A Thoroughly Compromised Lady (15 page)

D
ulci leaned on the ship's railing, eyes fixed unswervingly on the growing shore line in front of her. After seven weeks, they were here. Georgetown, capital of British Guiana, loomed ever closer in the early morning. They would not dock for a while yet. But she could not wait. She was admittedly nervous. For seven weeks, the ship had been home. Cocooned in the isolated society of a ship at sea, she'd been able to avoid thinking about what came next.

The daily life of surviving at sea had been enough to worry over. When there had been moments of tranquillity, she and Jack had seized them in celebration of life. They had swum in warm waters when the ship had put in at an island. They had lazed together on deck in the sun, the sea calm after a two-day summer storm had kept the ship roiling. Those times had been too precious to interrupt with ‘what ifs' and ‘whens'. If she'd learned anything on the journey it was the very precariousness of life. By comparison, she could see now how many
petty assumptions proved the foundation of her life in London, how many things she took for granted. It was embarrassing to note how trivial her life had been. In the last seven weeks, she'd climbed rigging, she'd swum in the sea, she'd worked side by side with men to save the ship. She'd done far more in seven weeks than she'd done in the previous twenty-six years.

Jack had been there to encourage her, not always with praise—in fact, very seldom with praise, more often with a dare or well-aimed quip about her capabilities. And she knew the truth. For all her independence, she'd relied on him. Not in obvious, clinging female ways, but in mental ways. She recognised he was her only link between the old world she'd left behind and the new world about to open up. Colonial living was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because society was less established, people had the latitude to be the making of them selves through hard work. Those of modest social status who would not be received in the higher reaches of London society were important arbiters of social norms in the colonies.

But there were still expectations. A single woman travel ling alone with a man was still a sinner. Everyone would think she was Jack's mistress and while it wouldn't matter as much as it mattered in London, it mattered enough to make Dulci wonder what would become of her here. On board ship, there'd been activity aplenty and the isolation of being at sea to dull the sharp reality of what she'd done. This was no small dare done under the cover of dark in Richmond. The idea that she might have left London and the life of an Incomparable behind for good carried a certain uneasy thrill.

Not all of her thoughts at the railing were focused on
the enormity of what she'd done. She also thought too of what lay ahead. She was excited about the prospect of seeing Georgetown, of their quest to track down the map-maker Ortiz had bribed and to venture out into the countryside with Jack's own mission to map an accurate border for the king. Jack had mentioned they'd encounter the indigenous tribes on their journey and she was looking forward to seeing their lives, their tools up close. The mapping journey would be an enormous opportunity for her.

She'd always believed she craved adventure. Always thought she'd be rather good at the life of an adventuress. Now was her chance.

Dulci felt someone come up behind her. Jack. He took up a place at the railing next to her, dressed in his London clothes, as she thought of them now. He'd worn the loose trousers of a seaman and a few borrowed shirts of the captain's for most of the voyage. Today, he was turned out in high form. She was too for that matter in her dark-blue carriage ensemble. She'd put the outfit away after their quick stop in Spain where she'd purchased full cotton skirts at coastal market. The confines of her garments felt strange and foreign after weeks of freedom.

‘It seems an age since I climbed out the window with you, Jack.'

‘Would you rather I had left you to take your chances with Ortiz?'

‘Do you think we're through with him, Jack?' Dulci ventured.

‘I don't know. It will depend on how desperate his circumstances are. But even if he follows us, it will take him some time. It's no easy task to jump on board a ship
at whim. He'll have arrangements that will need making and plenty of explanations.' Jack pointed to the nearing shore and changed the subject.

‘Look, the seawall is coming into view.' Dulci's gaze followed the direction of his hand.

‘The city is actually built below the level of the sea. There's a very real danger of flooding, so centuries ago when the Dutch owned the territory, they put in a system of streets with canals and sluices to protect against high-tide flooding. It's fairly ingenious.'

‘Like Venice, only with better plumbing,' Dulci said off handedly although she didn't really know. She'd never been to Venice, only read about it.

