02 - Borrowed Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  “Good man.” The dowager waved off her servants, and the two women hurriedly left the room. “Did you ask what he wants?”

  Gibbs walked over and handed a sealed envelope to the dowager.

  “It simply says ‘Lady Aytoun.’ That could be me, don’t you think, Gibbs?”

  “Without doubt, m’lady.”

  “And even if it were intended for Millicent, in this situation it would be perfectly acceptable to read it.”

  “Ye know best, mum.”

  “It could be a matter of the gravest urgency.”

  “I’m thinking it must be, m’lady.”

  “And didn’t my daughter-in-law leave Melbury Hall in my hands?”

  “Even so, mum.”

  She quickly broke the seal and scanned the contents.

  “That low, disgusting, horrifying man.” She looked up. “He does not know when to give up.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Ohenewaa,” the dowager whispered, reading the contents of the letter a second time.

  Gibbs felt his temper beginning to burn. “Mrs. Page told me, m’lady, that this same messenger came down from London some time ago with a proposal to take Ohenewaa back to Mr. Hyde. Her ladyship put him out on his arse…begging your pardon.”

  “Well, he has added a great deal more weight to his request this time.”

  “Wouldn’t matter at all to Lady Aytoun,” Gibbs stated flatly. “Ohenewaa would go nowhere, to be sure.”

  “I agree, Gibbs.” She placed the correspondence between the pages of her book. “But we shall need to act quickly to take the wind out of the man’s sails. You said he does not know Millicent is not here.”

  “Aye, m’lady.”

  “Tell the messenger Lady Aytoun will meet with this lawyer. Not to accept the proposal, necessarily, but to talk. But the meeting must take place here at Melbury Hall.”

  “Very good, mum.”

  “But I want you to put it off as long as you can. Use whatever excuse, but tell him that the meeting cannot take place any earlier than a fortnight off—and even later if you can manage it.”

  “How about when pigs sprout wings, m’lady?”

  “That would be just fine, Gibbs.”

  “What do ye plan to do?”

  “I need to talk to Ohenewaa first. Then I must send Sir Richard to London to look into the accusations Platt alludes to in the letter.” The dowager’s eyes shone with the challenge of what lay ahead of her. “When we are done with Mr. Platt and Mr. Hyde, Gibbs, I think neither one shall dare to bother our Millicent ever again.”

  Gibbs did not know the specifics, but he had no doubt that the dowager would succeed.

  “Now fetch Ohenewaa and Sir Richard for me, and then go and get rid of that insect of a messenger.”

  “As you wish, m’lady.”

  “And Gibbs,” she called as he reached the door. “I will be honored to put a good word in for you with your Mrs. Page.”

  ****

  The rain had beaten hard against the walls and the small diamond-shaped panes of glass all night. And this morning, as they were crossing the river Wear out of Durham at dawn, the biting wind had buffeted the carriages all along the arched stone bridge. Millicent pulled her cloak tightly about her and tried to smile at Lyon, who was watching her intently. He’d told her that they should arrive at Baronsford sometime in the middle of the afternoon.

  Unlike their first three days of traveling, Lyon’s good nature had deserted him once they climbed into the carriage today. And as they rolled northward in silence, the rain and the wind continued to increase with the same maddening proportions as Millicent’s apprehensiveness.

  They had followed the east road up through England, stopping at Peterborough, Doncaster, and Durham. For this final leg of their journey, though, they had left the better traveled road leading to Berwick, turning inland at Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Passing villages along the way, the carriages had meandered along valley roads and eventually made the steady climb over the Cheviot Hills. Once into Scotland, the rugged terrain, the ancient abbey towns, and the ruins of countless tower houses and castles had fascinated her.

  As the carriage bumped and rolled over a rough section of road, Millicent tore her gaze from the wild countryside and looked at the furrows in the brow of her husband. At some point during the day, she had realized that her worries of going to Baronsford were not solely the result of her own lack of confidence, but also a reaction to Lyon’s suffering.

