Close to the Wind Read online

  Harry raised a brow. ‘Is this the grandmother who gave you the griffin?’

  Her hand went to her talisman, lying hidden under the dress. ‘Yes.’

  She half expected him to pass it off with some humorous remark, but he just said, ‘She must have loved you very much. Griffins protect treasure.’

  There was no irony in his tone and she felt her cheeks grow hot. She’d never had anyone give her anything like a compliment before. Harry rescued her from tongue-tied embarrassment.

  ‘So tell me how your parents met.’

  Georgiana pulled herself together. ‘Mama was what her family always termed wild. She was a great horsewoman and would slip away to ride about the countryside. Of course my grandparents would be furious but she said it was intolerable to be always holding back for other riders. One day she took a particularly high hedge – my aunt told me that Mama always rushed at things without thinking through the consequences.’

  Harry’s mouth twitched, but he made no comment as he leaned forward, selected a peach and began peeling it. It was clear though, from the tilt of his head, that he was listening closely.

  ‘She didn’t realise there was a circus camped on the other side and, as her horse came over the top, it nearly landed on one of the performing dogs. The horse stumbled and Mama was thrown. Papa saw the whole thing and came running. At first he thought she must be dead, but she was only stunned and, as he lifted her head, she opened her eyes and said, ‘How is my horse? How stupid of me.’ He used to say that he fell in love with her at that very moment. The horse was fine, but she was shaken so he took her back to the camp where my grandmother could tend to her.’

  Georgiana paused, seeing the scene in her mind’s eye. She’d imagined it countless times over the years so now it felt almost like her own memory. ‘As soon as my grandmother saw my mother coming towards her, leaning on my father, she went forward and kissed her on each cheek saying, “Welcome, daughter.” The second sight, you see.’

  Harry slanted a look at her, but all he said was, ‘Of course,’ as he sliced the peach with deft movements. ‘But how did your other grandparents feel about this? Surely it didn’t have their blessing?’

  ‘Far from it! They ranted and raved, but Mama was very headstrong. Once her mind was made up, it did not matter what anyone said. When the circus moved on, she slipped away with them. Of course she was disowned and never saw her family again.’

  ‘From your blithe tone, I gather that was no great loss.’ Harry smiled as he rinsed his fingers in the bowl provided and dried his fingers on his napkin. Then he passed the plate of peach slices and Georgiana took one. It made her feel special to be fed in this way.

  His expression became more serious. ‘You told me your parents died when you were twelve.’

  ‘Yes.’ She took a bite of the peach as a way of ending the conversation. She was used to telling only bare facts of her parents’ death and usually people backed away, as though in some way embarrassed by her loss. But as the peach slipped down her throat, sweet and cool, she glanced at Harry. In his face she saw an understanding that went far beyond the usual muttered expressions of sympathy. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue and she experienced an unexpected urge to share that terrible evening with him. Clearly he had suffered in his life; he would understand. Laying down the rest of the slice, she dried her fingers on her napkin, hardly knowing what to say.

  ‘They died one night in a fire,’ she began, then faltered, and Harry reached out to cover her hand on the table with his. His clasp was warm and strong. She could not look at him, she felt too exposed. Instead she focused on his hand. It was brown, the fingers long and lean. She could feel the rough hardness of his palm. This was a hand that harnessed winds, that commanded ships at storm, that fought when necessary and that knew how to be gentle. From it, she drew strength to continue.

  ‘The fire broke out in the barn where the horses were being kept. It was probably started by boys from the village who had been seen about earlier in the evening, smoking and drinking. No one from the circus was stupid enough to have a flame near the horses. The barn went up in a huge fire and we could hear the horses inside.’

