02 - Borrowed Dreams Read online

  “Good and distressing. Are you getting ready for bed?”

  Millicent pushed away from the door. She glanced at the screen divider and the nightdress that had been laid out on a settee beside it. Tonight the room felt much smaller; the bed looked far too narrow. Lyon closed the book and fixed his gaze on her.

  “I never had the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you looked tonight.”

  “I…thank you,” she whispered, becoming more flustered. She needed a place to escape to. The screen served the purpose. She had just slipped behind it as a soft knock sounded on the door.

  Hurrying to the door, she opened it slightly. Violet stood in the corridor.

  “Are you ready to undress, m’lady?”

  “Yes, come in.”

  “No!” Lyon ordered from the bed. “I shall help your mistress. Out with you.”

  Millicent felt her face burn as Violet stood looking from one person to the other.

  “I shall manage, Vi,” Millicent said, dismissing her. “Off to bed with you.”

  Closing the door, she crossed the room as casually as she could and ducked behind the screen.

  “I said I’d help you.”

  “Yes, I know.” Her voice sounded odd, even to her own ears. “I can manage.”

  “The buttons to that dress are in the back.”

  She cursed silently. He was right. Violet had helped her get into the dress. She needed someone to help her out of it.

  “Can I help you?”

  Millicent closed her eyes.

  “I shan’t shave my face again, even if you beg me.”

  He sounded like a sulking child, and an uncontrollable giggle rose in her chest. He sounded like her. The ridiculousness of how she was acting dawned on her. This was, after all, the same man with whom she had made love repeatedly this week. He was her husband. Clutching the nightgown to her chest, she came around the screen.

  “The damage is done,” she said. “Now I know how frighteningly handsome you are, so you might as well keep this look.”

  “Very well, m’lady. Your wish is my command.” He tossed the book on the bedside table. “Come here.”

  Millicent sat on the edge of the bed within the reach of his left hand with her back to him. “If you would do the first dozen buttons, I can handle the rest.”

  “You cannot be serious,” he said with feigned shock. “The ‘rest’ is what I have been looking forward to all day. So I do it all or nothing.”

  She looked over her shoulder at the smile on his handsome face. He knew exactly how to melt her heart. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  Millicent felt the first button open and then the second.

  “Now that you mention it, there is something that I need from you.”

  She heard the change in his tone. “What is it?”

  “I need to go to Scotland. I want you to come with me.”

  Her body tensed immediately. Lyon’s fingers moved down her back, undoing a few more buttons.

  “During these past few months I had been so far removed physically and mentally from Baronsford that I was not aware of the situation there. I had no idea that the problems going on in the Highlands were spreading south to us in the Borders.”

  “You mean the land clearings?” she asked quietly.

  She knew a little about it. For thirty years, since the defeat of Bonny Prince Charlie at Culloden, the government had been leaning heavily on the Scottish Jacobites and the Highland clans that had sided with the Pretender.

  In the newspapers the dowager had been sending up from London, Millicent had read some of the speeches being given in Parliament. From what she could gather, the present problems had really begun in earnest some ten years ago in the Highlands. The value of money was not what it used to be, and the lairds had all begun to raise the rents. Because there were just too many people in the Highlands, wages remained low. Tacksmen—the increasingly affluent men who for decades had leased large tracts of land from the lairds and then sublet the land in smaller plots to crofters—were no longer able to make a living, and had started moving out. The lairds had looked for ways to make the land more profitable, and that was when the trouble really started.

  “Sir Richard told me hundreds of vagrants are passing through Baronsford every month. Most of them are hungry, desperate for work. They need ways to feed their families. Others just want to earn enough to pay for passage to the colonies.”

  She turned to him. “I read someone’s speech in the House of Lords. He said that with the tacksmen gone, the tenants’ lives would only improve. They would have only one master to satisfy. But these vagrants—”

  “Are those same poor tenants.” He finished her sentence. “In truth, what has happened is that the farms vacated by the old tacksmen have been let to any stranger who would make the highest offer. These newcomers care nothing for the lowly crofters who have been working the soil for years. The new tacksmen have paid their rent and now are determined to squeeze from those beneath them as large a return as possible for their outlay.”

  “People can only take that for so long.”

  “And raising the rents is not all of their troubles, either,” he added coolly. “Some of the landowners are combining the smaller farms, doing away with the tillage, and introducing sheep on a large scale. Now each of those farms would have been occupied by any number of tenant families who worked the soil. The landowners have simply pushed those people out and pulled down their homes.”

  “How terrible!” She touched his hand. “You said the troubles have reached Baronsford.”

  “Some of my neighbors have beguhe same practice.” He held her hand. “Because I have been away for so long, rumors have begun to spread amongst the tenants. After the accident, I transferred control of the land to my brother Pierce.”

  Millicent already knew this, but she decided to keep silent.

  “I assume he has been too busy to come back from the colonies or do anything about it. Still, I feel the problems were really mine, and I have to address them now.” He absently caressed her hand. “I have no tacksmen, nor did my father before me, but many of the tenants apparently fear that Baronsford’s farms will be next to go.”

