The Storm-Grey Sea

Chapter One - Blue Muslin

Straightening up quickly, he made her a pert bow, holding one hand before him to conceal the punch stain, though he doubted she would be able to see it in the gloom.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, sir," she said, and curtseyed very prettily but very hastily. She looked unnerved to see him and more than a bit flustered. "I did not think I should find anyone here. My apologies."

"Not at all, madam," he replied. "The fault is mine." Even in the moonlight, he could see that she was quite the beautiful young thing - easily the prettiest girl he'd seen all evening.

"I trust you are enjoying the evening air, sir?" she asked.

"Very much, madam," he said, and inclined his head.

They stood in silence for a moment, Stephen unsure of what to say to the woman, and she staring right at him with such a look on her face that it gave him pause. Her wide, blue eyes were fixed right on his face, and he stared right back.

Stephen, in the time during which the woman stared him down, cursed himself for his social ineptitude. She was waiting for him to say something - this very pretty young woman was standing expectantly, and there he stood, neither knowing nor particularly caring to figure out what to say.

"Good night, sir," she said, and curtseyed once more.

"Good night, madam." His reply was as pert as his bow.

With a rustle of muslin, she was gone back inside. Stephen stared after her for a moment, wondering why she'd been out on the terrace. As he stared back through the wide windows - lit so that those inside would no doubt be able only to see their own reflections - his eyes followed her.

Two young ladies had just fallen in on either side of her, and were giggling madly. She, however, smiled down at them with a certain level of sober composure that gave her gravity and serenity. Her head was held high, her hair shone, and her ivory skin very nearly seemed to glow.

Stephen noticed, rather absently, that her dress was blue, the muslin the precise grey-blue colour of her eyes.

Giving another sigh, he wished once again he was drunk. 

"Stephen, what the devil are you doing sulking out here?"

It was Arthur, who had joined him. Somehow, Arthur had managed to get himself more than a little intoxicated, leading Stephen to wonder whether Arthur simply had no head for drinking or if he'd located a stronger source of alcohol.

"Fresh air," said Stephen.

"Well come back in, damn you!" Arthur said, and seized Stephen's arm. Half-dragged back into the house, Stephen consented to being towed by Arthur around the room until he was suddenly in the presence of a small circle of people.

"We've just been talking about you. Stephen, if I might introduce you to Mr. Vance, his sister, Miss Vance, and Mr. Cuthbert?" said Arthur.

Stephen covered the stain as surreptitiously as he could as the attention of three people was suddenly focused on him.

Stephen had to try very hard not to forget their names, carefully attaching the title of Mr. Vance to a tall, hook-nosed, brown haired man leering a little at him, Miss Vance to his shorter, plumper, and similarly complexioned - but far prettier - sister, and Mr. Cuthbert to a medium-sized, slightly-plump, pleasant-faced, blue-eyed specimen. He took a particular note of Mr. Cuthbert, for his blue coat with its gold buttons but the lack of either one or two epaulettes meant that he was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy.

"How do you do?" he said, and bowed to each one in turn, receiving a bow from each one of them.

"And this, dear friends, is my cousin, Mr. Byrne."