by Arlem Hawks
“If we maintain the secret, no one in Society will know.” He slipped a letter from his pocket. “Your grandmother, for once, has made an argument with which I cannot disagree.” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “The longer you stay away from Society, the more difficult it will be to make a good match. She suggests that you return immediately so that she may work with you on practicing proper behavior.”
Georgana’s stomach sank. She’d wanted the same thing, to reenter Society and move forward with life. But when she imagined possible suitors, possible husbands, she saw only one face. One pair of hazel eyes. One confident smile.
“I agree.” She didn’t hear her own words.
“I will establish rules. We will hire a companion—anything we can think of to keep her from abusing you the way she did before.” His eyes closed. “All the things I should have done instead of dragging you to sea.” Papa rose and went to his trunk. “With any luck, you’ll find a husband quickly and be rid of her.”
After her father had gone to bed, Georgana took his seat by the window and pulled out the book and pencils Lieutenant Peyton had given her that morning. She turned to the first page but didn’t draw waves. Nor did she draw the lieutenant leaning across the rail of the ship.
Her fingers smoothed over the crisp paper. She let her eyelids flutter closed, imagining the pristine bay so far from the bleakness of the harbor. Light shone on its white shore and traipsed across the waves. She could smell the fresh scent of the sea and sweet cherimoya juice that lingered on their fingers.
She sketched the curve of the bay, then added Lieutenant Peyton’s lean form at the edge where the water met land. He gazed out to the open sea.
Georgana stopped before she filled in many details. Her father was right. It was foolish and hopeless to set her sights on the lieutenant. If the crew figured out who she was, they would both be in trouble. And if their friendship did go places Georgana could only dream of—courtship, or even marriage—she didn’t think she’d be content with the same lonely life her mother had endured. Besides, he probably already had someone back at home—someone special enough to find little tokens for.
She quietly ripped the page from the book. She folded the paper, and just as she’d done so many nights before, she let it fall from the window. Though, this time, she didn’t watch it drop to the water.
The sooner she got back to England and away from these silly fancies, the better.
Chapter 17
Georgana’s father pulled at the coat of his dress uniform. He never seemed at ease in his captain’s coat these days. “I wish this could be helped.” They stood just inside a manor that was not grand by London standards but felt like a palace after her time at sea. His old friend had sent an invitation, days before they were to depart.
“I will be fine.” She took his hat and walking stick and handed them to the footman. Again she was not needed. The footman could have taken these himself. But Papa insisted she join him, so she pretended to be useful.
“The stairs to the servants’ quarters are down this hall on the left,” the footman said. “You can get a bite to eat there.”
She thanked him and followed his directions, but instead of continuing to the kitchen, she slipped out the first door she found and into a garden. It appeared empty, the only place in the compound not crowded with marines and sailors. Warm air pushed against her jacket as she wound through tropical trees and shrubbery. Many had brightly colored blooms with sweet scents that wove through the garden. A few diligent bees bobbed from flower to flower in the dimming light.
Georgana reached the southwestern edge of the garden and a low wall looking out over the harbor. Sweat dripped down her brow, and she wiped it away with a sleeve. She wouldn’t mind a cool English summer again, and the safety of the rose garden at Lushill House. How very strange to miss that place.
The sun crouched at the peaks of the western hills, bathing the world in its evening glow. Birds called from the trees and insects hummed, but nothing else moved in the garden—her own little oasis until she had to return to the Deborah.
Georgana pulled off her jacket and set it beside her on the wall. The waistcoat and bindings disguised her figure well enough without the coat, but something about the extra layer gave her reassurance that her secret would stay safe. She wondered if the stays underneath a dress would feel awkward after so long of trying to hide who she was. They couldn’t be as stifling as the bindings.
“Ah, there you are.”
She snatched the jacket and spun. Her heart didn’t slow when she recognized the intruder. “What are you doing here?”
“I finished my watch and had nothing else pressing, so I came to find you,” Lieutenant Peyton said. He had a satchel slung across his chest and a melting grin on his face. “They told me you hadn’t come down to the servants’ quarters.”
He’d searched for her. Hope peeked its head out from under the gloomy clouds that had filled her mind in the week since their outing. “I wasn’t hungry. And I wanted a little time alone.”
“Oh.” His face fell ever so slightly. “Shall I leave you to it, then?”
“No, please stay.” She cringed. No wonder her father was worried about someone noticing her feelings. Her tone was practically begging.
“Only if you wish.” He rested his arms against the wall and settled his chin into his palm.
He stared at the sunlit hills. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
“Be careful. You sound like a land lover.”
He laughed softly. “And if we don’t get you out of the navy soon, we’ll never get the sailor out of you.”
Her eyes narrowed. He knew she struggled as a sailor, but she hadn’t told him she was planning to leave the navy. She realized she was still holding the coat up to her body, as though shielding herself. Face burning, she dropped it back down.
“You can’t tell me you love navy life. Have you considered other occupations? Other positions?”
