“I want the letter.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, it cannot be done.”
Turner leaned over the man. “If you want that twenty pounds, my friend, it must be.”
The Irishman scratched his head. To tempt him, Turner hold out another small bag of coins to the man. The puzzled expression became a look of determination. “I’ll ask my Mary, see what she can do, and bring word to ye.”
The trainer let himself out.
Turner was certain that it must be Charles Edward, the infamous Young Pretender himself, going secretly to Baronsford. But he needed proof to support his thinking. To capture a person of such importance, an enemy to the King, he would need at least a regiment of soldiers behind him. And to get them, to convince any regimental commander to give him such support, he needed that letter in his hand.
*****
The carriage had not yet come to a full stop before Pierce found himself pushing the door open and stepping out. It was the same castle, but it could hardly be the same place that he had left. It looked more like a festival was taking place here, for hundreds of people had gathern the drive. There were pipers from the neighboring villages, and the music struck up the moment they arrived. The smell of roasting meat filled the air, and barrels of ale had been set up on makeshift tables. The villagers—many of them he knew well—were all in their finest clothes, and children and dogs were running everywhere. The noise and cheers increased the moment his foot touched the drive, and he could see more crowds approaching across the fields.
Pierce’s throat knotted, and he was back in a time when Baronsford had been a home. A place where he and his brothers ran with other children like mad fools through the grounds, climbing the cliffs and swimming in the river. Those were careless days with no worries. Days when dealing with betrayal was only as complicated as rubbing one’s nose into the dirt. Those were days when forgiveness was granted just for the asking.
He tried to focus through an unexpected mist in his eyes, and saw his cousin Walter Truscott coming toward him. Pierce pulled the younger man into his arms and hugged him as soon as he was within reach.
“How is Lyon?” he asked, not quite able to clear the tightness in his throat.
“I am very well, thank you.”
Pierce turned, seeing his brother not a half-dozen paces away. Their cousin stepped aside. Pierce looked at the cane in Lyon’s hand, and his throat closed even tighter as he recalled the broken man he’d left behind. Then he saw Lyon take a step toward him. His legs supported him. He looked up at the straight back, at the broad shoulders, at the strength and confidence that was once again evident in the man before him. Pierce looked into his brother’s face and saw the smile.
“Are you going to stand in that bloody spot all day?” Lyon growled.
Pierce went to him and ignored the extended hand of his brother. To the crowd’s delighted surprise, he lifted Lyon off the ground, albeit only a few inches.
“You are much heavier than you were. Gone to fat in your middle age, I see.”
“And you’ve grown shorter and far, far uglier.” Lyon hugged him back once his feet touched the ground. “I had forgotten what a wee frail thing you are.”
“I can still knock you to the ground, you old dog.” He kept his arm around Lyon, jostling him.
“I should like to see you try. But what the devil is going on with the long hair?” He pulled Pierce’s queue.
“’Tis all the rage in the colonies. We’ll pay no taxes for hair or wig powder, you know?”
The earl laughed. “We hear you’ll not pay taxes for anything.”
“Tis true. But I was thinking of growing a beard, too. Trying to work on my look of suffering, hoping you’d feel sorry for me and take me back.”
The joking stopped, and Lyon’s expression sobered. The crowd around them became hushed. The earl’s blue eyes were misted over when he stretched a hand toward him.
“Welcome home, brother.”
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CHAPTER 25
The rolling fields of Baronsford spread out like a great tapestry before the eye. She had seen a lushly forested deer park, a lake, beautiful walled gardens, miles of footpaths waving in and out along cliffs overlooking the river Tweed. Portia knew there was probably much more that she hadn’t seen. And on the inside the castle, renovated by the great Robert Adams himself, was grand enough to house a king. It also had enough rooms to house every family in Boston, or so Portia decided as she was led through wing after wing, and floor after floor of salons, sitting rooms, formal parlors, libraries, dining rooms, suites and bedchambers.
There was no doubt in Portia’s mind though that Baronsford was absolutely the most beautiful place she had ever seen or read about. The magnificent structure and the grounds were that of a fairy tale castle, and Portia remembered what Pierce had told her about the aspirations of the earl’s first wife, Emma. She had always wanted this place for herself, to own and to rule.
Portia could never imagine herself having such dreams. And somehow she doubted the present Countess of Aytoun, who was showing her around herself, would have ever considered such a thing a priority in life, either.
Millicent, as she’d asked to be called, was warm and welcoming to both Portia and her mother, and had treated them with the same enthusiasm as she had greeted Pierce from the moment they had descended from the carriage.
And Portia had received the same warm welcome from the earl. Still, for the first few moments it had been unsettling to see the strong resemblance between the two brothers. Lyon, however, was older, and there was a weathered edge to his features that told tales of life’s hard experiences and, she knew, suffering as well. He wore it well, though, and his heart showed none of the scars that his face bore.
Portia had taken an immediate liking to her host and hostess.
“What do you think of it so far?” Millicent asked when they arrived at the second floor of the east wing.
