Regency Debutantes (27 page)

Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her. ‘You’re cold, let me warm you.’

‘I’ve ruined you after all,’ she whispered so quietly that the words almost missed her husband’s hearing.

‘No, never that. Let’s just wait and see what emerges. Fate has a strange way of contriving the outcome she always intended. Don’t worry, Georgiana. You’re my wife now, and that’s enough to protect you.’ He kissed her forehead, smoothing the worry furrow with the sweep of his thumb.

Her eyes held his, as dark a blue as ever he’d seen them. ‘But what of Captain Hawke?’ she asked. ‘Is marriage enough to protect him?’

‘Of course.’ He swept her up into his arms, and laid her gently in the cot. And throughout the night, long and cold, he held her as if he would never let her go.

If Georgiana had thought the revelation to have earned the crew’s condemnation, she was to be pleasantly surprised. The following day she could sense no discernible difference in the men’s treatment of her but, even so, she was not foolish enough to indulge in the belief that they did not know. There were no whispers following in her wake, no utterances of George Robertson’s name in her hearing, no stares, no cat calls. Even when she braved the elements to appear upon the forecastle in her woefully inadequate plain blue dress and
matching pelisse, the men did not stare, only nodded their usual greeting in her direction. Nathaniel, who had been scanning the horizon with his spyglass, chided her for her presence.

‘Georgiana, you’ll catch your death up here, go below at once. Even Mrs Howard has had the sense to stay within her cabin.’ A frown marred the strong angular face.

The weather was his excuse, of course. She knew that. Knew that he thought her appearance following yesterday’s revelations to be foolish in the extreme. But she had to see for herself the damage she had caused, and for that small task she would have walked quite willingly into the very jaws of hell. He was regarding her with an expression of displeasure, his dark brows brooding and low. A shiver stole through her. It seemed that an icy coldness had beset her since Sam’s unwitting utterance, and she could find no warmth to thaw it. Nathaniel might say that he did not blame her, but he was too honourable a man, too kind a man, to do such a thing. For, despite the words he shaped to comfort her, Georgiana was aware of the change within him. A wariness, a fatigue that had not been there before. The blame lay quite firmly with herself, she needed no other soul to tell her that. Her husband—the very words brought a sear to her heart—was right in his dictate to wait and see. It was quite naturally the sensible course to take. But the lack of action, amid the stretch of time ahead, wound Georgiana’s nerves taut as cheese wires around a block. Waiting was not an activity at which Miss Raithwaite had ever excelled. She was a woman used to striking while the iron was hot. It had always been her way, much to the irritation of her papa.

She did not speak, merely turned and retreated from his domain, walking briskly down towards the hatch that led to the gun deck, a new determination in her step. Georgiana Raithwaite
had not been content to sit back and meekly accept her stepfather’s injustice. And neither would Georgiana Hawke. She loved Nathaniel, of that she was certain, and if she had gone to such ridiculous lengths in an attempt to thwart Walter Praxton, what more would she do to save the man that she loved? No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice, Captain Hawke would not suffer the humiliation of a court martial, nor would he lose the
Pallas,
which he so loved. Georgiana would see to that.

Unaware of the burgeoning resolve within his wife’s breast, Nathaniel was navigating the ship through worsening weather, creeping ever closer to their destination. With two further injuries from accidents in the rigging, the stormy seas, dark skies and pressing time, Nathaniel worked hour after hour, intent on making it home safely in time for Christmas. The torrential rain and lashing winds had delayed their progress, and although they had made up a little time during the subsequent cold snap, he could be nothing less than vigilant to meet his goal. For despite the short duration of their trip his men were tired, wrung out by the ferocity of the weather. The capture of their prizes seemed a long distant thing, and Nathaniel was keen to press the prize agent so that the men received their payments promptly.

They were good men, loyal to the last. Hadn’t the incident with young Sam Wilson proven that? For all his denials to Georgiana, the matter did worry at him. It would be an impossible task to silence a whole crew, and the exact manner of their courtship would make interesting telling throughout the taverns on the cold winter nights ahead. Georgiana was his wife now. The damage had been limited. But that didn’t mean he was about to stand back and allow any aspersions to be cast her way. Come hell or high water, he would do what he could to protect her.

I
t was late in the day when Georgiana finally found an opportunity to converse with Jack Grimly alone. The orlop deck was deserted and in shadowy darkness as she silently dogged his footsteps along to the tools store. The smell of stale dampness hung heavy in the air. Just as his fingers reached towards the storeroom door she spoke. ‘Mr Grimly, I wondered if you might spare me a few minutes of your time.’

