02 - Borrowed Dreams Page 6

  “Where are we going?”

  His eyes danced with mischief when he looked at her. “Back to my room at the Black Swan. We’ll go in through the back door, lass. Nobody will see ye.”

  Violet hesitated. What he surely had in mind was the one thing that she was hoping to avoid, at least until he asked her to marry him.

  “What’s wrong with staying here?”

  Ned put his arms around her and placed his hands on her buttocks as he kissed her. She could feel the size of him as he rubbed himself hard against her. “What I want to do to ye, my sweet, means taking every stitch of your pretty clothes off and then kissing every inch of your skin. Now, we can do that here, if ye like, but ‘twould be a mite cold, I should think.”

  Her body was on fire, but her brain was still working.

  “Ned, I don’t think we should.” Vi was sorry the moment she voiced her objection, for a look of hurt came into his eyes. “You know I’ve never…well, never done this before. ‘Tis just that I am nervous. Afraid, to be honest.”

  “Nothing to be afraid of. But I’m in no hurry, lass. We’ll stay right here, if ye like.” He smiled and led her to a fallen tree at the edge of the woods.

  “You don’t mind, Ned?” she said as he pulled her onto his lap. “Really?”

  “Nay, my dream. And I know just how to get your mind off your worries.” He caressed her thighs, sliding his hand slowly upward until she drew in a breath sharply. “Aye, ye just think of Melbury Hall and tell me whatever ye want about it. And I’ll kiss your neck--this pretty little spot here below your ear, and ye can keep talking. How’s that?”

  “Are you sure—” She gasped as he rubbed harder. “Are you sure you’re not put off?”

  “Put off? Nay, lass.” He lifted his head. “In fact, I wasn’t going to say this now, but perhaps ‘tis for the best.”

  “What is it?”

  “I love ye, Vi.”

  “You do?”

  “Aye,” he said, turning his attentions back to her neck. “But tell me what’s doing at the Hall.”

  CHAPTER 6

  It seemed quite awkward to Millicent, retiring for the night without having seen or spoken with the Earl of Aytoun again. His man, Gibbs, and two of the valets had taken their master to his chambers after the ordeal in the courtyard. At his request, she’d had dinner sent upstairs. The earl’s servants appeared quite proficient in seeing to all of his needs.

  No complaints. No requests. Everything had been deathly quiet since dinner. But as she left Mary in the servants’ hall, Millicent couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that merely giving Lord Aytoun a suite of rooms was not at all what the dowager countess had wanted when she asked Millicent to marry her son. She had clearly stated that she wanted someone with compassion.

  To bring herself to the point of getting closer to her new husband, though, Millicent had to crush the seeds of anxiety inside of her. In the short hours that she had spent in London after marrying him, she had heard a number of grim reports about Lyon Pennington. The man had a notorious temper. He had definitely fought at least four duels during the spring before his accident. There were rumors of others, too. And there was a general belief that he had killed his wife.

  Wentworth had killed his first wife. And on more than a few occasions, he had nearly taken Millicent’s life, too. She cringed, remembering the first time. In her mind’s eye, she could still see him taking his riding crop and approaching her. She had stood disbelieving at what was happening. They had been married less than a month. It was a miracle that she had survived him, survived their marriage.

  Still shivering, Millicent recalled the first time she had met the earl, a silent man with dark hair and an untrimmed beard covering a pale face. His blue gaze had been restless, but not hostile. Even today, when she had been trying to help him in the carriage and he had become angry, fear of him had never entered her mind. Sympathy and worry perhaps, but not fear.

  Different situation, she told herself. A very different man.

  Climbing the wide stairwell from the entry foyer, Millicent moved down the hallway past her own bedchamber. She paused at the door to Ohenewaa’s room. The old woman had confined herself to her room tonight. Millicent felt better about that situation, at least, knowing that Amina had gone in a couple of times, directing servants who had brought in a tub and water for washing, and later food and several changes of clothing for the woman.

