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marnanightingaleby
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commodorified.
Part of the All the King's Men Universe. Both a prequel and a sequel to All the King's Men.
"And as for you --" Edrington found himself pulled forward by an insistent Kitty and looked over much as Archie had been -- "I don't believe you've changed a jot, for all you're Your Lordship now, and a Major on top of it." He smirked and shook his head at her air of exaggerated respect.
"I warn you, Kitty, if you address me as My Lord even once in private, I shall take -- I shall take it quite amiss," he said, mock-stern.
Edrington laughed at Kitty's look of mock-terror as he kissed her, brief but not quite chaste, and then again. He was almost shamefully pleased to be able to fluster her as much as Archie had. Though nothing like as much as she'd used to fluster him, once ...
-- All the King's Men
Dramatis personae (in alphabetical order):
Miss Katherine Cobham
Ensign the Honourable, later Major Lord, Alexander Rupert Edrington,
formerly of the 52nd, now of the 95th
Captain Sir Edward Pellew
Chorus of merry-makers, theatre-goers, and an infamous army -- of Edrington's exes.
Explicit Sexuality
Thanks and love:
damned_colonial, who resucitated this countless times.
fairestcat, editor, proofreader, and cheerleader beyond
rubies.
black_hound, Kitty-muse, whose artist's heart knew how this
ended before I did.
sjkasabi, for a wonderful, analytical beta.
kd5mdk, who helped make Ensign Edrington what he is, and who
wanted some het.
gryphons_lair and ataniell93, for reading
endless drafts and putting up with endless fic-bitching.
iclysdale and my wife, for not throttling me.
A Lying Sort of Summer
August 1799
"... as blossoms on a bough,
From love's awakened root do bud out now."
Dear Miss Cobham,
It appears that I shall be in London next week, and as I see you shall be at the Drury, I mean to give myself the treat of seeing you in Primrose and Violet once more. If I were to come either Thursday or Friday would you permit me to take you to supper? Our last meeting, delightful as it was, was all too short, and gave us no opportunity to speak properly.
Affectionately,
Edrington.
* * *
My Lord,
I thought I had made myself excessively clear on this point -- my name is Kitty, at least to my friends, and that I hope you are and shall always be. If you think you can contrive to remember it, you may present yourself -- and your apologies -- on Friday.
Your Lordship's humble servant,
Kitty.
* * *
My Dear Kitty,
I am well re-paid in my own coin, and you see before you a man suitably chastened -- to demonstrate my remorse shall I come instead on Saturday, when I may offer you not only supper but an evening at Vauxhall as well?
I offer in extenuation of my sins only this -- it was not Kitty I was most used to call you.
Repentantly,
Alexander.
* * *
Alexander --
Kindly understand that I will not be toyed with -- if you are suffering from an unaccountable urge to eat over-salted ham and drink warm champagne, you needed only to say so at once, and I should happily have accommodated you.
You may come on Saturday, wretch.
K.
* * *
You are as clever as you are beautiful, Lady -- and as merciless as you are clever.
Until Saturday,
A.
* * *
Vauxhall, August 1799
It doth endure Vicissitude, and season, as the grass ...
A single evening at Vauxhall left one with the overwhelming impression of endless motion, endless novelty, new wonders at every bend in the paths. Strange, then, to come back after all this time and feel that nothing had changed. The colours seemed as gaudy as ever, the crowds as gay -- even the ducks about their feet, importunate and reproachful, might have been the very ducks he had fed as an Ensign, the loaf he had absently kept from dinner the same loaf -- certainly they would have me believe that no-one has spared them a crust since.
The paintings which enlivened the rotunda were perhaps a fraction more faded when one came to examine them closely, but from any distance at all, they too were the same as always. A telling portrait of the English mind, Edrington thought; scenes from the stage and depictions of great sea-battles slapped up cheek by jowl with busts of geniuses musical and military in turn, until one might justly be puzzled to tell truth from fancy, spectacle from triumph. And in among them -- he paused, and found himself staring.
"Alexander?"
Edrington came back to himself with a start. "Forgive me. I was -- what an odd thing to find here. Was it here before?"
"I don't recall it." Kitty looked more closely at the painting. "'The Surrender of Montreal' -- it's well done."
"Yes." He glanced at her; there was no trace of polite attention there; she seemed as truly caught by the scene as he. "Though I confess I have come to think war a subject ill-suited to canvas. War on land, at any rate; I say nothing of these sea-battles; I daresay they are done well enough. Or --" he leaned in to examine the curve of the city wall -- "perhaps it is only that I am weary of being polite about the damned things. I am forever being towed into drawing rooms to admire some artist's display of toy soldiers. Scarcely any blood, no mud ..."
Dying heros laid out like so many pious deathbed scenes -- not choking their lives away on their own blood. No grown men screaming for their mothers while their guts spill away between their hands and there is no one to wet their lips or even speak a word to them and their own comrades run over them, through them, while they yet live. You look down at your boots at the end of the day and only then do you even remember ...
Kitty looked at him gravely, waiting, and he recalled himself abruptly.
"I -- suppose it is the best they can do." He made a rueful face. "A real battle, true courage, drawn faithfully -- it wouldn't suit a drawing-room."
Kitty nodded. "I can only imagine what it might do to the price of a Captaincy in the Guards."
He glanced at her, astonished at the edge in her tone, and she dropped her eyes. "Will you listen to me? I sound quite as if I'd never had my head turned by a scarlet coat."
Nothing loath to speak of lighter matters, he nodded and accepted the change of topic gratefully. "And hear me go on as if I'd never had the benefit of one, or taken every ounce of advantage of it I could. Or --" he grinned, remembering -- "been stunned speechless by that green thing you had, all frogged and braided ..."
