Georgana's Secret (Proper Romance)

by Arlem Hawks

  Georgana rolled to her side and brought her knees to her chest. She would never be rid of that woman. Three years free from her grasp, and the woman’s screams still sent shivers up Georgana’s spine.

  You stupid, stupid girl.

  I can only praise the heavens I was blessed with sons and never cursed with mistakes like you.

  Stop mumbling, girl! God gave you a tongue to use it.

  How dare you speak to me in such a tone! Do you see what a horrible girl you have brought up, Susan? But one can only expect it from such a mother.

  Mistake! Mistake!

  Georgana flinched as each phrase echoed through her head. She swallowed a sob. What if Grandmother was right? What if she was nothing but a stupid mistake?

  Lieutenant Peyton’s encouraging smile peeked through Grandmother’s storm. He didn’t see her as a tongue-tied dolt, or if he did, he didn’t show it. Two tears streaked down her face. She clutched her hands together around her knees, fingers scratching against the cracked, ugly skin.

  Lieutenant Peyton had grasped these hands to put them in a defensive position. She winced in horror at their roughness. They weren’t the fingers of a lady. Of course the lieutenant must have expected such hands from a boy at sea. Still, embarrassment washed over her. Her fingers hadn’t always been this coarse.

  Georgana sat up, and the hammock swayed. Papa breathed loudly from his hanging cot in the opposite corner. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, something else that would have earned Grandmother’s scorn. She stole from her hammock and crept to her father’s writing desk.

  Starlight caught on the glass panes of a lantern perched atop the desk. She twisted the latch and eased the lantern’s little door open. The tallow candle inside stood nearly half the height of the lantern, with a few cooled drips down its pale side.

  Georgana pulled the candle from its place. She dug her thumbnail into the bottom of the candle and dragged it upward. The tallow curled up before her thumb in a long ribbon, which she caught in the palm of her hand. She did this twice more to smooth out the indentation in the candle before returning it to its place and securing the lantern’s latch.

  She cupped the curls of fat in her hands and rubbed them together as she returned to her hammock. The hard tallow softened under her fingers, until she could smear it over the fronts and backs of her hands. A few days of this treatment, and she needn’t be so embarrassed.

  What a foolish thing to care about, given her situation. Georgana tucked herself back into the hammock. Almost daily since boarding the Deborah, the pendulum in her heart swung to and fro. Some days she mourned the loss of stability she had at Lushill House and the loss of her reputation should she be found out. Other days she felt that she and her father had been right to steal away in the dead of night. She did not know how long she would have to endure this, but she did not want the alternative.

  This prison of a ship was better than Grandmother.

  Perhaps Lieutenant Peyton’s friendship was only the beginning of a better life at sea. As second in command, his respect could influence the rest of the crew. He was well liked among the men, more so than her father.

  Her hands stilled. She arranged them on top of the old blankets so as not to stain her shirt, then slowly lay back and closed her eyes. The lieutenant’s face filled her mind, and she let the images remain there, bringing a warmth she’d never felt before.

  Chapter 6

  Good, George. Good!” Dominic motioned for the lad to pause his punching. Half a dozen days of practicing had not turned George into a fighter, but he was learning quickly. The wardroom was warm and stuffy that morning, and already Dominic had lost his cravat and coat. Now he unbuttoned his waistcoat and added it to the pile. He pulled at his loose shirt, letting cooler air dry the sweat.

  He didn’t know how George kept going with his jacket securely buttoned.

  “Now, I don’t want you to think about hitting my hand this time.” Dominic raised his hand again. A thin layer of grease coated his palm from the lad’s fist. He’d never known a boy to worry over dry skin unless it started to crack, but young Mr. Taylor was an odd one.

  The boy cocked his head.

  “When you swing, I want you to try to punch the wall.” He motioned behind him with his head.

  George obediently walked toward the back of the wardroom, glancing at Dominic out of the corners of his eyes. Dominic laughed, grabbing his arm to stop him. “No, stay where you are.”

  “But I can’t reach the wall.”

