01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  Captured Dreams

  (Book 2 of Dream Trilogy)

  BY

  MAY MCGOLDRICK

  ISBN: 0451210778

  Copyright © 2011 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: May McGoldrick Books, PO Box 665, Watertown, CT 06795.

  First Published by Signet, an imprint of Dutton Signet,

  a division of Penguin Books, USA, Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America

  May McGoldrick novels are:

  "Richly Romantic." --Nora Roberts

  "Enchanting." --The Philadelphia Inquirer

  "Wonderful." --Jill Marie Landis

  Complete Book List as of 2011

  Writing as May McGoldrick:

  DREAMS OF DESTINY

  CAPTURED DREAMS

  BORROWED DREAMS

  THE REBEL

  TESS AND THE HIGHLANDER

  THE PROMISE

  THE FIREBRAND

  THE ENCHANTRESS

  THE DREAMER

  FLAME

  THE INTENDED

  BEAUTY OF THE MIST

  HEART OF GOLD

  ANGEL OF SKYE

  THISTLE AND THE ROSE

  Writing as Nicole Cody & May McGoldrick

  LOVE AND MAYHEM (Arsenic and Old Armor)

  Writing as Jan Coffey:

  THE BLIND EYE

  THE PUPPET MASTER

  THE DEADLIEST STRAIN

  THE PROJECT

  SILENT WATERS

  FIVE IN A ROW

  TROPICAL KISS

  FOURTH VICTIM

  TRIPLE THREAT

  TWICE BURNED

  TRUST ME ONCE

  CHAPTER 1

  June 1772

  Holding her feathered mask to her face, Portia glanced at the various doors around the room, going over inher mind the plan of the North End mansion. She had paid good money to get the correct layout of the house. She touched the locket she wore about her neck and hoped now that the information was correct.

  Portia knew the masquerade ball held at the elegant house on Copp’s Hill to honor the King’s Birthday was the only opportunity she would have. Admiral Middleton almost never entertained, so when else would she be able to gain access to the grounds? Her mother had been locked away for twenty-four long years, and Portia was determined to free her tonight.

  As it was, the guest list included only the most elite members of Boston’s Tory society, and even included the Governor. Of course, no invitation addressed to any Portia Edwards had arrived at the door of Parson Higgins and his wife, where Portia was living, but she had forgiven the Admiral the oversight. She had simply lied to a dear friend and deceived people who considered her part of their family. She didn’t have any choice, though. It had to be tonight.

  “You are very quiet this evening, my pet.”

  My pet. My pet. Portia tried to not lose her patience at Captain Turner’s condescending expression. She turned to the officer. As before, he was standing stiffly over her and leaning forward as he spoke. The gown she had borrowed from Bella was far too tight, and the corset’s whalebone stays were certain to leave permanent marks in her flesh. Portia had caught him staring at her breasts a half-dozen times already, and she lowered her mask to cover the revealing front of the gown. The officer looked into her face, and she pasted on a smile.

  Captain Turner, a second cousin to her young friend Bella, had been the means for Portia to get into the mansion. Now, however, she was having some difficulty ridding herself of him.

  “I am simply numb with excitement.” Portia raised the mask again to her face and looked around the paneled ballroom in search of a distraction for her companion. The notes of the minuet rose and fell as the other guests paraded about. There were far fewer women than men, though it appeared that some of Boston’s less elite Tory families had also sent their daughters. “I do wish you would not feel obligated to remain at my side, Captain. I should hate to make enemies with all these lovely ladies by keeping you to myself.”

  “Nonsense, my pet. I would not dare ruin your opinion of me by neglecting you. You know that I have been waiting upon you for months…and to no avail, I might add.”

  “But Captain, I have only been in the colonies for little more than eight months.”

  “And I have been your devoted servant since first seeing you after Reverend Higgins’s inaugural sermon. You cannot know how delighted I was at my good fortune when my young cousin was introduced to you the following Sunday.”

  “The good fortune was mine, but—”

  “To be honest,” he interrupted, “after we met a month later, and then you refused to answer any of my letters, I was about ready to give up hope. I do not need to tell you, therefore, how thrilled I was when my lovely cousin sent me word that you had finally agreed to allow me to call upon you. And when you consented to accompany me here…ah, what delight! And now you suppose that I would step away from the glow of your loveliness?”

  Captain Turner continued to speak, and Portia lowered the mask, glancing with disbelief at the officht="0" wihose eyes were again fixed on her breasts. He was a man in his forties, she judged, and though he had apparently been powerfully built in his youth, his physique was now beginning to decline into the softness of middle age. Still, she had underestimated the captain’s ardent interest in her.

  “Warm, is it not?” she interrupted. “Would you be kind enough to get me something to drink, Captain?”

  Her escort bowed, only to turn as a passing servant appeared carrying a tray filled with cups of punch. Portia silently cursed her luck and, with a weak smile, accepted one. When the captain again started with his lean, she glanced desperately about the room.

