Georgana's Secret (Proper Romance)

by Arlem Hawks

  Chapter 4

  Dominic didn’t expect to see Captain Woodall on the quarterdeck. He usually didn’t show himself above deck prior to the forenoon watch. Dominic seized the opportunity, walking quickly aft. George’s plight had not left his mind since the incident with the other boys more than a week ago. He would keep his promise of not telling the captain everything, but something had to be done.

  The captain stood at the very back of the ship, watching the horizon turn from deep blue to pink. Dominic joined him just as the bell rang four times from the other end of the ship. Six o’clock.

  “Good morning, Captain.”

  Captain Woodall did not respond but rested his elbows on the bulwark.

  “How is young George?”

  “Nearly recovered from last week’s fall.” The captain removed his bicorn and ran a hand through his graying hair. “The ladders get so slippery some days. Can’t be helped, unfortunately.”

  Dominic leaned into the rail. So the lad had kept to his story.

  “Sir, pardon my boldness, but he does not appear suited to life at sea. Does he have connections that could find him an apprenticeship as a clerk or something less brutal than a career in the navy?”

  Captain Woodall pressed his lips together. “The lad’s father wished him to be at sea.”

  Dominic tapped his thumbs against the bulwark. He didn’t know why he felt so foolish making this inquiry. He never had trouble speaking his mind. “He has been at sea three years, has he not? Perhaps it is time to advance him past third-class boy.”

  “He is fine where he is.” It came out as a growl, as close to losing his temper as Dominic had seen from the captain in the three weeks since they set sail from Portsmouth.

  “But what of his future?” Dominic persisted. “He cannot stay a ship’s boy all his life. If his father was master and commander, surely he deserves a higher rank.” Second class, at least. And if his father were a gentleman, first class. A higher rank could solve George’s problem with Walter Fitz. Punishment for harming a superior was severe.

  The captain didn’t respond.

  “Why not prepare him for midshipman? I could train him in the things he doesn’t know. He is fourteen? Fifteen? In a year or so he could be ready for advancement.”

  “Will you still be here?”

  Dominic rested his gaze on the glowing horizon. Would he?

  “I heard the stories of your last battle on HMS Morning Star.” Captain Woodall laced his gloved fingers together. “Captain Daniels was wounded early, and you commanded the ship nearly the entire engagement. Sank one French corvette, disabled another, only ten dead.”

  “Twelve.” Twelve unmoving forms in canvas laid out on the deck, waiting to slide into a watery grave.

  “A lieutenant who can take that sort of command . . . ,” the captain said, watching him. “He should have his own command.”

  Dominic swallowed. The captain had slyly changed the subject.

  “I would like to assist George in any way I can as long as I can.”

  Captain Woodall straightened, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Lieutenant, have you ever thought you made a correct decision but then later doubted that decision?”

  An odd switch of the conversation. The captain clearly had no desire to discuss George.

  Dominic’s declined promotion weighed heavily on his mind. Yes, he did have doubts like that. He thought he had made the best choice for his mother, refusing the glory of his own command. The sea’s cheerful splashing at the stern mocked his sincerity.

  “I will let you continue your rounds,” Captain Woodall said. “Join me for dinner tonight. And bring Jarvis and Moyle.”

  Dominic touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. They had never been invited to dine with the captain thus far in the journey. Perhaps this was a step toward better camaraderie between the wardroom and the captain. A smile touched his lips. The captain hadn’t said yes or no to his request to train George, but he would count it as progress.

  Georgana was used to standing while others ate. It was a punishment Grandmother had sometimes inflicted when she did poorly in her lessons. Her father rarely ate with the officers on purpose so she would not have to wait on them like this. She wouldn’t have minded had the soreness in her ankle gone away, but she did not admit its continued weakness to her father.

