Georgana's Secret (Proper Romance)

by Arlem Hawks

  “I won’t, sir.” She saluted, and the surgeon quit the cabin.

  “Traitor,” Dominic mumbled.

  She retrieved his shoes and helped him into his jacket. He looked a mess, with more than a week’s worth of stubble on his face and no waistcoat, but that didn’t keep her insides from soaring like gulls through the sails.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  He paused before pushing up from the cot. She supported him on his right side. They had walked him around the cabin a few times, but the upper deck was a much farther journey. He made to step forward, but she held him back.

  “Remember that I am George Taylor, not . . .” Her eyebrows lifted, and she hoped he understood.

  He beamed. “You might have to remind me.”

  “Will that be your answer for everything now?” They walked slowly to the door. She cleared all emotion from her features. In the cabin they spoke softly enough not to draw attention from the other wardroom officers, but out in the open they would have to guard their chatter.

  Before they stepped through the door, he bent forward so his lips brushed her ear. “If it means keeping you near to help me recall, then yes.”

  Dominic expanded his lungs as much as he dared to take in the ocean wind he’d missed so much. The fresh air dried the sweat on his face. He had never struggled so much to get from the messdeck to the quarterdeck, but the effort had been worth it.

  Skipping waves reflected the afternoon sun, and he squinted against the brightness. He supported himself against the larboard rail. Georgana stood at his side, ready for him to collapse, judging by the pinched expression on her face.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, resting his elbows on the rail. The breeze whipped at his hair, now almost long enough to tie back. Longer than hers.

  Her eyes softened. “Not so much as you, I’m certain.”

  He tore his gaze away. If she didn’t want him to let her secret slip, he’d best not linger on her upturned face or full lips. He should have kissed her when he’d had the chance—that night they’d danced behind the mast. Each morning when he awoke to her standing above him with breakfast, he regretted his forbearance.

  “What is it?” The wind caught her voice and filled his ears with it.

  “It is nothing.” Or everything. Could he keep up this act for three or four more weeks? “When we return to England, I have a proposition. Instead of you going back to your grandmother.”

  Her face reddened. “Yes, I . . . I read your letter to your mother. I didn’t mean to. It fell out when I was finding a blanket, and—”

  He caught her arm, and he would have pulled her into an embrace if dozens of men weren’t walking the main deck. To hold her in his arms, to feel her curl her head against his chest, to kiss her without worrying about sailors and wagging tongues—what bliss that would be. He let go quickly, before he drew suspicion.

  Someday they wouldn’t need to hide.

  “I love you,” he breathed into the wind, his mouth barely moving.

  She scanned the deck, eyes wide. “You cannot say that.”

  “But it’s true all the same.” He forced his attention to running a finger along the grooves in the rail’s wood, just to keep from staring. “And if I am to keep it from the world, I will not keep it from you. I wish to never hide my thoughts, my feelings from you again.” He couldn’t help another glance.

  Her eyes glistened in the late afternoon light. Until very recently, he would have thought no sight more thrilling than an open sea, her waves capped by bubbling foam, carrying him toward the horizon. Today he knew his happiness would not be complete without the lady beside him. No matter that she wore trousers and a coat overlapped in front. The smile she tried to bite down set his pulse racing. This. This was perfection—the waves, the wind, and his darling Georgana.

  He didn’t know if his head whirled from the exercise or the picture before him. He wished it would never end.

  “Taylor.”

  They both turned. Walter Fitz stood just off the quarterdeck, staring over his shoulder at Jarvis and Rimmer, the marine second lieutenant, conversing on the forecastle. Georgana hurried over to the boy. Her strange friendship with the former bully made no sense to Dominic.

  “There’s been more talk about the Frenchie,” the boy said in hushed tones. “And the captain. Some think he’s a spy.”

  “Which one?”

  “Either. Both.” Walter took another look behind him. “Jarvis has been in the mess again.”

