by Laura Martin
‘Just as he kept you safe by allowing you to come out here?’
‘I didn’t give him a choice. It was either escort me or I’d come alone.’
‘Don’t ever do anything like this again,’ Sam said firmly. He wasn’t normally particularly chivalrous. Of course, if a woman was in danger he would instinctively step in, but in day-to-day situations he didn’t consider himself to be gentlemanly. His experience on the transport ships and the early years in Australia had taught him to look after himself before anyone else, or you could end up with a sharp knife in between your ribs, but there was some deeply buried instinct that surfaced when he was faced with the prospect of any harm coming to the woman in front of him.
This need to protect oneself was something common among the men who had suffered so much aboard the transport ships, but Sam knew for him the instinct ran deeper. It wasn’t just his physical well-being he guarded closely, but his emotions as well. What he found unsettling was how quickly Georgina had penetrated the walls he’d built around his heart.
‘I will escort you as far as Primrose Hill,’ he said. ‘No one will recognise us there and you should be safe completing your journey home with Richards after that.’
He saw her open her mouth to argue and gave her his best glare, a look that cowed even the hardest of criminals.
‘That would be most kind of you,’ she said instead.
‘My horse is with my friends,’ he said. ‘We shall collect it on the way past. Do you need help mounting?’
He knew she didn’t, had seen her, lithe as a cat, vault onto the back of her horse unaided, but was perversely pleased when she allowed him to help her up. His fingers brushed against a slender calf and once again he felt the overwhelming need to feel the warm softness of her skin.
Before he could do something they would both regret he stepped away, called to the groom and began making his way out of the little copse of trees.
They rode in silence until they had made their way off the Heath, but Sam was acutely aware of Georgina’s presence beside him. Every delicate movement she made he caught out of the corner of his eye. She was an excellent rider, confident and assured, and for a moment he pictured her riding through the wilds of Australia with him, her thick brown hair flowing over her shoulders in the breeze and her eyes lit up with pleasure. Sometimes he saw glimpses of wistfulness in her when he spoke about his home and he thought deep down, buried underneath all the things that made her a lady, was a woman who craved excitement and adventure. No wonder she’d done something foolish like venture out to the Heath alone when she didn’t have a sensible outlet for her adventurous spirit.
‘Tell me,’ he said, slowing a little to draw out their journey even longer, ‘have you ever left England?’
She glanced over at him before answering, ‘No. My mother does not like to travel—even the journey from Hampshire to London she finds tedious.’
‘And you are confined by your mother’s wishes?’
For so many years Sam had known only rules and restrictions, having to obey the guards first on the transport ships and then when they arrived in Australia, but that was a long time ago. He’d been his own master, able to make his own decisions for so long now, but he pitied anyone who had that basic freedom taken from them.
‘Yes. My mother and father now and my husband when I am married. Perhaps I will be fortunate and my husband will enjoy travelling, or maybe even take me on a honeymoon to Europe.’
‘Don’t you want more than that?’ he asked quietly.
Regarding him with those eyes that seemed to reach deep inside him to his soul, she smiled sadly. ‘Of course I do. I read the books in my father’s study, look at the pictures of India, of Egypt, even of the Americas, and I dream. I imagine myself taking a cruise on a felucca down the Nile, marvelling at the magnificent temples near Madras or riding with the wild horses on the American plains.’ She sighed, her shoulder drooping forward slightly. ‘But that is all they are—dreams. My life is on a different course and I must learn to appreciate what I have instead.’
‘Anything is possible if you want it enough,’ Sam said quietly. He’d gone from son of a servant and convicted criminal to one of the most successful men in Australia. He owned more land than the five wealthiest landowners in England put together and never had to answer to another man as his superior again. Anything was possible.
‘Not for me,’ Georgina said. ‘I can’t just drop everything and run away. It isn’t how the world works. I would probably be refused passage on a ship anywhere as a woman travelling alone and escorted back to my father.’
‘No,’ Sam said, shaking his head, ‘you wouldn’t. And surely that risk is better than being married off to someone you don’t know and probably won’t like. Surely it is worth at least attempting to do something you dream of.’
‘You’re a man,’ Georgina said quietly. ‘It’s a different world for you.’
‘That is true, but it doesn’t mean you can’t realise any of your dreams. There is always a way.’
‘Do you think I haven’t fantasised about it?’ Georgina asked, a sadness on her face that Sam hated to see. ‘But I have no money of my own, no connections in the real world. I probably wouldn’t even get as far as the London docks.’
‘Then enlist someone to help.’
‘Who?’
He was about to say him, but at the last moment was able to bite his tongue. As much as he might want to, it wasn’t his place to whisk Georgina off from her unsatisfactory life and show her the wonders of the world. His whole reason for being in England was to seek revenge, to finally be able to move on from the wrong the Earl had done to him all those years ago.
‘It is just a dream,’ Georgina said. ‘And that is all right.’
They continued to ride in silence with Sam wishing he could reach out and pluck Georgina from her horse and gallop off into the distance, ready to show her the world.
