03 - Dreams of Destiny

by May McGoldrick

  Turning on her heel, Gwyneth ran toward her bedchamber, dragging Violet with her. En route, she stopped a passing upstairs maid, instructing her to go downstairs and tell Lady Cavers when she entered the house of the severe injury Gwyneth had sustained and to relay the physician’s instructions to the older woman, as well. As soon as the two young women arrived safely at her room, Gwyneth turned to a wide-eyed Violet.

  “This is the tale we shall tell my aunt. You and I were introduced in London by some mutual friends,” Gwyneth instructed her, taking a blanket from a small chest. Climbing onto the bed, she spread the blanket over her, positioning her sling-held arm on top. “We shall tell her that you are the daughter of a country parson. I’ve asked you to be my companion.”

  “I shall not lie about—”

  “You do not know my aunt,” Gwyneth interrupted. “Please let me have my way in this. Otherwise, you shall be treated like any other servant, and be subjected to the most awful behavior. Also, I need this tale to protect my reputation with Augusta. If she were to find out about how I traveled with David, never mind my journey alone from Gretna Green, she shall fly into a rage. Please, Violet. Trust me in this.”

  The young woman’s resigned nod gave Gwyneth hope. She glanced nervously toward the open window.

  “Can you tell me what they are doing?”

  Violet moved to the window and peeked out discreetly. “The heavyset woman—”

  “That is Lady Cavers, my aunt.”

  “She is saying something to the thin gentleman, and they both moving along the reception line toward the front door.”

  “That is Sir Allan Ardmore.”

  Violet directed her a questioning look. “The baronet you were to elope with?”

  “He is also a friend of my aunt’s. I do not know what he is doing with her here, though. I would have expected him to be looking for me at Gretna Green.”

  “He certainly would be no match for Captain Pennington,” Violet said meaningfully, looking out again.

  Gwyneth certainly knew that. After all that had developed between her and David, she knew there could be no future for her and Sir Allan. She needed to find a private moment very soon to explain this to the baronet.

  “But why are you in bed? Why should you wish to meet your aunt at such a disadvantage?”

  “She’ll probably hear from the servants about the doctor’s visit. You and I were traveling together and…and I fell off the horse. There is no reason to change any of that.” Gwyneth looked at her friend. “Also, being confined to bed gives us a good excuse for you to remain at my side. The fewer questions you need to answer, the better.”

  Violet did not appear particularly pleased with the arrangements, but said nothing more. Gwyneth watched her friend as she went about smoothing the blanket before walking toward the bookcases.

  Although only couple of hours had passed, Gwyneth could see a noticeable change in the young woman. Her back was straighter when she walked. The cloud of melancholy appeared to be lifting. There was a liveliness in Violet’s features that made her look ten times younger and more beautiful. Gwyneth knew all of this was the result of Vi’s talk with Millicent.

  “I understand that before he left, Captain Pennington asked one of the servants to come and fetch the book he’d left behind this afternoon.”

  Gwyneth looked nervously at the place David had placed her book. It was gone.

  “Why? He promised to be back later. Oh…but he cannot!” she interrupted herself. “I need to get a message to him about Augusta’s arrival. She cannot know that he was staying here.”

  “I do not think there is anything wrong with Captain Pennington making his intentions known to Lady Cavers,” Violet said wisely.

  Gwyneth stared at the door, feeling uneasy. She had not agreed to anything. At least, she didn’t think she’d agreed. She touched her forehead to make certain there was no fever. The confusion in her mind was getting worse.

  After a sharp knock the door opened and, without being announced, Augusta charged in.

  The smell of powder and perfume preceded her as the rustling layers of lace and silk suddenly dominated the bedchamber. Gwyneth had never met anyone in her life who, after days on the road, still looked as if she had just left some ball in London or Bath.

  “Welcome, Aunt.” Gwyneth made a meager attempt to raise her head off the pillows.

  “My dear girl. What have you done to yourself this time?” Augusta exclaimed, ignoring Violet, who curtsied politely as she breezed past her to the bedside.

