“Word has also been sent to Mary and Terence,” the duchess remarked, then added with a shrug, “not that it was necessary, for unless I am mistaken, Mary will have sensed your return to Camareigh. Most likely she has already been on the road for hours and will pass our messenger on the way. I have had rooms prepared for them in the north wing. I suspect young Betsie must think me quite mad, having her lay the fires in unoccupied rooms, but she will learn soon enough that one cannot be unprepared where Mary is concerned.”
As if on cue, there came a sudden commotion beyond the closed double doors, and then they opened to admit a group of noisy people who surged forward into the room, apparently unconcerned about their welcome. It was Lady Mary, her husband, General Sir Terence Fletcher, and their seven children, Ewan, George, James, Anna, Stuart, Margaret, and John.
Heartfelt cries of “Rhea Claire! Rhea Claire!” resounded throughout the room as the family, just arrived from Green Willows, their estate in the southern uplands of Wiltshire, spotted the familiar figure of Rhea sitting with her mother on the sofa positioned close to the hearth.
“I always do try to time my arrivals,” Lady Mary Fletcher announced with a shy, gentle smile as she saw the tea service set up before her sister and niece and tried to make light of her sudden arrival.
“By now I should know better than to ask how you knew Rhea had returned,” the duchess said with a welcoming smile for her sister and her family, but she was always too curious not to inquire.
“We met your messenger halfway between here and Green Willows, and he accompanied us back to Camareigh,” Lady Mary explained, hugging Rhea. “Oh, my dear, it is so very good to see you again. I always knew we would, but, well, there were days when I knew you were close to death. I felt so helpless, for I could do nothing for you,” Lady Mary explained apologetically. Even after having the second sight for all of her life, she still had not decided whether it was a blessing or a curse. “’Twas strange, but I saw a ship docking in London, and then I saw a cat, although why I don’t know,” she said with a self-conscious laugh, “for Sabrina has always loved cats, not me. But there the creature was, and, then”—she paused for effect—“I saw a very familiar figure dressed in the palest of yellows, and then I saw Camareigh, and I just knew that you had come home,” Lady Mary explained. Making herself comfortable on the sofa, she gratefully accepted her sister’s invitation to warm her frozen hands and feet before the fire. “The trip between here and Green Willows does seem longer, and the roads worse, and the weather even stormier with each journey. Or perhaps my aching bones only make it seem so.”
“A cup of tea, Mary?” the duchess asked, taking up her duties as hostess. Rhea was engulfed by her cousins and would certainly be occupied for quite some time trying to answer all their questions.
“Now you are the mind reader,” Mary said with a grin and, breathing deeply of the fragrant steam, sipped the warming tea while she eyed her niece. “Rhea is looking exceptionally well, Rina. I can scarcely believe she has returned to us, even though I see her standing there. My prayers have been answered. And perhaps now I can get a good night’s sleep without visions haunting me.”
“I know you do not believe it possible, but your visions have always been a comfort to me and, indeed, most helpful,” Sabrina told her sister, thinking of all the times through the years when a warning from Mary had saved not only her own life, but also the lives of many of the members of the Dominick and Fletcher families.
“Sabrina,” Sir Terence Fletcher greeted his sister-in-law affectionately as he approached, Lucien at his side. Taking her hands in his, he kissed her cheek, then eyed her as he would have a member of his troop who had caused him displeasure. “I thought I left orders for you to take care of yourself? You know I am not accustomed to having my orders disobeyed.”
“And as you well know, Terence, I have never been very good about following orders.” The duchess smiled, pleased to see her brother-in-law looking so well. Tall and distinguished, even with hair that had grayed considerably over the years, he still had about him that certain look of military authority. She remembered the first time she had met him. It had been on the battlefield, and she had just witnessed the death of her Scots grandfather at English hands. She had been but a child of little more than eleven, and Colonel Sir Terence Fletcher had been the English officer she tried to kill that day. The Battle of Culloden seemed so long ago now, but the memory of the scarlet-coated battalions of the King’s army, its blue, yellow, and green standards flying so high in Scottish skies, was still vivid. Little had she realized that one day the English officer would marry her sister and become a much loved member of their family.
