“She has children?”
“Three sons. All men now. Lyon Pennington is the fourth Earl of Aytoun. The second son, Pierce Pennington, has apparently been making a fortune in the American colonies despite the embargo. And David Pennington, the youngest, is an officer in His Majesty’s army. The countess herself led a very quiet life until the scandal that tore her family apart occurred this past summer.”
“Scandal?”
Sir Oliver nodded. “Indeed, m’lady. It involved a young lady named Emma Douglas. I understand all three brothers were fond of her. She ended up marrying the oldest brother and became the countess of Aytoun two years ago.”
That hardly sounded scandalous, but Millicent had no chance to ask any more questions as their carriage rolled to a stop in front of an elegant mansion facing Hanover Square. A footman in gold-trimmed livery greeted them as he opened the door of the carriage. Another servant escorted them up the wide marble steps to the front door.
Inside the mansion’s entrance hall, yet another servant greeted them. As Millicent shed her cloak, her gaze took in the semicircular alcove at the far end of the hall and the ornate gilded scrolls and rosettes that decorated the high patterned ceiling. In a receiving area beyond an open set of doors, she could see upholstered furniture of deep walnut by Sheraton and Chippendale tastefully arranged about the room, while handsome carpets covered the brightly polished floors.
A tall, elderly steward approached and informed them that the dowager was waiting.
“What was the nature of the scandal?” she managed to whisper as they followed the steward and another servant up the sweeping circular stairs to a drawing room.
“Just rumors, m’lady,” Birch whispered, “to the effect that the earl murdered his wife.”
“But that is—”
She stopped as the door to the drawing room was opened. Trying to contain her shock and curiosity, Millicent entered as they were announced.
There were four people in the cozy, well-appointed room: the dowager countess, a pale gentleman standing by a desk that had a ledger book open on it, and two lady’s maids.
Lady Aytoun was an older woman, obviously in ill health. She was sitting on a sofa with pillows propped behind her and a blanket on her lap. Blue eyes studied the visitors from behind a pair of spectacles.
Millicent gave a small curtsy. “Our apologies, my lady, for being delayed.”
“Did you win the auction?” The dowager’s abruptness caused Millicent to look over in surprise at Sir Oliver. He appeared as baffled as she was. “The African woman. Did you win the auction?”
“I…I did,” she managed to get out. “But how did you know about it?”
“How much?”
Millicent bristled at the inquiry, but at the same time she felt no shame for what she’d done. “One hundred ten pounds. Though I must tell you I don’t know what business it is of—”
“Add it to the tally, Sir Richard.” The dowager waved a hand at the gentleman still standing by the desk. “A worthy cause.”
Sir Oliver stepped forward. “May I say, m’lady—"
“Pray, save the idle prattle, young man. Come and sit. Both of you.”
Millicent’s lawyer, who probably hadn’t been addressed as “young man” in decades, stared openmouthed for a moment. Then, as he and Millicent did as they were instructed, the countess dismissed the servants with a wave of her hand.
“Very well. I know both of you, and you know me. That pasty-faced bag of bones over there is my lawyer, Sir Richard Maitland.” The old woman arched an eyebrow in the direction of her attorney, who bowed stiffly and sat. “And now, the reason why I invited you here.”
Millicent could not even hazard a guess as to what was coming next.
“People acting on my behalf have been reporting to me about you for some time now, Lady Wentworth. You have surpassed my expectations.” Lady Aytoun removed her spectacles. “No reason for dallying. You are here because I have a business proposition.”
“A business proposition?” Millicent murmured.
“Indeed. I want you to marry my son, the Earl of Aytoun. By a special license. Today.”
CHAPTER 2
Faced with the threat of another life in hell, Millicent shot to her feet. In an instant, propriety and decorum were cast to the winds.
“You’ve made a grave mistake, Lady Aytoun.”
“I do not think so.”
“Your servant must have delivered the message to a wrong address.”
“Sit down, Lady Wentworth.”
“I am afraid I cannot.” She glanced in the direction of her lawyer and found him standing as well.
“If you please, Lady Wentworth. There is no reason for panic.” The dowager’s tone was gentler. “I am well aware of your fears. I have been advised fully of the suffering you endured during your marriage. But what I am proposing to you now has no similarity to the situation you were forced to endure under the brutal tyranny of your first husband.”
Millicent stared at the old woman, trying to understand how she could know any of that. The dowager was speaking of her life as if it were public knowledge, and a queasy feeling gripped her stomach. The urge to run for the door was strong. She wanted nothing more than to go out of the house and return to Melbury Hall.
To Millicent, marriage meant being owned by a man. She had felt the chains of that “blissful” state for five endless years. There was no protection for a married woman. Marriage was a state of mental and physical abuse. Period. The vows of matrimony were nothing more than a curse contrived by men to control women. And after Wentworth’s death, she had sworn never to allow herself to be subjugated to that life again.
Millicent took a step toward the door.
“At least allow me to explain my purpose for this confusion.” The dowager raised a hand to her. “I know at first I spoke in haste. I believe if you would be so kind as to allow me to explain the unpleasant situation in which I find my family, then you shall better understand the reason for the offer.”
