Georgana's Secret (Proper Romance)

by Arlem Hawks

  Georgana removed reference books and writing supplies from the captain’s table in preparation for the dinner. The furniture could do with a polish. She didn’t usually bother when they were at sea. But what would Lieutenant Peyton think of the dull table?

  She straightened, hands falling to her sides. Lieutenant Peyton wouldn’t notice one way or the other, just as he hadn’t noticed the new softness in her hands. They were at sea, for heaven’s sake.

  She tried valiantly to banish the thought of him sitting in his cabin without his shirt, but the efforts were in vain. Her hands flew to her face. Heat seeped from her cheeks into her hands. He wasn’t the first man on this ship she’d seen in such a state of undress. But it was the first time she had gawked, tracing the straight line of his back and lean muscles of his shoulders with her eyes when he turned away.

  Grandmother would be appalled if she ever found out. That thought pulled a strange bubbling sensation from her throat, a girlish laugh she’d nearly forgotten how to use.

  “What are you doing, George?”

  Georgana jumped and whirled around to face her father at the door. “I-I was readying the table for dinner.”

  “What did you find funny about that?” His eyebrow rose.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She rushed to shove her trunk and bundled hammock behind the desk, out of sight of the visitors.

  Papa stayed by the closed door, watching her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you laugh.” She hadn’t heard that softness in his voice for so long.

  “I did not laugh . . . I coughed.” She withered under his scrutinizing gaze. Pretending busyness, she rummaged through her trunk and played with the clasp that held it closed until she heard his shoes travel across the floor toward his own belongings.

  Georgana wiped her sweating hands on her breeches. Papa was already getting suspicious. If he found out how much she cared for the lieutenant, he might cut off all interaction, and then, with how much time she’d spent at the lieutenant’s side, the officers and crew would likely know something was amiss.

  Only a few more months until she wouldn’t have to worry about their questioning looks. Only a few more months left to enjoy her sweet friendship with the lieutenant.

  It wasn’t much of a celebration feast by their countrymen’s standards. Salt beef, pickled vegetables, and rolls, with a pudding to finish. But Dominic didn’t mind. He had never been one for elaborate food, so long as it tasted delicious.

  Only six ate with the captain tonight. Most captains dined regularly with all the officers and midshipmen in the wardroom, but Captain Woodall kept his guests few and his dinners brief.

  George stood near the opposite wall, his gaze wandering around the room instead of staying on the floor. The change pleased Dominic, as did the absence of any illness. The boy looked right as rain, though his thin brows lowered as he listened to Jarvis’s drink-induced rambling. Dominic hadn’t found good reason to bring up the mystery of George’s past, but the more he observed the captain and George together, the more he spotted quick glances and unspoken dialogue that indicated secrecy.

  “Will you receive word from home while we are in port?” Dominic asked. His own mother would have written at least once.

  Captain Woodall swallowed a bite of roll. “I don’t expect it.” He seemed so calm. What man in the navy wasn’t eager to see if he had received word of his loved ones? Correspondence would have left England soon after the Deborah, but any news was welcome news, even if it was old.

  “Does your daughter write often?”

  The captain lifted his glass to his mouth. “She does not write to me at all.”

  Beyond the captain, George fidgeted, pulling at his sleeves, and then he overlapped the sides of his coat. Did the boy know her well? Dominic’s mother said she should have been out in Society by now, making her a few years older than the lad. George straightened, hands falling still as though forced.

  Dominic fingered the stem of his glass. George knew something about the captain’s daughter. Dominic saw discomfort hidden behind the lad’s impassive stare.

  “No doubt we’d have fresher provisions for dinner if we’d caught one of those vessels,” Jarvis grumbled.

  The other officers exchanged glances around the table. Captain Woodall ignored the jab and speared his last bite of food.

  Dominic followed suit, finishing off his heavily spiced beef. He agreed that ignoring Jarvis would douse his ire more quickly than acknowledging it. At least for tonight. But if the captain continued to ignore his behavior, Jarvis would keep getting harder to manage.