  Tonight all the senior officers sat at the captain’s table. Lieutenant Peyton and the sailing master, Mr. Jordan, sat closest to her, with Jarvis and Moyle on the other side of the table. Jarvis’s narrowed eyes flitted to her every so often. She focused on the white and black floor tiles to keep from reddening.

  Her father raised his glass, more water than anything else. The risk of intoxication and letting slip their secret terrified him. With a dull voice he toasted the king, as naval officers always did at dinner. The lieutenants and sailing master followed suit, Lieutenant Peyton with more vigor than the rest.

  The first lieutenant turned and held his glass out to Georgana, eyebrow lifted. She stared at the drink. Did he want more? There was plenty inside, and the steward took charge of refilling.

  Then it dawned. He was offering her a drink. Georgana quickly shook her head.

  Lieutenant Peyton shrugged and turned back to the table. No one except her father seemed to notice. He eyed the lieutenant as Moyle raised the next toast.

  “To sweethearts and wives,” the third lieutenant said.

  “And may they never meet.” Jarvis grinned wickedly, as if the joke were new and not muttered on every ship in the Royal Navy. Fortunately for him, she couldn’t imagine him having a wife, so he likely would never encounter that particular problem.

  Lieutenant Peyton set down his glass before the others had finished. “How is your daughter in York, sir?”

  Georgana’s breath stopped. It wasn’t a secret among the crew the captain had a daughter, but no one ever mentioned Miss Woodall. Georgana’s skin went cold.

  The captain cleared his throat, stabbing at his meat with unwarranted interest. “She is well. Thank you.”

  “Does she enjoy York?”

  Georgana wanted to flee. If only she had somewhere to go.

  Irritation flashed across her father’s face but didn’t stay long. Had the lieutenant seen it? “She enjoys her school well enough, I suppose.”

  The lieutenant cocked his head. His brown hair had an unruly look to it, as though he’d spent his entire watch at the prow of the ship. “Have you ever considered bringing her aboard?”

  Georgana went rigid. Her eyes darted to Jarvis, who was too absorbed with his glass to notice her. If he looked up, she knew he would see her fear.

  First Fitz, and now Lieutenant Peyton was having suspicions. Her stomach tied itself into knots.

  “My daughter is where she should be.” Her father twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers. “So many questions today, Mr. Peyton.”

  Jarvis snorted. “Didn’t you know? Peyton is looking for a wife.”

  Lieutenant Peyton laughed. “I have a few years before I wish to concern myself with that responsibility.”

  The lieutenant was single? She found that hard to believe.

  Moyle leaned forward. “I doubt Miss Woodall would find life at sea to her liking. The navy is too rough a world for a young lady used to genteel society.”

  “Are you saying we are not genteel society?” Jarvis motioned for the steward to refill his glass. The man drank much more than he used to when Lieutenant Hargood was on board. Only six months had passed since Hargood’s death, but those months had hardened Jarvis. The two lieutenants had been the best of friends.

  “Yes, that is exactly what he is saying.” Her father placed his hands firmly on the table. “I know very few women of Society strong enough to endure life in the navy.”

  “Certainly such women are a force to be reckoned with,” Lieutenant Peyton said.

  She waited for the lieutenant to glance back at her, but he never did. Her breathing started agai
n when talk turned to their course for Antigua. She stretched her injured ankle, trying to do so without drawing notice, and wondered how much longer until they returned to their duties.

  Lieutenant Peyton’s questions had hit too close for comfort, and she wanted to be alone to calm her racing heart.

  Chapter 5

  Dominic scanned the open sea before him. Ten. Eleven . . . Ah, there was the twelfth. All merchant ships accounted for.

  Men lined the decks of the Deborah, pulling ropes to reposition the sails. They’d ventured too far from the merchantmen, but the stiff westward wind would get them back in place in no time. They were nearing a month at sea, and so far they’d avoided bad weather or altercations with other ships. If their good luck held, they could easily reach Antigua in another three weeks.

