by Lorri Dudley
Water squished in her shoes as Georgia raced through the stone courtyard to the back entrance of the kitchen. The wind fluttered her braids out behind her like raised banners. She skidded to a halt at the servant’s entrance and held up the largemouth bass that dangled from the fishing line clutched in her hand. It had to be a fifteen pounder at least.
She had done it. She’d caught Old Willy, the prize that had eluded her father and her for over two years. Tingles formed in her stomach as she imagined the look on his face when she showed him. A wide smile spread across her lips, and a giggle escaped. She flung open the door, but she only made it three steps.
“Miss Georgia.” Their housekeeper, Nellie, stood at the entrance to the kitchen, plump arms crossed over her chest and a large wooden spoon sticking out from underneath. “Don’t you dare track mud all over this house.” She shook her head. “Look at you, just look at you.”
Georgia glanced down at her muddy knickers and soaked shoes, then wriggled her toes. “He nearly dragged me under, Nellie. He was that strong.” She held up her prized fish. “I caught him, though. He never saw it coming. I sat so still for so long, and dangled my worm right above his head. He took one little nibble, then snap—swallowed the whole hook.”
Nellie squished up her nose. “You smell like a marsh. I thought your mama told you to stop wearing boy clothes. You’re getting too old for gallivanting around so. You better go to your room before Mrs. Lennox sees you. I’ll have Mary draw you a bath.”
Georgia’s head rolled back, and her shoulders drooped. Nellie leaned in for a closer inspection of her catch and whistled. “That is one good looking fish. I may need to change the dinner menu. It appears we’re going to have bass tonight.”
Georgia beamed. “Papa’s going to be so proud of me. I can’t wait to tell him we’re eating Old Willie for dinner. Where is he, Nellie? I’ve got to show him.”
“Mr. Lennox is in his study, but to warn you, your mama is in there with him.”
Georgia dashed down the hall and slid to an abrupt stop when she reached the study. The door was open a crack, and she could discern the rumble of voices inside as those of Mama and Papa. She slipped back behind the door and peeked between the hinges.
Her mother stood facing out the window with her arms wrapped around her midsection. The fabric of her burgundy gown shimmered in the sunlight. Her father’s cravat had come undone and hung loosely around his neck. He propped his hip on the corner of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I can’t put up with this charade, Fredrick. Tongues are wagging. I can hardly hold my head up anymore.”
He slapped his gloves over his knee. “What exactly are people saying?”
“That you and she…” Her voice trailed off.
“There is no she. There is only you.” He pushed off the desk and moved to her side. He placed his hands on her upper arms.
She whirled around and stepped back, knocking his hands away in the process. “Don’t play innocent with me, Fredrick. God knows the truth of it. You were found in…in…a compromising position with that…that light skirt!”
“It’s not what you think. People are making this out to be something it’s not.”
“And what are they supposed to think? What am I supposed to think?”
“I want you to believe me.”
“I believed you the first time.”
He shook his head. “That was a long time ago. I admitted my mistake in being alone with her. Nothing happened.”
“So, I’m to believe nothing happened then and nothing happened now. What kind of a fool do you take me for?”
“Nora.” He reached out to her.
“Don’t touch me. I never want you to touch me again.” She turned her back on him.
He moved toward her. “Tell me what to say. Tell me what to do. I’ll do it.”
“There’s nothing you can do to change things.” She whispered the words, but the jerk of her father’s body showed he had heard it.
“You want to live as strangers.”
“The girls and I can move to the city while you live in the country, and when it’s necessary for you to be in the city, we’ll go to the country.”
“I won’t do it, Nora. I cannot stand by and watch you live a life without me.” His eyes pleaded with her for understanding. “Besides, the girls need their father.”
Her mother emitted a strangled laugh. “You mean Georgia needs her papa. You don’t pay the other girls any attention.”
“I love all my girls. George … Georgia is different. She’s special in her own way.”
“Because she’s willing to behave like a boy doesn’t make her one.”
