Daughter of the Murray

by Darry Fraser

  Her chin quivered with a mix of rage and fear, but this was not a fight she would take on now, fully aware of the brutal power in the man. She held her tongue, raised shaking hands to her hair and began to re-pin it, then dropped to the floor to retrieve those pins that had fallen out.

  ‘We will lunch in thirty minutes,’ he said, his tone soft and his eyes clear. ‘My dear, your frown spoils such a pretty face.’

  Stabbing the final pins into her hair, she turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her. She did not appear for lunch with him, but ate on her own, an hour later.

  He took his time with her in their bedroom that night. She was wary of the man in her bed, his mouth on her body, his total possession of her. He still coaxed his desired response, her body defying her, but his power and his size, which had been once her protection and delight, were now her jailers.

  She was sullied—unclean, spoiled. For her husband, she felt only loathing.

  She pushed that down. All would be well if she did not defy him again.

  All would be well if she was clever and careful.

  Nineteen

  They mingled among the guests and although Kate hovered nearby, she need not have worried: Georgie began to enjoy being the centre of attention. Acknowledging the admiring glances and the compliments, she started to believe perhaps this life would be good after all.

  Conor had introduced her to a number of his friends, some of whom were politicians and business people. There were friends of Kate’s and her fiancé’s too, most of whom were bankers and lawyers. Governor Hopetoun and Lady Hopetoun were in attendance and their presence elevated Georgie’s wedding to that of a high point in the season. Lady Hopetoun had been delighted by the introduction to Georgie until she was made aware that in fact Georgie was colonial born, and not English, as she sounded. Georgie consoled herself with a glass of sherry and toasted the haughty woman from afar with an expletive she’d almost forgotten.

  Through the whirlwind of other introductions and conversation, she noticed Kate and Angus talking to a very attractive woman dressed in deep blue velvet. There was refinement in the lady’s demeanour. When she approached, Georgie could hear the culture in her voice and a slight accent, which she couldn’t identify.

  Kate hooked her arm through Georgie’s and took her away from Conor with a smile. ‘Georgina, let me introduce you to a dear friend of mine, Angeline, Mrs John Cawley.’

  She was quite the most beautiful older woman Georgie had ever seen.

  Angeline smiled at her. ‘My heartiest congratulations, Mrs Foley. And might I say how gorgeous you are in your wedding gown. It’s quite unusual these days, but very, very fetching.’

  Georgie reddened to her chest. Mrs Cawley’s scrutiny unnerved her, and the previous forlorn mood she had tried so hard to shift descended again. She needed to rush upstairs and throw on some old blouse to cover up.

  Desperate to shake off the uneasy sensation, she almost missed Mrs Cawley address her again.

  ‘And I do apologise.’ The older woman smiled at her. ‘It seems my escort has been delayed, but I hope he’ll be along shortly.’

  ‘Oh, no apology necessary.’ Georgie hoped for a distraction from the woman’s inspection.

  And there it was in the wedding waltz. As the music cut through her fog, Conor guided her to the dance floor and Georgie heard the crowd whisper and sigh as they began to dance.

  ‘My beautiful, beautiful wife.’ Conor’s voice shook as he pulled her closer.

  Georgie stiffened, but smiled as she danced.

  They’d had a peaceful few weeks after the violence of the first few days of their marriage. Conor had been most attentive, and had coaxed her delicious responses most nights. She had not wished to touch on the subject of her riding. She would wait to see what he decided to do.

  Conor promised a short honeymoon—he had not said where. But that didn’t matter to her. Georgie had begun her reign as Mrs Conor Foley.

  She danced into the evening. She was her old self, laughing and happy, light-headed as guests swirled about them. Conor had trouble partnering her for many dances as she was much in demand. But he didn’t mind, she was sure.

  Georgie was about to accept a dance from another friend of Conor’s when she caught sight of the curly-haired head of Dane MacHenry approaching. She stilled, her heart missing a beat or two then beginning to hammer. In an instant, it seemed, Angeline Cawley was at her side.

