Regency Debutantes (12 page)

The man seated opposite him rose. ‘If I may be so bold, Mr Raithwaite, as to suggest that some brandy is required.’ When Edward Raithwaite nodded limply, the man set out two balloon glasses and dispensed the tawny liquid. Passing the measure to the older man, he sat back down before resuming the conversation. ‘It’s not too late to discover her direction and halt her progress, but we must not delay our action, for every minute that we wait she travels further from the security of your home, and closer to danger.’

Mr Raithwaite’s heavy-lidded eyes had succumbed to the temptation to close. He sipped at the brandy without trying to open them. ‘How dare she do this to me? It’s just reward for the selfish pampering by her mother. Clara was always too soft with the girl. And now look where it’s got us. We shall all bear the brunt of her silly action. To be the subject of such petty gossip and infamy when all I am guilty of is living my life as a decent upstanding man of business. What have I done to deserve such a daughter, when I have struggled to do nothing but my best for her?’ He seemed content to wallow for a little longer in a quagmire of self-pity.

‘You’ve done nothing sir, save to act as a father. All of your actions have been only with Miss Raithwaite’s best interests at heart, even to the point of sending her to Mrs Tillyard’s Academy for Young Ladies. It seems that, despite your aspirations, all that she learned was to follow her own will.’

‘A stubborn and self-gratifying will at that,’ added her father.

The man inclined his golden head. ‘She is perhaps a trifle strong-willed, but, in the hands of the right husband, such a flaw could be remedied.’ He smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth to offset the pretty looks of his face.

‘Our plans fade to dust, Praxton. What desire have you for a woman whose reputation is tarnished? She has absconded,
dressed as a boy! For all we know she’s run off with a lover!’ He clamped his large loose-skinned hands over his face. ‘Oh, heaven help us, for we’re soon to be a laughing stock throughout the town, and wherever else this story travels.’

Walter Praxton examined his nails before replying. ‘All is not lost, sir, for I have it on good authority that a young boy matching your daughter’s height and build was observed to take the evening mail to Gosport on the night in question. A boy that no one of the town knew, and who didn’t alight from any other coach. He was quite alone amidst the travellers, no sign of any possible
lover.
I rather think—’ his mouth twisted to a crooked semblance of a smile ‘—that the reason for Miss Raithwaite’s flight was due to her determination not to become my wife.’

Mr Raithwaite’s eyes opened at that. ‘Surely you’re mistaken, for, no matter what she thinks she feels, Georgiana would not disobey me so blatantly.’

‘I doubt that your daughter views the situation in quite the same way.’

The grizzled head shook once more. ‘I’ll put it about that she’s gone to stay with an elderly relative in Scotland. At least that may buy us some time with which to attempt to remedy this damnable mess. When I get my hands on her—’

Mr Praxton swiftly interrupted. ‘The betrothal is still binding. If I can discover her location, then the situation might be resolved if I were to immediately marry Miss Raithwaite. That way she could return here as my wife, with all threat of scandal avoided. Do I have your permission to force her to a speedy exchange of vows by whatever means are required?’

‘You would still wed her, after all she’s done? What if she’s dishonoured? A fallen woman? Would you take her even then?’ Edward Raithwaite’s tired eyes focused with a new clarity.

‘I would take her whatever the circumstance, provided that any threat of ensuing scandal could be extinguished.’

The older man leaned forward and with a deliberate and careful manner said, ‘Well, in that case, Mr Praxton, you must do whatever you deem necessary to resolve this matter satisfactorily. You have my full support.’ One fleshy hand thrust forward and clasped Mr Praxton’s in a firm shake. ‘I wish you Godspeed, Walter, and may you save the situation for us all.’

Mr Praxton glanced back only once at Tythecock Crescent, and as he did anyone close by would have heard him utter softly, ‘I will have you, Georgiana Raithwaite. One way or another, you are mine.’

C
aptain Hawke was taking the noon sight with Lieutenants Anderson and Pensenby, and the young midshipmen. The murmuring hush of their voices lapped against his ears as, armed with their sextants, they compared measurements and subsequent calculations of the ship’s latitude. Across the breadth of the forecastle he could see Jenkins, the quartermaster, at the great steering wheel, hands firm upon the burnished wood. Canvas flapped and ropes creaked as the wind moved to catch the sails. He stifled a yawn and, turning to look out across the great expanse of the cold grey water, thought of the previous night spent sitting upright in his captain’s chair. Little wonder that he’d only managed to catnap through the long dark hours, and had been up on deck before the bosun had piped the hands just before dawn. In truth, he had pondered long and hard over the matter of Miss Georgiana Raithwaite.