  “We can only hope we’ll be reassigned a patrol in the Caribbean. Perhaps then we’ll take prizes.”

  The captain cleared his throat, lifting hardened eyes to the second lieutenant. George also glared at Jarvis.

  “We have our orders to return to England.”

  Confrontation at the table forgotten, Dominic looked from the captain to the boy. At first glance, one wouldn’t see any similarities between them. The captain’s light hair and weathered face appeared nothing like the dark-haired, pale-skinned boy.

  “And we’ll report to the Admiralty that we took nothing?” Jarvis asked.

  Even in build, Captain Woodall and George did not resemble each other. The captain had a thick frame, the boy a slender form. But there was something similar between the two.

  “We are doing our duty to king and country, not pursuing our own interests. Not another word, Mr. Jarvis.”

  The steward stepped forward with the pudding and divided it between the officers. Captain Woodall pulled in the corner of his bottom lip and gnawed it angrily as he watched the proceedings.

  A prickle ran up Dominic’s spine.

  George had done the exact thing that morning in the wardroom. Dominic’s eyes flew back and forth between the man and the boy, with their lowered brows and steely expressions. Dominic mindlessly took a bite of pudding and nearly choked when the idea hit him between the eyes. Yes, there was a resemblance. Too much of a resemblance to be distantly related.

  Captain Woodall was George’s father.

  He sputtered and coughed until Moyle offered him his drink. The liquid cleared his throat, but it didn’t clear his reeling head.

  “Careful, Peyton,” Mr. Jordan said. The older man’s eyes twinkled. “Good as it is, the pudding isn’t worth dying for.”

  Dominic laughed through another cough. Blasted pudding making him look the fool.

  They were all fools. Captain Woodall had kept this secret for three years? Dominic couldn’t fathom why. Plenty of captains brought their sons aboard. It was nothing to be embarrassed about.

  Dominic didn’t taste the pudding as he shoveled the rest into his mouth. But George was a third-class boy. What captain would put his own son in that position? Perhaps Captain Woodall thought the boy was not committed enough to advance in the navy. Since George didn’t want to be in the navy, Dominic would agree with that.

  “Thank you for joining me this evening,” the captain said, pushing his chair back from the table. The officers rose and saluted before they left. Dominic lingered. He opened his mouth to spill his discovery, to ask the myriad of questions swirling in his head, then snapped it shut. George’s serious face stopped him.

  “Has there been any improvement in young Mr. Byam?” Dominic asked instead.

  The captain would not take kindly to someone discovering his secret. No doubt he and George thought themselves safe after so long. Dominic couldn’t risk losing the respect of the captain and the friendship of the boy by touting his own intelligence.

  “I’m afraid not,” the captain said, his previously stern expression falling. His eyes flicked to George. “He only worsens.”

  “We will continue to hope for a recovery.” But cheery words did not appear to raise the man’s spirits. Perhaps Captain Woodall imagined himself in the boatswain’s shoes, watching helplessly as his son withered away. “Good night, Captain. George.”

 
The boy saluted. Dominic studied his face once more, then the captain’s, just to be sure he hadn’t lost his wits. Yes, the resemblance was there in the set of their lips, the shape of their brows—hidden unless one knew to look.

  Dominic skipped port with his fellow officers and went straight to his cabin and closed the door behind him. No wonder he hadn’t found any Taylors or the Caroline in the Naval Chronicle.

  They weren’t real.

  He sat on his cot and let it swing side to side. Light from the wardroom filtered through the bars into his cabin.

  The captain’s treatment of George made sense now. He worried for the boy as any parent would for a struggling child. He’d brought George to sea to try to form him into the son he’d always dreamed of. Just as Dominic’s father had done with his heir, raising John to be a copy of himself. Their father had succeeded, but the captain clearly hadn’t achieved the same results.