  And he was suffering; that she could tell.

  “Will you tell me about Baronsford?”

  He took a long moment to pull himself free of his deep thoughts. “What would you like to know?”

  “Did you and your brothers grow up there?”

  He looked away from her. Since that first day, when she had met the dowager with Sir Oliver, she’d had little curiosity about the two other Pennington brothers. But now, going back to Baronsford, she couldn’t help but think that part of what was tearing at Lyon had to do with the conflict with his family.

  “Yes, all of us grew up there.”

  “Was it a home?”

  div>p> He frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Gibbs told me his reaction to the place the first time he saw it,” she explained. “He described Baronsford as a fairy tale castle with miles of footpaths weaving in and out along cliffs overlooking the river Tweed. He said there is a great deer park, a lake, beautiful walled gardens and greenswards, ice houses and more. But this was only the description of the outside.”

  “The inside is attractive as well, I suppose. Robert Adam did the renovation.”

  “Yes, Gibbs told me. But is it a home where a family could live?”

  Lyon paused before answering. “At one time, Baronsford was a home.”

  She waited for him to say more, but he chose silence. Millicent glanced out the window again, realizing that she could not press him if he did not want to talk. Not now. Not when he was so close to facing the past that had crippled him.

  She had faith in him. Despite the words that were still left unsaid between them, Millicent believed that he cared for her. And she was here to offer her support, not to demand attention.

  Their knees brushed. Sitting across from Lyon, Millicent looked in time to see that every muscle in her husband’s face had gone taut. She looked out the other window to follow the direction of his gaze.

  In the distance, perched dramatically on a rocky rise, a monstrous castle reared up imposingly through the fog and rain. She did not have to ask what place it was.

  *****

  “They lied to the clerk. They didn’t say a word about Lord Aytoun and his wife already having left for Scotland,” Platt explained. “If your Harry hadn’t happened upon Ned Cranch in the village on his way back, I would be going up to Hertfordshire thinking I am meeting with Lady Aytoun.”

  Jasper Hyde had been wracked with pain during a bout that had struck him earlier this morning. It was over, but he could not shake off the feeling of doom hanging over him.

  “Where is Ohenewaa?”

  “Still at Melbury Hall.”

  “A steward would not take it upon himself to do such a thing. Who is running the estate up there?”

  “Ned told Harry that the earl’s mother, the dowager Countess Aytoun, was still there. She is the same meddling old woman who arranged for Millicent’s debts to be paid off.” Platt sat down on the chair across from the plantation owner’s desk. “She was the start of all of our troubles. I am not wasting my time going up there to talk with the likes of her.”

  “You shall go!” Hyde snapped. “If you had gone up yourself sooner, we would not have missed her. But it does not matter. They sent a message back saying Lady Aytoun has agreed to meet you. They didn’t lie. You will go and meet with the old woman yourself. She has no loyalty to Ohenewaa. It may be easier to pry her loose from this stranger. I will make every attempt to settle this in a peaceful manner.”

  “And if it
doesn’t work?”

  “Then I have to proceed with my other plans.”

  “Do you intend to use force?”

  “The less you know the better.” Hyde pushed to his feet. “Just know this—I will take what is mine. They cannot stop me.”

  ****

  Millicent had chosen to stay inside the carriage and wait until the valets had lowered Lyon into his chair. Lyon understood her apprehensiveness. The grim faces of the servants forming the long receiving line were more appropriate for a funeral than a welcoming.

  A hard, cold rain continued to fall steadily; nonetheless, Lyon ordered his valets to leave his chair on the wet ground beside the carriage as Millicent climbed out.

  If she had been nervous before, she looked terrified as she surveyed the gathering of liveried servants. He reached for Millicent’s hand. She was quick to take it.

  “I’m sorry for this bloody formality,” he said under his breath. “They are here to greet us; that’s all. They are not here to judge you. They really just want to see how injured I am. Remember that. Once we get through this, I shall have Howitt show you to your rooms immediately so that you can change and rest.”