  Georgiana paused. She could almost smell acrid smoke, hear the terrified whinnies above the crackle and roar of the flame. Images that had haunted her in nightmares for years. But now she was aware of the strong hold on her hand. His fingers tightened as if in reassurance and she drew a deep breath. ‘Of course everyone was running, shouting about saving the horses. The men managed to get a hose to the barn, but it was clear one stream of water wasn’t going to dowse the flames. Mama cried out that someone would have to go in, but everyone said it would be suicide. She wouldn’t listen to reason – she never did – and rushed into the barn. She was so sure she could save them. Papa ran in after her.’

  It was impossible to talk any more. There were no words to describe the tearing grief and horror when she’d realised neither parent would be coming out. Harry seemed to understand, for when he spoke his voice was low, but matter-of-fact, pulling her back to the happier present.

  ‘And after that you went to your aunt’s?’

  She opened her eyes to find him steadily regarding her. She became aware again of the sun on her back, the dappled shadows on the tablecloth, the warmth of his hand covering hers, and she smiled. ‘Yes, my mother’s sister. She’d never forgiven my mother for the scandal she left in her wake and was in terror that my brother and I would bring shame upon her a second time. She was determined to mould us into respectable young persons and spared no effort to do so.’

  ‘She would appear to have failed dismally.’ Harry’s tone was dry but his ready smile hovered as he released her fingers and sat back again.

  ‘Yes,’ said Georgiana, and though she still felt shaky, she couldn’t help chuckling. ‘My poor aunt. Seven years of misery, as she constantly pointed out.’

  ‘Seven?’ Harry looked sharply at her. ‘You said your parents died when you were twelve.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So you’re nineteen?’ His surprise was evident.

  She straightened and bit her lip. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I’m a disgrace, as my aunt always told me. Two failed seasons.’ Then she looked at him defiantly. ‘All I can say is that I was as unmoved by all the young men I met as they were by me!’

  His eyes rested on her face, but he did not seem to be judging her. ‘Tell me about it.’

  She shrugged and leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap. She didn’t want to talk about her failures to Harry. ‘What’s to tell? I’m too tall, I’m not obliging and I won’t giggle.’

  ‘No wonder your poor aunt despaired.’

  She cast him a sidelong look. Laughter danced in his eyes. Encouraged, she confided, ‘The boys always used to boast about how fast they could ride.’

  He shook his head. ‘Tsk. And let me guess. You are an accomplished horsewoman?’

  She puffed up in mock consequence. ‘I am my mother’s daughter, I’ll have you know. I did my first somersault off a horse’s back when I was five.’

  This drew a laugh as she’d hoped it would. Why, oh why, hadn’t she ever met someone like him at one of her aunt’s balls? But, of course, men like Harry were not confined to English drawing rooms but were away, roaming the world, having adventures.

  ‘So you are older than I first thought.’

  ‘Certainly not the child you thought I was.’

  ‘I realise that now.’ His eyes swept over her. ‘Your aunt should be worried to have you running loose.’

  It was a particularly male comment. Georgiana had heard a lot in the hold that had shocked her, despite having grown up with a brother, but this was the first time anyone had ever referred to her in that context. Suddenly she felt older. Felt female. She laughed to disguise the strange feeling it gave her.
‘Oh no, she’ll be happy to have me out of her hair. She really did not want to have me as her—’ Georgiana broke off before she could say ‘step-daughter-in-law’.

  Harry prompted her. ‘Her—?’

  ‘Her companion forever.’

  Georgiana flushed under Harry’s searching look. To distract his attention, she took some of her discarded bread roll and leaned down to offer some to a small bird who was hovering nearby.

  Harry sat back in his chair, his fingers playing with the stem of his wineglass as he watched her. Rays of sun slipped through the dense canopy of leaves above their heads and glinted red and gold in the rich brown of her hair. The blue of the dress reflected in her eyes as she smiled, coaxing the small bird closer.