“Any explanation of your family’s situation, m’lady, is completely unnecessary. If you know anything of my history, then you should also know that my revulsion to the very notion of marriage is unrelated to anything you might tell me of your own family. The topic is repugnant to me, Lady Aytoun, and under no circumstances am I willing to—”
“My son is a cripple, Lady Wentworth,” the dowager interrupted. “After a horrible accident last summer, he has been left with no use of his legs. He has no strength in one arm. He has plunged into a state of melancholia from which he cannot lift himself. I thank God for the loyalty and persistence of his personal manservant and a half dozen others who see to all of his needs, for without them I would have been lost. Indeed, without them I would have had no choice but to place him in a hospital for the insane. I do not mind telling you that such a situation would surely have killed me.”
The distraught tone of the old woman’s words tugged at Millicent’s heartstrings. “You have my deepest sympathy, m’lady, but I fail to see what I could do.”
The dowager’s hands trembled as they absently straightened the blanket on her lap. “Despite all of my bravado, Lady Wentworth, I am quite ill. To be blunt, I am dying. And my physicians, the devil take them, are very happy to give me daily reminders that I might not see the next sunrise.”
“Really, m’lady, I—”
“Don’t take me wrong. I don’t give a sin about myself. I’ve had a full life. Right now my greatest worry is what shall happen to Lyon when I am gone. That is why I have asked you here today.”
“But…but surely there are other options. Family. Friends. Other acquaintances who are not complete strangers to you. Lord Aytoun is a peer of the realm. You have so many venues available to you, so many treatments.”
“Please, Lady Wentworth. Please sit down. I shall explain.”
Millicent turned and found Birch standing attentively a couple of steps away, awaiting her decision whether to go
or stay. She looked back at the aging countess. The façade of strength she had encountered in the dowager when first entering was completely gone. What Millicent saw now was simply another woman. A dying woman. A mother who was just trying to secure the future well-being of her son.
She hesitantly sat down. The expression of relief on the dowager’s face was immediate.
“Thank you. You asked about family. Well, those remaining believe that if something were to happen to me, then Lyon should be put in a madhouse.” Temper flashed in the old woman’s blue eyes. “The Earl of Aytoun is not mad. He doesn’t belong in Bedlam. I won’t have him tied and tortured, bled and purged, dosed with opium and put on display for the rest of London’s ton.”
“But there must be other treatments for his condition. Every day there seems to be a new cure for yet another ailment.”
“I have tried every method and paid a great deal of money, and seen no improvement in him. Just this past week, there was an advertisement in the Gazette by a Mr. Payne at the Angel and Crown in St. Paul’s Churchyard. It claimed that sufferers from ‘loss of memory or forgetfulness’ for two shillings six pence could buy a pot of ‘a grateful electuary’ that would enable them to ‘remember the minutest circumstances of their affairs to a wonder.’ I had Lyon try it, hoping to spur some response in him. Nothing.” She gave a dismissive wave. “I am tired of the charlatans and the Merry-Andrews who eagerly endorse the claims of these quacks. I am tired of giving my son highly colored pills that have no good in them at all. You see, his legs and arm were broken, but now they are healed, and yet he has no ability to move them. He cannot walk. He cannot even lift his right arm. So the so-called doctors say he must have a secret disease. Those from the university have but one answer: Bleed him and bleed him again. But it has no effect.”
“I am sorry, m’lady—”
“So am I,” the dowager said, looking at her directly. “But I’ll have no more of that. And I’ll have no madhouse for my son. And I’ll definitely have no more of these quacks with their dung tea, stewed owls, and crushed worms. I am done with them all.”
“I know there are many, many charlatans out there. But there must be some reputable doctors, as well.”
“Aye, there are. But the reputable ones, as you call them, are also at their wit’s end. Aside from bleeding and purging, their only other suggestion is to keep him sedated.”
“Why? Is he violent?”
“Of course not,” the dowager assured her. “But he has been terribly unhappy at Baronsford, the Aytoun family seat southeast of Edinburgh. That’s where the accident happened. In fact, this past fall he went so far as to insist on transferring control of all his inherited properties to his brother Pierce, my second son. Not that his hasty decision did any good for anyone. Pierce is not in England at present, and he has no interest whatsoever in the family fortune. Besides, Lyon is the earl. He is the one to whom our dependents look up to and—” She abruptly stopped and waved a dismissive hand. “But Baronsford is the least of my problems right now. The reason I brought it up is so you would know why I needed to get him away from it. I need to find my son a place where he shan’t be reminded of his past and what he has lost.”
Millicent’s nerves had once again settled. She was calm enough to realize that no one could force her into anything. The choices were hers; so were the consequences. “I still cannot see how your proposal could improve the earl’s life. I am no physician, and I am hardly capable of—”
“He needs to be out of Scotland. He needs a home with people who will care for him. Since your husband’s death, ‘tis no secret that you have provided a safe haven for the people Squire Wentworth enslaved.” The dowager paused for a moment before continuing. “But you should know that I intend to make this arrangement as advantageous to you as ‘tis for my son.”