"That was for your benefit, sir, every scrap of it, right down to the colour of the lace; I got it to celebrate your commission. Made me look a proper soldier's woman, I thought." She smiled over the memory and leaned into his arm as he snorted.
"Pity I wasn't a proper soldier -- vain little coxcomb of a tailor's dummy, all flash and show, though I never felt it with you. But you -- you shone them all down; I felt the knives in my back for weeks after --" He looked her over a fraction too warmly for strict propriety, pitching his voice low --"as I shall after tonight -- your dressmakers are among the cruelest women in all of England, I am quite certain of it, to help you torment me so."
"Spanish coin, sir!" She dimpled at him nonetheless. "You were no such thing. Only proud of a pair of colours, as it was entirely right you should be, and --" another small, reminiscent smile -- "altogether too handsome for your own good. Or anyone else's -- not all those edged looks were -- or are -- to your address, you know. Yes, you ought to blush, Alexander -- oh, blast these ducks!"
They were crowding back again, jostling for position, every one of them plaintively begging for the bread he no longer had to give, and as he stooped to scatter them he saw her glance from the upturned beaks at her feet to the upturned faces of the painting, and shooed them more gently. "These people have faces," Kitty said after another moment, quietly. "That soldier --"
"And the women. You can almost hear them ..." He smiled and tucked her arm more firmly under his as she shivered. "I'm sorry. Not a topic for a pleasant summer evening." Any other woman would reach for her vinaigrette if I said half as much to her. He began to turn away from the painting, but she stopped him.
"It was summer in Florence. We -- we wished it were not, after a few days; that is one bit of realism I think I am just as pleased to be spared. I never knew fear had a smell, before, and then the stench of death, and ... I almost missed the reek of gunpowder, after a while. " She shook herself, and smiled wanly as he stared.
"You were in Italy?"
"In ninety-six. That was a crowded month -- I began it by charming, bribing, and finally bloody well lying my way out of Florence and ended it in Gibraltar without sixpence to bless myself with, using a false name -- my third that year, as long as I am confessing my many sins!" She laughed, clearly unrepentant and continued, "and with an entirely new and even more heartfelt appreciation of British uniforms. Do you know, all those bright colours are really quite useful, quite aside from whatever aid they might give a man in the petticoat line?" He snickered despite himself -- when had she had occasion to have to make that sort of rapid distinction? "Gibraltar -- that was where Sir Edward came into it -- and then Lieutenant Hornblower and Mr Kennedy, though he was rather later -- those poor men! I ran them all around quite shamelessly, did he tell you?"
"Mr Kennedy told me a -- I was going to say, a few rather highly-coloured tales -- but now I begin to wonder if he was actually coddling what he took to be my tender nerves. It all sounds fascinating. If that is the word I mean. You were claiming to be who?"
"The Duchess of Wharfedale."
"I am already quite petrified. A veritable dragon of a woman, if I recall correctly; makes Nell Gwynn seem a positive paragon of respectability, has a voice that could shatter glass -- and eats young men for breakfast."
"And whoever is left for dinner, yes. I trust she never got her teeth into you?"
"No more than a tooth, thank God. I owned myself routed horse and foot in a minute, bolted incontinently and hid behind Mama for the remainder of the evening." He shuddered elaborately, making her laugh. "Fortunately, Her Ladyship had apparently been fed that day."
"That part of the role was vastly amusing; I was glad ducking stools were quite out of fashion, several times."
She expanded as they strolled on, glancing up periodically to enjoy Edrington's reactions. He felt quite certain she found enough to amuse her there; as she talked he found himself alternately enthralled -- Dear God, how he would have enjoyed watching Mr Hornblower cope with the Duchess -- and horrified. Even her carefully offhand account of the shipwreck -- "I quite commend the experience, Alexander; only be shipwrecked once and one is never seasick again, after!" -- added to what he had gleaned from Kennedy, was enough to make it plain that they had all been unnaturally fortunate to survive, let alone to be found by the Indefatigable. It was distracting, too, simply watching her as she spoke; women in her profession, he had found, tended to become hard -- or, if fortune was kind to them, soft. She had done neither; nor had she clung grimly to youth with powder and paint and missish fashions, but if there were a few lines about her eyes, neither the smile that had left them there nor the eyes themselves had changed, and he was forced to own that he felt more jealous of Mr Hornblower at this instant than was quite decent.
He wondered at her passing so lightly over her time at El Ferrol, but his tentative questions were met with only smiling half-answers, and he forebore to press her further. Even with that notable omission, they had traversed almost the length of the gardens before she finally brought her tale to a close. "You cannot imagine how relieved I was to get the bloody dispatches out of my skirts and hand them over at last."
"Good God, Kitty." Edrington stared at her, half-appalled and wholly admiring; she snorted at him.
"Oh, save your sympathy, do. It was the part of a lifetime, really; astonishing how invigorating it can be to play with more at stake than a favourable notice." Edrington shook his head, bemused. Forced to flee from Italy, stranded in Gibraltar, captured by the Spanish, wrecked upon the rocks, the fate of England tucked into her skirts, and every minute of it sailing under false colours -- positively courting execution as a spy, and she stands there demure as a nun and calls it 'invigorating'. And I find it entirely enchanting; I think I must have gone mad.
She squeezed his arm reassuringly and laughed. "Truly, Alexander, it was not so bad. Nothing like ... I had not the hardships to face that they had, not nearly so. Only a little bit of adventure to remember when I am old. And once aboard the Indefatigable, it was all quite safe and easy, aside from the minor detail of being completely without a rag of my own to cover myself with. I seem to have spent the entire voyage back to England with Sir Edward's officers falling over themselves to apologise for mistaking me for an especially clumsy mid from the back."
