03 - Dreams of Destiny

by May McGoldrick

  Perhaps, in a story, Violet could be a wild child, raised by wolves but having a heart of gold. Her hero or heroine would be taken care of by this child in her moment of need, and later return the favor, raising her and caring for her. Still, Violet came alive for her now, in a completely new way, because of these moments. Gwyneth felt the excitement rush through her. Inspiration was surging within her, creative ideas flowing again.

  Before writing about today, though, she needed to write about last night, about making love with David. Gwyneth blushed at the mere thought. She wasn’t going to write down everything, she told herself, but she would try to capture the thrill of the moment, put words to the things that she’d felt. She wondered if she had the ability to describe the look in his eyes, the fit of their bodies, the soft warmth of his touches as they lay together afterward.

  She flexed her right fingers. There was no pain. She glanced toward the horse tied loosely to a rock and wondered if it was worth going after her supplies. The saddle sat on the ground nearby

  “I can get them for you.”

  Gwyneth turned in surprise as Violet pushed to her feet and walked toward the saddle. She watched the young woman reach inside the bag and fetch her notebook and her Keswick pencil before coming back to her.

  “Thank you…but how did you know what I wanted?”

  “I saw you look that way.” She placed the supplies on Gwyneth’s lap and quickly moved to where she had been sitting before.

  Violet had fetched the bread and the extra blanket for them before. Naturally, she would have seen what else was in the saddlebag, Gwyneth reasoned, opening her notebook to a blank page. She left the other story she was in the midst of alone for now. Picking up the pencil, she just let the words come.

  The fire continued to crackle, but Gwyneth drifted out of the present time and place. In her mind, she was with him again. As her fingers raced to keep up with her thoughts, her emotions struggled against standing to the side. Gwyneth did not try for perfection, she just let the information flow onto the page.

  David. The reality of having him look at her, caress her, talk to her with such passion and need was still almost impossible to believe. But it was not a dream. She had felt his embrace, his touch, and she remembered all of it. And she also remembered what he had said about not wanting to share her with anyone else.

  Gwyneth had not admitted it to him, but after last night, she didn’t think she could ever give herself to another man. The complication it presented—namely, how to explain her change in feelings to Sir Allan—was an entirely different matter. She didn’t know if he would still agree to marry her if she refused physical intimacy as part of their union.

  Her pencil stopped moving. She stared into the darkness enveloping the abbey. She had run away from David’s bed, knowing that was not an end to it. She could not even imagine how it would end. But more importantly, how was she going to bring some sense of order back to her life? He was constantly working to confuse her, it seemed. His proposal of marriage, as abrupt as it was, had thrown her completely. For all her life, she would have been thrilled by the offerlast night, faced with it at such a moment, she simply could not accept it, no matter how great a tear it caused in her heart.

  Reality was so different from dreams. Even without any of the complications of her writing and the letters of ransom, Gwyneth’s conscience would not allow her to accept his proposal. David was still in love with Emma. Passion, no matter how explosive and fulfilling, was not enough to substitute for the real love he would never have in his heart for her. Gwyneth did not wish to be forever second in his heart.

  The sense of being watched made her look over her shoulder at Violet. The other woman quickly averted her gaze, staring into the fire. Gwyneth’s jumbled thoughts, fears, dreams, the complications in her life, everything churned, forming a burning mass in her chest.

  “You must wonder what I was doing dressed as I am—making a mad dash through the countryside. I was just thinking about the same thing myself, and I cannot come up with a logical answer. But the more I ponder it, I realize that I have unintentionally managed to make a terrible mess of my life.” Hearing the truth blurt out was unexpected, but Gwyneth suddenly wondered if Violet’s life might be on a parallel path. They both appeared to be in trouble.

  “I…I took the liberty of reading some of your writing in that notebook,” the young woman admitted guiltily. “You were unconscious. Since you were wearing lads’ clothing, I was terribly curious. I thought if there was anything in there that said who you were…” she faltered and gathered her knees tightly to her chest.

  “I would have done the same thing.”

  “Then you’re not angry, miss?”

  Gwyneth smiled and shook her head. She had kept her identity a secret from everyone but her publisher. But in spite of her efforts, some vile and money hungry rogue had learned of the truth and was blackmailing her. Gwyneth didn’t think Violet’s perusal of these pages were any threat compared with that.

  “What made you think that was my writing, though?”

  Violet shrugged. “I didn’t, at first. But I thought the story you’ve started at the end is a wonder. When you were obviously excited to work on it again, I just thought...”

  As her voice trailed off, Gwyneth closed the book on her lap.

  “I couldn’t stop reading,” the young woman said apologetically. “What you have in there is better than any tale I ever heard. I’ve never known someone who could write like that. I never heard of a woman doing such a thing.”

  Gwyneth became embarrassed by the compliment. She put the notebook beside her on the ground. “This thing…my tales…have been both my passion and the cause of all my troubles.”

