She’d be reunited with him today, within a matter of minutes. She was so excited now she could barely stand it. She had spent more time getting ready this morning than it had taken them to get here, more time actually than she ever had before, her appearance usually not a matter of particular importance to her. Her buttercup-yellow gown with its short, matching spencer, was the best of the outfits she had brought with her, and was only slightly mussed from the ride. Her thick brown curls were tucked securely under her silk bonnet, also yellow, the short wisps of hair across her brow and framing her cheeks the more becoming for being windblown. Her cheeks were blooming with color, her lips chewed a bright pink.
She’d been turning heads all morning, perched so prettily on the old nag, intriguing gentlemen in passing carriages and the townsfolk in Hampstead, through which they’d ridden, but only Mac took notice. Georgina was too busy daydreaming, drawing forth her memories of Malcolm, pitifully few actually, but precious for all that.
The day she’d met Malcolm Cameron, she had been dumped over the side of Warren’s ship when he’d had enough of her sisterly pestering, and six dockhands had jumped into the harbor to save her. Half of them couldn’t swim nearly as well as she could, but Malcolm had been on the wharf with his father and had thought to play the hero, too. As it happened, Georgina pulled herself out of the water, while Malcolm had to be saved. But she had been duly impressed with his intention, and thoroughly infatuated. He was all of fourteen and she twelve, and she decided then and there that he was the handsomest, most wonderful boy in the world.
Those sentiments didn’t alter very much in the following years, even though Malcolm had had to be reminded of who she was when next they met, and the time after that, too. Then there had been Mary Ann’s party, where Georgina had asked Malcolm to dance, and got her toes stepped on at least a half dozen times. He was sixteen then and more manly, and though he remembered her, he seemed more interested in her friend Mary Ann, who was closer to his age.
Of course, she hadn’t determined to have him for herself yet, nor had she given him any indication of how certain she was that her infatuation with him had turned into love. Another year went by before she decided to do something about it, and this she did in a wholly logical manner. Malcolm was still the handsomest boy in town, but his prospects were not the best. She knew by then that his ambition was to be captain of his own ship, and that he would have to obtain his goal the hard way, by working his way up. She also was realistic about herself, knowing that she had nothing to recommend her in looks, that she sort of just blended in with the crowd. She had five handsome brothers, but something had gone wrong when it came to the only female in the family. But what she did have was a handsome dowry—her own Skylark ship to be hers alone on her eighteenth birthday, just as her brothers had received theirs. But though she couldn’t captain her ship as her brothers did theirs, her future husband could, and she made sure Malcolm was aware of this.
It was a calculated plot, to be sure, and she was the tiniest bit ashamed of it, especially when it worked. Malcolm began courting her a few months before her sixteenth birthday, and on her birthday, he proposed. Sixteen, in love, and deliriously happy! It was no wonder she managed to ignore whatever guilt she was feeling in more or less having bought a husband. After all, no one had twisted Malcolm’s arm. He was getting what he wanted just as much as she was. And she was sure that he felt something for her, and that his feelings would grow to match hers eventually. So everything would have worked out fine if the English hadn’t interfered, blast them.
But they did. Her brothers had tried to interfere, too. She had discovered that they’d only been indulging her when they allowed her to become engaged at sixteen, assuming she would change her mind at least a half dozen time before she reached eighteen, when they would let her marry. She had fooled them though, and since the end of the war, each time they came home, they would try to talk her into forgetting about Malcolm and finding another husband. She’d had other offers. After all, her dowry was still a powerful draw. And she wasn’t so scatterbrained that she wasn’t aware and delighted with the change in her appearance in recent years. But she had remained loyal to her one and only love, even when it got harder and harder to make excuses for why he hadn’t returned to marry her in the four years since the war ended. But there would be a good reason, and today she would finally learn what it was. And before she left England, she would be married.
“This be it, lass.”
Georgina stared at the lovely little cottage with its whitewashed walls and well-tended rose beds. She rubbed her hands together nervously but made no move to accept Mac’s help to dismount. She couldn’t even recall stopping at the church and waiting while Mac got directions.
“Maybe he isn’t home?”
Mac said nothing, just patiently held up arms to her. They had both seen smoke coming from the single chimney. The cottage was definitely occupied. Georgina chewed her lip a moment longer, then finally squared her shoulders. What was there to be nervous about anyway? She looked her best. She looked far better than Malcolm would remember. He couldn’t help but be pleased that she had found him.
She let Mac lift her down, then followed him up the red-bricked walkway to the door. She would have paused another few moments just to get her heartbeat under control, but Mac wasn’t taking such things into account. He pounded smartly on the door. And then it opened. And Malcolm Cameron stood there. His face might have become vague in memory, but she recalled it now, for it hadn’t really changed at all. There were a few squint lines about the eyes, the mark of a sailor, but otherwise, he seemed not to have aged at all, seemed too young to be twenty-four. But he had grown. He was much, much taller, stood six feet at least, as tall as that James fellow…For God’s sake, what made her think of him? But Malcolm hadn’t widened any to compensate for the gained height. He was slim, almost gangly, but that was all right. Broad chests and thickly muscled arms were on her list of dislikes just now.
