Regency Debutantes (20 page)

Mama had once alluded to wanton women who, without a shred of decency, undertook illicit and intimate relations with men. How horrified she would be to realise that her own daughter was now of that ilk. And Papa? Why, he would beat
her senseless and disown her if he ever discovered that truth. Georgiana felt guilty at what she had done, and afraid of the powerful emotions that seemed to have the ability to turn her into a pathetic heap of quivering jelly. So much for all that she’d learned!

Nathaniel Hawke was a good man, a man of honour, and a man who had been some months at sea without the company of women. She had no idea how he amused himself back on land, no idea if he kept a mistress, or had affairs. No doubt he did, didn’t all gentlemen? His affection seemed real enough when he kissed or even touched her. Surely the hoarse desire gravelled through his voice could not be feigned? Yes, he wanted her—even through all her naïvety she understood that. But now, beneath the cool light of her calm analysis, she realised that any man starved of women for such a time might behave in the same manner. Jack was right.
Anyone’ll do, as long as she’s willin’,
and hadn’t she proven herself to be more than willing?

Anger clenched at her teeth, compressed the fullness of her bruised lips. He’d called her a very tempting woman—wasn’t that proof that the nature of his affections lay with a woman, any woman, rather than Georgiana herself? Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. She would not cry. Never. She had plunged herself into this ridiculous situation, and therefore she would deal with it the best she could. Rallying her courage, she held her chin high and carefully, calmly weighed up the evidence.

Her history proved that such wantonness had never previously assailed her. Indeed, she’d found Walter Praxton’s kisses repugnant. Coupled with this was the fact that she’d drunk two whole glasses of wine, ignorant of their possible effect. Perhaps an excess of such a beverage could produce unladylike
behaviour. Her head did feel rather light and fluffy since consuming the sour liquid. Finally, she had been virtually imprisoned within the tiny night cabin for days, and could not such a confinement result in a type of brain madness that might explain the strange effects Nathaniel Hawke was having upon her person? Yes, indeed, the evidence was strong and glaringly obvious. Georgiana felt rather less guilty and a little more woolly-headed. Now that she thought about it, the ship seemed to be rocking in a dizzy, uneven manner. It was shortly after this observation that the brilliant idea made itself known to Georgiana. Brilliant was perhaps not the word that Nathaniel Hawke would have chosen to describe it.

The moon was full and high in the night sky when Georgiana stole silently from Nathaniel’s cabin.

‘Feeling better, Robertson?’ the marine sentry enquired.

She pulled the hat lower over her head. ‘Yes, thank you, sir, a bit. The captain thought some fresh air might help.’

‘Does he know that you’re up and about?’ Suspicion creased the marine’s brow.

‘Yes, sir,’ she lied in her deepest mumbling voice. ‘Bade me not be out too long, sir.’ She prayed that Nathaniel’s business on the lower deck would keep him occupied for some time.

The sentry did not appear entirely convinced, but before he could question her further Georgiana had disappeared in a swift flurry of steps. She made for the uppermost deck, keeping to the shadows, avoiding those of the watch. Silver moonlight glistened over the water, lighting its gentle undulation. All was quiet save for the tranquil lap of waves against the hull. Water slapping softly on wood. And best of all was the subtle night breeze, fresh and clear. It nipped at her cheeks, chased the foggy clouds from her head and soothed the worry
from her shoulders. She drank in the sight of the beautiful nocturnal seascape, tasted salt upon her lips, felt the wind rake her skin, smelled what had become a welcome and familiar scent. Carefully and methodically she impressed the scene upon her memory.
If I lose all else, I’ll remember what’s before me for the rest of my life. For it is of such captivating clarity as to remind me how fortunate I am to live to witness it.
The thought lingered even as she made her way back down to the cabin. For although the freshness of the air had cleared the stuffy confusion from her head, it had brought with it the realisation that she was jeopardising Nathaniel’s plans. And that was something she did not want to risk.

The days passed quickly and the comfortable companionship between Captain Hawke and his erstwhile ship’s boy grew, but it was not long before Nathaniel eventually brought the
Pallas,
the
Ville-de-Milan
and the
Coruna
to dock within the harbour at the great Rock of Gibraltar.

