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

One dark eyebrow raised in a minuscule motion.

Georgiana saw it and found herself swamped in a feeling of wretched shame and anger. She knew very well the path his mind was taking. ‘We were not alone for long.’ Long enough for Walter Praxton to make clear the exact nature of his intent! She knew she was only exposing her own guilt. Drat the man, why was he looking at her like that? She had a sudden urge to confess all, tell him exactly what Mr Praxton had done and why. But when all was said and done, Nathaniel Hawke was a stranger and a man…a very attractive man. And she couldn’t reveal such sordid details, especially not to him.

‘And what was it that you were doing to come to land in the river, Miss Raithwaite?’ He stepped closer to the bed and lowered his voice.

‘I…I was …’ She glanced up to meet the strength of his gaze.

‘Examining the botanical specimen?’ he suggested.

‘No.’

‘Then what?’

She could give him no answer that would not compromise herself and she did not think that she could bear to see the condemnation in his eyes that was sure to follow. So she said nothing, just shook her head.

‘And what was Mr Praxton doing to allow you to fall?’

I didn’t fall, I jumped! And Mr Praxton was doing precisely as you suspect! she wanted to shout, but couldn’t. ‘We had a disagreement, and…that is when I went into the river.’ Subconsciously her fingers slid to tug at her ear lobe.

Nathaniel took another step closer. He made as if to reach his hand out to her, then checked the action. ‘Miss Raithwaite,’ he said quietly, ‘I have the notion that you’re fearful of returning home. Who are you afraid of?’ He waited, before prompting, ‘If Mr Praxton has done aught that he should not have…’

The beautiful grey-blue eyes widened in shock and for the briefest moment he thought she was about to tell him something of the greatest significance. Then she faltered, and the moment was gone.

‘No.’ The temptation was great. She wanted to tell him. The words had crept to the tip of her tongue before she’d had the sense to restrain them.

‘Then, your father?’

The intensity of his gaze made her shiver. It was as if he could see past her defences to the truth. She willed herself to stay calm. ‘Why should I be afraid of my papa?’

‘Perhaps he does not approve of your friendship with Mr Praxton.’

If only that were the case! Had she imagined his subtle emphasis on the word ‘friendship’? She bristled at the implication. ‘I have no friendship with Mr Praxton. My papa is more approving of our betrothal than you could possibly realise.’

Hell’s teeth, but the girl was infuriating. He’d come here to assail the nagging doubt that there was more to Georgiana’s story than she was telling—something that wasn’t quite right. Fear, desperation, anger, indignation, he was sure he’d seen them all marked clearly on her face. Damn it, he hadn’t even known her this time yesterday. Now here he was, behaving like the village idiot, in the chit’s bedroom of all places, with the foolish chivalric notion that she needed his help. So Mirabelle had been right. Miss Raithwaite had been indulging in some compromising behaviour with the man and she was to marry him. The thought irked him more than it should have. ‘You are betrothed to Mr Praxton?’ He struggled to keep the scowl from his face.

‘Mr Praxton is very determined to marry me.’ She spoke so quietly that he struggled to hear her answer, strange as it was.

He thought he saw her lower lip tremble, but before he could be certain it was caught in a nip by her teeth. Praxton was clearly capable of eliciting strong emotion in her. Again that surge of disquiet made itself known.

Nathaniel looked at the girl with her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes for a moment longer. ‘Then, you have my felicitations, Miss Raithwaite. I will leave you to your rest.’ He bowed and strode from the room as if it was a matter of the smallest consideration. Georgiana Raithwaite’s future was none of his concern. But he could not rid himself of the unsettled feeling for the rest of the day.

Nathaniel Hawke dropped a chaste kiss on to his brother’s wife’s cheek, only to find himself embraced in a bear hug. Mirabelle’s arms barely stretched around him and she stepped on the tips of her toes to reach up to him. ‘Dearest Nathaniel, promise me that you’ll take care on both your journey to Portsmouth and your voyage, wherever it may take you.’

His mouth opened to reply.

‘And make sure that you send Henry back from Collingborne. He’s been away for an age and I’m sure that your father will manage perfectly well with Freddie instead.’

Nathaniel’s eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘I’m quite sure that—’

‘Shall we see you again soon?’ Mirabelle disengaged her hold and launched herself in Freddie’s direction.

‘I’m afraid I haven’t received my sailing orders yet so I cannot answer your question.’

Freddie suffered a similar mauling at Mirabelle’s hands and grimaced when she pinched his cheek. ‘You grow more like Henry every day!’

He groaned. ‘Mirabelle!’

‘Well, fortunately for you it’s true. Now, off with you both. It’s time for my visit to the nursery and I can hear Charlie and Richard bawling from here. Such lungs!’

Having taken their farewells of Mirabelle, their nephews and a rather wan Miss Raithwaite, the brothers headed out at a steady pace south along the Gosport Road.

Freddie screwed up his face. ‘The prospect of an increasing similarity between Henry and myself is most depressing!’

Nathaniel laughed. ‘Why? Surely a marked resemblance to our distinguished sibling can be nothing but good? I mean, Henry has wisdom, good judgement and a deal of sense. What more could a fellow want?’

‘A sense of humour springs to mind, along with a number of other criteria. Henry’s a fine chap and all that, but he’s a trifle dull. All work and no play, et cetera, et cetera!’

‘Beneath that stuffy exterior is a good man.’

‘I know, I know. But can you imagine Henry jumping into the River Borne to rescue Miss Raithwaite? Poor girl would have drowned, and I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of carrying her back to Farleigh Hall.’ A wicked expression crossed Freddie’s face. ‘Delicious! Quite a figure beneath all those clothes!’

Nathaniel affected shock, but laughed just the same. ‘Frederick Hawke, that’s no way to speak of a lady.’

Freddie’s grin deepened, and his eyes twinkled. ‘But if Mirabelle is to be believed, our Miss Raithwaite is hardly a lady. Lucky Mr Praxton.’

‘Ah, Mr Praxton. I’d lay the blame for Miss Raithwaite’s misdemeanours firmly at his door. Taking advantage of the girl he is betrothed to.’ Nathaniel looked directly at his brother. ‘There’s something rather unsavoury about the man, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘He seemed perfectly fine to me. Rather a fashionable good-looking chap. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have too much trouble with the ladies, if you know what I mean.’ Freddie winked.

‘Perhaps you’re right. But my instinct sets me against him, however unfair that may seem. Still, what’s it to us? We shall likely never set eyes on Mr Praxton or Miss Raithwaite again.’ He twitched the reins beneath his fingers. ‘I wonder if she knows what she’s getting herself into, tangling with such a man?’

Freddie snorted. ‘You’re growing suspicious in your old age. I think it must be time that we stopped for some refreshments to soothe your poor addled brain. The George Inn isn’t far ahead. I’ll race you to it!’

It seemed to Mirabelle Farleigh that Georgiana’s health had suffered not so much from her plunge into the River Borne, but from the visit of her father and the man to whom she was betrothed. Subsequent to their leaving the girl appeared pale and listless. Scarcely a morsel of food had passed her lips since and she declined to be drawn by the brightest of conversation that her ladyship had to offer. Not that any sign of fever or pain could be seen to account for her behaviour. But something was wrong, very wrong. Georgiana wore the air of a woman condemned, not of one about to marry her lover. Lady Farleigh, who had an innate interest in such things, had every intention of getting to the bottom of the mysterious affair.