03 - Dreams of Destiny

by May McGoldrick

  “Walter Truscott told me.” David was also told that Portia’s first meeting with her royal father had been at Baronsford, and that the Pretender had been proud to claim Portia as his daughter by Helena Middleton.

  “She and Pierce are a perfect match. My only regret is that they are both determined to return to that godforsaken place in the American colonies.” The dowager’s blue eyes met David’s. “You made an old woman very happy in giving up your commission. I could not endure more discord between my children.”

  David let his gaze sweep over the serene countryside. His resignation from the army would not make the life that awaited Pierce in Boston any easier. There was a great deal of danger awaiting him there. A wave of unrest was building against British laws. The burning of the Gaspee this year was only the most recent event. Change was coming. It was only the question of when…and how violent the change would be.

  David wanted to talk to Pierce before he and his new wife went back to America. His own loyalties were with his family now, and he would do anything to protect his brother against the dangers that awaited him on that far away continent.

  “We have spoken of your brothers and their wives, but not about you,” the dowager said, breaking into David’s thoughts and drawing his attention back to her.

  “As you have already heard, I resigned my commission. Beyond that, what I am going to do with the rest of my life is a mystery that I have yet to solve.”

  “Your father’s settlement was a handsome one, I know. Unless you’ve gambled it all away, I know I shall never need to worry about your financial situation. What interests me, David, is your personal life.”

  David stared into his mother’s expressive eyes. “Don’t be shy. Say what is on your mind.”

  The dowager gave a regal nod. “Your intentions had better be honorable. I like that young woman very much. And if ‘twas not because of the problem that exists between Augusta and our family, I would have suggested a match between you and Gwyneth long before now.”

  “She only turned eighteen this year,” he reminded her.

  “And you are only twenty six. Eight years is not too much of a difference. But more importantly, you do intend to marry her, I hope.”

  He had to bite back his smile. It was amusing that everyone assumed the worst of him, when Gwyneth was the one who was fighting against thatch. He had returned to Greenbrae Hall last night only to have Violet relay a message that her mistress was asleep. This morning, before he’d left, it had been the same story. Violet was not around, but one of the maids had told him that Miss Douglas, following the doctor’s instructions, was sleeping late.

  “You have not answered me.”

  “What makes you think there is anything between us?”

  She snorted derisively. “Even strangers who have met Gwyneth know the esteem she feels for you. And what I hear of your actions this past week is proof enough that there is a strong interest on your part. Now, am I wrong?”

  There was no point in holding anything back. Especially when there was a chance he could use the dowager’s influence to his advantage. He recalled more than one occasion when Gwyneth had listened to Beatrice better than Lady Cavers.

  “You are correct, as always,” he admitted. “I am very interested.”

  “What is stopping you, then? Have you spoken with Augusta yet? Would you like me to speak to her on your behalf?” She shook her head in an answer to herself. “No, that would only damage your chances. ‘Tis best if we get our lawyer involved. Sir Richard Maitland is still the finest negotiator in Britain.” She stopped, realizing David was not participating in the conversation. “But perhaps I am being too impatient. Tell me that you already have everything under control.”

  “You are being too impatient,” he chided. “Before we get Sir Richard or anyone else involved, I need to convince Gwyneth. And that is what I am working on right now.”

  She gave him a disbelieving look. “‘Tis all very simple, David. You ask. She says yes.”

  David decided to keep his mouth shut. There was no purpose in disclosing Gwyneth’s plan of elopement. He also did not want to tell his mother that she’d refused to marry him.

  “Your wisdom is timeless,” he said lightly to the dowager. “How foolish of me not to think of that.”

  “Do not patronize me, you impudent whelp,” she said sternly. “Well, Augusta is not back yet, so you still have time. You went away too soon after Emma’s death to witness any of the unpleasantness. But that woman has made up her mind never to give up the accusations and lies surrounding her daughter’s death. ‘Tis a good thing that neither Lyon nor Millicent have any fondness for the ton in London, for Augusta has apparently spread venomous tales about them there. By all accounts, she was upset at news of the earl’s second marriage, and has now extended her hostility to the rest of us. Although we made a point of inviting her, she refused to attend Pierce’s and Portia’s wedding.”

  “Well, Gwyneth obviously does not share her aunt’s sentiments. She sang Millicent’s praises and told me that she attended Pierce’s wedding.”

  “Indeed. She visits us here often.” The dowager pressed David’s hand. “And that is one of the many reasons why I like that girl. She does not allow anything or anyone to influence her. She has a mind of her own and insists on making her own decisions. She is nothing like Emma and her mother. Who knows, perhaps she is not a Douglas, after all. Or perhaps the rest of them were fakes, and she is the real thing. Either way…” The blue eyes focused on David’s face again. “You need to make your intentions known and get Sir Richard started with the Douglas family lawyers before Augusta gets wind of what you’re doing.” Her voice turned confidential. “That woman is sure to pick any penniless villain over you as a husband for a Gwyneth, if she thinks that would somehow sting this family. What Gwyneth wants matter naught. What you want would mean even less!”