“Indeed, and I shall never understand how or why Lucien has put up with it for all these years,” Terence responded with a grin, for Sabrina always managed to rob him of any pretensions of being in control.
“Who says I have?” Lucien demanded. He was always more at ease with Terence and Mary than with any other people, except for Sabrina.
“I cannot tell you how very pleased I was to see Rhea Claire sitting here beside you. Long ago I gave up doubting Mary’s gift, but when she said that she knew Rhea was at Camareigh, I was afraid to believe it. We have all hoped for this day for so long. However,” Terence added, sounding more like a general addressing his troops, “Lucien has informed me of an unexpected difficulty. Is there nothing we can do about this Dante Leighton? The man’s conduct is outrageous, and he certainly should not be allowed to go unpunished. I think you have suffered enough without having to bear the disgrace of this man’s effrontery.”
Lady Mary paused in her selection of a small iced cake. “And who is this Dante Leighton?” she asked.
“I was just about to tell Mary about him when you joined us,” Sabrina said, wondering just how to explain.
“It has to do with dragons, does it not?” Mary surprised them with her abrupt statement.
“How on earth did you know that?” Sabrina demanded, startled.
“If you will remember, I have been seeing the oddest red and green dragons since this whole affair began. I eventually understood about the green dragons, for the Merry Green Dragon was the name of the inn where Kate and her murderous associates stayed while planning the abduction,” Lady Mary reminded her attentive audience. “But I never could understand this red dragon I kept seeing in my dreams until several months ago when you mentioned the name of the ship Rhea Claire was supposed to be aboard. But”—Lady Mary paused, her gray eyes bright with knowledge no one else could possess—“I had forgotten about it, for I had not had the vision in a couple of months. Then, four or five days ago, I started to see this grinning red dragon again. By then I was seeing Camareigh, and a ship docking, and that strange cat, so I forgot about the red dragon.” She faced her sister and asked, “Why should this man have anything more to do with you? Except, perhaps, for answering your questions about his part in this whole affair?” Lady Mary puzzled. “Terence sounded quite upset. Has the man demanded the reward for Rhea’s return? That truly would be quite outrageous, considering his part in this business.”
“I shouldn’t put it past the man at all,” Lucien remarked, his eyes meeting Sabrina’s as if warning her to expect the worst when she met Dante Leighton.
“Lucien is the only one, except for Rhea, who has met this man, but I fear that soon we shall all have the pleasure of his company,” Sabrina predicted worriedly.
“The man would actually come to Camareigh?” Lady Mary asked in disbelief, for few people of her acquaintance were so uncouth to force themselves on unwilling hosts, and she certainly knew that the man had not been invited to Camareigh. “The man must be little better than a savage. Poor Rhea Claire, to have had to suffer the man’s presence for so long. And am I to understand that the man is now actually trying to further that acquaintance by coming to Camareigh? I can certainly see why you must feel quite outraged by the impertinence of th
e man. Cannot he be arrested? Surely he must be out of favor with the authorities? I shouldn’t let him get past the front gates, Lucien,” Lady Mary advised her brother-in-law, and coming from the gentle Mary Fletcher, that sounded quite extraordinary.
“Mary, Dante Leighton is Rhea’s husband,” Sabrina announced bluntly, then added hesitantly, for it was a difficult announcement to make considering the circumstances, “and is the father of the child she is carrying.”
Lady Mary choked on her tea, her cough drawing Rhea’s attention. She realized that they must have just told her Aunt Mary about Dante, and for the first time since Dante had put his ring on her finger, Rhea glanced down at it self-consciously. She had been feeling awkward as she recounted again, this time for her cousins’ apparently insatiable curiosity, her adventures since being abducted from Camareigh. Rather than becoming easier, the telling was far more difficult now, for she had come to expect amazement, horror, outrage, and embarrassment from her listeners. As a result, she found herself constrained to defend Dante’s honor and integrity at every turn. And glancing over to where her aunt and uncle were in earnest conversation with her mother and father, she knew that they too were discussing Dante, and from the expressions on their faces, it was only too obvious that he had not made any friends among that group.
