by Lorri Dudley
Finally, he stumbled out of the sea and dropped both Georgia and Max onto the beach, then fell on all fours into the soft sand. His lungs burned as he fought to drag in air and catch his breath.
Max rolled to kneel beside Georgia. “Miss Georgia, wake up.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Wake up. Please.”
Georgia’s limp body didn’t stir even as Max shook her. A second round of fear surged through Harrison. God, no.
He crawled to her and rolled her onto her back. Her lips were blue, her face paler than the white sand beneath them. He grabbed her face between fingers and bent low until his ear hovered above her lips.
She wasn’t breathing.
His heart hammered as he flipped her over, turned her face to the side, and pushed with all his weight on her mid-back. Nothing happened, so he pumped harder and harder until he thought he might break her in half.
In a powerful lurch, the sea water spewed out of her. Georgia coughed, and the water kept coming—nearly half the ocean it seemed.
“She’s alive.” Max danced around them, kicking up sand.
Relief washed through Harrison with such force that he closed his eyes and sank back on his haunches. “Thank you, God. Thank you.” He’d almost lost them. Oh, Lord.
Georgia coughed, and he turned his focus back to her, helping her to a seated position. With wet hair matted to her face and red-rimmed eyes, she looked weak as a new kitten. But he’d never seen such a beautiful sight.
And he’d almost lost her.
He pulled his hands away, but then they began to tremble so vigorously he had to cross his arms over his chest and tuck them under his armpits to keep Max from glimpsing how shaken he was.
“Papa, you should have seen it.” Max’s voice gave him a welcome distraction. Something to focus on as he studied his son’s flushed face. “The waves were huge. Georgia pushed off the rocks with the oar, then the boat spun.”
Anger surged through Harrison, consuming his relief. He rose to his feet. “I don’t want to hear another word.” He turned on his son. “What were the two of you doing out in that part of the ocean?”
His son’s bottom lip quivered, but it didn’t diminish Harrison’s blaze of anger. “What were you doing out in the ocean at all? You know I don’t allow you out without an accomplished adult.”
Tears squeezed from his eyes. “I thought it would be all right if Miss Georgia went with me.”
“You are never to go near that water again. Do you hear me?”
Huge tears spilled from Max’s eyes, pulling on a blanket of guilt that smothered a little of his fury.
“It was my fault,” Georgia whispered in a raspy voice.
Harrison whipped around to find her slowly rising to her feet. She looked so shaky, so near death even still, his anger whipped back into full force.
“Of all the selfish, irresponsible”—he began to pace— “to try such a stunt with my son.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You can be reckless with your own life.” He jabbed a finger through the air at her. “But don’t bring my son into it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m to blame.” Her voice was weak, and her clothes hung on her like rags.
“But, Georgia.” Max’s voice pitched high between sobs. “I was the one who—”
“I dozed off,” Georgia interrupted.
“You what?” Harrison’s temper reached a pinnacle. “You fell asleep on a boat, in rough seas, with my son at the helm?” His hands balled into fists. God, help me not to strangle her.
“I’m sorry. I—” She paused, and any color that had returned to her face fled. She swayed, then crumpled forward.
Harrison lunged and caught her before she landed face-first in the sand.
Max screamed, then grabbed Harrison’s elbow as he hoisted Georgia into his arms.
“She’s dead.” His son pulled so hard, Harrison almost stumbled.
He shook his head and tried to calm the boy even though his arms were full. “It’s all right. She merely fainted.”
“She’s not dead?”
“No.”
Max’s tears continued, but Harrison didn’t console him, for he, too, fought back tears. “Come on, son. Help me get her back to the house.”
Chapter 19
…Please make arrangements for the Countess of Claremont and her son, Lord Julien, the Earl of Claremont’s arrival within a fortnight. Allowances may be needed if foul weather delays the voyage.
