," Evie replied, watching Beth fade into the crowd. She made her way to her customary place by the wall, all the while wondering whether she would tell her friend about the strange attraction she felt towards the brave Lieutenant Pullings. Somehow, she rather thought not. After all, what on earth could she say?
