Regency Debutantes

by Margaret McPhee

  ‘Then you thought wrong.’

  The grey-blue gaze shuttered and she bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop the tremor.

  ‘Why have you told me this?’

  She blinked in confusion. ‘So that Nathaniel won’t lose his family.’

  ‘And for that you are prepared to give him up yourself?’

  The question hung in the air between them.

  ‘Yes.’ The blood drained from her face. She knew what he was asking, what she’d known he would demand even before she’d told her story.

  He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I love him,’ she whispered.

  ‘Thank you, Georgiana,’ was all he said as he released her to go. But the earl did not move from the chair in which she left him, and his thoughts lingered still on the man who had married to save a woman from utter ruin.

  Walter Praxton blew misty winter breath upon his chilled fingers in an attempt to warm them. He did not dare to light a fire within the small woodsman’s hut he had stumbled upon for fear that his presence would be noticed. Each night was spent comfortably ensconced in the snug warmth of the Fox and Hounds Inn within the village of Collingborne, each day in the tireless surveillance of the woman who haunted him incessantly. Whether in waking or sleeping he could think of little else, watching her as he did, hour by hour, with the aid of his spyglass.

  The fact that Captain Hawke did not appear to spend any time in Georgiana’s company heartened him. Obviously he had married her from some misplaced sense of honour. Walter did not allow his mind to wander to those activities that occurred during the long dark evenings when he was safely stowed within the inn. Those thoughts were liable to induce in him a fury that surpassed any he had previously known. Besides, he had already laid his plan, and tomorrow would see the start of it.

  He knew the route across the fields and woodland that Captain Hawke had taken these past four mornings. The sight of the man upon the grey gelding instilled in him nothing but a jealous loathing. That he could call himself Georgiana’s husband, that he was the one who had no doubt had full possession of her body. There was really nothing else that Walter could do, or so he had told himself just half an hour earlier as he tied the thin rope across the path. His selection of location was superb, the rope being positioned just after a sharp bend in the woodland track. The trap would not be seen until it was too late. Walter’s pale eyes glittered at the very thought, before raising the spyglass once more to resume his vigil. The sight that met his eye brought a sneer to his face and set him off at a gallop down the hill towards Collingborne House.

  The winter sun had sunk low in a pink-kissed sky but still sheathed the garden in its dazzling beauty. Frost-stiffened grass crunched beneath Georgiana’s feet as she made her way down to the holly bushes, and her breath clouded as smoke in the crisp cold air. Following her discourse with the earl that morning, she worried precisely as to when she should leave and what Nathaniel would have to say when he realised just what she had done. Unable to reveal her fears to either Mrs Howard or Lady Farleigh, Georgiana had left the two ladies contentedly playing cards within the stuffy heat of the blue drawing room. She revelled in the sharp nip in the air, felt it clear her head a little. A short walk in the gardens to gather her senses together was all that was required. She had already packed the few items of her wardrobe. Before her she heard the startled warning call of a blackbird, then saw its small dark shape flutter up inside a large and seemingly dense holly bush. She rubbed her fingers to the dark spiky gloss of its leaves. Such a fountain of colour amidst the drab bare browns of Yuletide. A soft tread on grass, warm breath against the back of her neck, and a presence so close as to all but touch her.

  ‘Georgiana.’ The whisper sounded at her ear, so unmistakable that it caused a cold prickle across her skin and sent a shiver down her spine.

  She spun round and looked up into the cruel handsome face she had never thought to see again. ‘Mr Praxton!’ she gasped, feeling a horrible tightening sensation within her chest. Her fingers crushed the enclosed holly leaf, puncturing her skin so that it bled, but she was aware of nothing save the pale blue eyes trained on hers.

  ‘Did you think that I had abandoned you, my sweet?’

  Spiny leaves needled her back as she tried to increase the distance between them.

  ‘Never think that I would not fulfil my duty to my betrothed.’ He stepped closer so that their bodies were touching.

  Georgiana felt the stirring of panic in her breast. ‘Sir, my circumstances have since changed. I’m now another man’s wife. Please leave before my husband arrives.’ She struggled to step aside.