  A movement outside the doorway caught Gwyneth’s eye. Ardmore was there, awaiting permission to enter. Unlike Augusta, the baronet showed the fatigue of the journey in his face.

  “You have wrung me out like a rag, Gwyneth. I have been in absolute tatters for a week.” Augusta sank into a chair near the bed and immediately took out a handkerchief, patting at tears that Gwyneth could not see. “When I heard the news that you were back in London a day after you left, escorted by the youngest of the Pennington scoundrels…” She rolled her eyes, spitting out the name as if it were a curse. “I was appalled. Now you shall tell me right off what you were doing with the rogue. What was he doing escorting you anywhere? And you had better not tell me next that he traveled all the way to Scotland with you.”

  “Even though he is a respectable gentleman and an old family friend, I think ‘twould hardly be appropriate, given my situation. Do you not agree, m’lady?” Ignoring the look of suspicion on Lady Cavers’s face, she motioned to the silent young woman who had not moved since the whirlwind had swept into the room. “I arrived with my friend, Violet Holmes.”

  Violet made another curtsy, and Gwyneth quickly related her tale of meeting the young woman. Luckily, that was not where Augusta’s interest lay, for she gave Violet only a cursory look and quickly changed the topic back again to what interested her most.

  “David Pennington…What was he doing with you?”

  Gwyneth cast a hesitant glance at Sir Allan. He had not moved. With the exception of a polite nod, he had not shown any sign of giving away their earlier plans. “We ran into each other by accident while I was waiting for…Miss Holmes…to join me. He offered to accompany us as far as the outskirts of the city.”

  “Is that all?” she asked, her skepticism obvious in her tone.

  Gwyneth again darted a look at the baronet. He walked into the bedchamber and stood just inside the doorway. She noticed, though, that he was avoiding her gaze.

  “As far as Hampstead Village, to be exact,” she said. That was where she’d seen Sir Allan last.

  “But they tell me the blackguard is spending his nights here,” Augusta said in an increasingly shrill tone.

  “Really, Aunt, David Pennington is no blackguard. And…well, with so few servts here…I…” Gwyneth paused, feeling Augusta’s hard gaze on her. “Considering my injury and the shortage of staff here, Captain Pennington believe ‘twas the gentlemanly thing to do. The other option would have been for me to go and stay at Baronsford until you arrived.”

  “Not in hundred years,” Lady Cavers scoffed, twisting the kerchief in her meaty hands. “At least, you had enough sense to do one thing right. No one in that family shall get their claws into you, Gwyneth. I shall make sure of that.”

  Augusta waved her handkerchief over one shoulder. “Leave us!”

  Both Violet and Sir Allan looked at Lady Cavers, not knowing to whom the sharp command was intended.

  “Both of you,” Augusta ordered. “And close the door on your way out. I want no interruptions. Do you hear me?”

  The baronet obediently went out. Violet, however, lingered a moment, looking genuinely concerned. Upon receiving a hard look from the older woman…and a nod from Gwyneth…she quietly started for the door.

  “I do not like her,” Augusta proclaimed loudly.

  “But I do, Aunt. She is the first person whom I have ever chosen as a companion,” Gwyneth responded, loud enough for Violet to hear. She watched he
r friend nod as she closed the door behind her.

  Augusta shook her head. “She is horribly willful in her manner. Very likely, too opinionated, as well. I suppose she might be considered pretty…and that is not a quality one wants in a companion. She shall be a distraction for your husband. If she is truly a poor clergyman’s daughter, give her a few pounds for the sake of charity and send her off. You shall be better rid of her.”

  “First of all, I have no problem with her disposition…which is perfectly amiable,” Gwyneth said, not trying to hide her annoyance. “And regarding the wayward eye of any husband, since I have none, there is no problem.”

