Her pulse raced. Millicent took an involuntary step backward and looked away as her heart sank like a stone into her stomach.
The future had arrived.
******
Lyon had eyes only for his wife. She was stunning.
The gown fitted her beautiful body like a second skin. The auburn hair piled on her head was perfect, and the curled tendrils that framed her pale face accentuated her high cheekbones and sensual mouth. But he could also see the look of uncertainty in the depths of her gray eyes. More than anything else, Lyon would have liked to be left alone with Millicent. He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked. Reluctantly, he turned to the visitors.
“I’m sorry I cannot get up, Mother.” She was staring at him in open disbelief. “Come in. Please.”
Both guests appeared to be rooted to the ground they stood upon, and now that he thought about it, so was Millicent.
“Maitland, you do not look any worse since I saw you last. And you must be well, too, Mother, gallivanting about the countryside in the middle of winter. Come sit by the fire, all of you.” He brought a hand up to touch his face and addressed Millicent. “What do you think?”
“I…I…” Instead of answering him, she turned to the guests. “If you would be kind enough to join his lordship, I need to oversee some arrangements. I shall join you all shortly.”
Lyon sensed her discomfort. But he didn’t know if it was the suddenness of the unexpected company or if it was something that he had done. Long Will’s teasing words came back to him; so did Ohenewaa’s questions. He decided not to press her, and as Millicent disappeared from the doorway, he turned instead to his mother and the lawyer, who finally decided to approach the fire.
“You look a little tired, Mother, but much the same as I left you.”
“I cannot say the same thing about you.” She sat down heavily in one of the cushioned chairs and dismissed her maidservants. The door of the drawing room closed and the three of them were left alone. “You look rested and fit. I can see the Hertfordshire weather agrees with you.”
“My health is due to far more than the weather,” Lyon corrected, drawing surprised looks from the other two. He turned to Maitland. “I assume you received my letter.”
“I did, m’lord. And I have in my possession the pieces you requested. We have also brought with us Peter Howitt, a young man who was trained by Walter Truscott and was a clerk at Baronsford for—”
“I remember him,” Lyon said. “Any news of Pierce?”
Maitland shook his head, and Lyon was sorry that he had asked. Signing responsibility for the family estate over to his younger brother some six months ago had been Lyon’s attempt at salvaging their family. He planned to withdraw and let all the hard feelings gradually fade, while Pierce could take charge and bring David back, and the people of Baronsford could continue with their lives peacefully, as they once had. Giving away Baronsford had been Lyon’s way of settling the future for everyone, but Pierce had thrown it all back in his face by not returning from Boston in the American colonies.
“And how are things at Baronsford?” Lyon asked, trying not to allow old wounds to begin festering again.
“Perhaps we could discuss this later, m’lord, when we have more time.” The lawyer cast a cautionary glance at the dowager, and Lyon respected his wish to wait. It had been so long since Lyon had cared enough to ask about the place that Maitland was obviously concerned that once the discussion began, the dowager would become overtired well before the two men covered all there was to talk over.
He was right. Lyon had so many questions. And he was well aware that his brothers did not share his passion for it the way he did. It was not the place that he missed so much, as it was the people. And seeing the care that Millicent bestowed on everyone at Melbury Hall, he now realized how neglected the people there must feel.
“Before you two do that, I have some things I should like to know.” The dowager studied him keenly. “These changes that I see in you—these improvements—what is the extent of them?”
“I cannot walk as yet, if that is what you mean.” Lyon took satisfaction in watching their stunned expressions as he stretched his feet slowly before him. “But I think it will only be a matter of time.”
“This is wonderful, m’lord,” Maitland exclaimed.
“Witch or no witch, the woman is a maker of miracles,” the dowager whispered in awe, staring at his feet.
“So you have heard about Ohenewaa,” Lyon said.
“We have, m’lord. But no report was favorable until your wife spoke of her upon our arrival. And now this!”
Lyon turned to his mother. “Who else has been talking about her?”
“Dr. Parker is still braying like a stung mule over your wife’s treatment of him. The man has been filling the ears of everyone in London who will listen to him about the danger Millicent has subjected you to.” The dowager smiled. “And from Dr. Tate’s description of the situation, this black woman’s care should put you six feet underground in a fortnight at the latest.”
“So that is the reason for this unexpected visit?”
Maitland started. “You had requested—”
“Indeed,” the dowager cut in with her usual abruptness. “I hated to think I had been wrong about Millicent.”
“You were not wrong about her,” Lyon replied tenderly. “And as much as I thought the idea of an arranged marriage preposterous when you first suggested it, this is as good a chance as any to commend you and to thank you for choosing her.”
Their last meeting had been the day Lyon was leaving for Hertfordshire. He had been heavily sedated and, from what little he remembered of their last words to each other, Lyon didn’t think he had been very appreciative.
“It is because of Millicent and her stubbornness that I have come this far and improved this much. She is a fighter, Mother. The woman would not let me be.”
