The Brightest of Dreams

by Susan Anne Mason

  Her attempt to look annoyed failed when her lips twitched. “Almost.”

  He laughed out loud. “I’m warning you now, Miss Holloway, I intend to keep pestering you until you buy that ticket.”

  She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes.

  Why did he get the feeling something had changed? Up to this point, he’d believed that money was the sole issue keeping her here, but now he sensed something else was amiss.

  The waiter arrived with their food, ending the conversation. Perhaps it was just as well. He didn’t want to push too hard. Best to change the topic. “Tell me about your parents. What was your life like before you came to Brentwood?”

  She swallowed a forkful of mashed potatoes and took a quick sip of water.

  “Only if you don’t mind talking about it,” he said, suddenly aware that perhaps it was too painful a subject.

  But she shook her head. “I don’t mind. I had a lovely childhood. Being an only child, I was spoiled, of course. Especially by Daddy.”

  “I’m sure you were. Quite a different experience from our house with four children.” He dug into the prime rib, savoring the tender meat that fairly melted on his tongue.

  “I would have envied your family. I used to pray for a brother or sister.” Julia attacked the chicken like she’d been deprived of food for several weeks, then patted a napkin to her mouth. “I noticed there’s a sizable age difference between you and your siblings. Were you very close with them despite being older?”

  “As close as possible given the circumstances. Becky was only ten when I left home to seek employment after our father died. I sometimes wonder how different things might have been if my dad had lived.” A wistful feeling filled his chest. “I’m sure I would have been more involved in their lives.”

  “It sounds like you did your best to keep in touch.”

  “I did what I could.” Quinn lowered his fork. “I still can’t help but wonder why Mum never told me how dire her situation had become. If she had, I could have figured out some way to get more money.”

  Julia reached over to pat his arm. “Don’t you think it’s time you let go of the guilt?”

  “Perhaps.” He sat back, his stomach suddenly in knots. “I keep thinking if I can get Becky and the boys back home, I might finally be able to put the past behind me, once and for all.”

  “I truly hope so. You deserve to have peace of mind after all you’ve been through.”

  In that instant, with her gazing at him with those expressive brown eyes as if he were some type of hero, Quinn dared to hope he could achieve everything he desired.

  A waiter came by to refill their water glasses, and Quinn focused on his meal, pleased to see Julia seemed to be enjoying her food as well. As they continued eating, the conversation turned to less emotional territory, which allowed Quinn to relax.

  At last, Julia sat back with a contented sigh and laid her napkin over her plate. “That was delicious.”

  “You must have been starving. You ate every bite.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you. My aunt always scolded me for eating too much whenever we were in public. She made Amelia and me eat before we went out to any of the balls.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  The waiter appeared again. “May I clear your dishes?”

  “Yes, of course.” Julia moved to one side to allow him access.

  “Would you care for any dessert, miss?”

  “No, thank you,” she answered a bit too quickly.

  Quinn frowned. He’d seen her eying their neighbor’s dessert earlier. Was she concerned about him spending more money on her? “I would love a slice of chocolate cake,” he said. If memory served from his time at Brentwood, chocolate used to be one of Julia’s favorites.

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Oh, and could I trouble you to bring two forks?” He winked at Julia. “I think I might have to share.”

  Harriet untied her apron with a heavy sigh and hung it on the hook in the kitchen. She looked around the room, and once she was satisfied that everything was ready for Mrs. Teeter in the morning, she glanced at the clock on the wall. Eight thirty. Would young Harry be asleep, or would he be lying awake, lonely in a strange house with Julia gone?

  She took a jug of milk out of the icebox and poured a small glass. Then she lifted the cookie tin from an upper shelf, picked out two gingersnaps, and wrapped them in a napkin. She would check on the lad and make sure he wasn’t in too much pain. If he was asleep, she’d leave the treat on his night table for when he woke.

