Regency Debutantes

by Margaret McPhee

  It was twenty minutes after two o’clock when Georgiana decided that a dish of tea was required to remedy the situation.

  The house was quiet and lit only with the silver beams of a full moon flooding through the unmasked windows of the landing and lower rooms. Bare feet tiptoed step by step downstairs and on to the cold stone floor of the kitchen. Breathing her good fortune that none of Mrs Howard’s maids actually lived in, she had just set the kettle of water to boil when she was interrupted by a soft padding and a gentle voice.

  ‘Georgiana, whatever is the matter? What are you doing down here at this time of night?’

  She wrapped the dressing gown tightly across her chest, trying to warm herself against the nocturnal chill. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you, Mrs Howard. I couldn’t sleep and thought some tea might help. Would you like some?’

  ‘Perhaps a small dish.’ Mrs Howard’s grey hair was plaited tidily into a braid that swept far down her back. She paused, before adding, ‘And you will, of course, tell me what it is that is troubling you, my dear.’ No one would ever think of disobeying the quiet command intrinsic in that voice.

  An ear lobe suffered several pulverising squeezes between thumb and forefinger before Georgiana could find the words to answer. ‘It’s Captain Hawke and our forthcoming marriage.’ She glanced rapidly at Mrs Howard before resuming her watch on the kettle.

  ‘A watched pot never boils,’ quoted the modiste. ‘Georgiana, come and sit at the table with me.’ Grey eyes observed the girl’s cold bare feet. ‘On second thoughts, run and fetch your slippers, my dear, before we continue, or you’re bound to catch your death of cold.’ A clucking, tutting noise filled the kitchen as Georgiana rose to do as she was bid, and eventually they were settled comfortably with their tea.

  The steam rose from the dish as Georgiana sipped gingerly.

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs Howard, ‘you were about to tell me precisely the nature of your concerns with marrying Captain Hawke.’ She drank her tea and waited with her usual patience.

  Georgiana fiddled with her ear. She sipped some tea. And adjusted her slippers. And her dressing gown. ‘Well…it’s just that…oh, it sounds so feeble when it comes to transfer thought to spoken word!’

  ‘I’m sure that it’s no such thing,’ said Mrs Howard reassuringly. ‘Perhaps you are worried as to the nature of your wifely duties? You are far from home, and your mama, but have no concerns, my dear, for I’ll tell you all that you need to know. And they’re nothing to worry about. Indeed, you are likely to find them really quite pleasurable.’

  A furiously blushing Georgiana gulped the rest of her tea, hot though it was, and tried not to think of what Mrs Howard was alluding to. Unfortunately the memory of intimacies shared with the captain came flooding back all too readily. She cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, ma’am, for offering such advice, but that isn’t the cause of my quandary.’

  ‘Do you find the thought of wedding Captain Hawke distasteful?’ The modiste asked the question even though she had witnessed its answer with her own eyes.

  ‘No, indeed, there is no other man whom I’d rather marry.’

  ‘You said that you love him, and you really do, don’t you? Any fool with eyes in his head can see that.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

  Mrs Howard took Georgiana’s hand between her own. ‘Then, tell me, dear girl, precisely what is the problem?’

  ‘I don’t want him to sacrifice himself by making a marriage that’s not of his own free will. He will wed me to save both our reputations. Can you imagine what would be thought of Captain Hawke if the truth were to emerge? A woman creeps aboard his ship, serves as a ship’s boy, before being transferred to the position of captain’s boy, sleeps within his own night cabin, while the captain lies to the crew that the lad is his nephew! Through my folly, and nothing of Captain Hawke’s fault, I’ve placed him in a position that could ruin his career, something that he’s worked long and hard to attain. I’ve forced him to a marriage. Nathaniel Hawke doesn’t love me, and I fear that eventually he’ll grow to hate me.’ She turned saddened eyes to Mrs Howard. ‘How can I marry him, knowing all that I do?’

  The older woman was quiet for a little. ‘I take it that Captain Hawke himself told you of the threat to his captaincy?’

  ‘Nathaniel only confirmed what I already knew. It’s the reason I agreed to marry him.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mrs Howard. ‘Not because your own reputation is ruined and you love him?’

