by Lorri Dudley
Papa definitely didn’t need her. He’d replaced her. With another man’s son, no less, even though she was his flesh and blood. The room grew stifling under the layers of her damp traveling dress. She needed to leave. She and Aunt Tessa would go straight back to the pier, even if they had to walk. They could rent a room and wait for the next ship to arrive, headed for anywhere as long as it left this island.
She couldn’t watch the exchange between her father and the boy any longer. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but as she turned to leave, a firm hand grabbed her arm. She sucked in a breath at the fierce scowl Mr. Wells pinned on her, but recovered quickly. With a haughty lift of her chin, she narrowed her eyes and was about to yank her arm away, when a voice called out.
“Georgia?”
Chapter 6
…Can it be so? Did mother truly banish Georgia to the Leeward Islands? While our days are filled with endless amusements, luncheons, soirees, and shopping trips, Georgia shall be toiling and tending to our ailing father. Guilt eats at me, but of the four of us, I must admit, Georgia holds the best constitution for the endeavor.
—Eleanor Hart to her younger sister, Frances Morgan, in Dublin, Ireland.
Georgia turned slowly, using the time to regain her composure. Her father stared at her as if he’d seen an apparition. Hope and fear warred a tumultuous battle within her chest. She parted her lips to say something, but they only quivered. She willed her feet to step forward, but they wouldn’t budge.
“Georgia?” Bracing his palms on either side of the table, Papa rose and scooted around it to get a clear view.
She regained enough control to nod her head the slightest bit, and it was all the encouragement he needed.
“Praise God in Heaven. It’s my girl. It’s Georgia.” He waltzed over and scooped her into his embrace. He squeezed her tight, as though he never planned to let go.
A lump formed in her throat and unwanted tears threatened to leak out. The relief of his joy over their unexpected reunion overpowered her anger, and she melted into her father’s embrace.
“Princess. I can’t believe it’s you.” His voice strained with emotion.
A sob tore from her throat, and she clung to his jacket. He still smelled the same, like cedar from their clothes chest. She remembered nights as a small girl when she’d been frightened. He’d sit with her in the rocking chair, and she’d breathe in his comforting, woodsy scent until she fell asleep in his arms. How had she forgotten that special memory?
When he finally pulled back, tears were running down both their faces.
“Let me get a look at you.” He held her out at arm’s length and peered down the bridge of his nose through a pair of thin wire spectacles. “I almost didn’t recognize my girl. You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, like a caterpillar to a butterfly.” He shook his head with a slight whistle. “Who would have thought my little ruffian would turn into a lovely, sophisticated woman. Your mother said it couldn’t happen, but I knew one day my little bud would bloom into a perfect flower.”
He glanced back at the entranceway. “Is your mother…?”
Georgia shook her head. “It’s only me…and Aunt Tessa.”
“What a wonderful surprise.” He grasped her hand and led her over to sit on a sofa near the table. He drew out a chair and gestured for Mr. Wells to join them. “I assume, Harrison, that you are behind this?”
Mr. Wells didn’t reply, merely smiled as if enjoying his friend’s happiness.
“I owe you everything, my friend.”
Harrison shook his head and relaxed into the chair.
Papa glanced back at her. “You’ve already met my friend and colleague, Harrison Wells, and this is his son, Maxwell.” His hand gestured to the boy, who was standing awkwardly beside the table.
Maxwell put one hand across his stomach and another behind his back and presented a formal bow, so low that his hair flopped forward. He observed her quite seriously until she acknowledged him. Then, he resumed his seat and said, “I can read, and I can count to one thousand.”
She blinked, not certain how to respond. Yes, she had nieces and nephews, but she’d had little interaction with them. Usually, they were shuffled off by a nursemaid or governess to do heaven knew what.
Her father patted the boy on the head. “He’s a bright one, that’s for sure.” Then Papa sat next to her on the sofa. “I still can’t believe my eyes. I’m so grateful you’re here. How was Mr. Wells able to steal you away from your mother, midseason no less?”
