03 - Dreams of Destiny

by May McGoldrick

  Gwyneth took a step away from them, not wishing to hear any of this. Complaining about her marriage to anyone who would listen had become a favorite game for Emma. They were coming up to the formal terrace gardens, where numerous guests were enjoying the late afternoon sun.

  David broke in on Emma’s story. “You know very well that one quality…or flaw…that Lyon and Pierce and I all share is our fondness for routines.”

  As Gwyneth began to veer off toward the gardens, David came around and took her by the arm, keeping her with them.

  “After two years of marriage, Emma, you should be an expert at knowing how long my brother likes to stay in London or at Baronsford and when he likes to travel.”

  “Indeed I do know, all too well, about his precious routines and schedules. But what I am finding out is that he is even changing those to avoid me.” Emma lowered her voice. “This might sound ridiculous, but ‘tis the truth. I need to make an appointment through his manservant Gibbs to have even a single private moment with him.”

  “I am certain if you really needed to see Lyon, he would be available. You are making too much of a single incident.”

  “I am not. That was one of the dozen incidents that I’ve kept to myself. He avoids me. Treats me like a stranger,” she said dramatically. “But when we are together, ‘tis even worse. I haven’t told you about his outbursts of temper.”

  “Lyon’s temper has always been foul, but we all know how to handle him. He shows a lot of teeth, but he rarely bites.”

  “That was the brother you once knew. But you have been away so much.” She took David’s other arm, leaning against him as they walked. “Lyon has changed. There is not a month that goes by that I do not hear of some duel he’s fought with some unsuspecting victim. He cannot control his temper. He overreacts to any innuendo or gossip, with no regard to how false it might be. He listens to no reasonable explanations—especially if they come from me. I am starting to fear for his safety, David…and for my own.”

  Gwyneth wanted to shut her ears. She didn’t want to hear this drivel. Several times in the past two years, she’d been forced to overhear arguments between Lyon and Emma. Each time, she’d heard the provocation—generally the rumor of some indiscretion…or worse…that Emma had committed. She’d heard her cousin lie openly, too, all the while pushing Lyon as far as she could. No matter how explosive their arguments had been, though, Lyon had stormed off each time. Gwyneth had never thought to fear for Emma’s safety.

  “I do not know what is happening to us—to our marriage,” Emma continued in a whisper. “More than ever before, I need your support now. I need you to intervene on my behalf and make Lyon realize the error of his ways before ‘tis too late.”

  “I cannot,” David said, his voice thick. “This is your marriage. This is something between the two of you, Emma.”

  “Not any more. I cannot go on alone…feeling so helpless.” She slowed down. “With you away, I have taken only a few of my troubles to Pierce. But he already wearies of it all. He is tired of fighting with Lyon. You are my last hope, David. If you will not help me, I do not know where I can turn. I am desperate.”

  Gwyneth pulled her arm free and stepped back. David turned to her. Emma stopped, too. Responses to her cousin’s words bubbled up within her threatening to spill out, but she forced them back.

  “I shall go and find Walter Truscott.” Gwyneth turned and fled toward the stables before David could say another word. She could not listen to one more lie.

  She and Emma were almost six years apart. Coming to Greenbrae Hall as a child, Gwyneth had doted on Emma. She had followed her cousin, admired her beauty, her spirit, tried to imitate the older girl as much as her age had permitted. The fact that they both carried a torch for the same young man could not even diminish how much she idolized her cousin. Emma was the heroine in every romantic story Gwyneth read. Emma was the model for the early tales she weaved in her imagination There was more to her than physical beauty. She was outrageous, daring, exciting. No walls could contain her. No man could resist her allure.

  At the stables, Gwyneth asked a groom for a horse. One was brought to her, and in a few moments she was racing toward Greenbrae Hall. Even the feel of the wind in her face and hair could not cool her anger, cool the fever burning inside of her.