Jack didn't hold up his end of the conversation and an awkward silence descended in the gap of his lapse. In the weeks of their haphazard association, they'd tacitly agreed not to discuss the future, any future. And now, they were forced to it, forced to admit they were bound to one another. He'd brought her here. He was the only person in this half of the world she knew for the time being.

‘We should discuss the particulars of our situation,' Jack began, sounding terribly officious and very much like the viscount, a persona he hadn't donned for weeks. ‘We'll be staying with the governor. I have not met him personally. He didn't take over the position until two years ago. But his reputation precedes him. He is well liked.' Jack flashed her a wry grin. ‘You will like him as well. He's a great sup porter of freedom and has a specific issue in advancing the rights of female slaves.'

‘He doesn't know we're coming,' Dulci put in. ‘How could he know to expect us?' It seemed highly uncivilised to simply show up on the man's doorstep.

Jack shrugged. ‘No matter, I have an introduction from the king. Carmichael-Smythe will be glad to accommodate us. It's how things are done here. Time is not the precise commodity it is in London. Here, we know within a given week what ships should arrive. But we can not tell the exact day or hour. Besides, surprise arrivals spice up a rather dull social calendar in these parts.'

‘We'll be quite the surprise.'

‘Yes, as to that. I've given much thought to our personal cir cum stances. You shall be Lady Dulcinea, the sister of my good friend the earl, a woman who is interested in the region's culture. Perhaps we could even say you are looking into the potential for investment on your brother's behalf since he is home with the birth of a new son.'

‘That sounds so proper.'

‘It needs to be, Dulci. You will go back to London and you will need every thread of decency you can collect to keep your reputation intact.'

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask who he'd be. While she was busy fabricating a facsimile of the bluestocking spinster, what would he be doing? Would he be the strong, shirt less sailor she'd seen climbing the rigging in a storm to save the main mast? Would he be the shrewd diplomat who'd avoided scandal and routed Ortiz's accusations with the sharp acuity of his mind? Would he be the rakish viscount who charmed women nightly in London's ballrooms, England's most whispered-about lover? Would he be the friend she told secrets to in the dark of their little cabin? Would he be the rugged explorer who'd journeyed beside Schomburgk in Anegada?

With Jack it was hard to know. It was what made him an exciting lover. Jack's bid to establish her as a respectable woman seemed to rule out the possibility of experiencing any of that further though. His next words con firmed it.

‘I'll be absent a good portion of most days and I'll be preparing for a trek into the interior for the mapping. Of course, that will take me out of Georgetown for several weeks.'

‘I'll be fine, Jack. I know how to amuse myself and I'll have work of my own.' It was all true. Dulci had no intentions of letting this once-in-a-lifetime experience go to waste and if Jack was going into the interior without her, he'd find he was sorely mistaken. Still, she felt a small wave of abandonment sweep her. Jack had discharged his duty, acted as nobly as the situation allowed and now he was ready to move on to the other action items on his list.

Jack wouldn't want her to cling, to beg him not to desert her. Of course he wasn't deserting her. He'd seen to all of her needs; she had a fine place to stay, there would be decent clothes and there would be funds at her disposal. Dulci knew too that he'd taken pains to secure her own social success in Georgetown. The governor and his wife would not let a house guest languish in isolation. Dulci stiffened her spine and stood a little straighter. She'd show Jack she didn't need to cling to him in the least bit. Georgetown or London, she'd show him she could be an Incomparable anywhere.

 

An hour later as their carriage rolled towards Water Street, Dulci wondered if she'd been precipitous. From the ship, Georgetown had looked placid, organised, far
more civilised than it was after one disembarked. In reality, Georgetown was a whole new world. She'd never seen so many dark-skinned persons in one place or so many scantily clothed people. Although they might have the right of it, Dulci admitted privately to herself. The climate was mild and, while it wasn't scorchingly hot, the weather wasn't made for wearing her heavy carriage dress with its linen blouse, re qui site jacket and stock. Yet Jack sat beside her in equally warm clothing without giving off a sign of discomfort.