  Georgiana darted a startled look at her chaperon. ‘Nathaniel is of the aristocracy. My father’s an inn-owner. I bring no dowry, no contacts, nothing that could be of any use to a man like Nathaniel, nothing except Georgiana Raithwaite. I would never agree to wed him to save myself.’

  Evelina Howard smiled. ‘But you’ll do so to save him?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Would you believe me if I told you that Captain Hawke holds you in very great affection?’

  The girl slowly shook her head.

  ‘I’d wager that you’ve misjudged his true feelings. Many gentlemen can be a little reticent to convey their romantic sensibilities. It doesn’t follow that they don’t care. Besides, you’re forgetting, I’ve seen the way that he looks at you!’ She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow and turned up the corners of her mouth.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken, ma’am.’ Georgiana sighed. ‘Although it pains me to admit the truth, I must. Captain Hawke is not indifferent to me. Indeed, I do believe he actually feels some element of—’ she paused, blushed, and completed her sentence ‘—of desire for me. But living amidst one hundred and eighty-five men these past weeks has certainly been educational. For I’ve learned that when a man is at sea for any length of time, confined with other men, and away from women, he’s liable to desire the company of any woman. And I stress the word any.’

  Mrs Howard fixed a determined look upon her young charge. ‘Georgiana Raithwaite, I dread to think what manner of education you’ve been exposed to. Suffice it to say that men do have certain, shall we say, appetites, but if Captain Hawke was of such a mind he would have taken advantage of you long before the Pallas docked in Gibraltar. And as you’ve assured me that the captain has not…ruined you, then we can be confident that it’s not his carnal appetites that are driving him to marry you.’ She did not add that a man with the looks and position of Nathaniel Hawke would have no difficulty finding any number of women within the port to satisfy those needs.

  ‘No,’ agreed Georgiana, ‘it’s his sense of honour and the fact that his back is against the wall that propel him.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s no way to postpone the wedding and save face, so I thought that perhaps after the ceremony I could stay here with you while Nathaniel sails for England. He could then obtain an annulment, leaving him free to marry as he wills. I, of course, would wait some time before returning.’

  Evelina Howard carefully placed the fine porcelain dish upon the saucer. ‘To resume your place in the bosom of your family? To stand once more within the marriage mart, and wed a man other than Captain Hawke?’

  ‘No, I could never do that! I’ll stay in Portsmouth and become a paid companion.’

  ‘You think to have it all worked out,’ said Mrs Howard smoothly. ‘But—’ she raised her cool grey eyes to Georgiana’s ‘—you’ve omitted to consider one vital fact.’

  Georgiana’s brow furrowed.

  ‘I leave Gibraltar for England after your wedding. I’ve a notion to return to my roots, and Captain Hawke has been kind enough to offer me transport upon his ship. We shall make the journey together, my dear, and arrive in Portsmouth before Christmas.’

  ‘But…’

  Mrs Howard’s firm hand patted Georgiana’s. ‘Life as a poor miserable spinster at the beck and call of arrogant old women, or marriage to Nathaniel Hawke—I wouldn’t have thought the choice a difficult one. The man loves you, Georgiana, as you love him. Be happy with the chance that fate has dealt you, take the risk, and you’ll s
ee that I’m right.’ She rose and, leaving the empty dishes still upon the wooden table, moved slowly across the moonlit room. ‘Now, I, at least, am for bed, and so too should you be.’

  With Mrs Howard’s words echoing in her mind, it was some time before Georgiana finally found sleep.

  Walter Praxton tutted at his fingers stained with ink from the quill held tightly between them. He scrubbed at them with his handkerchief before continuing with his carefully constructed text.

  Portsmouth

  December, 1804

  My dear Mr Raithwaite

  I write to apprise you of the latest knowledge that I have ascertained concerning your daughter. It is with a degree of trepidation that I reveal that Miss Raithwaite conspired to travel to the town of Fareham, unaccompanied upon the mail and dressed in the attire that we previously discovered. However, I am afraid to report that upon reaching her destination, she was pressed into service as a boy upon a naval frigate, which has since left dock. I cannot be certain as to the fate she has suffered upon her journey, but reassure you once again that, if there is any way that the situation can be resolved, I will endeavour, with every ounce of my being, to bring that about. I understand your distress in the matter and can only implore you to hold fast in your resolve until my return to Andover. Although your heart is breaking with sadness, I know that your concerns must now lie with the prevention of any ensuing scandal. Therefore, take some small crumb of comfort in my promise that I will return with Miss Raithwaite as my wife or not at all.