—From the Countess of Claremont’s steward to the Artesian Hotel
Georgia kicked the sheet off. Her muscles screamed in protest, but if she didn’t cool her overheated body soon, she might ignite into a blaze. Her cheeks burned like a hot iron. She put a hand to her forehead. Was she feverish? She squeezed her eyes against the morning sun, and the slight movement caused her skin to ache.
The clock read ten minutes past eleven. Blast. She’d missed breakfast and her morning fishing expedition with Max.
Who was she funning? Harrison would never let her near his son again.
A deep sorrow penetrated her heart as if a stint had been hammered in, and now her joy leaked out like tree sap. She ignored the pain as she slung her legs over the side of the bed. She straightened her shoulders, but the grief and guilt over yesterday’s debacle only caused them to slump again.
She sighed and put her face in her hands. Harrison probably wouldn’t allow her near Max or the schoolhouse. Fishing with the boy and time with the children had seemed a lovely but unimportant diversion before. Now… she’d had no idea she would miss them this much.
A fresh wave of heat flushed through her, and she fanned her face. Warm and achy…was she sick? Had she, too, succumbed to the ague?
Maybe she’d dreamed it all. Could the entire nightmare have been a feverish delusion? Had she been in her bed the whole time?
Jenneigh slid into the room with her head down and bobbed a curtsy. Halfway through the movement, she peeked up and halted with a sharp intake of breath.
“What is it? What’s wrong, Jenneigh?”
The girl’s eyes dropped to her hands and clutched her apron. “Never fear, Miss. We have some creams that will help.”
“Help with what?” Georgia’s hands once again felt her face. Jenneigh didn’t need to answer. The truth swept through her like a wave.
“Oh, heavens, no.” Georgia jumped up, grabbed the hand mirror, and winced at the sight of her bright red face—brighter than the pinkest dress she’d ever owned. She sank back onto the bed. Yesterday in the boat, she’d fallen asleep, but she had on her bonnet. It must have shifted. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
“Aloe will sooth ya skin and take da heat out. Couple days and dat old skin will peel off, and you’ll have fresh new baby skin underneath.”
Along with a dozen freckles.
A broad smile grew across Jenneigh’s face. “I know what will make ya feel better. The dressmaker delivered the rest of your gowns yesterday. I’ll show dem to ya.”
The new gowns had arrived just in time, for she’d ruined her last salvaged dress yesterday. At least she had one positive thing to dwell upon. Jenneigh helped her dress in a white frock and applied cream to her face.
“Let it set like dat. Ring fer me in an hour, and we’ll take it off.”
With her face tingling and covered in what felt like a slimy film, Georgia headed downstairs to find something to eat. Hattie had set aside some fruit and biscuits on a plate, which she carried with her into the library.
But the day was too warm to eat indoors. The heat of her skin formed beads of sweat around her hairline. It ran down and mixed with the cream on her face. She fanned herself and moved to the porch where the air was cooler. Papa and Aunt Tessa sat in chairs, rocking slowly under the ceiling fans.
“Good afternoon, princess.” Her father grimaced at the sight of her but tried to cover it with a smile.
Aunt Tessa paused her rocking. “Oh, dear, does it hurt?”
Papa rose and pulled over another chai
r for her.
“Especially when I look in the mirror,” Georgia said in a flat tone.
She sat and lifted her face to the cool ocean breeze. The rockers squeaked back and forth, and a wagon rumbled in the distance.
“What a wild day you had yesterday.” Her father’s eyes softened with concern. “Max told us the whole story. You were very brave.”
Aunt Tessa’s head bobbed. “We’re so fortunate no one drowned.”
“It was a miracle.” No doubt about it.
“That it was. God was with you. Don’t worry about the burn.” Papa pointed to his face. “Happens to all of us Northern Europeans. The cream helps. Good as new in a couple of days.”
Please, God, no freckles.
She would be scoffed at and teased as bran-faced the moment she returned to London. She probably shouldn’t have come below stairs looking the way she did. In England, she would never allow herself to be seen in such a condition, but her room was hot and stuffy.
It’s merely family.
Then a flash of motion caught her attention. A carriage.
