The sounds coming from the room were unmistakable. A woman’s whimpering cries. The man’s groans of exertion. Violet put an unsteady hand on the wall and approached the closed door with hesitant steps.
She was no longer aware of the numbness in her hands and feet, or the weight of the basket of food she had carried all the way from Melbury Hall. Against her principles, against her better judgment, she had come. Now Violet felt ill as she stood frozen by the door.
Silently, she prayed that Ned was not in there. Perhaps someone else was using his room for the night. When he had not stopped for dinner at the hall tonight, Violet had thought he might appreciate it if she brought him some supper at the inn. Now she prayed that he had not come because he was away. Perhaps he had been called to St. Albans.
The noises inside increased in volume as well as cadence.
“Neddy!” The voice of the young woman spilled clearly into the hallway. “Oh, my God!”
Violet’s insides churned. The handle of the basket slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor. She . Aed down at the food that had spilled out around her frozen feet.
Suddenly, her blood coursed hotly through her veins. Vi pounded on the door. A muffled curse came from the room, and in a moment the door jerked open. Ned filled the doorway, a candle inside the room shadowing his face.
“By the de’il! What do ye want here?”
Violet stared at his bare chest. His breeches had been pulled up to his hips, but hid nothing. She looked up into his fierce glower and saw the temper brewing there. She didn’t care that he was angry.
“I brought you dinner.”
He looked down and then viciously kicked the basket with his bare foot. “I’ve already eaten. Get out.”
He started closing the door in her face, but Violet put a hand out to stop him.
“Who is inside there?”
“’Tis none of yer bloody business.”
“Who do you have there?” she said more forcefully, shoving the door open.
With a malicious smirk, Ned let the door swing open. Vi saw one of the young girls from the village peering wide-eyed at her from behind a blanket on the bed. The woman’s clothes were heaped in a pile on the floor. Ned’s shirt and boots had been thrown carelessly beside them.
Even as she stared, Violet couldn’t push away the memory of her and Ned making love on this same bed. Her head was still filled with his whispered words of love. Her only dream for weeks had been that of Ned asking her to marry him. Their future together had dominated her every conscious thought. Another look at the bed and the woman and Violet felt her temper rise, the hot blade of jealousy cutting deep.
“Get out!” she screamed, shoving past Ned and marching toward the woman. “Get out of here now!”
The girl only cringed behind the blanket, and Violet gave a sharp kick to the woman’s feet. “You despicable wench. You harlot!”
“Who the de’il d’ye think ye are?” Ned grabbed Violet by the shoulder and spun her around.
Vi didn’t see his fist coming. Suddenly she was against the wall, stunned by the blow, half of her face numb. Her knees buckled and she sagged against rough plaster. She put her hand to her mouth. She could taste the blood.
“You…you hit me,” she whispered in disbelief, trying to straighten up. Tears started blurring her vision. “How dare you?”
Ned loomed over her. “Ye asked for it, slut. What right do ye think ye have to come in here and spout off?”
“The right of a lover. The right of a woman whose honor you have defiled. Of one deflowered with lies.” With the back of her hand she wiped her bloody lip. “I was a virgin, and you took me. You made me believe that you had honorable intentions.”
“Honorable intentions? Deflowered?” He gave an insolent laugh and poked a blunt finger int her shoulder. “This is what books does for ye. Well, I’m telling ye, those are big words coming from a brazen wench. Ye spread yer legs willingly for me, an’ ye wanted it the first time ye laid eyes on me. Ye followed me around, even into St. Albans, so as to get it from me. An’ now, like a bloody bitch in heat, ye can’t wait for a man while he goes elsewheres. Well, slut, ye can just wait yer turn.”
Tears burned Violet eyes. She pushed away from the wall and faced him.
