Regency Debutantes (6 page)

Nurse tutted and stepped forward to reclaim her errant charge.

But without a further thought Nathaniel lifted the child against him, unmindful of the buckled shoes scraping against his smart country coat, and the small sticky fingers pressing against his cheeks. ‘Have you missed your uncle Nathaniel?’

The curly head nodded seriously.

‘And have you been a good boy, Charlie?’

Again the head nodded and the arms tightened around his neck, rendering his carefully arranged neckcloth a mass of crushed linen.

‘Then I think we’ll have to play a game of horses.’

A broad grin spread across Charlie’s face and he uttered with reverence, ‘Horses, yes, play horses.’

To which Nathaniel set the boy upon the ground, turned around and crouched down as low as he could. Charlie clambered upon Nathaniel’s back, gaining a firm hold around his uncle’s neck. He was secured in place by Nathaniel’s arms and then the pair were off and running, galloping up the broad stone stairs in front of Collingborne House, accompanied by Mirabelle’s laughter and Nurse’s snorts of disapproval.

Charlie’s giggles reverberated around the ornate hallway, up the splendid sweep of the staircase and along the full length of the picture gallery, through the green drawing room and back down the servants’ stairwell. The boy squealed with delight as his uncle attempted some neighing noises and stamped his boots against the marble floor to simulate the clatter of hooves. Just as they rounded the corner to head back to the blue drawing room and Mirabelle, Nathaniel stopped dead in his tracks. For there, not two feet in front of them, in imminent danger of being mown down by Nathaniel and his small passenger, stood the Earl of Porchester and Viscount Farleigh. Both heads swivelled round to view the intruders, the old man’s face haughty with censure, the younger’s gaping with shock.

‘Charles?’ Henry managed to utter, as he regained a grip on himself. His countenance resumed its normal staid facade and he raised his eyebrows in enquiry to his brother.

The earl said nothing, only looked briefly at Nathaniel with sharp brown eyes. His cool, unwelcoming expression altered
as his gaze shifted to his grandson, and although it could hardly be described as a smile, there was a definite thawing in its glacial manner.

‘Papa!’ Charlie’s sticky hands reached out towards his father.

Nathaniel shifted the child round and handed the small squat body to his brother. ‘Mirabelle and the children have just arrived. She wanted it to be something of a surprise for you. I left her in the blue drawing room.’

‘Quite.’ There was no disputing the disapproving tone in the earl’s voice. He did not look at Nathaniel.

‘We had better take you to find your mother, young man.’ Henry tried unsuccessfully to disengage his son’s arms from around his neck. ‘Be careful of Papa’s neckcloth, Charles.’

Charlie completely ignored the caution and pressed a slobbery kiss to his father’s cheek.

Henry sighed, but Nathaniel could see the pride and affection in his brother’s eyes as he turned and headed off to meet his wife.

The two men stood facing one another, an uneasy silence between them. Up until this point they had managed to avoid any close meeting.

‘You’ll be leaving tomorrow?’ the earl said sourly.

Nathaniel inclined his head. ‘Yes, sir. My ship sails in one week and there’s much to be prepared.’ He looked into the old man’s face, so very like his own, knowing as he did before every voyage that this might be the last time he looked upon it. ‘I’d like to speak to you, sir, before I leave Collingborne, if that’s agreeable to you.’

‘Agreeable is hardly a word I’d use to describe how I feel, but—’ he waved his gaunt hand in a nonchalant gesture ‘—I’m prepared to listen. Get on and say what you must, boy.’

‘Perhaps the library would be a more suitable surrounding?’ Nathaniel indicated the door close by.

The earl grunted noncommittally, but walked towards the door anyway.

Once within the library, Porchester lowered himself into one of the large winged chairs and lounged comfortably back. He eyed his son with disdain. ‘Well? What is it that you want to say?’

Nathaniel still stood, not having been invited to sit. He knew his father was cantankerous with him at the best of times. He moved towards the fireplace and eyed the blackened grate before facing his father once more. ‘Will you take a drink?’

The old face broke into a cynical smile. ‘Is what you have to say really that bad?’ When Nathaniel did not reply, he continued, ‘Why not? A port might help make your words a trifle more palatable.’