It was unfortunate that for this trip none of the officers had brought their wives along for company. Indeed, there were no women aboard, only one hundred and eighty-five men. Nathaniel grimaced and corrected himself. One hundred and eighty-five men and one lady. A lady whose ability to place herself
in quite the worst situations possible was equalled by none. To have almost drowned in the River Borne was one thing. To have run away from home, been taken by the Press Gang and worked, disguised as a boy, undetected upon his ship for two weeks was quite another. That the captain of that ship could have failed to notice such an absurd thing was preposterous.

He glanced once more at the group of young men behind him. Such enthusiasm, such commitment. If any one of them learned of Miss Raithwaite’s secret, she would be well and truly ruined—if she wasn’t already. And despite what his father thought, that was something Nathaniel could not let happen. The girl affected him far more than he was willing to own—her courage in the face of what for her was most definitely a disastrous situation, the transparency of emotion upon her face, those eyes that mirrored the colour of the sea before him. That he was attracted to her was obvious. He’d felt it since the moment she opened her eyes and looked up at him on the riverbank, her long hair dripping river water, her body relaxed and trusting in his arms. It had obviously been too long since he’d had a woman. A physical need, nothing more. But even as the thought formed, he knew it wasn’t true. What he felt for her was much more than that, more than he was ready to admit.

Quite how Miss Raithwaite had escaped detection was nothing short of a miracle. He gripped the smooth wood of the quarterdeck rail with tense hands. It was imperative that no one should discover the true identity of Lord George Hawke or, indeed, Master George Robertson. He walked back to the small group of would-be officers without a hint of the worry that plagued his mind or the fatigue that pulled at his body.

Georgiana was helping Mr Fraser, the captain’s valet, in cleansing the great man’s clothes. She struggled to hold back
her laughter at the reverential voice that Gordon Fraser constantly adopted when speaking of Captain Hawke.

‘Now, Master Robertson,’ Mr Fraser said in his lilting Scottish tones, ‘it is vital that
Captain Hawke’s
shirts—’ he lowered his voice as he uttered his master’s name ‘—are treated exactly to his liking. Gather up the washing tub and follow me.’ He marched off across the deck with the manner of a schoolmaster who would brook no nonsense.

Georgiana did as she was bid, scooping the wooden basin under one arm and holding three of Nathaniel’s shirts in the other hand.

They stopped before a large wooden cask. ‘Off with the lid and fill your basin.’ Mr Fraser stood well back.

‘Yes, sir.’ Georgiana prised the lid off and promptly dropped both the basin and the shirts in her hurry to scramble away. ‘Dear Lord!’ she mumbled beneath her breath and retched.

Mr Fraser pursed his lips. The boy had to learn, even if he was the captain’s nephew, perhaps even more so. ‘We haven’t got all day, laddie. Now, retrieve your basin and
Captain Hawke’s
shirts, and do as you’re bid.’

The hard biscuit and apple eaten for luncheon were threatening to make a reappearance upon the deck. Georgiana’s stomach heaved. ‘What on earth…?’

‘That’s quite enough, Master Robertson. Stop behaving like a namby-pamby and get back over there.’ He twirled at his grey moustache.

Georgiana held her nose, approached the cask, and fulfilled Mr Fraser’s requirements as quickly as she could. The liquid slopping within the basin was dark brown in colour and stank to high heaven.

‘Submerge the shirts and scrub around the cuffs and collar to remove any marks.’ He handed her a small brush.

The thought of plunging her hands into the vile liquid brought Georgiana’s stomach back up into her throat. ‘Yes, Mr Fraser,’ she managed to croak.

‘When you’re sure there are no stains left, you can start using the soap. Then give them a good rinse in sea water from the cask over there. Ring them out and then peg them on to the line fixed at the far corner. After that I’ll instruct you in the care of the
captain’s
boots.’ Mr Fraser was clearly used to giving orders.