  Georgana sighed. “Thank you, Fitz.” She returned to Dominic, the lightness in her face gone.

  “What is happening?”

  “Unrest among the crew because of the captain’s absence.”

  Something that was out of his power to fix. For now.

  “Come, let’s get you below,” she said. “We’ve stayed too long already.”

  He wouldn’t object to her putting her arm around him once more. It was as close as he would get to holding her until they landed.

  Georgana shut the door to the captain’s cabin and leaned against it, choking down the giggle that rose to her throat. Dominic’s words on the quarterdeck melted all her resolve.

  Someone loved her. And not just any someone—Dominic.

  She covered her mouth with a hand. How long had it been since someone told her they loved her? Her father never said it, though he’d implied it on several occasions. To hear those words—spoken so tenderly by the lieutenant, who she thought would always remain a dream—left her breathless.

  “Does he know?” Her father’s growl upended the euphoria. He sat in his hanging cot. The curtains cast shadows across his face.

  “He . . .” Georgana gulped. She didn’t want any more secrets. “He does.”

  “He’s a man of the sea. Do not forget that.”

  She waited for his reprimand, for him to rail about the impropriety of her actions. That was what Grandmother would have done.

  Papa didn’t. He lay down and turned his back to her.

  Her hands fell limp at her sides. Must she choose one man over the other? Papa had thrown up walls around himself. How was she to give him the care he deserved?

  She crept to his cot. Just as he hadn’t mentioned his love for her in the last three years, she couldn’t remember telling him either. In her younger life, he had chased away the storms with his return. For years he and Mama had been the only two people in the world who saw her as something other than a mistake. So many times he’d cradled her and told her she meant the world to him, and that helped carry her through the days when Grandmother screamed the loudest.

  Georgana reached out her hand. Dominic was right. Sometimes things had to be said, no matter the risk. She touched her father’s arm. “I love you, Papa.”

  He did not respond. She backed away and busied herself hanging her hammock. The day’s work had drained her, as it had every day since the battle almost ten days ago. She couldn’t complain. Everyone on board was working harder than usual to repair the broken mast and yards, restore the rigging, and mend the sails. Others, like her father and Dominic, worked to get well.

  A sniff came from the other side of the cabin. Her father didn’t move, and Georgana said nothing.

  Chapter 33

  Georgana didn’t mind mending. She had done so much of it at Lushill and more since coming to the Deborah. And she certainly didn’t mind mending for him.

  Dominic’s uniform coat lay across her lap. The jagged tear across the left side gaped open. For weeks she’d put off this work. Just looking at the holes in his clothing made her stomach turn. She rethreaded her needle with blue. Anyone who looked closely would see the repair, but it would do until he could commission a new coat. She stabbed the needle into the material and pulled the two sides of the rip together.

  “Jarvis hasn’t come with a report for three days.” Though more than a week had passed since her attempt to reconcile with Papa, and two weeks since the battle, the sound of his voice surprised her. H
e still did not speak much, but he was slowly letting down some of the walls.

  He sat at the table, a map before him and a teacup in his remaining hand. He’d allowed her to pin up the sleeve of his jacket, as she’d seen similarly wounded men do. He stared intently at the map.

  “Shall I fetch him for you?” she asked.

  He immediately shook his head. “Send one of the other boys. That man is not in his right mind.”

  She didn’t mention that Jarvis had been shockingly less violent since shouldering most of the responsibilities of the captain and other officers. Many of the crew had even begun to speak highly of Jarvis, despite their earlier dislike after Fitz’s beating. Fitz and his father avoided him at all costs, but the rest of the crew had forgiven and forgotten the incident under his newfound aptitude for leadership.

  Her fingers smoothed over the coat blanketing her legs. Dominic had come far in his recovery, though he still came below looking haggard and faint after his watches. He didn’t have the strength yet to step into the role Jarvis had taken. She hoped Dominic wouldn’t have to, with how much better her father was doing in recent days.

