by Arlem Hawks
26 July 1810
Allam House, Portsmouth
My dearest Dominic,
Of course it would rain the week after you left. It tends to do that when it knows I most need the sun to brighten my spirits. But I took the gray days and threw them back at the skies. I finished a sweet little gown for Mrs. Talbot’s new baby, with white roses embroidered on the hem. I think it shall do nicely for the christening, and babies make a much better subject for reflection than cloudy skies and an empty house.
On the subject of an empty house, I do hope you write as soon as you are able with news of Georgana Woodall. She has greatly been on my mind of late and—
Dominic blinked. He reread the previous sentence.
Georgana Woodall.
He gripped the paper, wrinkling its edges. Bumps ran up and down his arms. Could the captain really have two children with practically the same name? Captain Woodall’s Christian name was not even George, after all.
The rest of his letter forgotten, Dominic raced for the hatch. The marines on duty at the captain’s cabin were just changing watch. He stopped the marine who had just been relieved from his post.
“Have you seen Mr. Taylor?”
“Yes, sir. He just went back into the captain’s quarters.”
Dominic didn’t wait for the man’s salute. Both doors to the captain’s cabin were ajar. He moved to the door opposite where the other marine stood watch, the opening that gave him the best view of George’s sea chest.
The boy stood unmoving before his trunk. After a moment he tentatively picked up the package and read the note. A soft smile touched his lips as he gently untied the string. The paper fell away, and George snatched the pencils before they rolled off the book. The smile grew, heightened by a growing pink across his cheeks.
Dominic stood frozen to the deck.
With small hands, the boy held the pencils up to the light from the cabin’s windows. Then he pressed them and the book to his chest. He made no sound, but Dominic could almost hear the laugh of delight his mother made when he brought her roses clipped from their small garden.
Dominic staggered back. How had he not seen it? He put a hand to his brow and tried to catch his breath.
“Is everything all right, sir?” the marine asked from across the deck.
“Yes. Quite all right.” Dominic distanced himself from the captain’s cabin, not caring where he traveled. No wonder the other boys teased George. No wonder the captain gave George less work and kept George away from the crew as much as possible.
No wonder George had gone white as a sail that day he caught Dominic shirtless, shaving on the floor.
He let his hand slide down the side of his face. George was no illegitimate son sent to sea with a fabricated story to conceal his paternity.
George was a young lady.
He couldn’t comprehend why she was here.
Chapter 15
Dominic wandered down the ladder, intent on closing himself in his cabin to straighten out his cluttered mind. He’d been treating her like a child, though she must be closer to an adult if she was supposed to be out in Society by now.
He opened the partition between the mess and the wardroom. Captain Woodall stood over the table, pointing to a spot on a map. Moyle, the sailing master, and the first lieutenant of the marines stood around. All except the captain looked up when Dominic entered.
“Lieutenant Tytherton, I want you to double the watch at the gangplank. There was a woman on the messdeck yesterday, and I will not have women aboard my ship.”
Dominic nearly choked. No women on the Deborah, even though the captain was hiding a woman under their noses. Did Captain Woodall think by enforcing the rule, no one would ever suspect he himself was defying it?
“Lieutenant Peyton, are you ill?” Captain Woodall asked, eyebrows knit.
Dominic shook his head. He was only in shock. Had the bell that signaled the end of his watch already rung? All duties had slipped his mind after his discovery.
“Could I have permission to take leave this afternoon, sir?” Dare he ask if he could bring the boy—or girl, rather—along? Surely that would be entirely improper now.
As improper as teaching her to fight alone in the wardroom? Every previous encounter sped through his mind. He’d been far from proper, though in the case of lessons, he had been protecting the lady by teaching her to protect herself.
An impish thought wriggled into his mind, a thought for which his mother would have cuffed him. If the captain and his daughter wished to keep their secret, Dominic would let them. They had come this far without detection, and it seemed a pity to ruin the secret now. He would pretend he was none the wiser.
