Georgana's Secret

by Arlem Hawks

  “How long have you known?” She brushed at her tears.

  He pulled her hand in and laid it over his heart. His chest lifted in a regular cadence beneath her palm. Only a blanket separated their touch. She gulped in the lime-scented air.

  “Since the mail ship arrived in Antigua. My mother included your name in her letter, and . . .” He coughed against the roughness of his throat.

  Georgana grabbed a tin of grog and helped raise his head to drink. “Rest. We can talk when you’ve regained strength.” She nearly placed a kiss on his brow as he drank, but she held it back. Already she had displayed her affection in no uncertain terms. She glanced toward the wardroom. It remained empty.

  Dominic sank back. Stubble dotted his face. His eyelids began to droop.

  Uncertain if he’d fallen back asleep, Georgana kept her voice low. “I’m going to fetch Étienne.”

  His eyes flickered open, and he reached for her fingers. “No. Stay. Please.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “He wanted to know the moment you woke. And I need to see to my father. I will return as soon as I can.”

  But he didn’t let go. His eyes begged her to stay. She’d never seen him this pleading, this vulnerable.

  She brushed her lips across the tips of his fingers, then lowered his hand back to the cot. “Rest.” After one last look, smiling at his attempts to keep his eyes open, she sped from the cabin. Could the sailors she passed see the glow she held in? Surely it shone clear as day from her face.

  Georgana hurtled down the ladder to the orlop deck to retrieve the surgeon.

  Peyton was back. Peyton was alive. And Peyton wanted her.

  Dominic lay still at the sound of footsteps at the door. They sounded too heavy to be Georgana’s. Pretending to sleep wasn’t difficult. He could hardly move his limbs. Just grabbing for her hand had taken all his energy. And his left side throbbed, though the pain wasn’t as crushing as it had been on deck.

  The battle. His brain muddled through the hazy memories. They’d won, but at what cost?

  “I would suggest that you not concentrate so hard at this moment, Lieutenant.” The gravelly French accent gave away his visitor. “Your duty is to rest.”

  Dominic cracked one eye open. The surgeon wore a tired smile. He checked Dominic’s pulse, then pulled aside the bandage wrapped around his torso. Dominic winced at his inspection. Though careful and brief, the movement sent stabs of pain shooting between his ribs.

  “You, my friend, are a fortunate man.” Étienne resettled the bandage.

  Dominic’s brow rose, but he didn’t waste breath on asking what the Frenchman meant.

  “Your friend Mr. Taylor.” Étienne’s eyes flicked to his. “We had all but given you up for dead, but his pleas to help you brought to mind a solution I had heard of but never practiced.”

  Georgana. He hadn’t been able to see much of her face in the darkness when she awoke, but the elation in her quavering voice had been enough to thrill his heart.

  “That boy has been at your side any moment he can. What­ever you did to inspire his loyalty, it saved your life.”

  Was it only loyalty? The stroke of her lips on his wrist suggested otherwise. Darling Georgana. How he wanted her back at his side.

  “How is the captain?” he whispered, closing his eyes again.

  “As well as can be expected. Men mourn the loss of their independence with wounds such as his. It can take much time to accustom oneself to such a change.” Étienne cleared his throat. “You, sir, will stay in bed until I deem you well. This wound is significant, and I still fear for your health. You are not one to sit quietly, but perhaps I can enlist the aid of your little friend, Mr. Taylor, to help convince you.”

  Yes, Dominic was ready to do anything Georgana asked of him just now. He didn’t hear the remainder of the surgeon’s instructions as he drifted into unconsciousness with her sea-green eyes running through his foggy mind.

  Georgana burst into the captain’s cabin, nearly upsetting the breakfast tray. Pale light came through the window. Her father was already sitting up in his cot, curtains pulled back.

  “George, what is it? You looked flushed.” Shadows covered Papa’s face. “Is it Peyton?”

  “He’s awake.” Dishes clanked together as she tried to walk steadily to the table. She set down the food and hurried to help her father from his cot.