The stench was unbearable and her hands were soon red raw with the scrubbing. It occurred to Georgiana that perhaps a gunroom servant hadn’t been such a bad job after all. Finally the chore was done and she was just pegging the shirts on the line when Captain Hawke and the boatswain wandered by, deep in conversation. Nathaniel’s eyes held hers for a moment, although he gave no other outward sign of having seen her, and in the next instant he had passed by. Irrational as it was, Georgiana felt a pang of annoyance. What did she expect him to do? Execute a tidy bow at his ship’s boy? Enquire as to her health this fine afternoon? Georgiana grumped back down to Mr Fraser.

‘You managed then, boy?’ Mr Fraser’s single jaundiced eye was trained upon her.

She stifled the words that so longed to jump off the tip of her tongue. ‘Yes, Mr Fraser, sir.’ The old man was kind enough for all his stern ways.

‘You’ll soon get used to the washing stench. Stale piss is never fragrant. And it’ll have grown a mite more pungent by the time we reach our destination.’

The blood drained from Georgiana’s face, leaving her powder white. ‘Stale piss?’ she uttered faintly.

‘What else did you think it was?’ retorted Mr Fraser with a snort. ‘There’s nothing better for shifting dirt.’ He noticed his assistant’s pallor. ‘You’ve a lot yet to learn, laddie, a lot to learn.’ Shaking his head, he went to fetch the revered Captain Hawke’s boots and shoes.

The pillow was plump and soft and smelled of Nathaniel Hawke. Sandalwood and soap and a distinctly masculine aroma. Georgiana snuggled beneath the covers and marvelled at the luxury. No choir of snores, wheezes and coughs, no foul odours from a multitude of youthful male bodies, no scuttle of rodents. Bliss! During her two weeks in the midshipmen’s berth she had failed miserably in her attempt to grow used to the narrow hammock strung so closely between those of Mr Hartley and Mr Burrows. Each night had seen her lying rigid and afraid to move, lest she fell out, until she found sleep by virtue of sheer exhaustion. The alternative of sleeping on the dampness of the deck below, amidst the spiders and the rats, was too awful to contemplate. She stretched out her spine, unmindful of her bindings, and pulled the sheet up to meet her nose. A contented sigh escaped. Such warmth, such comfort. She sighed and wriggled her legs around.

It was wonderful to be able to relax, to drop her vigilance of trying to disguise her voice, her manners and all feminine tendencies, which, she had come to realise, were too numerous to count. A space of her own. Privacy. Safety from discovery. Heaven only knew what Mama would do if she knew her situation. Swoon, no doubt. It was the first time that she’d allowed herself to think of Mama, of little Prudence and Theo. Even her stepbrother Francis with all his teasing and impudence did not seem so bad. Please God, keep them safe. She felt her eyes begin to well and took a deep breath to allay the
tears that threatened to fall. Mama would be worried sick, not knowing where she was, and Papa. Papa would be livid. In her rush to escape marriage to Mr Praxton, she’d only succeeded in making things difficult for her family. There would be gossip, and worse. Denigration, castigation, direct snubs. Poor Mama. She wept silently, stifling her sobs in Nathaniel Hawke’s pillow. Sleep finally found her with swollen eyelids and the taste of saline upon her lips.

It was still dark. Georgiana’s eyes strained against the gloom. It seemed barely five minutes since she had laid her head on the pillow. Nathaniel’s soft tread sounded from the adjoining cabin. A dull pain thrummed around her head. She groaned, dragged her fatigued body from the bed and started to dress herself. Late, she was late. What would Mr Fraser say? No time for boots.

Nathaniel sipped at the brandy and stared at the charts laid on the desk before him. It was a little after two o’clock and he still could not find sleep. The lantern light flickered as he moved to peer blindly from the windows. He had stood there some time when he heard the noise, and turned with confusion to look at the connecting door. Therein lay the reason for his insomnia. The indomitable Miss Raithwaite, who had not the slightest notion of the precarious position into which she had thrust herself. He smiled at the memory of her determined face—she certainly did not enter into anything faintheartedly. Even as he thought it the door creaked open and Miss Raithwaite—or should he say Master Robertson?—stumbled out fully dressed. ‘George?’ he quizzed lightly.

‘On my way to my station, Captain, sir,’ she pronounced through tired lips and dragged herself towards the door. She had reverted to her ‘boy’s’ voice even though they were alone.

Nathaniel’s eyes opened wide, suddenly alert. ‘George,’ he said again and moved to grab at her shoulders.