“I find it…intimidating,” Portia admitted.
Millicent smiled, opening the door to the bedchamber where Portia would be staying. “I was overwhelmed the first time I saw it, too. But I believe ‘tis the people who make a place a home. I think you shall soon become accustomed to it, too.”
She held her tongue, even though they wouldn’t be staying long enough for that.
“Before you arrived, Portia, we had thought to place your mother in the bedchamber adjacent to yours. But now, realizing she has some difficulty with her sight, I was wondering if you thought she might be more comfortable in a room on the ground floor. Or we could easily arrange for a suite that you two could share.”
“I think the adjacent rooms will work well,” Portia whispered. Honestly, you are very kind to think of it.”
Her trunk had been brought up earlier, and as she circled the huge room, she was surprised to see her handful of new dresses had already been unpacked and laid out, She stopped by the open windows overlooking the gardens and the greenswards leading to the cliffs. Portia leaned out one of them and saw her mother strolling with an attendant along a gravel footpath. Having spent too many hours in the carriage, the older woman had preferred to walk a little rather than have a tour of the house. The two women appeared to be engaged in some pleasant conversation, for Portia heard Helena’s laughter drifting up.
Millicent moved over to her and looked out as well. “That is Bess. She is the sweetest young woman. If you don’t mind, I should like to ask her to see to your mother’s needs. She will make herself available whenever Helena needs her.”
“That is very sweet and kind,” Portia said, genuinely touched.
“Oh, please. We are just so delighted that you are here.” Millicent turned around. “So what do you think of this room? Will it do?”
Portia turned away from the window and studied the enormous space, the elegance of the furniture, the fine paintings on the walls, the plush oriental carpets on the floor. Even the finely embroidered bedcovering made of silk.
Beautiful as it all was, it made Portia somewhat uncomfortable. She certainly did not deserve this kind of reception. She was uneasy that Millicent was thinking she was something more than she really was. This room was truly fit for a queen, and she hated the thought that this gentle soul might have been misled regarding Portia’s place in society or her worth. She wanted no more misunderstandings or deceptions between her and this family.
“Millicent, this room alone is larger than the entire first floor of Parson and Mrs. Higgins’s house in Boston. I was the tutor to their children for eight years prior to leaving them this past month.”
“How old were the children?” Millicent asked with no apparent interest in Portia’s revelation about her need to earn a living.
“They were eight and ten years old. A girl and a boy.”
“Close in age. Did they get along?”
“For the most part, especially when they were younger. Lately though, Ann, the eight-year-old, has been trying to establish an upper hand for herself.”
Millicent smiled and touched her swollen belly. “This bairn and our Josephine will be less than a year apart, so hopefully their difference in age shall be too small for either one of them to have the upper hand, as you say.”
“Josephine?” Portia asked.
“You shall meet her as soon as she awakens from her nap. In fact, you shall more than likely hear her first. She is quite fond of her own voice, and sometimes only quiets down when Lyon goes to her.” Millicent rubbed her lower back and seated herself on a nearby sofa. “If my husband asks, please be sure to tell him that I took plenty of rest during our walk.”
“Of course.” Portia smiled and joined Millicent when the countess patted the seat next to her.
“Josephine is our daughter...or rather, she became our daughter when her mother died giving birth.” A sadness crept into the young woman’s face. “I know it sounds odd, but I am not quite resolved about how to speak of her, yet. I should like to take credit for her and say she is ours, but at the same time I do not want to take away from the struggles of the woman who went through the pain and suffering to bring a child so beautiful into this world.”
A cloud continued to linger over Millicent’s mood. Portia thought of her own life.
“Well, I have a feeling she has much joy ahead of her. Your Josephine shall not grow up in a orphanage, but here in your home among a real family. If I might be so bold as speak from my own experience, I think ‘twould be best if she simply considered you and the earl as her real parents. There should never be confusion in the heart of a child as to where her parents are. That is, of course, if her mother and father are dead.”
"I was there with her mother when she died. And as far as her father..." She shook her head. "I fear some secrets should never be revealed.”
Like the secret about her own father, Portia thought again. She looked up at her hostess and yearned to see the smile back on her face. “So tell me when your bairn is due.”
The transformation was immediate. Millicent’s bright smile returned, and Portia knew that a friendship was in the making.
*****
Pierce realized the full magnitude of the changes in Baronsford the moment he walked through the grand entryway and looked up at the first landing of the wide, curved stairwell. Emma’s portrait was missing. He saw later that it was only a reflection of the changes in his brother’s life when he saw the tenderness in Lyon’s look when Millicent took Portia to show her around.
Emma’s reign had ended. Both Baronsford and Lyon were truly free of her.
In the library, just the two of them sat and talked, and no mention of their last confrontation was made. Pierce realized what this meant. They had both come to terms with the ugliness of their mistakes. Finally, the past was buried for the two of them, and now, together, they could move ahead.
