Rebel Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  Her attention was distracted by the necessity of helping Lord Cranville from the carriage. From the carriage window, Evelyn could see a petite woman with graying hair, charming smile, and laughing eyes suddenly turn pale as Alex spoke to her. At her command, the footmen ran to aid Lord Cranville from the carriage and up the steps.

  The earl woke sufficiently to wrap an arm around his wife’s shoulders, but she could not hold him steady. A servant helped to carry him up the outside stairs. The plump countess seemed very human and vulnerable as she followed after them.

  Alex returned to the carriage. He helped her mother down, then reached for Evelyn’s hand. Their gazes met wordlessly, hers fearful, his both worried and reassuring. He kept his fingers around hers as she stepped down and an awestruck Jacob leapt down to join them.

  “Please excuse Deirdre for not greeting you properly. She is usually the sole of propriety, but . . .” Alex shrugged his shoulders in helpless explanation of the bonds between the countess and the earl.

  “I would have done the same,” Amanda assured him. “Perhaps it would be best if Jacob and I found lodging elsewhere. Lady Cranville will be very occupied until the earl recovers. We will only distract her.”

  “You are my guests. Deirdre will be glad of your company once she realizes there is nothing she can do but wait for time to tell. The housekeeper will show you to your rooms. You’ll want to rest until tea. By then the physicians will have been here, and Deirdre may be a little more coherent.”

  Alex led them inside the magnificent open foyer, where a circular staircase led the eye upward to towering murals and a brilliant skylight that cast the hall in a warm glow. At Evelyn’s gasp he smiled. “I have heard the classicists murmur ‘Palladian’ and ‘Jones’ when describing this monstrosity, but the truth is that the first earl was too cheap to hire any architect at all. He just stole the ideas from the best ones he could find, and then threw in a few of his own.”

  “I don’t suppose he also housed a bank, a church, and a village in here while he was at it?” Evelyn inquired as they turned toward the stairs where the housekeeper waited.

  “My great-great-grandfather was a bit of a rascal. He was a bank of sorts, and undoubtedly thought of himself as God once the king traded him a title in payment of the huge debts owed to my ancestor’s coffers. I’ll show you his stateroom sometime if you wish to see his idea of a church. And it takes a village of servants to run this place, so you’re not far wrong.”

  The housekeeper waited stoically through these irreverent explanations. Alex gave her an amused look before making his introductions. “Evelyn, this is Mrs. Green. She hates me because I’m more like the first earl than anyone dares to admit. Mrs. Green, this is my wife and her family. You will show Mrs. Wellington and Jacob to the blue guest rooms. I think I can still find my way to my own rooms, unless you’ve boarded them up and had them exorcised?”

  The stout woman regarded this nonsense without expression. “Yes, sir. As you wish, sir.” Then she directed her gaze to Evelyn in her drab colonial attire, and the housekeeper’s expression softened. “Come this way, ma’am.”

  Evelyn watched as her mother and brother were led away while Alex took her arm and steered her in the opposite direction. She had been terrified of meeting Alex’s family. She should have spent more time worrying about how to deal with an army of formidable servants. At home, Molly counted more as family than maid.

  A woven carpet muffled their steps as they passed bronze statues in windowed recesses and beautifully polished elongated tables with elaborate inlays. Alex’s suite apparently consisted of the entire corridor, for there were only three doors leading from it, and they were at the far end, secluded from the public rooms and the remainder of the household.

  He opened the left-hand door and led her into a sitting room that would have occupied the entire first floor of her home. Tall pediment windows overlooked a garden at the back of the house. Heavy silver-gray brocade draperies shimmered in the remains of the late-afternoon sun. Marvelously wrought Persian carpets with the jewel colors of rubies and sapphires blended with threads of silver and gold adorned the floors. Graceful sofas in shades of blue and gray were interspersed with comfortable chairs in pale gold. The effect was both gracious and overwhelming. Evelyn lifted an inquisitive eyebrow to her silent husband. “Do you do much entertaining?”