If only Dante were here. Then there would not be this tense waiting, and any suspicions they were entertaining could, once and for all, be laid to rest.
Rhea glanced over at Francis, meeting his understanding gaze while she tried to respond to her young cousins’ questions. Francis’s reaction to her marriage and the news of her pregnancy had surprised her, for it had been one of thoughtful deliberation, as if he were reconstructing in his mind every detail of her experience. Apparently he was not happy with his conclusion. He left her in little doubt that he thought Dante Leighton had taken ungentlemanly advantage of her.
“And were they actually pirates, Rhea?” young Stuart Fletcher was demanding, his eyes round with excitement. His cousin had always been, after all, just a girl, but now she had risen considerably in his estimation.
“There was this one man, wasn’t there, Rhea, who actually knew Blackbeard and saw his chopped-off head swinging from the bowsprit of one of His Majesty’s ships,” Robin chimed in, thinking he would like to have been aboard the Sea Dragon and met some of these pirates.
“’Tisn’t true,” Stuart said with a disbelieving shake of his rusty curls.
“My father met the man in London,” Robin informed him knowingly. “His name was Longacres, and Father said he’d never seen a more bloodthirsty-looking pirate.”
Stuart’s mouth dropped open in awe as he stared over toward his uncle’s tall figure, for he’d always had the highest opinion of the duke, even though he was Robin’s father.
“You look prettier than ever, Rhea,” ten-year-old Anna said shyly. “Are you really married?” she asked hesitantly, her freckled face mirroring admiration.
“Yes, Anna, I am truly wed,” Rhea told her, holding on to that thought as she realized she was the only adult in the room who was the least bit pleased about the fact.
“What is your name now?” eight-year-old Maggie wanted to know.
“Lady Jacqobi.” Rhea said the name then silently repeated it to herself over and over again as her thoughts drifted to Dante. What was he doing? Was he thinking of her?
“I don’t like the sound of this man, this Dante Leighton,” James Fletcher was saying as he glanced at Rhea Claire out of the corner of his eye. “He doesn’t sound acceptable,” he added jealously, for he had long been in love with his cousin.
“It doesn’t matter what you think, James,” his elder brother Ewan told him with his usual practicality. “The deed is done.”
“A villainous deed,” James maintained stoutly, thinking he would certainly give the man the cold shoulder should he dare to show his face at Camareigh. Francis had filled them in on the man’s unsavory reputation. “Isn’t there anything that can be done?” he demanded, his youthful jealousy riding high.
“You could always call him out, Francis,” George commented, still impressed by his cousin’s showing that day when the duke had been attacked. “There’s only one of him. You should be able to deal easily enough with the blackguard,” he said eagerly.
“From what I’ve heard about the man from my father, the man’s a former privateer and smuggler, and he wouldn’t be alive today to be troubling us if he weren’t a cunning devil. No, he is safe, for Rhea Claire would never forgive any of us if we did him an injury,” Francis informed them, disappointment only too evident in his flat tone.
“We could arrange an accident,” James suggested hopefully as he met his brother George’s appreciative grin.
“James, go and get yourself a creamed bun,” Ewan told his younger brother in exasperation.
“Well, I think ’tis a good idea,” James grumbled. But he decided to get the bun when he saw Rhea, his youngest brother John’s hand clasped firmly in hers, head toward the tray.
The three cousins continued to stand in silence, and when Francis Dominick’s speculatively narrowed blue-gray eyes met the thoughtful gaze of Ewan Fletcher, whose eyes shifted to meet the shrewd stare of his brother George, no words were necessary among the three. The cousins knew that if they had their way, they would see that Dante Leighton never set foot on the hallowed grounds of Camareigh, or ever again saw Rhea Claire.