  Dominic kicked off his shoes and removed his coat, which he draped over the stool. The morning watch would come sooner than he liked. He pulled off his waistcoat and added it to the pile, then untied his cravat.

  George was the captain’s son. How could that be true, when everyone knew the captain only had one child, a daughter?

  Dominic rolled onto his back, not bothering with his blanket. Roaring laughter came from the wardroom. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the dark ceiling. A son no one had ever heard of and a secret they had never told. What did it all mean? He’d known gentlemen and officers to keep a multitude of secrets but usually not that sort. Only in the case of . . .

  Dominic sat up.

  Illegitimacy.

  Yes, it was the only reasonable explanation. Why else would the captain be concerned about hiding the boy’s parentage? Dominic couldn’t fathom inventing a ship and an officer if not to cover a mistake. That would justify leaving George a third-class ship’s boy as well, especially if the mother was of lower standing.

  His head pounded with the new thought. Poor George. No wonder he had trouble finding his place on the ship. He didn’t fit anywhere.

  But with this new knowledge, Dominic determined to change that. George would have a place, and Dominic would help him find it.

  Chapter 14

  The murky waters of Antigua’s English Harbour lapped against the Deborah as she slid into the bay. Georgana leaned against the rail for a better look at the shore. Shops and workhouses lined the streets, and stacks of timber studded the ground. Sitting high on the hill above, a walled military complex watched over the busy town.

  Georgana loosened her cravat. Sweat already dripped down from under her cap, despite the midmorning breeze. She wished she could remove her coat. Several of the sailors had already taken off their shirts. Thank heavens Lieutenant Peyton wasn’t among them. The officers wore dress uniforms today. She bit her cheek to stop the blush from spreading across her face.

  Her father joined her on the forecastle and grasped the rail with both hands. His face glistened from the heat.

  “I do not need to remind you to take caution while we are in port,” he said quietly.

  Georgana shook her head. “We won’t be leaving the ship, will we?”

  The captain pursed his lips. “The marine first lieutenant mentioned an old acquaintance stationed at the military compound in Antigua. I might be required to accept his invitation to dine.”

  The hair on the back of her neck raised, even in the sticky air. “What will I do?”

  He sighed. “I haven’t come to a conclusion. If you come with me, you will be sent to the servants’ quarters. If you stay . . .” Ever since her father had learned of the boys’ harassment, he was wary of being too far away from her. “Well, let us hope no invitation is extended.”

  Georgana nodded. He moved away to give instruction to the sailing master, and she turned back to watching the shore. One more docking after Antigua, and then she would leave this world forever. Return to the world she should be inhabiting, where she hoped she could soon find a home. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about being left without the captain’s protection.

  Sailors swarmed up the hatch to see the harbor and guide the ship in. She shrank away from her spot and trudged back to the cabin. That world felt so far away. Her shoulders hunched at the thought of trying to become a young lady after being a ship’s boy for so long. Could she meld back into the girl she used to be? Or would she struggle, just as she had on the Deborah? She wouldn’t have a Lieutenant Peyton to show her how to defend herself against the gossiping tongues and probing gaze of Society.

  Her eyes drifted upward and found the first lieutenant at the platform on the yard of the mainmast. She didn’t want to be at sea forever, but for the first time, that life didn’t seem so bleak.

  “Two, please.”

  The shopkeeper nodded and took two thin pencils from a box. Dominic did not know if these were the sort of pencils George preferred for drawing, but they were the best he could find in the town.

  The white-capped woman placed the pencils on top of a little blank book and wrapped brown paper around the lot before tying the parcel with string. She handed it to him and took his coin. Dominic nodded a farewell. He left the tiny shop and headed for the docks. Dirt from the streets stuck to his boots, and the humidity made his shirt stick to his skin.

  Hammering and shouts from the dockyard filled the air. He planned to escape the filth of this town one afternoon and travel north to one of the quieter parts of the island. He’d bring George with him. The boy would enjoy that. If Dominic could convince the captain to grant permission, of course.

