The Perks of Being a Wallflower

[Ben Fowler]

words • tagged Penelope Featherington • credits Ever the dutiful cousin, Alexander Crawford didn't complain about dragging Ben with him to every event he was invited to. The man was under his care for the season, and it wasn't like he could get into very much trouble. After a few necessary introductions, Mr. Crawford noticed that the lieutenant usually just found a corner to stay in all evening and never bothered anyone else. That was quite alright. No scandal, no being dragged away to make some introduction or another because the lieutenant wanted to converse. Nor was he any threat to Mr. Crawford's own attempts to woo a young lady of the ton. The lieutenant never danced, and very few people knew he was rich. His lieutenant's frock with a few patches in it, his out of style dress, and even his name didn't inspire any sort of confidence in his position. Stuck among a crowd of strangers in a world he had no business being in, Ben was happy to stick to the fringes and watch. He had as much lemonade as he desired with the servants passing by, and the few people who recognized his uniform knew that he was only a lieutenant. He didn't have his own command nor had he been made post. They didn't know that he'd been on the deck of Victory before the battle of Trafalgar and seen action from the deck of Sirius, had served under Rear Admiral Ball, and had been a part of the capture of multiple ships. Not that Ben was likely to offer up that information quickly either. He'd known officers who liked to regale their own stories without prompting at dinner, and it made them insufferable to be around. He pulled out a copy of the latest Lady Whistledown issue along with a thin pencil. As a complete stranger to the ton, he'd found it rather enlightening to read. He could familiarize himself with the names albeit without faces unless Mr. Crawford made introductions or pointed them out. Though, he had a few notes on the writing style. The writer's voice was very good and observant, and it dawned on him from the first issue he'd read that there was a lot to talk about in Society. His only complaint was on the word choice, pacing, and more technical details which in his opinion, could take the piece from just a scandal sheet to something more captivating and lyrical. With nothing better to do in the evening, he scribbled away crossing out words and rewriting sentences in the margins. Arrows to mark moving sections around, and it very well might have been a tutor going over a student's work. It was good, but it could be better.

For the voyage is done and the winds don't blow