“Might I bring George with me?” he asked. “He told me he hasn’t left this ship in three years.”
The captain opened his mouth to reply, but Mr. Jordan cut in. “Come, Captain, let the boy have a little fun. Three years is a long time to be cooped up on a frigate, and Peyton is a trustworthy guide.”
Dominic bit his tongue to keep from cringing at the label of “trustworthy.” Did a trustworthy gentleman pretend not to know he was in the presence of a lady?
“The boy has served you faithfully, sir,” Lieutenant Tytherton added. “Surely a short leave is overdue.”
“I will have him home before nightfall,” Dominic said.
“Oh, just let the boy go,” came Jarvis’s grumble from his cabin. Never had Dominic been so grateful for Jarvis’s disrespect.
The captain’s lips pressed together. Dominic squirmed under the piercing stare. Could the captain see through his act?
“Very well,” Captain Woodall said with clenched teeth. “I expect you to take every precaution.”
Dominic saluted. “Yes, sir.” He hurried into his cabin and closed the door to gather his things.
“And if he isn’t cautious, we can rest easy knowing ship’s boys are easily replaced,” Jarvis said, keeping to his room. “Especially those of the third class.”
Dominic bolted from the wardroom, boots on, knife shoved into his pocket, and pistol concealed beneath his coat. He raced up the ladder before the captain could reconsider his permission. He also did not want to witness the repercussions of Jarvis’s comment.
This was madness. If his mother ever found out what he was about to do, she would be livid. Especially since he wouldn’t be getting her a daughter-in-law from it.
He raised his hand to knock, but the door flew open. George walked right into him, smacking her head against his chest.
“Lieutenant!” The boy—girl—shuffled back and saluted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Dominic straightened his waistcoat with jittery hands. When was the last time he had spoken with a young lady in private? He didn’t know if he’d ever done so. In truth he had spoken to her only minutes ago when giving her the letters, but in his mind, she had been a boy then.
“The captain has granted permission for you to come ashore with me for the day.”
Her eyes, wide and green as a Caribbean bay, flew to his face. “He has?”
“The officers all agreed you deserve a day away from the ship.” Well, her father might not have agreed. Dominic had the pressure of the other officers to thank for the acquiescence. “Come. We have a ways to go.” And he had a massive line of questions to ask without drawing her suspicion.
The market near the harbor was boisterous, but after her time on the Deborah, Georgana didn’t mind. Sellers of all races shouted their wares to passersby. Seamen and landsmen milled the streets, some intoxicated. Cleanly dressed men strolled down the middle of the dirty lane with servants trailing, crates in arm.
Lieutenant Peyton spoke to someone about securing the officers’ food stores a few paces away from where she stood. Her eyes moved to a young girl’s booth not far away. Trifles and trinkets lay over her display, things Georgana would have loved before going to sea. She hadn’t seen most of those kinds of items since coming aboard.
Wit
h a glance toward the lieutenant, still in deep conversation, she inched toward the booth to examine the wares. The items were not fine enough to be sold in most London shops. At least Georgana thought not. Grandmother hadn’t let her go to many shops.
Brushes, mirrors, simple necklaces, a few hair accessories, a jar of rouge—all ridiculous things to have on a voyage. And yet Georgana wanted dearly to try on all of them. She fingered a little lace bandeau. It would look absurd in her cropped hair. All of it would look silly on her just now.
“You’re too young to have a girl at home.”
Georgana snatched her hand back from the lace as Lieutenant Peyton rested his arm on her shoulder.
“Do you have a sister?”
She shook her head.
“Cousin?”
“No. There is no one in my family except me and my grandmother.” She turned, causing his arm to drop from its perch. “Are we finished here?”
The lieutenant’s lips twitched. “Ready to be back on board?”