Chapter Eleven
‘I hear a decision needs to be made,’ Lord Westchester said from his position behind his large desk.
Georgina was standing, as she often did in the presence of her father. He wasn’t an affectionate man, to many he was abrupt and even rude, but he did have a soft spot for his only daughter. She could see it in the way he’d been so indulgent to this point with her marriage proposals. Not all fathers would allow their daughters to decline quite so many perfectly decent gentlemen. For her part she knew he could be cold and cruel to others, and was rude to the servants and staff on the estate, but he was still her father and she loved him.
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Your mother assures me your reputation is still intact, although more through luck than anything else,’ he said sternly.
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Nevertheless, it is time to choose a husband. I have been more than patient and I now wish to have the matter settled.’
‘I understand, Father.’
‘Your mother has suggested a few suitable gentlemen. She has proposed that we host a small gathering in Hampshire to encourage these gentlemen. It is inconvenient and a little unusual to have such a party in the middle of the Season, but I defer to your mother’s expertise in this matter.’
Georgina nodded, silently thanking her mother for giving her this chance. Although the sensible part of her had accepted she would be married within a month or two, she still couldn’t quite believe it. There was no single gentleman she could picture herself wed to. No single suitable gentleman, she corrected herself.
Now was not the time to be thinking about Sam Robertson. He was not suitable, not in the slightest. Her father would never approve of someone with so undistinguished a family lineage and certainly not a farmer from Australia, however rich and successful he might be. Not that Sam had ever suggested anything like marriage. The only man she had ever kissed and the only one who hadn’t immediately rushed
to her father to ask for her hand.
‘She has proposed a date in two weeks’ time. I expect she will consult you as to the identities of the guests. But do not misunderstand me, Georgina—you will be engaged a few days after the house party and a wedding will follow shortly after.’
‘Yes, Father, I understand.’
‘Good. That is all for now. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about our engagement tonight. It is important for both you and your mother to be there alongside me.’
Her father was a vocal supporter of the Whigs and the main reasons he came to London was to drum up support for his proposed candidate for the next Prime Minister. Mr Moorcroft was an animated man who seemed to appeal to the voting men from different social classes and Georgina knew from various sources that he might well be chosen as the Whig candidate for the next election. The public meeting tonight was one to discuss how to combat the slipping moral standards of the country, something her father often spoke animatedly on, and a point they were basing Mr Moorcroft’s candidacy bid on.
Without anything further he returned to the papers on his desk, leaving Georgina standing in front of him for a few seconds. She knew she’d been dismissed, but hesitated, needing her father’s reassurance on one small matter.
‘Father,’ she said, noting his impatient smile when he realised she was still there, ‘a gentleman by the name of Mr Hemmingate has been pursuing me.’
He frowned. ‘Insubstantial man, a little grovelling,’ he said, showing he did take an interest in the men who came to ask for Georgina’s hand. ‘You don’t want to accept him?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Quite the opposite. He’s been making a bit of a nuisance of himself.’
‘Tell the staff not to admit him,’ her father said simply.
‘Yes, Father,’ Georgina said, realising that was all she was going to get from him on the matter. At least she was reassured her father did not like Mr Hemmingate as a possible future husband for her. Not that he’d sent any further tokens of his regard since the duel. Georgina had enquired discreetly and discovered he had woken up a few hours after Sam had knocked him out. Perhaps that little humiliation would see the end to his suit.
Trying to focus on more important things, she set her mind on the house party they would be hosting in two weeks.
Two weeks. Two weeks to forget Sam Robertson, forget the way her whole body tingled whenever he touched her, and to find a suitable husband.
‘The things I do for you boys,’ Lady Winston grumbled, choosing a seat near the back of the room and dropping down onto it.
‘You have my eternal gratitude,’ Sam said, sitting down next to her while he surveyed the room.
‘Bunch of interfering do-gooders,’ Lady Winston murmured, scowling at anyone who tried to approach.
‘I thought it was a political meeting?’
He had persuaded Lady Winston to attend the meeting tonight where one of the potential Whig candidates for Prime Minister was going to be speaking about their poor country’s descent into immoral ways. He’d discovered Lord Westchester was Mr Moorcroft’s most vocal supporter and no doubt would be here at the meeting tonight. Rumour had it that the Earl might actually introduce the political candidate himself, which had caused a stir among the audience. Sam had to question their life decisions if this was what caused a thrill.
‘Utter nonsense,’ Lady Winston said. ‘The whole campaign is built on shaming those who should be helped instead. Did you know they’re proposing harsher laws for prostitutes?’
‘What I don’t understand is why a man like Lord Westchester would get so involved. His title makes him influential enough already, surely?’ Sam asked.
‘There will be some benefit for him. Imagine being able to pull the strings of the man in charge of the whole country,’ Lady Winston said sceptically.
With Lady Winston by his side he hadn’t had any trouble gaining entry into the meeting. Slowly he settled back into his seat, glad that they’d chosen a spot towards the back of the room so he would be able to observe Lord Westchester surreptitiously without attracting any attention from the old man himself. He felt nervous, he realised, as if he had been building up to this day his entire life, and part of him felt frustrated that even after so long he allowed the Earl to be so important to him.