The sense of relief that passed between the visitors was palpable. Lyon saw his mother lean back heavily against the cushioned chair. A weight had obviously been lifted from her.
“So she is done with all that nonsense about a divorce or an annulment.”
Lyon felt a dark cloud form over his own head. He leaned forward.
“What are you talking about?”
“The countess demanded a provision to be included in the marriage agreement, m’lord,” Maitland stated quietly. “In the event of your recovery, a divorce would be uncontested.”
“Why?”
“Because of her first marriage,” the dowager put in, lowering her voice. “Because of the scandalous abuse she received under the brutal hands of her first husband. Because of the shame she still carries at the thought of facing society. Because of not being loved enough even by her own family. Despite the rumors that circulated at the time, they would do nothing to rescue her from that horrible situation.”
“I knew nothing of this.”
“Reason enough, I should think, for any woman not to want to be exposed to the bonds of marriage ever again.”
The fingers of his hand fisted in anger. The fact that Wentworth was a worthless human being had been obvious all along. But Lyon had not guessed at his physical abuse of Millicent. Bits and pieces started to fit into place. He realized his mother was again speaking.
“I am certain you already realize that your wife has great pride. It took a great deal of hard work and courage to take charge of this estate. She has made it a home for herself and for the people she cares about. Though financially strapped, she was happy here. Absolutely content. It took a great deal of persuasion on my part to convince her to marry again at all. But you should consider that what she asked for over two months ago might not be what she wants now.”
A seed of doubt had already taken hold in Lyon’s mind.
“I almost did not recognize Millicent when I laid eyes on her a few moments ago,” the dowager continued in a reassuring tone. “She has changed as much as you have. She looks happy. She glow
s with an inner beauty. In fact, she is much different than the woman I met in London.”
Millicent was happy when people needed her. She had risen to the challenge of dealing with him because of the needs that had crippled him. Recently, they had shared tremendous passion. But they had not spoken one word of the future.
To become whole but to pay the price of losing her was an option that Lyon was not ready to accept. He cared for her too much.
There was a knock on the door, and two servants bringing trays of tea entered.
“I shall forgo the tea. I should like to go up to rest before dinner.”
“We keep country hours here, Mother. We dine at seven.”
“Very well.” The dowager pushed herself to her feet. “This is your chance, Sir Richard, to bring Aytoun up to snuff on all the news of Baronsford. I believe he is ready for it.”
Lyon watched his mother go and wondered what else he could be told today that could top the distressing news they had shared about Millicent’s bargain.
*****
Pushing herself off her knees, Violet wiped her mouth with the back of one sleeve and leaned against the stone wall of the house. The wind carried spattering of cold rain, and the young woman raised her face, relishing the feel of it against her fevered skin.
Tonight the taste of cheese had not sat well in her stomach. Yesterday morning it had been the smell of turnips that had sent her running. The day before, she couldn’t hold down even a cup of weak tea.
Violet’s heart drummed hard in her chest. For the past fortnight she had been sick to her stomach every day. She had stopped denying it: She was pregnant.
The consequences of what this meant, though, had continued to pound at her. Bearing a child out of wedlock. She would lose her position. She would bring shame onto her family’s name.
“Are you coming tonight?”
Amina’s call as the woman stepped out the back door forced Violet away from the wall. “I am. I was waiting for you,” she lied.
They walked together toward one of the recently repaired cottages just beyond the stables. Amina and Jonah lived there, and nearly every night Amina and a number of the other former slave women gathered there. Violet had been welcome among these women ever since the days just before the squire died. A bond had been formed when, out of fear of Squire Wentworth, she had taken shelter with four of the black women in their hut in the Grove.
Since that time one of them, having being freed, had gone to London. The rest of them, though, despite their new positions or living arrangements or marriage, continued to get together in the room of one or the cottage of another nearly every night. For a couple of hours they would gather to talk or sew, enjoying one another's company. Violet had an open invitation to join them whenever she wished, and she often did.
Tonight’s gathering was a great relief to the young woman. She felt safe here. And after so many hours of anguishing over her pregnancy, she had been desperate to step outside herself—even for an hour or two. She had no one in whom she could confide this, and that included Ned. She already knew what his reaction would be.
“…never had a husband, but she left a child behind when they sold her to that Dr. Dombey.”
Violet focused on the conversation that was going on around her.
“I had never heard anything about that.” Amina lowered the sewing onto her lap.
“That was before your time, child,” the oldest of the women commented. She had spent most of her life in the islands, but her talent as a brewer had caused Wentworth to bring her to Melbury Hall. “I have heard our people say Ohenewaa was an Ashanti princess, stolen away from the land to the west of a sacred river in Africa. She had real beauty as a child, and so she was taken up as a domestic servant. She never worked in the field, like I did before I went to the kitchens. By the grace of the Almighty, she never took no beatings the way the rest of us did. ‘Twasn’t till she came of age that the troubles started.”
“Troubles?” Violet asked quietly.