  At this response, Alex hesitated, then grinned. “I doubt that Deirdre would have heart failure if we held a reel or two in here, but there are other rooms better suited for dancing. I believe you’re supposed to bring your closest lady friends here for tea and gossip. Otherwise, it’s just a place to while away our evenings if we tire of the social whirl. I have a desk in my chamber, so the secretary over there can be yours. I expect you will wear it out writing to all your Yankee friends about our ostentatious way of life.”

  The trace of that rare smile on his lips did not relieve all Evelyn’s uncertainties, but it steadied her. Realizing she still clung to his hand, she released him and took a few steps into the room. Her gaze caught the door at the far end of the room, and she tilted her head inquiringly. “Our chambers?” she asked.

  He took her arm to lead the way. The sapphire blue carried over to the next chamber, with more of the saffron and accents of the deeper blue in the carpet and occasional chairs scattered about. The canopied bed provided the centerpiece, its posts draped with transparent veils of gossamer yellow obviously not intended to keep out cold drafts. A deeper gold silk comforter covered the wide bed, and pillows in shades of blue and gold were stacked decadently at one end. The draperies were of sumptuous gold velvet, and Evelyn had to wonder how many lovely dinner gowns she could have made of such luxury.

  She would have to stop thinking like that if she were to stay married to Alex. She sent him a sidelong glance as she walked toward the draperies and pulled them back to look out. His features were expressionless, and she could not fathom his thoughts as he introduced her to the room he meant for his wife. Had that one night on the ship meant an end to his plans for annulment? Her insides clenched in apprehension as she tried to imagine spending the rest of her life in a chamber such as this. Could she do it?

  She could do anything if she knew Alex was with her. The real question was, would Alex stay by her side or go his own way? He had not made that very clear.

  Feeling his silence, she offered a quavery smile. “It is lovely, Alex, like an enchanted fantasy world. Do you ever grow accustomed to living like this?”

  He shook his head. “I spent too many years on the edge of poverty to fail to appreciate it.” He gave another of his lopsided grins. “I should have taken you to Cornwall first. You would have felt at home there. This is a palace meant to impress. The estate from which the wealth was obtained is a working farmhouse, glorified by turrets from medieval times, perhaps, but destitute of this extravagance. My cousin and Cranville grew up there. I think you would like it.”

  She didn’t know if she would ever see it. She bent her head in acknowledgment and wandered to the massive rosewood armoire, but she did not dare to open it.

  “Would you care to see the rest of the suite?”

  “There is more?” In astonishment, she saw he gestured toward still another door.

  Alex gave her a curious look. “Perhaps I should not tell you, if you are satisfied with these arrangements.”

  Her gaze went to the wide bed she had thought they would share and then back to him. There was something in his dark eyes she wished she could read, but she felt only the heat of embarrassment as she realized he had never intended that they share the bed. “Let us see the rest of this palace,” she replied stiffly.

  “Actually, palaces are royal residences. ‘Mansion’ will have to suffice for commoners like us.” Alex stalked to the door at the side of the room and threw it open. “Your dressing room, madam. Your maid’s chamber is behind this. The first earl didn’t think highly of having servants close at hand, but the second earl’s wife insisted it wa
s less than civilized to have to ring for her maid. She had the dressing rooms cut up with partitions for the servants.”

  Evelyn slipped past him to a room larger than her old bedroom. A discreet door at the rear indicated where some stranger would sleep if she had to employ a maid. Another massive armoire filled one wall, and a lovely dressing table occupied the wall next to it. Her glance fell on yet another door, similar to the one she had just come through.

  Following her gaze, Alex stoically crossed this smaller room and opened the door opposite. “My dressing room.”

  “Oh.” Evelyn held back. The rooms they had just come through were as impersonal as a museum because no one had actually lived in them. She had a feeling that would not be the case in these next ones.

  “Come along. I have seen your home. You must learn mine.” Impatiently he caught her elbow and led her to the next room.

  The dressing rooms were fairly identical, hers being more silver and gold and his blue and gray. The exception lay in the fact that there were brushes and combs and wig stands scattered about his dressing table. A rack in the corner held a jumble of walking sticks, umbrellas, what appeared to be a discarded golf club, and a pair of tall leather boots. On the wall hung pistols intricately carved about the long barrels, with beautifully polished wood handles. Dueling pistols. Her heart sank a little further.