... a hoyden in clinging breeches and shining boots, ridiculous heavy doublet tossed carelessly aside as she lounged in her chair and methodically cleared the last traces of makeup away, sweat-soaked shirt clinging to every line of her as she grinned up at him, demanding to know how he'd found the performance... Edrington snorted. "You always did like the breeches parts. Did them quite -- brilliantly, too; I doubt you were clumsy in the least." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I missed it."
"You missed less than you think." She grinned. "I suspect Lieutenant Bracegirdle of a high-minded streak -- I am quite certain he procured me the loosest pair possible. Between that and a mid's coat only slightly too narrow for your Mr Kennedy, and probably of an age with him -- how does he go on, by the way? -- I was a perfect tatterdemalion. I kept to my cabin as much as I could bear to do."
"Not my Mr Kennedy; his own Mr Kennedy, very much so. Well enough, I gather -- I had a letter not long since." A note, at any rate. "Finding channel duty tedious, he says; one would expect him to welcome a few months of comparative quiet, but it seems not -- so, you were obliged to steal his coat, were you? I can well imagine how it would have hung on you. Just as well, perhaps; I'm quite certain you created quite enough stir as you were ... "
* * *
Drury Lane Theatre, June 1789
How many gazers mightst thou lead away ...
"... receipts are down, and we have to eat. So" -- she shrugged as she swiped at a last streak of grease on her face -- "Rosalind first and a farce full of clowns and whiskered jests after, and once more into the breeches for me."
So casual, as if it were as innocent a ploy as adding a comic turn, or a -- a damned shipwreck! She does not even trouble to pretend to me that the damned play was anything but a pretext. "It seems to have served its purpose most admirably -- it is certain that I saw little but you; the whole audience seemed to me unable to attend to much else." He heard the edge in his voice and tried to cover it with a thin smile.
He might, perhaps, dare to say his Kitty in the quiet of his thoughts, but nowhere else, and where it came to interfering in her on-stage -- or off-stage -- affairs -- that he had learned better already than to try -- and he was was in no mood to risk another such set-down, not with his pride stung and raw already. But Christ, they stared at you so...
She was watching him, narrow-eyed and a little wary. "Good, then," she said briskly, diving back into the towel in her hands, and he stared at the line of her back and seethed.
He'd blushed for his own thoughts -- she was captivating as ever, but not in the least as she was used to captivate him. Booted and breeched she was the stuff not of wide-eyed dreams but of lewd fancies, and even as he had smouldered at every murmur from the stalls around him, imagining what they might be saying, what they must be thinking of -- God! how dared they -- how dared she? -- his eyes had followed the length of her legs and the curve of her arse and the line of her back over and over until he thought his face must surely match his coat and make plain his every passing thought to the most fleeting glance. He'd sat rigid in his seat and gritted his teeth as she flaunted herself and the crowd slavered over her like a pack of hounds until he thought of stalking out, even -- for a moment -- of dragging her from the stage and -- and what? ... no, there was nothing, no decent way of escape.
The air outside had cooled him, and a chance meeting with a friend from Eton near the steps had seemed to promise welcome distraction -- until the conversation had turned to the performance, and to Jack's -- glowing -- appreciation of it. Jack's half-envious, half-disappointed looks when Edrington declined to join him for an evening's gaming, made him feel more a fraud with every look, every word, and yet -- they were at school no longer; need Jack still make his every thought so blasted plain?
Even at the risk of further, more pointed insinuations, only his distaste for finding himself one of a throng of gaping, jostling admirers had kept him from excusing himself directly and making his way to the stage door. He'd turned the conversation instead, talking determinedly of a grey hunter at Tattersall's, biding his time, allowing her ample chance to send the last starry-eyed boy -- or moist-eyed roué, he thought grimly -- on his way before he could make some excuse and slip away to her. He'd breathed easier then, soothed by the thought that surely she would have had the decency to receive her admirers in her skirts -- she will be only Kitty once more, and this all a wicked dream -- only to be brought up short at the door of her dressing room.
And now she looked at him as if she had done nothing, as if she expected him to, to ... to stop acting like a spoilt child with a puppy, crying because he is nipped for dragging it hither and yon like a toy?
He dropped his eyes as she turned to stand, and held his hand out in placation; she came into his arms, resting her head against his collar so that he could bury his face in her hair, and even as he whispered a half-apology she said gently, "A hazard of the profession, Alexander. They see me as I am when I play a part, and think they see me. Nothing will change it; it makes me weary, sometimes, but in the end, only that."
* * *
Vauxhall, August 1799
But mix'd of all stuffs, vexing soul, or sense ...
"Not the best sort of stir, not aboard ship. And not on the streets of Plymouth, either. Had I not had Lady Pellew to give me countenance -- and the loan of a gown -- when we landed, I should have been in a bad way, but she was all that was generous and obliging."
Edrington, jolted back to the present, straightened hurriedly. That -- was a topic he'd prefer to let well alone. "I'd expect no less; she has always seemed -- very kind." He'd wondered, once, if she -- or any woman -- could possibly be so serenely complaisant, or whether it was a kind of revenge, that kindness tinged with something that was not quite pity; a woman's weapon, and it had never failed to make him feel like a naughty child. Now he thought perhaps it was simply that he hadn't mattered very much to her at all; there had been a predecessor, and there would be a replacement. He was only a single face among many, and her quarrel -- were she inclined to quarrel -- was elsewhere.
"You know her? Of course -- I had forgotten that she knew your mother."