  After climbing the staircase, she paused outside his room on the third floor and knocked softly on the door. When there was no reply, she opened it and peered inside.

  The lamp on the night table illuminated the room with a soft glow. Harry lay against the pillows, his eyes shut, the lashes creating dark shadows on his cheek.

  Her throat tightened at the sight. Such a beautiful boy. One who deserved to be safe and loved, not beaten and abused. She swallowed hard and walked quietly to the bedside, searching his face for any sign of pain. Faint lines creased his forehead, and the skin around his eyes was taut, not exactly relaxed.

  She set the glass and the cookies on the table, then took a seat on a chair in the corner. Somehow the thought of going to her quarters on the first floor, so far away from the child who might need her in the middle of the night, didn’t sit well. Even though Mabel had offered to stay on the third floor while Julia was away and had moved two doors down, the lad didn’t know her very well. Harriet would stay here a spell until she was certain he would be all right.

  A moan woke her some time later. She jerked awake and blinked, rubbing at the stiffness in her neck.

  Harry was thrashing about under the covers.

  She rushed to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  A scream erupted from the boy, and he curled into a tight ball.

  “It’s all right, Harry,” she said. “You’re having a bad dream.”

  But the boy didn’t move, except for the trembling of his body under the sheets.

  Shock flooded her system. The child was terrified—of her.

  “Harry, love. It’s Mrs. Chamberlain. You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you, I promise.”

  Harry kept his eyes shut tight, his breathing erratic.

  “I brought you some milk and cookies in case you were hungry. Or in case you couldn’t sleep. I know it often helps me.” She kept her voice at a near croon, like she was trying to coax an anxious kitten out from hiding. “Are you in pain, dear? Can I do anything for you?”

  Please, Lord, let him trust me. Help him to know I mean him no harm.

  The bedclothes shifted, and one eye opened. “Mrs. C.?”

  “Yes, love. You’re at my boardinghouse, remember?”

  The lines in his forehead disappeared, and he moved the blanket farther down. “I was dreaming that I was back at the farm. Hiding from Mr. Wolfe . . . but he found me.” His voice was a mere whisper.

  “Well, you’re not at the farm. You’re safe and sound here.”

  He studied her. “Did you say there were cookies?”

  Harriet chuckled. “I did indeed. Do you like gingersnaps?”

  Harry grimaced slightly as he sat up. “I love them.”

  “Good.” She handed him the napkin and helped him unwrap the treat. He took a large bite and smiled.

  She sat back down, waiting patiently as he ate both cookies and drained the glass of milk. When he’d finished, she took the napkin from him. “I hope you can sleep better now, dear, with no bad dreams to trouble you.” She couldn’t resist reaching out to rest a hand on his tousled hair.

  He looked up at her with serious eyes. “Mrs. C., are you sure I don’t have to go back to the farm when I’m better?” He bit his bottom lip, frowning.

  Harriet clenched her teeth together, working to contain her emotions before she spoke. “No, lad. You never have to go ba
ck there again. Your brother is making sure of that.”

  A slow smile emerged. “Quinn’s going to look after me now?”

  “I’d bet my last shilling on it.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Now, try to get some rest. If you’re feeling better tomorrow, I’ll teach you a card game I think you might like.”

  He lay back against the pillows. “Good night, Mrs. C.”

  “Good night, Harry. Would you like the lamp on or off?”

  “On, please. If that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is. And Mabel is right down the hall if you need anything.”

  “Mrs. C.?”

  She paused at the door. “Yes, dear?”

  “I wish I had a grandmother like you.”

  Harriet squeezed the door handle, unable to say a word. At last, she summoned a smile. “Good night, love. Sweet dreams.”

  And as she closed the door behind her, Harriet felt in her very bones that God had brought this boy to her for a purpose. A purpose she was determined to figure out, no matter how hard it was to face the truth.

  The dining room gradually emptied until only one other couple remained at the far end of the restaurant. Julia couldn’t remember when she’d had a more wonderful time.

