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The Duke's Refuge

By Lorri Dudley

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Chapter One

Nevis, British Leeward Islands
1814
“Moor the line!” the captain called out. Feet shuffled above deck, and the echo of male grunts filled the air.
Georgia Evelyn Lennox straightened the skirt of her finest muslin traveling dress. She’d saved this particular pale pink gown especially for the day they would reach Nevis. Now, she adjusted the sleeves with the same care a knight would prepare his armor for battle.
She didn’t wear it to impress a specific person, certainly not her father. Pink gowns had become her own kind of chain mail. Her bonnet, embellished with pink silk flowers, transformed into her helmet. And her fan or her filly pink parasol—her shield.
She slid on her matching pink gloves, hooked her parasol over her arm, and as best she could, inspected herself in her tiny handheld mirror, looking for chinks in the pink armor. Satisfied, she opened the door, but paused on the threshold.
“Aunt Tessa, it sounds as if we might be nearing Nevis. I’m going to climb aloft to speak with the captain. Would you care for anything?”
“Dry land.” Aunt Tessa mumbled under the covers.
Georgia chuckled. “I shall do my best.”
Aunt Tessa rolled over and pulled the blanket off her face. “I daresay, I’m feeling a mite better today. I merely need a good rest.”
“Then I shall leave you to it.” Georgia lifted her chin, happy to be free of her stuffy cabin. Aunt Tessa, with whom she’d shared a room throughout the voyage, had suffered from a weak stomach the entire journey.
Georgia did her best to put on a valiant front, but tending to her aunt in the darkness of the poorly lit cabin had allowed her imagination to run rampant. What would she find when she reached Nevis? How close to death did her father lie? How would she care for him? Other than passing the chamber pot to Aunt Tessa for the past five hundred leagues, she had no experience in aiding the sick.
She pressed to one side of the hallway as a sailor brushed past, then she climbed the remaining steps. Warm sunshine spilled upon her face, and she inhaled a deep breath of briny air. The few precious hours a day she escaped above deck kept her sane. She shook the layers of her pink traveling dress, more to allow the air to circulate than to remove any lingering wrinkles.
“Lower the dinghy dead astern!” the captain hollered to the crewmen working the gunwale.
Overhead, the cries of gulls pierced the air, a sign the ship must be nearing land. Georgia’s eyes adjusted to the sunlight. Sure enough, off the port bow, a strip of land rose out of the sea to a monstrous peak. Clouds hung low around the mountain, obscuring the top from view. Aquamarine waters shimmered in the light of the sun.
Her lips parted, and she inhaled a gasp. There was not a gown in all of London that captured the sea’s spectacular color. Even though she’d been above deck for only a moment, the sun heated her skin, and the humidity drew beads of perspiration from her brow. She opened her pink parasol, flipped it over her head, and strolled toward the captain to wait for an opportunity to speak.
A sailor saluted the captain and rushed off to see to his duties.
Georgia stepped up to the helm. “Is this the coast of Nevis?”
The sea-worn man’s leathery skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “’Tis Nevis, my dear, and your final destination. We be just sendin’ over a few men to chat with the Marshall before we deliver ya over in the dinghy.”
Georgia lingered above deck, absorbing the view and sucking in deep, stabilizing breaths. She turned away from the sun, east toward England. She could only pray her father’s untimely illness hadn’t ruined her chances with the Earl of Claremont. Her stomach flipped with the dip of each wave, and her fingers gripped the end of her parasol to keep her hands from shaking. By the time she’d subdued her riotous emotions, the crew had returned from land, clambering aboard the ship again.
“From the sounds of it, a big storm’s abrewin’, Cap.” A ruddy-faced crewman who’d just boarded approached the Captain. “Accordin’ to the Marshall, they’ve seen all the signs. Sea’s been calm as a bowl of soup, and the fish have been jumpin’ into the net as of late, but now the breeze has picked up, and you can feel ‘em swells rising.”
A light breeze ruffled Georgia’s bonnet, lifting the tiny hairs on her arms and tugging at her parasol.
