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"I honestly didn't know Dhaval had it in him to be so thoughtful," said Anne, examining herself in the mirror. The dress was gorgeous, and it fit her perfectly. It was the same shade of ocean blue as her eyes. "It was like pulling teeth trying to get him to take care of that spider for me last night. Maybe he finally realized what a jerk he was being."

Ba'el sighed. She could not keep the truth from Anne. It was considerate for him to go through the trouble of bringing things back for the both of them. She admired her own red dress. It was exactly what she wanted, and the matching barrette and jewelry added the perfect touch. But it was not enough to make up for the spider incident. She did not think Dhaval deserved her discretion after that. "He's more of a jerk than you realize," she said, crossing her arms.

Her friend looked up in surprise. "Oh?" she asked, securing a flower in her hair. "What do you mean?"

"He was the one who put the spider in your bed," Ba'el bluntly informed her.

The human blinked. "How do you know?"

"I told you last night," she said, "The big ones don't come into the compound. I confronted him, and he admitted to it."

Anne's jaw dropped. "That was beastly," she clenched her fists.

"He said he wouldn't do it again, and I think he means it," she continued. "But I thought I should tell you anyway."

While the Centurion and the half a dozen guards were on the salvage mission, the others were busy in preparation. There was to be a celebration that evening. Anne had learned that it was Gi'ral's birthday, so she had insisted on having a "party." Gi'ral had done much for the community for all those years, so everyone agreed it was a fabulous idea. Tokath and Ba'el would tolerate no opposition. The other ladies got into the spirit of the event, and wore their new dresses. A feast was prepared. Anne and Ba'el even made a cake that resembled a targ, at Jadel's suggestion.

In honor of the occasion, Gi'ral was to select the reading, though she would not be made to read herself if she did not wish to. She chose L'Kor to read, since he had wanted to for some time anyway. With all of her daughter's chatter about Pride and Prejudice, she was curious. The elderly Klingon was perplexed at her choice, but he agreed to oblige her without too much of a fuss.

Dhaval all the while was reveling in the fact that the attire he selected for Anne and Ba'el was so becoming to them both. Anne in particular looked stunning. They thanked him many times when he returned from the expedition earlier that afternoon. As a result, he was not prepared for Anne's cold treatment to him that evening. When he smiled across the room at her, as he always did, she responded by suspiciously narrowing her eyes. Inwardly, he groaned. She knows.

After dinner, Anne served the cake. Dhaval went up to the table to get his piece.

"That dress suits you," he began, trying to distract her from his guilt. "I hoped it would."

Anne said nothing, and instead crossly lifted a brow. Just as he had imagined the night before, those blue eyes were glaring at him. However, it did not seem as amusing as he had first thought it would. He found that he preferred her grateful smile to her ire, especially since he was the cause of it. She cut off the rear portion of the targ cake, which included its tail, and shoved the plate into his hands. "I saved this piece especially for you!" she hissed.

Dhaval had no clue what to say to her, as he was fully aware that he was getting exactly what he deserved. He was saved from responding by L'Kor announcing to everyone to take their seats. As the Klingon began to read, Dhaval glanced down at his plate. The sight of a targ's buttocks and tail was not at all pleasing, even if it was an imitative dessert. A piece of cake indeed, he thought.

"'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.' Well, now," said L'Kor, "This sounds promising. I like this story already."

The dishes from the celebration were piled up high in the kitchen. They had been left out until morning, as the festivities had lasted long into the night. Jadel, Anne, and Ba'el spent most of the morning cleaning.

Following her typical practice, Jadel left the cooking to her new assistant. Anne did not complain, however, because at least she had stayed until all of the cleaning had been done. "Have you started Hornblower yet?" she asked Ba'el.

"Only a part of the first chapter," she replied. "He doesn't seem like a dashing hero to me."

"Keep reading," Anne insisted, "You'll see. Everyone has to start from somewhere."

Just then, Gi'ral called to her daughter. The Centurion's young son had gotten stung by an insect, so Ba'el was needed right away. "I'll come back and help you when I'm finished," she promised.

It was no sooner than Ba'el had left, when footsteps sounded behind her. She knew exactly whose they were. She whirled around with the stirring spoon in her hand. Dhaval was leaning in the doorway with a hardbound paper book in his hands. Her prepared scolding did not even reach her lips, as she was so intrigued by a real book rather than a PADD.

He already had the book open, and began to read. He must have practiced, as he did not stumble over the words this time.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;

He looked up to see her reaction. When he saw that she was not going to bite his head off, he continued.

And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shallot.

Closing the book, he handed it to her. "Read the inside cover," he said.