  He grunted at her assistance but did not pull away. His shirtsleeve hung limp at his side. Georgana retrieved his banyan and draped it around his shoulders. She ushered him to the table.

  “How do you feel this morning?” she asked.

  His head hung as he picked at the food on the tray. She didn’t see the captain who’d commanded from the quarterdeck these last three years. She couldn’t even see the tortured man who’d stolen his daughter away to hide her from her grandmother’s cruelty.

  She set her hand on his. “We will survive this,” she whispered. “Together.”

  “Together?” He whisked his hand away to reach for his tea.

  Georgana took a step back. What did he mean by the growl in his voice? He sounded like Jarvis. “Is something the matter, sir?”

  “No. Go tend to your lieutenant.”

  The words stung. She did want to go down to Dominic. Her heart yearned to sit at his side and watch every relaxed breath that filled his lungs. But didn’t Papa need her as well?

  “Do you not need—”

  Her father swore and pounded the table. “I lost my arm, not my head, boy.” Georgana retreated, pulling her coat tightly across herself.

  “Send Jarvis to me before you go down. I need his report.”

  “I can help,” she choked out.

  Papa stood, flinging back his chair. “You are not needed. Why I made the mistake of bringing you here, I shall never know.”

  Grandmother’s slaps had never penetrated so deep. Mistake. That word again. Hot tears gathered across the surface of her eyes, blurring her vision. “I-I’m sorry, sir.”

  She scurried to her sea chest and pulled out her sewing kit as well as her sketchbook and pencils. He had never shouted at her before. Not out of anger. She shut the lid of her chest and squeezed her eyes closed, pushing the tears past her eyelashes and down her cheeks. Her head ached from all the crying she’d done in the last twenty-four hours.

  Papa righted his chair and sat, dropping his head to his hand. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him. But how? He didn’t want her here.

  Georgana tiptoed through the door and closed it behind her. She kept her eyes on the floor as she made her way to the hatch. She had neglected her father, hadn’t she? In his hour of need, she’d been at the bedside of another. She had traded Papa for Dominic.

  “Something wrong, Taylor?”

  Georgana pulled her eyes from the floor. Fitz had just come up the ladder. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. “It’s the captain. He needs help, but he doesn’t want it from me.”

  “Shall I check on him for you?” Fitz asked. “I finish watch in an hour.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Now I best get this to Lieutenant Jarvis.” He lifted a sextant box.

  “Will you tell him the captain wishes to see him immediately?” Georgana was glad to miss that meeting.

  Fitz’s nose wrinkled. “I still can’t figure why Moyle was sent off.”

  She shrugged. If Papa continued to push her away, she might never know. The thought sunk her spirits so low that even the promise of seeing Dominic could not raise them.

  Short, dark hair peeked over the side of Dominic’s cot when he awoke. It brought a smile to his lips. Georgana sat just out of his reach, head bowed.

  “Good morning,” he mumbled.

  “Afternoon, rather.” She got to her knees beside his cot, setting her drawing book on the deck. “How do you
feel?” Her haunted eyes sent a jolt of fear through him.

  “Georgana, what is it?”

  She shook her head, eyes closed. “It is nothing.”

  “That is what you have told me before, even when it was something.” He tried to catch her hand, but he moved with an aggravating slowness. She slipped away before he could raise his sore arm.

  “It is time you ate. The loblolly brought in some broth.” Georgana slid an arm behind his shoulders, her cool fingers sending shivers across his skin. She tucked a folded blanket behind him and eased him back onto it. “There.”

  Steam rose from the tin mug she retrieved. She dipped in a spoon and blew gently. Little ripples fanned out across the broth. She touched the broth to her lip to test the heat, then held the spoon out to him. Her lips pressed together as she licked away the drops left behind. To kiss those lips . . .

  “Broth again,” he said, unable to look away. Surely it was only the effects of his wound that left him feeling this weak.

  “Yes, broth. Hush.” She held the spoon to his mouth, and he obediently drank.