Malcolm looked fine, better than fine. He was still so handsome, she barely noticed the toddler he was holding, a pretty little girl of about two, with long blond hair and gray eyes. Georgina had eyes only for Malcolm, who was staring back at her as if, well, frankly, as if he didn’t recognize her. But of course he did. She hadn’t changed that much. He was only surprised, and with reason. She was likely the last person he would expect to turn up on his doorstep.
She should say something, but her mind didn’t seem to be working quite properly. And then Malcolm glanced away from her to Mac, and his expression slowly altered, lit up in recognition, and he grinned in welcome, unaware of what this seeming slight did to the girl who had traveled so far to find him.
“Ian MacDonell? Is it really you?”
“Aye, laddie, in the flesh.”
“In England?” Malcolm shook his head incredulously, but chuckled. “You’ve bowled me over, you have. But come in, man, come in. We’ll have to have a long visit. Damn me, this is a surprise!”
“Aye, fer all of us, I’m thinking,” Mac replied gruffly, but he was looking at Georgina as he said it. “Have ye nothing tae say, lass?”
“Yes.” Georgina stepped into what was a small parlor, gave it a cursory glance; then her eyes came back to her fiancé and she asked baldly, “Whose child is that, Malcolm?”
Mac coughed and looked up at the ceiling, as if the open-timbered roof was suddenly of great interest. Malcolm frowned at Georgina as he slowly set the little girl on the floor at his feet.
“Do I know you, miss?”
“You mean you really don’t recognize me?” This with a great deal of relief.
Malcolm’s frown deepened. “Should I?”
Mac coughed again, or was he choking this time? Georgina spared him a scowl before bestowing one of her brighter smiles on the love of her life.
“You should, yes, but I forgive you that you don’t. It’s been a long while, after all, and they tell me I’ve changed more than I think. I suppose now I rea
lly must believe it.” She gave a nervous laugh. “This is embarrassing, that I must introduce myself to you, of all people. I’m Georgina Anderson, Malcolm, your fiancée.”
“Little Georgie?” He started to laugh, but he didn’t quite make it, sounded more like he was strangling. “You’re not. Georgie?”
“I assure you—”
“But you can’t be!” he exclaimed now, looking more horrified than doubtful. “You’re beautiful! She wasn’t…I mean, she didn’t look…No one can change that much.”
“Obviously, I must beg to differ,” Georgina said with some stiffness. “It didn’t happen overnight, you know. Had you been there to see the change come about gradually…but you weren’t there, were you? Clinton, who was gone for three years, was surprised, but he at least still knew it was me.”
“He’s your brother!” Malcolm protested.
“And you’re my fiancé!” she shot back.
“Oh, Jesus, you can’t still be thinking…It’s been, what, five or six years? I never thought you’d wait, what with the war. It changed everything, don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t see. You were on an English ship when the war started, but through no fault of your own. You were still an American.”
“But that’s just it, girl. I never felt right, calling myself an American. It was my folks wanted to settle there, not me.”
“What exactly are you saying, Malcolm?”
“I’m an Englishman, always have been. I owned up to it when I was impressed, and young as I was, they believed me that I wasn’t a deserter. They let me sign on, which I was glad to do. It made no never mind to me who I sailed with, as long as I sailed. And I’m doing right well, I am. I’m second mate now on the—”
“We know your ship,” Georgina cut in sharply. “That’s how we found you, though it’s taken a month to do so. An American merchantman wouldn’t keep such shoddy records, you can be sure. My brothers know where every one of their crewmen can be found when they’re in port…but that’s beside the point, isn’t it? You sided with the English! Four of my brothers volunteered their ships as privateers for that war, and you might have come up against any one of them!”
“Easy, lass,” Mac intervened. “Ye knew all along that he had tae fight again’ us.”
“Yes, but not willingly. He’s as much as admitted he’s a traitor!”
“Nae, he’s admitting tae a love fer the country of his birth. Ye canna fault a mon fer that.”
No, she couldn’t, much as she wanted to. Rot the English. God, how she hated them. They not only stole Malcolm from her, but wooed his sentiments to their cause as well. He was an Englishman now, and obviously proud of it. But he was still her fiancé. And the war was over, after all.
Malcolm was red-faced, but whether with embarrassment or chagrin for her condemnation of him, she couldn’t tell. She was hot-cheeked herself. This was not how she had imagined their reunion would be.
“Mac is right, Malcolm. I’m sorry if I got a little upset over something that…well, that no longer matters. Nothing has changed, really. My feelings certainly haven’t. My being here is testimony to that.”
“And just why is it you’ve come?”
Georgina stared at him blankly for a moment before her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “Why? The answer to that is obvious. The question is, why was it necessary for me to come here, and only you can answer that. Why didn’t you return to Bridgeport after the war, Malcolm?”
“There was no reason to.”