“We could always waylay him on the road. Give him something to think about.”
“Send him off, with a flea in his ear, eh?” George agreed.
“How about buying him off? I’ve quite a bit of my allowance still.”
“Won’t do, that. He’s filthy rich,” Francis regrettably informed them.
“Didn’t marry Rhea for her fortune, then?”
“You could always put on one of your father’s old wigs and, pretending to be the duke, scare the man off. Threaten him with dire consequences.”
“He’s a marquis. ’Twouldn’t impress him.”
“Damn it all, anyway. Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“S’pose we’ll just have to be rude to the man. Nothing else for it.”
“I could wing him. Hide in the bushes. That’d scare him,” George suggested.
But, alas, calmer thoughts prevailed and the three dissatisfied cousins accepted the fact that there was little they could do. Only no one made certain that James understood there was nothing to be done about Dante Leighton.
* * *
That afternoon seemed to set the pattern for the days that followed, and soon a week had passed. Dante Leighton had yet to arrive at Camareigh. The days seemed unnaturally long for Rhea, even though each hour was filled with the happiness of being with her family.
But every so often her eyes would stray to the tall windows and the vista beyond, in search of that figure approaching the great house. Or she would suddenly still, listening for the distinctive sound of coach wheels rolling up the drive. But day after day she was disappointed. Finally, however, visitors arrived at Camareigh. But Rhea Claire was not standing at one of the tall windows overlooking the stately drive, and so she did not witness the arrival of the coach as it pulled up before the wide steps.
Rhea was in the Long Gallery, standing before the portrait of her great-grandmother, her father, and his twin cousins. Her thoughts were troubled as she stared at the two fair-haired children sitting beside a very young Lucien Dominick. To think that such evil had existed behind those two angelic faces, that so much grief had resulted from Kate and Percy’s insane hatred and enviousness. Rhea’s glance lingered for a second on the late dowager duchess, Claire Lorraine Dominick, whose purpose in living had been to see that the Dominick family continued to survive and that Camareigh remained forever great. In her desire to see her wishes come true, she had become obsessive. Because of her single-mindedness, she
was partly to blame for Kate and Percy’s own obsessions. She had neglected the cousins on the distaff side of the family, for they could not perpetuate the name of Dominick, and so those cousins had come to hate Lucien for being heir to the Dominick name, title, and fortune.
As Rhea Claire, victim of their madness, stood before that portrait, she couldn’t help but think of Dante’s obsession to return to Merdraco and, apparently, to wreak revenge on somebody he held responsible for all of the misfortunes that had come his way.
Rhea turned away from the portrait with a shiver of premonition that Mary Fletcher would have understood and hurried along the gallery, away from all that unhappiness.
She slowed her pace as she saw a gangling figure approaching. Unconsciously she felt for her golden chain and locket with the miniature portraits of her mother and father inside. The remembrance of the day she had lost it was only too hauntingly vivid, but thanks to the girl standing before her, a wide smile of contentment on her plain face, she once again possessed one of her treasures.
“Good morning, Alys,” Rhea greeted her friend affectionately, remembering their heartfelt reunion.
“Ah, ’tis a lovely mornin’, m’lady,” Alys declared, oblivious to the rain cascading against the windowpanes. “Now that ye’ve returned home, why, no day can be bad.”
“You do like living here at Camareigh, Alys?” Rhea asked, though the look in the girl’s bright blue eyes was answer enough.
“Oh, m’lady,” Alys said, her grin widening, “’tis all ye said it was. I never expected to be seein’ it, though.”
“I hear you’ve been learning a great deal from Rawley.”
“Oh, aye, a fine woman that Rawley is, but,” Alys said, lowering her voice confidentially, “Her Grace says I’m to start helpin’ O’Casey soon with the twins. Look forward to bein’ with the little ones. Always have liked babies. But I don’t believe in coddlin’ them too much.”
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