  “Don’t fall for a navy man,” Papa said.

  Her head snapped up, and her hands fell still. “You are a navy man.”

  He set down his cup and ran his hand through his hair. It looked grayer than it had a few weeks ago, or perhaps his perpetual weariness made the fading more prominent. “And look what that did to your mother and to you. Would you drag yourself and your children through this?”

  Georgana winced. She stared at the needle stuck into the fabric on her lap. If he had told her this two months ago, she would have readily agreed. Now she saw the love in Dominic’s eyes and felt the warmth of his voice, and her convictions faltered.

  “You have a tender heart and are prone to love, even when it is not earned.” He fiddled with the buttons on his jacket. “After all you’ve endured at your grandmother’s hand because of me, I do not wish to see you hurt anymore.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She lowered her head and set to her work, images of her mother filling her mind. Given the choice, would she choose the same path as Mama? Her plans to return to London and seek out a husband had faded into the muddle of caring for Dominic. Each time a thought of the looming arrival came to her mind, she pushed it out with thoughts of Dominic’s progress and their quiet flirtations.

  One day soon, she would have to choose.

  A life with Dominic meant being alone. Was that challenge worth the brief moments of paradise? She did not know.

  “Your watch is in half an hour, sir.”

  Dominic smiled and opened his eyes. He had lain down for a few minutes after readying himself for the day and fallen asleep. What a sorry excuse for an officer. Waking to that voice, however, made it all worth it. For more than a week he’d made excursions around the ship, sometimes with Georgana and sometimes alone, and taken occasional watches. His strength was returning, but he still had bouts of fatigue and dizziness.

  Georgana set the breakfast tray on the stool by his cot. She hadn’t stopped bringing his breakfast, even though he’d recovered enough to do most things himself. He hoped she wouldn’t stop until they got to Portsmouth. As a matter of fact, he hoped she would never stop greeting him in the mornings.

  He glanced out the door. No one sat in the wardroom, so he grabbed her hand. “Now there’s a face I’d love to come home to.” He got slowly to his feet.

  Her hand went rigid in his. “Come home to?”

  Dominic took a breath, but it did nothing to slow his raging pulse. Only a week or two remained until they set foot on the dock in Portsmouth. If he stayed with the Deborah, it would be only a matter of weeks before the Admiralty called the crew into service again. He didn’t know what would happen or where they would assign him. One thing he did know: he would not leave for his next voyage uncertain of his relationship with Georgana.

  “Yes. Home.” He tried to catch her gaze, but her eyes stayed fixed on the lapels of his coat. “I want that home to be wherever you are.”

  Footsteps traveled through the wardroom, and Georgana wrenched her hand away. Étienne passed, hardly giving them a glance.

  “I will not be left at home,” she whispered after Étienne left.

  Dominic blinked. “But you do not want to waste your life away on board a ship. You hate the navy.”

  She nodded, and the hand he’d held came up to pull at the cropped ends of her hair. “I cannot marry a navy man.” A question hung on her voice.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Look at what it has done to my father.” She retreated one step. Two. “Look what it’s done to you. I can’t continue this way. My mother . . .” Her voice caught.

  Heavens above, he’d forgotten her mother. He swiped a hand across his brow. “You are not your mother. And my mother is not your grandmother. Your life would not be the same, I promise.”

  She clutched her coat around her. Her face carried the haunted look he’d tried to clear away so many times in the last few weeks. “How long would you be mine? Six weeks in a year?”

  He rubbed his temples. This was not the conversation he’d imagined having. Dolt. “Possibly more than that. If I thought you would be happy, I would bring you with me on some occasions, but you have made it clear that is not your wish.”

  “You are married to the navy, Lieutenant Peyton.” The dejection in her tone rattled inside him. His chest constricted. “That is a life I will not live. A life I cannot live.”