His large body started and his head swung round in alacrity. ‘Bloody ‘ell! You nigh on gave me a right turn!’ Then, recovering himself, he added, ‘Beggin’ your pardon,
Lady
‘awke, I’ve no wish to offend your ears with such language.’ Without waiting for a reply he moved to wrench the door open.

‘Mr Grimly.’

Jack’s hugely broad back presented itself. He made no sign as to having heard.

‘Jack!’ The word was like a sigh on Georgiana’s lips. ‘Please. Won’t you even listen to me?’

He turned and faced her then. ‘If the captain’s wife commands my attention, who am I to disobey?’ His gaze was cold and hard, his tone no better.

What right had she to feel aggrieved at the contempt in his eyes? She’d taken what he had offered in good faith and given back nothing but dishonesty. No wonder she now suffered under his condemnation. ‘Jack, I’m sorry that I lied to you. I’m sorry that I pretended to be someone that I wasn’t.’

‘Not ‘alf as sorry as I am.’

She forced herself to look him directly in the eye. ‘You trusted me and I betrayed you. I know that nothing can excuse such behaviour. I deserve your contempt in full, but Captain Hawke does not.’

Jack stood silent, waiting, a shadowed figure behind the flicker of his single lantern.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself to the task. ‘I have no excuses. All that I can offer is my trust in return for the trust that you once had in me.’

She saw the cynicism, heard the utterance, ‘Your
trust?’

Refusing to give up, she stumbled on. ‘When we met on the mail coach, I was fleeing my home. It seemed safer, at the time, to dress myself as a boy. I thought it would attract less attention and let me reach my destination unhindered.’

‘Your destination?’ he mocked. ‘Running off with a lover, most like.’

‘No!’ Georgiana’s denial was swift and determined. ‘There was a lady who offered to help me …’ The sentence trailed off unfinished. ‘It doesn’t matter now. All that I’m trying to say is that I had no notion that I would end up aboard this ship. It was never my intention to involve you, or Captain Hawke, or anyone else for that matter, in my harebrained scheme. But…well…somehow it happened.’

Something of the frostiness thawed from Jack’s manner. ‘Not
somehow.
You ruddy well jumped on that Press Gang Officer’s back and tried to box his ears!’

‘Only because he was punching you while you lay on the ground!’ Her indignation was clear. ‘What did you expect me to do, just let the two of them half-kill you?’

‘Yes!’ he shouted back, then shook his head and gentled his voice. ‘It was bad enough when I thought it was a soft-brained lad who’d come to my rescue, never mind a slip of a
girl!’

‘Well, I don’t see what difference it makes.’

Jack’s eyes rolled firmly up into his skull before reappearing. ‘You bleedin’ well wouldn’t!’

A rat scuttled by Georgiana’s foot, but she resolutely held her ground. ‘Regardless of that, once I found myself to be on the
Pallas
we had sailed and were out at sea. I couldn’t just suddenly say,
“Please can you turn the ship around on account of my mistakenly being on board,”
especially when I saw who was captaining her. There seemed nothing else for it but to keep up the pretence.’

Jack’s brow lowered suspiciously. ‘What do you mean,
especially when you saw the captain?’

Georgiana sighed and looked down into the darkness surrounding Jack’s feet. ‘Captain Hawke was not unknown to me. He’d already saved me when I ju…fell into a river.’

‘God in heaven! What kind of lady are you? Running away from home, attacking officers of the Press Gang, nearly drowning?’

‘I know that it doesn’t sound good, but—’

‘That’s putting it mildly!’

‘Urgent situations call for urgent actions.’

He looked at her soberly. ‘Like the one where you shinned up the mast rather than ‘ave a bath?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply, then added, ‘I must admit that the sight of the cask bath being hauled up from the water was not a pleasant one.’

One bushy brown eyebrow raised. ‘No, ‘appen it wasn’t.’

‘My presence on board places Captain Hawke in a very difficult situation. He’s never acted as anything other than a gentleman. Indeed, he even married me to try and repair the damage I’ve caused.’ Her teeth gritted to prevent the waver in her voice. ‘Hate me if you must, Jack, but please spare Nathaniel. He’s paid enough because of my foolishness. Please don’t push the cost any higher. There’s nothing else that I can—’

One large hand moved to touch her arm. ‘Lady ‘awke—’ he began.

Her eyes glittered brightly in the candlelight. ‘My name is Georgiana, George to my friends.’

The silence stretched between them.

‘You’ve ‘ad a wasted journey.’

She stared disbelievingly into the big man’s face. Not Burly Jack. He had a heart of gold, didn’t he? ‘Jack?’ she queried quietly.