  Walter Praxton’s hands grabbed her upper arms in a vicelike grip. ‘Your precious husband is drinking himself into a stupor in the library and doubtless plans to stay there for the remainder of the day. No, Georgiana—’ and his voice was cold and hard ‘—Captain Hawke is merely a temporary aberration in your life. You had no right to wed him when you belong to me, even if you were a ship’s boy on the Pallas.’

  ‘Dear God, no,’ she cried, feeling her legs tremble beneath her.

  He smiled down at her, and in it she saw the measure of his madness. ‘There is nothing I don’t know, my dear, but through it all I’ll still have you.’

  Her mouth opened to scream, but met with a sharp blow from Walter’s fist. Then there was nothing but a gathering nausea and a rolling darkness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nathaniel watched as the yellow flames engulfed the log, sending small sparks and spits cascading over the hearth. The room was pleasantly warm and the brandy had numbed the raw edge of his emotions. But still he could not make sense of the riot of thoughts rampaging through his head. He did not want to hurt Henry, never would have imagined himself doing so, not in a thousand years. There was a part of him that looked clearly at the mayhem unfolding and told himself not to behave in such a ridiculous fashion. It was the part of himself to whom he had always listened, refusing to allow his feelings affect his judgements or decisions. For once he had turned a deaf ear to its advice. Unaccountable it may be, unfathomable even, but he knew that he would never let anyone, no matter who they might be, hurt Georgiana. He did not understand the depth of his feelings, just knew that he needed her and would never let her go.

  Since her admission the other night he had deliberately avoided her, for her pleas could stir his heart like no other, and he was adamant that he would not let Henry off so lightly. Georgiana deserved comfort, understanding and respect for all that she had suffered, not condemnation. And Nathaniel meant to see that she would be treated with all three. His family could take umbrage with him, not his wife. Her words replayed in his mind, ‘…the husband that I love', and he smiled. Damnation, how he missed her. What must she be thinking of his neglect? That he did not care for her? Never that. The thought of her suffering stirred pain in his heart. He set the brandy glass down carefully upon the table. He would go to her, explain all, beg her forgiveness. It was with a renewed vigour in his step that Nathaniel ascended the sweeping staircase.

  The first things that he saw were her bags packed neatly in a small pile beside the door. His heart lurched cold as he drew his own conclusions. Within fifteen minutes he had ascertained that she was not present within the entirety of the house and was treading back up the stairs when he heard the study door open and his father’s voice.

  ‘Nathaniel.’

  He paused mid-flight and turned to face the earl. ‘Sir, I don’t doubt that which you wish to discuss, but I’ve more pressing matters on my mind at this minute.’ He made to turn away but was prevented doing so by the command in the tone.

  ‘Nathaniel!’

  He could not ignore it. His head nodded once and he followed the old man into the study.

  ‘Drink?’ his father asked, lifting the brandy decanter from a small round table placed close to the wall.

  ‘No, thank you, sir, I have imbibed too much this day as it is.’


  They stood facing one another, tense, waiting, and from each face the same eyes looked out.

  At last Nathaniel spoke. ‘I know you’ve called me here over my quarrel with Henry, but I cannot…will not, allow him to cast aspersions on Georgiana’s character. Contrary to his opinion, and no doubt yours, she did not seek to trap me into marriage, and neither is she some kind of trollop. She’s my wife and I—’

  Lord Porchester interrupted. ‘Save your breath. I know full well what Georgiana is.’

  The gasp of incredulity that escaped Nathaniel echoed round the room. ‘You go too far, sir.’ He stepped forward, the closing distance between them much more of a threat than his words could ever be. ‘I can bear your censure, even your contempt, but I won’t let you say one word against Georgiana.’

  Father looked at son. Son looked at father. Tension quivered tight and dangerous.

  And then one corner of the earl’s mouth raised to form a sarcastic smile. A dark brow lifted mockingly. ‘You love her?’

  No reply save the flare of Nathaniel’s nostrils.

  The earl barked a hollow laugh before the slight grimace of pain flickered across the elderly features and then was gone, masked once more behind the imperial stare. ‘Sit down, for God’s sake.’ The utterance was little more than a tired sigh.