  Midshipmen shouted to their divisions, following the sailing master’s orders. Captain Woodall paced the starboard side, George trailing behind him. The boy looked so slight compared to the other men, even to the boys his age.

  Timothy Locke, one of the boys who wandered about with Walter, stuck out his foot as George passed, sending the lad sprawling. George scrambled to his feet before the captain could see.

  Dominic sighed and ran a hand down the side of his face. Those boys wouldn’t listen. George had to take action. Nothing Dominic did seemed to dissuade the teasing.

  At the end of the watch, Dominic hurried to the gun deck to catch George while the captain was busy with the sailing master. Dominic watched the boy slip into the captain’s quarters and followed. Captain Woodall’s clothes that George had cleaned that morning hung about. A few smaller shirts and pairs of breeches hung in the corner alongside a long strip of linen. Used to wrap George’s ankle, Dominic guessed.

  “George.”

  The lad startled and whirled. He must not have heard Dominic enter behind him. His face paled.

  “Are you occupied? I have some things to teach you in the wardroom.”

  George’s feet remained glued to the floor.

  “Come, it will be good for you,” Dominic prodded.

  The boy touched the brim of his cap. “I-I’ll be down directly, sir.”

  “Very good.” Dominic smiled, hoping to dispel the fear in George’s face. The boy didn’t move until Dominic left the room.

  He glanced over his shoulder in time to see George snatch the piece of linen and shove it into a trunk before pulling the other clothes down. The poor boy was too timid. But Dominic would cure some of that.

  When Dominic reached the officers’ quarters, only Moyle was there, as evidenced by the snores coming from his cabin. The young man could sleep through most anything. Dominic usually had to wake him for the first and middle watches. Dominic nudged the wardroom table to one side. That should be enough room.

  Whistling drifted through the wooden bars of the partition between the wardroom and the rest of the messdeck. The hatch’s ladder blocked Dominic’s view, but it didn’t take him long to guess who the whistlers were.

  The tune belonged to a rather vulgar song called “The Handsome Cabin Boy,” about a ship’s boy who turned out to not be a boy at all, but the captain’s mistress. The whistling could only be coming from the third-class boys, heralding George’s presence on the messdeck.

  Dominic set his jaw. As much as he wanted to knock the boys’ heads together to teach them a lesson, he refrained. He couldn’t fight George’s battles for him anymore.

  He met George at the wardroom door. The whistling boys sat just around the corner at a table covered with tin cups and a deck of cards. One raised eyebrow silenced them. Then he pulled George in and shut the door.

  “The time has come to face your foes, Mr. Taylor.”

  George nodded obediently. “Yes, sir.” He kept close to the door, eying Dominic warily.

  “Do you have older brothers?” Best to see what he’d already been taught.

  “I have no siblings at all, sir.”

  So they would start with a clean slate. No matter. Dominic positioned himself a pace away from George. He removed his jacket and flung it over a chair, then loosened his black cravat. Next he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

  When he looked up, George’s eyes were bulging. “What are we doing, sir?”

  “I’m teaching you how to hold your own against those boys.” He spoke softly, though he didn’t think the boys in the mess would be able to hear. “This might be easier without your coat.”

  George shook his head emphatically and pulled the edges of his coat more tightly around him.

  Dominic shrugged. “Whatever you wish. Now, first we will work on balance. You know how to balance with the rocking of a ship. Balancing against a blow isn’t so very different. Throw your weight into the force.”

  He pushed the boy’s arm, and George stumbled away, nearly falling into the door of one of the cabins.

  “Stand firm. Come, try again. Push back into my hand.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.” George cowered back toward the door as if to run.

  Dominic stepped forward to stop George’s retreat but then halted. The forceful teaching of Dominic’s superiors had worked well on him when he was young, but George did not seem the same type of boy. “They will not quit until you have proven you are not an easy target.”

  “They still won’t like me.” Surprisingly, it did not sound like George minded.

  “But they will respect you. That is all we are trying to achieve. If you are to advance in the navy, you must gain their respect.” Dominic moved George back to the middle of the wardroom.