  When they couldn’t extend their meal any longer, Quinn paid the bill and escorted Julia up the main staircase. As they approached their rooms, Julia’s palms grew damp, her heart beating a strange rhythm. Sharing the cake with Quinn had been a very intimate experience, leading her imagination down a path she had no business traveling.

  At one point, when the waiters were nowhere near, he’d reached over with his thumb and wiped some chocolate icing from the corner of her mouth. His hand had lingered against her cheek, and his eyes had darkened in intensity, robbing Julia of air. In that instant, she’d gotten the distinct impression that Quinn wanted to kiss her, and to her shock, she realized she would have let him.

  Now as they approached their rooms, Julia’s nerves tingled with awareness. The brush of his leg against hers, the tightening of his arm muscles beneath her hand, the heated glances he kept giving her all combined to throw her off balance.

  This attraction, although thrilling, could prove dangerous and was not something she could afford to pursue. She had to remember he was her uncle’s servant and she a fallen woman.

  Yet, despite every warning bell in her head, she couldn’t deny the longing to experience the thrill of his kiss. Just once.

  They came to a stop at her door.

  Quinn smiled at her. “Thank you for having dinner with me,” he said. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

  “As did I. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a fine meal—with such fine company. Thank you, Quinn.”

  He took her hand. “If I had the means, I’d give you everything you ever wanted, just to watch your face light up.” He raised her hand to his lips, his gaze never wavering.

  Julia’s pulse rate grew rapid, her breathing shallow. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from his.

  Then slowly he moved toward her. “Julia.” Her name was a whispered caress against her cheek. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

  She shook her head, afraid to break the spell he’d cast. Afraid he would kiss her, yet terrified that he wouldn’t. When he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, her lids fluttered closed on a sigh. He tasted of chocolate and cream. His arms came around her, pulling her against his chest, where she could feel his heart beating wildly beneath her palm.

  As his kiss grew more intense, the blood surged in her veins. She couldn’t seem to feel her legs, as though her feet had left the carpeted floor. She was floating, weightless, with only Quinn’s lips keeping her from drifting away.

  Then, abruptly, he broke the embrace and stepped back, allowing a rush of cool air between them. “Forgive me, Julia. I should never have presumed to take liberties with you.”

  She blinked. “You did no such thing.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Then why does it feel like I’ve committed a crime?”

  A crime?

  She winced. “Because you can’t forget our social positions. Despite our change in circumstances, it still feels . . . forbidden.”

  The lines on his forehead eased. “Exactly.”

  “We’re not in England now,” she said softly. “In this country, those types of social restrictions don’t exist—at least not that I can tell.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Your uncle is still my employer. He wouldn’t look kindly on this.” He sighed. “It’s probably best not to start something we can’t continue.”

  In the aftermath of his kiss, she wanted to argue with him, tell him it didn’t matter what her uncle thought, but in truth, Quinn was right. Despite their attraction, a relationship between them simply wasn’t feasible. Soon Quinn would be headed back to England, and she would be staying here to give birth to her child. A life-changing event that would force her to make some serious decisions about her future.

  “You’re right, as usual. We should forget this ever happened.” She swallowed a rise of disappointment that threatened to choke her. “Good night, Quinn.”

  “Good night, Julia. Sleep well.” And with a last sorrowful smile, he walked away.

  CHAPTER 17

  At precisely one o’clock the next afternoon, Quinn helped Julia out of a cab in front of the Sebrings’ house—though house was not an entirely appropriate word for the building in front of him.

  He stood for a moment to take in the sheer magnificence of the property. Other than Brentwood, Quinn had never seen the likes of it. Three stories of whitewashed walls rose above them, punctuated by black-shuttered windows and framed by an ornate iron fence that surrounded the perimeter. Tall white columns guarded the impressive double-door entrance.

  Was Becky really living in such luxury?