The captain glanced at the weather vane and reached for his spyglass. He pulled open the telescope and swung it in the direction of the wind. Georgia followed the Captain’s gaze and squinted, but other than a thin strip of white feathery clouds on the horizon, there was only blue sky.
“Let’s make this quick!” the captain called out. He turned to Georgia and said, “I apologize, Miss Lennox, but we’ll be needing to rush through our farewells. Best of luck to ya in Nevis. Better go below and prepare your trunks. My men will be set to load them when yer ready.”
Georgia’s heartbeat quickened as she made her way below deck. Soon, she’d set foot on land, away from the smelly, cramped space of the boat. She’d also be leaving its security to face her father. What would he be like after six years? Would his eyes still flash with merriment like they used to?
She gritted her teeth. It didn’t matter. He’d chosen to leave. He abandoned her and her family and didn’t even bother to write. She was here to aid him back to health and then catch the next ship back to London.
She placed a hand on the blanketed mass that was her Aunt. “It’s time to pack our belongings. We’ll soon be going ashore.”
Aunt Tessa rolled over, and a joyful tear leaked down her lined cheek. The poor thing looked like a wilted flower. Her gray hair hung around her green-tinged face.
Georgia scooted about the cramped cabin and gathered their belongings. After filling one trunk, she knelt to lock it, but her fingers trembled, and the key slid with a clink onto the floorboard.
Aunt Tessa knelt beside her and picked it up. “Here, let me get that. It’s about time I did something useful. Some companion I turned out to be.”
Georgia chuckled, more to release the tension welling within her than because her aunt’s words were funny.
Even the dim room couldn’t hide the compassion lighting Aunt Tessa’s eyes. “It’s natural to be nervous about seeing your father again after so much time. You’re doing him a great service by coming.” She smiled and patted Georgia’s hand. “I, for one, cannot wait for him to see what a beautiful woman you’ve become. You’re two-and-twenty now. Not the same young girl he left behind.”
No, I’m not.
“He loves you Georgia.” A weak smile crossed Aunt Tessa’s lips.
Georgia forced herself to offer one in return. If he loved me, he would have stayed.
As Georgia continued to prepare for their disembarking, Mama’s words echoed in her head. He’s dying, and he’s alone. He’s looking to make amends. It’s your duty as his daughter to be there for him.
But he didn’t want her. Someone who loved her wouldn’t leave and travel halfway across the world when she needed him the most.
A knock sounded on their cabin door. Two burly men entered without a word and began hauling their trunks above deck. She smiled as Aunt Tessa leaned heavily on a sailor’s arm, babbling on about the previous night’s horrific rocking.
Georgia’s steps slowed. Ready or not, she was about to meet her father. Whether he was still the papa she adored from her childhood or the uncaring man who walked away without a backward glance, without ever bothering to write, she would soon find out.
Utter chaos met them above deck. Men bustled about, sealing the hatchways, covering them with tarpaulin, and nailing the covers in place with wooden battens. Dinghies full of merchandise raised and lowered, and sailors rushed to stow items away in lockers. The captain barked orders, and shipmates bumped into each other in their haste to prepare the sails for hoisting. In the fray, Georgia lost sight of the men carrying her trunks, but the first mate grasped her elbow.
“M’lady, you must hurry. Yer boat awaits.”
She struggled to keep up with his long strides.
“Unhand me this minute!” Aunt Tessa cried from ahead.
Georgia bit her lip to keep from laughing as a muscular man scooped up Aunt Tessa and carried her to the rails. The older woman screamed as he dropped her into the arms of another crewman in the dinghy. Even Georgia gasped as her aunt slipped through the air. He then turned to Georgia.
“I can handle this myself.” She raised a hand to ward off the sailor. He lifted a brow and had the audacity to grin.
She stepped up to the edge of the ship, leaned down, and held her hand out to the crewman in the smaller boat. She stiffened as the man’s hands wrapped around her waist and tossed her onto the wooden seat as he would a jacket onto a coat rack. Her stomach rose into her throat as the boat dropped without warning. She gasped each time it jerked to an incremental stop, her heart thudding like a mallet in her chest.