  He chuckled uneasily. “I feel like a child.”

  “Don’t.” No humor traced her features. She offered him another sip. “You should feel cared for.”

  Dominic sucked in a deep breath at her words, then flinched at the flash of pain in his left side.

  “Be careful,” Georgana said. “It will take time to heal. You cannot move about as usual.”

  He couldn’t even take a breath to still his thundering heart. He had suspected she cared for him, but hearing the words filled him with a brilliance that pushed some of the clouds from his mind. “How is your father?”

  Her gaze dropped to the cot. “He doesn’t want me in his cabin. He told me it was a mistake to bring me on board.” She faltered on the word mistake.

  Dominic bristled at the captain’s words. He touched her arm, stopping her from dipping the spoon in again. “He is wounded and not in his right mind.” He kept his voice soft. Captain Woodall should know his daughter well enough to realize such a comment would pierce her to the core.

  “I know.” The quiver in her voice tugged at his heart.

  “I do not think it was a mistake you came here.” He knew what he wanted to say, but the sorrow on her face scrambled the words in his head. “I am very grateful you came.” Some of the tension around her eyes faded. “Don’t let his despair wear on you, Georgana.”

  Her lips pressed together. “You mustn’t call me that. Someone will hear.”

  “You prefer George?”

  She stirred the broth in the cup. “I do not prefer it, but if I am to keep any semblance of a reputation after this journey, I must keep my identity a secret.”

  He nodded. Bother reputations. He liked to say her name.

  She resumed feeding him, slowly and deliberately. When he’d finished, a glimmer of a smile stole across her face.

  “What?” Dominic asked. “Are you to tell me I’ve been a good boy for finishing my soup?”

  Georgana shook her head, unaffected by his teasing. “This time yesterday, I couldn’t imagine sitting beside you and conversing like this. You seemed too far gone.”

  He wove his fingers through hers, ignoring the ache in his wounded arm. “Were there many casualties?” He hated to ask, hated to wash the smile from her eyes. But he was first lieutenant. It was his duty to know.

  “Fifteen, as of this morning,” she said, looking away. He had almost joined them. “Étienne thinks the rest should survive, barring infection. And two more have passed from the fever.”

  “Were any of the dead officers?”

  “Lieutenant Tytherton and Mr. Byam.”

  Dominic sighed. He’d forgotten Byam had been aloft when the mast fell. Poor man. And his poor wife, who lost both son and husband on this voyage. He would seek her out when they landed in Portsmouth.

  “They were both good men,” he said, a lump forming in his throat.

  “Yes, they were.” She rubbed the side of his hand with her thumb. “Moyle took command of the Intelligence.”

  It should have been Dominic’s command, had the shards of mast not hit him. But he found himself grateful to not have the position. It would have separated him from Georgana, and he never would have been able to convince the captain to let her accompany him.

  That put Jarvis in control on the Deborah. Dominic sat up. The flesh around his ribs screamed at the idiocy of his action. Georgana cried out.

  “What are you doing?” She threw her arms around him to steady him.

  “Jarvis can’t take charge,” he wheezed.

  She huffed. “It cannot be helped now. You are certainly in no state to command the ship.”

  Blast his wound. He had no trouble picturing Jarvis’s smug face as he paced the quarterdeck alone.

  “While you are up, we might as well replace the bandage,” Georgana grumbled. Her fingers untied the knot on the side opposite his wound, then worked their way around his ribs to remove the cloth. To have her so near, practically embracing him as she stretched the new bandage around his back, threw his mind into the dizzying mists once again. Her short breaths tickled his shoulder, sending prickles across his skin.

  “Are you cold?” she asked, the corners of her mouth pulling down. “Would you like a shirt?”

  Dominic reddened. He didn’t know why. She’d seen him without a shirt before, and it had discomforted her. He’d thought the situation humorous when he learned who she was. Now she was the one who didn’t mind, and he blushed.

  “Yes, thank you.” His stomach turned, and his hands shook at the effort to keep himself upright.

