by Laura Martin
‘The people are coarser, less refined, even those who own great swathes of land. There is much less of a class system, the divide comes between those who have been transported and are still serving a sentence and those who are free men, able to take what work they choose.’ Luckily for him, he thought. In Australia there was no shame in being a self-made man—in fact, coming from a background as a convict and building yourself into a success was what most men strived for. ‘Life is harder, there is no question about it, and more basic. Even the wealthiest people live in simple homes and will go out to work every day. There is no idle life.’
‘You must find it very strange here,’ Lady Georgina said, ‘where the men spend their time playing cards and attending their gentlemen’s clubs and the women play the piano and go to balls.’
‘That’s the beauty of visiting somewhere else,’ Sam said. ‘You get to experience a different life, a different way of doing things.’
Lady Georgina sighed and looked away and Sam wondered if he’d struck a sore spot. In many ways Lady Georgina had it all—wealth, a good family name, every physical comfort she could desire—but what she did not have was freedom. After being locked up and condemned to transportation, Sam knew more than a little about a lack of freedom. Now he could choose to go anywhere in the world, he was his own master. Lady Georgina would never experience that. She was destined to spend her life under the control of another, for now her father, and once she was married, her husband.
Sam started to try to convey that he understood some of that frustration, but his words were lost as a small man entered the room and their hostess for the evening clapped her hands for everyone to fall silent.
‘Good evening,’ Mrs Hamilton said. ‘It is my pleasure to introduce to you Signor Ratavelli, master musician and kind enough to grace our humble little gathering with his presence.’
There was a smattering of polite applause as Signor Ratavelli took a bow, then sat down behind a piano at the front of the room.
With no musical inclination or training even Sam knew from the very first note this man was talented. Normally he had little interest in music—it had not played a major part in his life. There had been no music in his simple but comfortable home in Hampshire and there certainly had been no music in his life after transportation save for the occasional work songs sung by the convicts to try to keep morale up. Nevertheless he felt a little of the soft melody seeping under his skin and found that despite himself he was enjoying it.
Turning to Lady Georgina, he regarded her for a few moments. She was completely entranced, watching the small musician through the gaps in the rows of people sitting in front of them, occasionally having to crane her neck to see.
She looked beautiful like this, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks suffused with colour and her eyes sparkling with interest. Easily he could see why she was considered the catch of the Season, even without her family connections and hefty dowry.
With his head half-turned to look at her he felt eyes burning into him from somewhere behind. Discreetly he turned, trying to keep the movement as subtle as possible, to see a man of about thirty glaring at him. Puzzled, Sam nodded in greeting, unable to help himself despite knowing it would anger his unknown observer further, then turned back to face the front.
No doubt it was one of Lady Georgina’s many admirers, upset that he did not get to sit with the object of his affection.
The first half of the musical recital had lasted for nearly forty minutes and Sam surprised himself by enjoying all of it. When the last note died away he clapped along with everyone else, wondering what the men he employed on his farms would say if they could see him now.
‘What did you think?’ Lady Georgina asked, leaning in towards him a little to be heard over the swell of conversation now the music had stopped.
‘I enjoyed it,’ Sam said, rising quickly as he saw Lady Georgina’s mother glance at her daughter and frown, unable to extricate herself from the brilliant job Lady Winston was doing at keeping her talking. ‘Would you care for a drink?’
‘That would be lovely. I’ll accompany you. I need to move around after forty minutes of sitting still.’
Just as he had hoped. He offered her his arm, glancing quickly back over his shoulder, expecting the man who had been staring at him throughout the performance to be bearing down on them, but finding no one there.
After collecting two glasses of wine, they moved on to the large terrace. The doors from the music room had been thrown open to combat the stuffiness in the room and, despite the cold weather, many of the guests had moved outside for a breath of air.
‘You’re shivering. We can go back inside,’ Sam said as they reached the edge of the terrace.
‘No, it’s a beautiful night.’
Together they both glanced up at the sky where the night was clear and a few stars visible along with the brilliant white of the crescent moon.
‘I’m sure the skies are much different in Australia.’
Sam thought of the endless expanse of darkness, which on a clear night was lit up with hundreds of stars. When you were out in the wilderness it could feel overwhelming, but beautiful all the same. Again he noted the slightly wistful note in her voice, the dreamy way she looked as she imagined the country he now considered home. If he wasn’t very much mistaken, Lady Georgina was an adventurer at heart, trapped by the suffocating conventions of society.
‘I notice a difference when I’m at home in Hampshire,’ Lady Georgina said. ‘The skies are darker, somehow, and the stars brighter.’
She shivered again and quickly Sam shrugged off his jacket and started to place it around her shoulders.
‘I couldn’t...’ she protested.
‘You’re cold. It’s only a jacket.’
Looking around to see if anyone was watching, he saw her run the fabric of the jacket through her fingers as if deciding whether it would be wholly inappropriate to accept the gesture.
‘Surely one of your many admirers has lent you his jacket before,’ Sam said with a grin.
‘I don’t ever step outside with anyone,’ Lady Georgina said.
