Read Online Hostile Shores by Dewey Lambdin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dewey Lambdin
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cheerfully ordered.
* * *
All the wide double doors and windows of Government House, up Market Street from the piers, were thrown open, and yellow light glowed from within from hundreds of candles. A small batch of liveried musicians were playing light, and somewhat muted, airs to entertain guests as they arrived, were announced, and welcomed inside to stroll and socialise before the supper was announced.
Lewrie took his time to ascend the several flights of stone stairs from one terrace of lawn and garden to the next ’til he was upon the outer gallery. The hike from the docks had all been uphill, and that was asking a lot of a sailor. He stopped to remove his hat, swab the inner band with a handkerchief, and discreetly dab his face and neck. He lingered, savouring the cool sunset breeze, for he could feel a palpable wave of heat coming from inside, from all those candles and so many people crammed into the spacious rooms.
More guests were arriving, by coach, on foot, and some few in sedan chairs borne by liveried slaves. There were officers from the Army garrison and Forts Montagu, Charlotte, and Fincastle in regimental finery, though Lewrie noted that few of them were below the rank of Major, with only a few Captains tossed in. A peek inside revealed the blue of Navy officers, and Lewrie quickly identified a couple of brig-sloop officers, with their Commanders’ epaulets on their left shoulders, and an equal number of Lieutenants. All the Lieutenants in command of the sloops and cutters in port were there, but none of the junior officers or Midshipmen. Evidently, the Governor-General was pinching his pennies, and inviting only senior men. His own First Lieutenant, Westcott, had been sent an invitation, but he had begged off, wishing for a night of shore liberty to pursue his own supper, dancing, and … other things.
It was cooler without his hat, so Lewrie tucked it under his arm. There were many newly arrived guests who wished to linger in a cooler air, knowing what to expect in a Bahamian summer, and Lewrie chatted them up, accepting and making introductions and chit-chat.
In point of fact, once named to the civilian gentlemen and their ladies, sons, and daughters, Lewrie was pleasingly surprised by how he was praised for his desperate sortie, in some cases almost gushingly, and his face reddened in honest humility (well, he could only play-act humble all that long!) and he declared, over and again, that he had only done his duty, no matter the odds.
Medals be-damned, they’re callin’ me a hero for that !
“You will enter with us, Sir Alan?” one older lady beguiled.
“I do b’lieve I’ll wait a tad longer, ma’am,” Lewrie told her. “The evening breeze, and the aromas from the flower gardens, are just too delightful.”
Yet another coach creaked to a stop at the foot of the hill on Market Street, an open coach which carried Commodore Grierson and his Flag-Captain, Meadows, and Lewrie turned away, wishing to delay rencontre with the fellow ’til the last moment. He looked round for a tall planter or bush behind which he could hide.
“Are you avoiding me, Sir Alan?” a lovely voice asked in petulance. He spun about to espy the “grass widow”.
“Why, Mistress Frost! Priscilla!” Lewrie exclaimed. “You are invited tonight? Your presence makes the occasion all the more delightful. And, how splendid you look!” he gushed in pleasure as he went to the top of the last flight of steps to offer her an arm after a bow.
Might tonight be the night? Lewrie fervently wished; After all, I’m nigh the bloody hero of the hour!
The object of his lust, Mistress Priscilla Frost, would be the desire of any man. She was a wee woman only five feet four inches in height, with a creamy pale complexion, a mass of artfully styled red-auburn hair, and bright green eyes. This night, her filmy sheath gown was of mint green, cut delightfully low, and was almost sheer enough to reveal a slim young body
* * *
All the wide double doors and windows of Government House, up Market Street from the piers, were thrown open, and yellow light glowed from within from hundreds of candles. A small batch of liveried musicians were playing light, and somewhat muted, airs to entertain guests as they arrived, were announced, and welcomed inside to stroll and socialise before the supper was announced.
Lewrie took his time to ascend the several flights of stone stairs from one terrace of lawn and garden to the next ’til he was upon the outer gallery. The hike from the docks had all been uphill, and that was asking a lot of a sailor. He stopped to remove his hat, swab the inner band with a handkerchief, and discreetly dab his face and neck. He lingered, savouring the cool sunset breeze, for he could feel a palpable wave of heat coming from inside, from all those candles and so many people crammed into the spacious rooms.
More guests were arriving, by coach, on foot, and some few in sedan chairs borne by liveried slaves. There were officers from the Army garrison and Forts Montagu, Charlotte, and Fincastle in regimental finery, though Lewrie noted that few of them were below the rank of Major, with only a few Captains tossed in. A peek inside revealed the blue of Navy officers, and Lewrie quickly identified a couple of brig-sloop officers, with their Commanders’ epaulets on their left shoulders, and an equal number of Lieutenants. All the Lieutenants in command of the sloops and cutters in port were there, but none of the junior officers or Midshipmen. Evidently, the Governor-General was pinching his pennies, and inviting only senior men. His own First Lieutenant, Westcott, had been sent an invitation, but he had begged off, wishing for a night of shore liberty to pursue his own supper, dancing, and … other things.
It was cooler without his hat, so Lewrie tucked it under his arm. There were many newly arrived guests who wished to linger in a cooler air, knowing what to expect in a Bahamian summer, and Lewrie chatted them up, accepting and making introductions and chit-chat.
In point of fact, once named to the civilian gentlemen and their ladies, sons, and daughters, Lewrie was pleasingly surprised by how he was praised for his desperate sortie, in some cases almost gushingly, and his face reddened in honest humility (well, he could only play-act humble all that long!) and he declared, over and again, that he had only done his duty, no matter the odds.
Medals be-damned, they’re callin’ me a hero for that !
“You will enter with us, Sir Alan?” one older lady beguiled.
“I do b’lieve I’ll wait a tad longer, ma’am,” Lewrie told her. “The evening breeze, and the aromas from the flower gardens, are just too delightful.”
Yet another coach creaked to a stop at the foot of the hill on Market Street, an open coach which carried Commodore Grierson and his Flag-Captain, Meadows, and Lewrie turned away, wishing to delay rencontre with the fellow ’til the last moment. He looked round for a tall planter or bush behind which he could hide.
“Are you avoiding me, Sir Alan?” a lovely voice asked in petulance. He spun about to espy the “grass widow”.
“Why, Mistress Frost! Priscilla!” Lewrie exclaimed. “You are invited tonight? Your presence makes the occasion all the more delightful. And, how splendid you look!” he gushed in pleasure as he went to the top of the last flight of steps to offer her an arm after a bow.
Might tonight be the night? Lewrie fervently wished; After all, I’m nigh the bloody hero of the hour!
The object of his lust, Mistress Priscilla Frost, would be the desire of any man. She was a wee woman only five feet four inches in height, with a creamy pale complexion, a mass of artfully styled red-auburn hair, and bright green eyes. This night, her filmy sheath gown was of mint green, cut delightfully low, and was almost sheer enough to reveal a slim young body
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