He ground his teeth. “I know she’s not a boy.”
“Well, she dresses like one to please you, and you encourage it. Is that why you turn to other women? You crave a son so badly you’ll raise someone else’s by-blow so you can fish and play catch with a son? Is that it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She whirled back around. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Georgia will be a laughingstock, her coming out is only a couple of years away. Right now, she doesn’t even know how to wear a dress, because you let her run around in boys’ pantaloons. You’ve ruined her for polite society.”
“She will be fine.”
“She won’t be fine. I won’t be fine.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “None of us will be fine with you around.”
“You truly feel that way? You want me to leave?”
“Yes.” Her voice reverberated with pain.
“No, Nora. Please, don’t do that to us.”
Her face contorted with anger. “You did this to us. Live your life, but leave me be. You asked me what you can do, and I’m telling you. If you have any love left for me, you’ll leave me alone.”
The blood drained from her father’s face. For a long moment, he stood frozen in silence.
Georgia held her breath while her mind screamed, Papa, don’t leave. Don’t leave me.
“Nora, you are my world. I will do anything to right this wrong, but don’t ask me to live like a stranger. My heart won’t be able to withstand having you near but not being able to hold you—to love you.”
Mama closed her eyes as if that could shut out his words.
“Don’t ban me from your life.”
“Fredrick, if you don’t give me space, then I will come to resent you and hate you. Is that what you want?”
His body tensed as if she’d struck a nerve. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
Georgia opened her mouth to call out to him, but no words came. Maybe he’d look her way, maybe if she told him about Old Willy… She felt the cold rush of air as he passed, and grimaced when a flash of daylight blinded her. The front entrance opened and closed behind him. Tears stung the backside of her eyes, and her lower lip quivered.
Crash!
A glass shattered against the far wall. Georgia gasped. Shards of fine crystal littered the plush Axminster carpet, and an amber liquid dripped down the wainscoting. Her mother’s head twisted toward the door.
“Who’s there?”
Georgia stepped back into the shadow and squeezed herself tight against the wall. She searched for a means of escape and considered running, but her mother rounded the corner in seconds.
“Georgia Evelyn.” Mama latched onto her ear and pulled her out of hiding. Georgia winced in pain, her fingers tightening around her fishing pole.
“Were you eavesdropping like a lowly servant?” She let go and put fisted hands on her hips. “Young ladies do not press their ears to the cracks of doors.” Her mother’s nose wrinkled in disgust as her eyes traveled over Georgia’s form. “What are you wearing? And what … My heavens, you smell like a fish market.” She leaned in and pointed her finger at Georgia’s chest. “I’ve had quite enough of this, Georgia. It is time you acted like a lady. You are not a boy. No matter how badly you
r father wants you to be one, you aren’t, and won’t ever be. I want you to get that through your head.” She reared back. “Now go and clean up immediately.”
She stepped aside, allowing room to pass, and Georgia didn’t hesitate. She scurried back down the hall, wanting to get as far away from her parents as possible. Her mother’s voice rang after her. “And make certain you wear a dress. Do you hear me? A dress.”
Georgia ducked around the corner and into the kitchens. Her mother rarely came there. Something ricocheted off her back, and she jumped in surprise. Bile rose up in her throat as the swinging fish, still dangling from her line, bobbed around her. Her eyes followed the string up to the rod and down to her hand. Her fingers still clutched the fishing pole. She let go and jumped away as if it were a poisonous snake. The rod thumped against the stone tiles.
Nellie leaned back and peeked her head around a large steaming pot of water. “Your bath is almost ready…” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter? Your face is whiter than the wash bucket.”
“Take him back for me, Nellie.”
“Take who back?”
“Old Willie. Put him back in the pond. Maybe he’ll come to life. Maybe there’s still a chance. Maybe…” Her throat closed up tight, and her voice became a whisper. “Please Nellie, hurry.”
