Dawn in My Heart

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  To his father, he was only a vehicle for breeding. He wasn’t, nor had ever been, this man’s son in all the ways that mattered.

  “Don’t you see, Duchess, we must have them married as soon as possible. It’s the only way.” The marquess’s eyes beseeched the duchess to understand the urgency of the situation.

  “But if he’s as ill as you say,” she began cautiously, “why should my daughter—my only child—be saddled with a man who might leave her a widow before the honeymoon is even up?”

  “Not just a widow. A countess—with a considerable fortune. If the worst should happen, she can always remarry. But I’m counting on my son to last long enough to father an heir.

  “As you know, our estates are entailed. If Tertius should die without a son, everything goes to a ne’er-do-well cousin of mine. You have already experienced that in your own family,” he added significantly. “Don’t let such a disaster be repeated. All it needs is for Lady Gillian to bear a son. As mother to the future Marquess of Caulfield, your daughter will be in a very powerful position.”

  The duchess considered his words and slowly nodded as she came to the same conclusions as he.

  “Very well,” she said at last with a deep sigh. “I shall explain to her that we must move the date up. She won’t like it. I don’t know how much to tell her.”

  “Don’t say anything of his fever. Why worry the girl? In my day we married whomever our parents chose.”

  “You are right. It would serve no purpose to worry her. We must hope for the best for your son’s continued recovery.”

  “Of course. I leave things in your capable hands then.” He rose and bowed.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Gillian’s mother paid a visit to her room. Gillian scurried to hide her two cats in her dressing room. Sophie, the new spaniel, lay quietly on her rug.

  “Mama, what are doing about so early?” she asked her, tying the belt of her dressing gown more tightly around her waist.

  Her mother eyed the dog with distaste as she sidestepped it widely and found a chair well away from it.

  “I need to inform you of some changes in the wedding plans,” her mother said calmly.

  “What changes?” Gillian asked cautiously. The last thing she wanted to think about at the moment was her wedding. She hadn’t been able to contrive meeting Gerrit at St. James’s and her only hope lay in running into him again by accident.

  “The marquess and I have decided there is no reason for you and Lord Skylar to wait until the end of the year to wed. We decided it best if the two of you marry at the end of the summer. By then your dresses should be ready.”

  Gillian stared at her mother as if the woman had just told her to stand in front of a firing squad. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. The wedding date has been moved up.”

  A sudden, blind terror gripped her. It had been one thing to think of a wedding a good six months off—but to face marriage in a few short weeks?

  But she could tell by her mother’s tone that she was perfectly serious. Gillian gave a nervous laugh. “I can’t possibly be married then. We’ve hardly started the preparations. Mother, be reasonable—”

  “I am being perfectly reasonable. We may have to scale down our plans a trifle, but we’ll still manage a perfectly acceptable celebration.”

  Gillian stood in one swift movement. “I haven’t heard from the man in almost a week and now you’re telling me I’m to be married at the end of the summer?” Her voice rose at the end of the sentence, and she knew she would have hysterics if she didn’t get a hold of herself.

  Her mother waved aside her objections. “Lord Caulfield explained to me that his son has been a trifle indisposed these last few days. But everything is fine with him now and he will soon be by to see you.”

  “But why didn’t he send a note?” she asked, her mind working furiously. From not having to face Lord Skylar for several days to knowing she would soon be standing at the altar with him was too much of a shift.

  “Oh, some confusion with his valet. The note was never delivered.”

  “I see.” Gillian sank back down on her bed. What was she to do? “The end of the summer?” she repeated in a faltering voice. “It’s preposterous. It’s…so…so—” she searched for another excuse “—vulgar…as if we can’t wait, like those couples who find themselves eloping to Gretna Green.”

  “Hardly. They are usually going against their parents’ wishes. You have made a brilliant match. I would think you’d want to begin your married life sooner rather than later. Think of all you will enjoy as the new countess. Lord Caulfield is a widower. He will give you free rein as mistress of all his estates.”

  “But how can we possibly be ready? With all the victory celebrations, there’s so much to do and see—”

  “I should think by now the season would have palled for you un petit peu. There’s no reason not to enjoy the remaining victory celebrations. But if you give it some consideration, I am sure you will come to the same conclusion as we have. It makes much more sense to be married sooner than later. It will give you and Lord Skylar a chance to tour all of the Caulfield estates before winter sets in. Your papa would have wanted to see you safely wed and this is an excellent match—”

  The mention of dear Papa’s name was too much. “Papa would never have forced me to wed against my wishes!” Whenever her mother needed to coerce her into accepting something unpalatable, she made it seem as if it were Papa’s dearest wish.

  “Your father entrusted your future to my care, and I’ve done my best to ensure you have the best imaginable one.” Her mother’s voice did not rise the least decibel, which caused Gillian to become more agitated.

  She jumped up from her bed again and approached her mother. “Papa would never have chosen a stranger and thrust him at me and set a date without so much as a by-your-leave!” Her arms rose and tears stung her cheeks. “Was this Lord Skylar’s idea? He’s nothing but a—a cold, unfeeling brute. I won’t have it! I refuse to marry him!”

