Regency Debutantes

by Margaret McPhee

  ‘Dear Lord, what has he done to you?’ he uttered hoarsely, scanning the darkening bruises on her face and the ripped bodice.

  She smiled then, and it banished the horror from her expression. ‘You came in time,’ was all she said, and a solitary tear trickled down her cheek.

  He clutched her to him as if he would never let her go, touched his lips gently to her cheek, her forehead, her chin. ‘Thank God you’ve taken no more hurts. I’d never have forgiven myself if …’ He could not continue. Clearing his throat, he stood up and, shrugging off his coat, wrapped it around his wife’s trembling body, before freeing her bound hands and feet. ‘You’re safe now and we must get you home.’

  ‘What of him?’ Henry’s toe touched to Praxton’s still-limp body.

  ‘Strap him across his horse. We’ll keep him at Collingborne until the High Constable can be notified.’

  Nathaniel clambered upon his gelding and was in the process of lifting Georgiana up from his father’s arms when it happened. Just as Henry and Freddie were placing Walter Praxton’s body across his own saddle, the wretched man suddenly roused from his feigned faint, delivered Henry a solid kick in the chest, and made off at a furious gallop. Nathaniel’s brothers made to follow.

  ‘No!’ he yelled. ‘Let him go for now.’

  Freddie turned incredulous eyes upon him. ‘You would let that villain escape?’

  ‘It’s dark and freezing. He’ll not get far dressed as he is. We’ll find him a damn sight easier by daylight. And besides, Georgiana has suffered enough this night. We should take her back to Collingborne now.’

  With great reluctance Freddie was forced to concede that his brother was most probably right.

  The next morning Georgiana awoke, snuggled warm beneath the covers of the four-poster bed in the rose room within Collingborne House. Apart from a tenderness around her face and head she had sustained no other hurts from her ordeal with Walter Praxton. The image of Nathaniel bursting through the door to save her from Praxton’s evil intent would stay with her for ever. She knew then that she could never leave him, despite all the trouble she had brought upon him. He would have to cast her out himself if he wanted her to go. And whatever he may have said, or more for that matter left unsaid, she knew from the look upon his face when he’d held her to him within that cold dismal hut that he would never do that. Tenderness, relief, guilt, concern, desire, and something else that she feared to name, lest she be mistaken. The thought brought a smile to her face, nipping at her bruised lip, and she cast a probing hand over the sheet in the direction of where her husband had lain all the night through. It met with the emptiness of cooled sheeting, nothing else. She sat up abruptly, alarmed at the prospect he had gone.

  ‘Georgiana!’ A deep melodic voice sounded from the other side of the room. His tall dark figure turned from the bright white light of the window and moved towards her, but not before she had scrambled from the bed to stand before him, she in her voluminous white nightgown, he fully attired in the smartest of clothes.

  ‘It’s Christmas Eve.’

  He could hear the consternation in her tone. Little wonder following her ordeal at that rogue’s hands. How would she take the news? he wondered. At least she would never have to worry again in the future. ‘Yes,’ he agreed quietly.

  Her hands grasped his arms, and she stretched up on her tiptoes to look into his face. Eyes the colour of a winter Atlantic scanned his, imploringly.

  ‘Georgiana?’

  She felt the muscles contract beneath her fingers, knew the strength contained in those arms.

  ‘What’s wrong? There’s nothing more to fear. Praxton is dead. We found his body this morning out by Parson’s Gully. It seems that he knew I rode out that way each day and had set a trap for me across the path. We found the same rope in one of his saddlebags. No doubt he planned to make it look like an accident and then miraculously be on hand to comfort the grieving widow. In the darkness Praxton couldn’t see and plunged straight into it. His neck was broken in the fall.’ He moved one arm to curl around her waist, while the other hand stroked enticing circles upon her back.

  Her eyes widened momentarily and she shuddered. ‘Killed by his own treachery,’ she said softly.

  ‘Georgiana.’

  She shook her head. ‘It isn’t that.’ She loosed her hand to pull at her ear lobe, her gaze dropping to meet level with the breadth of his chest.

  ‘I’ve written to your father informing him of our marriage and Praxton’s death. I know that he tried to forcibly wed you to that scoundrel and so you need not see him again.’

