by Jo Goodman
Crystal Passion
The McClellans Series
Book One
by
Jo Goodman
Author's Cut Edition
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ISBN: 978-1-947833-29-6
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 1985; 2017 by Joanne Dobrzanski. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Letter to Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Dedication
For friends of John Sutton
Letter to Readers
Dear Reader,
It's a pleasure to be able to reintroduce the McClellans to readers who may have missed this family the first time around. First published in 1985, Crystal Passion follows the adventures of Salem McClellan and Ashley Lynne at the onset of the Revolutionary War.
As so often is the case when I'm writing, a secondary character presents himself (or herself) as someone intriguing enough to follow into another book. Seaswept Abandon is that book and it is scheduled for an ebook reissue simultaneously.
The lives and fortunes of the McClellans are closely connected to events from the beginning of the Revolution through the framing of the Constitution (Tempting Torment). It is my hope you will find the McClellans as spirited as the times in which they lived.
Happy Reading!
Jo
Chapter 1
Ashley Caroline Lynne tried not to think of the tightness in her throat or the disquiet in her stomach as she approached Linfield House. She told herself the interview with His Grace, Nigel Gordon Lynne, Seventh Duke of Linfield, was an inevitable unpleasantry, nothing more. Indeed, this morning she had even succeeded in forgetting the matter entirely by taking her stallion on a bruising and reckless ride through Linfield's thick woods. There, on the shadowed paths and across broad water jumps, the duke's intrigues had seemed very far away.
But it proved only a temporary reprieve. When she let Kingdom slow his gait, guiding him toward the creek that neatly cut the property, the troubling thoughts returned. She lay on the mossy bank near the dam she had built as a child and idly pitched stones into the water. She could have remained there all day, the morning sun in her face and the cool earth at her back, but the realization that she was childishly trying to avoid the confrontation with her guardian put an end to her simple pleasures. Faintly embarrassed, and feeling much younger than her nineteen years, she brushed off the carefully patched skirt of her riding habit and returned to Kingdom.
"You mustn't be so sad about future prospects," she told him, mounting. "It will all be made right. You'll see. If I am to leave Linfield for my Season, I shall ask to take you along. Even if he says I must marry, I shall ask for you." Ashley's voice, normally soft and lilting, quavered at the last, and the edge of fear which framed her words brought a rush of tears to her eyes while Kingdom pranced restlessly beneath her. Like the child she no longer was, but longed to be, she knuckled her dark silky lashes to stop the flow. "Home, King," she said, patting his neck and giving him a watery smile. "For a while longer, Linfield's still our home."
She had not known when she went riding this morning that she would come all undone at its end. She thought she had accepted her fate rather philosophically. She hadn't vented her outrage at His Grace when he first suggested she could not expect to remain at Linfield forever. How like him to tell her she would have to go, without making any effort to prepare her for a life outside the protection of her country home. She wanted someone to congratulate her for not throwing the Sèvres vase at the smug, faintly sneering countenance that was Nigel Lynne, Duke of Linfield. She wanted someone to reward her for being the perfect poor relation, the bastard child who expected nothing and accepted with humble gratitude whatever was negligently tossed her way. Of course, there was no one to applaud her performance, her perfect steely control in the face of each adversity. There was no one to understand that it was a performance; no one to appreciate the cost to her courage when she offered resignation rather than rebellion.
Now, as she crossed the wide lawn from the stables to the house, Ashley wondered what Nigel would have thought had he seen her earlier. Would he have even recognized his obedient ward as the same girl who flew across the far pasture, defying gravity with every jump on Kingdom's back?
Had he suspected she was capable of such spirited abandon he would have sought to crush it. Ashley did not understand his motive, but she had accepted it since childhood. A brief, oddly mysterious smile lighted her face. The courage she nurtured and guarded so carefully would serve her well. She was only left to wonder if this was the day it would be revealed and tested. Lifting her head a notch, Ashley brushed damp tendrils of ebony hair away from her cheeks and neck, and breathed deeply, her decision made.
As was her habit, she ignored Linfield's imposing columned entrance in favor of the unobtrusive kitchen entry. She knew the servants did not appreciate her presence because she was a by-blow, but generally their suffering expressions came more out of a pretense of proper form than out of any real annoyance at her.
"About time you came in, Miss Ashley," Mrs. Timms said gruffly, without looking up from her work at the breadboard. "His Grace has asked for you twice this morning. He's waiting for you in his study."
Ashley felt her insides lurch at the cook's message. How like Nigel to change the time of the interview to make her feel at a disadvantage. She paused in answering, waiting until she could speak evenly. "But I haven't had breakfast yet."
"That's neither here nor there."
