Author's Note: Thank you so much nightkate (I made a change to the previous chapter based on your review, if you'd care to check it out), Sid and Phoebs for your lovely reviews :) They were all decently long and thorough ones, which is very exciting to me :D Because of this (and because I DO have compassion upon your poor nerves!) I'm posting this next chapter with all possible haste, as promised. It's kind of long, like half as long again as the previous chapter. Sorry about that. Do please let me know what you think.
Before we get this party started, a few of you have some questions and comments that I thought I ought to address. If you don't care about said questions or comments, you're welcome to skip down!
It seems out of character for Tom to be pondering his own handsomeness.
I don't really think it's out of character. I think Tom (in the books) is very sweet and modest, and in the movies as far as I can tell is much the same. I'm definitely trying to write him that way, but the difference is that in my story we have a much clearer picture of his thoughts. This is based on the movieverse, remember, and I just do not think it's possible for Tom to walk around looking like James D'Arcy with tight pants and long hair (oh god) and not be aware of the fact that he's ridiculously attractive. He would never let it go to his head, and he would never say it out loud, but he has to have that knowledge. I also think that for someone who must take the fact that they're attractive somewhat for granted, realizing that such a certain fact may have changed in other people's eyes must be difficult. Hopefully I can write those feelings better as the story progresses.
It seems out of character that Evie propositions Tom.
I think from Tom's perspective it is out of character, and I think it probably shocks him all hollow. But I also think Evie has her reasons and I think they make sense. Please let me know if you agree or disagree, and again I'll do my best to write those reasons better as the story progresses.
How long will this story be?
...As long as it's supposed to be. I know that's not much of an answer. I suppose I should put it this way: I have four more chapters already written, and I'm nowhere near finished. So the best response I can give is "long" and leave it at that. Also, I daresay I'll write it whether people read it or not. I write mostly for myself, though I quite enjoy it when other people don't hate it :)
Make up your mind! Is Evie pretty or plain?
Here's my theory on Evie, which I suppose is the correct one since I made her up: she's neither pretty nor plain. In my head she's one of those girls who is "striking". She has some attractive features (her hair is genuinely beautiful) but her overall appearance depends quite strongly on the way she dresses and the way she holds herself. One celebrity with this quality is Maggie Gyllenhaal. If you look at her individual features, she is just not attractive at all. Her face is flat-out funny. And yet she's perceived as beautiful because she has talent and grace and a really good stylist. I know men who swear up and down that she's the most beautiful star around (and having seen her in person frequently at my place of business, I must say she has a kind of radiance that is impossible to ignore). I'm not saying Evie looks like Maggie Gyllenhaal, just that they share that quality. If you can't make up your mind whether she's pretty or plain, that's a good thing... Because I don't think Tom can either.
The Lieutenant and the Lady
Chapter Six
The True Meaning Of It
Evie was not going to cry. She had not cried earlier, when her mother had so upset her, and surely such comments from one's mother had far greater impact than similar comments spoken in a spiteful way by a mean-spirited harpy like Cressida Newton. They might distress her, might cause her to leave the gaiety of the ball behind in favor of the solitude of a hidden bench in the garden, but she would not allow them to make her cry.
It was stupid, really. Cressida had only given voice to what everyone had surely been thinking, what she herself had often thought. Perhaps that had made it even worse; it had been so humiliating to sit in her corner and listen to Miss Newton's vitriol without even the hope of contradicting her. She could not, naturally, as her every word was true.
"Lieutenant Pullings must be courageous indeed," she had observed to a crony in a loud, carrying whisper, one Evie knew she was meant to hear, "to be seen dancing publicly with such an antidote. Of course, her father is an admiral, but even so I believe he must have preferred facing the French to waltzing with Lady Evelyn."
"She is an antidote to be sure," her friend responded, "but I own I have never seen her looking so ill as she does tonight."
Cressida pursed her lips thoughtfully. "One's looks naturally decline with age. It is tragic to think that Lady Evelyn will never be more attractive than she was when she made her bow! I could never stand to be so ugly. At least she is wearing a cap; I've often thought the only remedy for hair such as hers was to hide it completely, though perhaps it does not go far enough… If only she could hide her face, or disappear completely, the vista in the ballroom would be much improved."
It had been such a snide, ill-bred thing to say that even Miss Newton's companions were somewhat aghast. As for Evie, she had been determined that Cressida would not see how upset she was. After a respectable few minutes had passed, she had risen from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster and made her way unhurriedly to the French doors leading out into the garden. She'd heard tittering behind her as she'd exited, but didn't look back to confirm that it came from Cressida and her followers.