  ‘You’re very kind to me, Nathaniel Hawke. But I shall not fear to visit my family with my husband by my side.’

  The cloud of worry still lurked in her eyes. ‘What is it, Georgiana?’ He touched a finger gingerly to her cheek to raise her eyes once more to his.

  ‘Henry. I know he was there at the woodsman’s hut. But you and he. Your disagreement…’

  Nathaniel stared at her as if she had run mad, then suddenly smiled. He pressed a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose and laughed. ‘Is resolved, sweetheart. I should have told you last night, but there were other more pressing matters on my mind.’ The twinkle in his eye brought a blush to Georgiana’s cheeks. ‘Henry has apologised unreservedly for his behaviour, and is desperate to beg your forgiveness.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You might say family relations have never been so good.’ Nathaniel traced the delicate outline of her face. Her eyes flicked towards where she had placed her travelling bags, only to find they had disappeared.

  Nathaniel plucked a kiss from one eyebrow, then the other. ‘I took the liberty of instructing the maid to unpack your things.’

  ‘But your father—’

  ‘My father is awaiting your arrival downstairs with great impatience.’

  A little line of worry wrinkled between her eyes.

  Nathaniel’s thumb soon soothed it smooth. ‘He wants you to stay. As I do, minx.’

  Georgiana smiled at that.

  ‘When I realised that Praxton had abducted you, it was the worst moment of my life. Finding you before he could inflict any more harm on you was the best.’

  ‘Nathaniel,’ she whispered, but he stilled her lips with the featherlight touch of a finger.

  ‘No. I want you to know this first. These past days I’ve been a fool, avoiding your company, arguing with Henry, and all because I refused to face what was there before my very eyes. I love you, Georgiana. Always have done and always will. I was just too damned stupid to realise it until it was almost too late. Can you forgive me?’ Deep dark eyes held hers with impassioned plea.

  She reached up her lips so that they hovered just beneath his. ‘What is there to forgive? You’ve saved both my life and reputation three times. I’m yours, Captain Hawke, whether you want me or not.’ Her mouth slid to a wry grin. ‘You’ll have no more chances to rid yourself of me.’

  His hands slid to her buttocks, gripping her to him so that they moulded together. ‘Lady Hawke, you’ll have no more bids to escape me, captain’s orders!’ A dark eyebrow winged high as he nuzzled his mouth to her neck.

  Georgiana claimed his lips with hers, all bruises forgotten in the mounting passion. And when their tongues arced together in tantalising seduction, Nathaniel knew that it would be quite some time before they left the safe haven of their bedroom.

  Henry was becoming positively worried. ‘Perhaps she’s taken a greater hurt than we knew. Look at the time and she still hasn’t woken. Nathaniel’s been up there for at least an hour. Maybe I should go up and investigate the matter.’

  ‘I’m sure that Georgiana will join us as soon as she is able.’ Mirabelle touched but one light hand to the viscount’s sleeve; it was enough to bring him seated back down by her side.

  Freddie smiled knowingly. ‘You mean as soon as Nathaniel lets her out of bed,’ he added with a wicked gleam in his dark eyes.

  ‘Freddie!’ admonished Lord Porchester.
‘There are ladies present!’

  Mirabelle smiled broadly in her husband’s direction.

  Freddie coughed and looked at Mrs Howard.

  Mrs Howard’s expression remained demure as she sipped her madeira and watched the snowflakes drift gently past the drawing room window. ‘To Nathaniel and Georgiana, may their lives be blessed with health and happiness.’

  Voices raised in hearty agreement.

  And the snow conspired to wrap Collingborne House in a thick white blanket of love.

  Mistaken Mistress

  Margaret McPhee

  Chapter One

  May 1815

  ‘Kathryn, my sweet dove, you’re the only woman for me. Say that you’ll be my wife, I beg of you!’ Lord Ravensmede plucked her svelte figure into his arms and placed an ardent kiss of love upon her perfect pouting lips. His glossy dark hair mixed with the rich red-brown ringlets dancing temptingly at the sides of her beautiful face. He moved back to stare into her eyes, eyes that were of a serene silver coloration and not at all a bland grey. ‘I love you, Kathryn Marchant!’ he declared with passion and kissed her again, mindful not to spoil the arrangement of her new and highly fashionable lemon silk dress.