Ashley flushed slightly that Mrs. Timms would reprimand her in front of the two helpers who were listening avidly while pretending to scrub a kettle. As with all the duke's staff, Ashley had never imagined that any affection existed between her and the cook, but neither was she used to the older woman's curtness.
"I should at least change my clothes. There are grass stains on my skirt."
Mrs. Timms glanced over Ashley's outfit, raising an eyebrow at the shiny patches on the black velvet jacket and the worn condition of the skirt. Her boots were scuffed and her stockings soiled. "It's not as if y
ou have something better to wear. His Grace won't like the delay. You best be on your way." Mrs. Timms shook her head and turned away from Ashley's inquiring frown. The girl hid it, but she had been crying. Her fair complexion was just a bit too pale, her wide green eyes a shade too dark, and her mouth, with its slightly swollen lower lip where she had worried it with her teeth, was a trifle trembly. The cook steeled herself not to be taken in by Ashley's vulnerability. It was a sure thing the duke wouldn't be.
Belatedly Ashley realized Mrs. Timms was upset on her behalf. It didn't surprise Ashley that the cook would know something concerning her before she knew it herself. The staff grapevine was nothing if not fruitful. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"
Ashley's statement momentarily disconcerted Mrs. Timms, and she looked up from her work, her blue eyes sad and faintly misty. She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. "Her Ladyship is here," she said quickly and went back to her kneading.
Ashley felt some of her resolve fading. "When?"
"This morning, while you were riding."
"Is she with Nigel now?"
"Yes. Like I said, you're to go up right away."
"You know what this is about, don't you?"
Mrs. Timms kneaded the floured dough with a rough vengeance. "It's not for me to say."
"No, I suppose it isn't," Ashley said softly as she walked through the kitchen in the manner of someone going to the gallows. She was almost at the door when a voice, filled with regret this time, made her turn.
"I know it's not my place, Miss Ashley, and there's never been any love lost between us, but I just wanted you to know that I can't like what they're doing to you."
Ashley knew better than to ask who they were, but she wished someone would tell her what it was they were planning. Gravely, she replied, "Thank you, Mrs. Timms. I'll remember that."
Outside the study Ashley pulled at the sleeves of her jacket, attempting to make them reach her wrists. She straightened her white blouse and tucked it neatly into the waistband of her skirt, then sighed in disgust when she saw how her breasts strained against the thin material. Deciding to sacrifice neatness for modesty, she tugged at the blouse, loosening it enough to allow her some room. Hastily she brushed off her skirt again, smoothed her hair, and having no place to put the leaf she found there, held it in a tight fist when she entered what she had always thought of as Nigel's lair.
Ashley's eyes immediately strayed to the painting hanging above the mantle. For a moment she ignored both her guardian and his mistress in favor of the warm familiarity of the portrait of Nigel's sister. Anne Lynne's secretive smile and fair beauty always beckoned Ashley, a welcoming touch in contrast to the stark, even severe, appointments of the study. Ashley always thought she would like to have known her guardian's animated twin, but Nigel was reluctant to discuss Anne. "Let her lie in peace," he would say, rebuffing Ashley's curiosity until some later time, when Anne Lynne's bright amber eyes drew Ashley's interest again.
Ashley dropped her gaze to find Nigel studying her, a thoughtful frown on his finely molded face. The duke's considering appraisal brought Ashley's small chin a notch forward while her knuckles whitened as she thought of the inevitable row.
"Why, she's come for fisticuffs, Nigel," Davinia Grant drawled lightly from the divan, which, at her request, had been positioned for warmth near the marble fireplace. Her pale blue eyes assessed Ashley's attire, and her expression was scornful when she met the young woman's guarded eyes. "And that habit is a disgrace. Nigel, I do believe the chit's been up to something. Look, her skirt is stained. Rolling in the grass, were you? With whom?"
Ashley was used to Davinia Grant's criticism and ridicule, but her opinion was of no consequence. Davinia was always up to the latest fashion, and her hair was inevitably arranged high on her head, adorned with ribbons or jewels as the mood took her. Looking at Lady Grant now, leaning negligently against the divan, chosen, Ashley was sure, because its fabric would not clash with the peacock blue of her gown, Ashley felt repulsed by the other woman's calculated, casual manner. Ashley often wondered if Davinia imagined herself to be graceful in such a ridiculous pose. It was true that Davinia had her admirers and a large circle of friends, but Ashley felt she lacked real wit or substance. Certainly she paled in comparison to the portrait she lounged beneath, though Ashley admitted there were undeniable similarities between the two women. Nigel's sister and his mistress had equally fair complexions, light eyes and fine-boned features. When Davinia's hair was not greased and powdered, it revealed the same corn silk highlights as Anne's. But where Anne Lynne's smile hinted that she enjoyed life's pleasures, Davinia's mouth said she squandered them. Ashley found it easy to ignore Davinia, finding nothing attractive about the dissolute, pouting mouth, and she gave her full attention to her guardian.