Over the years Crawford and Fitzgerald had both urged him to try to forget the Earl and what he’d done, insisting that keeping it in the forefront of his mind all the time was more damaging to him than Lord Westchester. Sam had been unable to forget, and unable to forgive, and as such his entire life since being sentenced to transportation had been building to this moment.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.’ A small, squirrely man rapped the side of a lectern to get the assembled crowd to be quiet. ‘It is my pleasure to welcome you to this meeting, thank you for all coming out in support of Mr Moorcroft. Before we hear from the man himself, we have the privilege of hearing from one of our most generous and influential supporters this evening, Lord Westchester.’
A smattering of polite applause followed as a tall man stepped up to the front. He was accompanied by his wife and daughter and for a long moment Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from Georgina. She was dressed conservatively, with a high-necked, plain dress in a dull shade of grey. Still she looked beautiful—she could be dressed in a sack and look beautiful. Her hair was pulled back into a simple style and her eyes remained cast down towards her hands. She was the very picture of demure womanhood and certainly an asset to a father who liked to portray himself as a man dedicated to bringing good morals to all levels of society. Sam almost snorted out loud at the thought. He was sure that the Earl had been terrorising the maids in his employ for decades and as such he was hardly an upstanding role model. The whole campaign was hypocritical and one day soon Sam would expose the Earl for the scoundrel that he was.
With a racing heart Sam slowly turned his attention to the Earl. He looked much as he remembered, although of course older. His once-dark hair was now smattered with grey and his face was etched with lines, but the years had been kind to the Earl and he was still recognisable as the man who had condemned Sam to six years’ hard labour.
‘I come in front of you tonight to speak of a terrible...’ the Earl said, but Sam wasn’t really listening. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the older man’s face. In the first few years of his sentence, while he’d been kept as a prisoner on one of the filthy hulk ships moored on the Thames, he’d seen the Earl’s face every night in his dreams. Sometimes the old man was pleading with a magistrate, confessing he’d made a mistake and an innocent young boy was being wrongfully punished. Sometimes Sam was confronting Lord Westchester, hatching an ingenious plan for revenge. After arriving in Australia the years passed, and especially after Fitzgerald’s father had taken him and Crawford in and treated them like his own sons, thoughts of the Earl had become less invasive, but they’d never gone away completely.
‘Pompous old man,’ Lady Winston muttered under her breath, making Sam turn his attention back to the speech.
The Earl was sermonising on moral virtues, his face turning red with the force of delivery of his words. The assembled crowd were enthralled, all listening intently. All except Lady Georgina.
He saw her eyes wandering out over the sea of faces. Her body was completely still, her posture perfect and her expression serene and demure, but her eyes flitted backwards and forward. For a moment he wondered if she were searching for him, but quickly dismissed the thought. Lady Georgina would have no reason to think he would be in attendance. He’d never portrayed himself as a supporter of the Whig party, or of being particularly interested in politics.
After a couple of minutes he saw her move her head in his direction, taking in the faces in his row, and he knew the moment she noticed him in the crowd. Their eyes met and hers widened. Although her expression and demeanour did not change he saw
a slight tinge of colour in her cheeks. She was pleased to see him, despite knowing she shouldn’t be.
For his part Sam knew he needed to suppress the surge of pleasure he felt whenever Lady Georgina was near. Even if his main aim in coming to England wasn’t to expose and confront her father, there was no way they could ever have anything more than a passing friendship. He liked to think he wasn’t the sort of man to ruin a young woman, especially one he liked as much as Lady Georgina.
One kiss had been foolish, two unforgivable. To admit that he had been dreaming of a third went against his notion of himself as a respectable man.
Glancing up, he saw Lady Georgina trying her very hardest not to look at him.
‘She’s smitten,’ Lady Winston whispered from her position beside him.
Sam mumbled a response, something that sounded negative, but was incomprehensible. Lady Georgina was a little smitten, he could see that. For all her desire to be level-headed and sensible, it was as if her hard practised sense of reason flew away when she looked at him.
Finally the Earl finished and was rewarded with a standing ovation, before stepping off to one side to allow Mr Moorcroft to speak. Sam barely heard a word the man said, but was still thankful when he finally left the stage.
‘Now we mingle,’ Lady Winston told him. ‘Although who I’d want to speak to here is another matter entirely. You go do whatever it is you need to with that horrible Lord Westchester.’
She glided off, tapping her ornate cane on the floor as she went, clearing a path in the indomitable way of hers. Sam watched her go affectionately. She might not be his aunt, but the older woman had treated them as family ever since their arrival. He owed her so much.
Focusing, he stood, stretched and steeled himself for the encounter ahead. He knew exactly what needed to be done, but a part of him was nervous that he might fall at this first hurdle.
It would be the first time he’d spoken to the Earl in eighteen years and even all that time ago all he’d managed to utter were the frantic pleadings of a scared young boy. Now, he had to swallow his hatred and put on a façade of earnest interest. Somehow he needed to persuade the Earl to see him as a worthy contemporary.