  ‘My dear Georgina.’ Mrs Cawley’s eyes were steady on Georgina’s face. ‘This is my escort, Mr Dane MacHenry. Dane, the new Mrs Conor Foley. Mr MacHenry is like a son to me and he graciously agreed to accompany me today in the absence of my husband.’

  A pause greeted the introduction, then Dane bowed over Georgina’s hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘Mrs Foley,’ he said, formally. ‘My congratulations.’

  Colour had drained from her face the instant she saw him, and now it surged back in a fierce blush. ‘Mr MacHenry,’ she acknowledged with a slight tilt of her head. ‘I do apologise. My husband is not here at the moment to receive—’

  ‘No. He is there, madam, speaking with the Governor. Looks likely to be in conversation for some time.’ Dane’s intense gaze did not follow his hand as it gestured in Conor’s direction.

  Georgie didn’t turn away from Dane to check for her husband.

  Why is he at my reception? She was numbed to her feet, rooted to the spot.

  Mrs Cawley was by her side. ‘You look surprised at something, my dear.’

  Dane’s fierce blue eyes stared Georgie down, his body stiff and formal. ‘I should be honoured if you would take this dance with me,’ he said and held out his arm.

  Georgie could not refuse, it would cause too much consternation. She told herself it was just another dance, after all. Her arm looped through his.

  ‘Smile,’ he urged as they swept around the room, ‘and keep smiling.’

  She saw Conor wave at them, but it was distracted. Dane acknowledged it with a polite nod but her husband had already turned away.

  ‘No doubt the Governor holds a riveting conversation.’

  Georgie was swept around the dance floor by the very man who sent her heart beating wildly, but who was not—and now never could be—anything to her but a memory.

  She opened her mouth to say something but Dane stopped her.

  ‘Before you speak, Mrs Foley,’ he began, ‘before we spar on the rights and wrongs of my being here, let me just tell you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I should have married you myself.’

  He was obviously mocking her. ‘Is that so?’ She tried to pull away, intending to leave the dance floor. ‘I should be eternally grateful, then, that you didn’t show up for the actual ceremony.’

  ‘Had I known about it, I just might have, believe me. But I would have done something truly unforgivable and that would have served neither of us.’ Dane tightened his hold a little and smiled as they glided around the floor. ‘Do smile and chat, Mrs Foley. I don’t want your husband to suspect anything amiss or improper between us.’

  ‘But it is improper.’ Her voice shook. ‘When he finds out who you are—’

  ‘And who am I? No one here knows me except Angeline. And besides, it seems to me the Governor holds more interest for your husband than his new wife’s dance partner.’ He turned her smoothly to place his back to Conor Foley. ‘So by the time he asks, if he does, I’ll be long gone.’ He smiled, a small curve of his lips. ‘You are truly beautiful, Georgina.’

  Her teeth clenched. ‘You mock me.’

  Dane whirled them about the floor. ‘On the contrary.’

  ‘Why did you come—?’

  ‘I needed to see for myself that you are lost to me.’

  His words ricocheted in her chest. ‘Then what is it you want?’

  ‘Only my chance to dance with the bride and, I admit, perhaps my last chance to see you.’ He pulled her a little closer. ‘It’s clear you’ve found your riches.’ He i
ndicated the finery around them, the splendour of her guests.

  His words stung her. Bah! He was toying with her again. He’d never had any intention of marrying her, of that she was certain.

  ‘Ah, the innocence again,’ he began and this time pulled her closer than propriety allowed. ‘I’ve been told that treachery often disguises itself in the form of exquisite beauty, but until I saw you tonight, I never really believed it.’

  The soft barb was cruel. The quick gleam of triumph in his eyes crushed her even further. She stiffened, only too aware of the warmth of his body, though his words were languidly cold. The solid wall of his chest, his warm breath on her shoulder …

  ‘Georgie, I truly desired you. You know yourself what began between us.’

  Breath hissed out of her. ‘Whatever it was, it didn’t last,’ she snapped. ‘It could never, with a man as shallow as you.’

  ‘Shallow?’ He drew back. ‘Oh, I disagree. There is deep feeling on my part. And where that pearl lies on your breast is where I once laid my hand.’ His eyes looked fevered and Georgie thought for an instant he was drunk, or had gone mad. ‘Tell me you don’t feel it burning still. You were mine.’