  The ship she was stowed upon is due to return to this port in the next weeks. Thus, the truth will soon become apparent, and our waiting is nigh at an end. I have a man watching the port at all hours of the day and night, so fear not that the girl will elude us for a second time. No matter the expenditure, I am committed to my duty, and remind you of the freedom that you granted me when last we spoke.

  When next you see me, I am confident that it will be in the capacity of your son. Miss Raithwaite shall learn the error of her ways if she has not already done so.

  For now I bid you adieu.

  Your faithful servant,

  Walter Praxton

  The week had passed almost as a blur for Nathaniel, caught as he was between completing the preparations for his wedding and ensuring that all on the Pallas was in order prior to the commencement of her return journey to England. On top of this he was required to fashion and reveal a clever tale to account for the sudden disappearance of Master George Robertson, a task that was proving rather more difficult than his initial estimation because of the overt interest his crew seemed to have taken in the matter. Indeed, he had barely had time to visit his betrothed. Wednesday had seen a rushed affair when he’d called at Mrs Howard’s to inform the ladies that the ceremony would take place two days hence. Georgiana had expressed a wish to converse with him, seemingly at length, but, due to a pressing appointment with Rear Admiral Tyler, Nathaniel had been unable to comply. Thus it was that he found himself on Friday morning waiting with a growing sense of pleasurable anticipation for the arrival of his bride before the altar in the King’s Chapel.

  Lieutenant Anderson smiled nervously as his second by his side. Around the splendid interior Lady Tyler had organised the hanging of garlands of small white flowers, artfully interspersed between vivid green foliage swags on the ends of the pews. The chaplain hovered nearby, looking unwell, but insisting that he was able enough to perform the marriage ceremony. On one side of the church a clutch of finely attired ladies and their smart naval husbands, Admiral Tyler’s officers, were seated on the heavy wooden pews. On the other, the officers of the Pallas sat rigidly upright. It appeared that Miss Raithwaite’s preference for punctuality might, on this occasion, have failed. No doubt putting the finishing touches to her wedding gown, or some such matter. Or so Nathaniel thought. Not for one minute did he consider that the object of his affection’s delay could be due to another reason all together—that perhaps the strong-willed Miss Raithwaite was suffering a late resurgence of conscience.

  ‘I cannot marry him,’ avowed Georgiana with surprising force. ‘He must not make such a monumental self-sacrifice.’ She sat herself down abruptly in the parlour chair, oblivious to the crushing of the delicate pale pink silk of her train. The tiny rosebuds and pink pearls clustered around the neckline heaved dramatically with the agitated thrust of her bosom. ‘No, it won’t do at all.’ Her fingers seized upon her ear lobe setting the single pink pearl earring dipping and diving in a veritable frenzy of motion.

  Mrs Howard, far from lapsing into hysterics at the sudden change of mind in her charge and the rapid ticking of the clock, calmly faced Miss Raithwaite with a steely eye. ‘No, indeed, it won’t,’ she said, swaying the intricacies of her classically styled hair with a delicate shake of the head. ‘Of course you must not marry him if you feel that it would be a mistake to do so.’

  Georgiana glanced up, somewhat surprised at the modiste’s agreement. She had expected at least some semblance of persuasion.

  ‘Captain Hawke will already be present and waiting in King’s Chapel. Shall I send a maid along to inform him by way of Admiral Tyler that you’re jilting him at the altar?’ Her voice was silky smooth, her eyes flashing the colour of sword blades. ‘Don’t concern yourself that he’ll suffer overly much from the pity of his own officers—oh, and, of course, Admiral and Lady Tyler, and the rest of Gibraltarian society. He’s a strong man, and one who is, after all, due to sail tomorrow morning.’