  Dominic repositioned the boy. Maybe a different explanation would work better. “Hit my hand, but instead of aiming for the surface of my hand, imagine going through it. A cannonball doesn’t stop at the hull, it pounds straight through.”

  “Unless it misses.” Was that a grin on George’s face? Dominic blinked, and it was gone.

  “Those are French guns.” The fleeting spark in the boy’s eyes gave him hope. “Don’t be a French cannon. Be a sound English cannon.”

  George chewed the corner of his bottom lip and stared at Dominic’s hand. His fist shot forward. Dominic’s hand smarted when the boy made contact. The punch was harder than any of his previous ones.

  “Much better. Again.”

  A stocky form stomped through the door, and George snapped into a salute. “More practice, Peyton?” Jarvis asked. His watch clearly hadn’t cured the foul mood he woke up in. The second lieutenant didn’t wait for an answer before entering his room and slamming the door.

  They wouldn’t see him for several hours, Dominic bet.

  George continued hitting Dominic’s hand until it began to ache. Dominic’s chest swelled with pride. Already the timid cabin boy was showing more determination.

  A cabin door opened, and this time it was the young chaplain. George paused to glance at the orange-haired clergyman, who nodded in greeting.

  “Will you be attending services today, sir?” the chaplain asked, adjusting his spectacles.

  Ah, right. Sunday. Dominic scooped up his discarded clothes. “Of course, Mr. Doswell. I just need to fetch my prayer book.” And dress himself properly.

  Captain Woodall always wore his dress coat for services, and Dominic tried to remember to do the same. He still hadn’t managed to form a friendship with the captain, something he’d never failed to do on his previous assignments. The captain had set firm boundaries with the crew, even with his officers. As far as Dominic could tell, no one had been able to penetrate those walls.

  Except George, of course. Dominic wondered at that. They were barely relations.

  George followed him to the door of his cabin. Dominic threw his things onto his cot and knelt by his trunk.

  “Will we practice again tomorrow?” the boy asked.

  “If you want to.” Dominic glanced sideways at him. “Do you want to?”

  The boy nodded, face still red from the exertion of their lesson.

  “I will see you after forenoon watch.” George was enjoying it, then. That pleased Dominic. The lad was as quiet as ever, but now he regularly looked Dominic in the eye, and he had even told a joke.

  Dominic opened the lid of his trunk. A flash of gray shot out and latched onto his shirt. He yelped and jumped back, but it didn’t fall.

  A rat.

  It clawed up the front of his shirt, racing toward his face. Dominic stumbled, an unintelligible scream spilling from his lips. George ran in and swatted the creature down. Its rough fur stuck out at odd angles. Those beady eyes set Dominic’s insides wriggling. The rat scrambled back toward the trunk, but the boy kicked it out of the cabin. It sailed into the wardroom, squeaking and writhing. When it landed under the table, the pest rolled to its feet and scurried away.

  Dominic panted, wiping the front of his shirt to rid himself of the feeling of claws racing up his torso. Where had the little devil come from? He must have left the trunk open a crack that morning. Of all the stupid mistakes to make.

  He gripped George’s shoulder. What a dolt, scared over a rat! Ships
were rampant with them. “Thank you, George. I apologize for getting frightened like a little girl.” He shook his head ruefully.

  George didn’t laugh as he expected. The boy fixed him with a flat look. Dominic couldn’t read the thoughts behind those bright eyes.

  He pulled on his waistcoat, hands still shaking from the surprise visitor, then reached for his coat. A curse slipped from his lips at the sight of a hole the creature had eaten through between the line of buttons and the sleeve.

  “What is it?” George asked.

  Dominic showed him the gnawed hole. “I’ll be a shabby lieutenant until we get back to England.” Not that they wore their dress uniforms very often. But every Sunday the hole would be there for all to see.

  “I can mend that.” George pulled the coat closer to survey the damage.

  “You can?” Most men on board could do basic repairing, but their work was meant only to hold things together until a better solution could be found.

