Regency Debutantes: The Captain's Lady / Mistaken Mistress

‘Miss Raithwaite, I’m glad to see that you’re somewhat recovered from your ordeal.’ He held her gaze, and smiled.

Georgiana’s mouth suddenly felt dry, and the room hot. Indeed, her cheeks burned uncommonly warm. ‘Sir,’ she managed to croak at the man standing before her. She owed him her life, of that she was certain. It was his strong arms that had pulled her from the river, his courage that had saved her from a watery grave. Those same dark eyes that had held such concern on the riverbank were now regarding her with amusement. The hair that had hung in sodden strands now sprang in mahogany-coloured curls around his rugged face. She should have proclaimed her gratitude from the very rooftops. But Miss Raithwaite, who had been raised to behave with the utmost decorum, suddenly found that it had deserted her, along with every other rational thought. For Lord Nathaniel Hawke was having a most peculiar effect upon her sensibilities. And she was certain that she did not care at all for such a situation.

The wicked smile crooked upon his face deepened as if he sensed the riot of emotion that roared within her. Dear Lord, surely he could do no such thing? The mere thought heightened the intensity of the two rosy patches glowing upon her otherwise pale cheeks. She cleared her raw throat and struggled to regain some measure of composure. ‘I’m very grateful to you.’ She glanced towards Lord Frederick standing further back. ‘I wouldn’t be here if it were not for you.’

Freddie smiled and stepped closer. ‘It was Nathaniel who went into the water to save you. My part was relatively minor in the whole affair.’ He looked towards his brother.

‘And where would both Miss Raithwaite and I be without your presence on the bridge?’ Nathaniel demanded. ‘I won’t take the credit for your part in the rescue.’ Turning once more to the girl, he offered an explanation. ‘Freddie pulled us from the water. Indeed, we both owe him our lives.’

Freddie’s face coloured in pleasure and he mumbled, ‘Nonsense.’

It seemed that Nathaniel was determined to share the glory.

‘Thank you both.’ Miss Raithwaite smiled shyly.

Freddie’s cheeks grew redder.

So his brother had noticed Miss Raithwaite’s attributes. The girl was undeniably fetching, but as the daughter of the owner of several coaching inns, she was strictly off limits to both of them. Neither marriageable material nor otherwise. He had best have a word with Freddie.

‘Miss Raithwaite,’ he continued, ‘before leaving Hurstborne Park I had the good fortune to meet your father and his companions. Naturally they were concerned about you, and I reassured them of your safety. Your family know that you’re here and will call as soon as possible.’

‘Oh,’ Georgiana Raithwaite said in a small voice. The memory of Mr Praxton’s outrageous actions appeared with clarity. Having survived the river, she now felt that her biggest ordeal was yet to come. Just for a moment a look of horror and desperation flitted across her face before she masked it once more with polite indifference. ‘Thank you, my lord, you’re most kind.’ She settled her wounded hands together in a demure gesture. Only Nathaniel noticed just how white her knuckles shone.

Nathaniel Hawke swirled the brandy around the finely engraved balloon glass. ‘Our Miss Raithwaite didn’t seem to regard being reunited with her family as entirely favourable. Did you see the expression upon her face when I mentioned her father?’

‘Mmm.’ Freddie regarded him quizzically as he lounged back in the winged chair. ‘You think there’s more to the matter than meets the eye?’

‘Perhaps. We shall discover soon enough.’

Gravel crunched from the drive and a carriage emptying its passengers sounded through the library window.

‘Mr Raithwaite,’ Freddie said distractedly. ‘Georgiana’s a fine-looking girl, don’t you think?’

Nathaniel’s face became somewhat grim. ‘Don’t get drawn down that line, little brother. There’s no dalliance to be had there. Miss Raithwaite is a coaching-inn owner’s daughter, albeit a wealthy one. Our father would most heartily disapprove, and you don’t want to risk becoming as black a sheep as me.’ He twitched an eyebrow, and offered an imitation of the Earl of Porchester’s voice, ‘Think of the scandal, dear boy, the scandal.’

Laughing, the brothers departed the library and went to meet Mr Edward Raithwaite.

Georgiana’s back scarcely felt the soft plumpness of the pillows supporting it. Nor did she notice the cosy warmth of the finely-stitched quilt covering the length of her body. Mirabelle had lent her a dressing gown and sent her own maid to dress her hair so that she might feel more comfortable with receiving visitors. But none of the small woman’s kindness could obliterate the uneasy feeling in the pit of Georgiana’s stomach. She stretched a smile upon her mouth and turned to face her stepfather.

‘Georgiana, thank goodness you’re safe and well. Your poor mother is distraught with worry. She’s taken the headache and been forced to bed,’ Mr Raithwaite chided his stepdaughter, but his relief was plain for all to see.

‘Poor Mama, I didn’t mean to worry her.’

‘Quite so, quite so.’ He nodded. ‘I dread to think what would have happened without the quick actions of the two gentlemen. We would have lost you for sure.’

‘I’m sorry to have caused such distress, Papa, but—’

‘And how did you come to fall into the river? Do you know no better than a child?’

