Well, there's my uniforms, he sighed, almost relieved.

They'd changed the Regulations for Sea Officers' dress in '87, whilst he was overseas, and though he'd gone on the half-pay list as soon as Alacrity had paid off, he'd faced the expense of meeting the new dress regulations so he could call upon the Councillor of the Cheque each three months, about the time of the quarterly assizes, to prove that he was alive, that he still possessed all his requisite parts, that he was eligible for future sea duty, and to collect what was laughably termed Half-Pay. He'd just come back from the Admiralty in London, just before his birthday, and his uniform had fit him admirably well.

Damme, though… He frowned, lifting his coattails to study the heft and span of his buttocks. Hmmm…?

"Supper is served, sir… mistress," Cony announced at last, as the rum punches at the Olde Ploughman threatened to consume his stomach lining.

"My dear," Alan beamed, rising to greet Caroline as she swept into the smaller second parlour, where he'd been kicking his heels.

"Sorry, dearest, but I simply had to stop by the nursery to look in on little Charlotte," Caroline smiled in reply, coming to his arms for a welcome hug and an affectionate, wifely, kiss. Alan took her up off her feet, unwilling to let a pat and a peck on the lips suffice. Children be damned, servants be damned, he thought, I want a proper welcome!

"Alan!" Caroline chid him, but not sternly at all as she gave him what he demanded. He could hear Hugh blowing indignant bubbles of revulsion as they kissed again.

"Nothin' to sneer at, Hugh," Alan chortled softly as he let her go at last. "Take my word for it."

There was a rare light in Caroline's eyes as she knelt to give her sons a peck, too. "Ah, little Hugh. What? You'll flinch from my kiss? And Sewallis, our little angel! That's my little man, you 11 not wipe off your mother's affections."