  The first blow to Gwyneth’s adoration came when Emma openly shifted her attentions to David’s oldest brother. Lyon had recently inherited his title after the death of the elder Lord Aytoun. The new earl had returned to Baronsford after his years of military service. It did not matter to Emma that ten years separated them—that for all the years of growing up, David was the one she had been closest to. Once she made up her mind to marry Lyon, the eldest brother had no chance. They were wed that same summer.

  The temple of devotion Gwyneth had built around her cousin began to crumble rapidly after that. And her growing disillusionment had nothing to do with the wrong that Emma had done to David. It was in London, not even a year after her marriage to Lyon that the walls came crashing down.

  Emma’s mother always spent the spring in London, and Gwyneth was required to go. It was there that she realized the dangerous extent of the games Emma was playing with her marriage. The constant arguments with Lyon that started immediately following their union were a very small part of it. A side of Emma she’d never really seen emerged. Vanity, selfishness, cruelty. Emma lied to get her way. She accused others unjustly, and was unkind to many. But what was most shocking, Emma had affairs.

  Gwyneth had been stunned when she’d walked in on her cousin and a strange man in Lady Cavers’ townhouse in London. She had left behind her notebook after writing a letter that morning in the library. It was early in the afternoon when Gwyneth returned to fetch it. She’d hurried into the room, hardly suspecting that anyone would be inside. She could still see them so vividly…Emma straddling the man as he sat on a sofa. His breeches were down around his ankles, and her skirts were up around her hips. His mouth was suckling one exposed breast, and she was writhing on his lap and making noises Gwyneth had never before heard. Neither of them had even noticed her presence, and she’d fled.

  Later, Gwyneth had confronted her cousin about it. Emma had just laughed, at first. Then, she had threatened her to keep the secret. Gwyneth had little choice. To whom could she go? How could she stop her cousin from such brazen infidelity? Augusta, still elated over her daughter’s advantageous marriage, would hardly be receptive to such a report…if she believed Gwyneth at all.

  She skirted the wooded deer park along the river. Golden rays from the descending sun looked like streaks of fire across the sky overhead. It was so much easier to live one’s life within the pages of a book. To read or to create lives in which passion was shared between a man and a woman who were truly in love…where the union of two souls was forever. Gwyneth was not ashamed of the intimacy she weaved into her tales. Her characters were true to each other. They were honest. They loved each other. Lies and deceit belonged to villains, and they were punished in the end. Goodness and love always triumphed…at least in fiction.

  Gwyneth’s admiration had vanished, and Emma knew it. But they remained outwardly civil. They even managed to display moments of friendliness for the sake of Augusta and others. Gwyneth decided finally that it was not her place to make a judgment about n’s life, although there was more and more evidence of other affairs. There were moments, even in Baronsford and Greenbrae Hall, when Gwyneth felt she’d arrived in the midst of something, obviously spoiling a rendezvous. Still, she held her tongue. As David said, this was between Lyon and Emma.

  Still though, she could not stomach seeing her cousin play the two younger Pennington brothers against Lyon. Emma was tearing their family apart. But they were at fault, too, Gwyneth realized. At first, it had been just Pierce who’d allowed himself to be blind when it came to Emma and her lies, but now David was doing the same thing. As far as they each were concerned, she had no flaws. They trusted her now as they h
ad trusted the young child they all had adored.

  She rode up the hill to the stables behind Greenbrae Hall and swung down easily from the panting steed. A groom took the reins from her and she started up the path toward the house. The sound of another rider caused her to look back. It was David. His irritation was obvious in the way he dismounted and strode toward her.

  “You ride like a madwoman. Did you not hear me calling you?”

  She shook her head. “What are you doing here?”

  “You left so abruptly, without taking a carriage. I wanted to be sure you were not unwell.”

  “I am quite well, thank you,” she said, unable to mask the sarcasm in her tone. “And you?”