  “Not yet, but we shall soon change that.” Augusta leaned forward and looked sternly into Gwyneth’s face. “You, my dear, have become far too great a problem for me. Worrying about you and your future is aging me by the day. The thought of some fortune-hunting rogue trying to soil your reputation or trap you into agreeing to marry him has been keeping me awake at nights.”

  “I…” Just as Violet had warned, Gwyneth suddenly felt at a complete disadvantage, lying in bed. She pulled herself into a sitting position. “I do not know why you are suddenly concerned.”

  “Suddenly? This is the gratitude I get for sheltering you, caring for you, raising you like my own daughter?”

  “I do thank you and my late uncle for giving me so much. But I have caused you no trouble in the past, and I do not see why you should be so attentive now—”

  “Actually, ‘tis my own guilt speaking.” Augusta laid her hand on the bed, smoothing the blanket, and gentled her tone. “During the past fortnight, I have come to realize that I have not been spending enough time of late, guiding you and introducing you to the proper circles. I fear I missed a great opportunity this past spring in London. I haven’t done enough in the way of bringing you to more balls and parties and dinners. I know we could have managed to matou up with a fine gentleman of means who—”

  “You cannot force me to attend such events, Aunt. And I sincerely doubt that I would have agreed to a marriage with anyone under those circumstances.”

  A frown etched itself in Augusta’s brow. “As much as I should like to argue against such stubbornness, after all these years I know you better than to waste my time. Which this brings me back to my recent neglect of you…and where I might have done well by you, but failed. At the same time I find I am fortunate enough to have been given an opportunity to correct my mistake.”

  Gwyneth stared at her aunt. “Would you be kind enough to explain what mistake you are referring to?”

  Augusta pulled the chair closer to Gwyneth. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Before we left London, you hinted at a possible match with Sir Allan. Without thinking the idea through, I scoffed at the suggestion.”

  “Indeed, but…well, I understood your objection to it.”

  “I was wrong,” Augusta proclaimed with a flourish. “You shall be a very wealthy young woman very soon. You have known Sir Allan for a number of years. He has watched you blossom into the young woman you are, and he admires you for your beauty and your character. You are obviously fond of him, despite his unfortunate financial situation, and you approached me to ask my opinion. During our journey to Scotland, he told me that he is very fond of you, arguing his worthiness and his interest in your future. In short, Sir Allan has won me over.”

  Gwyneth did not like the sound of this, at all. She needed to speak to Sir Allan. A great deal had changed since she left London. Before she could say anything, though, Augusta charged on.

  “You don’t need to worry about your future anymore. I give you both my blessing. And I know that the arrangement can be handled quickly by the family’s lawyers. The only thing I ask is that we not have any extravagant wedding. Perhaps just a simple ceremony in the next fortnight or so. I shall notify the lawyers to draw up the necessary documents…and I shall also arrange for proper announcements to reach the papers. Then, if the two of you would like to go on a newlywed’s tour of the continent…” Lady Cavers tucked her handkerchief into a pocket and pushed herself to her feet. “I’m so glad that is all settled. If you are happy with the arrangements—”

  “But I am not happy,” Gwyneth replied.

  “What did you say?” Augusta barked, glowering down at her.

  The suddenness of everything was making her head spin. She knew that only a few days ago she’d thought such an arrangement would solve all of her problems. But she couldn’t marry Ardmore now. David was the one she wanted, though she could never say that to her aunt.

  “I…I need to speak to Sir Allan first,” Gwyneth said finally. “Before anything so definite is decided, he and I need to discuss many things…sort out our feelings. There are too many—”

  “I have no understanding for young people,” she said tersely. “I care nothing about such discussions. There is no need for any period of courtship here, niece, nor romance either. I have only just arrived at this house, and I am already feeling suffocated. I shall proceed with our plans. You two can discuss anything you please.”

  “Really, Aunt! There are width="2gs that anyone I would agree to marry needs to understand and agree to.”

  “I shall send in your baronet.” Augusta started for the door. She stopped and looked by slyly. “Woman to woman, I should say that lying flat on your back in that bed should be enough of an enticement for him to agree to anything.”

