02 - Borrowed Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  Millicent forced the thoughts to shift and settle in her mind as her maid Violet rushed about the room laying out petticoats and stockings and other pieces of clothing. It was a kiss and nothing more. Millicent silently vowed not to think about it again, and nodded at the blue embroidered dress Vi held up for her.

  t="0" wIf you’re sure you’ll not wear the wig, m’lady, I can work some matching ribbons in your hair and--”

  “We have no time for that, Vi.” Millicent stepped out of her dress and donned the petticoats. In a moment, she was pulling on the blue dress with Vi’s help. “I cannot chance having the earl change his mind about leaving his chambers. I told him seven o’clock, and I need to be there on time.”

  “At least allow me to tie a ribbon at your neck, m’lady. The square neckline of this dress looks far too plain without jewelry.”

  A glance in the mirror at the low neckline and she agreed. Violet had a good eye for colors, for what was becoming and what wasn’t. There were many times that Millicent had thought the young woman’s talents were wasted staying here, but Vi seemed content.

  “Too bad you no longer have that sapphire the squire gave you when you married. The blue stone always looked fetching with this dress.”

  “I like this simple ribbon much better.”

  Millicent felt no regret about having sold her jewelry after Wentworth’s death. Regardless of whether they were his gifts or handed down from her own family, she had no use for them. They all had been sold to take care of her people.

  “Thank you, Vi. I think I’m ready.”

  “Wait! You need to change your shoes.” Violet fetched a pair of matching slippers from the wardrobe. “Perhaps this is not the time, m’lady, but I was wondering if you would mind if I were to spend two days away at the end of this week.”

  “Visiting with your family in St. Albans?”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  Violet crouched before Millicent as she stepped into the slippers. She thought the young woman looked thinner.

  “I don’t see any problem with that at all. But are you feeling unwell?”

  “No, m’lady. I am quite well.”

  “I think you have been working too hard, Vi. In fact, if you speak to Mrs. Page about it, perhaps she can arrange to have one of the grooms drop you off while he is running errands for the household and pick you up again on another return trip.”

  “Don’t fret about any of that, m’lady. I’ll take care of the arrangements.” She rose to her feet. “’Tis almost seven, I think.”

  Millicent looked at the mantel clock as it began to chime.

  “Indeed, it is,” she said, and hurried to the door.

  ****

  Try as he might, Lyon couldn’t find anything to object to about the evening. The light from a dozen candles cast a soft glow over the room. A small fire crackled on the hearth. The food had been exquisitely prepared; the wine was excellent. He let his gaze run appreciatively over the woman seated near him. The company was enchanting.

  Instead of taking the chair at the far end of the table, Millicent had chosen to sit beside him. After the food had been taken away, she had dismissed the servants, including Gibbs, and the two of them sat together. Lyon could tell she was in good spirits. Not only had he followed through on his promise, allowing his men to carry him downstairs, but he had also consumed small portions of fish and venison.

  He watched her graceful movements as she poured more wine into his crystal glass. He was glad she had not retired to the drawing room and left him to drink alone.

  “Frankly, I’m surprised that you trust me with this.” Lyon nodded toward the glass.

  “Are you referring to drinking the wine or breaking the glass?” Millicent asked lightly.

  “The wine. I understand your late husband had some difficulties in that regard.”

  A small furrow formed on her brow. She reached up to smooth it with the tips of her fingers, and Lyon noticed the redness of her ears and the blush that had crept into her cheeks. “He had many difficulties.”

  “I am sorry to hear that your life was less than ideal.”

  “Thank you. But you are full of surprises. Here I had been afraid that you’ve been spending every moment perfecting your gibes.”

  “I enjoy a change of pace every now and then.” He sensed her distaste of the topic, but he decided to press her on it, anyway. “And what were his other faults?”

  He watched the delicate column of her neck as she took a sip of her own wine. The soft curves and the ivory skin above the neckline of the dress glowed in the candlelight, and for an insane moment he wondered if she tasted as sweet as she looked. He forced his thoughts away.

  “Your husband’s faults?”

  “I am afraid I don’t consider that a topic for dinner conversation,” she answered as brightly as she could. “And I should tell you that it is senseless to listen to household gossip here at Melbury Hall. With the exception of a trusted few, the rest of these people are fairly new in their positions.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I suppose it is just the natural progression of life in a household like this.”

  “Is it? And what is that progression?” Lyon stared at her flushed face, awaiting an answer. There was no point in retreating now. She had used the business of the estate as a lure. He had every right, therefore, to know what had brought Melbury Hall--and Millicent--to this point.

  “I should hate to repeat what you already know. So why not—”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  “Beginning of what?”

  “You are being evasive.” He caught her wrist when she started to rise. “Sit, Millicent. You wanted me down here. You asked for my help. I am here, but I need to know your situation. Our situation.”