  “I mend the captain’s coat often enough. You can only see the mending if you know it’s there.” There was no pride in his voice.

  Dominic looked at the hole. Did he trust the boy to fix something so expensive? George had trusted him enough to come back for more lessons. What sort of friend would Dominic be if he didn’t offer trust in return? “Very well, I will bring it to the captain’s cabin after services.”

  George nodded. “I’d best go see if the captain needs anything.” He saluted and left.

  Dominic scowled one more time at the glaring hole. No doubt the boy thought him ridiculous now. He chuckled. One thing he could count on—George would not tell a soul about his unmanly display. He’d have to console himself in that.

  Bells tolled the end of the watch as Georgana scrambled up the ladder to the upper deck, a telescope tucked under her arm. She wondered if she would miss the constant ringing if she ever found a place on land to belong to.

  She moved out of the way of the hatch to let the men go below. Her gaze flicked across the deck. Lieutenant Peyton stood at the larboard rail near the bow. His eyes were closed, a peaceful smile on his face—the picture of a man who knew where he belonged. Perhaps she could capture that scene if she were better at drawing. If only Grandmother had allowed her to draw more than dull landscapes.

  But Grandmother wasn’t here now, and the idea of drawing figures tickled Georgana’s mind.

  Lieutenant Peyton spotted her and raised his hand in greeting. The memory of Sunday morning and the terror on the lieutenant’s face forced its way into her head. She kept her face passive, masking the giggle bubbling inside. What a world of trouble she would be in if she allowed such a feminine sound to escape.

  The lieutenant walked toward her but didn’t stop when he reached her. He stuck out a hand and tousled her cap as he passed on his way to the quarterdeck.

  The quarterdeck! Georgana remembered the telescope in her hands. Her father had sent her to the cabin to fetch it. She’d let herself get distracted by Lieutenant Peyton again. Georgana wheeled around and followed the lieutenant.

  It wasn’t as though she’d never seen a handsome man on the Deborah. Lieutenant Hargood had been severely handsome. Lieutenant Moyle was nice to look at. Even Mr. Jordan, the sailing master, though nearly as old as her father, still had pleasing features. But something about Lieutenant Peyton’s hazel eyes, which twinkled as though holding in a laugh, and his firm jaw, offset by an easy smile, made Georgana hardly able to look away.

  Tense voices carried across the quarterdeck as she climbed the steps up to the back of the ship. Most of the crew wasn’t allowed on the quarterdeck, which was reserved for officers, but she was. One more thing for the other boys to hold against her.

  Her father and Lieutenant Jarvis stood at the far end of the deck. She couldn’t see her father’s face, but his shoulders hunched forward like a cat ready to pounce. Jarvis’s square face pulled into a snarl as he spoke.

  “I am not the only one who feels we should have gone after the schooner we saw this morning,” the second lieutenant said. “Ask Peyton what he thinks.”

  Lieutenant Peyton had positioned himself a little to the right of her father. “I love a good chase but defer to Captain Woodall’s judgement.”

  “Are we to sit here and wait until corsairs start firing on one of the merchantmen before we do our duty to protect them?” Jarvis’s face flamed. “Must we wait until the fox is in the henhouse?”

  Papa’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “I will not expend our resources and men running after neutral ships. The schooner did not make contact, and we will let it be.” He spoke through a clenched jaw.

  Georgana crept forward, head down. She didn’t want to draw their anger to her by calling undue attention.

  Jarvis threw up his hands. “But—”

  “There is more to being an officer in His Majesty’s navy than lusting after combat, Mr. Jarvis. Every battle comes at a cost. As captain, it is my duty to determine whether a fight is worth the loss of life and ammunition. When you are captain, heaven forbid, you can take those chances with your men.”

  Georgana flinched. Jarvis would not take that slight well. Indeed, she could practically see steam rolling up from his face.

  “I have chosen not to risk lives today,” her father continued. “You would do well not to question my judgment, Lieutenant.” He turned toward Lieutenant Peyton, cutting off further conversation.