Georgiana lowered her eyes. ‘I …’ She paused. ‘There…’

Mr Praxton stepped forward, looking immaculate in his green coat. ‘I’m sure Georgiana has had ample time to consider her folly in strolling so close to the river’s edge. She’s given herself a nasty fright as well as the rest of us, and is not likely to repeat the same mistake again.’ He touched a hand to Edward Raithwaite’s sleeve. ‘Mr Raithwaite, I beg of you, don’t be too hard on the girl.’

‘You’re too damned soft with her, Praxton,’ the old man growled, then spoke to his daughter once more. ‘Do you hear how Mr Praxton pleads your excuses? And what have you to say in your defence?’

Walter Praxton threw a long-suffering smile at Lady Farleigh. The indulgent suitor to perfection.

It did not escape Georgiana’s notice. Neither did Lady Farleigh’s subtle knowing nod.

Her body tensed in anger. Walter Praxton was a conniving knave. And it seemed he had hoodwinked them all. Well, if he thought her fool enough to stay silent over the precise cause of her winter plunge, he had another think coming. ‘Papa, I have no excuses, only reasons. As they are of a delicate nature, I would prefer to discuss them with you in private.’

Mr Raithwaite looked at her knowingly. ‘Mr Praxton has already spoken to me of the matter, and, much as I cannot pretend that I’m happy with your behaviour—’ he stroked his chin ‘—I understand that young women are somewhat excitable in response to such declarations.’

‘Exactly what has Mr Praxton revealed?’ Georgiana’s grey-blue eyes glittered dangerously, her temper soaring by the minute.

‘Georgiana!’ He glanced apologetically at Lady Farleigh. ‘Have a care with your manners. Now is clearly not the time to discuss the matter.’ His countenance was turning ruddier by the minute.

‘Oh, please do excuse me, Mr Raithwaite, Mr Praxton, Georgiana,’ Lady Farleigh said. ‘I’ve just recalled a pressing matter downstairs.’ Mirabelle fluttered out of the bedroom and straight to the library to apprise her relatives of the news that the delectable Miss Raithwaite had indulged in scandalous behaviour with Mr Praxton. And who could blame her with such a thoroughly handsome beau?

Georgiana looked from her father to Mr Praxton and back again. ‘Lady Farleigh has left us. Surely we can speak of the matter now.’ Her teeth gripped firmly together.

‘You’re trying my patience, girl. When will you learn to leave things be? Is it not enough that you’ve…that you behaved in such a way? Your mother would be shocked to hear of it. Mr Praxton and I have decided that Mrs Raithwaite should not learn of your actions prior to this afternoon’s incident. We informed her only of the betrothal.’ Mr Raithwaite nodded sagely.

She could feel the steady pulse beating at her neck, pumping the anger throughout her body. ‘I don’t know what untruths Mr Praxton has told you but be assured, Papa, that I’ve done nothing dishonourable. I’m neither compromised nor ruined, and marriage to Mr Praxton is not necessary. You may tell the truth to Mama.’

‘Enough!’ Mr Raithwaite said. ‘I’ll hear no more. Mr Praxton has confessed the truth of those stolen kisses. As a gentleman, he felt it his implicit duty to do so.’ His cheeks bulged a puce discoloration. ‘He will make you a good husband, Georgiana.’

Walter Praxton was fairly glowing with angelic piety. ‘I’m afraid Miss Raithwaite has stolen my heart, sir.’ He sighed and glanced down at the rug.

Mr Raithwaite looked at him strangely. ‘Then you had best take more care of her. She is not yet your wife, Mr Praxton.’

Their eyes locked for a few silent moments before the younger man inclined his head in subtle compliance.

The elderly hand moved to stroke the grizzled beard. ‘That said, I believe the wedding should be convened with some haste.’

The blood beat strongly in Georgiana’s ears. How could her stepfather take the word of an acquaintance over hers? Did he truly judge her character so lightly? ‘Papa,’ she tried again.

Edward Raithwaite turned a steely eye upon his stepdaughter. ‘Say no more, Georgiana. It’s clear that your experience this afternoon has adversely affected your mind. I trust that a good night’s rest will return you to your senses. I’ll have the carriage sent round to collect you tomorrow.’

‘Adieu, Miss Raithwaite, until tomorrow.’ Mr Praxton bowed.

Together the two gentlemen turned and left the room.

An irate Georgiana stared at the door that closed so firmly behind them. Her jaw clenched with determination and her fingers stole to worry at the lobe of her ear. If Papa thought the affair settled, he was to be grossly disappointed.

It was some time later that Georgiana heard the discreet knock at the door and found Nathaniel Hawke entering the bedroom for the second time that day. The Italian fell limply from her fingers, pages fanning open to lose the sentence she had been forcing herself to concentrate upon just moments before. She glanced up to find him walking purposefully towards her with a large tray in his hands. The elderly and rather rotund Mrs Tomelty hobbled in his wake. Setting the tray down upon the table positioned beside the bed, he gestured towards the cook. ‘Mrs Tomelty has made you some of her famous broth. If you would care to try a little, I can personally vouch for its healing properties.’

Georgiana’s gaze flicked from the strong tanned fingers that curled around the handles of the tray to the dark warmth of his eyes. Lord Nathaniel had brought her the broth, in person! Unwittingly a crinkle of suspicion crept across the bridge of her nose. She wetted her suddenly dry lips and looked at the cook.