  Her lack of social success was not surprising. Georgiana was quite right; she did not possess the pink and white delicacy, the plump softness of prettiness. Her features were all a trifle overdrawn. Her nose had a strong Spanish line, her mouth was too wide though her bottom lip was lovely. Her smile was infectious but it was not decorous. Mischief too often lurked beneath. Her curls were already springing free of Consuela’s ministrations. Harry liked them but he could see she would not suit the demure buns so favoured in England. Her chief beauty lay in her eyes which showed her every mood. Now they were gentle as she smiled to the bird, but Harry had seen them dance impishly, flash in fury. When she had spoken of her parents’ death, he had glimpsed the ragged depths of the anguish and loneliness this girl had suffered. First her parents had died, then her brother had left her. No wonder she would risk everything, having nothing to lose. How much pain her flippant courage concealed.

  She had the face, he suddenly realised, of an actress. Small wonder the girl – young woman – had slipped away from the harness of her aunt’s attention to seek the stage. Showmanship was in her face, in her blood. On stage all those features, far too strong for a Victorian drawing room, would radiate emotion to the far corners of a theatre. It was a pity for her that she was a lady, but she was and shouldn’t be encouraged to flout convention any more than she already had. More than anyone else, he understood the cost if she did. He could never allow her to suffer the social ostracism he’d condemned himself to.

  He watched as she tugged in a most unladylike way at the lace at her throat, and couldn’t help but smile. George was not happy to be in skirts again. They did her no justice. The damned cage women insisted on wearing swung strangely on her tall frame. It was designed to be worn by women taking small, gliding steps. George matched his own strides easily. Callow youths could never guess at the beauty of her strong, young body hidden under all those absurd layers. For a second he saw again the graceful arc of her body as she somersaulted off the barrel.

  An image he immediately quashed. It felt wrong even to begin that line of thought. George – Georgiana, that is – was under his protection. The weight of her reputation rested in his hands. And, while definitely not the child she had first seemed, she was still naïve. Very, very naïve, little realising how completely in his power she was. Luckily for her, Harry did not have dalliances with innocents.

  Not that innocent described her exactly. She’d deceived him once already and while one secret was out, he couldn’t shake the feeling she was still hiding another.

  ‘Why didn’t your aunt share your concerns about your brother’s health?’

  Georgiana glanced sideways at him before transferring her gaze back to the bird. ‘Sh-she thought he was probably making a fuss over nothing. She was sure it was not serious.’

  There it was again. This continual dissemblance which, coupled with her mix of trust and caution, was as infuriating as it was impenetrable. Why the hell couldn’t she be compliant as befitted most girls of her age and breeding? Harry found himself quite in sympathy with the aunt. He could not let her see his frustration, however. She would retreat back into her guileless pretence and then he’d never learn what this girl was up to. Didn’t she know how dangerous such games could be?

  ‘But you believe it is serious enough for this mad dash across the world, all alone?’

  ‘Yes.’ For a second Georgiana was silent, then she looked into his eyes. ‘I really fear for his life and believe I should be with him. He only has me, you see.’

  And you him.

  Still Harry worried about her reputation. ‘Are you completely sure that no one will tumble to your plan and come after you?’

  ‘Absolutely. My aunt will be glad to see the back of me. I doubt she’ll make the slightest move to find me. She will wash her hands of me as my grandparents did my mother. I didn’t make too much of his illness because I didn’t want to bother her any more. I made it seem that I’d accepted it when she said he would recover.’

  Clearly Georgiana wasn’t going to confide further. He was surprised at how much it offended him. In a brittle, light tone, he said, ‘Well, ten to one your aunt is right, of course. If your brother is at all like you, I’d lay a bet he is already recovered.’

  Georgiana did not look convinced but said, ‘I hope so. At any rate, my aunt won’t be surprised I’ve gone off to join the circus. She always said there was too much of my mother in me.’ She took a sip of wine, then made a slight grimace. ‘That’s enough wine for me, I think.’

  ‘Is your head starting to ache again?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Then let me take you back to Consuela’s. You should rest, have a siesta while I go and see if any messages have arrived.’

  ‘Messages?’

  ‘Yes, I’m hoping Tristan will have sent word.’

