Regency Debutantes: The Captain's Lady / Mistaken Mistress. Margaret McPhee
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His right hand shot up and grasped the sodden wood, striving for anchorage, pulling for safety. But the river would not relinquish her prize so readily, raging against his legs and the limp body he gripped so keenly. Slowly his fingers moved against the post, a minuscule motion, barely noted, but a portent of what was to come. ‘No!’ he cried out as his palm slid against the wood. And just as it seemed that the river had won, something warm and strong grabbed his wrist. Freddie.
After he had dragged them both out, she lay on the muddied grass beneath Nathaniel. Not a lad at all, but a young woman, her face deathly pale, her sodden clothes revealing a slim but shapely form, long dark hair splayed in the mud around her head. Working with a speed that belied his growing exhaustion, Nathaniel pressed his fingers to the side of the girl’s throat and touched his cheek to her mouth. ‘Her heart’s weak, but she’s alive.’ He looked up to meet Freddie’s concerned gaze. ‘She isn’t breathing. Help me lift her up.’ Once she was cradled in his arms, Nathaniel let her head and chest drop back low towards the ground. ‘Slap her hard on the back,’ he instructed his brother.
Freddie looked dubious.
‘Just do it, man!’
Freddie shrugged and did as he was told.
Water spilled from the girl’s mouth as she coughed and spluttered.
‘Thank God!’ Nathaniel hoisted the slim body back up into his arms and looked down into the girl’s face.
A pair of grey-blue eyes stared up into his, and in them he saw the mirror of his own surprise, before the fear closed in.
‘Don’t be afraid, miss. You’re quite safe.’ Water dripped in rivulets down his face, splashing on to her cheeks.
She tried to speak, her words but a hoarse croak.
Nathaniel’s arms tightened around her. ‘Your throat will be sore for a few days yet, but there should be no lasting damage. Don’t speak until you’re able.’
Her blue-tinged lips tightened and she nodded.
He stared down at her for a moment longer, then sprang into action. ‘Freddie, take the girl up on your horse and transport her to Mirabelle. Whoever she is, we cannot leave her here, and the sooner she’s dried and warmed, the better. Wrap your coat around her for the journey.’
His brother nodded, clambered on to his horse and reached down for the woman.
‘I’ll be right behind you.’ And so saying, a shivering Nathaniel Hawke set off across the grass in his wet-stockinged feet to retrieve his boots, his coat and his trusty steed.
It was just as his toes squelched down inside the highly polished leather that he heard the shout.
‘Excuse me, sir. You over there!’
Nathaniel looked up to see a robust grey-haired gentleman waving from the opposite bank. Two well-dressed men hovered at his side.
‘Young man!’ Mr Raithwaite shouted louder still.
‘How may I help you, sir?’ Nathaniel stood tall and, oblivious to his sodden state, executed a small bow in the man’s direction.
Edward Raithwaite peered through the spectacles perched on the end of his nose. ‘Your appearance suggests that you have just suffered an encounter with the river.’
Nathaniel resisted the reply poised so readily upon his tongue. Rather, he pushed his weary shoulders back and affected to be polite. ‘That is indeed the case, sir. Have you an interest in the matter?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the corpulent man replied. ‘I’ve lost my daughter. Silly chit walked too close to the river.’ He glanced towards the young man behind him with blatant irritation. ‘Mr Praxton here tried to help, but unfortunately the water took her before he could pull her out.’
Nathaniel’s gaze sharpened with interest.
The young man pushed forward. ‘Mr Raithwaite’s daughter fell into the river about a mile upstream. Considering your appearance, we wondered if you might have tried to assist the young lady.’ He gripped the older man’s arm. ‘Her father is most distressed.’ Belatedly adding, ‘This is Mr Edward Raithwaite of Andover.’
‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir, and can put your mind at ease. I pulled a girl from the river not fifteen minutes ago.’ Nathaniel shrugged into his coat. ‘Suffering from cold and shock, but no worse hurts that I could see.’
Mr Raithwaite’s elderly head sagged and he pressed his hand to his brow. ‘Thank the Lord!’
The handsome man spoke again. ‘We must be sure that it is Miss Raithwaite. Was she dark-haired and slender, wearing a yellow walking dress?’
Something in the tone grated against Nathaniel’s ear. ‘I believe the lady matched your description.’ He eyed the man with disdain and turned to address his further comments to Mr Raithwaite. ‘My brother has taken Miss Raithwaite to Farleigh Hall. It’s situated nearby and she’ll be well tended.’ He climbed upon his horse and looked directly over at the small group of gentlemen. ‘You’re welcome to attend your daughter there, sir.’
Mr Raithwaite nodded and mumbled a reply. ‘Got to see to the ladies first, then I’ll come over.’
‘You sent her to Viscount Farleigh’s residence?’ The voice was curt and heavy with suspicion.
Even Mr Raithwaite turned to look at the man by his side.
‘Indeed.’ Nathaniel raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘Why?’
Mr Raithwaite cleared his throat and touched a restraining hand to the golden-haired man’s arm. ‘Mr Praxton, don’t worry so. This gentleman means to help us and I believe his actions to be nothing but honourable.’ Turning to Nathaniel, he said by way of explanation, ‘Mr Praxton has a great fondness for my daughter and is concerned for her.’ Then, as if catching himself, ‘Please forgive my manners. These are my friends, Mr Walter Praxton and Mr Julian Battersby-Brown.’
Nathaniel acknowledged the introduction with a quick nod of his head. ‘Nathaniel Hawke, sir.’ He looked directly at Mr Praxton. ‘Viscount Farleigh is my brother.’
‘Lord Hawke!’ Mr Battersby-Brown uttered with reverence.
‘Please excuse me, gentlemen. I’ve an inclination to change my clothing.’ And with that he made off into the distance with some considerable speed.
Georgiana awoke to find herself tucked firmly into a vast four-poster bed. A fire leapt in the hearth and the room was quiet save for the crackles and spits that emitted from its warm golden flames. She remembered her arrival at the house with the fine young gentleman, but thereafter nothing. She wrinkled her brow in concentrated effort, but there was nothing except a haziness to recall. Sitting up, she became aware of the luxurious nightgown draped against her skin and that her hair was now dry, but tumbled around her shoulders. Just as her toes contacted the floor the door positioned in the far corner of the room swung open. In waltzed a petite lady wearing a fashionable dress of blue muslin.
‘Miss Raithwaite, you’re awake. Are you feeling better?’ Without waiting for an answer, the woman wafted towards her in a cloud of fragrant lavender. Her lively cornflower-blue eyes dropped to where the tips of Georgiana’s toes touched upon the carpet. ‘My dearest girl, what can you be thinking of? You must not attempt to get up just now. Doctor Boyd has said that you’re to rest, and rest you shall. You’ve suffered a shock and it’s likely to take you some time to recover.’ The lady chattered on.
Georgiana looked on in mild confusion.
‘Now, pop your feet back beneath those bedcovers and rest against the pillows. I’ll instruct Mrs Tomelty to bring you a little broth.’ She pressed a hand to her mouth in sudden consternation. ‘Oh, but whatever am I thinking of? You’ve not the faintest idea of who I am.’
‘I—’ Georgiana opened her mouth to speak.
‘No,