Sam raised an eyebrow and eventually she corrected herself.
‘I don’t normally step outside with anyone.’
He felt an unbidden tightening deep inside him and for a second the lights and sounds from the house faded away and it was as if they were the only two left in the garden. Quickly he regained control of himself. Lady Georgina was pretty, that was true, and she had something that intrigued him, something that made him want to get to know her better, but he had to keep reminding himself that wasn’t what he was here for. His purpose was to somehow get close to her father and he had to remember Lady Georgina was part of that mission. Allowing anything more, even too much of a friendship to develop, would only serve to hurt her in the long run.
Still, he felt himself being pulled towards her, towards that captivating smile and the sense that underneath her perfectly honed public persona was a woman with hidden depths just crying to get out. He could see it in the way she asked so many questions about Australia, in the wistful, dreamy expression that filled her face when they discussed how their worlds differed. For a moment he wished he could take her there, show her the country he had come to love so much, but he knew that was impossible. Even the overwhelming desire he had to simply take her hand, to brush his fingers against hers, would be too much. Somehow he had to suppress the attraction he felt for the woman in front of him and focus his mind on the reason he’d returned to England.
‘Signor Ratavelli will be starting again in a few minutes,’ Lady Georgina said, a slight catch to her voice Sam hadn’t heard before. ‘Shall we take one more turn about the terrace?’
Offering her his arm, they walked side by side down the length of the terrace. Most of the guests had returned back inside, but a few still lingered, talking quietly in
groups and enjoying the fresh, cold air.
At the end of the terrace they paused as Lady Georgina stumbled, gasped softly, then laughed.
‘Sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I have a stone in my shoe, nothing more.’
Without thinking Sam led her a few feet off the terrace and over to an ornate bench no more than ten steps onto the grass. Pressing her to sit, he crouched in front of her and lifted the hem of her dress to reveal a completely impractical shoe. It was all fabric and decoration, with hardly any substance to it. Definitely not a shoe that would survive five minutes in Australia.
Shaking the shoe, he saw a small stone drop out and on to the grass. Before he could stop himself he had placed the shoe on the ground and ran his hand over the bottom of Lady Georgina’s stocking. It was an instinctive move, something Sam would do to himself if he got a stone in his shoe, a way to check nothing more would disrupt his comfort, but as soon as his fingers touched the silky material of her stockings Sam knew it was completely inappropriate.
Lady Georgina inhaled sharply, but Sam noticed she didn’t pull away. He was frozen in place, too, unable to move his hands off her foot, but also equally incapable of stopping his fingers in their slow backwards and forward motion.
‘Lady Georgina,’ a loud voice rang out through the crisp night air.
They jumped apart guiltily and Lady Georgina fumbled to put her own shoe back on.
‘Take your hands off her.’
A wholly unnecessary command. By time the words had crossed the man’s lips Sam was standing at least three feet away. The comment was designed to draw attention from the assembled guests inside the house and it had the desired effect within seconds.
‘Are you harmed, Lady Georgina?’ the man asked, his voice thick with concern.
‘What happened?’ This was from their hostess of the evening, eager to install herself in the middle of any gossip-worthy scandal.
‘I found this scoundrel out here all alone with Lady Georgina, with his hands all over her.’
‘It wasn’t anything like that, Mr Hemmingate,’ Lady Georgina said with remarkable composure.
Sam risked a glance at her and saw her cheeks suffused with colour, although whether from embarrassment or anger he could not tell.
‘I was simply—’ he started to say, but was cut off by a sharp jab in the ribs.
‘Mr Robertson was simply escorting myself and Lady Georgina for a turn about the garden,’ Lady Winston said.
Sam turned to her, trying to hide his incredulity. No one was going to believe that, Lady Winston had arrived outside along with everyone else.
‘You were in the ballroom,’ Mr Hemmingate said, his voice and manner indignant.
‘Are you calling me a liar, Mr Hemmingate?’ Lady Winston said, fixing him with a penetrating stare.
‘Well, no. But you weren’t—’
‘Mr Robertson was kind enough to escort an old lady around the garden and we stopped to talk to Lady Georgina for a moment. Nothing scandalous. Nothing to see.’
The assembled guests murmured and glanced from the stuttering Mr Hemmingate to the confident Lady Winston.
‘Now, I trust no one here will be nasty enough to spread untruths about what happened this evening,’ Lady Winston said, ensuring she caught everyone’s eye in turn. ‘Good. Nothing I dislike more than unkind words.’
Quickly she gripped hold of Sam’s arm, leaning on him more than she needed to, keeping up the pretence of him escorting a frail old woman around the garden.
‘Surely no one believes you,’ Sam whispered as they entered the music room. Over his shoulder he could see Lady Georgina being hustled inside by her mother. No doubt to sit as far away from Sam as possible.
‘I’m a dowager countess,’ Lady Winston said with a wicked smile. ‘They have to believe me.’
‘Thank you.’