“No reason?” She gasped. “I beg to differ. There was the little matter of our getting married. Or is that something you chose to forget?”
He couldn’t meet her eyes to answer, “I didn’t forget. I just didn’t think you would still have me, my being an Englishman and all.”
“Or you no longer wanted me, my being an American?” she demanded.
“It wasn’t like that,” he protested. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be waiting for me. My ship went down. I figured you would have taken me for dead.”
“My family is in shipping, Malcolm. The information we get tends to be accurate. Your ship went down, yes, but no man was lost. We knew that. We just didn’t know what became of you after that…until recently, when you were seen on the Pogrom. But I’ll grant you that you might have thought it was pointless to return to a fiancé who only might be waiting for you. But the proper thing to do would have been to find out for certain. If you didn’t want to make the voyage, then you could have written. Communications had resumed between our countries. An English ship or two has even been seen in our port.”
She knew she was being sarcastic, but she couldn’t seem to help it. When she thought of how long she might have gone on waiting for this man, how many more years, when he had never intended to return to her! If she hadn’t come here herself, she likely would never have seen or heard from him again. She was hurt, she didn’t understand his reasoning, and he wouldn’t even look at her.
“I did write you a letter.”
Georgina knew it for the lie it was, a sop for her pride, the coward’s way out for him. Little did he know that her pride had been sacrificed long ago in order for her to have him. It wasn’t likely to rear its head now just because he was handing her a passel of excuses that wouldn’t hold up under close examination. For God’s sake, she had come up with better excuses than this for him.
She didn’t get angry, though she was very, very disappointed in him. So he wasn’t perfect, wasn’t considerate or even totally honest. She’d backed him into a corner, and he was trying not to hurt her feelings with the callous truth. In a roundabout way she could count that in his favor, she supposed.
“Obviously, Malcolm, your letter never reached me.” She heard Mac snort and could have kicked him. “I assume you wrote that you had survived the war?”
“Aye.”
“And likely you mentioned your newly discovered patriotism for a country other than my own?”
“Indeed I did.”
“And in consideration of that, did you release me from our engagement?”
“Well, I…”
She cut in at his hesitation, “Or did you express the hope that I would still have you?”
“Well, certainly—”
“And then you assumed I wouldn’t when you had no answer from me.”
“Exactly so.”
Georgina sighed. “It’s a shame that letter never reached me. So much time wasted.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t look so surprised, Malcolm. I’ll still marry you. It’s why I came here, after all. Just don’t expect me to live in England. That I won’t do even for you. But you can come here as often as you like. As captain of my ship, the Amphitrite, you can solicit English trade exclusively if that is your wont.”
“I—I…Jesus, Georgie…I—”
“Malcolm?” A young woman appeared to interrupt him. “Why didn’t you tell me we had callers?” and to Georgina with an open smile, “I’m Meg Cameron, ma’am. Are you from the manor, then? Having another party, are they?”
Georgina stared at the woman in the doorway, then at the boy shyly hiding behind her skirt, a boy about five years old, with Malcolm’s dark hair, Malcolm’s blue eyes, and Malcolm’s handsome features. She spared another glance for the boy’s father, who looked decidedly ill.
“Your sister, Malcolm?” Georgina asked in the most pleasant of tones.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Chapter Six
No goodbye. No good wishes. Not even a go-to-hell. Georgina simply turned and walked out of the little white cottage in Hendon, leaving her hopes and girlish dreams behind. She could hear Mac saying something, probably making an excuse to Meg Cameron for Georgina’s rudeness. Then he was there at her back and giving her a lift up onto the rented nag.
He didn’t say a word to her, at least not until they’d left the village behind. She’d tried to get some speed out of her animal, the urge to be
miles away as quickly as possible gnawing at her, but the sorry creature wouldn’t oblige. And a fast walk gave Mac plenty of time to study her and see through her calm facade. One thing about Mac, he had an annoying habit of being blunt when you least wanted bluntness.
“Why are ye no’ crying, lass?”
She thought about ignoring him. He wouldn’t press her if she did. But what was rolling around inside her needed letting out.
“I’m too angry right now. That double-dammed scoundrel must have married that woman on his very first docking, long before the war ended. No wonder he became pro-British. He was converted through marriage!”
“Aye, that’s possible. Possible, too, was he saw what he liked and had some, and wasna caught fer it until his second docking.”
“What’s it matter when or why? All this time I’ve been sitting at home pining over him, he’s been married and making children, having just a swell-dandy time!”
Mac snorted. “Ye’ve wasted time, all right, but ye were never pining away.”
She sniffed at his lack of understanding. “I loved him, Mac.”
“Ye loved the idea of having him fer yer own, bonny lad that he was, a child’s fancy ye should’ve outgrown. Were ye less loyal, and less stubborn, ye’d have let go of yer fool’s dream long ago.”
“That’s not—”
“Dinna interrupt me till I’ve finished. Did ye love him true, ye’d be crying now and angry after, no’ the other way around.”
“I’m crying inside,” she said stiffly. “You just can’t see it.”