Regency Debutantes: The Captain's Lady / Mistaken Mistress

‘Yes.’ The single word slipped softly into the silence of the cabin.

Nathaniel experienced a reflexive tensing of his muscles and an overwhelming intuitive certainty that the next words to be uttered by the ragamuffin boy standing so quietly before him would change his life for ever.

The boy’s chin forced up high. The grey-blue eyes met his without flinching. The narrow chest expanded with a deep breath. ‘I am Miss Georgiana Raithwaite, recently of your acquaintance at Farleigh Hall.’ Still the breath held, tightly squeezed within her lungs. She waited. Waited. And never once did her gaze wander from those dark eyes that were staring back at her with an undisguised disbelief.

Silence.

The blood ran cold in Nathaniel’s veins and a shiver flitted down his spine. It was not possible. The ragged boy, Miss Raithwaite. ‘You cannot be Miss Raithwaite. You’re a…’

Georgiana endured the roving scrutiny of his eyes without moving. ‘Now you understand why I couldn’t comply with Lieutenant Pensenby’s command.’ She raised her eyebrows wryly and bit her bottom lip.

‘Hell’s teeth!’ Nathaniel cursed and stood upright. A horrible sinking sensation was starting within his stomach, for beneath the grubby urchin face he could see what had previously eluded him—the fine features of the young woman he had pulled from the River Borne. ‘Your hair…Have you—?’

‘Naturally,’ replied Georgiana. ‘It wouldn’t have been much of a disguise otherwise.’ She whipped the cap from her head to reveal her sheared and matted locks.

‘Dear God!’ Nathaniel could not suppress the exclamation.

‘Yes, quite. It’s in a horrible filthy state, as is the rest of me. How ironic that my present trouble has arisen from my refusal to bathe when that is one of the things I’ve longed so ardently to do these two weeks past.’ She smiled then, a smile that lit up her face.

Nathaniel stared, and stared some more. Inadvertently his eyes dropped lower, as if he would see what lay beneath the torn blue jacket. ‘You show no external signs of…of, um…’

‘Bindings. Terribly uncomfortable things to wear, if you must know,’ she said stoutly.

Captain Hawke’s swarthy complexion flushed. ‘Yes, quite.’

‘But it wouldn’t have done at all for Burly Jack or the others to have discovered otherwise.’

‘Burly Jack?’ Nathaniel’s brows knitted.

‘Able Seamen Grimly, sir.’ She sighed. ‘He’s been looking out for me, you see, since we became acquainted on the mailcoach to Fareham.’

There was a definite pain starting behind his eyes. The tanned fingers rubbed at his forehead. ‘No, Miss Raithwaite, I don’t see at all. I think you had better explain all that has happened since I saw you last.’ He gestured towards a wooden chair and said politely, as if they were both in the drawing room of Farleigh Hall, ‘Please be seated.’ He then lowered himself into the red leather captain’s chair and prepared to listen.

Georgiana started to talk and, with only the occasional interruption from the captain, continued to do so for some considerable length of time.

‘So let me check that I have understood you correctly, Miss Raithwaite.’ He watched her with a quizzical expression. ‘Following a disagreement with your father, you ran away from home, by mail, to seek refuge with a friend who lives near Portsmouth, and were mistakenly taken by the Press Gang?’

‘Yes.’ She folded her hands before her and tried to look composed.

He wasn’t fooled for an instant. Nathaniel Hawke knew guilt when he saw it. ‘And may I enquire as to the nature of your disagreement?’

Her fingers pressed to each other. ‘I cannot reveal that, my lord. It regards a personal issue.’

‘Such as your betrothal to Mr Praxton?’ he asked softly.

Her eyes met his, then dropped to scan the mahogany surface of his desk as colour flooded her cheeks.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

A small silence elapsed.

‘Then I’ll write to your father and at least let him know that you’re safe.’

‘No!’ Georgiana was out of her seat and facing him with a look of pure horror. ‘No, I beg of you,’ she pleaded. ‘If you have the smallest consideration for me at all, my lord, please do no such thing.’

He felt her distress as keenly as if it were his own. ‘Very well, but if I’m to help you I must ask that you tell me the truth, all of it.’

The moment had come. She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. The truth, whatever it was, had affected her dearly. He watched her gather her courage, watched her sweet lips open in preparation. ‘When I said that my father approved of my betrothal to Mr Praxton, I was not telling you the whole story. He…he and Mr Praxton …’ It seemed that she could not find the words. ‘After what happened in Hurstborne Park with Mr Praxton’s…plan, Papa was so angry with me, and I with him. I just couldn’t believe what he meant to do. Papa knew how I felt and still he didn’t care. He was determined to have his own way, wouldn’t even listen to me. In my heart I knew that I couldn’t do as he bade, so…so I decided to run away.’

A horrible sensation was settling on Captain Hawke. He thought he could see exactly where Miss Raithwaite’s tale was leading. And that somewhere was in the direction of a disapproving father and an elopement. There would be no friend near Portsmouth, of that he was sure, only Walter Praxton waiting at their chosen place of assignation. Damn the scoundrel! He schooled the emotion from his voice. ‘Your father’s response to Mr Praxton’s actions in the park is understandable. No man would condone such treatment of his daughter. It’s hardly surprising that he won’t have you wed Praxton. The man is a knave.’