“Ho, there.” The driver reined in the horses at the base of the porch stairs, and a numbness sank over her as Mr. Rousseau’s footman, overly dressed in maroon livery, jumped down, lowered the steps, and opened the door to assist Mr. Rousseau down.
Sight of the man jerked her from her stupor, and she scrambled for the door to get out of sight. “Tell him I’m indisposed.”
“Good day, Mr. Lennox, Lady Pickering… Miss Lennox.”
Georgia froze in the open doorway. She’d been spotted.
She turned as Mr. Rousseau mounted the stairs, carrying a bouquet of tropical flowers. His eyes were focused on the difficult climb as he said in a soft voice, “Miss Lennox, these are for you…” He stopped midstride, hand outstretched as he peered at the sheen on her face. Or maybe it was the bright red showing through the cream.
“Good day, Mr. Rousseau. These are lovely.” She said through stiff lips. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll put these in water.”
“Certainly.” He averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “Um, take your time to freshen up. It will give me a chance to speak with your father.”
She tried to smile, but her face wouldn’t oblige under the tightness of the dried cream. She stepped inside, closed the door, and rang for Jenneigh on her way upstairs to her room.
Jenneigh burst in a few moments later with a towel and a pitcher. She made quick work of removing the mask and fixing Georgia’s appearance. As much as was possible, anyway.
Georgia’s face still shown bright pink, but at least she didn’t look like a sea monster. She instructed Jenneigh to put the flowers in water, then descended back downstairs. This time, she greeted Mr. Rousseau on the porch with a smile.
He stood upon seeing her. “Miss Lennox, would you care to take a turn about the yard?”
Mr. Rousseau wasn’t exactly a pleasant conversationalist, but he was influential on the island. It would be wise of her to accept. “Certainly, let me get my bonnet.” She reached inside, pulled her hat off the peg, and tied the strings in a bow under her chin.
He offered his arm, which she accepted, then tipped his hat to Papa and Aunt Tessa. “We’ll return shortly.”
When they reached the bottom of the steps, he said, “You’ll need to be more careful about the sun.” He circled his index finger around his face. “I’d hate for you to ruin your fair complexion.”
“I assure you, I used every precaution. It was an unforeseeable circumstance.”
“I’m glad to see you’re well and about. I heard about your escapade yesterday.” He shook his head. “I still cannot believe Mr. Wells would set a refined lady like yourself in a pathetic little rowboat with only his young son to handle the oars.”
“He didn’t—”
“The man is nicked in the nob.” Rousseau talked over her as if she hadn’t spoken. “The waters around here are treacherous. How fortunate you weren’t harmed.” He cleared his throat. “Once you’re … er … healed. I would be delighted if you’d join me on a real sailing vessel. I have a beautiful schooner. It rivals the Prince Regent’s private yacht. Plus, my men will do all the necessary work. We would merely relax and enjoy the day.”
“Well, I—”
“Some hesitation is understandable after such a traumatic event, but I’m sure you’ll come around with time.” He fished into his coat pocket. “Here’s the second reason for my visit.” He handed over a small stack of letters tied in a bundle. “A cargo boat arrived in St. Kitts, and I was able to send a courier to retrieve mail.” His volume rose as a self-important smile touched his face. “One of the perks of making acquaintances with the wealthiest man on the island. It has certain privileges.”
She accepted the bundle and fought the urge to sort through them for any correspondence from Julien. Letters from home were scarce and tended to arrive all at once. “Thank you. These are precious, indeed.”
“A passenger ship is scheduled to arrive in a couple of weeks. I’m expecting several guests at the hotel. I would love to have your company as well, to help entertain.”
She hesitated. Would Harrison approve of her acting as hostess for Edward Rousseau? No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t approve of anything she did anymore, not since she’d nearly killed his son.
Mr. Rousseau’s eyes narrowed, and she realized she hadn’t answered.
“I…I’ll check with Papa and Aunt Tessa.” She mentally berated herself for woolgathering.