A bow drawn at a venture? "We have been introduced once or twice. I doubt she would remember," he said, carefully disinterested.
"She does, actually. Said you'd a decided air of your Great-Uncle Julian about you."
Edrington looked sharply at her, but her expression was as neutral as her voice; he pitched his own to match. "Wicked Uncle Julian? I have a look of him, that much is true. I never quite know what I am meant to think when anyone remarks on it, though."
"She never said wicked! She said he was -- what was it -- exceptionally charming."
Edrington nodded. "He was that; I remember him." And clever, and amazingly kind and patient when it suited him -- and profligate, promiscuous, indiscreet, and so notorious that even when he was over seventy matrons refused to allow their daughters to be introduced to him. Julian used to mourn having the name to live down, poor stick, and rage at me whenever anyone remarked the family resemblance. He cast about for a diversion, settling hastily on a colourfully-clad if uninspired troupe of tumblers and tugging her gently to a better vantage point, watching her from the corner of his eye as she considered the spectacle judiciously. Something in the set of her mouth said she was not to be so easily distracted; he groaned inwardly and resigned himself to an uncomfortable bout of fencing; clearly Lady Pellew had, at least, made her wonder. At worst -- he could scarcely stand to imagine the conversations they might have if they chose. Thank your lucky stars you are not as fascinating a topic as you like to think yourself and keep your mouth well shut..
"I liked her very well." Kitty smiled. "And yes, she is invariably kind, at least to any stray player, protege, or gangly young officer that Sir Edward chances to -- take an interest in. He was fortunate in his marriage, more so than many a Navy man seems to be."
"Yes." His tongue felt clumsy, as if it were thick with drink. "How -- you found her well, I hope."
"Quite well," Kitty said, seeming all of a sudden to lose interest in the matter in favour of admiring a vast rose-bed. "Unusual shade of yellow; don't they set off the cream ones nicely?"
Can she really have no notion after all? -- no, I do believe I hear the sound of women closing ranks, damn them. Not that I have any right to complain ... Christ, what a young idiot I was! He sighed -- all very well to develop scruples now, too late to benefit any of them. Too late to spoil your fun...
They stood silent for awhile, until she relented, and said gently, "She seems happy, Alexander. And going to be happier yet -- I understand she is expecting another child soon."
"I'm -- glad. Very."
She nodded, and smiled up at him, her tone teasing again. "She's a better memory for a face than her husband does. He had quite forgotten me -- at least, he may have made the connection by Plymouth, but at Gibraltar I believe he was as fooled as any of them. To be fair, it had been the better part of ten years. And I rather think his mind was -- elsewhere."
* * *
Vauxhall Gardens, May, 1789.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray...
Censorious, ponderous old windbag. Kitty wrinkled her nose as she passed Milton's stern, stone profile; serve him right to have ended up on the path to the privies, forever looking down on a stream of revellers as they made their often unsteady way to and fro. She rounded the flower-bed near the supper-boxes and stopped short; Alexander had been joined in their box by a dark-haired man, lean and slightly battered, wearing the epaulets of a Post-Captain. She looked him over closely -- stiff, unyielding -- not a man to approve of actresses who dally with beautiful young men. She lingered in the shadows, enjoying the warm breeze and biding her time, sighing inwardly as she saw him slip into her chair and accept a glass of punch; he leaned across the table to make some point as Alexander slid back into the seat opposite.
She watched the two men idly; it was seldom enough she had the chance to look at Alexander undistracted, seldomer yet from the back and unobserved -- her eyes rested pleasurably on the set of his shoulders and the shape of his head where it joined his neck, revealed above the high collar of his jacket when he ducked his head. The older man was speaking, telling some story that had Alexander spellbound, leaning forward to catch every word. She smiled to herself -- judging from the indulgent look turned on him he was being entertained with some tale of heroism, and his face must be positively alight with it.
Who was this? Some chance-met acquaintance from his club, some old friend of the family? A distant relative taking a fatherly interest? Alexander leaned forward to refill their glasses, his hand brushing over the older man's wrist in the doing; he jumped back and Kitty saw the look that flashed over the stern face. Her eyes narrowed. Not fatherly, nor anything of the sort. Time I rejoined the party, I rather think.
They stood as she joined them, Alexander almost leaping from his chair to greet her. So easy to forget how young he is still, and then one is reminded all in an instant ... more cub than wolf, yet. She smiled back at him and raised an enquiring eyebrow as he captured her hand and drew her firmly to his side.
"Kitty -- Miss Cobham, I -- this is Sir Edward Pellew. Ah -- Captain Pellew. Of the Winchelsea." He paused, and she saw him swallow. "Sir Edward -- Miss Katherine Cobham -- she was a most brilliant Cleopatra at the Portman Market Theatre last month, and Desdemona before that at the Drury --" He stopped short at Pellew's amused look, and Kitty bit her lip. He will begin quoting my best notices and regaling us with especially notable segments of the Gazette, next, if he's not stopped... She cast about hastily for some remark, but Sir Edward blessedly intervened.
"Miss Cobham." He bowed, and she nodded, looking him over closely. "I believe I have heard the Drury performance spoken of with great admiration." She smiled her thanks and he continued, "Did you chance to see the the pantomime earlier? Not at all what you are used to, I know, but I thought it a touch above the ordinary."
She answered absently, diverted by Alexander's agitation; he positively vibrated, seeming loath to leave go her arm or stray from her side, yet his eyes were forever turning back towards Pellew, watching him intently as they spoke. Pellew seemed -- or chose -- not to notice, but only sipped his punch and admired the warmth of the evening and quizzed Alexander gently over his enthusiasm for fireworks. All quite proper, if one ignores how they look at each other. She wrenched her attention back to the conversation in time to hear Alexander laugh deprecatingly and say "Well, sir, I daresay they must seem awfully tame to you, after all the actions you have seen, but I confess, I still do think them pretty."