If she had expected the garden to provide an immediate refuge, she was sadly disappointed. Within five minutes of setting off into the dark towards her favorite secluded bench, she had stumbled across a couple kissing passionately against a tree. This was not especially uncommon, in truth, and initially Evie was merely concerned with making her way past the pair without disturbing them; she had no desire to discover any kind of scandal. Her first view had been of little more than the man's back, his height and breadth shielding his lady from view, though she noted his royal navy uniform and long blond queue with interest. But as she edged around the couple, she was stunned to see that the woman had fair skin and dark hair, and was wearing a lavender dress with an overgown of silver tissue silk.
Even 30 minutes later, her mind was still nearly blank from the shock of it. As she continued to fight back her tears, she wondered why precisely she felt like crying. Was it truly because of Cressida's hateful words, or was it due to glimpsing her best friend in a compromising position and feeling not censure but jealousy? Not that she was in any way interested in Captain Aubrey, but her mind had so easily placed Mr. Pullings in his uniform, and herself in Bethany's dress and the lieutenant's arms… It was everything, really, she decided. Her mother's rant and Cressida's remarks had both reminded her painfully of precisely how people saw her, and her waltz with Lieutenant Pullings and her glimpse of Beth in Captain Aubrey's embrace had both shown her with remarkable clarity precisely what she could never have.
Evie desperately wanted to stomp her foot like a little girl throwing a tantrum and shout that it wasn't fair. While she allowed herself to rip off her hated cap and throw it violently into the bushes, it did little to relieve her anger. She could hardly stand the fact that Bethany and Cressida and all the ladies she had gone to finishing school with would inevitably go on to marry and have children while she herself was already a spinster at two and twenty. Even should Bethany be forced to marry the odious Lord Casewell (which god forbid, despite her distress she'd never wish such a fate upon her friend), Beth would at least have the memory of this night, of being held close by someone she desired and being desired in return. Whereas Evie had never had such a memory, had never even been kissed, and it seemed likely never would be.
Hating the self-pitying turn of her thoughts, she rose abruptly. There was no longer any danger of crying, and she resolved to simply slink back to the townhouse. She judged that she had been in the garden long enough that most if not all the guests should be gone, and she could go straight up to bed to sleep and dream and hopefully forget this entire night had ever happened. With a sigh she realized that she couldn't even look forward to dreaming of her waltz with Mr. Pullings; if she did, it would only depress her in the morning. It was unfortunate, she reflected as she made her way to the garden path; the possibility of that dream had been the one thing that had made the evening bearable.
Almost as though her thoughts had summoned him to her, Evie was shocked to see Mr. Pullings coming toward her on the path. He was walking slowly with a distant dreamy expression on his face, its planes and angles accentuated by the flickering light cast by the torches that flanked the gravel walkway. There was something open and unguarded about him in this moment, likely because he thought himself still alone, and it was very appealing. Seeing him like this, it was far easier to realize how truly out of his depth he must have felt in the ballroom.
She should turn around, she knew. He still hadn't noticed her, and was unlikely to do so if she moved quickly and quietly. The last thing she needed in her current distressed state of mind was yet another interaction to remind her of how pathetic she was. And she was pathetic; the sight of him had easily set her heart racing, and her mother's communiqué about his parentage had made him more interesting to her rather than less. It had made her see him as more than a gentleman, but rather as a man who had been born without benefit of fortune or breeding and had risen nearly to the top of his profession based purely on merit.
As a member of the aristocracy, Evie had never given much consideration to the idea of merit one way or the other. She believed her father deserved his position, having fought bravely at sea during the war with the colonies, but there was no question of his having earned it. He had been entitled to it, then proved the validity of that entitlement. With Lieutenant Pullings, everything was reversed; he had been entitled to nothing, less than nothing, and yet had earned so much. The respect with which her father treated him was one sign of just how much. And she respected him for it as well, more than she could properly understand. God, she should turn around.
Of course, she didn't. Her mind had already calculated the likelihood of his offering to walk her back to the house (high: it was the gentlemanly thing to do) and decided to seize the opportunity to speak to him further, despite the inevitable consequences to her pride and perhaps her heart. "Mr. Pullings?" she asked quietly, apparently startling him.
He shook his head as though coming out of a trance, his expressive eyes losing their unfocused appearance and sharpening on her. "Lady Evelyn?"