The glimpse of sheer joy in her father’s eyes caused Georgia to flounder. “He—ah—he wrote that you were ill.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid these old bones battle with the ague, but I still have life in me yet. I’m not going anywhere until it’s God’s time to take me.” He shifted in his seat and leaned in closer to Georgia. “Your mother wrote that this season you’ve set the town on its ear, but haven’t settled on the man you want yet. Is that the truth?”
Her mother still wrote Papa letters?
“I figured some handsome gentlemen would have snatched you up and walked you down the aisle by now. I should have known you’d have your own mind and wouldn’t settle for any old dandy.”
“Well, there is someone.” Georgia glanced at Mr. Wells, before dropping her eyes. “He’s an Earl.” She picked at some invisible lint before meeting her father’s gaze. “Lord Claremont was about to propose before I received the letter and found myself aboard the Aberdeen.”
“Claremont?” Mr. Wells quirked a brow at her. “The Earl of Claremont?”
Georgia bestowed him a polite smile. “The very one.”
Mr. Wells snorted.
She narrowed her eyes. What did he mean by that?
“Well,” her father piped in, “I’m certain he’s a fool for letting you go.”
Seizing the opportunity, Georgia took her father’s hand. “That’s the problem. He didn’t know I was leaving. The night of the Carlson’s ball, Lord Claremont promised to speak to mother the following day, but she insisted I set sail immediately and not wait for the next ship to arrive. I had a footman deliver a note informing him of what transpired and a forwarding address for correspondence. I’m certain Julien—er…Lord Claremont—is beside himself anticipating my return. The poor dear is probably a regular visitor to the docks every day awaiting my arrival.”
“He’s a regular visitor to the docks all right.”
Georgia’s gaze snapped to Mr. Wells. Now, what did he mean by that?
Her father cleared his throat and patted her hand. “I’m sure he misses you, princess, but I do hope you’ll stay and let my weary eyes enjoy my most precious treasure for a while.”
Her heart warmed at the familiar endearment. His eyes struck her as so hopeful, so happy.
“Of course.” Needles of guilt pricked her chest, but she’d have so much to lose if she didn’t return posthaste to London. “Maybe you should think about returning to London where you could receive better care? Dr. Cowper could treat you.” She leaned in. “He still owes you from the last hand of cards. You can collect his debt in treatments.”
Her father laughed. “I forgot about the few pounds he still owes me. He’s lucky I don’t play for money any longer.”
“If you come back with me, you and Mama might be able to reconcile. I know she still loves you. I find her staring at your portrait in the hall all the time. I believe she’s softening. Time heals all wounds—that sort of thing.” She hesitated, gathering her courage before she whispered the words that, once out there, would leave her exposed. “You could be my Papa again.”
Her father’s gaze dropped to the floor.
Georgia’s stomach twisted, but she kept going. “Franny, Eleanor, and Ann all desire to see you. You could meet your grandchildren.”
A spark lit in Papa’s eyes, but then the glimmer fizzled.
She scooted closer. “You could take them for pony rides and go fishing.” Her pitch rose as the words seemed to pour out of
her. “Franny and Eleanor both have sons. You’ve always wanted a boy, and now you have them as grandchildren.”
She held her breath and silenced the niggling of guilt.
When he lifted his eyes to hers, the pain etched in their depths squeezed her heart like a press.
“Georgia, your mother and I love each other very much, but there is a gulf between us that is wider than the Atlantic Ocean. As much as I want to be with you and your sisters, I had to do what I thought was best for our family. I promised your mother I wouldn’t return until she sent for me. Can you tell me with all honesty that your mother has asked me to come back?”
Yes. Her lips parted, but the small one syllable word—she so wanted to be true—refused to fall from her tongue.
His lips wobbled before lifting into a lighthearted smile. “Plus, you can’t return until you receive word. What if the earl’s already sailing to you? The last thing you want is to sail past each other on the Atlantic.”
She hadn’t considered that. Julien could right now be navigating the seas. She pictured him standing at the top deck railing of the ship facing into the sunset. He’d be fiddling with her engagement ring in his pocket and willing the boat to sail faster because he couldn’t wait to be in her arms — the same passionate way he held her in the garden the night of the party.