  Millicent had sensed the same kind of fear among the Africans at Melbury Hall after Wentworth’s death. Although relieved that their brutal owner was gone, they had been very apprehensive about who was to take over. Many had expected Millicent to sell what she could—including them—and then walk away from it all. But she could not turn her back on her people.

  “You must go back. You must make them understand that you are not deserting them.”

  “I agree. I want you to come with me.”

  “I cannot,” she protested. “I cannot be away from Melbury Hall for so long.”

  “We could go for a fortnight—maybe a month at most. Then we shall come back.”

  “But I am needed here. Things cannot function—”

  “You know they can.” When she tried to stand up, Lyon’s hand grasped her arm, forcing her to stay. “You have competent people here who are doing their jobs. There is no reason why you cannot take a few weeks away.”

  “There are others who can go with you. The dowager—”

  “She told me tonight that this is as far from London as she plans to travel. In fact, she is so taken with my recovery that she told me she plans to stay awhile at Melbury Hall. She thinks the place might do her some good as well.”

  “You see?” She nodded matter-of-factly. “All the more reason for me to stay here. Someone needs to keep her company.”

  “She has Maitland. And Gibbs and Mrs. Page will look after her perfectly well.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you the truth. It is not her affection for you and me that will keep my mother here. I think she wants to stay and see if Ohenewaa can do her any good.”

  Lyon was right, and Millicent knew it. As much as she didn’t want to believe it, Melbury Hall was beginning to run smoothly on a day-to-day basis. But still,
a mild panic had taken hold of Millicent. It really came down to one thing—she knew she lacked too much to successfully function as an earl’s wife at a place like Baronsford. All her ancestors didn’t amount to a hill of tea. She was just plain, simple Millicent Gregory. She might be able to fill the role of a squire’s widow in a small country estate like Melbury Hall, but beyond that she had no illusions.

  “Tell me what is bothering you.”

  She looked up and saw Lyon’s hurt expression. “I am frightened.”

  He tugged on her arm and pulled her into a fierce embrace. His lips brushedagainst her hair. His hand moved possessively over her back.

  “When we barricade the door,” he whispered raggedly into her ear, “the world outside seems to be a frightening place. I have fears, too. I fear the past. I think of facing my own people and I fear they will find me lacking. I am not the man they knew.”

  Millicent held him tight. She pressed her head against his chest and listened to the stout heart drumming within. Lyon’s problems were much more significant, and yet hers threatened to freeze her like a sculpture of snow. She looked down at her legs, frozen with fear and unable to carry her into the future.

  “When are you planning to leave?”

  “I was hoping to go early next week.”

  She looked up into his handsome face. “Will you let me think about it?”

  He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “Yes. But don’t ask me to refrain from pressuring you. Or from trying to convince you. Or bribe you. Or whatever else I must do. I need you with me, Millicent.”

  And she needed him.

  CHAPTER 24

  “You there. What’s your name?”

  “James Wakefield, ma’am.”

  The dowager glanced at a second boy who stood by the garden wall, keeping a safe distance. The two of them had burst out of the woods and come racing up to the garden gate, laughing and shouting and chasing after each other like a pair of colts. But upon seeing her coming out of the garden, the two had come to an abrupt halt.

  “And who is your friend?”

  “Israel. He used to live here at Melbury Hall. But now he lives at Solgrave with us.”

  “I see.” The old woman studied James Wakefield. The lad was tall and wiry, though he couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. She noticed his misshapen hand, but didn’t linger on it. She turned her gaze on the other one. Israel had the most striking green eyes in his handsome dark face. She looked back at James. “And what mischief are you two about today?”

  “Mischief?” James answered, shooting a devilish look at his friend. “None at all. But if you forgive us, ma’am, we have some very important business that we need to attend to.”

  With a deep bow, the young boy backed away from the garden gate and joined his friend. A minute later the two were again laughing and racing each other to the house.

  “He is Lord Stanmore’s oldest son,” the dowager’s attendant told her. Although she had never met them in person, the dowager knew a great deal about the family. Lord Stanmore was from good Scottish stock. His mother was a Buchanan, hailing from the hills around Loch Lomond.

  Lady Stanmore was even more interesting. In finding out what she could about Millicent, the dowager had learned about the solid friendship between her and Rebecca Stanmore that had started back in the years when the two were students at an academy for girls in Oxford. Despite the ten years that Rebecca had spent in the American colonies, the two young women had easily rekindled their friendship during the summer that Stanmore had married Rebecca. It was the same summer Millicent had become a widow.

  “His young lordship attends Eton, and the black lad, Israel, goes to the school in Knebworth Village,” the attendant continued. “The two boys are best of friends, I gather, and visit here often. Cook already had some sweets ready this morning, expecting a visit from them.”

  Such fascinating lives, the dowager thought, welcoming the feel of the sun on her face. Standing just inside the garden gate, she filled her lungs with the cool morning air and thought, as crowded as Melbury Hall was with all types of people, she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so well.