What positions could a lady have? She could be a governess, perhaps, but she knew little of children. A lady’s companion? But that wasn’t what Lieutenant Peyton was thinking, certainly. He was thinking of things suited to a boy of fourteen or fifteen who had no physical abilities—perhaps clerk or shopkeeper positions.
“I haven’t, really.”
“Why did you come to sea, George?” The lieutenant’s fingers muffled his voice. He tapped thoughtfully on his upper lip. “Besides your father being a captain. Commander, rather. Why did you agree to it?”
There was only one reason. The true reason. And she couldn’t think of a good enough lie to replace it. “To get away from my grandmother.”
Peyton’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look at her. His fingers tensed against his chin. “You won’t go back to her, will you?”
“I . . .” She picked at a blade of grass sticking out between the cracks in the wall. How had it grown there, with hardly any soil?
“No, you mustn’t.” He pulled off his hat, the simple straw one from their time at the bay, and ran a hand through his hair. “I know of someone who would be open to a . . .” His gaze flicked to her, then away. “I believe I might be able to find you a position.”
She sighed. Nothing he found would be suitable for a young lady.
“Please,” he said. “I wish to help.”
Dear Peyton. How could she say no, with the concern shining in his face? “Very well.”
He reached into his satchel and pulled out two small flasks. “We’ll drink on it.” He offered her one, but she held up a hand.
“I don’t like grog.” It was true, but more importantly she couldn’t risk losing her wits and saying something she didn’t mean to. She did that enough with Peyton already.
His lips twitched. “I know you don’t. I had Cook prepare this especially for you.”
She took the flask and pulled out the stopper. “How did you know?”
“The captain doesn’t drink all the lemonade sent to his cabin, does he?” A m
ischievous twinkle sparked in his eyes. “He never takes any at dinner, and yet a good amount is always brought to his quarters throughout the day.”
Her face grew hot, and she tipped the liquid toward her mouth to try to cool the rush. A bright tartness trickled across her lips. But it wasn’t lemon. “Limes?”
Peyton nodded and drank from his flask. “I found some in the market this morning. I thought you’d like a reprieve from your lemon water.”
Georgana took a drink. It wasn’t cold—few things on this island were—but the drink tasted wonderful in the heat of the evening.
“A refreshing change, is it not?” the lieutenant asked.
She answered by taking another sip.
He faced the sunset, which by now painted their skin a rosy hue. “Here’s to tall ships and small ships. Here’s to all the ships at sea. But the best ships are friendships”—he gave her a wink—“and may they always be.” The lieutenant raised his flask in her direction.
A smile she could not keep back spread across her face. She tapped her drink against his, then put it to her mouth. Friendships. She liked the thought of him considering her a friend. If only they could be more . . .
Why did she keep dreaming? Of course they couldn’t be more than friends. He would be horrified if he found out who she truly was. And a man like Peyton surely had someone waiting back home.
Georgana tried to swallow back the words before they came out, to no avail. “To whom do you toast, when the officers toast their sweethearts and wives on Saturdays?”
“The sea, of course.” He answered without hesitation. “She’s the only lady I ever need.” He winced. “That’s not to say . . .”
Georgana cocked her head. “There isn’t anyone waiting for you back home?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “There is a lovely woman waiting for me back home, patient as Job.”
Ah. She was right. If only being right didn’t sink her spirits into the stone beneath their feet. Georgana pushed off the wall. She set the flask on the brick between them and plucked up her coat. “I should get back in case the captain needs anything.” Even the rich sunset couldn’t brighten her morale any longer. She hugged the jacket and made for the servants’ quarters.
“You can’t leave yet,” he said. “You haven’t answered my question.”
She stopped. “You didn’t ask a question.”
“You didn’t give me the chance. Come back and let me ask.”
If her father found them out here, alone together once more, he’d demote Peyton faster than he’d demoted Jarvis. It would strengthen his fear that Peyton could figure out their secret. But all the lieutenant wanted was a little more conversation, and she couldn’t resist. She walked back to the wall.
“It’s only fair,” he said. Unlike the way his smile pulled her in, which was completely unfair. He crossed his arms over the wall. “What do you throw out the window every night?”
“What do you mean?” Georgana’s teeth pulled in the corner of her lip. How had he seen those?
“The papers. I’ve seen you throw paper into the water several times.”
“They are mistakes. Drawing mistakes.” She gritted her teeth. Mistake. How she hated that word.
“Why do you not keep them?”
Because she didn’t want someone to happen upon Lieutenant Peyton’s likeness in her belongings. “I don’t need them anymore.”
“You should consider keeping them. Often we learn the most from our mistakes.” He raised his arms, motioning to the garden. “That’s why I came to speak to you here, instead of on the Deborah. After our last escapade, the captain’s kept you under lock and key.”
Hardly. But it soothed her dejected heart to hear he went through so much effort to speak with her. “He will have a harder time of it once we’re confined to the ship for six or more weeks.”
Peyton clapped her on the shoulder, more gently than he usually did. Georgana settled back against the wall and watched him down the last of his lime water. She would miss this place when they left.