  “Very well.” She t down again. “As long as we can keep my personal life and my first marriage out of the discussion, I have no objection to telling you what is happening at Melbury Hall.”

  His nod was a lie, and he knew it. Leave out her personal life? Not likely. The person inside was what interested him the most. The truth behind the lingering sadness in those gray eyes was a mystery that was beginning to nag at him. He’d been told so little by his mother and Maitland before agreeing to the marriage. The dowager had been looking for someone to provide some care for him. Millicent, a widow, had been in financial need. That had been all he cared to know at the time. But the situation was changing now. He was improving every day, and he wanted to know everything about her. To achieve that, Lyon knew he would have to summon up his patience—certainly the least exercised of his virtues.

  She took another sip of wine. “Perhaps you have noticed that a large number of black men and women live and work at Melbury Hall.”

  “Freed slaves.”

  She nodded. “Over the period of five years that I was married to Squire Wentworth, these people were brought in from his plantations in Jamaica to work the land here. Most of them,” she shook her head, “no, all of them were severely abused by a score of brutal bailiffs who were also brought back from the islands to oversee them.”

  Lyon watched her closely as she pushed her glass away. The candlelight danced in her gray eyes, now glistening. He knew many men who had made or saved their fortunes by investing in sugar plantations in the West Indies. Even as stories about the barbarous conditions of the places trickled back, many excused the practice, saying that the slaves that were transported to the islands were all criminals and captives of war. Lyon knew the excuses were falsehoods, however, for he himself had seen young children on the ships tied up at Bristol’s Long Quay.

  “You freed them.”

  “After the squire’s death, I tried to return a small portion of what had been taken from these people. While I let go those servants who were loyal to my last husband, I felt it only just to replace them with the freed slaves. As a result the household has continued to function, but the farms have suffered.” She rubbed her temple absently. “I do not
wish to bore you with details of what was then and what is now. What I am really in need of advice on regards how to balance the needs of both Melbury Hall and its farms.”

  “Did all the people you freed stay?”

  “Most of them.”

  “And do you pay them all wages?”

  “Of course! They do the same work as anyone else. They should earn the same wage.”

  “I am not being critical.” He matched the tone of her voice. “You married me because you were approaching financial ruin. Was Melbury Hall the cause of it?”

  Millicent paused to answer, and he could tell she was contemplating how much to reveal. “No. I was confronted by other debts passed on to me. Large sums beyond what my annual income could afford.”

  “Left by your husband.”

  “That is correct. But, having become the recipient of your gracious generoy, I can say that those debts are now paid, and I am even left with enough money to make some desperately needed renovations.”

  “Renovations to this house?”

  “No, to the cottages adjacent to it. But that is a project with a one-time expense and not the subject of my greatest concern. As I look over the books from previous years, I realize that Melbury Hall has never been able to sustain itself financially. During the years when Wentworth was alive, it seems that he used the profits from his plantations in Jamaica to support this place.”

  “Such things are not uncommon, depending on the amount of land and the quality of the farms here. Are such funds still available to you?”

  “No! I lost those lands to one of Wentworth’s friends. A man to whom my husband was deeply indebted. But even if I still owned those plantations, I would never consider it,” she responded passionately. “I could never have drawn any profit from them. Before I knew I had lost the Jamaican properties, my plans were to free the Africans there as well.”

  Lyon noted the rising color again in her face. He could see the passion of her beliefs in the flash of her eyes. She looked so incredibly alive. Almost beautiful.

  “Also, I am not willing to place the burden of this place on you. I am determined, however, not to pursue any solution that would mean turning out anyone else or cutting wages to make things work here.”

  The high degree of intelligence and compassion in the woman was a rare mix that Lyon had not come across very often. He studied her with new interest. Another scrap of information he had learned since arriving here was that Millicent was almost thirty years old, and that she’d borne no children in her first marriage.

  “You are fond of your large household,” he said. “I respect you for wanting to keep it together. I also admire you for all that you are trying to do.”

  The trace of a smile on her lips washed over him like a warm breeze.

  “Gibbs tells me that Melbury Hall has been cursed recently with a line of incompetent stewards. That alone could have been the reason for the poor management of its lands and crops. With capable stewards in charge, you might not have any problem at all.”

  “My mind would rest more easily if I could somehow be assured of that, but for too long I have felt myself buried beneath a mountain of debt. Now, thanks to you, I feel I finally have the opportunity to breathe fresh air. I cannot leave the future to chance, though. I will not allow things to continue on as they have been.”

  “I understand. I would be happy to go over the account ledgers and review the crop books. I would also like to see a map of your lands, if you have one.”

  “I do. It is in the library.”

  “Then, whatever they are worth, I shall share my thoughts with you.”

  “You will?” She placed her hand on his arm. “I am so impressed with this change in you. The truth is that in dealing with the financial areas of running an estate, I have often felt adrift in a rudderless boat. Would you mind greatly if I were to look over your shoulder and ask the hundreds of questions that I have?”