She felt a thrill at the sound of his voice, low and smooth. Strain as she might to hear a hint of his parentage in his accent, she could detect no trace of it. "I had thought that you would be gone by now," she began after a moment, embarrassed by the realization that her pause was noticeably too long. Her embarrassment grew when she realized how her statement had sounded, as though she had given thought to his whereabouts… Which she had, but she must not make him aware of it. "That everyone would be gone by now, I mean," she corrected.
He made an elegant bow, and she expected him to offer her his arm to escort her up the path. Instead, he merely remarked "Indeed not, my lady; there are many men remaining in the card and smoking rooms."
Evie frowned; he had not done what she'd anticipated and she was now unsure of what to do or say. This was especially true because now, rather than walking arm in arm up a well-lit path with a reasonably degree of propriety, they were standing alone together in a well-lit place with no degree of propriety and a high degree of visibility. "I see. And why are you not with them?"
"I became weary of their conversation," he confessed with a rueful smile. "Especially since so much of it seemed to focus upon me." Though she had made the comment that elicited this admission in the hopes that he would perceive some hint to return to the house within it, his answer was so interesting she began to forget her worries about propriety.
Clearly he wished to remain in the garden, and she very much wished to continue their discussion. "What do you mean?" she questioned, edging away towards her hidden bench and hoping he'd follow. While sitting together off the path was far more improper than standing together on the path, they were also far less likely to be found and so the appearance of impropriety was less. Or the potential appearance… Or something. As long as they weren't found, she reasoned, it wouldn't matter in the least. If they were… They just wouldn't be. It would be fine.
After a moment he joined her on the bench, lowering himself gracefully next to her. "Well, first they insisted upon hearing about the Acheron. It's not that I minded telling it, of course, but it really does sound so much better when one hears it than it seemed at the time…" he trailed off before continuing. "I felt uncomfortably as though I were boasting."
Evie looked at him, impressed by his singular modesty. It was one of his most interesting traits, she believed, as it was so rare. "You're meant to enjoy boasting about your exploits, Mr. Pullings," she teased. "I'm sure the other gentlemen would have."
He smiled, the line of it endearingly crooked, and shrugged. "Perhaps. I doubt I will ever be comfortable with it. But then Mr. Mowett told a story that made me even more uncomfortable, and I felt compelled to find some solitude."
"And what story did Mr. Mowett tell that discomfited you so?" She maneuvered a bit to turn slightly towards him, and almost gasped as her leg came in contact with the solid length of his upper thigh. Somehow she managed to avoid reacting, and as near as she could tell he hadn't noticed anything.
"Ah…" he began, remembering. "Um, well… He, uh, told the story of how I got my scar."
For her part, Evie was finding it difficult to focus on his words. She felt… A kind of potential, something in the darkness, something that had nothing to do with Mr. Pullings' behavior toward her, but everything to do with the fact that they were so very alone. "I can understand that such a story would make you uncomfortable," she managed after a moment, easily imagining how little the modest lieutenant would have enjoyed such a story.
"Oh… Ah… Well… The story itself, um, didn't… Much bother me, you know," he stammered- uncharacteristically, she thought. "It was a neat little action, and both Will- Mr. Mowett, I mean- and the captain performed quite bravely in it. But afterwards…"
She waited for him to finish his sentence, but he seemed lost in thought. Finally, she prompted him. "Afterwards?"
He looked at her silently, his face blank, but there was something she couldn't quite define in his eyes. "I'm sorry?" he questioned, his voice soft.
Expectantly, she returned his gaze. "You said 'But afterwards…' and then simply stopped. I was hoping you'd finish your sentence, you see. Are you quite alright?"
"Yes," he responded absently. "Quite. I merely meant that after he told the story, I… Um, that is, I felt as though people were staring at me more than usual. And so I came here to… Um, escape them."
This comment moved her for reasons she could hardly put into words. It was just that she knew what it felt like to suspect people were staring, to believe they were looking and judging, and she felt… Close to him, somehow, knowing that he understood. Honestly, it hadn't occurred to her that he might be self-conscious about his scar; she had never seen him without it, after all, and it seemed to her to fit his face, seemed even to enhance his features. But of course he must feel uncomfortable about it. "I am sorry that some people are so ill-bred. They are fools, you know." Unthinkingly, she reached out to touch his hand, wanting to reassure him in some way
She almost gasped again at the feel of his smooth, warm skin beneath her hand. It was fairly normal for her to lose her gloves; she often removed them and forgot about them, though she hadn't even realized she wasn't wearing them until now. Why he wasn't wearing his, she had no idea, but she hadn't expected it at all. The skin on skin contact seemed remarkably intimate, but she didn't pull away. "Yes, well…" he answered. "I daresay I'll grow more used to it. This is the first time I've been on land for any length of time among civilians since I received the wound."