  ‘Kathryn, Kathryn! Stop wool-gathering and attend to me at once! Are you deaf that you cannot hear me calling you?’ Lottie stared at her cousin with narrowed eyes. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she whispered loudly, ‘you’re here to assist me, not gawk around like an imbecile.’ Her voice resumed its normal tone and with one white and perfectly manicured hand she gestured vaguely in the direction of the floor. ‘The hem of my dress has caught on the buckle of Miss Dawson’s slipper. Disengage it before any damage is done.’

  As Kathryn stooped to free the offending article, which proved to be more difficult than anticipated, she listened to Lottie’s conversation. Dear Lord, she thought. The pair of them are as vainly empty-headed as ever! Then had the grace to blush when she remembered the content of her own sweet daydream.

  ‘Jane, I declare they’re both prodigiously handsome. I couldn’t pick which man is the better of the two.’

  ‘Well, they’re rakes, both of them. My mama has warned me to stay clear of their sort.’

  ‘Tush, Jane, you’re such a ninnyhammer at times. They may be rakes, but they’re titled and wealthy to boot…and so devilishly good looking. Would your mama say no to you landing a lord?’

  ‘They’re looking over here, Lottie.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, indeed, it’s true.’

  ‘Look away, quickly! Don’t let them see that we’ve noticed them.’

  Not only did Miss Dawson avert her head but, in a moment of preoccupation, which can only be supposed to have resulted from her excitement over the gentlemen in question, she also stepped back.

  Kathryn gasped as Miss Dawson’s large foot inadvertently trod on her fingers. The good that resulted from this was that Lottie’s dress was freed in an instant. The bad, aside from Kathryn’s bruised digits, was that a small tear appeared in the hem.

  ‘Dear Lord, I don’t believe it! My dress is ruined. This is the first time I’ve worn it and, thanks to Kathryn, it’s ruined. I may as well go home this instant.’ Tears pricked at Lottie’s blue eyes, rendering them brighter and bluer, if that were at all possible. The tiniest flush of pink crept into her cheeks, completing, in Kathryn’s mind at least, the perfection of her beauty.

  ‘No, dear Lottie. It’s scarcely noticeable. A small stitch will soon have that remedied,’ Miss Dawson soothed her friend.

  Lottie’s pale eyebrows arched in irritation as she peered down at Kathryn, who was trying her best to conceal the damage. ‘You did that on purpose, just to ruin my evening!’ Then she turned to Miss Dawson once more. ‘Kathryn’s such a spiteful cat. You’d think she’d be grateful, wouldn’t you? Saved from destitution by the kindness of my family.’

  Miss Dawson’s eyes opened wider. She tried to speak. ‘Lottie—’

  But Lottie was in full rant as she warmed to one of her favourite subjects. ‘And what does she give in return? Humble gratitude? Most certainly not.’

  Miss Dawson tried again. ‘Lott—’

  ‘If you would be so kind as to let me finish, Jane. As I was saying, all she gives is jealousy and stupidity!’

  ‘Indeed, life can be so tedious sometimes, Miss Marchant, don’t you think?’

  The deep masculine drawl caused Lottie to jump. She turned startled eyes in the direction from which it had sounded. Her expression of spiteful fury transformed instantly to one of demure innocence. ‘Lord Ravensmede,’ she uttered faintly. And looking beyond the breadth of his shoulder, ‘Lord Cadmount.’ Belatedly, and with a countenance that had stained ruddy, she made her devoirs.

  Kathryn looked up from her knees and saw Lord Ravensmede so very far above her. Not like this. Please, don’t let him see me like this! She swallowed her embarrassment and rose swiftly to her feet, allowing the two quizzical glances to wash over her. The thumping of her heart was so loud that she feared the whole ballroom would hear it. On either side of her were the taller forms of Miss Dawson and Cousin Lottie in all their finery. And not three feet in front stood the subject of her daydreams—the Viscount of Ravensmede. This time there was no lemon silk dress for Kathryn, no pretty dancing ringlets. The reality of their meeting stood in stark contrast to her dream. Still, she mustered a stiff little smile.