  Her mother stood and gave her a smart slap across the cheek. “Stop that bawling this instant. You shall marry whomever I choose whenever I say. Is that perfectly clear?”

  Gillian stood staring at her mother, her hand cupping her stinging cheek. She sniffed and repeated, “Papa wouldn’t treat me so. He wouldn’t make me marry a complete stranger. I don’t like Lord Skylar. I find him distasteful. I don’t wish to marry anyone…not since—”

  Before Gillian could stop herself, her mother finished for her, her eyes blazing, “Not since that penniless boy tried to woo you. He’s back, do you know that?”

  As Gillian shook her head in denial, her mother took a step closer to her. “You know he is, don’t you? Don’t you?”

  “No!”

  “You’re lying! You’ve seen him, haven’t you? Answer me!” As she raised her hand to slap Gillian again, Gillian raised her hands to cover her face.

  “No! Yes! Only once!” She begged as her mother grabbed her by the hair.

  “Where did you see him?”

  “At the Prince’s fete.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  She shook her head. “Only a few minutes. He merely greeted me.”

  Her mother let her go after looking into her eyes. Satisfied, she continued. “You almost ruined your reputation once for that worthless individual. Thanks to me, I discovered it in time and no harm was done. I will not have you jeopardizing this betrothal for some foolish infatuation you should have gotten over three years ago.

  “I forbid you to see Captain Hawkes. Is that understood?”

  At Gillian’s reluctant nod, she stood. “Good. The sooner you’re married and out of London, the better,” her mother concluded, turning away from Gillian. “Your trousseau should be ready in a few weeks. We’ll set your wedding date for the last week in August. It will be a smaller affair than I’d planned, but we should still have a nice crowd at St. James’s church.

  �
�We’ll pay a call on the seamstress this afternoon and give her the news. Let us see if she can begin fitting your wedding gown.”

  Her mother continued with her plans as Gillian sank back on her bed, wondering how her life had so quickly gotten into such a coil in so short a time.

  Late that afternoon she took her phaeton out to Hyde Park, hoping for a glimpse of Gerrit. Templeton was at her side. Her mother wouldn’t let her out alone anymore, not since hearing of the captain’s return.

  The Row was clogged with the carriage company at that hour, which was what Gillian was hoping for—to see and be seen. She engaged in conversation with everyone she ran into, pretending a lightheartedness she was far from feeling, pretending she had all the time in the world. All to lull Templeton into thinking she had no other reason for being in the park.

  They had only progressed halfway down the Row when she spied him. So handsome in his red uniform, riding atop his black charger, stopping to chat with the occupants of the many carriages that crawled along the path.

  When he reached them, he tipped his shako to her and Templeton. “Good afternoon, my lady.” He waited for an introduction to Templeton. Gillian complied, watching Templeton’s face closely. She had never met Gerrit, having been hired by her mother after he’d left for the Peninsula.

  “Good afternoon, Captain Hawkes. We are so proud of our heroes who fought so bravely under Wellington.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he answered with a twinkle in his eye. “He is a brave commander, and we owe our victories to his fearless leadership.” He turned to Gillian. “It is a beautiful afternoon…as was yesterday.” His eyes were filled with meaning.

  She thrilled at the look in them. “Yes, it is beautiful.”

  “There is a celebration being planned in Vauxhall the day after tomorrow. A band concert and fireworks in honor of the victory. I hope you will attend?” He directed his question to Templeton.

  “Oh, my yes, we want to show our loyalty to our troops. What time is the event?” she asked, her hand at her breast.

  “In the evening. But you must arrive early, or the carriageway will be filled.”

  “In the evening?” Her voice was filled with doubt. “I don’t know. I’ve heard Vauxhall is filled with cutpurses and…” Her voice faltered, not wanting to describe the types of women known to frequent the place.

  “You will be perfectly safe in the central part. It is well lit. All the best ton frequent it. And with the proper escort…” His glance strayed to Gillian as he said, “Perhaps Lord Skylar.” Again his blue eyes were filled with mirth, and Gillian wondered how he could say Lord Skylar’s name as if it were nothing to him.

  “Oh, of course. We shall have to enlist his assistance,” crowed Templeton, relieved to have arrived at a suitable arrangement. “We hope to see you there, Captain Hawkes.”

  “Au revoir, then.” With another bow, he left them and continued down the Row.

  The following day, Gillian received a note and parcel from Lord Skylar.

  Dear Lady Gillian,

  I beg your excuses for my absence of over a week. I have been indisposed. I know there is no way to make up for my disgraceful behavior, but I trust it will not happen again. Please find with this note a token of my sincere desire for your esteem.

  Yours,

  Skylar

  His signature was a slanted black scrawl. She read through the note and tossed it into her wastebasket. She tore open the parcel and found another box from the jeweler. This one was oblong. In it lay an emerald pendant and matching teardrop earrings.

  Despite her resentment, she couldn’t help gasping at the sight of the sparkling jewelry. An unmarried girl didn’t wear such jewels. She would shine among all her friends. Lifting the necklace from its satin bed, she held it up to the light, observing the brilliant sparkles. She put it on carefully, then removed her own earrings and replaced them with the dangling green stones.

