Regency Debutantes: The Captain's Lady / Mistaken Mistress

‘Of course, sir!’ Lieutenant Anderson had drawn himself up to his full height and was regarding his captain with more than a little curiosity. He sipped at the brandy.

‘The boy, Robertson, is not who he seems.’

Anderson’s eyes were positively agog. ‘No?’

‘No.’ Nathaniel’s tone was conspiratorial. ‘Indeed, Robertson is a pseudonym he’s used to his own ends.’

John Anderson nodded triumphantly. ‘I knew that all wasn’t as it appeared, sir.’

‘Master Robertson—we’ll continue to call him that for reasons that will soon become apparent—should not be aboard the Pallas or any ship. Mr Anderson, the boy is my nephew.’ He paused for effect. ‘My brother, Viscount Farleigh, has strictly forbidden George a career at sea. The boy, naturally, wants nothing else. He has therefore run away from home to pursue his dream. He didn’t, of course, anticipate a brush with Captain Bodmin’s men. I don’t need to impress on you, Mr Anderson, exactly what my brother’s response would be should any harm come to George while he’s in my care. It’s bad enough that I failed to recognise the wretched boy beneath his disguise of filth and rags and halfwit trickery.’ Nathaniel sighed and took a gulp of brandy. ‘I suppose Henry’s overprotectiveness is understandable, given that George is his oldest son and therefore ultimately heir to the earldom of Porchester.’

‘Dear Lord!’ Mr Anderson exclaimed with feeling.

‘Puts me in a bit of a quandary and no mistake. Until I can deliver the boy back to my brother, I’ll have to keep a very close eye on him. If Henry knew that his son had been sleeping in a hammock squashed amongst those of the midshipmen, he’d have a fit!’

The lieutenant saw an opportunity to solve the captain’s problem. ‘The boy may share my cabin, sir, and I’ll see to it that he’s kept safe.’

The thought of Miss Raithwaite sharing a cabin with the most personable First Lieutenant Anderson brought an uncommonly disgruntled feeling to Nathaniel Hawke. If he had not known better, he would have thought it reminiscent of jealousy. ‘An admirable offer, Lieutenant, but quite unnecessary. I mean to have the boy as my personal servant. He shall sleep within my own cabin.’

Georgiana, whose ear was pressed firmly to the wooden connecting door, almost fell against the supporting structure at Captain Hawke’s words. She had to admit that the story Nathaniel had concocted at such short notice was reasonably believable; in fact, she’d been admiring the gentleman’s quick wits and imagination—up until his last utterance.

Nathaniel continued, blissfully unaware of Georgiana’s rising indignation at the other side of the door. ‘This apparent favouritism is bound to lead to supposition by the men. And it will be all the worse if the true nature of our relationship is not known.’

Mr Anderson’s sharp intake of air at Captain Hawke’s remark led to an inhalation of brandy and a subsequent plethora of coughing and spluttering. ‘Quite so, sir.’

‘Perhaps I could rely on you to see that the men are informed, by covert means, of course. A chance remark in Mr Pensenby’s ear should suffice.’

The first lieutenant smiled. ‘I’ll see to it right away, sir.’ He finished the brandy without coughing. ‘It’ll be all round the ship by lunchtime tomorrow.’

Captain Hawke raised his glass in salute. ‘That will do nicely, Mr Anderson, very nicely indeed.’

By the time First Lieutenant Anderson exited Captain Hawke’s day cabin, Georgiana was adamant that there was no way on earth that she would share a cabin with Nathaniel Hawke. She had even rehearsed a polite refusal of his offer, for undoubtedly he thought it the gentlemanly thing to do. Thank you, Captain Hawke. You are most kind in your offer, but I cannot comply. It would be quite unseemly behaviour for a lady. But then, Georgiana reflected, hadn’t the vast majority of her behaviour of late come under that description? She sat down on the bed, touched her left hand to the lobe of her ear and worried at it as she set about thinking what her best course of action should be. In truth, there were not a great many options available. She was still mulling over various scenarios when Captain Hawke entered. Georgiana jumped up from the bed.