  “As a third-class boy, I do not plan to advance far in the navy.”

  Dominic pushed him again. George struggled to keep his balance. “Your father was commander of the Caroline. You shouldn’t even be third class. Now, plant your feet, like they are nailed to the floor.” Dominic tried again, and George pushed back feebly. “A little wider stance, to give yourself a good base. And don’t forget to lean in.”

  The boy sighed, shoulders sagging. Something about the way his head tilted gave him a slightly feminine look. Dominic felt for the lad. Someday, as George grew older, he would become stronger and the childlike softness would fade. Perhaps then he would come to own the legacy his father had left him.

  It was the sort of legacy Dominic wished his own father had left. He shook away the pitiful longing. Those days were gone. No need to wallow in what could not be changed.

  “I do not wish to advance in the navy,” George said.

  “What do you wish to do, then?”

  The boy looked up. His bright eyes looked puzzled, as if no one had asked him such a question before. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Well, then, you have until we return to England to decide. I will help you find whatever position or apprenticeship you would like, and I will help you convince the captain to let you go.”

  George had never held his gaze for so long before. Dominic couldn’t tell if he was considering his decision or determining if a lieutenant he hardly knew was trustworthy.

  “Until we return, we should work on your self-defense,” Dominic said, breaking the silence. “It will be a long journey if that harassment keeps up. And it doesn’t seem they will tire of it soon.”

  After a pause, George nodded once and readied himself. He only faltered back half a step this time. “Good, good!” Dominic tried harder to push him over, and George leaned into the force with more strength. The boy’s face pulled into a concentrated scowl as they practiced again and again.

  Finally, Dominic pushed as hard as he thought Walter had on the gun deck. With a growl, George pushed back. Not enough to bowl Dominic over—the boy didn’t have the weight for that—but enough to make him stumble back. Dominic chuckled, a grin splitting his face. George breathed heavily.

  “Well done, George. We’ll make a fighter of you yet.” Dominic rested against the table. “Shall we learn more tomorrow after morning watch?”

  The boy did not answer for a time.
He simply stood, pulling his jacket firmly over his chest. “Yes, sir,” came the quiet answer. His eyes dropped to the floor again, and he rushed out of the wardroom.

  Dominic stroked his chin. They had not technically made much progress. He adjusted his cravat and retrieved his jacket from the chair. But something in George’s countenance had shifted. Such a small change, and yet somehow he knew it was an immense shift for the frightened orphan.

  Georgana lay in her hammock, enjoying the gentle sway of the Deborah’s midnight course. She didn’t understand how getting pushed over dozens of times could make her legs and back this sore. But she preferred it to the bumps and bruises of getting knocked around by Fitz.

  She’d given up on drawing early tonight. Her mind wandered back to the wardroom too often to focus on sketching. In the three years she’d been at sea, no one had ever tried to befriend her. The crew envied or scorned her relatively sheltered life, and the officers distrusted her closeness to the captain. But Lieutenant Peyton showed none of that.

  She shifted, and the rafters her hammock hung on creaked. Did the lieutenant really think standing up to Fitz and his friends would stop the heckling? She didn’t think she could become a convincing enough fighter to scare them off.

  But he did. He had stood in the wardroom in his cream waistcoat and breeches, arms uncovered and shirt open around the neck. She recalled the playful curve of his lip when she’d started to grasp what he was teaching.

  Georgana pulled the blanket over her blushing face. He had simply taken pity on what he thought was a poor boy, and now she could not chase him from her mind. Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. She could not remember another person, besides her parents, who had shown her compassion. The few friends she had in Portsmouth as a young child had faded into the shadows of her memory.

  Grandmother’s image pounded on the doors of her mind, just as she had pounded on the doors to Mama’s chamber. Mama would often lock herself and Georgana in her room to escape Grandmother. Those days her shouting intensified beyond her normal cruelty.