  Peter Howitt, the young secretary whom Sir Richard had brought with him from London, appeared at his elbow. “If ye are ready, m’lady.”

  Millicent was reluctant to let go of his hand. From the direction of her gaze, he could see she was worried about walking by all these people without any introduction.

  “Where the hell are you, Truscott?” Lyon growled.

  “Here, m’lord.” His cousin’s deep voice answered from behind. He looked up to find the man’s rugged face, already dripping with rain, smiling down at him. “It is good to have you back, Aytoun.”

  “What are you trying to do, you blasted mongrel, terrify my wife?” He motioned at the reception line.

  “M’lady.” Walter Truscott bowed politely.

  “Please call me Millicent,” she responded in a quiet voice.

  “It would be an honor, Millicent. My deepest apology, but our people have been very keen for Aytoun’s return, and if not for the rain, I believe the courtyard would probably have looked more like fair day. The tenants and farmhands and the folk from the village are equally eager to see him.”

  “You are fortunate they didn’t show up, or I would have had to bite your head off. Now take her in out of this weather.”

  “Good to see you’re back to your old self, Aytoun. And my sympathies to you, Millicent, for having to put up with him in a confined carriage for such a long journey.”

  “Somehow she managed to handle me perfectly well.” Lyon squeezed Millicent’s hand knowingly. Her cloak was already soaked, and droplets water were glimmering on her face. There was a spark of mischief, though, in her eyes, and he was glad to see it. “This dog Walter here will make the introductions to Mrs. MacAlister, the housekeeper, and the steward Campbell, and will accompany you and Howitt as you pass along the line inspecting the troops.”

  She was reluctant to go ahead without him, but at seeing Walter’s proffered arm, she finally let go of Lyon’s hand and headed toward the house.

  He watched Millicent walk in the rain with the gray stone structure looming above her. He saw the introductions being made and the bows and curtsies as she moved along. When she disappeared inside, Lyon raised his face into the rain and breathed in a chestfull of air. Everything from the scents in the breeze to the chill rising from the ground told him that he was home.

  When the valets lifted his chair, Lyon saw all those lining the courtyard staring at him. The last time he left Baronsford, he had been sedated to such a degree that he didn’t know his name, never mind where he was or where they were taking him. Now Lyon focused on every face. He answered the greetings with a nod. With the housekeeper and the steward flanking him, he was carried in through the front door.

  He motioned for his chair to be lowered in the entrance hall, and the valets started removing his wet cloak and jacket.

  “Mrs. MacAlister, where have you situated my wife?” he asked of the housekeeper.

  “On the second floor, m’lord. In the west wing.” The tall, wiry woman spoke in her usual clipped manner. “The apartments looking over the lake. Hope that suits ye.”

  “It does indeed. Be sure she gets into dry clothes.” He turned to the steward next. “Campbell, I plan to spend the next two hours with you and Truscott. After that, I shall meet with anyone from the village or the farms who needs to see me immediately.”

  “Aye, m’lord. I’ll arrange it and join ye right off.”

  Lyon’s gaze was drawn to the wide curved stairwell. Truscott was descending from the upper floors. Hundreds of paintings covered every inch of available space on every wall. Going back for generations, the likenesses of his ancestors were portrayed on canvases large and small. Lyon’s eye lit on the life-sized Reynolds portrait of a woman on the first landing. The bright red of the roses covering an arbor formed a perfect frame for the beautiful woman dressed in white. He looked up into the proud face of Emma.

  “Take it down.” Lyon snarled as he motioned to his valets to take him away. “Take it down now.”

  ****

  The bedchamber of her master and mistress had been completely swept and aired days ago. Her ladyship’s dresses had all been cleaned and replaced in the wardrobe that had been moved in. Violet had no good reason to be up here now, and she knew it. But she had come anyway in the late hours of the night. She sat hidden in the shadows of the darkened window watching Ned Cranch leaving Melbury Hall.