A soft chuckle sounded in the gloom. ‘Why would you think that I’d let anything ‘appen to Captain Hawke…or his wife? He’s a good captain and there ain’t too many of them around. Besides, Pensenby’s already spoken to them that ‘eard what young Sam said.’

Georgiana chewed at her lower lip. ‘Lieutenant Pensenby?’

‘He threatened to have us flogged around the fleet if we so much as made a whisper of it. Thought you’d know’d us better than that, George!’

The blue bonnet dipped low as the tears sprang to Georgiana’s eyes. She tried to speak, but the only words that sounded were, ‘Burly Jack Grimly, you are a very fine man!’ And she hurled herself at the big man to embrace him in a bear hug.

Jack patted her arm affectionately before gently disengaging
himself. ‘Here, you’ll have me in trouble for manhandling the captain’s wife!’

Georgiana ignored his protests and, standing on her tiptoes, pulled his head lower to plant a small kiss on his roughened cheek. ‘Thank you, Jack.’

The big man blushed crimson. ‘Bleedin’ ‘ell, George, it’s the least I can do when I’m the bloody reason you got pressed in the first place!’

Laughter filled the air, before Georgiana hurried up two decks to slip unnoticed back into the captain’s cabin.

Walter Praxton sipped at his ale within the comfort of the inn, not even bothering to keep his eye on the window. Not that such an observation would have proved to be of much assistance in his plan, for the small glass panels were so steamed up that the dim light of day could scarcely penetrate the mist of condensation. Blakely would alert him as to when the
Pallas
came into the dockyard—that was, if he wanted the gold guineas that lay within the finely fashioned pockets of Praxton’s forest-green coat—and Walter knew that the little man would do anything that he asked as long as the price was high enough. As if summoned by the mere act of thinking about him, the weasel-faced Bob Blakely appeared.

‘Mr Praxton, sir, it’s the
Pallas,
she’s arrived. Best come quickly, for I don’t fancy that they’ll hang about for long in this weather.’ Rain battered against the steamy windows just to highlight Blakely’s point.

Shrugging into his many-caped great coat, Mr Praxton accompanied the sodden Blakely through the door. The streets were a muddied mess, puddles pooling to overflow into miniature rivulets. Walter’s expensive leather boots strode through
them all the same, splattering a pattern of mud speckles around the lower periphery of his overcoat. The stench of wet wool and filth drifted from his companion and a look of disdain flitted across his face. It was gone in an instant. Walter Praxton wasn’t fool enough to upset the small smelly man. Blakely, after all, was still of potential use.

By the time they reached the allotted spot, the
Pallas
was neatly and securely anchored. A small group of men huddled as a welcome party, wet and windblown. An orderly rabble of crew started to clamber out of the first boat, a trail of rain-drenched bodies rapidly forming a crowd within the dockyard. The carts and waiting carriers and cabs poised themselves to receive their customers. Officer’s sea chests were large and weighty, something that no man wished to carry far on a day like this. The boys and seamen lugged the wooden chests to the waiting recipients and, with a rapid salute, and a shake of the hand in some cases, were off.

Praxton’s pale blue eyes narrowed as he scanned each figure leaving the ship. He had seen several boys, none of whom could possibly have been Georgiana. Was Blakely’s information flawed? He pondered exactly what he would do if that proved to be the case. The little man’s life wouldn’t be worth living once Walter had finished with him. The thought spread a malicious grin across his handsome face. Never once did the narrow eyes waver from their cause, trained so obsessively on the emerging crew. A tall, well-built man came into view. Dressed smartly in a boat cloak and with his cocked hat catching the worst of the downpour, he held himself with supreme ease and self-confidence. Praxton did not doubt for a minute the man’s identity, for it was abundantly clear from his demeanour that this was none other than Nathaniel Hawke, the captain of the frigate. Walter frowned—where the hell was
Georgiana? If Blakely had played him false…All thought broke off thereafter as Walter Praxton’s jaw gaped, slack and open. He stared as if he could not believe what lay before his very eyes. There could be no mistake. For there, walking behind Captain Hawke, was Georgiana Raithwaite, and not dressed in the guise of some ship’s boy either. From where he stood he could see that she wore a dark green walking dress that matched the colour of his own stylishly tailored coat. Around her shoulders was draped a pale woollen shawl, which seemed to be absorbing the English rain with the voracious capacity of a sponge. From beneath her bonnet peeped damp ebony ringlets that were fast losing the shape of the curl. The captain turned to her, offering his arm. Beside her walked a taller woman, dressed smartly as a lady in a walking dress and cape of dove grey. The rain was gradually darkening her attire to a deep smoky charcoal.