“You’ll be whistling a different tune when I tell Lady Aytoun how you seduced me and then mistreated me. I’ll tell her you forced me. You’ll be thrown out of that job and run out of this village when I tell people how you raised your hand against me. You are a low, insolent dog, and they’ll see you for what you are. You’ll never get work anywhere around here ever again when—”
Ned drew back his fist to strike her again, and Violet cringed, covering her face with her arms. Smirking, he lowered his hand.
“And d’ye think all these folk, including yer precious Lady Aytoun, are going to listen to yer bloody whinin’ and not ask why ye came here tonight? Why ye keep spreading your legs for a married man?” He laughed in her face. “I didn’t force ye to come here, ye stupid chit. You came willingly. Like a bitch in heat.”
He continued to berate her, but Violet’s mind had snagged on the words “married man.” A knot the size of a fist rose into her throat.
“You’re lying,” she said brokenly. “You couldn’t be married and come courting me the way you did.”
“Courtin’?” Ned snorted derisively and yanked her roughly toward the door. “This is all the courtin’ ye’ll be gettin’ from now on. Just ye get out of here, for I’ve a lass waitin’ who knows what’s what with a man. An’ ye best not be spoutin’ off back at the Hall, neither, if ye know what’s good for ye.”
He shoved her so hard through the door that Violet went sprawling onto the filthy floor.
“An’ don’t ye come back to my door again, slut, or ye’ll have more than a bloodied lip to show for yer trouble.”
Before Violet could reply, he slammed the door in her face.
****
Millicent nestled her face into the crook of Lyon’s neck and nuzzled and tasted the saltiness on the stretch of taut skin below his beard. Her body still hummed with the sweet after-effects of their lovemaking, and although they were still connected in the most intimate way, she had no desire to move or go anywhere, but simply to stay right here.
Lyon’s hand roamed over her back, and she heard a soft laugh rumble deep in his throat. She immediately raised her head and looked into his face.
“What?”
His blue eyes were filled with tenderness when they met hers. “I was thinking that in all my adult life nothing has ever approached what I just experienced. It was like the first time.”
Millicent couldn’t tell him how much his words meant to her. “I know what you mean. Wt you gave me just now…well, never in my life...” Her words trailed off.
“Will you tell me someday about it? About your life?”
Millicent didn’t want to think about any of that. “Those years have ceased to exist,” she replied softly. She moved carefully, disengaging their bodies, but Lyon’s hand wrapped around her waist, keeping her from moving away.
“I am not demanding any answers, Millicent. I am only trying to get better acquainted with my wife.”
“I know,” she said, laying her hand flat on his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat. “We never removed this.”
“I’m a very modest fellow.”
Millicent laughed, her fingers trailing down to the hem of the nightshirt, which was still bunched up around his waist. “I see how modest you are.”
“But I am quite warm. Perhaps we could remove it.”
“It will be a challenge.”
“I’ve seen you at work before,” he said, grinning mischievously.
“Very well.” She undid the two ties at the neck and then pushed up the linen fabric as far as it would go—which wasn’t far. Stretching her body on top of him, she shifted his weight from one shoulder to the other, managing to pull up the shirt to around his broad chest.
/> “Almost there.”
“Hardly,” he responded.
Glaring at him with mock fierceness, she sat up, straddling his stomach and pulling his right arm out of the wide sleeve. That worked. Before she could reach for the other arm, though, she found it straying.
“You are a miracle.”
He ran his fingers gently across her nipples and down over the curves of her belly, and Millicent felt the rush of liquid heat coursing through her middle again.
“Why do you say that?”
“A month ago, the only plan I had for the future was to find a way to put an end to my miserable life. But now I find myself deliberating on tactful ways of getting you to make love to me again.”
“Is that so?” Millicent said, inching backward. The feel of his fully aroused manhood nestling against her body spread another wave of heat through her. Lyon’s fingers trailed lower, and Millicent took hold of his hand. “First, I have to remove your shirt.”