  At the edge of the trees from which the boys had come, she spied a tall black woman bending down to pick up something from the ground. The woman straightened and put her find carefully in a basket that she carried. As she did, the dowager had her first opportunity to look into the wrinkled face. This was Ohenewaa, she was certain. The dowager had been keen on meeting her since their arrival two days ago, but the woman had proved elusive thus far.

  She turned to her attendant. “Go ask her to come and join me here for few moments.”

  The young woman hurried to do as she was told. From within the walls of the garden, Beatrice watched her attendant approach and say few words to the black woman. Ohenewaa answered without looking toward the garden. The young woman hesitated, then hurried back.

  “She asks why you’d like her to come here, m’lady.”

  “Tell her I should like to thank her.”

  The servant ran off again. The dowager moved out of the gate and, using her silver-headed staff, poked the cold soil of a flower bed. From here she had a better view of the other woman. The attendant hurried back again and was breathless by the time she arrived at the gate.

  “She’d like to know what reason you have for thanking her, m’lady.”

  “Good Lord! Tell her I need to thank her for what she has done for my son.”

  The attendant hurried down the hill again. Beatrice noticed that Ohenewaa had taken a few steps up toward the garden. A moment later, the young woman was coming back again. The dowager walked along the path a few feet.

  “What now?”

  Instead of coming all the way, the attendant called from halfway up the hill. “She says, m’lady, ‘twas all his own doing. That she hasn’t done a thing.”

  “Modest, too,” the dowager called out, moving down a few more steps.

  “Modest, too,” the attendant called out in Ohenewaa’s direction.

  “I did not tell you to say that,” Beatrice scolded. She stopped her complaining when she realized Ohenewaa had started approaching her. She continued down the hill.

  “What else should I tell her?” the servant asked, looking a little frayed.

  “You should go up to the house and rest your voice.”

  The young woman turned around. “You should go up to the house and rest your—”

  “Not her,” the dowager snapped, having reached the young woman. “You!”

  “I?” The attendant turned around, confused.

  “Yes, you,” Ohenewaa answered, having reached the halfway point as well.

  With a curtsy to each woman, the attendant hurried off toward the house.

  Ohenewaa turned her gaze on the dowager. “You should know straightaway that I do not respond well to being summoned.”

  “That was no summons. ‘Twas a request. But no matter,” Beatrice said impatiently, waving her hand. “I just wanted to spend some time with you, to get to know you a little, but I am afraid I am not very good at expressing myself patiently when I want something.”

  “Abruptness is part of your nature,” Ohenewaa commented.

  “I know.”

  “And rudeness, I think.”

  “Sometimes that is true.”

  “And stubbornness.”

  “When ‘tis called for.” The dowager frowned suspiciously. “And how is it that you know me so well?”

  She shrugged. “I know your son. Now, what was it that you wanted?”

  “If you could put up with a cranky old woman, may I keep your company while you walk and gather your plants and herbs?”

  “Since you ask this way, why not? I think the eyes of two cranky old women may be far better than one.”

  *****

  Millicent burst through the library doors, and Lyon smiled as the energy she exuded displaced all trace of quiet in the room. It was a welcome ch
ange, and he studied every aspect of her appreciatively. The dark blue dress had a fitted bodice and low neckline. She was wearing a thin ribbon of a matching color around her neck.

  “Sir Richard just went upstairs to change for dinner,” she said. “The dowager is on her way downstairs. I thought we should take two carriages to Solgrave, as—”

  “For days now I have been desperate for a moment alone with you.”

  Millicent came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room and stood motionless.

  Since the dowager and Maitland’s arrival, either she or Lyon had been constantly on the go. Even in their bedchamber, time tly ofleeting, for Millicent seemed determined to come up late and escape early in the morning.

  Lyon knew what she was doing: She was avoiding giving him the answer he was after.

  “You look beautiful tonight.”

  A soft blush crept into her cheeks. She smiled. “You look rather handsome yourself.”

  “I have a small gift here for you.”

  She glanced curiously at the box sitting beside him on the table. “You have given me enough, Lyon. I don’t expect any—”

  “I know. I want you to have it anyway. Please.”

  She approached hesitantly. “But what is the occasion?”

  “I need no occasion to give my wife a gift.”

  Millicent reached his side. “But I don’t have anything for you.”

  “You have given me more than I deserve.” He took her hand in his, and she sat down shyly on his lap. He handed her the box, and she opened it slowly.

  She gasped in shock and closed the top quickly. “These are so beautiful. I cannot accept them.”

  Shaking his head, Lyon opened the box for her again.

  “Yes, you can.” He took out one of the diamond necklaces and laid it across the palm of her hand. “Will you wear this for me tonight?”

  “But Lyon, this is too beautiful. I could never do it justice.”

  “Love, this is only a string of cold stones. By themselves they are nothing. You will give them life by wearing them near your heart.” He turned her face and brushed away a single tear that had escaped her silvery gray eyes. “You are so beautiful. Please let me do this.”