  Nathaniel’s gaze flitted once to the door before he moved to the chair.

  The curve of a balloon glass was pressed into his hand, and his father sat down in the twin chair at the opposite side of the fireplace.

  ‘This nonsense with Henry—I want it stopped—now.’ Lord Porchester took a swig of brandy.

  ‘Do you even know what the argument is over?’

  Another sip of the amber liquid. ‘It isn’t worth losing a brother over a woman, Nathaniel.’

  ‘But a son is a different matter entirely.’

  They both knew to what he was referring.

  ‘You judge me harshly, son.’

  ‘As you judge me, sir.’

  The flames crackled in the fireplace. The curtains rippled in the draft.

  ‘You’ll have your apology, I’ll see to it. And that will be an end to the matter for both you and Henry.’

  Nathaniel leaned forward. ‘Why do you care? I’d have thought the fact that Henry and I are at each other’s throats to have suited you.’

  A soft snort of disgust issued from the chair opposite. Nothing else.

  Nathaniel rose to his feet, placing the untouched brandy on the occasional table. ‘Please excuse me, sir. I must find my wife.’

  Porchester’s eyes stared into the dancing flames, remembering the girl who had ventured here like Daniel into the lion’s den. Remembering her courage and dignity, and that same betraying gesture so like Mary’s across the years. God, it still hurt, hurt like hell…to lose a woman that you loved. A ragged sigh shuddered through his frame.

  ‘Sir?’

  Control resumed, vulnerability fled. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Tell you?’

  ‘About Georgiana, about what happened aboard the Pallas.’

  Nathaniel froze where he stood, his gaze widening momentarily. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ But the words were stiffly formed through rigid lips.

  Lord Porchester looked directly at him. ‘I’m sure that you do. It isn’t every day that you marry your ship’s boy.’

  His son’s lips parted.

  But Porchester was there first. ‘Maybe I have judged you too harshly. The girl was right.’ The brandy glass touched to his mouth. ‘Georgiana …’ He savoured the name.

  ‘How do you—?’

  ‘She came to see me.’

  ‘Georgiana?’

  ‘She might be trade, but you’re right, she doesn’t deserve Henry’s condemnation. As I said, I know exactly what Georgiana is, nothing but courageous.’

  Shock registered on Nathaniel’s face. And then the dark eyes narrowed to a cool calculating focus. ‘The bags…she’s packed her bags. I thought …’ Long tanned fingers raked through the mahogany locks. ‘You told her to leave.’ The accusation was little more than a whisper. His voice raised, ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘I told her nothing,’ came the tart reply.

  ‘You would have me lose the woman that I love. And why? Because she doesn’t meet your standards?’ Nathaniel stared down at the man he called father. ‘Because she isn’t Kitty Wakefield?’

  But the earl heard nothing past those few words, ‘…lose the woman that I love.’ The glass slipped from his limp fingers to smash against the hearth. Blood drained from his cheeks, leaving a pallor that hid nothing of the toll exerted by heartbreak and bitterness. ‘Don’t say that. Never say that,’ and the voice that whispered was that of an old man.

  Nathaniel leaned low and looked into the haunted face. ‘Father?’

  The eyes that raised to his were, for once, neither mocking nor cold. ‘I never realised…I didn’t think.’ The silver grey head shook once as if to clear the weakness of the thoughts. When he spoke again it was with the strength Nathaniel had always known. ‘If her bags are still here, then so is she. It isn’t too late, Nathaniel.’

  The words hung between them. A two-fold meaning. One message. Hope.

  ‘I’ve searched the house, there’s nothing to be found.’

  ‘Then we’ll search again,’ said Porchester and rose to stand by his son.

  ‘Whatever is the matter? You look positively dreadful.’ Mirabelle placed her cards on the table and rushed to Nathaniel’s side. She clung to him and eyed the earl with undisguised ill ease.

  Nathaniel’s face was unusually pale, exaggerating the dark glitter of his eyes and the stark mahogany hairline. He took her hands in his, speaking with an urgency that Mirabelle had not heard him use before. ‘Have you seen Georgiana?’