“Save that for later,” he said, gently pulling his hand free and continuing to caress her belly. As he reached the soft mound, Millicent rose up slightly to meet his touch. “It may take any number of tries to get this shirt off.”
CHAPTER 21
“I am not making accusations, m’lady. I am simply passing on information that has been brought to my attention, information that I felt you should hear. Before conveying it to you, I considered the seriousness of the matter as well as the source—in this case, Dr. Parker—and I decided that Lord Aytoun’s health necessitated my speaking to you. I did not believe ‘twas in anyone’s best interest to allow his lordship to fall victim to any evildoers.”
“Evildoers, is it?”
As Doctor Tate waved his assistant out with his medical bag, the dowager motioned to one of her maidservants and whispered instructions to her. The woman hurried out of the room.
“When was the last time you spoke with this Parker?”
“Two days ago.”
“And what exactly did he have to say about my son’s condition?”
The thin shoulders of the physician straightened. “He was quite concerned. In fact, if I might be perfectly candid, m’lady, he feared that you could be receiving disheartening news any day about his lordship. Without proper medication and regular examinations by qualified physicians, Dr. Parker believes Lord Aytoun is at great risk and may be endangering his life.”
“And he was able to tell you this with certainty after only one visit to Hertfordshire?”
“A qualified doctor sees beyond the condition of his patient on a specific day.”
There was a knock at the door, and Sir Richard appeared.
“Come in, Maitland.” She motioned to another servant to put some pillows behind her back. Propped up in the bed, the old woman turned to the physician. “Can you, sir, in just a few words, summarize all this for Sir Richard?”
Dr. Tate bowed stiffly. “The information I have concerns a slave woman who resides at present in Lord Aytoun’s new residence, Melbury Hall.”
“The information you have is outdated,” the dowager interrupted. “The woman you refer to is no longer a slave but a free woman.”
“I beg your pardon, m’lady.” The doctor turned his attention again to the lawyer. “I have come upon some distressing information regarding this same woman. She is suspected of having murdered the physician whom she served as a servant for many years. What originally was assumed to be a death by natural causes is now suspected of possibly being caused by poison.”
“Suspected by whom?” the dowager cut in.
“Well, I assume by the man’s family.” The thin man ran a hand nervously down the front of his jacket. “By the proper authorities.”
“So you do not know,” Lady Aytoun snapped. “Is that it?”
“M’lady, as I am certain Sir Richard will tell you, even with Sir John Fielding’s Bow Street Runners looking into it—”
“Which they are not,” she retorted scoffingly.
“Even if they were looking into it, these matters take time.” The doctor turned to Maitland for help. “Sir, consider the severity of the charges. If Dr. Dombey did not die of natural causes, but rather because of the actions of this slave expediting his end with diabolical brews and potions, what difference does it make if she is officially charged with the crime?”
“The difference is a matter of making false accusations,” the lawyer replied calmly. “At her age, having nothing as a former slave, she has enough trouble without respectable people slandering her. Terms such as ‘diabolical brews and potions’ imply witchcraft in addition to murder, sir. Is that what you mean?”
“I only mean that if one considers the strong likelihood of this African woman murdering her master—and we all know that this is common in the islands—then the dowager’s first priority should be to remove her son from this woman’s clutches before she murders again.”
“My son is not in this woman’s clutches.”
“But he is, m’lady. ‘Tis clear that your daughter-in-law put an end to Dr. Parker’s visits to Melbury Hall as a means of giving free rein to this woman.”
“Are you now accusing the younger Lady Aytoun of wrongdoing?” Maitland asked.
“I am relating what I have heard,” Tate responded defensively. “There are witnesses from a nearby village called Knebworth, I was told, who claim the black woman is referred to, unbelievably, as a great ‘healer.’ Apparently, upon arriving at Melbury Hall, this slave woman was given the best room in the manor house. There are reports of agents of this same woman visiting an apothecary in St. Albans. If your ladyship’s daughter-in-law has fallen under this woman’s spell and has become blind to—”
“Enough,” the dowager ordered angrily. “You are obviously operating under some deluded notion of loyalty to your brethren, Dr. Tate, rather than any loyalty to my family—”
“M’lady, I have been your physician for quite some time now.”