"I see." There was nothing more she could think of to say; her mind was preoccupied with a sudden, wild theory. That feeling of potential she had noticed before had grown, and now she was wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, Mr. Pullings was feeling it as well. Not that he could have any interest in her specifically, of course. But they were alone in the dark together, and he was a man after all. If there was one thing her mother had utterly convinced her of, it was the idea that men were little better than slaves to certain instincts. It wasn't their fault, and it was a lady's responsibility to refrain from leading them into situations where they might become tempted.
The idea that she could ever tempt anyone, much less Lieutenant Pullings, was almost laughable, and yet… Surely this was exactly the type of situation that might be considered tempting? She wished with sudden ferocity that she had asked Beth about such things before; judging by her tryst with Captain Aubrey, her friend knew all about temptation. All she could think to do was turn the conversation back to their previous encounter and see if he gave any hint of whether he was feeling anything at all in the dark. "Tonight was my first waltz, you know. Earlier, with you, I mean. I was quite grateful for the dance."
"Please, do not mention it. I assure you, it was a pleasure." She thought his voice sounded slightly quieter, the tone lower, perhaps even rougher. It could be some kind of sign, she supposed, but how on earth was she to know?
"I doubt it, but thank you for saying so." She sighed to herself. "I am so horrible at things like this. It's really no wonder…"
Mr. Pullings looked at her curiously, and she realized that her internal monologue had just become external. "What?" he asked.
Perhaps if she weren't so confused, she would have been able to think of some clever response. As it was, the best she could do was tell him the truth. "I'm simply… Not very good at being straightforward." God, was that an understatement.
Expression serious, Mr. Pullings nodded as though what she'd said actually made sense in the context of the conversation they'd been having. "I'm quite a proponent of straightforwardness. You know, Admiral Nelson always said 'never mind the maneuvers; just go straight at 'em'. He was talking about battle, of course, but I think it applies to life as well."
Evie echoed his nod, thinking to herself that life and battle were not so very different. She felt as though she lived in a constant state of battle between two parts of herself: the part that suspected she might be worth something and the part that knew she wasn't. Or the part that imagined herself in Mr. Pullings' arms and the part that knew it would never, ever happen. Could never, ever happen because such a thought would never occur to him.
And yet there was still that potential there, that potential that she had now nearly convinced herself he felt as well. "I like that philosophy," she murmured. It suddenly seemed quite clear to her that this was a chance, a chance that might never occur again. If she wanted a memory like the one Beth had, there was no easy way to get it. She would have to 'go straight at 'em'. And she would have to do it now, right now, before she had the chance to think about it and realize how utterly insane it was.
"And I suppose in this case I ought to follow it. You see, I enjoyed our dance, and our conversation, very much. I'm not a fool; I know you must have danced with me purely to impress my father." He began to make the expected gentlemanly protestations, but she cut him off immediately. "No. Do not perjure yourself. As I said, I am not a fool. But it did seem to me that you enjoyed our dance as well. I was hoping I might be able to ask a favor of you."
His eyes met hers in the darkness, and she felt her breath catch with a combination of nervous fear and appreciation of his beauty. She felt in that moment that she had never wanted anything in her entire life so much as she wanted him to kiss her. And if she had to ask, if she had to beg, she suspected even then it would be worth it.
"You might ask, Lady Evelyn," he began, "But I confess I am uncertain as to how I might be of any possible service to you."
She could hear the throb of her heartbeat in her ears, feel it in the tips of her fingers, and could not force air into her lungs for anything. But she had to do it, she had to. A sudden image of Beth locked in Captain Aubrey's embrace filled her mind, and she exhaled to calm herself. "Oh it's nothing difficult! It's only that I was hoping you might kiss me. I've never been kissed before, you see, and at two and twenty it's becoming rather embarrassing."
It wasn't until the final word passed her lips that she began to understand the true meaning of it.
Author's Note: Sorry if that's another cliffhanger... I'm not holding the update hostage this time, I swear. I'll post it fairly soon, unless you urge me to post it sooner. But I want to go back to posting them in pairs now so I had to do this update on its own (you're not getting three chapters at once, that would just be silly).
P.S. I like getting both perspectives on the same conversations sometimes; I hope it's not boring to you. I don't intend to do it for every event or conversation, but I felt like it was fairly necessary for this one. Let me know if you're annoyed by it.