Pellew grinned, and seemed to relax a fraction. "With such pleasing company I daresay I should find fireworks quite exciting enough myself. And I should not keep you further, if you are not to miss the start." He set his cup down and made to excuse himself, but as he turned to go Alexander placed a hand on his arm, drawing him back for a brief, final word -- pitched too low for Kitty to catch -- and smiled up into his face before turning back to her.
"If we go down now, we shall have a good spot."
They set out along the paths, Kitty half-lost in thought, Alexander scarce seeming to notice her abstraction as he chattered away, flitting between trivialities until she stared at him in frank astonishment and he fell silent, biting his lip in chagrin. He seemed more composed by the time they joined the thong of revelers clustered near the field in which the display was set, but there was a tension in his jaw that betrayed him.
Alexander's prediction had been correct; when the bell went they were comfortably ensconced by a spreading young willow, assured of both an excellent view and a modicum of privacy. Ordinarily Alexander was quick to take advantage of the least opportunity -- even such partial concealment as this would serve -- to pull her into his arms, but tonight he was almost diffident, tense and silent at her side, gazing into the sky as if the fireworks might not appear if his attention wavered. She puzzled at it as the music swelled -- was he embarrassed, after all, to have been forced to introduce her to Captain Pellew? But he had not seemed so -- he had shown only pride, not even the Quixotic defiance he had in the past displayed when they met by chance with some acquaintance who he feared might fail to value her as he thought proper -- and surely there could be no reason for him to be ashamed of Sir Edward! She shook her head impatiently; whatever was blue-devilling him, there would be time to get it out of him later. For now ... he had yet to as much as glance her way since Pellew's departure from the box. I fail to see why I ought to have my evening spoilt...
She took advantage of a light breeze to shiver elaborately and move close to him; he started, but tucked her under his arm willingly enough and bent his head as she traced a gentle hand down his face, dropping a soft kiss on her palm -- better -- and she let her hand trail further to stroke over his jaw. He swallowed suddenly and his eyes grew wide; wider still as she leaned close to toy with the soft hairs at his nape that had so fascinated her earlier. He groaned; a choked, almost pained sound, bitten back almost at once, but he bowed his head to give her free rein and she took full advantage, startled but pleased at his sudden shift in mood. The skin of his neck was cool and smooth under her fingers, like silk, and she dipped beneath his collar, tracing the bumps of his spine, petting and exploring. He gasped suddenly when her fingers found his ear, catching her hand in his own, pressing it almost painfully to the front of his coat, and seemingly made as if to speak, or to kiss her, but stopped, biting his lip. He stood breathing hard, his hot cheek pressed to hers, and she smiled into the darkness.
"Alexander?" His heart pounded under her hand.
'I -- ah -- damn! Kitty ..."
"Do you think you could bear to miss the remainder of the display?"
* * *
Vauxhall, August 1799
Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.
Edrington snickered, even as he flushed slightly. "I thought you would have quite forgotten that; it was the most casual of meetings, after all."
She looked at him wide-eyed. "Was it?"
"Wretch! I tried my best to make you think so." He nodded at the crowds streaming down the path ahead of them. "Which reminds me -- shall we see the fireworks, for the sake of old times?"
She smiled, and let him lead her towards the field. "Why not?"
As they disposed themselves in a good location -- in the open part of the field -- she said, thoughtfully, "I did wonder if Sir Edward's intentions -- if I ought to warn you about him."
He looked at her curiously. "How were you proposing to go about it?"
"I had not the least notion, actually," she confessed, and he laughed.
"I'd have dreamed up some cork-brained tale meant to spare your delicate sensibilities -- by which I would have meant, my own -- and stuck to it through thick and thin, no doubt."
She nodded, grinning. "Later, I thought perhaps I ought to warn him, but as that was even more impossible, I concluded that he could very well look out for himself."
"On the whole, yes. At least -- well." He cleared his throat.
"But I wondered. And then -- Rosalind."
He stared at her, wide eyed. "Kitty! Do you mean to tell me --!"
She only blinked up at him, the little cat, and turned away, settling herself firmly in front of him, leaning back comfortably against his coat, and said lightly, "I thought you were watching the fireworks, Alexander?"
* * *
Drury Lane, June 1789
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness ...
"Well, sir? Do I make a passable boy?"
Rather more than passable. He swallowed, utterly at a loss as she peeped up at him, mischief in every line of her face. Temporised -- "You are beautiful, Lady, in any guise." He made to kiss her again; gasped as she pulled away to laugh up at him and the motion brought her against his groin.
"That is no answer at all, but only flattery, and you know it." She squirmed again, deliberately, grinning at his confusion, and his voice shook even as he said lightly, "What, would you steal my coat and go for a soldier?"
"Leave the coat and take the soldier, rather," she said, her fingers busy already at the fastenings, shaking his hands off gently, dodging his descending lips to fasten her mouth instead on his jaw as she stripped away his jacket and began on his sash, fumbling slightly with the knot before it, too, fell away and she began on the buttons of his waistcoat.
He pulled away, catching her chin in his hand to turn her face up for a kiss; started as she pressed back into him and slid her tongue between his lips before he could recapture the initiative and found himself against the wall of the tiny room. Oh God, she was fumbling at his shirt and he flinched as she tugged at it and helped her even as he thought to protest. It pulled free, and her hands found his waistband; he shivered at the cool touch of her fingers, and his fingers dug into her waist.