Pierce was enthralled to hear about how Lyon and Millicent had first met. It had been the result of a marriage of convenience arranged by the dowager and their lawyer, Sir Richard Maitland. The ceremony was a hurried affair, for their mother was in the midst of one of her anxiety spells about dying at any moment. He became even more spellbound as his brother told him about Melbury Hall and how, under the care of Millicent and a former slave named Ohenewaa, Lyon had recovered. Listening to him, it was stirring to get a sense of the depth of this man’s feelings for his wife. His love clearly knew no bounds, and his enthusiasm about their plans together spoke only of their happiness.
“There is a cloud hanging over us, though,” Lyon said. “What we are feeling in our personal life is very different from what is happening around us.”
The earl went on to explain about the land clearings and the effect it was having on everyone.
“When you are ready, I should like to ride with you into the village and out to the farms. Perhaps we can even visit some of our neighbors. Our tenants’ minds will be much more at ease, now that they have welcomed you home. Not a day goes by, however, when we are not faced with another wave of unfortunates who have lost their homes, forced off the land they have worked and lived on for generations. And ‘tis simply greed that drives this tragedy.”
It was a small jump from there to the situation in the colonies. Pierce was surprised that his brother knew about the smuggling he and Nathaniel were doing for the Sons of Liberty.
“I suppose this is what I get for hiring Border men on my ships.”
“Especially those with kin in the village.” Lyon agreed. “But I think your secret is safe here. You know there is no love lost between Baronsford’s people and our “Farmer King” and his ministers in London. The Gazette, however, ran an interesting story about a notorious smuggler named MacHeath. You wouldn’t know anything about this fellow?”
“A respected ship owner like me? How could I know anything about the fellow?”
“I cannot imagine, except that I believe he may be very close to me.” Lyon gave his brother a narrow glare. “I expect a full report.”
“Before we get to that you, however,” Pierce said solemnly, “you should know that David is being sent to Boston. I fear that he and I may stand on different sides of the field when it comes to our politics.”
“Then I am very glad you are here and not in the colonies.”
“But I shall not be here for long. I will need to go back fairly soon, and I do not look forward to confronting him there.”
“Well, then we have to think of a solution. It has taken me thirty-four years to come to realize what matters in this life and what does not.” Lyon placed a hand on Pierce’s shoulder. “Millicent is my life, our children will be what our dreams are made of. This family is the foundation of all of it. We shall do whatever we have to do to keep peace between you and David.”
*****
Portia was delighted to add her name to the list of the infant’s conquests, though she was at first surprised that the Earl and Countess of Aytoun were so eager to include the baby in the company of so many adults. Even in the Higgins household, where Ann and Walter were valued far more than occurred in many families, they were kept to their own friends and to their studies and to the kitchen, except on special occasions and for prayer. Not so here, and Portia was happily surprised.
Indeed, Josephine was a joy. Loud and messy and beautiful, a bundle of moving hands and feet, she refused to be ignored by anyone, no matter what their excuses might be.
She had won Helena over immediately, waking up while Bess was showing Portia’s mother the nursery. When the older woman had held Josephine nose to nose with her, the infant had patted her on the cheeks and suckled the end of her nose. Pierce had turned out to be another easy mark, since the bairn had mistaken him for Lyon and had reached out for him with waving arms, kicking legs, and very loud shrieks. With Portia, the baby had been quite fascinated with her dark curls, taking fistfuls of them and smiling whenever she pretended to cry out in pain. Portia didn’t mind the mild torture for the toothless smiles and belly laughs she received in return.
In fact, she had a hard time giving up the child when the time had come for the nursemaid to take Josephine away for the night.
After a sumptuous dinner, the three women retired to the sitting room while and Lyon and Truscott lingered in the dining room, drinking and discussing politics.
“Now you understand what I was telling you before about that bairn.” Millicent said to Portia sometime later. The countess had already explained to Helena what she’d told Portia of the conditions surrounding the infant’s birth. “Josephine is truly amazing. Even at her age, she is developing a sense of confidence that is admirable.”
“But do you not think that is due to your attentions, as well as to your husband’s remarkable fondness for her,” Helena asked. “A bairn, as you call her, is not born with such qualities.”
“In the years ahead,” Portia said earnestly, “if you are ever in need of a tutor for her, I shall make myself available, no matter where I am.”
“Tutor? I am already counting on you visiting us in another capacity.”
Portia blushed, not wanting to think about what Millicent meant exactly. Her discomfort increased when she looked up and found the men entering the sitting room. Pierce was at the front of the group and, from the look he gave her, she guessed he might have heard Millicent’s comment.
“Would you young ladies mind if I were to steal Miss Edwards away for a walk in the gardens?”
Her blush became a burn. Millicent’s and Helena’s agreeable responses were answered by Truscott’s and Lyon’s immediate objections.
“I do not believe anyone asked you two?” He bowed politely and offered Portia his hand. She had no choice but to take it.
“I know the moon is on the rise, but ‘tis still quite dark outside,” she whispered, stealing a glance up into his deep blue eyes. His face was very close as he drew her out of her chair.
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