Nathaniel reached for the decanter, poured two glasses and handed one to his father. ‘Your good health, sir.’ He raised his glass.

The earl pointedly ignored him and proceeded to sip his port.

Despite his father’s blatantly hostile manner, Nathaniel knew he had to try. The ill feeling between them had festered unchecked for too long, and was spilling over to affect the rest of the family. He knew that it had hurt his mother and that was something he bitterly regretted. But with her death it was too late for recriminations on that score. Her going had taken its toll on the earl. Porchester had aged in the last years. For the first time Nathaniel saw in him a frailty, a weak old man where before there was only strength and vitality. And it shocked him. They had always argued, his mother blaming it on the similarity in their temperaments.
Nathaniel thought otherwise. The matter with Kitty Wakefield had only brought things to a head. He could not go away to sea without at least one more attempt at a reconciliation.

‘Is it money you’re after or do you find that you need my influence with the Admiralty after all?’ Porchester’s insult was cutting in the extreme.

The corner of Nathaniel’s mouth twitched and the colour drained from beneath his tanned cheeks. He controlled his response with commendable restraint. ‘Neither. I wish to have an end to this disagreement. The…incident…with Kitty Wakefield happened a long time ago and she’s since married. I’m sorry that it has led us to where we’re at now.’

The earl looked at him, a hard gleam in his eyes. ‘You weren’t sorry then, as I recall, seducing a young innocent girl and then refusing to marry her!’

‘Kitty Wakefield was no innocent, whatever her father led you to believe. She engineered the situation to her own ends, thinking to force a marriage.’

The earl gave a cynical snort and took a large gulp of port. ‘So you claim. Where’s your sense of honour? If you didn’t want to wed the girl, you should have controlled your appetite.’

The glass stem slowly rotated within his fingers and he let out a gentle expulsion of breath. ‘If you won’t forgive me on my own account, won’t you at least agree to some kind of reconciliation for my mother’s sake?’

The Earl of Porchester became suddenly animated. His previously slouched body straightened and he leaned forward in his chair. ‘Don’t dare to utter her name. It was the scandal associated with your debauchery and gambling that drove her to the grave!’ He shouted the words, then collapsed back against the chair. His voice became barely more than a whisper.
‘You broke her heart, lad, and that is something for which I’ll never forgive you.’

The muscle twitched again in Nathaniel’s jaw and his eyes hardened. ‘That’s unworthy of you, sir.’

‘Unworthy!’ the old man roared. He struggled upright, leaning heavily upon the ebony stick beneath his white-knuckled fingers. ‘That’s a word descriptive of yourself, boy! How dare you? Get out and don’t come back here until you’ve changed your ways. You’d do well to take a leaf out of Henry’s book. He’s not out chasing women, drinking and gambling. Thank God that at least one of my sons can face up to responsibility. He knows his duty, has settled down and is filling his nursery. It’s about time you grew up enough to do the same.’

The accusation was unfair. The earl’s estimation of his character was sadly misinformed, but Nathaniel knew that any protestations would fall on deaf ears. The discussion was at an end and he had succeeded only in making the matter worse. He should have let the words go unanswered, but he could not. Such was the hurt that he stuffed it away and hid it beneath a veneer of irony. ‘There’s hardly a proliferation of suitable ladies available to court upon the high seas, and, as that’s where I’ll be spending most of my time, it’s unlikely that I’ll be able to meet with your suggestion. I’m sorry to disappoint you yet again.’

‘It’s nothing other than I’ve come to expect,’ came the reply.

They finished their drinks in silence before Nathaniel took his leave.

G
eorgiana urged the mare to a canter and looked around for her groom. The news that Lady Farleigh had gone to Collingborne and was not due to return for at least two months had come as a severe disappointment. It felt as if yet another door had slammed firmly shut in Georgiana’s face, for if there was anyone who could help her out of her present predicament it was Mirabelle Farleigh.