  There were so many things pulling at Millicent’s mind. Things such as how to make the old woman feel safe at Melbury Hall. And how she was going to advertise for the position of steward to replace Mr. Draper. And where she should spend her new income. She told herself that she needed to sit down and decide what should be done first.

  Too tired to put her thoughts in any manageable order, she turned toward the earl’s chambers and lifted her hand to knock.

  She paused, recalling the misery she had endured when Wentworth was in possession of these rooms. At times she would break into a cold sweat just coming this near the door. Once again, she pushed the fears back and knocked softly.

  Gibbs opened the door, and one brow arched in surprise. “Lady Aytoun.”

  Millicent stared at him for a moment. No one had called her that before, and she was not accustomed to the name yet. Lady Aytoun. She managed, at least, not to look behind her in search of the mystery woman.

  “Is the earl sleeping, Mr. Gibbs?”

  “Aye, m’lady.” He stepped back, opening the door wider.

  Millicent could see part of the bed and the man sleeping on it. She didn’t come into the room. “Did he have any dinner?”

  “I am afraid his lordship had no appetite after so many hours on the road today. But he tried some of the soup, thank ye.”

  “Does someone stay with him all the time?”

  “We try to, m’lady, at least when he’s awake.”

  She gave a nod of approval, remembering how helpless he had seemed today, wedged between the carriage seats.

  “What is the earl fond of doing, Mr. Gibbs?” It was an unexpected question, she realized, as the servant seemed perplexed as to how to answer. “What I meant to say was, how does he prefer to spend his days now?”

  “Well, he spends most of it in bed or in his chair.”

  “No, what I want to know is whether he likes to read, or does someone read to him? Does he have a favorite newspaper that I should have delivered? Is he fond of playing at cards?”

  “Nay, m’lady, none of that. His lordship likes to stare outside, and that is the extent of it, I’m sorry to say.”

  A twinge of sympathy pinched at Millicent. What kind of life was that for anyone? she thought. She made a silent vow to establish a better routine for her husband. She gave a final glance toward the sleeping man on the bed. He looked subdued, certainly not the hellion that he was reputed to be. “Are your own sleeping arrangements satisfactory, Mr. Gibbs?”

  “Aye, they are far better than I expected, m’lady. I thank ye kindly.”

  “Very well. Good night, then.” She turned toward her own rooms.

  “Lady Aytoun.” Gibbs stepped into the hallway after her. “Since I’m to be here, if you think of anything around Melbury Hall that I might be helping ye with, speak out, for I’m willing. I do not think his lordship would mind.”

  Millicent knew from the dowager countess that the Scotsman had been with Lord Aytoun for years.

  “You saw me fire Mr. Draper today. Perhaps you can help me as I try to find a replacement for him.”

  “Aye, m’lady. Whatever I can do to help, I am here to oblige.”

  Millicent nodded gratefully and turned away. As she walked back toward her own bedchamber, though, she found herself thinking not of the relief of having extra help, but of the man she’d found wedged helplessly between the seats of a carriage, and seeing in her mind the defeated look in his eyes.

  *****

  “Why in the devil’s name would you accept payment from her?” Jasper Hyde hissed
at the other man. “You know damn well once she got the slave, everything changed.”

  “My apologies, sir, but—”

  “You and your deuced apologies can go to hell.” He pounded a fist on the table. “Blasted lawyers.”

  Mr. Platt, a small man, folded his hands on his desk. “It was clear, Mr. Hyde, that our plans had been frustrated. I could find no way to refuse the cash payment. The amount covered all of Lady Wentworth’s outstanding debts to you. Her lawyer did not even try to wheedle out of paying the interest for this month. The entire amount she owed you, correct to the last farthing, was included in the settlement sum.”

  The sharp pain slicing through his chest made 29">refrain from hammering on the desk again. His hand clutched a spot just below his heart, where he felt a dagger burn and twist its way in. There were never any bruises. No symptoms that anyone could see. The few doctors he had spoken to about his ailment had told him, in so many words, that there was nothing wrong with him. The heart appeared strong, they said. He knew better. As always the pain came on sharply, then gradually eased.