“Indeed, sir. Too long, perhaps. But to make you understand where I stand on this matter, I do not believe the gossip of scoundrels. Nor do I suspect every old woman with a wrinkled face, a hairy lip, a squinty eye, or a scolding tongue to be a witch.”
“M’lady—”
“Perhaps because I fit that description myself. Now, I suggest that you take your leave, sir, before I lose my temper. See him out, Maitland.”
Beatrice Pennington, Dowager Countess Aytoun, glared imperiously until the physician, mumbling apologies, backed out the door under the stern eye of Sir Richard. Dismissing her maidservants with an impatient wave, the old woman stared darkly at the window.
She didn’t want to believe any of this nonsense. All the reports coming from Melbury Hall indicated Lyon was improving. For the first time in months, Beatrice had begun to hope that things might turn out well for her son, after all. She had allowed herself to let go of the past. It appeared that Millicent was good for him.
With a soft knock, Sir Richard reentered the room. From the droop of his old shoulders, the dowager guessed something was wrong.
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“Don’t tell me you believe this foolishness.”
He shook his head.
“Then don’t stand there like a tongue-tied block of peat, man. Tell me what is on your mind.”
The man sat down in his customary seat by the window. “I received a letter from your son this morning.”
“From Lyon?”
“Indeed, m’lady.”
“This is good news.” She shot an angry look in the direction of the door. “And more proof that this one and the rest of them, too, know little of what they dwell upon. This is the first time Lyon has corresponded with you since his marriage, is it not?”
“Indeed, m’lady.”
“A great sign of improvement in itself.” She leaned back against the pillows. “So what the devil is bothering you, Maitland?”
“Before I heard Dr. Tate’s accusations, nothing. But now, the more I think of it…” His voice t
railed off.
“Speak up.”
“In his letter, his lordship has requested that I send up a few of the Aytoun heirlooms to Melbury Hall.”
“What does he want?”
“He mentions specific pieces of jewelry that are here in London.”
“And what of it? They are his. He can do as he wishes with them.”
“He also directs me to hire and send a secretary up there to him, as his man, Gibbs, has been given the position of steward at the Hall.”
“All well and good. Time enough that Highland beast started using a bit of his brain.”
“Perhaps we should not take this matter too lightly, m’lady,” Maitland commented. “The change—dare I say the improvement—in Lyon has been remarkable. I do not discount the fact that these doctors appear to be overly keen about bringing us damaging reports. But perhaps our wisest course is for me to go personally to Melbury Hall to check on your son’s condition. I can go up under the pretext of delivering what the earl has requested in person. And while I am there, I can assess his lordship’s improvement and snuff out another potential scandal before it spreads through this idle London ton.”
The old woman’s response was immediate. “There is no need for you to go, Sir Richard. I shall be making the journey myself.”
“M’lady, I do not believe the urgency of the matter will allow us to wait until you are well enough—”
“I shall go this week.”
“But m’lady!”
“No arguments.” She waved a dismissive hand. “The only person who can put an end to all this foolishness is I.”
“But you are not well enough.”
“Who says I am not?” she challenged. “Millicent has already invited me, and I have told her I would go there to visit sometime. The only difference is that now we shall be arriving without prior warning.”
“Then allow me to come with you, at least.”
“As you wish, Sir Richard. Besides, getting out of this dreary city might be good for both of us. Make the arrangements.”
*****
“I ran into the doorjamb in the dark last night,” Violet explained to her fellow serving maid. The younger woman was hanging over her shoulder, looking at the ugly bruise at the edge of Vi’s mouth. “Really, Bess. ‘Tis nothing.”
02 - Borrowed Dreams Page 21