  Alex was waiting for her to enter what she hoped was the final chamber. Steeling herself, she strode bravely through this next door, to find herself at last in Alex’s home.

  There was no mistaking that this was where he lived. Despite servants’ attempts to tidy all personal belongings into their proper places, they could not hide the overflowing liquor cabinet with the marvelously ornate decanters and crystal goblets. Nor would they take away the lovely matched paintings of ships at sea on either side of the massive tester bed. Dark blues dominated here, in the heavy comforter and bed hangings, accenting the tapestried draperies. The feel was almost medieval, and the crossed swords on one wall added to the feeling.

  She knew the armoire would conceal his expensive frock coats and linen. She doubted that he wore nightshirts or caps, but if he did, they would be in those drawers over there. The stand beside the bed held a lamp for reading the jumble of volumes stacked beside it. The massive bookcase desk between the windows held more leather-bound books and an organized chaos of papers and pens and ink. She recognized ledgers behind the shelf windows and knew he used this room as much for an office as anything else. She felt Alex’s presence here so strongly that she had to force the erratic beat of her heart into control before facing him.

  There was almost a vulnerability behind his normally impenetrable black eyes, and Evelyn’s attempt at controlling her emotions slipped. She touched his arm and wished that he would wrap it around her and carry her to that bed they ought to share. Instead, he went rigid, and she hastily removed the offending hand.

  “I like this room best,” she offered, then turned and left for the formal chambers that were to be hers.

  Chapter 26

  “Alex has terrified me for years.” Alex’s cousin Alyson smoothed her skirts across the settee. The petite young woman smiled warmly at her husband, Rory Maclean, who had just released her hand.

  Evelyn saw no terror in Lady Alyson’s demeanor. Her hostess gestured airily with her hands and continued. “Alex looks at me with those forbidding dark eyes of his as if I were some particularly repulsive henwit. He waits for me to be gone so he can go about his business. He is so . . .” She threw her hands up expressively. “He is so very large and intimidating that I feared him on sight, which is always a mistake with Alex. He takes advantage of fear and plays it against you. Do you know, he actually threatened me with physical violence? Horrible man. But of course, I know now what you must have learned from the first. He’s quite incapable of harming a soul.”

  The Maclean coughed at this absurd generalization of Alex’s docility, and Evelyn had difficulty hiding her amusement. She had fallen in love with Alex’s cousin Alyson the first time they met. The relationship between this fey female and her decidedly down-to-earth Scots husband enthralled her. Alyson was capable of flights of fancy beyond the bounds of reason; Rory simply held her on a silver chain and brought her down when she flew too high. Obviously Alyson was treading clouds now, but not dangerously enough that her husband wished to disturb her.

  “Alex can be a trifle intimidating,” Evelyn agreed with a polite murmur.

  “A trifle understates the fact. Alex cultivates intimidating,” Deirdre, the countess, announced. “Many’s the time I have contemplated taking a fire iron to his head. I cannot imagine how you came close enough to even consider marriage.”

  From behind her, Evelyn heard the clink of a glass, followed by Alex’s deep rumble. “Perhaps my wife neglected to use Alyson’s boiling water or your fire irons to entice me.” He rested his hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. She could sense his hidden amusement even though she knew he would keep his face poker straight. She looked up to test her judgment, and he lifted his glass in a slight salute. “Would you believe that faint creature over there once dumped boiling water down my leg?” he said, indicating Alyson. “I still have the scars to prove it. Very odd idea of terror, I must say.”

  His voice sent tremors to Evelyn’s toes, and the look on his face pierced her with quiet joy. Here with his family Alex was relaxed and at ease, and she felt the closeness they once had shared. She smiled and brushed his hand. “I won’t ask what you did to cause a lady as gentle as Alyson to act so. I’m certain you deserved every minute of your agony.”