  As Mirabelle’s curls shook in denial, Mrs Howard stepped forward. ‘She left our company some half an hour since. I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed a little preoccupied with her thoughts, as if she had much to think about.’

  ‘She’s not in her room or visiting the children in the nursery. Indeed, I’ve searched the whole house and she’s nowhere to be found.’ Nathaniel could not hide his escalating concern. He did not mention the pile of baggage arranged so neatly upstairs, or what had passed between her and his father.

  Mrs Howard’s expression softened. Nathaniel Hawke’s feelings concerning the girl could not have been clearer had he proclaimed them from the steeple tops. And whatever his reasons for avoiding Georgiana’s company these past days, it was not a cooling of his ardour. Not much escaped the vigilant attention of Evelina Howard. Her gaze moved to the earl and rested a moment before gliding back to his son. ‘Perhaps Georgiana has decided to walk in the gardens. On a pleasant afternoon like this it would be the perfect setting in which to order her thoughts.’

  She had scarcely completed her words when Nathaniel had gone, whirling through the door as a large dark blur.

  The earl cleared his throat. ‘Pray forgive my son, ma’am, he is anxious to locate Georgiana’s whereabouts.’ He watched the serene silver-eyed woman before him incline her head in mute agreement. ‘Indeed, I must also ask your forgiveness for the tardiness of my introduction. You must be Mrs Howard.’

  Mirabelle watched the discourse between Evelina Howard and the Earl of Porchester with surprise. Lord Porchester was being positively polite—and did her eyes deceive her, or was that the subtle hint of a blush creeping upon Mrs Howard’s cheeks? Well, well, well, who would have thought such a thing? Mirabelle was just warming to her train of thought when the door burst open to reveal Nathaniel, with Frederick by his side.

  ‘She’s not in the gardens nor any place that I can think.’ His voice was grim. ‘We must find her before darkness falls.’ Not one person within the room could fail to see the harsh control with which Nathaniel Hawke reined in his emotions. He turned to address his father. ‘Sir, if you would be so good as to undertake a second search of the gardens and stables
, Freddie and I will ride to the village in case she’s walked out that way.’ As Porchester gave a brief nod, a strong voice sounded from the doorway.

  ‘No. I’ll go with Freddie. You stay here.’ Henry walked into the room. ‘Father has spoken to me and it seems that I owe Georgiana an apology. Evidently I’ve been mistaken in my opinions, and I mean to tell her so.’ The pain in his brother’s eyes betrayed that he loved the girl, and, if what his father had said was true, Henry knew that he had been unfair in his treatment of Georgiana.

  Brother stared at brother, and the silence ticked by before Nathaniel firmly clasped Henry’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ was all he said, before the men of the Hawke family moved rapidly to action.

  Georgiana came round to find herself lying on her side upon a narrow bed. Memories of Walter Praxton’s leering face lurched her with a shudder back to the present. She did not move or even attempt to open her eyes, just tried to gauge her state and if the vision of her nightmare was still present. A coarse rope secured her arms behind her back and her ankles together. Although her bindings were not unreasonably tight, her limbs had grown stiff and uncomfortable from their restrictions. She was aware of a painful tenderness around her jaw and the left-hand side of her lower lip felt stung and swollen. Despite the grey blanket draped over her body the air was chilled, seeping a dampness through to her bones. All around the woody smell of decaying forestry filled her nose. Within the stillness of her surroundings she heard the cawing of crows, and the squeak and scrabbling of something else she preferred not to think of. She suppressed a shiver and slowly opened her eyes.

  The hut was small and wooden, obviously the temporary abode of some shepherd or woodsman. Apart from the small truckle bed, the only other furniture comprised a stool and a wooden crate upturned to form a table. Strips of wood and sacking had been nailed securely over the single tiny window, possibly to keep out the worst of the cold or to hide the flickering illumination of the candle lantern placed on the table. On the bare wooden floor sat a saddlebag, a tankard and a bottle of wine. Clearly Mr Praxton had made liberal use of the hut, but how long had he been here, watching her? She dared not guess, only gave thanks that he was not present at this minute. Her gratitude was to be short-lived, for just as she struggled to a sitting position and strained against her bindings the gentleman reappeared.