“Splendid.”
They’d completed a circle and now ascended the stairs. She could hear another wagon approaching, but the conveyance wasn’t visible yet.
When they reached the porch, he turned to her father and Aunt Tessa with a bow. “Well, I must be on my way.”
Georgia glanced over to see Harrison’s wagon slow. Her stomach twisted, and she held her breath, but he didn’t wave or even tip his hat, simply paused at the end of the drive. Had he stopped when he saw the Rousseau carriage?
Her anger rose, making her cheeks even hotter. Neither she nor Mr. Rousseau may be in Harrison’s good graces, but he could at least be polite and acknowledge Papa.
Mr. Rousseau raised her hand to his lips in a bold gesture. “Glad to see you are well. May I pay you a call at a future date?”
She stared over Rousseau’s shoulder as Harrison snapped the reins and pressed the team on past their house and around the bend.
“Ah.” Her gaze dropped to the letters in her fingers, grateful to be holding them. “Of course, I’d be…delighted.”
A broad smile lightened his features. “Very well, then. Farewell, Lady Pickering, Mr. Lennox.” He started down the steps, but paused partway and half-turned. “Oh, and Miss Lennox, please keep me informed in regards to Mr. Wells’ condition.”
Georgia didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. She understood what he implied. Mr. Rousseau pivoted on his heel and marched down the remaining steps.
“My, he’s a strange man,” Aunt Tessa whispered once he was beyond hearing distance.
A trace of doubt flickered within Georgia. Was Harrison right? Was she treading into dangerous waters?
Georgia stole to her room and pulled the string on the letters. One from Mama. One from Eleanor. One for Aunt Tessa.
None from Julien. Her heart sank. Maybe Mama or Eleanor would mention him in their correspondence. Maybe he’d boarded the next ship, and their letters told of his coming.
She tore open her mother’s missive and scanned its contents. The first paragraph was instructions to make certain she wrote to them often and kept them abreast of her father’s condition. Surprisingly, the next paragraph was an apology for sending her off on short notice. Georgia would revisit that part thoroughly at another time. The rest was merely the latest news about her sisters and their children. Nothing in regards to Julien. Nothing.
She ripped open Eleanor’s letter and skimmed its contents, then started over and re
read it.
Dearest Georgia,
I hate to be the bearer of bad news,
but I feel you must be apprised of the compromising
position in which I discovered both Lord Claremont
and Miss Orville at the DeLeruth ball.
If your intentions are still for Lord Claremont,
then you must return posthaste, or I fear
Miss Orville is going to betray you further.
I know she is your friend and this must grieve
you dearly, but it is best to learn of these things through
family rather than the gossip columnists. I hope this
letter finds you well. Please give my regards to
Papa and Aunt Tessa.
* * *
Truly Yours,
Eleanor
Her mouth dropped open as the weight of shock pressed in on her. How dare Cynthia…
A cry—part-rage, part-pain—tore from her lips as her fingers balled into fists, crumpling the letter. She paced the length of the room.
She’d thought Cynthia was one of her dearest friends. But maybe she’d been like all the rest, conniving, willing to do anything to advance her social status.
Georgia imagined Eleanor’s thoughts as she penned the letter. You overreached, dear sister. Did you really believe an earl would marry the likes of you? Or Mama’s, See, this is why I have secured the Viscount of Ashburnham’s favor. I knew you couldn’t bring Lord Claremont up to scratch.
Fierce, white-hot anger seared through her as her thoughts tackled each other before one could even be completed. Georgia pressed her hands to the sides of her head to keep it from coming apart.
Julien’s not coming. He never loved you. The notion pierced her like a gunshot.
Despair swallowed her anger, and her knees caved. She sank to the floor, her skirts billowing around her in an icy, white puddle. The anguish of a young girl in boy’s pantaloons poured through her as if she were still running down the hall to the safety of the kitchens, her mind screaming, Papa, don’t leave. Please, don’t leave. Ol’ Willy hanging on the fishing pole, thumping against her back.