No, of course not. She stumbled as she moved away from the booth. Her body missed the swaying of the ship, but still it felt wonderful to plant her feet on solid ground. She couldn’t fathom why her father had agreed to this outing.
“If you are done looking at trinkets, shall we be on our way?” Peyton asked. He continued up the street, heading for the edge of the market. Georgana moved into place behind, like the domestics she’d seen, but the lieutenant slowed and moved aside for her to walk next to him.
They hiked along a road shaded by trees on either side. When a wagon rumbled past, filled with crates, Peyton hailed the driver and asked if they could ride in back. The dark-skinned man agreed, and Peyton handed him a coin. They climbed up, legs dangling off as the wagon rolled forward.
“Are we going far?” Georgana asked.
The lieutenant laughed. “Only far enough to get away from the filth of the harbor.” He twisted, putting his back against the side of the wagon and facing her. One leg still hung over the side. For a moment he studied her. She kept her gaze on the road retreating behind them, fighting not to blush. “What would you do if you had one day completely to yourself, with no worries about duties to the captain?”
She cocked her head, blocking her view of his face with her brimmed hat. What would she do? “Draw, perhaps. I’m not good for much else.” Grandmother had made sure she never forgot it.
“I refuse to believe that. The captain says you have a steady hand.”
Georgana shrugged. “Then I would draw and write letters to all the acquaintances I don’t have.”
The lieutenant set his elbow on his knee. He didn’t look at her now but watched the passing trees. “I find it hard to believe you lived in London and don’t have acquaintances.”
“And yet I do not.” Grandmother had sometimes hosted dinners, but Georgana was never allowed to attend. Mama was only grudgingly invited. When Grandmother made connections with Society, she usually did so away from Lushill House.
“Now that you can hold your own in fisticuffs, you might find more acquaintances.” His eyes danced with amusement.
Georgana raised her fists before her, as though ready to fight him. “Sound English cannon.”
He grinned, lighting his face under the shadow of his simple straw hat. She let her hands fall to her lap, willing her heart to slow. His contented pose, his easy manner—she wished she could live like that.
“Did you live with your grandmother before joining the Deborah?” he asked. She nodded. “Tell me about your grandmother.”
She pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “We did not . . . That is, she . . .” Grandmother’s sharp features filled Georgana’s head. Mistake. Mistake. “She was not very kind.”
“Is she the one who told you that you weren’t good for much?”
Her ears burned. What an ungrateful girl, criticizing her grandmother to someone else. Papa never did that, even though he knew what she was like. He hadn’t known about the belittling, the shrieking, and the controlling until Georgana told him through streams of tears after the beating. He’d thought Grandmother’s abuse had stopped after his own childhood.
A hot tear fell from her lashes. She cleared her full eyes with a swift wipe of her shirtsleeve. For a moment she’d forgotten her act. She was a boy, not a blubbering girl. What would the lieutenant think?
His hand squeezed her arm, the strong fingers soft and gentle. They were tanned from long watches in the sun and rough from all the work he had to do on board. The touch pulled at her heart in a way that was both exhilarating and painful.
She didn’t meet his eyes. Imagining the kindness in them was enough to hitch her breath. Before this voyage, she didn’t know there were people in this world like Lieutenant Peyton. She thought Society was made of only powerful rulers who frightened their followers and tread on everyone else. But perhaps there were more varieties of people than she’d thought.
“Look at me, George.”
With effort, she lifted her eyes. Looking into his face set her insides churning in lovely, terrifying ways. Papa had told her to be careful, and she had recklessly fallen heels over head down the very path he told her not to go.
“You are good for much more than drawing and recording. Whatever that woman said to you,” he waved his hand, “forget it. Starting today. Starting now. It does you no service.”
“I’ll try.” Though ridding that voice from the shadows of her mind did not seem simple.
The lieutenant released her arm, but the memory of his touch still pressed her sleeve. Peyton looked behind him, then asked the driver to stop. Playfulness twinkled across his face. “We’ve arrived.”