  Quinn couldn’t help comparing this place to Harry’s bed of straw in the Wolfe barn. How vastly different his siblings’ experiences were. He could only be grateful Becky had fallen into such good fortune. At least one of his siblings had come out ahead. Or so it appeared. As long as this outer luxury wasn’t masking other evils within.

  He took a moment to picture his younger sister as he had last seen her, her reddish-brown hair in two plaits, a white pinafore over her cotton dress. She’d had tears streaking her freckled cheeks as she clung to Quinn’s waist, begging him not to leave, ripping his already-breaking heart in two. It had been Mum who finally pried her loose. Becky had buried her face in Mum’s apron, while Cecil had shaken Quinn’s hand. Harry’s bottom lip had quivered as he tried desperately to imitate both his older brothers’ stoicism.

  Julia nudged Quinn’s arm. “Come on. They’ll be waiting.”

  “Right.” He tugged his jacket into place.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to visit with Becky alone? I don’t mind waiting out here.”

  He took her hand in his. “I’m delighted to have you with me. You steady me, Julia. Without you, I’m likely to do something daft, like kidnap my sister.”

  She stifled a laugh. “Okay, then. I’ll make sure you don’t give in to any mad impulses.”

  “Thank you.” He was glad that despite the blunder he’d made kissing her last night, they’d managed to avoid any awkwardness today. Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t help reliving the intensity of their embrace, the exquisite softness of her lips, the rightness of her in his arms.

  They walked up the flagstone path to the grand front doors, which were painted a deep red and sported an inlay of stained glass.

  A woman in uniform answered Quinn’s knock. “Please, come in,” she said once they introduced themselves. “Mrs. Sebring apologizes that she’s not here to meet you, as Thursday is her afternoon for tea at the bridge club. Rebecca is waiting in the parlor for you.”

  “Thank you.” Quinn rubbed his hands together, his throat suddenly dry. How would this reunion with his sister go? Would it be as strained as the one with
Cecil, or would Becky be happy to see him? Eager to come home with him?

  “Quinn? Is it really you?”

  A young woman appeared in the hall. She wore her now-chestnut hair in a soft puff on top of her head with a few loose tendrils framing her face. How different she looked from the wisp of a girl he’d left behind in their one-room flat in London. This woman, in her tidy white blouse and navy skirt, was tall and comely, her green eyes and freckles the only features he remembered.

  “Becca?” His childhood name for her slipped out as he stared at her.

  With a sob, she flew toward him and threw herself into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought I’d never see you again.” She buried her face in the wool of his jacket, her body shaking with the force of her emotion.

  Quinn tightened his arms around her and just breathed. Thank you, Lord. The stranglehold of fear that had held his heart hostage for so long loosened its tenacious grip. His three siblings were alive and well, doing the best they could. How he would eventually get them all back to England was a problem that could wait for another day. Right now, he simply wanted to enjoy getting to know his sister again.

  At last, Becky moved away to blow her nose, then smiled up at him. “You look as handsome as ever.” Her gaze moved past him to Julia. “Who is this? Your wife?”

  Heat streaked into Quinn’s face. “This is a good friend, Julia Holloway. Julia, this is my sister, Becky.”

  Julia moved forward to grasp Becky’s hand. “It’s lovely to meet you. Quinn has told me so much about you.”

  Becky’s brows rose. “He has?”

  “Yes . . .” Julia trailed off and bit her lip.

  “Just how long have you known my brother?” A mischievous twinkle lit Becky’s green eyes, a look Quinn remembered all too well from their childhood, which usually resulted in one of them getting their ears boxed by Mum.

  Quinn stepped forward to take Becky’s arm and steer her toward the nearest room, hoping it was the parlor. “I met Julia at Brentwood Manor when she was only thirteen, but we’ve only recently renewed our . . . acquaintance.” He let it go at that for the moment. Most likely Becky would assume Julia was a maid at the estate, which was fine by him. No need to explain their complicated history.