The streets were dirt. Nothing was paved, but the Parliament building offered a sense of ‘civilisation' with its classical pillars, which Jack informed her had been built in 1833 and was a relatively new addition to the town. Past the building, they veered west on to Water Street, passing what proved to be a bustling market centre. Dulci distracted her mind from the heat by staring at the wide variety of goods on display and fruits she'd never seen; clothing, even jewellery, was for sale in the odd market.

‘That's Stabroek market,' Jack supplied. ‘You can find anything from vegetables to gold in that market. It's the commercial hub of the city. It's fascinating, but don't go alone. It's not exactly Bond Street.'

If she had a parasol to hand she would have raised it with a haughty air and effectively turned her head against Jack's ridiculous comment. One minute he was making it clear that he was leaving her to her own de vices as soon as he could possibly manage it, the other he was playing the protective escort, as if he'd be around to arrange field trips to the market for her.

She didn't have a parasol. She was left only with the tool of a crisp response. ‘Don't worry, Jack. I'm not a
naïve innocent abroad. You needn't be concerned that I'll act irrationally.'

‘It's precisely because you're not a naïve innocent that I am worried.' Jack leaned close to her ear to be heard above the din of the marketplace, making her shiver in spite of the heat. ‘Those of us who are capable sometimes over estimate our abilities. Such an assumption can lead to unfortunate situations.'

‘I am sure there's a compliment in there somewhere,' Dulci replied curtly, keeping her eyes straight ahead, fixed on the driver's back, giving away no sign of her annoyance. ‘You will have to decide, you know. You can't have it both ways—my erstwhile protector one minute and the disappearing viscount the next, who is so eager to leave me to my own devices. When you've decided, let me know.'

Her aplomb might have been more effective if the carriage hadn't hit a bump in the road at that moment, kicking up a cloud of dust. Dulci in elegantly sucked in a breath of dusty air and choked.

Jack laughed and handed her a handkerchief. ‘Maybe you're the one who needs to decide. Seems like you just might need both.'

The carriage rounded a bend in the road and laboured up a rise to a magnificent home, reminiscent of an English estate with its round drive and columned entrance. There'd been an effort to cultivate a lawn and to garden the grounds. Dulci would never admit it to Jack on principle, but the home looked like an oasis full of the comforts she'd so recently took for granted. There might even be a full tub for bathing. That would be absolutely heaven.

Jack helped her down and she self-consciously
reached a hand to her hair in a last effort at a
toilette
. ‘You look fine.'

There he went again, changing on her. The sharp tones of their little quarrel in the carriage had given way to the low-toned reassurance of a trusted friend.

Dulci looked up at the house and favoured Jack with a smile. ‘You can say I'm right any time you'd like.'

‘Right about what? It's hard to tell, Dulci, you like to be right about so many things. A man needs a bigger clue.'

Dulci elbowed Jack play fully in the ribs. ‘About walking out of my house and going halfway around the world with nothing but the clothes on our backs. We made it.'

Jack grinned, his eyes sparkling with his special brand of mischief. ‘I'm sure there's a compliment in there somewhere, Lady Dulcinea.'

Dulci winked. ‘There is.'

 

The sea stretched grey and endless from the deck of the ship, so far from land there weren't even any seagulls to break the sound of the waves. Wind filled the sails, but nothing could move Calisto Ortiz's boat fast enough for him. By his calculations, Wainsbridge would be in British Guiana by now and he was still two weeks out if all luck held.

There'd been no choice but to follow Wainsbridge. Vargas had raked him over the proverbial coals after news had come regarding Wainsbridge's departure and with the king's sanction to do so. Vargas had been furious about Ortiz's accusations in the first place. When Gladstone had announced Wainsbridge had left to investigate the claims first hand with the king's approval,
Vargas had wanted to strangle him, because no one would set out across the ocean with the king's approval if they're wrong or guilty.