Without waiting for the younger woman’s response, she motioned to her lawyer to hand her a large sheet of paper lined in the ledger style of banking clerks.
“My dear, this is a summary of all the loans and promissory notes that Squire Wentworth left you. We went to a great deal of difficulty in gathering them together. It may be that there are some that we have missed. Your lawyer here can scan them at his leisure and let us know. And as you know, there are a number of individuals who take great enjoyment in revealing the painful layers of your indebtedness just to watch you unravel.”
Millicent reached for the proffered paper and glanced down the list of debts. The totals at the bottom were huge, but she would not allow her distress to show. She’d known for some time that she was drowning. The depth of the water made very little difference. The end result was the same. She handed the paper to Sir Oliver.
“What is it exactly that you propose, Lady Aytoun?” she asked dully.
“A marriage in name only. A business arrangement, pure and simple. If you were to agree to the terms, the Earl of Aytoun shall come to reside with you at Melbury Hall. But he will arrive with his own manservant and servants. We have a new doctor who can travel up from London on a regular basis. All you need to do is arrange for space for these people. In return, my lawyer Maitland here will have all the debts listed on that paper—and any others that are unfamiliar to us—paid in full. In addition, these two gentlemen shall settle on a generous amount that will be paid to you on a monthly basis to support the upkeep of Melbury Hall. It shall be more than enough for you to continue to pursue your causes.”
Millicent’s head reeled with all that the dowager had just proposed. She had spent endless nights awake, tossing and turning as she worried about her expenses. The last six months had been especially difficult. Lady Aytoun was offering her an opportunity to free herself of the shackles of her husband’s debts once and for all. But the thought of the price she would have to pay kept pushing itself forward in her mind with terrifying clarity. Marriage again.
“What shall happen to our arrangement, m’lady, if the Earl of Aytoun recovers from this affliction?”
“I am afraid there is no hope. No doctor who has seen him recently believes…” The countess paused to quiet a quaver in her voice. “None of them believes there is any chance of him recovering.”
“But he might.”
“I envy your optimism.”
“I want a provision in the agreement that, in the event of his recovery, a divorce will be uncontested.”
The dowager glanced at her lawyer.
Sir Richard nodded curtly, rising from his chair. “Considering the nature of the marriage and the earl’s present health, an annulment or a divorce could certainly be arranged.”
Sir Oliver agreed. “His present state of mind makes it an arguable case for annulment.”
Millicent couldn’t believe how far she had been persuaded. In her mind, she was actually weighing the benefits versus the loss, and the scale was definitely tipping.
“Anything else? Any concerns that you have been left with?”
The dowager’s question lifted Millicent’s chin. “Aye, m’lady. Why me? I am a stranger to you. Why did you decide on me?”
“We did not settle on you without serious consideration. Faced with my requirements, my lawyer here had a great challenge laid at his door. His search has been painstaking. But I must tell you that your history and your reputation for goodness, combined with all that Sir Richard was able to gather about your present financial situation, made you the perfect candidate.” The older woman nodded approvingly. “I hope you are not offended by the amount of poking and prodding that my people have been doing into your past and present affairs. When they concluded, there was very little about you that I did not know.”
Millicent raised a curious brow. For all her life, she had maintained a very private lifestyle. She doubted there was much out there for anyone to dig into.
“This surprises me, m’lady, and I should like to hear a sample of what your people might have discovered about me.”
“If you wish. You are Millicent Gregory Wentworth, twenty-nine years o
f age. You have been widowed for a year and a half. You were entered into an arranged marriage by your family.”
“These are facts easily obtainable. They don’t say anything about the person.”
“That is true. But my meeting with you today has settled my mind about that. With the exception of an overnight stay at their residence now and then, as in the case of this trip to London, you are practically estranged from your kin. Not that I blame you. Your family consists of two older sisters and an uncle whom you do not trust, since he gave you to Wentworth without any inquiries into the man’s character.” The old woman’s hand smoothed the blanket tightly over her lap. “There is little correspondence between any of your family. During your five years of marriage, you never once confided to any of them about the abuse you were receiving at the hands of your husband. You have very few close friends, but your pride does not allow you to ask for help, even when you are desperate. What else? Yes, you are involved in freeing your slaves—”
“My late husband’s slaves.”
“Indeed. Partly because of your efforts to correct that situation, however, you are on the verge of being crushed under the resulting financial burdens.” The dowager’s gaze swept over Millicent’s face. “On a much more trivial level, you appear contented with your unadorned looks and your obvious disinterest in style. Actually, you have never been an active member of London’s fashionable set and, since becoming a widow, have taken shelter within the walls of your country residence, Melbury Hall, at Hertfordshire.”
“I have missed nothing important by staying in the country, m’lady.”
“Quite true. And this attitude is one of the things that I find most advantageous. You shall not miss the parties in town during the Season nor hold a grudge against your husband for not escorting you to London, or Bath, or wherever the ton is running wild at the moment. In addition, you are a bright woman who is endowed with great compassion. You have finally discovered the value of independence, and you are now striving to wield the power that goes along with it. But to succeed, you could very well use the protection of a husband’s name to keep the wolves from the door.”
Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) Page 2