“George.”
The lad startled and whirled. He must not have heard Dominic enter behind him. His face paled.
“Are you occupied? I have some things to teach you in the wardroom.”
George’s feet remained glued to the floor.
“Come, it will be good for you,” Dominic prodded.
The boy touched the brim of his cap. “I-I’ll be down directly, sir.”
“Very good.” Dominic smiled, hoping to dispel the fear in George’s face. The boy didn’t move until Dominic left the room.
He glanced over his shoulder in time to see George snatch the piece of linen and shove it into a trunk before pulling the other clothes down. The poor boy was too timid. But Dominic would cure some of that.
When Dominic reached the officers’ quarters, only Moyle was there, as evidenced by the snores coming from his cabin. The young man could sleep through most anything. Dominic usually had to wake him for the first and middle watches. Dominic nudged the wardroom table to one side. That should be enough room.
Whistling drifted through the wooden bars of the partition between the wardroom and the rest of the messdeck. The hatch’s ladder blocked Dominic’s view, but it didn’t take him long to guess who the whistlers were.
The tune belonged to a rather vulgar song called “The Handsome Cabin Boy,” about a ship’s boy who turned out to not be a boy at all, but the captain’s mistress. The whistling could only be coming from the third-class boys, heralding George’s presence on the messdeck.
Dominic set his jaw. As much as he wanted to knock the boys’ heads together to teach them a lesson, he refrained. He couldn’t fight George’s battles for him anymore.
He met George at the wardroom door. The whistling boys sat just around the corner at a table covered with tin cups and a deck of cards. One raised eyebrow silenced them. Then he pulled George in and shut the door.
“The time has come to face your foes, Mr. Taylor.”
George nodded obediently. “Yes, sir.” He kept close to the door, eying Dominic warily.
“Do you have older brothers?” Best to see what he’d already been taught.
“I have no siblings at all, sir.”
So they would start with a clean slate. No matter. Dominic positioned himself a pace away from George. He removed his jacket and flung it over a chair, then loosened his black cravat. Next he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.
When he looked up, George’s eyes were bulging. “What are we doing, sir?”
“I’m teaching you how to hold your own against those boys.” He spoke softly, though he didn’t think the boys in the mess would be able to hear. “This might be easier without your coat.”
George shook his head emphatically and pulled the edges of his coat more tightly around him.
Dominic shrugged. “Whatever you wish. Now, first we will work on balance. You know how to balance with the rocking of a ship. Balancing against a blow isn’t so very different. Throw your weight into the force.”
He pushed the boy’s arm, and George stumbled away, nearly falling into the door of one of the cabins.
“Stand firm. Come, try again. Push back into my hand.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” George cowered back toward the door as if to run.
Dominic stepped forward to stop George’s retreat but then halted. The forceful teaching of Dominic’s superiors had worked well on him when he was young, but George did not seem the same type of boy. “They will not quit until you have proven you are not an easy target.”
“They still won’t like me.” Surprisingly, it did not sound like George minded.
“But they will respect you. That is all we are trying to achieve. If you are to advance in the navy, you must gain their respect.” Dominic moved George back to the middle of the wardroom.
“As a third-class boy, I do not plan to advance far in the navy.”
Dominic pushed him again. George struggled to keep his balance. “Your father was commander of the Caroline. You shouldn’t even be third class. Now, plant your feet, like they are nailed to the floor.” Dominic tried again, and George pushed back feebly. “A little wider stance, to give yourself a good base. And don’t forget to lean in.”
The boy sighed, shoulders sagging. Something about the way his head tilted gave him a slightly feminine look. Dominic felt for the lad. Someday, as George grew older, he would become stronger and the childlike softness would fade. Perhaps then he would come to own the legacy his father had left him.
It was the sort of legacy Dominic wished his own father had left. He shook away the pitiful longing. Those days were gone. No need to wallow in what could not be changed.
“I do not wish to advance in the navy,” George said.
“What do you wish to do, then?”
The boy looked up. His bright eyes looked puzzled, as if no one had asked him such a question before. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“Well, then, you have until we return to England to decide. I will help you find whatever position or apprenticeship you would like, and I will help you convince the captain to let you go.”
George had never held his gaze for so long before. Dominic couldn’t tell if he was considering his decision or determining if a lieutenant he hardly knew was trustworthy.
“Until we return, we should work on your self-defense,” Dominic said, breaking the silence. “It will be a long journey if that harassment keeps up. And it doesn’t seem they will tire of it soon.”
After a pause, George nodded once and readied himself. He only faltered back half a step this time. “Good, good!” Dominic tried harder to push him over, and George leaned into the force with more strength. The boy’s face pulled into a concentrated scowl as they practiced again and again.
Finally, Dominic pushed as hard as he thought Walter had on the gun deck. With a growl, George pushed back. Not enough to bowl Dominic over—the boy didn’t have the weight for that—but enough to make him stumble back. Dominic chuckled, a grin splitting his face. George breathed heavily.
“Well done, George. We’ll make a fighter of you yet.” Dominic rested against the table. “Shall we learn more tomorrow after morning watch?”
The boy did not answer for a time. He simply stood, pulling his jacket firmly over his chest. “Yes, sir,” came the quiet answer. His eyes dropped to the floor again, and he rushed out of the wardroom.
Dominic stroked his chin. They had not technically made much progress. He adjusted his cravat and retrieved his jacket from the chair. But something in George’s countenance had shifted. Such a small change, and yet somehow he knew it was an immense shift for the frightened orphan.
Georgana lay in her hammock, enjoying the gentle sway of the Deborah’s midnight course. She didn’t understand how getting pushed over dozens of times could make her legs and back this sore. But she preferred it to the bumps and bruises of getting knocked around by Fitz.
She’d given up on drawing early tonight. Her mind wandered back to the wardroom too often to focus on sketching. In the three years she’d been at sea, no one had ever tried to befriend her. The crew envied or scorned her relatively sheltered life, and the officers distrusted her closeness to the captain. But Lieutenant Peyton showed none of that.