  “He did, but at least he displayed uncommon good taste if not good sense. There’s some hope that the lad has grown up since then.” The lilting roll of Rory’s R’s hinted of strong emotion, and Evelyn glanced between the two men.

  Alex’s hand tightened on her shoulder, but there was no anger in his reply. “You are still jealous that I might have married her first, Maclean. Letting Alyson get away may have been one of my worst moments of stupidity, but it seems to have worked out very well. Evelyn, at least, doesn’t faint at the sight of me.”

  Amusement twisted Rory’s lips as his wife grew as puffy as a pigeon with ruffled feathers. Soothingly he rubbed a knuckle against her cheek. There did not seem to be need of any further communication between them, Evelyn noted jealously. Again her eyes lifted to Alex. So Alyson was another of the women who had rejected his suit. For a man who despised marriage, he certainly had a talent for asking for it.

  “I might not faint at sight of you,” Evelyn spoke for herself, “but I am inclined to do so should you ever say a pleasant word without prompting. Will you please sit down and quit towering over me? I’m likely to strain my neck.”

  Laughter rippled around the room, and Deirdre murmured a soft “Brava!” When Alex sat down and took Evelyn’s hand, a splattering of applause erupted.

  “As you can see, the tyrant apparently prefers timid, easily browbeaten men,” Alex teased, refusing to let Evelyn’s hand go.

  That inane remark brought more laughter. Alyson jumped to Evelyn’s defense. “That is not at all as I understand it, monster. You must know that Father tells tales. You had best treat Evelyn with all due respect, or I shall repeat them to everyone.”

  Alex grimaced and Evelyn shook her head in embarrassment. “Do not take all Lord Cranville says with seriousness,” she said.” He is not privy to all that has gone between Alex and me. We are not always on our best behavior.”

  “I would say Alex never is, but admittedly, he has his uses,” Rory said. “Have you got that Weatherford contract yet, Hampton? We need to act on it with all due haste.”

  Alyson made a wry moue of distaste as Rory turned the topic to business. Alex immediately swam for these safer shores, and the two men retreated to another room, leaving the women to share confidences without interruption. Evelyn felt abandoned. She was accustomed to being consulted about business and included in the men’s arguments. Finding hers
elf in this all-female company left her uneasy, and she was surprised when Deirdre picked up her embroidery and took the chair that Alex vacated.

  “As much as I love my husband’s heir, Alex can be daunting. Tell me, Evelyn, are all women in the colonies as courageous as you?”

  Evelyn exchanged a glance with her mother, who busied herself with mending and listening, then shook her head and laughed. “Not any more than all the women in London are as lovely as you and Alyson.”

  Deirdre complacently accepted this reply. “All the women in London are cowards, then. Everett does not speak much of his fears, but he has been worried that Alex would never settle down. That is one of the main reasons he sailed off as soon as he learned Alex had fallen headfirst into woman trouble as soon as he set foot in Boston. He was quite determined to whip Alex into line this time.”

  Embarrassed, Evelyn didn’t know what to say. It seemed she and Alex had nothing secret between them. Did his family know, too, that they did not sleep together? Apparently such a situation was not unusual in society, since she had learned most married couples kept separate bedrooms, but it still felt wrong to her.

  Alyson chided her husband’s aunt. “Come, Deirdre, you know Father could never make Alex do anything against his wishes. Like Alex, he gets restless and looks for trouble sometimes. He has only himself to blame for his illness now. It sounds as if he enjoyed every minute of his stay in Boston. With smugglers and rebels involved, I am surprised Rory did not join them.”

  “That is probably because he knew you were breeding again,” Deirdre replied before tossing the conversational ball. “Amanda, do you think all men are as trouble-prone as ours?”

  Amanda lifted her gaze from her sewing, at ease with the discussion that left Evelyn’s head spinning. “Men crave action more than do women, I suspect. We have been trained to stay home and tend to our tasks, so we make our trouble in less active ways.”

  “Like talk,” Evelyn interrupted. “That is why they say that behind every good man you’ll find a good woman. We twist their arms verbally instead of physically, so no one sees it. I had never quite thought of it like that.”