  David had been so preoccupied in winning Gwyneth over that he’d never given any thought to Lady Cavers.

  *****

  As relieved as Millicent was to know that Violet was safe at Greenbrae Hall, she did not want the young woman to feel cornered, or even to think she must answer any questions about her disappearance. Tears of joy sprinkled her cheeks, though, when she asked David the same questions that she had asked Truscott. Lyon’s suggestion was for Millicent to give her some time before going there for a visit. After the ordeal that Violet had been through, she certainly needed some time to adjust to her new surroundings. As much as Millicent wanted to rush to the Hall and gather Violet up in her arms, she forced herself to be patient, for the moment.

  This morning though, the news Walter Truscott brought made Millicent once again concerned. Violet, borrowing a horse, had left Greenbrae Hall around dawn, telling one of the grooms where she was going and promising to be back by noon.

  “It only makes sense that she should want to go visit the old cotters out by the ruined kirk,” Truscott assured Millicent. “When she left before, she said nothing to them. I’m certain she wants to thank them for their kindness.”

  His tense expression contradicted his words.

  “Or perhaps she needs to visit her baby’s grave,” Millicent said sadly.

  The young man said nothing to contradict it.

  “I cannot wait any longer, though. I shall visit Greenbrae Hall to call on Gwyneth…perhaps this afternoon. Do you think Violet would be upset, seeing me there?”

  Walter shook his head. “I wish I had all the answers, Millicent, but I do not. She is still quite vulnerable, but you know her better than any of us. I think you should do what you think is right.”

  ****

  There was no place that she could run. There was no place to hide, either. In staying at Greenbrae Hall, David was complicating everything. Gwyneth knew it would be a matter of hours and not days before she would run out of excuses. She had to see him. And there would be no denying him or herself. She just had no control over herself when they were together. This was w
hy she had to act now. She had to force both of them to face the reality—no matter how painful or difficult it was.

  Violet had told her that she would be away during the morning, so Gwyneth sought the help of one of the maids and undid most of the contraptions around her arm and shoulder. She was feeling much better and there was no way she would allow herself to remain confined in bed. It placed her at a distinct disadvantage in facing David.

  p height="0" width="29"> Dressed, she told the young woman in which room she planned to spend the morning, in case Captain Pennington arrived and wanted to see her.

  She only wondered what time he would be here.

  ****

  The visit with Rita and Angus was warm but brief. The kindly cotter and his wife knew why Violet was here. And as she left, they watched her climb the hill to the ruined kirk. They knew that she would be back here often.

  The wind was blowing hard when the young woman reached the top of the hill. Violet raised her face for a few seconds to the dreary sky and fought back the tears. Swallowing the knot that had formed in her throat, she glanced briefly at the grassy kirkyard before letting her gaze come to rest on the small grave beneath the pine tree, outside the low stone wall.

  Everything was as she’d left it. The pain in her heart was as sharp as the first time she’d been here. Her legs shook a little as she moved to where her child lay…alone, separated from the rest, unprotected. The unfairness of placing the mother’s sin on a child born dead pried loose the tears she had been trying to control. She crouched beside the grave. She touched the small stones and ran her fingers across the dirt to wipe away what was left of her marks.

  “You were loved. I wanted you to live,” she whispered. Rather than swallowing her guilt, she voiced it. Instead of wallowing in her misery and allowing grief to return with its numbing emptiness, she spoke of her mistakes, of her sins. She told her unborn daughter what she had planned for her. But those were promises that would never be fulfilled. Violet whispered the only thing that she could give her daughter now. “I shall come back. You shall not be alone.”

  Before leaving, she found a stick again and scratched in the dirt the names of people and places who were part of her daughter’s past. She wrote the names of those who cared. This time, she added Gwyneth’s name to the list.

  “And Greenbrae Hall,” Violet said softly, writing the words.

  ****

  The country house was still mired in chaos. The newly arrived help and the existing servants were trying to organize Greenbrae Hall without the benefit of the housekeeper and steward taking charge, and it was no small task. David found the caretaker at the stables when he arrived, so he made his presence known to the old man before going to the house.

  The door was wide open, and David stood aside as a village lass he recognized came out the door carrying furniture coverings that needed to be shaken out before being stored. Inside, floors were being scrubbed, and feather dusters were out in abundance.

  This was exactly the opportunity he was looking for. Instead of giving Gwyneth the chance to come up with more excuses, he would simply surprise her.

  Upstairs, there was no answer to his knock on Gwyneth’s door. David pushed the door open. The bed was empty and made up. The curtains had been drawn back and the windows were open. A gentle breeze was wafting through the empty chamber.

  He looked up and down the hallway, but there was no sign of Gwyneth, or anyone else for that matter. He thought of the enclosed garden beneath the bedroom windows on this side of the house and wondered if she’d been taken down there for some fresh air. He walked into the room to check.