Lady Winston turned to regard him as they sat. ‘That was foolish, but I put it down to youthful exuberance. Just be careful with the girl. She doesn’t have another country to retreat to once all of this is over.’
Good advice, Sam thought grimly. The more he got to know Lady Georgina, the less he wanted to hurt her. It had never been his plan to seek revenge on the father by ruining the daughter, but he hadn’t given much thought to a few hurt feelings along the way. Now he was keen not to hurt Lady Georgina in any way, even by association. He would have to tread carefully from now on.
‘Not that they’ll let you near her again,’ Lady Winston said as Signor Ratavelli re-entered the room and took up his place behind the piano.
With a bubble of panic welling up inside him, Sam glanced back over his shoulder to where Lady Georgina and her mother were sitting. Both were studiously avoiding all eye contact with him. A row farther back the interfering Mr Hemmingate was frowning as if displeased with how events had unfolded.
Chapter Seven
Dear Mr Robertson,
Please accept my apologies for the events of last night. It was, of course, nothing more than an unfortunate misunderstanding.
I am sure you will understand that I cannot see you again.
Lady Georgina Fairfax
Georgina sat staring at the short letter in front of her for a full five minutes before sighing with frustration. There really was nothing more to be said. Quickly she folded the paper, addressed the front to Mr Robertson and made her way downstairs to find a footman to organise delivery for her.
‘Georgina,’ her mother called from the drawing room as she passed.
‘One moment, Mother.’
Only once she had safely handed the letter over to Brennan, her favourite footman, did she dare enter the drawing room. Georgina had been dreading this moment. Her mother had kept quiet about the previous evening’s fiasco during the carriage ride home and throughout an awkward breakfast this morning, but Georgina had known this couldn’t last for ever.
‘Take a seat, Georgina,’ her mother said, indicating the hard sofa at right angles to her own chair. It was more ornamental than made for comfort, but Georgina was feeling too on edge to do anything more than perch anyway.
‘Yes, Mother.’ She waited, wondering what route her mother would take into her scolding.
‘The events of last night have caused irreparable damage to your reputation.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ There was no point denying it. She had been caught alone with an entirely unsuitable man. With her foot in his hand no less. It was only Lady Winston’s interference that had stopped her from being the subject of gossip at every breakfast table in London this morning.
‘Mr Robertson is not the sort of man you should be associating with,’ Lady Westchester said.
‘No, Mother.’
‘And you know better than to be found alone with any man in any circumstance. Be that man reputable or not.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘We are fortunate that the party was small and Lady Winston dampened down some of the speculation, but I think we would be foolish to think there is no damage to your reputation.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Georgina,’ her mother said with a sigh, ‘both your father and I have been very patient with you. We love you and don’t want you to be unhappy.’
Sensing an end had come to this patience, Georgina looked up sharply. She’d always known the day would come when her father’s indulgence over her choice of husband would finally run out. She was twenty-one, hardly a young debutante any more, and had been out in society for three years. Suitor after suitor had asked for her hand, or expressed his interest in a less formal fashion, and one after another she had turned them down.
To her father many of them had been adequate matches. Titled men, influential men, wealthy men. Most of them had been perfectly acceptable, too, even Georgina couldn’t deny it. There was the odd drunk, or man who had gambled away too much of his f
amily’s fortune, but most had nothing really wrong with them. And it wasn’t as if Georgina was expecting to be swept off her feet. She was realistic, knew good marriages didn’t often start with love, but she wanted to feel something. An excitement, a tightening, a sense of anticipation when she looked at her husband-to-be. And so far everyone had been rather bland and unimpressive.
She knew her father had been indulgent with her. To most he was abrupt, even unkind, but he’d always harboured a soft spot for his only daughter and she for him. Of course she knew one of the reasons he’d allowed her to turn down quite so many proposals was his own ambitions. He was closely involved in politics, championing an up-and-coming young man who her father hoped would be leader of the Whigs one day soon and Prime Minister after that. If someone truly influential offered for her hand, someone like a duke or an earl, someone who could be counted on to support her father’s political ambitions, then she knew no matter what she thought of the man he would be accepted on her behalf.
‘I know, Mother,’ Georgina said with a sigh. And she probably wouldn’t be unhappy. If she married one of her many suitors, she would probably be perfectly content.
‘I am going to write to your father,’ Lady Westchester said, ‘and ask him to come to London. When he arrives I expect he will arrange things from there.’
It wouldn’t take much for her father to persuade one of the men who had been so eager to marry her a few months ago to ask her again. A hint about an increase in her already generous dowry and a promise that this time the proposal would be accepted would be more than enough.
‘I will obey your and Father’s wishes,’ Georgina said, feeling something shrivel inside of her.
‘It won’t be so bad, Georgina,’ her mother said more softly, rising from her seat and coming to sit next to her daughter. ‘Marriage is what we are born for.’
And marriage was what Georgina had always known her future held. You couldn’t be the daughter of a titled man and not expect to be married off sooner or later. She’d known that her entire life and in truth she didn’t really mind. Yes, she would rather wait for someone she could imagine spending a lifetime with, but she did want to get married one day.