  Ravensmede’s gaze did not linger, returning instead to Lottie, who was frantically fanning herself to remove the scalded heat from her cheeks. She batted her eyelashes, looked coy, and did not offer to introduce her cousin. Neither did his lordship request an introduction. Indeed, he had looked at her, in Kathryn’s own view, as if she were no more than a crumb upon the floor.

  Attraction retreated. Indignation rallied. Anger advanced. Quite clearly Lord Ravensmede’s handsome looks were not matched by a handsome temperament. Why, he was possibly one of the rudest men Kathryn had ever met. And then it dawned on her exactly why Lottie had made no introduction. Lord Ravensmede thought her a servant, and Lottie, dear Cousin Lottie, wanted it to appear so to excuse the chastisement he had interrupted. Two fiery patches erupted on Kathryn’s cheeks. She might be an orphan, and poor. She might live under the name of companion and work as a servant. But through all her shabby misery she still had her good name, and that knowledge lent her courage. Might well they talk of a breach of manners! She set a stubborn tilt to her jaw and in a frosty tone uttered their given names. ‘Lottie, Jane, gentlemen—’ she eyed Lord Ravensmede with special dislike ‘—please do excuse me.’ She saw the arrogant arch of his eyebrow. With a degree of satisfaction and her head held high, she turned on her heel and walked away.

  Ravensmede noticed her then, the small sparrow of a girl with her ancient grey gown and her ruffled dignity. The look that she shot him from those stunning silver eyes was not one the Viscount was used to seeing in women: disapproval, dislike and disappointment all wrapped up into one. A spark of interest ignited. Ravensmede followed the retreat of the girl’s straight back until she disappeared into the crowd. Even then, he continued to trace her steady progress weaving through the crush of guests until he heard Cadmount say with the glimmer of a laugh, ‘One just can’t get the staff these days.’

  He watched while Miss Dawson creased with embarrassment and glanced nervously at Miss Marchant, whose bland prettiness seemed only mildly perturbed. Neither replied. Ravensmede tucked the matter away for later consideration and idled away a little more of his time before announcing, ‘Ladies, please excuse me. I have a rather pressing engagement.’ Then he headed off on the real purpose behind his attendance at so dull an affair as Lady Finlay’s ball.

  Kathryn had almost made it out of the ballroom when she was halted by a woman’s haughty voice.

  ‘Just where do you think you’re going?’ Aunt Anna loomed behind her, reticule in hand, resplendent in a cream-and-rose creation.

  ‘The ladies’ retiring room.’ Kathryn forced a politeness t
o the words that she did not feel. It was the only way of dealing with Aunt Anna. Every other means only worsened the situation. That she was reliant on her aunt and uncle’s charity for the roof over her head and the food in her belly was something that she never forgot. Neither, for that matter, did they.

  ‘You’ve left Lottie alone?’ The question was in her aunt’s usual imperious tone. Kathryn could have sworn that it was edged with accusation.

  ‘No. She’s with Miss Dawson.’ Kathryn looked at her tall well-dressed relative and waited. She omitted to mention the conditions under which she had abandoned the younger women. No doubt Aunt Anna would find out soon enough.

  Mrs Marchant frowned, as was her habit when addressing her niece, and averted her gaze. ‘Then you had best be quick about your business. You’re here as Lottie’s companion, try to remember that. My patience wears thin with reminding you.’

  Still Kathryn stood, betraying nothing, her face a mask of polite indifference.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it.’ Mrs Marchant waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

  Kathryn turned and walked away.

  She sighed and rubbed at her brow to ease the knot of tension. In truth Kathryn had no need to visit the retiring room; it was merely an excuse to avoid the loathsome Lottie. No matter the cost, Kathryn knew that she needed some little time away from the spoiled spite of her cousin and the arrogant disregard of Lord Ravensmede. She’d already done quite enough damage on the Lottie front, the repercussions of which would no doubt be reaped in the very near future. And as for Lord Ravensmede …

  Walking as briskly as she could, she passed unnoticed through the throng of hot, perfumed bodies and escaped into the hall. Quite where she was going she did not know—anywhere would do as long as it gave her the respite she sought. Just five minutes to cool the splurge of temper that had risen too readily. Over the past three years she had learned to school such reactions, to bear all with a stoic countenance. It was better, after all, to show nothing. And now, despite all of that practice, she had almost lost her temper.