  Jarvis did not move for a moment, eyes boring into the back of Papa’s head. His shoulders heaved. Then he snapped a brisk salute and stormed from the quarterdeck. Georgana scuttled out of the way to avoid getting trampled.

  Lieutenant Peyton quietly gave his report and retreated.

  “I will be finished with your coat tonight,” Georgana said as he passed. “Shall I bring it to the wardroom?”

  “I’ll fetch it. Thank you, George.” His smile looked forced.

  She understood the feeling. Papa and Jarvis had never agreed on how the ship was to be run, but the last week or so Jarvis had become bolder. Now a full-blown argument had erupted on the deck, within earshot of many of the crew. If this continued to escalate . . .

  She did not want to imagine the results.

  Papa was in the cabin when Lieutenant Peyton came to retrieve his coat that night. Georgana did not know why her stomach twisted when her father expressed his surprise at the visit.

  Georgana put her head down. She quickly finished off a last stitch on the coat and wove the tail of thread into the other stitches. The location of the hole made the repair more obvious than the mending she had done on her father’s coat. She hoped it would meet the lieutenant’s expectations.

  “George has been so kind as to mend my coat for me,” Lieutenant Peyton said.

  Georgana felt Papa’s gaze. She had very little interaction with the men on the ship beyond relaying messages.

  “Ah. I thought it was mine.” He feigned interest in the notes before him on the table, but Georgana saw him watching them.

  “I’ve finished, sir.” She held out the coat to Lieutenant Peyton, but his eyes were on an open book sitting on the table. Her heart leaped into her throat. Her sketchbook.

  The lieutenant picked it up and flipped through the pages. “Did you draw these, George?”

  She wanted to pull his coat over her head. After finishing the mending, she had planned to make her first attempt at drawing a person. Thank heavens she hadn’t already begun.

  “These are very good.” He held the book toward the lantern light, examining each image.

  “They’re just waves,” Georgana said. She hoped the confession would dissuade him from continuing his perusal.

  It didn’t. He gave each page more attention than the silly sketches deserved. “I can never grow tired of looking at waves. You have talent, George.”

  Hardly. She bit her tongue, hoping to avoid blushing under his praise. “Your coat, sir.”

  The lieutenant finally set down her book. “Thank you.” He inspe
cted the mending. “If I did not already know you came from a naval family, I would ask your father’s profession, Mr. Taylor. Where did you learn how to do this?”

  What did she say to that? Grandmother had made her learn mending.

  Her father cleared his throat, turning the lieutenant’s attention back to him. “Has Jarvis’s temper cooled?”

  Georgana relaxed. As much as she would have preferred to talk to the lieutenant alone, she was grateful her father had stayed in tonight.

  “I believe so, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  Lieutenant Peyton held up his coat. “Thank you, George. Good evening, Captain.”

  Her father followed him to the door and shut it behind the lieutenant. When the sound of Peyton’s footsteps faded, he whirled.

  “Does he know?”

  Georgana’s eyes widened. “No, Captain.”

  Her father let out a breath. His hand rose to his forehead. “Peyton has shown a marked interest in you of late. Does he suspect?”

  Georgana swallowed. “I don’t think so.” Papa remained unaware of the defense lessons with the lieutenant, and she didn’t think he would appreciate knowing. Keeping things from her father came easily. More easily than it should. She had kept Grandmother’s mistreatment hidden most of her life.

  “You must be careful in your interactions with the men on this ship. We cannot be too cautious.” He returned to the table and sat heavily. He picked up his pen again, dipped into the inkwell, and continued the notes from before Lieutenant Peyton’s visit. “I cannot understand why he would take an interest in you.”

  “Perhaps . . .”

  He looked up and waited.

  “Perhaps he saw a lonely cabin boy who needed a friend.” Her voice came out small and shaky.

  Papa stared at her, mouth open as if to speak. But no words came. Eventually he closed it and turned back to his work.

  Georgana slipped her needle into its place in her trunk, then plucked up her book and pencils. She took them to the chair by the windows and set a lantern on a sill. Papa would have to be her first unsuspecting subject.