  She returned quickly and slipped his shirt over his head. He felt helpless. She threaded his arms through the sleeves. He couldn’t even lie down without her support.

  Georgana didn’t immediately remove her arm from beneath his neck after settling him back onto the cot. Her bright eyes searched his face. “You’ll listen to Étienne, won’t you?”

  His own eyes felt heavy. “Yes, of course.” He wouldn’t mind falling asleep in her arms.

  What was he thinking? He couldn’t fall asleep in her arms unless a very serious promise were made. Could he make such a commitment to another woman when he could hardly give the first what she needed? His earlier doubts poked their way into his head.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. The words weren’t accusatory, just a statement of fact. His lips curled.

  “You might have to remind me.” He didn’t feel her slide her hand away, nor did he hear her walk out of the cabin, but the next time he woke the light was gone, and he hadn’t the power to raise himself to find it.

  Jarvis met Georgana at the entrance to the wardroom, arms folded. “Your services are no longer needed here. Do your duty to the captain. The surgeon will tend to Lieutenant Peyton.”

  She clutched the bloodied clothes and bandages, which she’d wrapped in one of the blankets. “Lieutenant Peyton wishes me to help him, and the captain does not object.” The captain didn’t even want her in his quarters.

  Jarvis took a step toward her and pulled himself up to his full height. Georgana huddled back.

  “Lieutenant Peyton is not in command of this ship.”

  And Jarvis thought he was? She knew she shouldn’t say it, but the simmering in her stomach flung out the words. “My understanding is that neither of you commands this ship.”

  Then she ran. Jarvis cursed at her but didn’t follow. She stopped at the bottom of the ladder, her whole body going cold. Dominic was alone, asleep, unprotected in his cabin. Jarvis could take advantage of such a situation.

  “Mr. Taylor, are you well?”

  Georgana jumped at the French surgeon’s greeting. “I . . . Yes, I . . .”

  “What bothers you?” Étienne grasped her shoulder, concern in his eyes.
<
br />   “Dom—Peyton. Lieutenant Peyton. Jarvis is . . .”

  The surgeon glanced at the wardroom and nodded. “I will send William to sit with him. Will that help?”

  She nodded. The loblolly boy couldn’t do anything if Jarvis had a mind to make trouble, but she prayed the lieutenant wouldn’t try anything with others present.

  “You are going to the captain?” Étienne asked.

  She nodded. For all the good it would do. She had never seen such anger on Papa’s face directed at her. She’d seen him angry at her grandmother, at the crew members, and even at God for taking her mother. But never at her.

  “That is good. I worry for him. He needs the help of his friends, and of his family.”

  Georgana peered at him, but the Frenchman gave no hint of the meaning behind his words. His family? Of course, they had said George Taylor was a distant relation. Surely the surgeon referred to that.

  “Take care of yourself, Mr. Taylor, not just the captain and the lieutenant.” He must think she was getting sick. A midshipman had taken ill with fever despite nearly a week with no new cases. The surgeon suggested this case might have been caused by infection from a nasty rat bite.

  Étienne strode away, and Georgana watched until he entered the wardroom. She climbed the ladder, steeling herself for what she would find above.

  Chapter 32

  Georgana absently dipped her brush into the bucket. Water dribbled across the black and white tiles as she lifted the brush out. The floors weren’t usually cleaned on Wednesdays, but slow repairs after last week’s battle had interrupted the regular schedule.

  So had the deaths. She pulled her brush along the tiles, wishing it could erase the memories of standing on the upper deck waiting to say goodbye. They should be grateful, all things considered. The fever had claimed only a few lives, and many men had recovered enough to resume work. But two crew members had passed since the battle, and the captain had not attended the ceremonies.

  She glanced to her father, who sat at his desk on the opposite side of the cabin. He stared into an open book in front of him, but she knew he wasn’t reading. He hadn’t turned a page since she came in with the bucket to clean. Most cleaning days they took down the cabin’s barriers and furniture, but given the captain’s condition, the surgeon urged them to leave him undisturbed.