‘You didn’t knock,’ she said, and her voice sounded breathless within the small confines of the cabin.

Nathaniel’s eyebrow lifted and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Raithwaite—or should I say George? Now that I’ve revealed to Mr Anderson that you are in truth my nephew, Lord George Hawke, it’s advisable that we stay in our respective roles at all times. Just think what he would say if I mistakenly referred to Miss Raithwaite!’ Nathaniel pulled such a comical expression that the ponderous burden of anxiety eased itself from Georgiana’s shoulders and she laughed.

‘Should I then call you Uncle Nathaniel?’ A mischievous light shone in her eyes.

Nathaniel grinned provocatively, as he stepped forward. ‘Only when we’re alone.’

She was so close that he could smell the clean soapy aroma arising from her jagged riot of ebony locks. She was still laughing as she turned her face up to his. Long sooty lashes swept up to reveal those magnificent eyes. Quite suddenly the laughter had gone and an arc of tension leapt between them. Georgiana was not a small woman, but the top of her head only met with Nathaniel’s shoulder. He experienced an urge to pull her into his arms. It was absurd and completely unreasonable. And no matter his father’s thoughts to the contrary, Captain Hawke was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a lady in any situation. Calmly, deliberately, he moved back and looked away, pretending to examine the books lying open upon his table. ‘But as you are pretending to be my nephew, and my nephew is pretending not to be my nephew …’ he twitched his brow comically ‘…then it should suffice to call me Captain Hawke.’

A flicker of excitement exploded in Georgiana’s belly the minute she looked into those dark smouldering eyes. Eyes that seemed to enchant her will, so that she could not remain unaffected whatever her resolve. No. Sharing a cabin with this man would be positively dangerous. And as the night was drawing in they had best resolve the issue here and now. She moved the chair to the far end of the tiny cabin and sat herself down on it in a ladylike fashion.

Nathaniel tried not to notice her legs that looked to be long and shapely within the culottes.

She pressed her hands demurely together and began. ‘Captain Hawke, I couldn’t help but overhear your words to First Lieutenant Anderson.’

‘You were eavesdropping?’ He looked up with surprise.

Georgiana had the grace to blush. ‘It couldn’t be helped, sir. The wall is so very thin.’

Nathaniel raised a cynical brow in her direction.

‘It’s very clever of you to play a double bluff so that the crew think they have discovered that I’m your nephew.’

The deep dark eyes regarded her, but he did not reply.

‘I’d like to thank you for helping me. I’m aware of the difficulty my presence must present to you.’

He sincerely doubted whether Miss Raithwaite fully understood the precise nature of the difficulties that she presented, and he was not about to enlighten her. ‘It’s nothing that cannot be surmounted.’

‘Nevertheless, would it not be more sensible for me to continue as before? It would certainly be less problematic to you, and is the option that is least likely to attract attention.’

‘You’ve underestimated Mr Pensenby’s preoccupation with naval regulations. You’ve slighted him before the crew. Direct disobedience with no punishment. And all seemingly because you’re my nephew. The matter won’t sit well with my second lieutenant. Indeed, he’s probably worrying himself into a frenzy over the blatant breach in protocol. The man has a nose for subterfuge. Can sniff it out at twenty paces. Why do you think I want you under my command? Reverting to your previous role would be too risky, and I cannot allow it.’

She tossed her head in exasperation, even though she knew that he spoke the truth. Pensenby had the tenacity of an elephant, he would never forget and his curiosity had been roused. The prospect of such a man discovering her real secret was too dangerous, for who knew what Pensenby would do with the knowledge, being such a stickler for conformity and, according to Nathaniel, the nephew of Rear Admiral Stanley. ‘Yes. I believe you’re a good judge of character.’ She looked at Nathaniel shrewdly. ‘Then I’m to act as your servant?’

