Regency Debutantes (2 page)

Nathaniel smiled grimly at the words. ‘Have no fear for me, Freddie. I’m more than capable of making a success of my life without the Earl of Porchester’s help. And now we should talk of more important matters.’

‘More important matters?’

‘Indeed. Just how do you mean to explain your
friendship
with Lady Sarah to Mirabelle! That lady will eat you for breakfast, little brother.’ Nathaniel raised an eyebrow in wry amusement, and revealed his teeth in a broad grin, ready to hear the tale.

Freddie laughed, then suddenly stopped. ‘Nathaniel, what’s wrong?’

All traces of humour left his brother’s face as he stared in the direction of the river.

‘Nathaniel?’

Dark eyes opened wide in shock. ‘There’s someone in the river!’

The younger man’s brow furrowed. ‘But the water’s too high and too cold for swimming.’

‘I doubt that swimming is quite what he had in mind. Quickly, Freddie, there’s no time to lose, the fellow will soon be drowned, if he isn’t already dead.’ Nathaniel spurred the gelding to a gallop and shouted, ‘Head towards Holeham’s Hook, wait for me on the bridge.’

‘But where are you going?’ Freddie’s words flitted weakly into the wind. Worry growled in his gut. He hoped that Nathaniel wasn’t about to do something foolhardy. But wasn’t his brother’s life a string of foolhardy ventures, with scant regard for the danger in which he seemed permanently embroiled?

Nathaniel’s jaw set firm as he directed the gelding to the swollen river. Now that he had drawn closer, he could see that the boy had lost consciousness and was being dragged within the grip of the sweeping current. The slight body tossed and tumbled down the central line of the river beyond all hope of reach. Even as he weighed the situation, Nathaniel knew what he must do. Not once did he flinch from his purpose. He bellowed the words at Freddie’s blurred image, ‘I’ll meet you at the bridge. Be ready to haul us out!’ Urging the horse on, he raced alongside the river for some distance.

Just short of the muddied bank he leapt from his horse, snaring the reins over a bush as he ran. First his boots were discarded. Then his superfine coat. Just as the boy swept past Nathaniel plunged into the fast-flowing water. Icy shock bit deep and he schooled himself not to gasp. ‘Hell’s teeth!’ The curse escaped him, but there was no one to hear him over the river’s roar. With immense strength of will he forced his legs
to kick and swam like he had never swum before in the direction of the poor battered body. The writhing water, pounding in his ears, stinging his eyes, transported him to his quarry.

He felt the slim arm before his saw it, and his fingers closed firm.
Not far to Holeham’s Hook. Hold on. Kick hard. Steer towards the right-hand side.
The thoughts came with deliberate logic even as fatigue and pain assailed his body.
The lad’s heavy, so heavy. Arms growing numb.
Determination focused as he fought.
Hold fast. Keep his head up. Nearly there.
Through the blinding water he saw the bridge coming up fast and braced himself. He turned his body to absorb the worst of the impact and grunted as it hit hard. 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, my dear. It’s quite inexcusable of me. I’m Mirabelle Farleigh, wife to the brother of Nathaniel and Frederick, the two gentlemen who rescued you from your most unfortunate incident.’ She smiled sweetly at Georgiana and helped to rearrange the covers upon the great bed. ‘My husband is Henry, Viscount Farleigh.’

‘I must thank you, ma’am, for your kindness and for taking me into your home.’ Georgiana’s voice was husky.

Lady Farleigh’s golden ringlets bounced as she shook her head. ‘Think nothing of it, dear Miss Raithwaite. You’re very welcome.’ Her small pink mouth crinkled into a smile again.

‘You already know my name, ma’am?’ Georgiana’s brow lifted in surprise.

‘But of course, Nathaniel has told us all. And let’s dispense with all this “ma’am-ing”, please call me Mirabelle.’

Georgiana smiled at the small woman before her. ‘Thank you…Mirabelle, and, of course, you must call me Georgiana. But how did you come to know my name? Has my papa—?’

‘Forgive me, my dear.’ Lady Farleigh interrupted. ‘I’m ahead of myself as usual. Let me retell the story in full just as Nathaniel did.’

‘That would be very kind. Thank you, Mirabelle.’ Georgiana’s eyebrow twitched slightly, but she made no further comment as she leaned back against the pillows and prepared to listen.

Mirabelle settled herself into a chair close by the bed. ‘I had just visited baby Richard in the nursery when—’

A brisk knock rapped and not one, but two, gentlemen entered the bedroom.

Georgiana pulled the bedcovers higher to meet her chin and eyed them with suspicion.

Lady Farleigh gave a squeak of delight. ‘Nathaniel, Freddie! You’ve come to check upon poor Miss Raithwaite! What impeccable timing you have. I was just about to explain all about Nathaniel’s meeting with Mr Raithwaite, but now that you’re here I’ll leave all that to you. Miss Raithwaite is positively agog to know how we came to discover her name.’

An uncharitable thought popped into Georgiana’s mind.

Would Lord Nathaniel, whichever of the two men he happened to be, be able to squeeze a word in edgeways in the presence of the effusive Mirabelle? And then she had the grace to blush at her quite appalling lapse.

Nathaniel Hawke looked at the subtle play of emotions flitting so clearly across Miss Raithwaite’s surprisingly fine features. Curiosity followed suspicion, guilt trailed humour. Mirabelle’s chatter allowed him to study the girl with her pale skin and expressive eyes. Her long ebony-coloured hair splashed its dark luxury against the stark white of the nightgown, sweeping down to hang as two heavy curtains. Nathaniel experienced an urge to tangle his fingers in it. She was young, and a lady to boot. Two very good reasons why he should resist the compelling physical attraction he felt towards her.

Mirabelle had paused in her introductions and was pushing him forward with pride. ‘Nathaniel really is quite the hero despite his protestations.’

The grey-blue eyes glanced up to meet his…and stopped.

‘Miss Raithwaite, I’m glad to see that you’re somewhat recovered from your ordeal.’ He held her gaze, and smiled.

Georgiana’s mouth suddenly felt dry, and the room hot. Indeed, her cheeks burned uncommonly warm. ‘Sir,’ she managed to croak at the man standing before her. She owed him her life, of that she was certain. It was his strong arms that had pulled her from the river, his courage that had saved her from a watery grave. Those same dark eyes that had held such concern on the riverbank were now regarding her with amusement. The hair that had hung in sodden strands now sprang in mahogany-coloured curls around his rugged face. She should have proclaimed her gratitude from the very rooftops.
But Miss Raithwaite, who had been raised to behave with the utmost decorum, suddenly found that it had deserted her, along with every other rational thought. For Lord Nathaniel Hawke was having a most peculiar effect upon her sensibilities. And she was certain that she did not care at all for such a situation.