“…and your sisters?” Her father’s voice penetrated her memories. He touched her arm. “Georgia?”
He stared at her with a smile as if awaiting an answer of some sort.
“I apologize. I was woolgathering.”
“I inquired about your sisters and your mother, but where are my manners. You must be exhausted from the trip. Let me call for Hattie. She shall show you to your room and get you settled in. Rest, and then you can enlighten me on everyone’s affairs and all the latest happenings in London.”
He stood, and everyone else followed suit.
Mr. Wells bowed. “Max and I will also be leaving. I’ll send Hattie in on my way out.”
They said their farewells, and the minute Mr. Wells left, Georgia sagged in relief. The man exuded tension. His mere presence tied her in knots.
Georgia awoke to the bright sun spilling in the window. She rolled over and buried her head deeper into the pillow. Which servant had decided to draw the curtains so early? They should be dismissed immediately. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to fall back to sleep, but a strange niggling from the recesses of her mind alerted her something wasn’t right. Her room usually smelled of tea and roses. Now it held the aroma of clean soap, salt, and fish? She flipped over and lurched awake.
Gone were her French drapery window curtains made from heavy silk and taffeta. Gone were the rich mauve painted walls and ornate hand-carved moldings. Gone was her thick Persian rug. Instead, she lay in a teak bed with light cotton sheets. The walls were painted cream, and a light flowy fabric draped the windows, rippling in the breeze. A gilded mirror hung over a teak bureau, the only piece of ornate furniture in the room.
Nevis.
She fought down the panic that had plagued her since the day her mother told her she’d be traveling. This was Papa’s home, and she was far away on a forsaken island. Yesterday, Hattie had shown her to her room to rest. She remembered lying down to clear her thoughts for a moment. She must have fallen asleep and slept the entire night away.
With a whimper, she flipped the covers back. Yes, she was still in the traveling dress from yesterday, and now it was hopelessly wrinkled. A low groan gurgled in her throat. It was her only gown. The rest lay on the ocean floor. She pressed her palms over her eyes.
A light tap sounded on the door, and Georgia dropped her hands. A slender African woman slipped into the room. Her smooth skin reminded Georgia of a creamy cup of cocoa. Her hair was braided in the tiniest braids she’d ever seen and then wrapped up on top of her head and tucked in a cap. Her long lashes curled back up toward her eyelids, revealing a set of wide, deep brown eyes. She didn’t say a word, merely kept her focus on the ground.
Georgia waited for the woman to speak or go about her duties, but as the seconds ticked by, Georgia grew impatient. “What is your name?”
“Jenneigh, mum.” She bobbed a curtsy.
“Are you to be my lady’s maid?”
“If it pleases you, mum.” A timid smile lit up the woman’s face. Being a lady’s maid could be a step up for her.
“Are you a relative of Hattie’s?”
“Yes, mum. I’m her niece.”
“Wonderful, so you probably know a lot about the island, my father, and the happenings around the house?”
Jenneigh nodded.
“And you can inform me about the people on the island, what they do and their associations, like Mr. Wells for example.”
The girl bit her bottom lip but, seemingly eager to please her new mistress, nodded.
“Splendid.” Georgia smiled. “We’re going to get along famously.” Jenneigh could be useful. Georgia noted the empty wardrobe and let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, there may not be much work for you. All of my trunks, with all of my gowns, have sunk to the bottom of the ocean.”
Jenneigh’s countenance fell.
“Are you good with hair?”
Her chin lifted. “Yes, mum. I’d be much pleased to help you with your hair.” She stepped forward. “I can freshen your dress a bit too.”
Jenneigh did just that, and then pinned up Georgia’s hair. The girl giggled with delight as she ran her fingers through Georgia’s long blond locks. She had quite a flair for coiffures and neatly piled Georgia’s hair in a cascade of curls on top of her head. With a satisfied smile, Georgia admired the work, and Jenneigh beamed with pride.