  Georgiana opened her mouth to argue, but promptly closed it again when Mrs Howard returned, ‘No, Miss Raithwaite. Kindly do me the honour of allowing me to finish what I have to say.’ And so she continued. ‘The scandal shall be shortlived. And I’m sure that his honour will still guarantee you a passage home aboard the Pallas, so there’s no need for you to worry on that score either. Perhaps the journey within such confinement will give you time to explain to the captain how your treatment of him is a fitting reward for all that he’s done. Risking his very position within His Majesty’s Navy for a woman, only to have her jilt him, and in such a very public way. No, you’re quite right, Georgiana, one’s conscience must always be clear, no matter the consequences suffered by others in its purging.’ She rose in one fluid movement and made to ring the bell. ‘I’ll dispatch the maid immediately. No point in prolonging Captain Hawke’s ordeal.’

  ‘No!’ Georgiana cried. ‘Your words have shown my thoughts as shallow and petty. I’ve been absorbed with myself, never thinking of the harm I may do Captain Hawke with my childish notions. Mrs Howard, please forgive my foolishness. My mind has been quite overcome with selfish emotion.’

  Mrs Howard reached for Georgiana’s hands. ‘It’s common for young ladies to experience such doubts just before their marriage. Cast them away, hold your head high, and with a stoic countenance do what you must to complete what this day has started.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Georgiana’s voice was small, her heart suitably chastened, as she accepted Mrs Howard’s embrace. ‘Mrs Howard, I do believe we have a wedding to attend.’

  And with that the ladies made ready to depart the modiste’s establishment for the very last time.

  Nathaniel’s hands were growing somewhat clammy and a gnawing feeling of unease had developed within his stomach. It appeared that Miss Raithwaite’s outfit must be in need of complete restyling or something else was very much wrong. John Anderson was shifting his weight between both feet, small beads of perspiration collecting upon his upper lip and brow. He pulled nervously at his neckcloth before glancing for the umpteenth time at his commanding officer. A murmur of disquiet had set up within the party as they sat bathed in the colourful light from the great stained glass window. Nathaniel had just made up his mind to send a messenger to Mrs Howard’s residence when he spotted the lady herself.

  Georgiana looked splendid in a pseudo-Greek classical gown of the palest pink coloration. With her dark hair swept up and adorned with a bandeau of pink rosebuds, she looked n
othing but beautiful. Her ivory skin seemed to have been carved from alabaster and the single row of fine seed pearls fastened around her neck mirrored those sewn so painstakingly around the neckline of her dress and upon the three-quarter-length gloves that covered her arms.

  She looked down the aisle and saw Nathaniel’s tall tense figure. Even as her eyes rested upon him he turned and looked at her. In that single moment time stopped for Georgiana. For her, there was no one else in the church. Even across the vast distance of the aisle she could see the relief in his eyes, and she cringed that she alone had set such a worry there. Had she really contemplated jilting the man? Surely only madness could have prompted such an idea? For Georgiana knew without a doubt that she could wish for nothing more than to be the wife of Nathaniel Hawke. She loved him, it was as simple as that. Her silly fears and idle threats had centred around depriving herself of that which she most desired. Yet Evelina Howard had forced her to see that, in denying herself, not she, but the very man that she cared most for would reap the cruellest of punishments. A shudder rippled down her spine at the thought of what she had almost done in the folly of her anxiety. Now, here, in this church, in his presence, she felt no fear, no worry, no imaginations of the future or gloomy speculation of what it would mean for them both. There was nothing. Only Nathaniel Hawke. And the woman that loved him. She took Admiral Tyler’s arm, smiled, and walked slowly, steadily towards the one person that she wanted most in the world.

  Captain Hawke’s eyes swept down over the woman seated by his side and felt a swell of possessive pride. His wife. His sweet Georgiana. And not for the first time wished that the wedding breakfast might soon be over so that he could speak with her, and more. She was smiling, a picture of youthful vivacity, captivating, polite, everything a man could wish his wife to present to society. Quite deliberately he moved his thigh beneath the table to brush against hers. Watched with pleasure when those sea-blue eyes met his with surprised delight. A secret smile meant only for him. And he revelled in it, the desire to hold her to him, to protect her from any hurt, growing strong and deep within him.