  “I have never had such an opportunity to see so many distinguished people. The military men look so dashing in their finery.”

  “I should be happy to introduce you to any of them, along with their wives,” Turner offered jovially. “We have some particularly fine men serving His Majesty here in Boston, and their wives would be delighted to meet you, I am sure. Whom specifically would you care to meet?”

  She looked about for some guest far from where they were standing. She had no difficulty finding one. Leaning with a haughty air against a column near the door, the man’s black scowl matched his dark attire.

  “That gentleman…” She motioned with the mask. “I do not believe I have ever seen him.”

  “I should be surprised if you had met him, my pet.” Turner’s nose climbed an inch in the air in obvious distaste. “That is Pierce Pennington, a brother to the Earl of Aytoun. An old family, but a scoundrel of a Scot, to be sure. This past year, since coming to Boston, he has been making a name for himself in finance and shipping.”

  “Is this not a difficult time to be establishing oneself in such pursuits,” Portia asked, “considering the townspeople’s refusal to pay the tax for English goods?”

  “Not if one lacks a certain…well, a certain respect for His Majesty’s laws of trade.”

  “Do you mean he deals with smugglers?”

  “I mean no such thing, officially. But we shall soon enough identify the key malefactors who are enriching themselves at the Crown’s expense…and put an end to that nonsense.” Turner’s gaze remained fixed on Pennington. “There are many things about that gentleman that I do not understand. But then again, my superiors consider him completely loyal to the king, and safely above assist
ing these troublesome colonists. In fact, Pennington’s younger brother is an officer in the Army and has a fine reputation, by all accounts.”

  “You make Mr. Pennington sound all the more interesting, Captain.”

  “You cannot be serious, Miss Edwards.”

  “Indeed I am.” The sound of carriages and riders from the courtyard signaled the promised arrival of the governor and his entourage. Portia knew he never traveled anywhere now without an armed military escort. She put on her sweetest smile. “I know I am safe with you, Captain. Would you kindly beg an introduction of the gentleman?”

  “Of all the fine persons in the room, my pet, I do not understand why you should be so determined to meet this…this Scot.”

  “If you please,” she asked. “You know that Parson Higgins’s wife is of Scottish cestry. I should so like to tell her that you took the pains to introduce me to a distinguished countryman of hers.”

  “Distinguished,” he scoffed, casting a sour glance at the distance that he would need to walk. “If you must, then why not come with me and—”

  “No, I cannot,” she said, hiding her face once again behind the mask. “I could never allow the rumor to spring up that I was discontent with spending time in your company, Captain. You are far better acquainted with the rules of society than I, but I should think that if you and Mr. Pennington were to approach me, there could be no reason for gossip.”

  Giving the captain a gentle push in the direction of the man, Portia waited only a moment. As soon as Turner had moved away into the crowd, she slowly backed up. Floor-length windows stood open behind her, and in an instant she was crossing the flagstones of a terrace and running down steps into the moonlit gardens below.

  Portia was thankful to find the gardens still empty of guests. If her information was correct, her mother was being kept in a suite of rooms on the second floor facing the rose gardens. The only way to reach her, without going through the house and being seen, was by way of a low balcony off her bedroom.

  Raising the skirts of the gown, Portia ran along well-tended paths bordered by boxwood and flowerbeds and soon found her way into the rose gardens. She immediately spotted the balcony, situated above a small pear tree and flanked by sturdy rose trellises. It was just as it had been described to her, and she quickly climbed a small embankment to the house.

  Portia Edwards had spent the entire twenty-four years of her life blithely ignorant of her origins. Raised in an orphanage school in Wrexham in Wales, at the age of sixteen she joined the family of Parson Higgins and his wife. In all her life, she had never doubted the stories of her parentage that Lady Primrose, the most generous benefactor and the founder of the orphanage, had told her since childhood. Her mother had died in childbirth and her father, a high-ranking Jacobite supporter, had died sometime after Culloden during the long years of exile in France. Though she had often imagined longingly what it would be like to have a family, she had none.

  Then, about a month ago, her eyes had been opened and a childhood of wishing for the impossible suddenly appeared within her reach. When Mary, the parson’s wife, had come down with a cold, Dr. Deming had paid a visit to the house in the lane off Sudbury Street. The physician, admiring Portia’s necklace, had recognized the miniature portrait of the woman inside the locket. From that moment on, Portia had not rested until she had found out everything she could about Helena Middleton.

  Portia touched the locket at her throat and started climbing the trellis. The narrow balcony served more for the sake of looks than function, for there was not even room to stand inside the railing. The windows had been closed in spite of the warm evening. Realizing that she still had her mask in one hand, Portia laid it on the railing and tried to peer in. Unable to see, she held on to the trellis tightly with one hand and leaned closer, disappointed to find the curtains drawn, as well.

  It was rumored far and wide that Admiral Middleton’s daughter Helena was mad and this was the reason why she was held in seclusion. In searching out information about the family, Portia had heard the old man’s compassion continually praised for the devoted care of his daughter. Portia guessed at the truth. If her father were a Jacobite, then Helen’s affair would have been a tremendous disgrace to a trusted Crown official. But was this reason enough to lock a daughter away for more than two decades?