  “Quite well. Why shouldn’t I be?” His words were clipped. Whatever cheerfulness he’d displayed when she saw him first by the cliffs at Baronsford had disappeared. There was a fierceness in his face now.

  She tucked her notebook under her arm and started up the path.

  He fell in step with her. “Why are you acting like this?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I was eager to get back to Greenbrae Hall.” She was too angry to look at him. He’d been used. He’d been manipulated and formed into the shape Emma wished him to be. “So how did your talk go with Emma?”

  “You were there for most of it. She is very glad I am back. She has problems, and she needs help. Lyon is being very difficult. ‘Tis nothing new. I promised her that I would talk to him when he arrives.” He let out a deep breath. “She has gone through all this work—planning this affair for the dowager. Two hundred guests, half of them already arrived, and he decides to wait until the last moment to make his entrance. I do not understand why he is treating her so badly. She does not deserve this, to my thinking.”

  Gwyneth hurried up the path. His foolishness brought tears to her eyes. She needed to get away from him. David grabbed her arm, though, and he forced her to stop. She stood looking at the ground, her arms clutching her notebook to her chest.

  “What is going on?”

  “Nothing! Nothing is going on with me.” She looked up.

  “You are crying.”

  “I am not.” She stabbed at the runaway tears. “The wind blew something into my Baras I rode.”

  He didn’t appear happy with her answer. “What are you running away from?”

  “I am not running away. I just do not care to be at Baronsford right now. That should not be too difficult for you to understand.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t understand your behavior at all. But ‘tis obvious something is bothering you.” His tone became confidential. “Are you in any kind of trouble?”

  “No!”

  “You can be honest with me.”

  “I am being honest with you.”

  “Gwyneth…” Her name was spoken like a reprimand.

  She stared at him, trying to keep her composure. She failed.

  “What is it that you’d like me to tell you?” she asked curtly. “I am in no trouble. And no, I was not rushing back here for a secret rendezvous with my lover. And no, I am not carrying anyone’s child. Nor I am afraid that time is running out on me and unless I do something drastic, one more secret will be exposed and I will be truly ruined.”

  “You are speaking nonsense.”

  “Am I?” she challenged before turning up the path again.

  His grip on her arm was hard when he turned her around. “What is this all about? Why these bloody riddles, Gwyneth? You were behaving normally one moment and then, as soon as Emma arrived, you turned into this enigmatic brat. What has she done to you?”

  “Nothing.” She tried to wrench her arm free. “Let me go.”

  “Who is having secret rendezvous? Who is carrying a child?”

  “Why not ask Emma?” she snapped angrily. “Open your eyes, David. Why do you think she wants all these people around her? Why, suddenly, does she need so many protectors? And do you really think this whole affair has been arranged for you mother? The dowager is not fooled by that. Why are you?” She gentled her tone. “Try to see your brother’s side, as well. He is your own flesh and blood. For once, try to understand his suffering.”

  David stared at her, obviously shocked by her outburst. But Gwyneth knew it would be no use. He was under Emma’s spell. He always had been. His large hands clamped onto her shoulders when she tried to turn away.

  “I know, Gwyneth, that you must be going through a difficult time. Lady Cavers has never been much of a mother. Not to Emma, and I’m certain she must be doing even less for you. I’m sure it must be hard to watch Emma get so much attention.” He leaned down and looked into her face, speaking to her as if she were a child. “But this does not mean you should be so openly hostile to the one person who’s been like a sister to you. ‘Tis understandable that you would be jealous, but I have never known you to be so disparaging of her. Emma truly cares for you. She does not deserve to be treated like this. Not by you and not by Lyon.”

  Tears rushed into Gwyneth’s eyes. He was blind to it. He didn’t want to see the truth.

  “I shall wait for you to change your dress, and then we’ll go back to Baronsford. Emma never need to know the things you have told me. She—”

  “No.” She shook her head and stepped back. “I am not going back. Tell them what you wish, but I am not going back.”