The interview with her stepfather the previous day had left her shocked and disillusioned. The faint nausea of betrayal lingered with her still. Never could she have entertained the notion that he would have used her so, even if he was labouring under the misapprehension that he was doing what was best. She’d been so sure of his understanding, so confident of his support. All of those beliefs had shattered like the fragile illusions that they were. Her stepfather had clearly misread Walter Praxton’s character to have agreed to such a devious plan. She swallowed down the pain as she recalled his zealous principles in which he had instructed them all. His actions made a mockery of them. She did not doubt for one minute that he would make good on his threat. He had made it clear
what would happen if she made any appeal to Mama. And, if she refused Mr Praxton, her life was effectively over—her papa’s influence would see to that. She would be an example to Prudence so that he would never have to deal with such insurgent behaviour from her little stepsister, or from Francis or Theo for that matter. The dapple-grey mare shied away from the street hawkers’ carts, forcing Georgiana to leave her troubled thoughts and concentrate on Main Street and its normal chaos. It was not long before they reached Tythecock Crescent and home.

Immediately that she entered the house Harry, the youngest footman, directed her to her father’s study.

‘Where have you been?’ Her stepfather was standing by the window and had obviously witnessed her return.

She smoothed the midnight-blue riding habit beneath her fingers and tried to appear calm. ‘I called on Lady Farleigh. She asked if I would visit and I wanted to thank her for her kind hospitality.’ Georgiana was just about to explain that the lady had not been present when Mr Raithwaite interrupted.

‘I hardly think such a trip is in order. If you remember correctly, my dear, you left Lady Farleigh with rather a tawdry view of your reputation and it wouldn’t do to remind her of that until we’ve remedied the affair. Once you’re married then I’ve no objection to your seeing her, and I don’t suppose that Mr Praxton will have either.’ He touched his hands together as if he were about to pray, moving them until the tips of his fingers rested against his grizzled grey beard.

What would he say if he knew the extent of that which she had confided in Mirabelle? Georgiana looked directly at her stepfather, unaware that distaste and pity were displayed so clearly on her face.

Edward Raithwaite saw the emotions and they stirred nothing but contempt and frustration. ‘In fact, it would be better if you remained within this house until the day of the wedding. We don’t want to encourage any idle chatter, now, do we?’

‘I’m to be a prisoner in my own home?’ Georgiana could not prevent the words’ escape.

‘Let’s just say confined for your protection, and in
my
home, Georgiana.’

She glowered at him, but said nothing.

‘The wedding will take place in two weeks’ time at All Hallows Church. Your mother has arranged for a mantua-maker to attend you here tomorrow to prepare your trousseau.’ He looked away and picked distractedly at the nail on his left thumb. ‘That will be all, at present.’

And with that summary dismissal Georgiana made her way to her room.

The moon was high in the night sky and still Georgiana lay rigid upon the bed. Thoughts of her stepfather’s and Walter Praxton’s treachery whirled in her brain, ceaseless in their battery, until her head felt as if it would burst. Such a tirade would not help her situation. She must stop. Think. Not the same angry thoughts of injustice and self-pity, but those of the options that lay before her. What options? Marry Mr Praxton and ally herself with the very devil, or have her sanity questioned and be sent to the Bethlehem Royal Hospital in London? Neither choice was to Georgiana’s liking. She calmed herself and set to more productive thinking. Why had Papa confined her to the house? What was it that he was so afraid of? And quite suddenly she knew the answer to the question—a runaway stepdaughter. With the realisation came the seed of an idea that might just prove her salvation.

Within five minutes she was standing alone inside the laundry room, her bare feet cold against the stone-flagged floor, the candle in her hand sending ghostly shadows to dance upon the whitewashed walls. It did not take long to locate what she was looking for and, stuffing her prize inside the wrapper of her dressing gown, she crept back up to her bedroom. After her booty had been carefully stowed under the bed, she climbed once more beneath the covers, blew out the candle and fell straight to sleep. A smile curved upon her lips and her dreams were filled with her plan to foil Papa’s curfew and his arrangement for marriage.

During the subsequent days, it appeared that Georgiana was content to pass her time in harmless activity, and all within the confines of the house in Tythecock Crescent. She amused her youngest siblings Prudence and Theo and spent some considerable time conversing with her stepbrother Francis who, at fourteen, had been summoned home from school to attend the wedding. Surprisingly Francis’s bored manner, while still managing to insult his sister at any given opportunity, did not seem to annoy Georgiana, who was the very model of a well-bred young lady.