Present Day
Mr. Wells’ hands caught her waist, and Georgia sucked in a shallow breath. She didn’t realize she’d teetered on the edge of the step until he steadied her. He withdrew his hands, and she continued her slow climb. Her father never sent for her... She turned around and fought to catch her breath, even though it came in rapid gulps. She couldn’t do this. She needed to go back.
“What if he doesn’t want me here? What if he doesn’t approve of me?” Only after her ears heard the words did she realize she’d said them aloud.
A gentle touch lifted her chin, and she blinked twice at the transformation. A pair of tender brown eyes filled her vision. She wanted to melt into the sweetness of their depths. His spicy scent, laced with a hint of coconut, wafted around her, and his broad chest loomed like a protective wall. She resisted the desire to cling to his strength.
“Georgia, believe me. He wants you here. Give him a chance. Open your heart to him. Please. He needs you, and I think you need him too.”
She nodded, liking the way her name sounded on his lips. She wanted with all her heart to believe his words. He wants you… He needs you…
She snapped out of her reverie and stepped out of his reach. What did this man know? If her Papa loved her, he would never have left. If Mr. Wells knew anything, he’d never have wasted his money to bring her here. Foolish, foolish man. Besides, how dare he be so forward to use her given name, without her permission?
She spun on her heel to face the painted blue door in front of her. With a quick pat to make sure her hair was in place, she raised a hand and rapped soundly on the wooden panel. Let’s get this over. She needed to put space between her and Mr. Wells as quickly as possible, even if it meant facing her estranged father. He reached past her, turned the knob, and swung the door wide. She gritted her teeth and braced for an altercation.
The door opened to a microcosm of English society. Georgia didn’t know what she’d expected, but despite a few differences—like the tiled floors, the large circling ceiling fans, and the pops of bright colors—there were all the comforts of home. She stepped into the small foyer with a round baroque table in the center holding a bouquet of exotic flowers. A curved staircase on the right led to the second floor, and beyond that, a wide-open door led to a peach-colored salon. Through an archway to the left was a room with two walls lined floor to ceiling with books. A buxom African woman stepped into the foyer from the salon and stopped mid-way across the floor.
“Why, Mista Wells, I was wonderin’ who was knockin’ on the door.” She spied Georgia. “Child, you must be Mista Fredrick’s daughter. Lovely, absolutely lovely. Come on in.”
Georgia’s kid boots wouldn’t move. As Mr. Wells brushed past her, he caught hold of her elbow and pulled her through the entrance way.
“Let me introduce you to Hattie.” He yanked on her arm, and she bumped into his side. His eyes narrowed on her, and she immediately forced a smile. He shifted to peer behind her. “Lady Pickering, Miss Lennox, I‘m pleased to introduce our housekeeper and the best cook on the island, Harriet Drury. Most of us call her Hattie. And Hattie, this is Fredrick’s sister, Lady Tessa Pickering, Baroness of Phelps, and his daughter, Miss Georgia Lennox.”
Hattie bobbed a small curtsy, then waved a hand in Mr. Wells’ direction. “You’d be sayin dat cuz yer wantin’ a slice of my banana bread.”
“Is that the delicious aroma I smell?” He smiled a stunning, white smile that shone against his tanned skin. The transformation did funny things to Georgia’s insides, as if she’d swallowed a bag of live, fuzzy caterpillars. She forced herself to look away and study the flowers on the table.
“You know it is. I made it for you and Max.”
“Ah, Hattie, you own my heart.”
Hattie belted out a hearty peal of laughter that shook her belly. “Naw, it’s not yer heart I own, it's yer stomach.”
Mr. Wells chuckled and, to Georgia’s astonishment, opened his arms wide. Hattie pulled him into a big embrace and squeezed the man tight, rocking him from side to side. She’d never witnessed such familiarity with the servants. It only solidified the notion that Mr. Wells, despite his suggestion that he’d once been among the Quality, was a servant himself.
After releasing him, Hattie stepped in front of her and put the palms of her hands against Georgia’s cheeks. “Let me get a good look at ya. Why, ain’t she a lovely thing?” Her warm brown eyes peered into Georgia’s face. “Mista Fredrick is gonna be beside hisself with joy.”