  As her aunt left the room, Gwyneth jumped out of the bed and ran for the door, locking it and putting her back against it. All her troubles before were nothing compared to the mess that she was faced with now.

  David had told Gwyneth that he needed her help in sorting out his life. Hearing footsteps in the corridor, Gwyneth now realized that she needed his help, as well.

  *****

  The news of his father’s death reached Walter Truscott in late winter. Leaving Baronsford immediately, Walter followed the Tweed eastward along the St. Boswell Road, skirting the Eildon Hills and reaching the burgh of Kelso long after darkness had descended. It was here, in this ancient abbey town, that the old man had been living in relative comfort, thanks to Lyon. Then, one miserable afternoon, with the sleet beating on the tavern windows, Sir William had simply pushed the dice cup away, put his head down on a table, and died.

  As they lowered the wooden casket into the frosty ground, Walter stood beside his father’s young wife—a woman he’d had no knowledge of—and two young brothers that he never knew existed. There was no getting the news to his older brother. He’d disappeared out of their lives from that first day that he’d left for the colonies.

  A freezing rain began to fall in earnest as Walter accepted hurried words of condolence from hard-looking strangers smelling of ale.

  That night, at a rather lively inn in Wester Kelso, Walter himself drank tankard after tankard of ale, hoping to forget how little he’d known of the man who had fathered him. With each drink, he grieved at the thought of how insignificant had been the parts they’d played in each other’s lives. How strange then, he thought, how painful the old man’s passing struck him now.

  Sometime after midnight, Walter was ready for other sport to take his mind off his father’s death, so he’d made a financial offer to one of the serving wenches and stumbled upstairs to his room. The small fire he’d paid extra for had burned down to embers, but the room was still warm. Passing out on the bed, he was soon dreaming. Faces of the dozen or so townswomen who’d been mourning at the graveside leaped at him in his dreams. Walter knew they must have been paramours of his late father.

  In his ale-drenched dreams, though, the faces soon gave way to action. Once again, he was standing witness to his father’s liaisons. He watched now—as he’d watched years ago— Sir William in all his drunken glory, bringing his whores into their own house and taking them wherever and however he pleased, with no regard to Walter’s presence.

  In the midst of the dreams, Walter suddenly found himself in the place of his father. He could feel the
woman’s hands on him. The dream was so real. The wench was peeling off his clothes, and she weighed almost nothing when she slid on top of him.

  “Take me.” The voice ws a familiar whisper, one that he had heard so many times in his dreams. Emma. How many times had she come to him like this?

  The dream world and the real blended in the flickering darkness. The room, the best in the inn, was small and narrow, and he had no trouble seeing the breasts that moved before his face. He took a nipple into his mouth.

  “Harder,” the woman gasped, pulling his head against her.

  He scraped his teeth against her flesh as he suckled hard, and his hand moved down along the curve of her buttocks. She’d shed her clothes and her legs were straddling his. His fingers found her wet mound, and he thrust two fingers inside of her. Her hips rose off his stomach, and she pressed herself against his hand. His fingers twisted inside of her, his mouth rough on her breast, but she wanted more. Yanking his hair, she pushed his head back down on the mattress and climbed up along his body, spreading her legs over his mouth.

  He thrust his tongue deep inside. She shuddered and turned and danced on him, moaning and growling low like a she-wolf in heat. Rising above him, even in the blurring shadow, she was a sight—her head thrown back, her hands out to her sides, her breasts undulating with each fierce roll of her hips.

  Suddenly, she was sliding down along his body again, and Walter let out a groan of satisfaction as she drew his manhood into her hot mouth. He took fistfuls of her silky hair and guided her lips and tongue along the length of him. Then, when he was on verge of exploding, she abruptly pushed his hand away and moved quickly on top of him, burying him in a single stroke deep inside of her.

  He had no chance. He poured his seed deep inside of her, and their loud cries rang out in the darkness before she finally sank down and lay still on top of him.