Author's note: Second chapter, and some new characters. I've done a massive amount of research/studying about naval affairs of this time. if you don't understand them (because, let's face it, I have an ungodly obsession with it and can't expect other people to share it), let me know and I'd be happy to explain. Please, please vote and comment if you liked it!
Rosalind could not say she was very fond of balls. She, as a general rule, found it exhausting to keep up the charade of pleasant conversation and happy cheer, especially when it was the early hours of the morning and she longed for her bed.
Of course, she had enjoyed the one last night - it had been gratifying to see Lady Beckett, quite recovered from the death of her husband, gay and laughing, and it had been most agreeable to see her friends and make a few new acquaintances.
Still, when she awoke at seven thirty, she had slept only three hours, and the exhaustion showed in the rings under her eyes when she fixed her hair before her mirror. Giving a sigh, she dressed simply - not expecting anyone to call - and went downstairs for breakfast, eagerly awaiting a cup of coffee and something to eat.
She found her father in the dining room, as he was wont to be. As an admiral, a Vice-Admiral of the Blue, no less, he had been a sailor most of his life. And so rose early, took breakfast, and got a start on his day before most people had even stirred once. Even when ashore, he kept a strict regimen of naval discipline, quite unlike many of the navy men Rosalind had met, who, both on shore and at sea, were an ungoverned lot.
When she'd pointed this out to him, he'd given her a smile and said:
"There is a reason why I have risen in ranks, my dear Rosalind. Discipline, my dear. Discipline is key. You, were you a man, would be a commodore already for your strength of character and your discipline."
She'd smiled and kissed her doting father, knowing that she was the only thing about which he was not disciplined.
Now, as she entered the dining room and took in the way he sat in his chair, regal, stiff, and upright, she wondered at the fact that he did not have the servants ring a ship's bell to wake him, so naval was his way of life.
He heard her the moment she entered, though she had made no sound. He smiled broadly, put aside both his coffee and his newspaper, and waved that she should come forward.
She did, and stooped, kissed him, and then retreated. "Good morning, Papa."
He grinned, his brown eyes lighting up with pleasure at seeing her, as they always did. "Good morning, dear. You look tired - did you not sleep well last night?"
Rosalind took her seat opposite him, and accepted a cup of coffee from a servant, who then exited and left she and her father in peace. "I slept soundly in the few hours I got," she said, and pinched her cheeks to redden them and give her face some colour.
Her father chuckled quietly. "Did you meet many handsome young men, Rosalind?"
"Papa!" she protested.
He smirked at her, his eyes alight with teasing. "Come, come, I have seen you in your blue muslin dress. I know the figure you strike in any dress, but particularly that one. There must have been ten men vying for you, hm?"
She leveled a stern look at him. She knew he was trying to mock her in the gentlest way he knew how, and so it was with a sarcastic, obstinate mockery of her own that she replied:
"No, Papa. Every single one was quite disagreeable. I have never seen such a troupe of ugly men - everywhere I looked, there was another most hideous man. I have quite given up on men altogether just because of last night. I shall never marry; I shall die an old maid. There, does that please you?"
He laughed at the pleasure of teasing her and went back to reading his paper, leaving Rosalind in silence, nibbling on a piece of toast and a bit of egg. Her father spoke occasionally, commenting on the foolish actions of those in the House of Lords - she knew they'd recently rejected Wilberforce's bill, and he was still smouldering about it - and growling small threats at the Admiralty.
"Papa, they'll disrate you if they hear you saying that," she patiently reminded him, when he'd called the Lord Commissioner of the Admiralty nothing other than a "goddamn righteous son of a bitch".
"Are you suddenly a sailor, Rosalind?" he retorted.
"No - I'm more sensible than any sailor," she countered.
He chuckled a bit grudgingly. They were then interrupted by a servant, who came in with a sheaf of letters. He handed most of them to Rosalind's father, but and passed a small note to Rosalind. While her father was preoccupied with opening his letters, some of which bore the Admiralty seal, she opened the note.
"Tell me, did a sailor bring these over?" he asked the servant.
"Yes, sir. A young midshipman, by the looks of him, sir," replied the servant.
Rosalind, with her head bowed, pretended to read, but listened instead to her father. News from the Admiralty could mean only one thing, really. Her father was ashore on leave for now, but there must have been some order handed down that required him.