Anne took it from him and did as he asked. "I don't know what to say…"

"You can say thank you," he suggested. "I hope you will forgive me for the spider incident. I did not know it would frighten you to that extent. I swear I won't do it again. Can we please be friends again?" he pleaded.

The girl nodded and held her hand out to him. Dhaval looked at her with a puzzled expression. "It's a handshake," she explained. "It's how humans show friendship."

He stared at her hand. "It is necessary?"

"Yes," she insisted, "Or I won't forgive you." Without another word, he took her hand and returned her light squeeze. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"There's something else I found that you should know about," he said reluctantly. He brought out the photo viewer from under his arm.

Anne sadly gazed at her family smiling back at her. "Thank you, Dhaval," she said softly. Tears began to sting her eyes.

"Please believe me," he told her, "I did not intend to cause you pain."

"I know." By now, she could not stop her tears, so she turned away and busied herself with various tasks.

"Perhaps," Dhaval tried awkwardly, "you will allow me to read to you. I will do better this time, Anne." It was a sweet gesture. Maybe he wasn't such a toad after all.

"Alright," she agreed, wiping her face.

He opened the book to a random page. "Michael Drayton, sonnet 61," he announced. "'Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part—'" he looked back up inquisitively. "What is a 'kiss'?"

Anne forgot about her sorrow and blinked incredulously at him. "You don't know what a kiss is?" she sniffed. "It's when a man and a woman press their lips together," she informed him. "That's how humans show affection."

The Romulan shook his head, "That sounds very strange."

"Oh?" she retorted, slightly offended, "So what do Romulans do, then?"

Dhaval looked away, clearly embarrassed. "We touch fingers," he said. His cheeks were turning slightly green.

"Sorry," she laughed, "but that sounds dreadfully dull."

Dhaval closed the book, "That is your opinion."

She was about to come back with a sassy reply when something occurred to her. "Wait a minute," she said suddenly. "Are you telling me that when I shook your hand…we…"

"Essentially…yes." His left brow went up slightly, in the way that sometimes meant he was fooling around. But it was difficult to tell in this instance, because he was genuinely blushing.

"Dhaval!" she chided, "Why didn't you stop me?"

He shrugged defensively. "Because you said that you wouldn't forgive me if I didn't shake hands with you."

Anne hid her face in her hands. "I'm so embarrassed…"

"Don't be," he asserted. "You didn't know. Besides, it's not as though it was a traumatizing experience," he grinned boyishly.

Her hands dropped, and she stared at him with wide eyes. Not knowing what else to do, she ran out of the door, intending to get as far away from that inelegant situation as possible.

"Where are you going?" he called after her, laughing at her reaction. "I was only joking! Well, half-joking. Anne!"

Dhaval leaned against the wall. He really needed to stop teasing her. It was only pushing her away. "She's probably on her way to tell Ba'el," he mumbled to himself. He watched her go and sighed.

There was more than met the eye about this Anne Wentworth, he realized; though what met his eye was not in the least disagreeable. There were other women in the camp, it was true. Dhaval no longer hated the Klingons, but their females would never hold any allure for him. All of the Romulan women there were the wives of the other guards, or they were much older than he. Anne, however, was different from them all anyway. He found her looks pleasingly exotic, with her auburn hair and sapphire eyes—eyes the color of the Apnex Sea, he found himself often thinking.

But her appearance was not the only thing that set Anne apart from the other women of Carraya IV. Being a human, she obviously was no match in bodily strength for anyone else there. She was vulnerable, and therefore required protection. Dhaval liked that. Aside from retaliation, he had put the spider in her bed for the simple reason that he wanted to rescue her again.

This was at least partially the result of his being in a compound full of Klingon women. Since he was the youngest adult there besides Anne and Ba'el, he constantly had to put up a front, or he would be challenged. Romulan women were less aggressive, but they made up for it in bossiness. In short, he felt hen-pecked. When he was around Anne, on the other hand, he could be himself and still feel like a man.

He admired her literary aptitude and proficiency. It was fetching the way she ploughed through books as though the planet was going to blow up at any time. True, he thought it was silly the way she and Ba'el got emotionally attached to the characters and their various doings. These days, it seemed that one or the other of them was always "in love" with this sea captain or that knight on his white horse.

But Dhaval found that he enjoyed listening to them recite the poems and stories. And though he was not ready to admit it to either of them yet, he enjoyed reciting himself. Nothing could compare, however, to the delight he experienced when Anne read. She was a little like the Lady of Shallot, he mused. He thought again of the lines that reminded him of her the most.

But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face…"

(I don't own C.S. Forrester's Hornblower.)