Four boats rowed ashore from the frigate. The launch and two cutters carried the French seamen, as well as the bosun, his assistant and several marines. The crew left imprisoned upon the French frigates would be transported in their own vessels. Captain Hawke and his landing party travelled in the pinnace and consisted of Lieutenant Anderson, four marines, two midshipmen, the surgeon, the purser, both French captains and, of course, Captain Hawke’s ailing servant George Robertson.

‘You look a little better, Master Robertson. Do you feel somewhat recovered?’ Lieutenant Anderson enquired as the pinnace was rowed towards the shore.

Georgiana tugged nervously at her ear. ‘Yes, sir, much better,
thank you, sir.’ Then, following a rather black look from Nathaniel, hastily amended the report upon her health. ‘That is, except for the headache, sir.’ She averted her eyes to the shoreline.

Mr Belmont leaned forward, his perceptive surgeon’s eye peering at her face before turning to address the captain. ‘Captain Hawke, I don’t profess to be a physician, but I have some little knowledge that may help the boy’s condition. Perhaps, if I could examine him when we return to the ship? I know that you did not previously deem it necessary, but the sickness has persisted for quite some time.’

Nathaniel nodded briefly as if the subject was of little consequence. ‘Of course, Mr Belmont, do as you see fit. Mr Tufton, use the launch to transport the provisions back to the
Pallas;
my business ashore will take some time and I’ll return with the pinnace later.’

‘Aye, sir,’ replied the purser.

Rear Admiral Tyler was only too happy to welcome Captain Hawke and his party to the station on Gibraltar—his joviality perhaps due, in part, to his profound love of receiving captured vessels. With the necessary documents completed, Admiral Tyler was keen to invite Nathaniel and his officers to a celebratory dinner the following evening.

The main town, or city as it was termed on the Rock, was bright and busy. Despite the advancement of the year, the sun was shining and the temperatures mild. In the background loomed the dominating huge stark purple grey of the rocky terrain. Within the city matters were less severe. Both men and women in colourful clothing called from behind their street stalls set out in the commodious market place. Small flat-roofed houses crowded from the sea wall up the steep elevation
towards the Rock, their walls whitewashed and clean, splashed with the vibrant reds and pinks of the strong-smelling flowers that clambered upon them. Mules, laden with large cylindrical bags, trotted in small troops to and from the harbour, competing with the rumble of the wooden carts. Colonel Drinkwater’s fine library stood proud in its newly completed building, proclaiming the cultured interests of the Gibraltarians. In the distance, at the northern extremity of the hillside, were the ruins of a Moorish castle. In the centre of the city was Commercial Square, across which more pedlars displayed their wares. But the most astounding sight that met the officers of the
Pallas
was two small Barbary apes lounging at the edge of the city, nibbling on a large pile of bread and fruit. Mr Belmont and Lieutenant Anderson were quite taken with the creatures, so much so that they set to sketching the scene before them. Thus it was that Nathaniel found himself able to slip discreetly away, accompanied only by his ship’s boy.

Through the narrow back streets they wove, following the directions that the man had relayed to Nathaniel. Georgiana grinned as she thought of the wary suspicion on the fellow’s face. But then it wasn’t every day that he was accosted by a captain of His Majesty’s Navy asking where he might find a lady’s dressmaker.

‘Keep up, George, we haven’t got all day.’ Nathaniel reached an arm round to catch the rather out-of-breath ship’s boy straggling behind.

She had been taking too much of an interest in her surroundings. ‘My legs aren’t as long as yours,’ she grumbled.

‘And my eyes aren’t so big as yours,’ came the droll reply.

She had just rallied a spurt of energy to keep up with the
tall figure along Waterport Street when he turned down an alleyway and came to an abrupt halt. Georgiana panted mercifully at the rear.

‘Here we are, Master Robertson. Let’s just hope that Mrs Howard is prepared to help us.’

Mrs Evelina Howard was a lady of large proportions with kind grey eyes and the most artfully
coiffured
grey hair. Originally from Brighton, she had arrived on the Rock some ten years ago, as the wife of an elderly naval officer. Since being widowed, she had established a small dressmaking service to cater to the ladies of Gibraltar, a business that had proved lucrative in the extreme. If the sudden appearance of a tall dark-haired naval officer with a boy by his side startled Mrs Howard, she was too polite to show it. She observed the golden epaulettes on both his shoulders, the gold-edged lapels and collar, and the embroidery upon the cuffs and pocket flaps of the smart dark dress coat.