  Portia tapped softly on the window. She understood that she had mere seconds to try to explain all of this to her mother. Their resemblance was hardly perceptible. In fact, it was not beyond reason to imagine that Helena might be completely ignorant of her daughter’s survival. She tapped again and felt the worry form like a hot ember in the pit of her stomach. As challenging as explaining their relationship might be, the more difficult task for Portia would be to convince Helena Middleton to escape this house with her.

  The curtains pulled back sharply and the burning ember rose from Portia’s stomach into her throat. The woman looked older than she had imagined. Touches of gray streaked her golden, waist-length hair. Her skin was pale and marred with dark shadows beneath the eyes. The resemblance to the miniature portrait, however, was unmistakable.

  Helena was holding a candle in one hand. She wore nothing over the thin rail that she must have been sleeping in. As she opened the latch on the window, Portia realized that her mother had not yet seen her.

  The rose trellis creaked perilously under her weight, and the young woman took hold of the balcony. She had been dreaming about this moment all her life, and now she could hardly breathe.

  The window opened. Helena placed the candle on the windowsill and leaned out.

  “Mother?”

  Silence enveloped them, and Portia saw the look of bewilderment turn to terror. Color drained completely from her mother’s face. Portia reached out a hand and touched the other woman’s arm, and Helena let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead.

  ***

  Pierce Pennington watched as the royal governor and his entourage entered the ballroom. Following the man’s gaze as he swept into the chamber, Pierce noticed how Thomas Hutchinson quickly took note of everyone and everything in the room—very much like a herding dog sniffing the air around his flock for the scent of a wolf.

  He returned the governor’s nod when the older man looked his way. Hutchinson immediately turned his attention on their host as Admiral Middleton approached to greet him. A small string ensemble began to play a recent Handel piece, and Pierce pushed away from the large column against which he had been leaning. He had made his requisite appearance. He started toward the large open doors leading to the gardens.

  “Mr. Pennington, you are not leaving us so soon, are you?”

  An officer had moved to block his path, and Pierce recognized him at once. A few years older than himself, Captain Turner was not distinguished by his physical presence, and at first glance, the man did not leave much of an impression on either friend or foe. Pierce sensed there was more to the man, though, for he had evidently served the Admiral well for many years. It was well known that the captain had Middleton’s complete confidence.

  “I was on my way to the gardens for some fresh air. Why do you ask, Captain?”

  “A young lady of my acquaintance desires be introduced, sir.”

  “To me, Captain? Don’t tell me she has already tired of your company?”

  “I think not, sir,” Turner huffed. “She simply wishes to meet a Scot, and you, I believe, may be the only person here who fits the description.”

  “A lady of discriminating taste.” Pierce glanced over the officer’s shoulder at the sea of scarlet and blue coats, gold braid, fresh ruffles, hoop skirts, and feathered masks. High ranking British military men and their women filled the room. “I see no one waiting on you, Captain.”

  “Is that so?” Turner looked over his shoulder. “She was right there a moment ago.”

  Pierce answered another nod from the governor and their host as the two men walked passed them.

  “Is she beautiful?” He turned his atten
tion back to the officer.

  “Quite so,” the captain replied vaguely, his eyes scanning the ballroom.

  “Young?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she have a sense of humor?”

  “I did not ask you to woo or court her, sir,” Turner said, turning to him in annoyance. “A brief introduction will suffice, if you please.”

  “Then take me to her, Captain, if you think ‘tis safe.”

  With a stiff bow, the officer led him in the direction of a refreshment table. This distraction was costing Pierce precious time. He cast a glance at the large stone terrace overlooking the gardens. By the courtyard entrance, he knew his groom Jack was waiting with the carriage.

  Turner’s course began to meander as he searched in vain for his escort. He finally stopped and glanced helplessly about the large ballroom. “I cannot imagine where she went.”

  “You probably frightened her off, Captain,” Pierce replied, keeping his tone light. “Perhaps I shall have the good fortune of meeting this mysterious lady another time.”

  “As you wish, sir,” Turner said, still looking.

  As soon as Pierce moved toward the terrace doors, though, Turner was beside him.

  “Perhaps she stepped out for air. She was just remarking on how warm it is.”

  With the officer still at his side, Pierce stopped on the empty terrace. Trying to appear unhurried, he looked out at the spires and rooflines of Charlestown across the moonlit river to the north and at the masts of ships in the harbor to the east.

  “Your elusive maiden is not out here,” he commented, breathing in the smells of the sea and freshly cut hay that mingled with the scent of roses in bloom. “Perhaps you should take another look in the ballroom.”

  “Indeed…perhaps...”

  Turner’s indecisiveness irked Pierce. “’Tis best if you go inside and ask a few of the other guests. A young and beautiful woman unescorted in a ballroom draws attention, Captain.”