"As bold as any boy, at least," he murmured as her lips trailed downward to his throat; he made to pull her close once more, but her hands were between them, tracing over his sides, and after a single, indecisive tug he only held her loosely, briefly quiescent as she edged his shirt higher, until her exertions obliged him to lift his arms for her. She had missed the sleeve-buttons, and his hands would not come free of the cuffs; he was tangled in the linen, head spinning, as she pressed her lips below his collarbone, then released her grasp on the hem to press her advantage further, her hands busy again at the waist of his breeches. He shivered under her nails, tracing his belly as her lips trailed lazily lower; gave up any notion of saving the shirt and fought his head free, hearing a seam split as the buttons gave way.
More buttons than those, he realised, as her hands dipped lower yet; his head fell back with a thump into the tangle his arms had made in the cloth of his shirt and he groaned. "Kitty, I ..." What was she about, with this that he had never asked of her, had never considered in the light of her, even? Whores did such things, and mistresses might, and young men playing in corners, that he knew -- and that was a dangerous memory now, with her breeched leg insinuating itself between his and her body hot against him through the thin shirt. Kitty was none of those -- Kitty who he'd seen play Desdemona, as pure in truth as she was painted scarlet in rumour, belonged to a different world entirely and she could never wish to do this, should not even know these things. She could not be painting lines of fire across his chest with her lips and sliding her fingers deeper into his breeches, pushing them aside, eyes flashing to his face and vanishing again beneath long lashes as she slid along the length of him and oh, Christ, she was on her knees and that could never be right, that she should go to her knees before him, that he should look down to see her there and be transfixed by a straight back and a queue and a booted length of leg, but her tongue traced his rib and flickered over his side and her lips were against the curve of his belly and it made him shake that they trailed lower even as he tried to catch his breath and yet he could not, could not let her and he said again, high and breathless, "Kitty," and made to pull away from her, still snarled in the damned shirt and as he struggled she laughed and looked him full in the face, all mischief and delight and his breath caught in his throat.
They see me play a part, and think they see me.
It seemed that after all she could want to do this, could be determined to do this, even, and not only for him, and that needed some thinking on, but not now, not when her breath huffed warm over him and when had he ever refused her when she was set upon a thing and how should he begin now when -- Dear God -- the tip of her tongue was upon him, tentative and flickering and sending fire through him nonetheless, and he swore under his breath, unable to tell if he was warning her away or urging her on and she giggled as if she were breathless with her own daring and closed her mouth about him softly, carefully, and he shook and he felt the shirt give and tear further against his arms as he said again "Kitty, oh, God, Kitty, I -- "
He slumped against the wall, wordless, and let her have her way, let her trail lips and tongue and fingers over him as she would, learning him, murmuring with pleasure at the way she made him leap and shiver and bite his lip and sigh; he opened his eyes to see her there and almost found it in his heart to forgive even the crudest of the men who had seen her and gone home to chill and empty beds for the wistful muttering and imaginings that had fallen from their lips, even had they thought of this, for he had thought of it too and it was happening and even as he struggled still to understand it she wrapped her hand about him and her mouth grew bolder and he watched and felt his knees give way and his belly clench and thought to warn her somehow but words escaped him and he only closed his eyes and gasped and shook and spent helplessly as she pulled half-away in astonishment but her hand was moving on him still, strong and sure and only when it stilled did he dare to open his eyes -- Dear God her face and her shirt and her hair.
He could not meet her eyes, could only sink to his knees before her and try to hide his flaming face in her shoulder and struggle ineffectually while she freed him from the prison of his ruined linen to let him wipe at the mess with a trembling hand until she took the shirt from his hands and tossed it aside as she launched herself into his arms, giggling as he started at the cool dampness and squirming into him until they were equally smeared and he began, reluctantly at first, to smile with her, and then to laugh, even as he searched for words.
She lifted her head, grinning at him. "I'll get better at it. I promise."
"You -- Dear God." And they were off again, giggling helplessly.
His face sobered, and he sighed. "Kitty ... I -- Kitty, why do you stand for my idiotish behaviour?"
She looked into his face then, and smiled. "I don't, always. And I think you know why, my dear." When she smiled at him so, he did know it, knew it as well as he knew anything, and when she turned her face up to him and his hands found her hair and pulled it loose of its confining ribbon to tumble around them and she cradled his head with her hand in the old way he sighed and kissed her lips, her cheek, her jaw, until she demanded against his ear, "But you still don't answer me, Alexander -- what sort of boy do I make?"
He was readier for her now, though he ducked his head all the same. "I -- I hardly know how to answer. I -- ah... Kitty!" He twisted as she assailed him, finding the most vulnerable place over his ribs and tickling him as she laughed in his face, grateful for the distraction, for the excuse to take hold of her and lift her away and bear her down to the floor to grin up at him, unquelled. "Woman, boy, or Puck, you are impudent, imperious, and --" he settled himself over her and snatched a brief kiss -- "altogether impossible to resist. And if you will play Mischief ..."
* * *
Part Two
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2005-02-15 06:38 pm (UTC)In the meantime, the thought of what awaits me is fizzing like a small but contained firework in the back of my mind...
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Date: 2005-02-15 06:45 pm (UTC)*hugs*
THANK YOU! I hope you enjoy it!
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Date: 2005-02-15 07:03 pm (UTC)Congratulations, babe.
(and before you start going "but he didn't say if he liked it!" I don't have time to read it right now either. ;-) )
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Date: 2005-02-15 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-16 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-15 07:36 pm (UTC)And I'm not really here, I'm editing the last three and a half pages - no, really...