  Tonight, waiting for his supper, he had been flirting with one of the young serving girls. Violet had not missed the whispers passing between them, the light touches, the deep blush on the young victim’s face as Ned had directed all of his charm her way. Violet had felt sick witnessing the man’s treacherous manner. She had heard all his lies already.

  But what had made her feel even more ill was the realization of how much she still hurt just watching him.

  Violet saw Moses, with a lantern in one hand, cross the gravel of the courtyard. A dog limped from the direction of the stables, and Violet’s heart warmed when she saw the way the giant black man leaned down to greet the animal. Violet remembered days not so long ago, during Squire Wentworth’s days, when it was more common to find Moses in the stocks on the muddy banks of the stream in the Grove.

  The first time she had ever seen him there he had been lying back on the wet ground, one arm draped across his face. She’d watched him for the longest time. No movements. She had not even been able to see if his chest was rising and falling with each breath. Despite her fears, Violet had approached. She had called out to him, asking if she could fetch him some water or food, and Moses had moved his arm. She had been shocked at the face, scarred and misshapen from countless beatings, she had heard later. But what was more frightening to her, looking on him for the first time, was that the old man had no ears. They must have been cut off long ago, for the scars were long healed.

  He had looked so wretched and old and lost that Violet’s impulse to run away had left her. She had given him water and had stayed beside him for a short while that day. She had just talked. She didn’t remember what she had said, but whatever it was, Moses had never forgotten, and a friendship had been forged on that muddy ground.

  Every nerve in Violet’s body went taut when she looked down into the yard and saw Ned Cranch walk casually back into the courtyard to speak to Moses. Though the black man showed no concern, the dog seemed wary of the stonemason, her hackles rising and her back legs stiffening. Violet watched Ned try to touch the animal’s head, only to have her scramble back a few steps.

  “Don’t give him even a moment of your time, Moses,” she whispered, fighting a worry that was forming deep in the pit of her stomach. Why Ned would be spending time chatting with him had Violet’s mind reeling with suspicion. They were so different. While Moses was kind and naïve, Ned was brutal and devious. The black man spoke o
nly the truth; the other never did, it seemed. Unless it suited his fancy.

  Violet let out a breath of relief when Moses finally picked up his lantern to continue on his rounds. She saw Ned light a pipe and slowly start walking down the road, too. She was about to close the curtain when she saw the same serving girl with whom he had been flirting before appear from the servants' wing. Violet found herself choking with sudden tears. As she stared, Ned turned and waited for the woman. Together they disappeared into the dark.

  The urge to scream, to tear at everything of hers that he had ever touched, flooded Violet’s mind. She wanted to forget. She wanted to go to sleep and wake up to find herself free of him. She didn’t want to have memories of their lovemaking. She didn’t want to touch her stomach and think of the child that was growing there. A child whose father was Ned Cranch.

  Violet’s face was covered with tears when she closed the curtain and immersed herself in the darkness of the room. If she could only take back the time, correct the horrible mistakes she had made.

  The sound of a door opening and then closing across the corridor startled her. Ohenewaa. She was just going to her room. Ohenewaa, who had borne a ut of wedlock herself. Her friend’s words came back to her: Those were the days before she learned how to end a pregnancy before it showed…before it showed.

  Violet slipped through the door and started toward the old woman’s room.

  *****

  “What is it exactly that you want from me?” Ohenewaa asked.

  She had not missed the red and puffy eyes, the trembling voice, the shaking hand of the young woman when she had come to her door. She had also understood Violet’s whispered words about how she had been sick to her stomach for days. But now inside, with the door closed, she wanted to hear the truth.

  “I wanted you to…” Violet hesitated. “I was hoping you would help me to rid myself of this illness.”

  “Do you have a name for this illness?” She drawled out the word.

  The pretty chin of the young woman sank to her chest. No words formed on her lips. Her nervous hands were hidden in the folds of her apron.