  “You have more than what you’ve written there, miss?”

  She gave a small nod. “Almost a trunk full.”

  “My lord!” The surprise was too evident in Violet’s face. She inched closer. “What do you plan to do with all of them?”

  She’d never told anyone about it. Now Gwyneth was tempted. She glanced at Violet. This was the most interest the young woman had shown. And what was the harm in sharing a little about herself “If I tell you…will you promise to keep it as a secret? To tell absolutely no one?”

  Violet nodded.

  “I sell them. Actually, I have sold eight of them already.”

  “For money?” she whispered in awe.

  Gwyneth nodded.

  “And they print them?”

  “That’s exactly what they do with them.”

  “My lord!” she said again. “You must be so proud.”

  “It gives me immense pleasure to see them printed,” Gwyneth admitted. “But in proper society, these stories are considered somewhat scandalous. And the fact that I—a woman—write them to be published and read by others is the most scandalous thing of all.”

  “And why should you care what they think?”

  She did and she didn’t. The answer was not so simple. Doing the respectable thing, though, was part of her upbringing, part of who she was. And then there was the matter of her inheritance. Gwyneth finally gave a half-hearted shrug. “’Tis difficult to explain.”

  She’d came close to describing her passion for writing to David, and he’d clearly regarded it as a disaster. She could only imagine what he would think or say if she explained as much as she’d just told Violet.

  “Can I ask you another question, miss?”

  “You are my first confidante in this adventure, so ask what you will,” Gwyneth told her.

  “Would it be too bold to ask if the money you earn is enough to live on?”

  “Right now at least, ‘tis not even close to being enough to support myself in the way I was raised or have been accustomed to live. But the money would certainly be enough for someone to live modestly.”

  “Then you do care what society thinks.”

  “I suppose I do. But ‘tis not all about money. At the same time, though, money is what has complicated e
verything. And now I find myself in so much trouble. Getting out of it should be simple, but ‘tis not so easy. The whole thing is just so confusing,” Gwyneth blurted out, frustrated. She leaned her head back against the stone wall. “How am I supposed to work my way out of trouble when I cannot even explain it clearly?”

  A heavy silence settled over them for the next few minutes. Gwyneth stared at the sky and the thousands of stars that were now shining brightly overhead. Violet was the first to speak.

  “I’m afraid I’d not be the one to offer guidance. The only accomplishment in my life has been to dishonor my family and ruin any future I might have had.”

  “That is exactly where I am headed…ruin,” she admitted. “I write because that is what I love to do. And getting my tales published seemed to be such an innocent thing to do—completely harmless. In fact, it started as a game chance that I played with myself, and I won. I never imagined the complications if anyone were to find out, or how it could strip me of my inheritance. I never considered any of the other difficulties that might arise.”

  “This is what happens when we make decisions with our heart instead of our head,” Violet said quietly. “Or at least, that’s where I think I have gone wrong.”

  “We make an interesting pair.” Gwyneth smiled at her reflectively. “Do you think the stars above were at work when they caused our paths to cross today?”

  “Do you believe in destiny?”

  “I have an unruly imagination. To feed it, I always keep my eyes open. I do not believe we always know the reason that things happen. I think we need to keep our minds open to different ways of seeing things, as well.”

  A look of amusement actually flickered in Violet’s face. “You would have gotten along perfectly at the place where I used to live and work.”

  Gwyneth bit back the question of where that was. She wanted Violet to choose what she was going to reveal about herself and what she was going to keep secret.

  “From the little you have said, though, there is a world of difference in where we come from,” Violet added. “To be honest, I know I should not be speaking to you as I am. Though I come from a respectable family, I’m just a servant, a lady’s maid. That is what I did since I was a girl.”

  “I lost both of my parents when I was nine years old,” Gwyneth told her. “I was sent to live with my uncle’s family, then. If ’twas not for their kindness and their generosity in taking me in, I would have been cast aside to the wolves. So you see, Violet, there is really very little difference between us.”

  “But there is, and you know it…though you’re being very kind to say such things,” Violet said seriously. “But in the end, you come from gentility and I’m just a poor girl who’s come to no good.”

  “In that case, if it would make you feel better, I can make up some stories about how I was locked away in the attic and fed one meal a day and had to do the chores of a dozen servants, while my old and ugly cousin entertained the handsome prince.”

  The smile blooming on the young woman’s face made her stop. She couldn’t help but smile herself.

  “I need no more servants,” Gwyneth said, growing serious again. “But I should very much like a friend.”

  ****

  Lyon knew there was a great deal about Gwyneth Douglas that his brother was not telling him, but in David’s rather agitated condition, he let the questions wait.

  At the same time, he couldn’t help but worry about the young woman, too. Gwyneth had always been Lyon’s only ally in the Douglas family, and this friendship had continued even after Emma’s death. The young heiress had been no less of a supporter since he and Millicent had returned to Baronsford. Though much younger than her cousin, Gwyneth had always been mature beyond her years, in Lyon’s view. She was certainly more responsible than Emma. And this was only one of their many differences.