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Date: 2005-02-15 08:40 pm (UTC)::breathlessly proceeds to part 2::
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Date: 2005-02-18 10:27 pm (UTC)Some random comments:
What is it about Edrington and his weakness for Vauxhall? Didn’t he permit Pellew to take him to Vauxhall one last time post-Major MacPherson’s Ass?
Okay, I just checked the timeline, and realised this is set before Major MacPherson's Ass. ::jaw drops:: Meaning that Edrington was, shall we say, involved, with Kitty and Pellew at the same time? No wonder the meeting with Pellew is quite so excrutiatingly awkward, though Edrington does his best to hide it. ::chortles gleefully:: He's not called Slutbunny for nothing... :))))
I love the ducks. I just had to say. Reminds me of Good Omens. ::makes you an lifetime member of the Campaign for More Ducks in Fiction::
The Surrender of Montreal – what’s the significance of this painting to the story? Pellew wasn’t there, was he?
I love their exchange about the Duchess of Wharfedale – the bit about Edrington “bolting incontinently” and hiding behind his Mama is priceless. I suppose he was hoping she might wield her parasol in his defence?
Forced to flee from Italy, stranded in Gibraltar, captured by the Spanish, wrecked upon the rocks, the fate of England tucked into her skirts, and every minute of it sailing under false colours -- positively courting execution as a spy, and she stands there demure as a nun and calls it 'invigorating'. And I find it entirely enchanting; I think I must have gone mad.
No, he hasn’t gone mad. Just found an exceptional woman who he can regard as an equal...
Not my Mr Kennedy; his own Mr Kennedy, very much so.
::smiles:: Yay for sneaking Crumpet into your het!
I adore the complexity of their relationship and the interweaving of the two strands of the story. The contrast between young Edrington and his older self, and the way there are so many layers here – it’s like a wonderfully complex puzzle.
Naughty Kitty – she crossdresses on purpose after drawing conclusions about him and Pellew from their chance meeting at Vauxhall. That is a very hot scene – and, dear me, you got slash in your het! *g*
I'll stop here, before this comment gets longer than the fic itself. More blissed-out ramblings on part 2 tomorrow - if I may?
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Date: 2005-02-20 08:53 am (UTC)He did. I rather think this meeting is one of the things which established said weakness. But also, it's just a good place to go if you require a bit of temporary social slack -- enough to go about with an actress, say, or flirt very subtly in a dark pathway with a stiff-necked naval captain who seems determined not to notice that you're unable to stop chucking your tender young flesh RIGHT under his feet. Also he likes fireworks. :-)
In fact, just before Consent , so just pre-Pellew. They're still dancing around each other, each for their own reasons.
*gratefully accepts membership*
Also, Dorothy L Sayers, Gaudy Night -- "the massive continuity of ducks." I suspect Pratchett may have had this in mind as well.
He was not; well before his time. I found the account of its presence at Vauxhall, and the next thing you know E was telling me stories, and it ended up hooking into to something Skud had said about E and military art.
... Or at least, a woman who IS his equal.
Eeee, thank you! He's a complex man, and she's not a simple woman, and I'm glad that came through.
(TWO Edringtons in one's head at once? Aaarggh. :-)
I SO did. :-)
Ever know a writer get tired of intelligent and analytical praise of their work? What we need to worry about here is my head swelling. :-)
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Date: 2005-02-15 08:11 pm (UTC)"What, would you take my coat and go for a soldier?"
Uh ... YES!
*loves them both*
So worth the effort. Just so worth it.
*loves all over the fic*
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Date: 2005-02-15 08:36 pm (UTC)After all I put you through, I'm glad it was worth it. ;-)
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Date: 2005-02-15 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-16 04:20 am (UTC)PS. I like the Puck reference
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Date: 2005-02-16 08:49 pm (UTC)*bows humbly*
She is very Puck. :-)
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Date: 2005-02-16 05:49 am (UTC)Another triumph, my dear!
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Date: 2005-02-16 08:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-16 08:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-16 08:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-16 01:51 pm (UTC)You make them beautifully, consistently Themselves with the character notes, every gesture and word perfectly timed and honed. Half of the beauty is that it is Kitty and Edrington, and half is that there is nothing in the least modern about all of this. It feels sinful to read it from a computer screen and type you my praise. I should have it in a leather-bound volume with arching lowercase t's, by rights.
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Date: 2005-02-16 08:55 pm (UTC)Thank you! I am actually really pleased; if every fic gets me another step along, this feels like the fic where I really got confident in my own research abilities and feel for the period; probably because Skud very kindly chucked me out on my own this time, so I HAD to do it all myself, and the result was realizing that I could.
Well, that and all the flailing I did about introducing issues of gender and class...
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Date: 2005-02-16 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-16 08:57 pm (UTC)I'm glad. This one ... just really had its DAYS.
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Date: 2005-02-16 06:57 pm (UTC)I do remember that I wanted to comment on the letters at the beginning, which are wonderful - I like the quality of shedding layers. And I like the way you move back and forth in time. The story flows beautifully and all the transitions feel very natural.
Ok, on to part two. . .
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Date: 2005-02-16 09:02 pm (UTC)I'm running out of anything to say but *EEEE* at this point, myself. *EEEEE*
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Date: 2005-03-10 01:38 pm (UTC)Very cool! I haven't read any of this general genre, mostly because I know nothing of the universes, not having seen or read any (this is Hornblower universe, yes?).
But the Heyer reference in your other comment obviously piqued my interest enough, and I was well rewarded.
I don't know the characters or what they're supposed to be like, but it's very well written and Kitty totally reminds me of Sophy (of Heyer's The Grand Sophy).