  She was transformed from a young maiden into a sophisticated lady. She turned around slowly in the full-length mirror, imagining the satin wedding gown she had had fitted the day before, its train gracefully trailing several feet behind her, a sheer veil just covering her ringlets.

  Then she remembered what would follow.

  In a little over three weeks she would be married.

  Lord Skylar had probably convinced her mother to move the date up. All because he needed to produce an heir. That was all he cared about.

  He thought he could stand her up at the park then disappear for a week and send her a bauble to make up for his absence.

  She unclasped the necklace and threw it into her jewelry case.

  Well, he would see that it took more than a few jewels to make things right with her.

  Nigel opened the door connecting his master’s bedroom with the adjoining sitting room.

  A parlor maid was dusting an armoire. He recognized her as the one who had stared at him in the kitchen. She stretched to reach the top carved scrollwork, revealing a pretty ankle in the process.

  At that moment she half turned and noticed him. She dropped her feather duster and screamed.

  He advanced toward her to reassure her he meant no harm.

  “What are you standing there gawking for?” she demanded before he had taken more than two steps.

  “I heard someone in here and came in to see who it was,” he began.

  “Well, you should knock or something,” she said, picking up the duster.

  “I’ll do so next time,” he promised.

  “What are you grinning at?”

  He wiped the smile off his face. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  “You didn’t scare me!”

  Her stern face finally broke into an unwilling smile as the two continued looking at each other. “You startled me. I’m not used to—”

  When she stopped and color began to fill her face, he understood. “Not used to a black man standing in de same room staring at you?”

  She looked down at the duster and toyed with the feathers. “No, I’m not.” She looked up defiantly once she’d admitted it. “I’ve never been near one—not this near. You’re very tall,” she added.

  “I be a man, like any other.”

  She nodded after considering a moment.

  He cleared his throat as she began to say something.

  “I’m sorry—” they both said at once. He gestured for her to continue.

  “I wanted to ask if there was something I could do for you?” the maid asked.

  “I wanted to see if someone could clean Lord Skylar’s room a bit now that he be up. He’s in his bath now, if perhaps there be someone who can come up and do his room.”

  She was brisk in her reply. “Certainly, I can make up his room right now. Why didn’t you say so?” Without waiting for his reply, she marched past him into the master’s suite.

  “How is the master?” she asked, heading directly to the bed.

  “He be better, though weak.”

  She threw open the bed curtains and stripped the bed. “Thank the good Lord. We were all worried about him downstairs.” She eyed him across the bed as he helped her with a heavy cover. “We hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him for some days and thought perhaps you had done something to him.”

  His eyes widened in alarm. “Me harm Lord Skylar? Why should I want to do dat? He rescued me from de cane fields. He gave me my freedom.”

  She looked at him over the bundle of dirty linen in her arms, as if seeing him for the first time. “You were a slave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you come off a ship from Africa?” she asked in a low tone.

  He shook his head. “My mother did. I was born on de island. My father was white…like you,” he added deliberately, curious to see her reaction. The maid was a pretty thing, with pale, pink-tinged cheeks and reddish hair beneath her mobcap.

  Her eyes widened at the comparison. “Never!”

  “Oh, yes. He was her master.”

  Her eyes
grew even larger. They were a pale blue. “That’s wicked!”

  “But it be de truth.”

  She nodded grimly. “It happens here, too, among the gentry and the servants.”

  “But there be some good masters. Lord Skylar is one such. He saw me in de cane fields one day and later won me from my owner in a throw of de dice.” He grinned. “I was woken out of a deep sleep and told to get my things and go with dis white mon.”

  “My, my,” she said in amazement. “And now here you are all the way in England.”

  The two smiled at each other, and Nigel felt the first real connection to another human being beside Lord Skylar since his arrival in England. “Yes, here I be in a new land, among new people.”

  Her smile disappeared. “None of us downstairs knew what to think about you. Mr. Scott, Lord Caulfield’s secretary, filled us with scary tales of how you threatened him.”

  He had forgotten his encounter with the scrawny, unpleasant man. “I needed his cooperation, and he didn’t seem at all willing.”

  “Well, you’ve made an enemy, I can tell you that much.”

  Nigel rubbed his chin. “I wonder if he ever did as I asked.”

  “What did you want with him?”

  “To cancel Lord Skylar’s engagements.”

  She gave a grim smile. “From Mr. Scott’s tone, I would reckon he didn’t do anything you asked of him. This place needs airing,” she said decisively, setting down her bundle by the door and heading to a window.

  She drew back the curtains and pushed the window open.

  He went to the other window. “I can get dis one.”

  “Good. I shall fetch some clean linen and return immediately.”

  “I hope you tell those below stairs that I haven’t done de master no harm.” At that moment Lord Skylar called him from the other room. “You can even say you heard him speak.”

  She nodded. “I shall indeed. But I hope they can all soon see for themselves.”

  “He’ll be getting up and dressed today, so I am sure you will all see him.”

  Already the room began to have a feel of life and not death. Nigel hoped things might truly take a turn for the better this time, but he knew it would take more than a good cleaning.