A happy paradise in the middle of her lonely life.
Dominic wished they didn’t have to put Mr. Byam to work so soon after losing his son. Charlie had succumbed to his strange illness days after landing in Antigua. His father now stood in the middle of the deck instructing the reparation of rigging, but he had a faraway look in his eyes. Poor man. He hoped Mr. Byam would be granted leave for mourning when they returned to England.
Men lined the upper decks, some washing down the floor and others working on sails. A few hung from ladders over the sides, patching up forgotten holes in the hull or painting. The humid air pulsed around them with anticipation of the coming voyage. They were going home.
“Back to work,” he said to a few boys sitting idle. They snapped to attention, then took up winding rope. They whispered behind him as he continued on his way. He thought he heard Walter’s and Jarvis’s names.
Jarvis hadn’t made an appearance that morning. He had done all he could to alert the entire crew to his displeasure at the demotion without drawing more punishment. They might have pitied him if they weren’t enraged over what he’d done to the Fitz boy. Walter still suffered from headaches and dizziness after more than a week. If Georgana hadn’t made them stop . . .
Dominic shook his head. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened. As much as Walter had aggravated him the first few weeks of their voyage, Dominic would have strung Jarvis from the yardarm himself for what he’d done.
Dominic descended from the forecastle in time to see Georgana pop through the hatch. She still wore her stone face, but she walked with a new spring in her step. Her mask nearly cracked when she spotted him walking in her direction.
“Good morning, George.” Instinctively, he reached out to tousle her cap. He froze with his hand on her head. While continuing to treat her like a boy in front of everyone was essential, ruffling her cap now seemed like overstepping his bounds. He let his hand drop awkwardly to his side.
“Yes, good morning.” She raised a brow but did not comment on his odd greeting. “I have a message for the boatswain.”
He nodded and motioned her on. His head swiveled back to watch her bound up to the forecastle. She moved so nimbly. Had her grandmother allowed her to dance? He assumed she hadn’t come out in Society before her father whisked her away, but he could see her picking up dancing quickly. He wouldn’t mind dancing with someone like her.
Sails. Rigging. Paint. Dominic forced his head back around and skirted a wet patch that had just been scrubbed. If his mother agreed to take Georgana in, he might have a chance to stand up with her at a dance while they waited for orders in Portsmouth. He knew his mother would be delighted. Captain Woodall, on the other hand . . .
On his way up to the quarterdeck, Dominic passed Walter’s father. Deep creases ringed his eyes. Dominic stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you well, Mr. Fitz? How is your boy?”
The man’s mouth hardened. “Not well. If I weren’t on this ship, I’d teach that no-account lieutenant to—”
Dominic sighed and held up his hand. “He is still your superior, Mr. Fitz,” he said quietly. “I cannot allow you to speak like that. Even if I agree with you.”
The coxswain nodded. “I didn’t thank you properly for stopping Lieutenant Jarvis.”
“Thank George. I never would have seen the beating if not for . . . him.”
“Be careful, Lieutenant,” Mr. Fitz said. “Men have heard Jarvis raging about you and the boy when you aren’t around.”
Dominic didn’t doubt that he had made an enemy of the now-third lieutenant. He only hoped Jarvis could keep his mind clear enough to not do anything stupid until they got back to England. Captain Woodall would secure a transfer for Jarvis the moment the Deborah docked in Portsmouth, no question.
“Thank you, Fitz.”
A party of men climbed over the rail before Dominic made it to the quarterdeck. The carpenter
’s crew—a rather young, but jovial lot. One of them spotted him and hurried over.
“I found something while we were working, sir.” He gave a salute, then reached into his pocket. “Stuck in a splinter on the side. What do you make of it?”
The square of folded paper had a torn edge on one side, as though pulled from a book. Dominic recognized it instantly. He’d seen a hand poke through the captain’s window and throw similar pages into the sea several times during his night watches.
“Thank you.” Dominic took the folded sheet. “I’ll make sure this gets back to the rightful owner.”
With a shrug, the young man rejoined his crew. Dominic hopped up to the quarterdeck and headed for the corner of the aft rail. With his back to the working men, he opened the paper. Fine pencil marks outlined the curve of the little bay he and Georgana had visited. An unfinished figure stood on the shore. Him?
His lips tugged upward. This is what she’d thrown out the window? Though he was no art expert, he didn’t see anything wrong with this sketch, beyond its not being finished.
“Repairs are ready for inspection, sir.”
Dominic stuffed the paper into the pocket of his jacket and turned. One of the carpenter’s mates stood at attention behind him. “Yes, lead the way.” He followed the boy down to the main deck.
He wondered what other subjects Georgana had drawn before throwing her sketches to the sea. Perhaps others had been of him?
He strode across the deck, lost in his thoughts. He couldn’t say why the idea of someone thinking of him brought this peculiar lightness. And he couldn’t say he disliked the feeling at all.
Chapter 18
Captain?” Dominic hurried into the main cabin but found it empty. Captain Woodall must have already gone above with Georgana.