Hattie gave one last squeeze, pressing Georgia’s lips together into a big pucker, before letting go. She shifted to greet Aunt Tessa with a big smile and enfolded both her hands in hers. “What a surprise and a pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Aunt Tessa said. “But I’m a little out-of-sorts—all that rocking to and fro. I would like to rest and freshen up a bit before seeing my brother.”
“Right this way.” Hattie ushered her toward the stairway.
Mr. Wells glanced around. “Where are Fredrick and Max?”
“Oh, dey in the billiard room, playin’ cards,” Hattie said over her shoulder.
“Who’s Max?” Georgia asked.
Hattie turned, with an exuberant smile. “Dat be Mr. Harrison’s son, fine boy and a proud papa.” Hattie shooed them with her hands. “Go on now and show yerself. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees you.”
She shooed Georgia with her hands, and Georgia had no choice but to follow Mr. Wells through the book-lined study toward the billiard room.
“You’ll discover things are less formal on the island.” He tossed the words over his shoulder. “People aren’t as stuffy as they are in England.”
She peeked back to find her Aunt and Hattie chattering as if they were newly found friends. Aunt Tessa glanced up and said, “You go on. You and your father need some time alone. I’ll be down later.”
Mr. Wells slid into the billiards room, but neither of the figures inside appeared to notice. Georgia followed, but froze in the shadow of the doorway. Her father sat at a round mahogany table and peered over a fanned hand of cards at a young boy. Memories of her father’s face—as he kissed her good night, as he helped her reel in a big fish, and as he sat with her curled in his lap during thunderstorms—ran through her mind. Her heart compressed like a folded fan.
He appeared the same but different. His hair had grayed and thinned on top, and the faint lines that crinkled in the corners of his eyes when he smiled were deeper and permanent. His eyes, however, still held that sparkle, like the sun reflecting off a pool of water. His fingers pinched a card, but then changed to another. His brow furrowed as he considered his next play. A slow, confident smile s
pread across his lips, and he laid down his next card.
He seemed in good health, even if his usual lithe, muscular shape was a little thinner, and his cheeks a bit more hollow. He still retained his dashing good looks. His skin was tanned, which only brightened his smile. The most noticeable change was in his clothing. Her father had always dressed impeccably. Even on a fishing excursion, Beau Brummel would have taken his recommendations on proper outdoorsmen attire. Now, he wore loose-fitting, informal, apparel—no jacket, no cravat, no gloves.
Did he not keep a valet? Was island life so rustic that he’d been reduced to peasant clothing? Her eyes flicked to Mr. Wells, who had leaned against the wall, his feet spread, arms crossed over his chest. A crooked smile hung on his lips as he watched her father’s interaction with his companion. She leaned closer to the edge of the doorway, until her head practically rested against the door’s frame, to get a look at the small boy sitting at the same table as her father.
She didn’t have much experience with children, but the boy looked a similar age to her oldest nephew, Calvin, and he was probably seven … or eight? Or was he ten? She had no idea, and what did it matter, anyway?
A mop of light brown hair hung in this boy’s eyes, and he brushed it away with his forearm. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and cheeks, and his gaze held her father’s. A self-assured, thin-lipped smile grew across his face, and a pair of faint dimples appeared on each cheek. As he lowered his cards, his chest puffed up, and his dimples deepened. Even though she couldn’t see the boy’s cards, she smiled at his cocky demeanor.
Papa let out a whoop and reached over and tousled the boy’s hair. He winked at him, and pride radiated in a warm glow over his face.
Georgia’s smile faded as an acidic twinge of jealousy seeped into her veins. She’d once been the proud recipient of such looks from her father. She’d see them whenever she’d reeled in a large bass by the lake. Now this boy—yes, a boy, what her father had always wanted and would have easily traded for one of his own daughters—basked in the glory of her father’s praise. Her toes curled in her shoes.