  ‘Your possessiveness is misplaced. Nothing occurred between you and me. I am now a married woman and your presence here is unwelcome. Your behaviour is not gentlemanly.’

  ‘Oh, I agree with you there,’ he countered easily. His grip on her tightened. ‘Don’t try to leave the floor, Mrs Foley. You would only have to explain yourself.’

  ‘Leave me alone, Dane.’ Alarmed, she searched her mind, desperate for an excuse to escape. ‘My choice was already made before I met you, I told you that day at the park. And you made it clear to me that you—’

  He lowered his voice. ‘I would give you love, which is not what you are getting now.’

  ‘What would you know of—? You talk of love,’ she scoffed. ‘I won’t dignify this conversation a second longer.’ She tried to pull her hand from his, but his grip remained firm.

  ‘Oh, do not give me the opportunity to create a scene here—I wouldn’t hesitate to answer his challenge, despite Angeline being in attendance.’ His arm on her back pulled her body to his. His low voice whispered against her ear, ‘I shall never forget how you look tonight, Mrs Foley, how beautiful you are.’

  It pierced her heart. Is he truly mad? Am I?

  ‘And my dear Georgina, when you are abed tonight with your husband, I dare you to wipe me from your thoughts.’

  ‘Your arrogance is worse than before,’ she hissed. Why was he not as breathless as she? ‘Never attempt to see me, ever again. Conor has a terrible temper, and—’

  ‘And so do I.’ He swept her around the floor once more, the heat between them a living thing that burned her cheeks and flamed in her belly. ‘You should be mine. Do not think that your marrying him will save you from me.’ Dane held her away from him now, the pearl he had mentioned earlier, or rather its placement, a focus for his attention. He looked back at her eyes. ‘I will bring ruin to him. I attempted to tell you as much that afternoon in the park. Your husband took advantage of a drunk, my father, and played my family out of their home. I will get it back, Georgina.’

  Shock and anger streaked across Georgie’s face. ‘What are you talking about?’

  The music stopped, the dance ended and Dane led a shaken Georgie to her husband. ‘My congratulations, Mr Foley,’ he began politely, the steely glint in his eye recognised only by Georgie. ‘You have chosen an exquisite partner. Thank you for your hospitality. Good night.’ And with that, he turned on his heel and, offering his arm to Mrs Cawley, promptly left their company.

  Conor raised his eyebrows and stared after him. Then he turned his gaze to Georgie. ‘Who was that accompanying Mrs Cawley? It seems he forgot to introduce himself.’

  ‘I have forgotten the names of those I’ve danced with tonight, there were so many,’ she said, a little breathlessly, waving a hand in the air.

  Conor stared at her. ‘My dear, are you quite all right?’

  ‘Perhaps I’ve danced too much.’ Georgina touched a finger to each of her temples. ‘I have a pounding headache and need some fresh air,’ she said and made her way out to the gardens.

  Looking back, she saw Dane and Mrs Cawley speaking heatedly on the other side of the room. She ducked out of sight as they glanced in her direction. She took great gulps of the cool night air into her lungs and placed a shaking hand to her head to steady the throbbing there.

  What had he said? That Conor had played his family out of their home—Jacaranda? Did he mean—was it Conor who played at cards for Jacaranda? When had she learned of the game? Yes, yes, the day in the park, when she’d slipped on the grass, Dane had tried to tell her something, had asked her—

  It was conceivable.

  It was not!

  It was possible, but Conor had said nothing to her about it. Nothing.

  Her hand covered her mouth, and appalled, she breathed deeply until her stomach settled. She dropped to sit on the cold stone of a garden bench, holding herself upright, her spine rigid.

  Conor was leaving for the river the day after tomorrow. She would ask him tomorrow. No, no, perhaps not tomorrow. Perhaps afterwards, when she’d had time to digest …

  Had everyone known the truth but her? Aunt Jem? Elspeth? Uncle Tom, certainly, if it were true. Was this why no one had answered her letters? Was this why no one had made any attempt to contact her … because they felt betrayed by her?