  Gwyneth turned and ran up the path as fast as her legs would take her. The tears turned to sobs, but as she entered the house, she couldn’t decide for whom she was shedding them.

  Perhaps for herself. She’d been made to sound like a jealous and foolish child for speaking the truth.

  Perhaps for Lyon. His wife had churned up his life, making it a bloody mess, turning his own family against him.

  Or perhaps she was crying for David, so blinded by love that he was incapable of seeing or hearing the truth.

  Perhaps, Gwyneth thought, her tears might even be for Emma. She was a woman who didn’t know how to be happy, didn’t know what was enough. But how could she shed tears for someone who didn’t even know the misery her schemes were causing those who cared for her? For Lyon. For Pierce. And most importantly, for David.

  No, Gwyneth realized, she could not cry for Emma. Not for the woman she hated.

  ****

  Not long after sunset, the storm rolled in from the west, and a fierce rain pelted her windows through the night. Gwyneth tossed and turned every time the thunder rolled across the valley, every time the wind buffeted the walls of Greenbrae. A feeling of doom infused her dreams, lying like a shroud over her, suffocating her. She imagined hearing voices coming up the stairs, but she could not tell the reality from the dream. She thought she could hear arguments, but her mind excused it as the sound of the storm outside.

  She wished she had gone back to Baronsford. She felt alone. She was horrified by the visions her imagination invoked on nights like this.

  Dawn brought an end to the storm, but a light rain continued to fall and the skies remained low and gray and heavy. Gwyneth found no relief in the soft whirr of activity that she could hear as the servants readied themselves for the day. It was mid-morning when she finally forced herself to dress and leave her bedchamber. Coming down the steps, she heard shouts and the sound of horses clattering up to the front door.

  At the top of the landing, Gwyneth clutched the banister as the door was thrown open and the steward rushed back in. He looked up at her.

  “’Tis horrible, miss,” he cried, wringing his hat in his hands.

  “Emma,” she whispered, sitting down on the steps.

  “Aye, miss. She’s…she’s dead! They say Lord Aytoun threw her from the cliffs with his own hands…and then went over himself!”

  *****

  Emma’s hair caught and reflected the sun like curls of spun gold. Wherever she went, men and women stopped to stare and admire. She was like a fairy creature from a verse of a poem or the page of an ancient story. Many afternoons, he found himself standing by the ledge, lookin
g down at the river as she and David raced along the bank and waded or swam in the pools where the Tweed turned one way or the other.

  She would climb the wet rocks to the cliff walk with her dirty hands and bare feet with surprising speed, and he tried to be waiting there for her at the top, stretching a hand down to her when she triumphantly reached the ledge as David climbed steadily beneath them.

  Emma always had a special smile for him at moments like this. A wee thing, her face conquered all with the brightness of that smile and the shining and restless blue eyes. But the woman was emerging in her. He shouldn’t have noticed, but at his age a boy’s gaze couldn’t miss the curves of her growing breasts, especially when she’d been swimming and her thin dress was wet and clinging. There was no way he could ignore her affection for him either, when she looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him when she reached the top. She would pretend she was afraid and was going to fall off the cliffs.

  He was young but he knew the truth. The last thing Emma was afraid of were those cliffs.

  CHAPTER 2

  London

  A Year Later

  He’d had enough. It was time for a change.

  The decision had been one he’d been thinking about for months. Then, when the orders had come through, transferring him from his regiment in Ireland to a special assignment in Massachusetts, Captain David Pennington finally made what his superiors believed was an imprudent choice. He simply decided not to go, resigning his commission instead.

  No one outside of the regiment had yet been told about it. Admiral Middleton, to whom David was to report in Boston, had been sent a letter written by the regimental commander that perhaps there was still a chance that the young officer might change his mind. David had not given them any specific reason for his resignation, nor had he mentioned to anyone what he planned to do now that he was giving up the army life.