Nathaniel gave a brief nod of the head. ‘It’s the best I can think of to protect you,’ he said simply. ‘It will keep you close to me.’

A faint blush stole over Georgiana’s cheeks at his words. She cleared her throat and attempted to look nonchalant while not meeting his eye. ‘What of the sleeping arrangements? I know that you don’t wish me to continue in my place down in the midshipmen’s berth, but…’

‘Surely you must have heard my comment to Mr Anderson? You heard everything else.’ His eyes held a twinkle and his lips the glimmer of a wicked smile. ‘You will sleep here, Miss Raithwaite.’ He gestured towards the cot taking up most of the small cabin space.

It seemed that her heart lurched to a halt within her chest before setting off again at full tilt. She stared at him, shocked, horrified at the words he had just spoken, but beneath it all crept a tiny sliver of desire. And it was this that caused Georgiana to exclaim in a tone so frosty that it could have frozen the Thames, ‘I beg your pardon, Captain Hawke. I believe I must have misheard you.’ All thoughts of the polite refusal she had rehearsed were forgotten.

Nathaniel’s eyes glowed even more wickedly. ‘Your hearing cannot be faulted, nephew George. You will sleep in my bed.’ He tried hard not to laugh at the expression of fury that was forming upon Miss Raithwaite’s normally sweet face.

‘Captain Hawke—’ she stood up quite suddenly ‘—no gentleman would suggest such a scandalous arrangement. You cannot honestly expect me to. I assure you that it’s quite out of the question. What kind of woman do you take me for?’ Miss Raithwaite’s eyes flashed with the violence of the stormiest sea. With her head held high and her hands planted firmly on her hips, she presented an admirable sight.

Nathaniel’s fingers touched to his breast, and he feigned a look of total astonishment, which soon turned to one of most convincing wounded insult. ‘Miss Raithwaite,’ he gasped. ‘You cannot think…? You did not…? Heavens above, dear girl, what kind of man do you take me for?’

The hurricane dropped out of Georgiana’s sails. She looked suddenly very unsure of herself.

‘You will sleep in here, Miss Raithwaite, and I—I will sleep next door.’ Nathaniel was modelling his manner on the pompous Mr Pensenby. ‘Anything else would be most unseemly behaviour for a lady, most unseemly indeed.’

Her skin burned the fiery red of embarrassment. ‘Of course…Please accept my apologies, Captain Hawke, I thought—’

‘I know very well what you thought, Miss Raithwaite,’ replied Nathaniel with a grin. Something of Georgiana’s excruciating discomfort showed in her face and it tugged at Nathaniel’s heart. A pang of guilt smote him. ‘I have a confession to make.’

Georgiana’s heart trembled a little. He was in earnest. She looked at the captain with escalating suspicion.

Nathaniel’s grin cracked wider. ‘I’m teasing you.’

Her mouth opened wide. ‘Why, you…That was a most un-gentlemanly thing to do!’ She stepped towards him.

‘I couldn’t resist it. You’re so very charming when you’re angry.’ He laughed aloud.

‘You, sir, are a rogue!’ announced Georgiana with force, but her eyes had calmed to a tranquil blue and her mouth turned up at the corners.

It was Nathaniel’s turn to look sheepish. He held out his hands towards her. ‘You’re right. I shouldn’t have tricked you. I do beg your pardon.’

‘I shall have to think about it, Captain Hawke,’ she said in her sweetest voice.

‘I fear the worst, sir, it’s as we thought. The hank of hair beneath her bed, the kitchen scissors within her bedroom, and the missing clothes belonging to Francis—all evidence points in one direction only. The wretched girl has brought disgrace on us all.’ Edward Raithwaite pinched the skin between his eyes and crumpled back in his chair.

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.’

Chapter Five

Captain 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.