‘No, you misunderstand. Mr Praxton—’

‘Is no gentleman to behave as he did. I cannot think you would believe anything other. Think, Miss Raithwaite, what kind of gentleman would have encouraged you to such actions? Deserting your family, dressing as a boy, travelling across country alone, and on the mail of all things. Why, anything could have happened to you!’ He raked his fingers through his hair with mounting exasperation. Hell, but did the girl have no inkling as to what sort of man Praxton was? Little idiot! The thought of Miss Raithwaite allowing Praxton liberties made his blood boil.

‘Captain Hawke, you’re mistaken in what you think. Mr Praxton is indeed a—’

Nathaniel knew exactly what Praxton was. He didn’t want to hear the woman before him plead the wretch’s case. ‘I suppose you mean to tell me next that you love him and that is excuse enough.’ It was a brutal statement, brutal and angry and disappointed.

Her mouth gaped open and beneath the dirt he could have sworn that her skin had drained of any last vestige of colour. She gripped the edge of his desk, leaned forward towards him and said in her most indignant voice, ‘I beg your pardon, sir!’

‘If you speak a trifle louder, Miss Raithwaite, you need adopt your guise no longer, for every man on the ship will have heard a woman’s voice from within my cabin.’

The grey-blue eyes closed momentarily before fluttering back open. ‘I’m sorry, Captain Hawke. I’m trying to tell you that your beliefs concerning Mr Praxton are quite wrong. The incident in the park was not how—’

But Nathaniel had no intention of listening to Miss Raithwaite defend the scoundrel. It was hard enough knowing that she had feelings for him. ‘I do not wish to hear your thoughts on Mr Praxton. Whatever your plans were, they can be no more. We must concentrate on the situation we now find ourselves in.’

Those clear fine eyes stared at him with such wounded disbelief as to render him the cruellest tyrant on earth.

‘It seems that you have made up your mind on the matter and nothing I can say will change it.’

There was a melancholy in her voice that he had not heard before. Why did he have the sudden sensation that he had just made the worst blunder of his life? Damnation, the truth was harsh, but it was kinder than letting her believe Praxton’s lies. And she was right, nothing would make him warm to the rogue. ‘The Atlantic Ocean lies between you and Mr Praxton now. You had best forget him, Miss Raithwaite. He cannot reach you here.’

When she bowed her head and did not answer, he knew that nothing he could say would affect the girl’s affection for the villain. He battened down his own feelings and moved to deal with the practicalities of disguising a lady’s presence on board his ship, all the while oblivious to the relief that his last comment had wrought in Miss Raithwaite.

Quite why Nathaniel was so adverse to hearing the truth about Walter Praxton escaped her. If only he had let her explain. But perhaps it was better this way, for heaven only knew what a man like Nathaniel Hawke would do if he understood exactly what Mr Praxton and her papa had been about. And that was sure only to make matters worse, for them all. Let him think the worst if it would prevent him becoming embroiled with Mr Praxton. Besides, he was right. That she had set out to seek Mirabelle’s advice no longer mattered, for she was far beyond any help that lady could now offer. On a social standing, even Mr Praxton’s loathsome attentions paled in contrast to the circumstance into which she had now stumbled…well, thrown herself. She was under no illusion as to exactly what she had done to her reputation just by running away. And then there was the small matter of being pressed aboard a naval frigate…as a boy.

At least her papa’s evil plan had been foiled. No man, not even Mr Praxton, would wish to wed her now. Even so, she could not help but be glad at Nathaniel’s words: the Atlantic Ocean lies between you and Mr Praxton…He cannot reach you here. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Somehow, she doubted that she had heard the last of Walter Praxton.

The door opened to reveal Captain Hawke’s head. ‘Morris, organise that a large tub of warmed sea water be brought to my night cabin. And also a jug of warmed fresh water.’

‘Aye, Captain.’ As the captain’s head disappeared once more the young marine sent a look of bewilderment to his opposite sentry, shrugged his shoulders and scurried off to do as he was bid.

Neither did the captain’s steward or his valet blink an eyelid when he requested fresh bedding and clean clothes of a size to fit Master Robinson. But it did not take long for the news to spread far and wide aboard the Pallas. Indeed, in a matter of hours, both Lieutenants Anderson and Pensenby had heard the rumours.

‘I cannot credit that he’s treating the boy in such a way.’ The tip of Mr Pensenby’s long nose trembled at the very thought. ‘There is no doubt some unsavoury motive at play. Robertson openly flouted my command and what does he receive in return? A flogging? Reduced rations? Crow’s nest watch? Oh, no. Master Robertson is treated to a private warmed bath within the captain’s own cabin. There’s something very much amiss.’

John Anderson’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sure that there must be some perfectly reasonable explanation for what has happened. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. No doubt the captain will inform us of anything that we should know.’