  Durinthese past six months or so, Lyon had found himself increasingly concerned about Gwyneth, however. Augusta Douglas was certainly not a devoted guardian. She was a woman accustomed to living her own life. There was no supervision of Gwyneth, no one to keep track of who might be courting the young woman, now that she was of marrying age.

  Still, he tried not to dwell on these matters. She was not his responsibility. With the strained relationship that existed between Augusta and Lyon after Emma’s death, the earl knew he had no voice in any of these matters, anyway. But now, with David here and obviously involved in some way with Gwyneth’s situation, he was happy to get involved, too.

  “Take as many men as you wish,” he said firmly, walking with David to the stables. His brother wanted to resume his search right away, instead of waiting until morning. They had already sent Mr. Campbell to awaken some of the servants and stable workers to prepare horses. Lyon had explained briefly about Truscott’s search, too, and how their cousin was out searching the countryside, as well. “Perhaps your paths will cross.”

  “Greenbrae Hall has not yet been opened up for the family. After I find her, would you mind if I bring Gwyneth back to Baronsford?” David asked.

  “I insist that you bring her here.” Lyon stopped by the door of the stables, a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “One thing, David. I want you to know that you need no permission for anything you do around here. What I tried to tell you in the house was not to create any further estrangement between us. I am truly happy that you are back. As I know Millicent will be. Of course, our mother shall never cease complaining once she finds out you were here and I let you walk out before making you visit with her first.”

  “I hope to be back soon enough.”

  Lyon gave a satisfied nod, but his hand remained on his brother’s shoulder. “There was a reason for my reserve in there. If there is one thing that I have learned so far in my life, I will no longer allow any distrust to exist between me and those I love and care for.”

  The two brothers stood eye to eye. Seven years apart in age, but they were so similar in temperament.

  “I expect no miracles,” Lyon continued. “I do not demand that you put aside your prejudices and prior judgments or even pretend that nothing ever happened. I am not even saying that you should accept my innocence without question. But I do demand to be judged fairly. Now, after you find Gwyneth and come back, do you think you can do that for me?”

  “I can,” David replied, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, as well. “And I will.”

  ****

  He had assisted her in a rite of passage, and now she was free of him.

  Emma had never said as much, but Walter understood it, felt it, saw it in her every action. It was painful to watch her. Her brazenness had increased at least ten-fold since the day they’d first made love. But he was no longer the center of her attention. No one man could be.

  Walter often saw her ride out with some lecherous fool panting after her, disappearing into the deer park without a chaperon. She took her pick of the men who came as guests of her fater to Greenbrae Hall during the summer and early fall. There were so many opportunities, so many parties, so many guests.

  One look at these men’s faces afterward, and Walter knew what had transpired beneath those leafy boughs and beside the loch or the river.

  When David was back at Baronsford, though, Emma’s attention focused completely on him. She let the youngest Pennington brother believe that there was no life in the Borders while he was away, that she and the world around them existed solely for him.

  There were times when the guest rooms at Greenbrae Hall were empty, though. There were times when David was away. Those were the days when she cast her eye on Walter again. But he rejected her. She would send a message to him and go to tower house. He would not go, though. She would ride after him when she knew he was making rounds of the estate, but he would elude her.

  He understood her better than anyone else. With Emma, life was all about control. Her control. She liked to set the rules, determine the time, and control the play. Her obedient regiment of servants had been w
ell trained to respond to her whims.

  Walter would not obey. He refused to stay in line. In fact, as time passed, he found he took great pleasure in denying her and in watching her fury grow because of it.

  He enjoyed punishing her, but he knew he was punishing himself, too.

  CHAPTER 14

  Violet did not know how it happened, but before the dawn had even begun to lighten the eastern sky, Gwyneth had revealed everything about her past.

  She spoke of the early years of her childhood, of losing her parents. She described to Vi the refuge she’d discovered in reading and in writing stories, and later the reward she’d felt in publishing them. Gwyneth had gone on to tell her of the recent blackmail letters that had turned her life upside down. She’d even told Violet about her plans of elopement, ending her life’s story with a brief account of giving herself to the one man she had loved all of her life.

  Now it was Violet’s turn to bare her soul. And she was ready.

  “There was a time when I was a decent young woman,” Violet said softly. “I lived with my mother, a respectable widow, and my grandmother in St Albans. I was taught all the necessary skills of sewing, needlework, and cooking. I was educated in the village school, doing well in learning the reading and writing and arithmetic that would someday make me a useful wife to a tradesman, a shop owner, or even a minister.”

  “My mother’s frequent illnesses though left me no choice but to go to work to help support my family,” she continued. “My employer was Lady Wentworth, who later became the Countess of Aytoun.”