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

will rectify any harm that has been done.’

      ‘You cannot seriously expect me to marry him!’ Georgiana’s voice increased in volume and she placed her hands against the desk’s cool wooden surface, leaning forward towards her stepfather.

      ‘Sit down, Georgiana,’ he snapped, ‘and do not raise your voice to me.’

      Georgiana took a tentative step backwards, but remained standing.

      Mr Raithwaite’s face darkened. ‘I said, sit down,’ and his enunciation was meticulous.

      Her legs retreated further and she stumbled into the closely positioned chair.

      Gone was the bumbling genteel man. Mr Raithwaite’s eyes focused with a shrewd clarity. ‘A woman must marry as her father directs, to consolidate power and wealth, to open up new opportunities for the family. It’s the way of the world. If you’re labouring under some childish notion of love or romance, then I’m here to tell you that it’s nonsense. I didn’t send you to that expensive ladies’ academy to learn such foolishness. No, Georgiana. Walter Praxton is as best a match as can be expected. You will marry him and behave as behoves a decent young lady. And that, my dear, will be an end to the matter. Forget all else.’

      Georgiana stared at Edward Raithwaite as if seeing him for the first time. A tightening nausea was growing within her stomach and she could feel the sweat bead upon her upper lip. The terrible sinking sensation arose not so much from what her stepfather had just said, but rather from that which he had not. Her scalp prickled with unease as she struggled to comprehend the enormity of what she had just learned. All his talk of childish notions and nonsense was a distraction, an attempt to divert her from the real issue. But Georgiana would not be distracted so easily. Her mind had grasped the problem in full. ‘You knew,’ she said in a quiet voice, and never once did her eyes leave Edward Raithwaite’s face. ‘You knew all along.’

      Mr Raithwaite sent her a look that held nothing of affection. ‘The water has sent a fever to your brain.’

      The harsh chill of the truth seeped through to scrape at her bones. Now that she had started she could not stop. ‘It was an agreement between the two of you. That’s why you were so content to allow me to walk alone with him in Hurstborne Park, even when you knew that I didn’t want to go. The seduction was planned.’ She stared at him, the full extent of the horror uncoiling. ‘And Mama…surely she could not have known too?’

      ‘Your ranting renders you fit for nowhere but Bedlam, an amusing spectacle for the aristocracy, nothing more. Be careful what you say, Georgiana. I would not have your mother any further upset than she already is. I must warn her to watch for any signs of a brain fever in you.’ He sighed and, removing his spectacles, pinched at the bridge of his nose. ‘Both Mr Praxton and I only want what is best for you.’

      Her mouth cracked to form a cynical smile that did not touch her eyes, eyes that faded to a bleak grey-blue. ‘How my leap into the River Borne must have dismayed you both.’

      ‘You jumped?’ Raithwaite’s brow lowered.

      Georgiana’s smile intensified. ‘Oh, yes, dear Papa, I’d rather face death in a swollen river than submit to Walter Praxton’s cruel lips.’

      ‘You’re mistaken about him. It’s a measure of your youthful ignorance, and I won’t let you throw away the chance of a good marriage because of it. You’re one and twenty, and in danger of being left on the shelf. This is the best opportunity you’ll get.’

      She shook her head sadly. ‘He is not a kind man, Papa. How can you justify what you’ve done?’

      Edward Raithwaite slowly sat himself down in the comfortable chair behind his desk. ‘I said that my actions are for the best, and so they are. The end justifies the means, my dear. You’ll thank me in the years to come. Now, our discussion is at a close. It would be well if you did not mention that of which we have spoken to your mother. I will not have you run bleating to her. Do not seek to flout my judgement, Georgiana, for, if you refuse to marry Walter Praxton, then I’ll have you deemed of unsound mind, and I don’t need to explain what the consequences of that would be.’ His mouth shut in a tight grim line.

      Indeed, he did not need to offer any explanation at all. It was with a very heavy heart that Georgiana made her way out of the study.

      Nathaniel propped himself against the sturdy wooden gate and was content to enjoy the view before him. Collingborne was set amidst the soft rolling splendour of the Hampshire countryside, close to Harting Down. The green velvet of fields stretched ahead, dotted periodically with prehistoric mounds. Above yawned a rich russet canopy, its seasonal castings rustling gently around his feet. The air was damp and still, the sky grey with cloud. Within the hour the light would fade to darkness and the gentle patter of winter rain begin…and he would be back within the great house to suffer the hatred of his father. A robin flitted between the branches overhead, singing its distinctive call, alone in a field of crows and starlings and magpies. It was a feeling that Nathaniel knew well, and not one on which he wished to dwell. This was his respite, his time of peace, and from it he gathered the strength to face the sombre house once more. He would be gone tomorrow, and he could endure all that his father would throw at him until then. The leaves crunched beneath the soles of his riding boots as he strolled with purposeful resignation towards the place he could not call home.

      ‘Mirabelle?’ Nathaniel halted in surprise upon the gravel drive.

      ‘Nathaniel!’ His sister by marriage clambered down from the travelling coach. ‘You’ll think that I’m following you! But I couldn’t wait four more weeks for that dratted brother of yours to return. He sent me a letter saying that he couldn’t leave until then. So I decided right then and there to come. And here I am. Won’t Henry be surprised?’

      Nathaniel thought that perhaps surprise might not be Henry’s primary sentiment when he viewed the arrival of his wife and children. Not that his brother did not care for them, it was just that Mirabelle’s presence was not entirely conducive to performing matters of business. Quite how the relationship between his straight-faced sibling and Henry’s vivacious wife worked was something that Nathaniel was often given to speculate upon. Mirabelle certainly brought happiness to his brother. Perhaps there was more to the lady than her chatterbox ways would suggest.

      Behind Lady Farleigh a stout woman had just emerged from the carriage carrying one small child wrapped within a blanket, and holding another by the hand. ‘Unc Nath!’ The child loosed Nurse’s hand and threw himself towards Nathaniel. On reaching the now mud-splattered high boots, the small boy stopped, looked solemnly up with his big pansy-brown eyes, and raised his chubby arms towards Nathaniel. ‘Up, please, sir,’ he said in a polite voice, and waited patiently for Nathaniel to respond.

      Nurse tutted and stepped forward to reclaim her errant charge.

      But without a further thought Nathaniel lifted the child against him, unmindful of the buckled shoes scraping against his smart country coat, and the small sticky fingers pressing against his cheeks. ‘Have you missed your uncle Nathaniel?’

      The curly head nodded seriously.

      ‘And have you been a good boy, Charlie?’

      Again the head nodded and the arms tightened around his neck, rendering his carefully arranged neckcloth a mass of crushed linen.

      ‘Then I think we’ll have to play a game of horses.’

      A broad grin spread across Charlie’s face and he uttered with reverence, ‘Horses, yes, play horses.’

      To which Nathaniel set the boy upon the ground, turned around and crouched down as low as he could. Charlie clambered upon Nathaniel’s back, gaining a firm hold around his uncle’s neck. He was secured in place by Nathaniel’s arms and then the pair were off and running, galloping up the broad stone stairs in front of Collingborne House, accompanied by Mirabelle’s laughter and Nurse’s snorts of disapproval.

      Charlie’s giggles reverberated around the ornate hallway, up the splendid sweep of the staircase and along the full length of the picture