‘Good day, Captain. How may I help you?’ She eyed him serenely, wondering as to the woman who had obviously prompted his visit to her establishment. Wife or mistress? Mrs Howard speculated that the man before her would never lack for the attention of female admirers.

Nathaniel bowed. ‘Captain Nathaniel Hawke, of His Majesty’s Navy, at your service, ma’am.’

The grey head inclined graciously.

‘Mrs Howard,’ he began, ‘it’s on a matter of some delicacy that I seek your help. A matter that demands the utmost discretion and for which, if you are
prepared to assist, I will recompense you most generously.’

Mrs Howard felt a quiver of curiosity. ‘You intrigue me, Captain Hawke. Are you asking me to undertake something illegal, immoral, or both?’ Everything about her bespoke a calm still.

‘Neither, madam. My request is, however, unusual and, were it to become widely known, would prove injurious to the lady concerned. It is somewhat urgent.’ He had not moved and yet the sheer height and power of his frame dominated the surroundings.

She walked to the door and turned the key within the lock. ‘Then you had better tell me, Captain, with all speed.’ Rustling back across the room, she faced him and waited composedly for the story to unfold.

For just a moment, one single moment, Evelina Howard’s usual aplomb deserted her as she stared slack-jawed at the boy. The serene grey eyes flicked back to Captain Hawke questioningly.

‘Miss Raithwaite is both a lady and my betrothed,’ he said firmly, irrefutably.

Mrs Howard smoothed her hands over her skirts. ‘Of course.’ And, when she looked up, there was nothing upon her countenance to betray the shock. ‘Then you had best be about your business, sir, and leave the lady to me.’ She did not miss the fleeting touch of his hand to the boy’s, or the concerned reassurance he muttered in his ear before he departed.

‘So, Miss Raithwaite, I think we had better begin with a bath.’

‘But that’s not—’

The older woman’s voice interrupted. ‘You smell of ships and the sea. Perhaps not the most desirable of fragrances for a young lady. Blunt words, but pray do not take them unkindly. We’ve much to do if we’re to fulfil Captain Hawke’s requirements.’

And so the day progressed and did not end until Georgiana had been scrubbed, rinsed, perfumed, poked and pinned into
an endless variety of costumes. The transformation had now entered its final stages.

‘It would be indelicate of me to enquire as to how you came to be in your present circumstance, miss, and therefore I won’t. But I couldn’t live comfortably with my conscience if I didn’t offer you my help to escape a situation that may not be of your making.’ The capable fingers coaxed ebony curls to frame Georgiana’s face.

Georgiana looked up into the kind eyes that held hers in the mirror. ‘Thank you, ma’am, for your concern. I fear that my appearance had misled you, for my fate is entirely of my own making.’ She looked away, blinking, unable to say what would follow next.
As, I’m most ashamed to admit, is Captain Hawke’s.

‘Entirely
of your own making?’ queried Evelina. ‘In my experience, no lady’s fate ever is. Women have so little say in the shaping of their lives, bound as they are by the constraints of their fathers and husbands.’ When the girl did not reply, the modiste continued, ‘When is the wedding?’

A blush spread across Georgiana’s complexion. ‘I’m not sure of the precise date.’

Mrs Howard regarded her with a knowing look, but said nothing.

‘It’s not what you think,’ she protested. ‘Captain Hawke has not ruined me!’

The pale eyebrows raised a notch and lowered demurely. ‘Then it’s a love match?’

‘Yes…no…I cannot…’

‘Do you love him?’ Evelina asked quietly.

Georgiana’s head drooped. ‘Yes.’

‘But you fear he doesn’t love you?’

The ebony curls shook beneath her fingers. ‘No. I know he doesn’t.’

Mrs Howard moved round to take the girl’s hands. ‘From what I’ve seen, Miss Raithwaite, I believe you’re very much mistaken. Captain Hawke most definitely had the look of a man in love.’

Georgiana sighed. ‘Dear Mrs Howard, I know you’re trying to help me, but you wouldn’t if you knew what I’d done.’

The matronly lady patted the small hands within hers. ‘Surely it cannot be so very bad?’

‘Oh, but, ma’am, I very much fear that it is.’ Georgiana said solemnly.

‘Do you wish to tell me about it?’