  “Are you unwell, Mr. Hyde?”

  “Did you offer to take…?” He was gradually recovering his breath. “To take the black woman as part of the settlement?”

  “I did. But Sir Oliver would not consider it.”

  “Then you did not have to take the money.”

  “It was all done legally, you understand. I could not reject the payment.”

  “And since when do you stick to legalities, Platt?” Hyde planted both hands on the desk and glowered menacingly at the lawyer. “You seem to be having a hard time understanding me. You told me that she has no credit at all available. That she would not be able to pay for the woman.”

  “Mr. Hyde, there was no way of knowing that she would marry the Earl of Aytoun that very day.”

  Hyde cursed his damnable luck. Yesterday, hearing all the rumors about the fallen earl, he’d not once imagined the crippled bastard would be ruining his plans.

  “We are not going to let anyone stop us. Do you understand me?”

  Hyde’s fist landed hard on the desk again, scattering a pile of papers and making the lawyer jump as the candle wobbled in its holder. Platt tried to straighten the documents before him.

  “What is done we cannot und—”

  With a sweep of his hand, Hyde cleared the lawyer’s desk of all the papers, scattering them across the chamber. “I want the old slave, Platt. Now.”

  Sweat beaded on the lawyer’s brow and ran down his temple. Hyde knew Platt did not want to face his fury. Many words were left unsaid between them, but the intimation was clear. Hyde was certain the black witch had cursed him. The pains in his chest. The change in his luck. He did not need more proof than this.

  “In a fortnight or so, sir, we may still be successful in making another offer for the slave.”

  “You said yourself that she doesn’t need the blasted money. Besides, she’ll never sell the woman to me.”

  “Perhaps you might present yourself in a different light. Perhaps you can tell her you have seen the error in your ways. That you wish to employ the woman to help with the health of the slaves in Jamaica. She did have the benefit of assisting Dr. Dombey, I understand.”

  “You are a fool!” Jasper exploded. “There is not a chance in the world that she’d fall for such a ruse. She’d see through it in a moment.”

  “I am simply suggesting, sir, that money is not the only method we have to persuade her. She is just a woman and therefore weak. In addition she now has a crippled husband added to her burden.”

  “And no debts with which to crush her.”

  “True, and her money might not run out in the near future, so we shall need a new weapon to use against her.”

  “What?”

  Platt’s bony fingers formed a steeple. “We need to continue keeping a close eye on her.”

  “We need to find a way to pry her fingers off the old woman.” Hyde straightened up, remembering the last meeting he’d had with Dr. Dombey. With what was practically his last breath, the old fool had spoken of honor, of how he would not sell Ohenewaa to someone like him for any price. Fearing Dombey might do something as stupid as actually freeing the woman before he died, Hyde had then simply helped the good doctor toward his eternal reward.

  But his damnable luck had been against him that day too, as the slave was not there. A bailiff, representing a number of Dombey’s creditors, stood outside, though, as well as several others who were attending to the dying man. Hyde knew there was no way that he would get his hands on her. He even had a good idea that she was somewhere nearby, waiting for him to leave.

  “Perhaps we can somehow reason with the lady through the earl’s lawyer.”

  Hyde dismissed Platt’s comment with a wave of his hand as a brilliant idea presented itself to him. “The doctor. Find out for me the name of the doctor who is attending to Aytoun while he is at Melbury Hall. I want you to arrange a meeting with him.”

  ****

  Violet wasn’t aware that her boots were wet. She paid no mind to the quilted petticoats and the white apron, all mud-stained and soaked through as well. She didn’t even realize that she was shivering violently. As she fled along the path through the woods by the Grove, though, tears continued to roll down her cheeks. It was still dark when she emerged from the woods, and she quickly moved up the knoll toward the back of the house.