She felt an unhappy twinge in her breast at the idea of his going off to sea again. She had endured his periodic absence for most of her life, and she knew that the only person who hated it more than she did was him. She despised being separated from him - felt as though some part of her had died whenever he was away.
"Is he still waiting?" asked Rosalind's father.
"Yes, sir. In the hall, sir."
"Have him wait until I have read these and have a response, and then show him into my study," said her father, and, giving the letters a shuffle, stood up from the table, and then turned to Rosalind. "My apologies for leaving you here so rudely, but I have a rather urgent matter that requires my attention."
Rosalind knew better than to question him on the contents of the letters. He would, in due time, tell her, and it was foolish to pester him. She she merely smiled, inclined her head, and watched him leave the room.
"Berkley," she said to the servant, who immediately gave her his full attention. Her father's naval discipline extended not only to his own character, but to his household, too. She herself had been raised as quite the little midshipman, and the servants were as obedient and disciplined as her father's sailors. "This letter, did it come by post?"
"No, Miss Marlowe. A servant delivered it by hand."
"Thank you. That will be all," she said, and dismissed Berkley with a wave of her hand. She had surmised as much, for she recognized the handwriting. Standing, she began to read in earnest, managing to walk from the dining room to the parlour, reading all the while.
"Oh, for pity's sake," she said when she had finished it, and gave a soft sigh of indignation that was mostly put on. The contents of the note pleased her more than they irritated her, but she gave a show of unhappiness.
She had planned to spend the day at home, had planned not to have any visitors, but here was Isaac, giving her a note, telling her he meant to call and perhaps go for a walk in the park. Now she would be expected to dress, and look handsome enough.
And so it was in her most timid, charming manner that Rosalind crept into her father's study. There he sat a desk, scratching away at a piece of paper, and so she was quiet as a mouse coming in.
"Papa?" she said.
He looked up. "Rosalind, what is it?"
"Nothing, Papa. I only wanted to tell you that I will be out later today - in town, you know." Her voice was at its most winsome.
"With a young man?" said her father.
"Only Mr. Cuthbert, Papa. You know Mr. Cuthbert," she said.
"That bloody lieutenant? Third on the Dauntless?" said her father, and did not look up once more. Rosalind had the sense that, had it been anyone other than her own person, he would have had far less patience. As it was, he seemed to have a boundless forbearance for anything she did.
"Second, Papa!" she protested, eager to defend Isaac's commission. "You know, Mr. Cuthbert, he's Sir Hugh Harte's nephew."
He grunted. "I have to say I find it difficult to keep track of your friends, Rosalind. Well, run along anyway, my dear."
Rosalind laughed and left him in peace. With her father safely tucked into his study, she changed her dress to one of pinstriped blue muslin - blue suited her eyes, a dressmaker had once told her, a fact that had been affirmed by anyone she met - and went to sit in the parlour.
And so there she was, the very picture of feminine elegance and poise - and very pleased to be so - when Isaac came to call in the early afternoon.
"Mr. Cuthbert, madam," said Berkley, entering the room and bringing with him Isaac. He entered the room with his customary vigour and energy. Isaac was not a particularly handsome man, his looks making him amicable but plain, but he had such a vivacity that he was instantly liked.
"Rosalind!" he cried, and came forward, grasping her by the arms and being so bold as to plant a huge kiss on her cheek.
She smiled and stepped back, admiring Isaac's fine blue attire, with his bicorne hat tucked firmly under his arm. "Is that a new coat, Isaac? It looks well on you."
Isaac grinned. "It is not a new coat, but it has new buttons. Do you like them, Rosalind?"
Rosalind nodded. "Very much so. Come, sit. Would you like a cup of tea? Something to eat?"
Isaac protested, as she knew he would, the moment her hand went for the servants' bell. Instead, he laid his own hand on his breast and claimed that he would prefer to walk. And so she, putting on her spencer, hat, and gloves, contentedly settled onto Isaac's arm for a stroll.
It was a half hour walk to the park in Taunton, and on the walk, Rosalind was more than content to chatter amiably to Isaac. She heard news of the Dauntless from him, as though they were currently on shore leave, apparently the captain had hosted a rather enjoyable dinner. Apparently the aging sailing master, based on his recent health, might soon fall overboard and drown, and it was possible that the current first lieutenant, a wiry young thing called Browne, might be given a commission on board the Cassiopeia.