Georgia slid on her gloves. They’d been cleaned and washed overnight. Also, someone had polished her kid boots.
After getting directions from Jenneigh, she headed downstairs to the breakfast room, where she found Aunt Tessa and her father enjoying plates of eggs and ham. They each had a cup of steaming coffee and what appeared to be a gigantic pink orange. When he saw her, Papa rose from the table.
“Good morning, princess. I take it you slept well?”
She nodded and drifted to the sideboard, where she placed a bit of egg, a slice of ham, and a half of one of those gigantic oranges. She chose a seat across from her father.
“I hope you found the accommodations adequate?” Papa settled back into his chair. “I know Nevis doesn’t have all the luxuries of London, but it’s not that far behind. Sometimes, I find the relaxed pace of the island much more enjoyable.”
“Indeed, I slept like the dead.” She smiled and ate a bite of eggs.
“Your Aunt Tessa was catching me up on all the happenings back home.”
Georgia swallowed. “You still call London home?”
“Of course.” His brow furrowed. “It’s where my family lives.”
She bit her tongue and scooped another portion of eggs into her mouth.
“Shall I have Hattie scramble a few more eggs for you, my dear?” Aunt Tessa tilted her chin toward her and blinked twice. The expression always reminded Georgia of a bird.
“No, thank you.”
“You must try the…” She turned to Fredrick. “What do you call these again?”
“Grapefruit. They’re native to the Caribbean. The island’s shaddock fruit crossed with some orange trees the Spanish brought over.”
Aunt Tessa spooned out another bite from her half. “You eat it like this, see?” Then she pushed the portion into her mouth.
Georgia imitated her Aunt’s actions, but her mouth puckered, and her eyes screwed up tight from the bitter-sour taste.
“Oh. I forgot to mention you should sprinkle it with sugar first.”
Georgia wrinkled her brow and pushed the plate away. “No, thank you.”
Her father observed the entire exchange with an affectionate smile, as if he were quite content to sit and watch her eat all day. Georgia placed her hands in her lap. “So, what did Aunt Tessa tell you abo
ut London?”
He chuckled. “It appears to be much the same as when I left years ago. The Quality looks down their noses at the Gentry and American new money. The Gentry does its best to rub noses with the Quality and somehow make it into their elite circle, while the Americans thumb their noses and say, ‘We don’t need you.’ Which steams both the Quality and the Gentry.”
“It sounds as though you miss it?” Georgia eyed him, curling her lips into a sardonic smile.
“Ah, not the social climbing, but I do miss my family.” He patted her hand. “Tessa explained that Franny now lives in Ireland since her husband became a diplomat to the British Consulate, which I already knew. That my oldest grandson has eyes for a beautiful French opera singer, which I didn’t know, but neither does his mother.” He issued her a quick wink. “Eleanor has blessed me with my seventh grandchild, which I did know, and Ann, in about six months will bless me with my eighth, which I didn’t know. I also discovered yesterday that my youngest, hoyden daughter has grown into a beautiful out-and-outer, and has caught the eye of the Earl of Claremont. Who could, at any moment, come barging through my door and demand her hand in marriage.”
Georgia blushed at the mention of Julien and covered her smile with her napkin.
“Good morning.” Mr. Wells strolled into the room and grabbed a plate from the sideboard. He proceeded to heap on eggs and ham, and then he slid into the open chair next to Georgia.
Georgia’s fork hung in midair, a bit of egg dangling, as she stared at the man who had the nerve to casually walk in and sit down as if this home were his own. She put down her fork and turned to her father, eager to see his outraged expression. Instead, her father greeted Mr. Wells with a friendly smile.
“It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it, Mr. Wells?” Her aunt fluttered her fan and beamed in his direction.
What happened to decorum? Shouldn’t Aunt Tessa be outraged? Instead, she smiled at him over her fan like a courting girl.
“Beautiful red-streaked sunrise this morning. Last night’s squall didn’t turn out to be as big as anticipated but, by the look of that sky, the next storm brewing will be the whopper.”