  Vi had no complaints about Ned. He had not forced her to go back to the inn. When the cold rain had begun, she’d gone willingly, giggling like a little fool the whole way. Once there, he had not rushed her, either. He had taken his time, teasing and kissing her and saying such sweet things to her. And like a wanton hussy, she had cried out in ecstasy as he had been doing all those wicked things to her.

  Once she’d left him and come out into the night, though, shame had washed through her like icy rain. She became more and more horrified as she ran home, thinking how she had simply spread her legs. What made it worst of all, though, was that he’d had his way with her without any definite commitment.

  As she neared the gardens, she thought back over the things he’d said. He’d said he was her man. He’d said she was his true love. He’d said…

  She stopped and leaned against the garden wall, covering her face with her hands. He’d never said he would marry her.

  “Oh, God,” she said in a moan. What if she was with child now?

  Her mother, long a widow, was no wore. She had always been poor, but they’d always lived decently in St. Albans. And her grandmother had always been so proud of her. Years ago, her grandmum had spoken almost boldly to Lady Wentworth about how Vi must be treated before allowing her to serve as maid to the mistress.

  Vi stabbed away at her tears, remembering how her grandmum always referred to her as her own innocent thing. Where had that innocence gone? Before the squire had died, Violet had been ready to kill herself rather than let him touch her. She recalled how she had hidden in one of the slave huts in the Grove so he wouldn’t find her. She had been terrified, but she had survived. She had kept her maidenhead. And now she had given it up like some slut.

  She had to talk to Ned. She had to make sure he understood what kind of a girl she was. But perhaps ‘twas too late? A sob caught in her throat.

  The house loomed in the dreary predawn light. Pushing away from the wall, Violet ran toward it. As she reached the open garden gate, though, a tall, dark figure suddenly appeared in front of her, and she ran straight into a man, who grabbed her arms to keep her from falling.

  She gasped and looked up at the scarred face. “Moses!”

  The man’s hands dropped back to his sides.

  “What are you doing out here at this hour of the morning?” she asked gently. She knew that Moses served as a watchman at night, but she had never returned this late and had not expected to run into him.

  “Vi hurt?”

  The gruff tone could not mask his concern, making her feel doubly
guilty. She shook her head at him. “No, Moses. I’m not hurt.”

  “Why is Vi crying?”

  “’Tis nothing, Moses. I was just a little sad. But I’m better now. Truly.” She touched his arm before going around him and heading quickly up the hill. When she reached the door to the house, she turned and looked back at Moses. Though she couldn’t see his face, he was still standing where she’d left him, watching over her until she’d gone safely in.

  CHAPTER 7

  With the Chiltern Hills rising behind it, Solgrave sat on a ridge overlooking a long, narrow lake that stretched along a handsome valley. With its fine deer park and well-tended farms, the country house of the Earl and Countess of Stanmore was truly a beautiful place, one far superior to any of its neighboring country manor houses. But the mansion’s grandeur did not diminish the value of its neighbors. Solgrave conferred on them greater status merely by having the good fortune of being located in the same vicinity. This added value had been reason enough for Squire Wentworth to purchase Melbury Hall.

  Of course, Millicent thought, that was before Wentworth had married her to enhance his social status. How ironic that within a few years, Rebecca Neville would come back from the American colonies, marry Lord Stanmore, and provide Millicent with an ally who would help her fight for her liberty.

  Despite the different roads that they had taken, fate had certainly brought the two school friends together again after nearly a decade apart. And Millicent would be forever grateful to Rebecca and Stanmore for helping her climb back onto her feet and manage to keep Melbury Hall after the squire’s death.

  Mrs. Trent, the housekeeper at Solgrave, was as friendly as ever when she led Millicent to the library. Inside, the young woman had only just managed to remove her hat and gloves before her friend rushed in to meet her.

  “I was going to come to Melbury Hall to see you myself this afternoon.”

  Millicent returned Rebecca’s embrace. “I couldn’t risk not seeing you during the short time you were here. I heard you are only staying overnight.”