Margaret McPhee - Regency Debutantes - The Captain's Lady / Mistaken Mistress

‘Aye, Captain?’

He looked at his valet meaningfully. ‘Keep the boy within your sight at all times.’

Fraser’s lone eye glared unblinkingly back. An unspoken understanding passed between them and he nodded. ‘That I certainly will, sir.’

And he was gone, leaving Nathaniel to contemplate how best to deal with Lieutenant Pensenby.

It was not long before they arrived in the warmer waters of their destination. Despite it being so late in the year the seas surrounding the Azores were clear and calm and of such a bright coloration that Georgiana never ceased to marvel at their beauty. The cold dark skies of England had been left far behind, replaced instead with a cloudless expanse of blue. Even more incredible was the temperature, for, as those novice members of the Pallas’ crew discovered, it was pleasantly warm. Indeed, such was the sun that an awning was positioned over the quarterdeck each morning to protect the officers about their work. The men did not take such precautions from the heat, preferring instead to divest themselves of their shirts at any excuse. On first sight the exposure of masculine flesh rather shocked Georgiana, who tried to avert her eyes from such indecency. She was thus engaged one morning when she tripped over a large coil of rope, landing face down on the swabbed and holystoned deck. Mr Fraser had hauled her up, dusted her down and given her a good tongue lashing for not watching where she was going. Thereafter, Georgiana had learned to take the seminaked sights in her stride, much to Captain Hawke’s disapproval.

As they travelled further south past Madeira, the sun grew stronger and the smothering heat sapped the strength of them all. Even Nathaniel wilted a little beneath the dark blue wool of his dress coat, perspiration soaking through from his shirt to his waistcoat. And as Mr Fraser put it, with the captain having such a peculiar compulsion for clean clothes and bathing, Georgiana was kept busy with the laundering. Not her most favourite of duties. Indeed, she could steadfastly avow to the truth of Mr Fraser’s earlier prediction concerning the pungency of the stale urine. It was while filling her basin with the well-matured fluid that Georgiana heard the captain’s voice suddenly close behind her.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing, Master Robertson?’ he demanded in a whisper. His annoyance was plain.

Georgiana, who had been daydreaming sweet and pleasant thoughts as a diversion from the rather distasteful task at which she was employed, jumped as if she’d been scalded. This had the unfortunate effect of spilling the aromatic contents of her basin down the length of her, soaking her jacket, waistcoat, shirt and culottes. Even her feet did not escape the frothy brown deluge.

A yell wrought forth. She spun round to see Nathaniel looking at her, an expression of undisguised horror set clearly on his face. ‘Captain,’ she ground out through gritted teeth. ‘I didn’t hear your approach, sir.’

‘Evidently not,’ uttered the captain.

If looks could kill, Nathaniel knew without a doubt that he would have lain mortally wounded upon the deck. For Georgiana was eyeing him with an accusing look of ‘it’s all your fault'.

The urine dribbled down the bare flesh of her stomach and was soaking its way through her bindings. She grimaced at Nathaniel. ‘You wanted to know about my actions, sir?’

‘This is not your duty,’ he hissed.

Georgiana opened her eyes wide and stared at him incredulously before muttering drolly, ‘I beg to differ, sir, but it surely is.’

By this stage Mr Fraser was travelling towards them at a fair rate of knots for an elderly retainer, and several of the crew had noticed the boy’s state.

‘I’ll speak to you later,’ was all he managed before the valet was within earshot.

‘Laddie!’ Fraser bellowed. ‘I turn my back for two minutes and you’ve landed yourself in mischief!’ As he stepped closer the stench assailed his nostrils. ‘In the name of …’ He retreated rather quickly, his eyes watering. ‘You’d best stand down wind of us, laddie, the captain’ll not be wanting to smell that.’

Georgiana pressed her lips firmly together and moved to where Mr Fraser was pointing. ‘I wouldn’t want to inflict anythin’ so horrible on the captain, sir.’

Nathaniel did not miss the murderous glint in her eye, even if Mr Fraser remained oblivious.

‘Quite so, laddie, quite so.’

The baking heat of the sun caused steam to rise from Georgiana’s sodden clothes, magnifying the smell acutely.

Nathaniel coughed once and Mr Fraser set about a loud and raucous choking sound.

‘Have someone else finish this job, Mr Fraser, I rather think that Master Robertson is in need of a change of clothes.’ A smile twitched at his face. ‘Either that or we’ve found the perfect weapon to inflict upon our enemies.’

Guffaws sounded all around.

Georgiana’s eyes darted daggers. ‘Yes, sir, right away, sir,’ she muttered, and made her way below, leaving behind a trail of smelly wet footprints.

‘Beast!’ the word escaped Georgiana as she huddled within the hip bath, washing her limbs with cold seawater. Anger had given her the strength to fetch and fill the bath herself. With the chair wedged firmly beneath the handle of the interconnecting door of her cabin—or should she say the captain’s cabin?—she stripped naked and balled the stinking wet clothes in the corner, ready to be rinsed once she had removed every last trace of the offensive odour from her own person. If he thought he could just come upon her and cause such a mishap … How she fumed. He was rude and uncaring, the antithesis of a gentleman, and … And he was none of these things. Georgiana plummeted off her high horse and acknowledged the truth. Nathaniel Hawke was everything to be respected in a good man. It was only her pride that was smarting, as well it might, having been soaked in the stale urine of one hundred and eighty-five burly members of the King’s Navy. Ugh! She shivered at the very thought. And no matter how hard she scrubbed, it seemed that she could detect the faint whiff of that unsavoury excretion. By the time she had completed her ablutions, the tablet of soap was very small and she was once more fragrant and cleansed. Her clothes lay clean and ready to be hung out on deck. At least they would dry quickly in the warm breeze. All except her bindings, which she could not risk revealing to any other eyes. They dripped alone, a saddened state in the corner.

Georgiana looked down at her newly donned shirt and took a sharp intake of air. It would not do, it just would not do at all. Pulling on the waistcoat and jacket she inspected herself further. The problem still manifested itself in a rather obvious way. She would have to wait some time before facing the crew of the Pallas once more.

There was a tap at the door.

‘George.’ Nathaniel’s voice sounded through the wooden panels.

She did not answer.

The handle shifted beneath Nathaniel’s hand, but the door stuck fast. ‘George,’ he persevered. ‘I shouldn’t have laughed at you. It was an unfortunate accident. You’re not hurt, are you?’

‘No. I’m quite recovered from the incident, sir.’

‘Open the door, I wish to speak with you.’ His voice sounded a little impatient.

Georgiana’s gaze scanned the empty cabin. ‘I cannot.’

‘Why not?’ She could hear his perplexity.

She paused, thinking quickly. ‘I…I’m not suitably dressed.’

‘Well, put some clothes on and be quick about it.’ Nathaniel Hawke could be a persistent man when it suited him.

A pool of water was collecting on the floor beneath the bindings. It would be some hours before they would be dry enough to wear again. Neither Captain Hawke, nor any other member of the crew, would believe that it took that length of time to bathe and dress. ‘It will take some considerable time, sir.’