The boat hit the water with a splash, spraying droplets on her hair and face. Georgia wiped them away with the back of her glove. The oarsmen released a grunt with each row, and sweat slid down the edges of their red faces. The breeze wafted the powerful stench of unbathed flesh under her nose with each stroke. Despite a few warm waves that slapped against the side of the boat, the rest of the trip to shore was uneventful.
Above the surf, the landscape grew larger as the boat approached. It was as if the world she knew changed from shades of gray to full color. The sunny beach contrasted sharply with the dreary, gray backdrop of London. A small group of people gathered around the dock waiting for more goods to be unloaded.
Further up, a tight row of shops lined the main street beyond the harbor. Some were small huts, but most were stone buildings with wooden second stories painted in cheerful colors. Shutters lined all the windows, some propped open with sticks. Palm trees—Georgia knew they were called that only because she’d seen them in books and paintings—swayed in the wind. Her eyes dared to steer higher toward Mount Nevis, looming over the town like a hulking green shadow.
The dinghy reached the breakers, and one of the men scrambled out. The waves soaked his boots and pants as he hefted the boat up on the shore. Another crewman plucked her out of the dinghy and plopped her down on the sandy beach. The soles of her walking shoes sank into the soft sand as she waited for her aunt to disembark. Aunt Tessa’s feet barely touched the ground before more men hopped out and pushed the boat back into the water.
A gust of wind tugged at her skirts and bonnet. Georgia cupped her hands around her mouth as she yelled back toward the men. “Shall we wait here for our trunks to be delivered?”
Either the wind or the crashing waves swallowed her question. The men strained against the oars, struggling to haul the dinghy beyond the breakers.
That must be what they planned. She slowly turned to face the island of Nevis.
Dark-skinned men and women, most likely natives or African slaves, took their time loading the beached cargo into wagons and carts. Compared to the hustle and bustle of the boat, everyone on the small wharf ambled along at a snail’s pace.
“Be mindful of how you handle that, boy! That freight is worth more than you’ll ever be.” A round-faced Englishman yelled at a slave bending under the weight of the heavy load. The Englishman mopped the sweat from his brow with a lace-lined handkerchief. He sliced his riding crop through the air, and the boy jumped out of the way, almost dropping the freight in the process.
Georgia turned away, unable to bear witness to what would happen next.
The dinghy approached the side of the ship, and the men hooked the ropes for it to be hoisted up again. The cool wind tugged at her bonnet strings, and she plopped a hand on top to hold it in place. The breeze refreshed her warm skin where the sun beat down, but it rendered her parasol useless.
“Thank heavens we’re on land.” Aunt Tessa closed her eyes and hugged herself. “I vow I will never set foot in one of those dastardly vessels again.” She peered down at her boots sinking deeper into the sand.
Her aunt appeared as if she contemplated dropping to her knees and kissing the ground. Georgia pinched her lips to hide a smile.
“I think I’ll go rest on that rock and look for your father. He probably has a carriage waiting for us.”
Hiking up her skirts, Aunt Tessa trudged through the sand and plunked down on a large boulder in the middle of the beach. With a drawn-out sigh of relief, she fanned herself.
Georgia shook her head. Her poor aunt had paid a high penance crossing the Atlantic. Hopefully, their return trip wouldn’t be as wretched.
The back of Georgia’s neck tingled with the feeling of being watched. Slowly, she twisted her head.
A strange man stood fifty yards away in front of an open wagon, his white shirt clinging to his muscular chest and arms. His face was clean shaven, and his brown hair ruffled in the wind. Cream-colored breeches hugged his thighs as he planted a booted foot on a rock. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and scanned the shore as if assessing the chaos. His eyes locked with hers.
Georgia averted her gaze. A blast of wind lifted her bonnet and cooled her hair as she turned her focus back to the ship.
The crew were hoisting the small dinghy onto the deck. Had they forgotten about her trunks?
She scrambled along the beach toward the ship and waved her arms. “Wait! My things. You forgot my trunks. Bring the dinghy back down and send them over at once!”
The men continued to scurry about the deck, and Georgia searched for someone—something—to get their attention.