  ‘There you are, sitting outside all alone in the night air,’ came a lilting voice behind her. Kate had breezed into the garden before Georgie had time to compose herself. She was silently glad the dark night hid her agitation.

  ‘You have made quite an impression, my dear.’ Kate took Georgie’s hands, a smile in her voice. ‘You look delightful in your gown—as certainly one gentleman was no doubt aware.’

  Georgie felt the reproach.

  ‘And that last dance simply took our breath away,’ Kate continued. ‘The two of you floated around the room like you had danced together forever. My, he is a handsome man, that Dane. Angeline is so full of surprises. If I hadn’t known how close she was to her husband, I would swear—’ She stopped and sat beside Georgie. ‘Oh, my dear. It was a joke, an awful one by the looks of things. Angeline is the epitome of good breeding and manners. Is something else the matter?’

  ‘Oh, dear God,’ Georgina muttered and put her head in her hands.

  Twenty

  Dane journeyed back to Sydney with a heavy heart and a tired body.

  He’d made a decided error attending Georgie’s wedding reception. The display of immature churlishness towards her was not lost on Angeline, who had soundly admonished him as they drove home in the carriage.

  He trudged into the Captain’s Cabin after leaving MacNamara in the stables behind the building. The greeting to his employees was weary. He collared young Jock and ordered a large bath and a bottle of rum, silently reminding himself again to look into an indoors bathroom. He climbed the stairs to his private chambers. Catching up with Reuben would come later. There would be much to discuss.

  He had stripped to his waist when a knock on the door interrupted him. It was the bath, a huge tub hauled into the room by two women. Their grins were familiar as they welcomed him home. Sarah and Sally had been with him from the start. He enjoyed a joke with them and waited patiently as they brought in the hot water.

  As soon as it was deep enough, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and sank into the bath. He gave neither of the women a second glance, and waved them away good-naturedly.

  ‘We can scrub yer back, Mr Dane,’ Sal said, leaning on the door frame.

  Sarah snorted and flicked her on the arm as she stalked past to the small closet. ‘She’s a rude girl, Mr Dane.’

  He smiled. The hired help didn’t interest him.

  Sarah brought out a fresh shirt and breeches and laid them on the bed. Sal gathered up his travelling clothes and took th
em with her.

  They paused at the door while he left final instructions that he was not to be disturbed until nightfall.

  He had just settled into the hot water when another discreet knock interrupted him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s me, sir, Jamieson. I’ve ye rum.’

  ‘Come in, man. And pour me a large one.’

  Jamieson, skinny, weathered, bald-headed and only about as tall as Dane’s shoulder, was the head man at the Captain’s Cabin. He swung the door wider with his foot, a tray with a bottle and large tumbler balancing on it in his thick wharfie’s hands. ‘Welcome home, sir.’ He set the tray by the bath and poured Dane a large tot. ‘You look all done in, Mr MacHenry. I’ll leave you to it and we’ll talk another time.’

  Dane nodded his thanks and Jamieson left.

  He sank as far as he could, the water humming heat through to his bones. The only other heat like it was on a clear summer’s day with the sun beating down on his back at Jacaranda.

  Jacaranda.

  The last thing he’d wanted was to lose Jacaranda, yet as quick as a wink it was gone. It had always seemed safe, beyond any danger of leaving the MacHenry name. He had never thought it would. It would have been his when Tom was ready to hand over the reins. He needed to have it back in the family name. That was the first thing he would try to do. A business proposition to Georgina’s husband.

  It would mean contact with her. He knew he was clinging to it, but it was all the excuse he needed. To have her in his arms, to bury his face in those lustrous tresses of shimmering black hair …

  He laid his head back on the bath’s rim and thought of Georgina Calthorpe Foley for the thousandth time. They were alike, fired with a passion for life, for adventure. Visions of her floated through his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut. It must just be simple lust after all. Just lust. He hadn’t had time to feel anything else, had he? Love? What of it?

  His mouth soured. By now she would be a very satisfied young matron, probably with a brat in her belly. He winced. Bitter, MacHenry. No amount of cheap barbs and cruel taunts—at himself—would change anything.