  “Dozens I might be able to endure. But hundreds?”

  Millicent’s laughter danced around them and lifted his spirit. Lyon didn’t know if it was the effect of the wine or her. This was the first time in months, he realized, that he had spent a couple of hours thinking about someone else, rather than drowning in his own misery. He glanced down at her hand still on his.

  “I’ll be content with whatever time you can give me, Lyon.”

  Her chair slid closer to his. The touch of her knee against his leg was warm. She leaned forward and picked up the napkin that had dropped off his lap to the floor. He admired the soft curves of her breast gently spilling over the neckline of the dress. She folded the cloth and put it back on his lap, beneath his right hand. The image of her pressed against his chest this afternoon rushed back to his mind. His gaze moved up to her lips.

  “I hope this will not be too much asking for one night,” she continued, obviously unaware of the direction of his thoughts. “Mr. Gibbs has been a great help to me, helping me with so many of the daily business matters. Would you object if I were to ask him to take over some of the steward’s responsibilities? I know he wouldn’t even consider the job unless he had your blessing.”

  She continued to talk, but Lyon wasn’t listening. With a shock, he realized that he was growing hard for the second time in one day. For over six months he had considered himself less than a man. No feelings, no desire, no thoughts of ever lying with a woman again. But after all this time, when he’d felt Millicent’s body pressed against his this afternoon, as he’d ravished her mouth with his, he’d felt the stirring of desire. He had cast the feeling aside as his imagination. But to have it happen again now! He’d just been watching her talk, and the sensations had returned.

  Instead of excitement, embarrassment drenched him in a cold sweat. The fact that his body responded physically to hers held out no relief to him. He was still not whole. He could not forget how little remained of him in body and soul. He was relieved that she was unaware of these changes.

  “I am ready to be taken upstairs.”

  His sharp tone caused Millicent to look at him with alarm. “What’s wrong?”

  “I am tired. Ready to retire. I wish to be carried upstairs. Now.”

  “I shouldn’t have brought up all that about Mr. Gibbs. I know how much you rely on him, and I have no intention of reducing the care…”

  “I don’t give a damn what you ask him to do. I’d be content not to see his ugly face ever again.” Irritated, he shoved away the plate before him on the table. The glass next to it fell against the plate and the stem snapped. Before she could stop it, a piece tumbled off the table and onto Lyon’s lap. She was at his side in a moment.

  “Oh my Lord! That cut you. I am so sorry. You’re bleeding.”

  Lyon was already staring at the beads of blood forming on his right hand. It was nothing, but he continued to stare.

  His muscles had reacted of their own accord. Without consciously trying to move them, his hand and fingers had moved. But damn him if he could move them again now.

  “Call John and Will and have me taken up,” he growled. “If you ever want me to leave that room again, you will have it done now.”

  ****

  Millicent hovered in the background while the two valets worked diligently by the light of a single candle, readying their master for bed. Everything about tonight had been special until something had happened. She couldn’t understand what had caused the sudden change in Lyon’s mood, and her uneasiness was undiminished as she considered the tense wall that had arisen between them. She knew it didn’t have anything to do with her question about Gibbs becoming the next steward. Lyon hadn’t even seemed to be listening to what she had been saying then.

  John bowed his way out of the room first, and Will followed shortly after, closing the door behind him. This had become the nightly routine. The attendants would leave, and Millicent would spend the night dozing in a chair or pacing the room or staring out the window. She did not want Lyon left alone as yet. Then, as dawn was bre
aking, Gibbs generally came in to take her place.

  “I do not want you to stay.”

  Millicent cringed at the roughness of his tone. Pushing her feelings aside, she reminded herself that despite the pleasant hours they had spent together tonight, he was still recovering from his illness. And she had already learned to expect the sharp alterations in his moods.

  “Well, I am not going anywhere.”

  “Do as you bloody please.” He closed his eyes, shutting her out.

  Millicent realized she was more disturbed by his indifference than his rejection. Gathering her resolve, she moved close to him. The covers were tucked around him—the left arm lay on top, the right one beneath the blanket. She thought of the cut on his hand, but decided she would not disturb him to check it.

  She stared at the dark beard and the long lashes that lay against his handsome cheeks. The memory of their kiss this afternoon came back into her mind and an unexpected warmth spread through her body. She stared at his hard lips and, without thinking, smoothed the bedclothes. As she did, Millicent wondered if he would ever kiss her again.

  Bothered by her thoughts, she drew back and looked about the shadowy room. During the last few nights he had often been sleepless, but other than carrying an argument when he started one or responding to his gibes, she really had not been needed.

  She was tired and he didn’t want her here, but Millicent couldn’t think of anyplace at Melbury Hall that she preferred to be than here in this room. She sank into her chair by the foot of his bed and gazed at his pale face, wondering what he had been like before.