I'll be reading Part Two for sure, but for now, I'd better get some work done.
Thanks! :-)
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Date: 2005-03-10 05:58 pm (UTC)You'll gather I recommend the Hornblower books and movies :-)
Thank you for taking a chance on something where you didn't know the source, and I'm glad you're enjoying it!
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Date: 2005-03-10 07:53 pm (UTC)Oh certainly, I'd definitely watch/read, but haven't been easily able to get my hands on them. And not had the time/intent to go after them.
Thank you for taking a chance on something where you didn't know the source, and I'm glad you're enjoying it!
hee hee, no problem!! :-)
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Date: 2005-03-20 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-22 09:10 am (UTC)And I'm glad you liked it; it was alternately fun and hair-raising to write, especially when Lady Susannah wandered in and demanded her due. :-)
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Date: 2005-03-24 01:53 am (UTC)Lovely Pellew icon. Lovely Pellew. Lovely Edrington.
Return of the Attack Feedback O.O
Date: 2005-05-27 03:39 am (UTC)Dear Miss Cobham
Epistolary!
I thought I had made myself excessively clear on this point
-- my name is Kitty,
*crow* I love Kitty's reasonable disregard for convention.
She's fabulous.
A single evening at Vauxhall left one with the overwhelming
impression of endless motion, endless novelty, new wonders at
every bend in the paths.
Woohoo for skilled first lines! (some day I will spend hours
just flipping through books and stories, reading nothing but
first lines. I adore them as a craft)
The paintings which enlivened the rotunda ... depictions of
great sea-battles slapped up cheek by jowl with busts of
geniuses musical and military in turn, until one might justly
be puzzled to tell truth from fancy, spectacle from
triumph.
What I really want is your writing ability. But I'll
settle for… a spin in your time machine? Please?
"'The Surrender of Montreal' -- it's well done."
It's also real! *glee*
Dying heros laid out like so many pious deathbed scenes --
not choking ... at the end of the day and only then do you even
remember ...
Italicized internal paragraph love. Right here. Yes.
I sound quite as if I'd never had my head turned by a
scarlet coat."
And since we all know it isn't possible to never have
had one's head turned by a scarlet coat… mm.
Nothing loath to speak of lighter matters,
Ab -- … am -- … buh -- … syntax. Really really like this
clause.
"That was for your benefit, sir, every scrap of it" ...
"your dressmakers are among the cruelest women in all of
England, I am quite certain of it, to help you torment me
so."
Bwah! Ah, they're electric with each other.
oh, blast these ducks!"
*SNORT*
I ran them all around quite shamelessly,
Bwah. Indeed.
He shuddered elaborately, making her laugh.
*grin* and myself as well.
-- Dear God, how he would have enjoyed watching Mr
Hornblower cope with the Duchess
Heee! It is funny.
Edrington stared at her, half-appalled and wholly
admiring;
Hmmh. He so would.
Forced to flee from Italy, stranded in ... enchanting; I
think I must have gone mad.
Hmmm, yup. But that's cool.
"You always did like the breeches parts.
Pants roles! Heee.
"I suspect Lieutenant Bracegirdle of a high-minded
streak
Oh, despicable thing, that.
"Not my Mr Kennedy; his own Mr Kennedy, very much so.
Points for that. *nod*
and once more into the breeches for me."
*covert and slightly lunatic Henry V giggle* …sorry.
But Christ, they stared at you so...
So we see the possessive Edrington who only gave us a glimpse
with Archie, hm…
and a chance meeting with a friend from Eton near the
steps
Yay, friends from Eton.
... to stop acting like a spoilt child with a puppy, crying
because he is nipped for dragging it hither and yon like a
toy?
Ooh, wow, analogy. Nice.
He'd wondered, once, if she -- or any woman -- could
possibly be so serenely complaisant, ... her quarrel -- were
she inclined to quarrel -- was elsewhere.
Mm, yeah, we talked about this. Well, you talked. I just
nodded and went 'uh-huh… gee I'm not that bright, am I'
*g*
I do believe I hear the sound of women closing ranks, damn
them.
*snerk*
Censorious, ponderous old windbag. Kitty wrinkled her nose
... revellers as they made their often unsteady way to and
fro.
Hah! Milton's not that bad, really now.
"Kitty -- Miss Cobham, I -- this is Sir Edward Pellew.
Knew it! Was baffled for a moment that she didn't recognize
him, then realized was being dork.
(see comment next for ... overflow)
Re: Return of the Attack Feedback O.O
Date: 2005-05-27 03:40 am (UTC)brilliant Cleopatra at the Portman Market Theatre last month,
and Desdemona before that at the Drury --"
Aww, he's babbling!
he positively vibrated, seeming loath to leave go her arm or
stray from her side, yet his eyes were forever turning back
towards Pellew, watching him intently as they spoke.
*mutter* double standards…
not even the Quixotic defiance
Whee, quixotic! It so deserves a capital Q.
"Do you think you could bear to miss the remainder of the
display?"
Ah, minx.
"Later, I thought perhaps I ought to warn him,
Hah. True.
"I thought you were watching the fireworks, Alexander?"
Muah.
"You are beautiful, Lady, in any guise." ... "Leave the coat
and take the soldier, rather,"
Clever dialogue love, here. Incredible love for the clever
dialogue.
"As bold as any boy, at least,"
*cough* he ought to know…
She had missed the sleeve-buttons, and his hands would not
come free of the cuffs;
BWAHAHAHAH. Hah. Heeeee!
hearing a seam split as the buttons gave way.
Well there goes that one.
And if you will play Mischief ..."
Hah. Just desserts.
(and now on to Part 2...)