Nigel Lynne was quite the antithesis of his feminine companion. He was a powerfully built man very much in his prime. His very social lifestyle, which included drinking and gambling in amounts that would have dulled other men, had not exacted any visible toll on the Duke of Linfield. His dark brown eyes were clearly as keen as they ever had been, his gaze just as knowing. His nose and chin Ashley found a trifle sharp, his mouth just the tiniest bit thin, but the overall effect of his slightly gaunt face was flattering, making him appear to have been cut from a particularly fine piece of marble. Nigel was as unyielding as that slab of stone, and when he turned his intimidating glance in Ashley's direction, she felt as if she had been slapped.
"You wanted to see me, Your Grace?" she said, wishing above everything that the slight trembling in her voice would not be noticed.
"Have a seat, child; it's exceedingly tiring having to look up at you."
Ashley knew Nigel was playing with her. He could have stood and towered over her, but for now it pleased him to order her, to impose his will over her own. She did as she was told, pretending she didn't notice Davinia Grant's smug smile while suffering Nigel's premeditated silence with admirable calm.
"Do you understand why I've asked to speak to you this morning, Ashley?"
She nodded. "I believe it has to do with my future. You've decided I must marry." In her hand the dry leaf was ground into dust.
"I have been giving the matter of your marriage a great deal of thought since I last talked to you. I am happy to say there has been an offer, and I have accepted on your behalf."
Ashley blinked, stunned. This morning she had prepared herself to hear that she was going to be married off, but never had she suspected Nigel would have promised her hand without consulting her. Giddily she imagined herself saying earnestly, "I am sensible of the honor you do me, Your Grace, in planning my marriage. But I must tell you that I simply cannot marry someone of your choosing. By coming up to snuff in your eyes, he can only be sadly lacking in mine." She knew the folly of daring to utter that sentiment, so she held her tongue until she could think clearly. "But—who? I mean, there has been no one. I've met no suitors at Linfield. I thought I would have a Season."
"She does go on," Davinia commented to no one in particular as she fingered the ivory lace edging the low bodice of her gown. She thrust her full lower lip forward when the duke's attention was not drawn toward the creamy expanse of her bosom. Not for the first time she considered it was a good thing Nigel was finally ridding himself of his ward. To Davinia's way of thinking the chit had been nothing but a constant source of irritation. She honestly couldn't fathom why Nigel had taken an interest in the foundling brat in the first place.
"I don't recall saying anything about a London Season," Nigel answered truthfully.
"No. It's just that I assumed—"
"That is hardly my problem."
"Of course not. But I had hoped to meet this man before an offer was accepted."
Nigel smiled then, that insincere grin Ashley so hated. She knew what was coming before she heard his mocking voice. "But you already have met him, m'dear. In this house, as a matter of fact. Surely you haven't forgotten last month's romp,
have you?"
Agitated and more than a little frightened Ashley nearly leaped from her chair. "You can't mean—" She could not finish; the words merely died in her throat.
"I told you she wouldn't like it, Nigel," Davinia said lazily, reaching for the cup of hot chocolate sitting on a nearby table. She sipped it delicately. "Delicious," she pronounced, staring over the cup's rim at Ashley's drawn face. "Really, m'dear. You refine on this too much. Lord Bosworth is exactly the right man for you. Nigel was perfectly correct to accept his offer."
"But he's old enough to be my grandfather."
"Really, Ashley, given the murky origins of your birth, it doesn't become you to speculate."
Nigel gave Davinia a quelling glance, and Ashley, even in her fury, could appreciate the woman's shrinking response. To his ward he said, "Davinia's right about one thing: You are making too much of this. Geoffrey Bosworth has made the offer, and I intend that you shall marry him. There's no need for theatrics."
Ashley folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, calming herself. Quietly she said, "Have you forgotten the man almost raped me?"
Davinia tittered. "She's blushing, Nigel."
Ashley's head shot up and her green eyes darkened as they narrowed on Davinia's face.
"Say what you're thinking," Davinia responded. "And I'll take great pleasure in boxing your ears." Ashley held her tongue, not because of the older woman's threat, but because she thought the ensuing battle would have afforded Nigel too much amusement. "That's better. At least you've been taught your place. Nigel hasn't completely neglected your education. As to the matter of your near rape, m'dear, it was never in the cards. Do explain it to the girl, Nigel. I find myself quite out of patience with her."