  She wrinkled her nose as she thought. It was endearing, but he could imagine her aunt reproving her for the gesture. ‘Tristan? Wasn’t he the one in the fight?’

  ‘That’s right. Remember he shouted about a message?’

  ‘Message in the bottle – I remember. It didn’t make sense.’

  ‘That’s good. Hopefully it won’t have meant anything to my pursuers either. But it’s a code. Madeira – port – bottle, see? We used to use it when in tight situations.’

  ‘What tight situations?’

  ‘Nothing important,’ said Harry, ignoring her unladylike curiosity in clearly unsuitable subjects. ‘But it means that with luck, Tristan will have found out what sort of trouble I’m in and will have telegraphed it to a contact in Lisbon. He’ll send it over on one of the ships.’

  ‘Very neat,’ Georgiana commented drily. ‘Obviously a well-tried system.’

  It was clear she didn’t like having him skirt the truth any more than he liked her evasions. Well, good!

  ‘It’s certainly proved handy on the odd occasion,’ Harry agreed. ‘We’ll have dinner at Consuela’s and afterwards we will talk of New Zealand.’

  Damned if he knew what he was going to say then, though. She really had put him in the most impossible situation.

  As she lay down on the bed in the dimness of the shuttered room for an afternoon sleep, Georgiana relived the past few glorious hours during which she and Harry had somehow slipped into the role of friends. She could not pick the exact moment it had happened, but there was a warmth between them that was even stronger than the friendly solicitude he’d shown George. Now when he looked at her – she couldn’t explain it but somehow it felt like he really was seeing her, Georgiana, as she was and that he still liked her. Accepted her.

  It was absurd to suspect that Harry, with his smiling eyes, could have anything to do with the murky business Walsingham talked about. Harry had only visited Iver to tell him of his son’s death and to deliver the papers. When there, he must have seen something, heard something just as she had and this was what was worrying him. After all, he’d denied knowing what all the trouble was about in the tavern. Perhaps together they could unravel what had happened. There were too many secrets. Tonight she would tell him everything. Georgiana heaved a great sigh, aw
ash in a sudden surge of something that felt very close to perfect happiness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Georgiana woke with a start as a hand came down over her mouth. She immediately struggled but stopped when Harry whispered, ‘It’s me. We need to talk.’

  He removed his hand and she wriggled into a sitting position, pulling up the sheet around her neck, for she was dressed only in chemise and drawers. She, too, spoke in a whisper. ‘Harry, what on earth are you doing here?’

  He passed her the lacy dressing gown that Consuela had provided when she’d gone up for her siesta. ‘Here, put this on. I didn’t mean to catch you like this.’

  He walked over to the shuttered window while she pulled it on and came to where he was standing. Georgiana realised she must have been asleep for some hours for the light that now filtered through the shutters was soft. Then Harry turned and when she saw his face she faltered, her hand coming up to clutch the wrap at her neck. There was no trace of her carefree lunchtime companion. Grim lines of resolution bracketed his mouth, his eyes the same brooding blue as a lake in winter.

  ‘What’s wrong? Message in a bottle?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, and as a result I’ve sent Sally away and I’m going on alone. Leaving for Australia in an hour.’

  She must have misheard. ‘What?’

  ‘Shh. Consuela’s guests, remember. Look, I haven’t much time, so listen. I’ve made arrangements for you.’ He spoke in staccato as though an hourglass were in the room and even now he was watching the sands slip through. How could everything have changed so much in just a few hours?

  ‘I don’t understand. Why Australia?’

  He shrugged. ‘I have to move fast and it’s the first ship going in the right direction. It’s only a small vessel but it’ll do. From Australia I’ll get a boat to New Zealand.’

  He would not meet her eyes and she struggled to make sense of what was happening. Was he leaving her? Just like he’d left all the other women? When she spoke, her voice was hard with accusation. ‘What arrangements? You said you’d help me get to my brother.’