  Ears ringing with the beat of each word falling from her lips, Dominic sank back to his cot. He couldn’t erase a lifetime of prejudice against the sea. Two weeks of considering, deciding, and gathering the courage to ask her to be a part of the simple life he lived, and he hadn’t imagined her refusing him. She understood sea life. She understood him. She . . . cared for him. He had assumed she loved him enough to see past his occupation and its trials.

  He sucked in a breath, the action as difficult as it had been in those hazy moments after he’d been struck with the shard from the mizzenmast. His heart wrenched as he opened his mouth to speak. “No. I suppose you could not.”

  “I’m sorry. I truly am,” she said, cowering toward the door. “I’m sorry.” She turned on her heel and fled.

  The energy to stand fled with her. He needed to ready himself to take his watch. Instead he dropped his head to his hands. This was the reason he had never bothered with young ladies on land. The only woman he needed was the sea.

  Dominic stayed hunched in his cot until numbness took over, cooling the heated chaos of his mind. It wasn’t the same apathy he fell into when preparing for battle. This deadening fog clouded out everything from his mind and heart. He didn’t touch his breakfast. He didn’t even move until the bell for his watch rang eight melancholy times. Then he dragged himself off the cot and up the ladders to the life he’d loved before Georgana had staked a claim on every last part of it.

  Chapter 34

  Heated voices above made Georgana and her father look up from their dinner. When the noise began, she’d thought it just the rising winds. Now she couldn’t mistake the shouts.

  “A fight on deck, no doubt,” Papa said. “The officers will take care of it.”

  Georgana took a sip of lemonade, but it didn’t calm her. The taste of lemons made her wish for vibrant limes, which only turned her heart to other things she longed for and couldn’t have.

  Wouldn’t have, she corrected. She chose this. For the first time, she had the power to decide something about her life, and it made her sick.

  “George, will you go to Dr. Étienne for a poultice? He will know which one I mean.”

  Her brow furrowed. The voices above had not quieted. “A poultice? What for?”

  “My arm.”

  He hadn’t asked for one in some time. “Yes, of course.” She got to her feet, leaving her meal unfinished. The tightness of her stomach hadn’t allowed her to eat much. She too
k one of the lanterns with her to help her find the surgeon in the blackness of the orlop deck.

  No marine stood at attention by the door when she exited. Several men climbed the ladder, their movements masking the sounds from above. She hurried to the ship’s fore ladder, passing the long scorch mark on the deck where the fire had burned during battle.

  Few sailors roamed the messdeck. Her father generally ate after the men did, but the crew liked to linger over cards and grog if they weren’t on watch. Had they all gathered to watch the fight?

  Georgana walked quickly through the narrow corridors of the orlop deck, between storerooms and holding chambers. The marine guarding the officers’ storerooms had also left his post. Georgana paused at the door. The hairs on her arm stood on end. Something was amiss.

  The marines had been more unruly than usual since the death of their first lieutenant. Lieutenant Rimmer did not enforce discipline as strictly as Lieutenant Tytherton had. Or at all.

  She rushed on, hoping the surgeon could quickly prepare the poultice, so she might return to her father.

  Étienne sat at his desk, making notes in a ledger. Georgana knocked on the doorframe and saluted when he turned around.

  “The captain wants a poultice, sir. He said you would know which one.”

  Étienne’s eyes flicked to the deck above them. “Ah, yes.” He stood and stretched, then set about gathering supplies. Slowly.

  “How are you this evening, Mr. Taylor?”

  Georgana shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Well enough.” Better if he hurried.

  He put various ingredients into a bowl and pounded them with a pestle. He added a few more things, sprinkling them in as though mixing a pudding rather than a poultice.

  “Do you prefer Mr. Taylor or George? I have heard Lieutenant Peyton and the captain call you George more often.” His dark eyes glinted. “Or perhaps you prefer Georgana?”