“Aye. When she started showing signs of being a woman. I don’t know how old she was. Maybe twelve or thirteen. But the master was quick enough to notice it. I remember she still had some growing left in her, the first time that she started swelling up with child.” The old woman shook her head sadly. “But she lost it at birth. The master’s wife wouldn’t allow any of us to go to her the night of her birthing. The mistress would have been happy to see her die, too. I still remember her crying out in pain and fear that night.”
“You said she left a child behind,” Amina asked.
“Aye, that I did. This was all before she learned how to end a pregnancy before it showed. I think it was the year after or maybe the year after that she swelled up again. And this time a boy was born.”
“Could she keep him?”
“No chance of that. By then the master was tired of her. He kept the child in the house, though, and passed Ohenewaa on to his bailiff and the men. But that woman was too strong for them. She ran away. They brought her back and branded her. But she ran away again. They brought her back and whipped her good that time. But she kept running.”
“She was lucky to survive it,” Amina said sadly.
“That is what the rest of us were thinking, too. But you know, what was so impressive about her was that every time they brought her back, she became stronger. With every beating she became more a part of the rest of us. She was still a young thing, but her name started getting out. And we stopped thinking of her as the master’s girl.”
“I am surprised Dombey bought her.”
The old woman stabbed the needle into the sewing on her lap. “He was brought from Port Royal to see to the master’s wife. She was sick in bed with a fever, and that was when he accidentally ran across Ohenewaa. She was sick too then, but she was ailing from the latest lashing she got.”
“I remember Dombey when he was much older,” Amina said. “He wasn’t too bad.”
“I don’t know,” the old woman continued. “Maybe he did have more conscience than most of them. Whatever ‘twas, by the time the doctor left, the master’s wife died and Dombey managed to buy Ohenewaa.”
“But that was only the start of her making a name for herself,” another woman, who had been keeping silent, put in. “Quite a few of us got sold off to other plantations right after that.” She looked at the oldest woman in the group. “That’s when you and me went to the kitchens in that other place. We only saw Ohenewaa from time to time after that. Everywhere Dombey went, he took her, so we only saw her when the doctor would be called up to the plantation.”
“She went everywhere, she did,” the older woman said. “And being as smart as she was, she learned whatever she could from old Dombey. But she didn’t only learn from him. When they was traveling aboard a ship to or back from Africa, she’d spend the passage with our people. As Dombey did as little as he needed to do with slaves, Ohenewaa needed to be down there, below decks, seeing to the sick, comforting them that felt their hearts being ripped out of them, and all the while learning what she could of the land our people was stolen from.”
“’Twas amazing to be working at a plantation and having new men or women come in who already knew Ohenewaa,” the second woman said, going back to her sewing. “She became a common thread that linked us all.”
The oldest woman smiled. “Especially the women.”
“Aye, she knew how to deal with our kinds of problems.”
“What happened to her son?” Amina asked.
The older women shrugged. “I don’t think she ever went back to find out. Maybe he lived to be a servant or groom or something. Who can say?”
“And what plantation was that?” Amina asked. “Who was Ohenewaa’s first master?”
“That was out at the Hyde plantation, child. That was where everything started.”
CHAPTER 23
She must have been crazy to think this arrangement would work.
Millicent laid the book down and rubbed her eyes. S
he had delayed going up the stairs to their bedroom as long as she could. The dowager and Sir Richard, tired from their trip, had retired soon after dinner. And as it had become part of their habit these past nights, the valets had taken Lyon up to ready him for bed as well.
Millicent walked out of the library and passed through the house. Slowly she started up the wide curved stairs. If this had been any other day—if she had not been so affected by the change in Lyon—she would have been thrilled to rush up there. But for the first time since her marriage to him, she felt out of her element. She did not belong. He was moving too fast, and she was not sure she had the strength to follow.
The reason for these pangs of insecurity was not just his looks. True, he was far more handsome than she had even imagined. He looked like a god. But there was the matter of his confidence, too. And power.
She could feel his masculinity growing. Tonight he had exuded the raw animal potency of a man taking charge of his life.
And that frightened her.
The arrival of the dowager and her lawyer had awakened the man who must have been sleeping inside her husband. When Millicent looked at him during dinner, as he debated the growing unrest in the American colonies with Sir Richard, she had seen a gentleman of intelligence and wit, a member of the fashionable elite, a nobleman beyond her reach. Lyon Pennington, fourth Earl of Aytoun, was a man she barely had the right to dream about.
Violet had moved some of Millicent’s clothes over to this room earlier, but she hoped that he would be asleep by the time she reached the bedchamber. Pushing open the door and peering in, Millicent found her hope had been in vain. At least a dozen candles were burning, and Lyon appeared as awake as he had been at noon. He was propped up with pillows on the bed. A book lay open on his lap.
“I was wondering if you would come up, or if I needed to come down and bring you up myself.”
“I would like to have seen you try.” She closed the bedroom door and leaned her back against it.
Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) Page 24