Heavens above. That face would be her undoing.
Dominic hopped from the wagon and thanked the driver. George scrambled off as the wheels began to roll. Dominic stood awkwardly by and watched. His mother would be horrified if she saw him not assisting a lady down from a high perch, but that same lady would be horrified if he showed her any sort of chivalry. And he couldn’t very well haul her down as he’d hauled her up the shroud. Respectable gentlemen didn’t hold onto ladies in that manner.
“Why did we stop here?” she asked.
Dominic nodded behind him. “You’ll see.”
They left the dirt road and plunged into a line of trees. Earth turned to sand beneath their shoes, and then the trees opened to a crystal bay. Blue-green waters nestled against the shore, cloaked in white sand. No ships clogged this section of sea, and sailors didn’t crowd the land. Here was the ocean as he dreamed it—pure and magical.
George’s breath caught, a look of wonder on her face. She stopped in her tracks. All the reserve in her usually stoic features washed away. “I didn’t know the sea could look this way.” Her eyes matched the water before them.
“You’ve only been in ports, I’d wager.” He removed his satchel and lowered himself to the soft sand near the tree line. Then he buried his fingers into its fine grains. The shaded sand cooled his warm skin. “I found this place the last time I landed in Antigua, after getting weary of the noise of the harbor.”
She sank down beside him and pulled up a handful of sand to examine. “Thank you for sharing it with me.” The attempt at a gruff voice had fled with her surprise. He’d heard the switch plenty of times, but always attributed it to a boy’s changing voice and the desire to appear older. That wasn’t the case at all.
A frigatebird sailed overhead toward the sea. The sun caught its black wings, giving them a violet sheen. The bird flew lazily about the bay and eventually turned north and disappeared.
Dominic pulled off his jacket and tossed it to the sand. He’d prevent embarrassment for them both by leaving his waistcoat on. He leaned back on his elbows, savoring the sea breeze as it dried the sweat on his face.
“What of your childhood?” she asked.
Dominic opened his eyes. “My childhood?”
She shrugged. “We’ve been talking so often of me
and my life.”
That’s because he found her life fascinating, especially after this morning’s realization. He’d always sensed George was holding back something, though Dominic never had imagined the secret to be something like this.
“I spent my childhood near Winchester, then moved to Portsmouth with my mother after my father died. Then I went to sea.” He held up his hands. “That is the whole of it.”
She watched him with narrowed eyes but didn’t ask anything more. Dominic pushed himself up and reached for his satchel. He pulled out a green, strawberry-shaped fruit as large as his fist which he’d bought from one of the stalls at the market.
“What is that?”
He retrieved his knife and cut the scaly skinned fruit into quarters, then offered her a slice. “It’s a cherimoya. I take it you’ve never tried one.”
George stared at the slice in her hand. Its white, pearlike flesh dripped juice over her fingers. “How do you eat it?”
Dominic took a bite and smiled through the bright sweetness that burst in his mouth.
Then he spit two seeds the size of almonds into the sand before he finished chewing. “Don’t swallow the seeds,” he said with a wink.
George considered the fruit for several more moments, then picked as many of the seeds out as she could with her fingers. Juice squeezed all over her hands before she finally took a bite. She moaned her delight as liquid trickled down her face. He reached for his pocket to get her a handkerchief, but she wiped her face with her sleeve before he could find it.
Boy. Right.
After they finished their sticky treat, Dominic peeled off his shoes and stockings. Sand stuck to his fingers, sticky with cherimoya juice.
“What are you doing?”
“Enjoying the sea in the second-best way to do it.” He pushed himself to his feet. “You may join me if you like.”
He jogged toward the gentle waves, rolling up his sleeves as he went. His feet squished into wet sand, and then the water came up to meet them. “Good day, friend.” He kept his voice low enough so she couldn’t hear.