"There is a chance you might be first, then, Isaac?" said Rosalind, thrilled with the idea that he might be promoted.
Isaac flashed her a grin. "Perhaps. Though Mr. Browne is still very green, and they might give the commission to someone with more experience. He's only twenty-five, you know, but he's a favourite of the captain's."
There was not a hint of jealousy in Isaac's voice, and Rosalind admired him for that. Any other man would have been envious of someone so much younger (for Isaac was twenty-nine) being promoted above him, but Isaac was a humble soul and incapable of jealousy.
"I do hope you'll be rated first, Isaac."
"Thank you. Now, enough of my news. Tell me, what has transpired since I last saw you? I am afraid we had so little time to talk last night, as the Vances would not leave me well enough alone, nor would their charming but exhausting friend, Mr. Watson."
Rosalind related what little news she had as she and Isaac entered town. She gave as little detail as she could of how she had enjoyed the ball, but met no one of consequence - the way to meet true people of consequence was a dinner parties, she told Isaac very firmly - and how she intended to visit her friend, Mrs. Jane Edwards, in London.
"No further news, then?" said Isaac.
"No," she said, knowing what he was getting at, the idea of it making her instantly frosty and distant.
"You did not meet some charming you man you've decided you're going to marry?"
"No, Isaac," she replied.
"Come, Rosalind, you must have at least one young man!" cried Isaac, but she knew that he was well aware that she did not. Rosalind never kept young men, for she found it tiresome. At any rate, she had never met a man for whom she felt anything other than friendly affection.
So, levelling a severe look at him, she spoke.
"Isaac, with how often we are seen together, I dare say that if anyone thought I had a young man, it would be you," she informed him, her nose in the air.
He smirked just a bit and she could see how he very nearly puffed up with pride. She understood that, knowing herself to be at least a reasonably handsome girl, it would have made him gratified to think that she was his young lady.
"Did you meet anyone interesting at the ball last night, besides Mr. Watson? Or did the Vances keep you in only the most tedious company?" asked Rosalind, changing the subject to one she hoped would cause Isaac to stop teasing her. Giving her skirt a bit of a shake as a woman, sweeping off her front step, blew dust all over her.
"One most interesting man, Mr. Watson's cousin. A Dr. Stephen Byrne - have you heard of him?" said Isaac as he guided her past another such woman to save the fine fabric of her dress.
Rosalind turned her head to see that Isaac's eyes had lit up with pleasure at the mention. She was instantly curious for Isaac, though a friendly soul, made close acquaintance very rarely. He was much beloved by all, but there were scarcely four people he called his close friends.
"I have not," she confessed, and she and Isaac turned onto a gravel path into the park.
"That's strange, as he made an enquiry after you when I saw him this morning," said Isaac, and now those clear, round eyes clouded for a moment with confusion. "He asked me if I knew the identity of a most charming woman in a blue muslin dress."
Rosalind smiled and gave Isaac a sidelong glance for his flattery, patting his arm with her hand. "You are too kind to me."
"Those were his exact words, Rosalind, not mine. Should they have been mine, I would have praised you as a nymph or a sylph," said Isaac. "Now, you say you don't know him. Then how does he know you?"
"I'm sure if he did not know my name, he does not know me," she pointed out, Isaac giving a little huff of indignation at her words. "And, in any event, there were a good deal of people at Lady Beckett's ball last night. He could have been any of them - how am I to know which man it was?"
Isaac sighed. "Very well, I see you are being obstinate." As he spoke, he sat Rosalind down on a bench overlooking the pond and then, when she shuffled over a bit, sat down next to her. It was a practised ritual with them, for they frequented the park and that bench very often. Rosalind had spent countless hours in Isaac's company
"And I see you are being ridiculous," she retorted. When Isaac looked a little put out, she placed her arm in his once more. "Come, tell me more of the Dauntless. It's far more interesting news than anything Somerset has to offer."
Isaac, smiling once more, began again. In genuine pleasure, at both his company and news of the ship, Rosalind watched a pair of swans paddling across the pond and settled down for a comfortable afternoon.