A loud splash sounded. She scanned the water to see what had fallen overboard. One of her trunks bobbed up to the surface of the clear ocean. All of her blood drained to her feet. Everything in that chest would be ruined. Impossible to restore. Another trunk appeared over the railing and plummeted into the ocean depths. Her armor! She screamed and ran to the water’s edge. “Nooooooooo! My gowns! My dresses!”
Georgia’s breast heaved as a heavy weight pressed on her. This can’t be happening.
She ran over to a man standing next to a large freight box, jotting down numbers on a piece of paper, and tugged on his arm. “Please, tell them to stop. Those are my things they’re dumping into the water!”
The man turned and watched another trunk slap the ocean’s surface, dip under, then re-emerge to bob among the waves. He pulled his spectacles down the bridge of his nose and peered at her, then shook his head. “Sorry, miss, but a storm’s brewing. The captain won’t stop for anything. See there.” He pointed with the tip of his feather pen. “He’s raising the sails now. Gonna to try and outrun it. Otherwise, he could lose the whole ship to those rocks over there.”
He pointed to an outcropping of jagged rocks rising out of the water. A massive wave crashed there, hurling a large spray of white into the air. The seafoam fanned out in a gust of wind.
Two more trunks teetered on the edge of the ship’s railing and Georgia covered her mouth as they, too, fell twenty feet and splashed into the water. Her parasol slid from her fingers as she turned to Aunt Tessa. “Do you see what they’re doing? Our things.” Tears stung her eyes, and her chest heaved with each gasping breath.
Her aunt sat wide-eyed, staring at the trunks slowly sinking under the water. “My heavens. This is quite unexpected.”
***
Harrison Beaumont Wells straightened and folded his jacket over his arm. The prim, fashionable beauty standing on the beach, dressed from head to toe in a pale shade of pink, didn’t match the description Fredrick Lennox had given of his daughter: a hoyden romp of a girl, unkempt and unpolished, with white-gold hair. Her bonnet covered her head so that he couldn’t determine her hair color, but he rejected the sophisticated, gently bred lady as a possibility. Fredrick spoke of his beloved, impetuous, daughter like a son.
She held her shoulders back and her chin high in a regal pose as she watched the men row back to the ship. Her curves narrowed into a tiny waist that was probably no bigger than the span of his hands. Despite the heat, her properly gloved hands clasped her parasol in front of her, but the brisk breeze surely made such a thing impossible to use. She peered at the dock, toward the underdressed slaves laboring to load the supplies for their masters, but then she demurely averted her eyes.
She couldn’t be Fredrick’s daughter. However, the only other female who stepped off that ship was a matronly one, much too old and frail to be Fredrick’s youngest child. He had no other options, so he pushed off the rock and stepped onto the sandy beach. He’d ask the woman outright.
As his boots sank into the soft sand, he watched her wave to the departing ship and call out what he assumed to be bon voyage, but the wind swept away her words. She ran to the edge of the water and furiously waved both her arms. His jaw tensed. Had she’d developed a tender heart for one of the sailors? Some bird-witted chit, thinking she was half in love with a man who had a doxy in every port, was not going to survive on this island.
The woman lifted her skirts and waded into the water. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Lord help her, she’s nicked in the nob and halfway to Bedlam.”
If she had any sense, she’d give up and come back. The water rose to her knees. The noise from the dock dwindled as other men craned their necks to watch the happenings. She would turn around at any moment.
“Georgia!” the matronly woman’s back straightened. “Oh, my heavens, Georgia come back. You’ll drown.”
Georgia. Harrison’s jaw clenched. Fredrick’s youngest daughter’s name was Georgia.
God, I was trying to do a good deed for a friend. Please, don’t let this be difficult.
A wave crashed, the brunt of it almost knocking her over. The weight of her sodden skirts alone would drown her.
None of the men on shore attempted to go in after her.
Harrison stepped to the edge of the water. His boots sank into the wet sand. In his best reprimanding tone, he yelled, “Miss Lennox, come back or the undertow will pull you out to sea.”
Maybe his words would scare her into turning around. But she continued to wade deeper.
Blast! If he’d known he was going for a swim, he wouldn’t have worn his Hessians.
 

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