  Everything about the chamber was like her. The neatness, the bright colors, the orderly stacks of books on a number of tables, even the tablets of paper on the writing desk with the pens and bowls of ink beside them. Though it was one of the smallest bedrooms at Greenbrae Hall, a sense of peace and comfort permeated the air. Looking around, he knew that she spent many hours here, and was content in that.

  David glanced at the bed. How tempting she’d looked there the last time he’d stepped into the room. He tore his gaze away to look out, but he saw no one in the garden beneath. Turning around, he had just started toward the door when a shelf full of books lining a narrow bookcase beside the fireplace arrested his attention. The books protruded slightly and he started to push them back onto the shelf. When they didn’t move, he realized other books were hidden behind them.

  Out of curiosity, he pulled a couple of the books from the front and laid them aside. The ones hidden behind were of the same size and binding. He reached for the first volume.

  It was a novel, written by an anonymous author and published by Thomas Ruddiman of High Street Edinburgh.

  “Captain Pennington!”

  The surprised voice from the doorway made David close the book with a snap. The young maid dropped a quick curtsy.

  “Sorry to disturb ye, sir, but if ye are looking for Miss Gwyneth, she is spending the morning in the end room of the east wing. She asked me to tell ye to meet her there if ye wish it.”

  David tucked the book under his arm and started for the door. “I thought Lady Cavers was the only one who used that wing these days.”

  “Aye, sir. That’s the truth. But we’ve kept the large sitting room at the end the same as ‘twas before. Ye know the room—the one looking out at Baronsford. ‘Twas the one Miss Emma liked to use. That’s where Miss Gwyneth is waiting to see ye.”

  ****

  Gwyneth had not stepped into this room for over a year. She was surprised what she found.

  The room had not so much been kept as a shrine to Emma, as she thought. It was more a place where Augusta had stored some of Emma’s things—all of which had been sent back from Baronsford after her death. A life size portrait leaned against the wall. It had once hung in the grand staircase at Baronsford and now dominated this room. All around her, draped over the chairs and sofas and tables were some of Emma’s ornate gowns, as well as jewelry and knickknacks that she was so fond of. A half dozen other portraits of Emma posing in different gardens or rooms of Baronsford lay stacked against each other on another wall.

  Gwyneth remembered when the news had reached them that everything belonging to Emma was going back to Greenbrae Hall. It was this past winter. She had been in London with Lady Cavers. The news of the earl’s secHalarriage had reached them only a fortnight before they learned of Lyon’s desire to rid Baronsford of everything having anything to do with Emma. Augusta, still riled by the first news, had flown into a rage upon receiving the second. Distance had been the older woman’s salvation, or to Gwyneth’s thinking she might had done something rash.

  Lyon’s action was as understandable to Gwyneth then as it was now. How could one even dream of starting a new life with another woman when he or she was still haunted by someone from their past? The ghost of Emma still hung over all of them. Gwyneth knew that Augusta avoided coming to this room. In fact, since Emma’s death, the older woman had stayed away from Greenbrae Hall as much as she could.

  Gwyneth tried to fight the suffocation she felt being in this room so long. She had flung the windows open as soon as she’d come in. Since coming in here this morning, though, she’d arranged some of the pictures and moved the clothing off the tables. She had tried to make the room a little more the way it had been when Emma was alive. She just wished he would come. She had only enough courage to face David in here once.

  Gwyneth darted toward the windows as soon as she heard the knock on the door. She called out for him to enter.

  “What are you doing out of bed? What are you doing in this room?” he asked as soon as he’d pushed open the door.

  Gwyneth stared at him a moment before remembering to answer. Clean-shaven and impeccably dressed, he looked much different from the rogue she had been traveling with for so many days. Looking at him now, she was not sure which David she preferred more. It would be a difficult choice, she thought.

  His eyes foc
used only on her, but she sensed his struggle against the distraction of everything else around them.

  “If you are well enough to be out of bed,” he said finally, “then I shall accompany you for a walk in the gardens.”

  Bringing David here had been the perfect slap of reality for both of them. Surrounded by Emma's portraits and her belongings had to awaken whatever delusion they’d allowed to cloud their thinking. He had loved Emma, always had. Perhaps he always would.

  “I thought you might like to see some of this.” She made a sweeping motion of the room with one hand.

  “No, I do not,” he said sharply, never taking a step into the room, never looking at anything but Gwyneth’s face.

  His denial hurt.

  “I am too tired to walk with you.” She tried to hide her disappointment and started for the door. “I think I would just as soon return to my bedchamber and rest for the remainder of the afternoon.”

  “Then I shall keep you company there,” he said, stepping back into the hallway.

  “I would prefer not. I intend to sleep.”

  He took out a book from under his arm. “I promise to sit quietly and read. I found this in your room. Knowing your taste in adventure, this promises to be a good read.”

  Gwyneth groaned inwardly as she realized he was holding her first book of published tales in his hand.

  ****

  The announcement of their engagement the summer that she turned twenty-one came as no surprise to Walter. She had pursued the new Earl of Aytoun at Baronsford and there were rumors that she’d been as attentive in London. From the moment Lyon had taken over his late father’s title, he'd become the focus of Emma’s desire.