  Raucous singing spilled from the alehouse he passed. A man stumbled out carrying a dark brown bottle. He tilted left and right, swiveling his head as though trying to determine a direction to go. No hat covered his head, but the blue coat and brass buttons marked him a navy officer.

  Dominic groaned and closed his eyes. It was Jarvis.

  “Shall I help you back to the Deborah?” Dominic asked, taking the second lieutenant’s arm.

  Jarvis shrugged him off. “I’m not going back to that filthy ship and its hen-hearted captain.” His words slurred together. “If we’re not to patrol, I might as well enjoy myself.”

  “You have watch in a few hours.”

  Jarvis guffawed. “You’ll have to drag me back to the ship.”

  Dominic kneaded his forehead. Acting like this would land Jarvis in major trouble. As much as he believed the second lieutenant deserved discipline, he didn’t want to be the one to tell Captain Woodall of Jarvis’s misbehavior. He wasn’t hurting anyone right now.

  “Come back to the ship. I’ll take your watch.”

  Jarvis grumbled something unintelligible but followed Dominic through the crowds of workers and seamen back to the Deborah. Dominic was exhausted from coaxing Jarvis by the time he deposited the second lieutenant in the wardroom. Dominic grabbed his hat from his cabin, secured the package in his sea chest, and returned to the main deck. After today, he didn’t think he’d wait to find some peace. He’d go to Captain Woodall tonight and ask for leave for the next day.

  They still had more than a week left in Antigua. Their departure couldn’t come soon enough.

  The next morning dawned bright and hotter than before, but a pleasant breeze blew in off the Atlantic, and that satisfied Dominic. A mail ship had come in earlier, and the upper deck teemed with sailors eager to receive their letters. Captain Woodall had put the purser, Mr. Greaves, in charge of dividing up the mail, and the poor man looked lost in the jumble. The small man caught Dominic’s eye and waved him over.

  Crewmen saluted as Dominic passed, but they gave him hardly any room to approach the purser.

  “If you please, Lieutenant, would you take this correspondence to the captain?” Mr. Greaves shoved a handful of letters into Dominic’s hand. “And there is one for you, as well.”

  Dominic took the letter with a grin. He had recognized his mother’s swirling hand even before the purser place
d it on the stack.

  “Thank you, Greaves.”

  He looked through the letters as he walked away. Most of the captain’s were from military acquaintances. The one on top had a familiar name—Mrs. Woodall. Everyone knew Captain Woodall to be a widower. This letter must be from his mother.

  George’s head popped through the hatch before Dominic could descend. “Ah, good morning, George. Will you take these to your . . .” Dominic mentally kicked himself. He’d almost said father. “To the captain?”

  The boy nodded and took the bundle. At the sight of the first address, his face blanched.

  Dominic wondered at his reaction. Did the boy, despite his illegitimacy, know the captain’s mother? Often gentlemen would hide knowledge of such children from their families. George retraced his steps, slower than when he’d ascended. How could one letter put such terror on the boy’s face?

  Dominic knew how to remedy that. He followed George down, but instead of stopping at the captain’s cabin, the boy continued down to the messdeck. Captain Woodall must have gone down to the wardroom to meet with Mr. Jordan.

  After speaking with the marine on duty, Dominic crept into the captain’s cabin and set the package of pencils and book on the boy’s sea chest. The corner of his lips turned up. He wished he could see George’s face when he found it. The lad didn’t react much, but Dominic hoped the gift would bring George a little joy on the long journey ahead of them.

  Dominic slipped a note under the string that simply read, “Best of luck in your drawing adventures. Lt. Peyton.” Then he slid out of the room and back to the upper deck to read his own letter.

  He broke the flower-stamped seal, heart swelling at the familiar writing on the page. Though he didn’t often miss England, opening a letter from home always sparked a little flare of longing.