01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  He strode off down the wharf, and Portia turned and went as quickly as her feet would carry her. She had to put as much distance between them as she could, before her heart got the better of her reason.

  *****

  When Mary Higgins arrived at the apothecary shop at the foot of School Street, the parson’s wife was able to convince Mrs. Crease that it would be perfectly acceptable to Portia if she were to wait in her bedroom and not the sitting room. Going up with her, the old woman was full of praise for her new tenant. Alone inside the small bedchamber, though, Mary felt her guilt weighing her down terribly.

  The room was clean. The furniture and the bedding was certainly adequate. The single window was open, and the sounds of the street drifted in.

  What troubled Mary was not the physical conditions in which Portia lived, but how little her former charge possessed.

  A small trunk sat neatly stored in one corner and a handful of keepsakes, all gifts from Ann and Walter, had been placed on the bedside table. But that was all Portia had to show for her twenty-four years of life. Mary recalled that eight years ago, the young woman had come to them from the school in Wales with more material possessions than she had now.

  Portia had never cared about possessions, though. Mary remembered how hungry for affection the young woman had been then, how eager she had been to please her new family. Mary recalled how much she had wanted to be a part of them.

  She and William had been too wrapped up in their own lives to recognize that, if there was one person who needed to marry and have children of her own, it was Portia. She needed family. She wanted to create what she had lacked in her life up to that point. And sharing theirs with her was not enough, for inevitably the day would come when she would be left alone—with nothing and no one to comfort her.

  Perhaps if they had been more conscious of pushing her into society then, of making some introductions, of encouraging potential suitors, Portia would not be attaching all hope for her future on rescuing her mother. That was a dream that Mary still thought was impossible. It was too farfetched. It could not be the answer to all that the young woman lacked in her life.

  Mary went to the window and stared down at the street below. She also felt guilty for constantly comparing Portia to her sister, Ellie. That young woman had grown up amid the bustle of a loving family. She had never lacked affection or material possessions, for that matter. And even when it came to her shocking affair, while others had suffered because of her behavior, Ellie herself had lost nothing in proceedings. After the scandalous divorce was completed, the rogue had married Ellie in spite of it all.

  Now her sister was settled and well provided for. But Portia was not.

  Mary saw the red uniforms of some officers riding their horses down the street, and she thought of Captain Turner. Perhaps it was still not too late. The man was certainly interested, and Portia’s hesitation might lessen in time. She just needed time to become accustomed to him. Portia was young enough to start a family, and the officer was certainly of an age to settle down. If all of this were to happen, perhaps Portia would also be happy to let her mother remain where she was.

  Mary wandered about the room, planning her strategy. Absently, her eyes fell on a small desk in the corner. As she looked at Portia’s pen and ink set and paper neatly arranged there, an idea occurred to her. She sat at the desk and picked up the pen.

  Being a concerned friend—she wrote to Captain Turner—she was hoping that the officer would assist the family in looking after Portia in her travels back and forth to Copp’s Hill. She mentioned Portia’s fondness for him and expressed the gratitude of both the Parson and herself. After addressing the note, Mary blew gently on it until the ink was dry, folded it and stood up.

  Time. All they needed was more time together. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Mary slipped the letter into the pocket of her dress. There was no reason why Portia had to know.

  Seconds later, the bedroom door opened, and Mary looked into the surprised face of the young woman.

  “Mary,” Portia gasped. “You are here.”

  The parson’s wife took a step toward the door. “I have had some time to think things through. I have also had time to realize how much I miss…my friend.”

  “I have missed you, too.” Portia said quietly.

  Mary took another step toward her. “I know I have my stubborn beliefs and fears and restrictions, and you are clearly doing well on your own. We each seem to be satisfied with this new arrangement. But that does not mean that we have to end…our friendship…and your relation with our family, and…”

  “Thank you,” Portia whispered, walking into Mary’s outstretched arms.

  *****

  The inquisition taking place of the Thistle ended with no charges or arrests being made. Pierce, however, was not so foolish as to let his guard down.

  The books for the other crossings had been turned over to the customs commissioner this afternoon. They were told that the inquiry could take anywhere from weeks to months. Pierce had another more pressing matter, though. He and Nathaniel were expecting another ship, the Lothian, any day. The ship, en route from the Caribbean island of St. Eustatius carried another cargo of muskets hidden among casks of molasses from St. Kitt’s.

  Pierce could not allow the vessel come close to Boston. He had no doubt that the British cutters stationed at the mouth of the inner harbor had been instructed to look for it.

  He considered taking the Thistle out and trying to intercept the vessel, but that was a nearly impossible task, considering the always unpredictable voyage. Besides, if he tried to sail the brig out of the harbor with an empty hold, leaving in the warehouse the casks of rum that were scheduled to ship, Admiral Middleton would immediately send a warship after him. Without a good head start, Pierce knew he couldn’t outrun the Rose or her fleet mates.

  Though the Lothian was scheduled to arrive within a fortnight or so, the ship could still be in St. Eustatius, for all anyone could tell. This, Nathaniel pressed, was another reason for Pierce to leave Boston now.

  Arriving at his house that night, Pierce went immediately to his study. Without hesitation, he crossed the room and snatched the letter from Scotland that he had been ignoring for over a month. His talk with Portia this morning had set off a need in him. Her comment about him being blessed with family had cut him deeply. Now, he needed to know what exactly was going on with Lyon. He had not seen or talked to his brother since Emma’s death.

  He took the letter to his desk and stared at Aytoun’s seal. The same seal that their father had used as they were growing up in Baronsford.

  There had been a time when parting from his family would have been unthinkable. There was a time when Pierce could never have imagined life without Lyon and David and Emma.

  They had all grown up together, Emma climbing the same hills and cliffs as they did. Closest in age to David, she spent all her childhood with the three boys. She was a Douglas, and her family had been neighbors to the east of Baronsford. Everyone in the Borders knew that Emma loved Baronsford as much as any of them.

  Pierce broke the seal of the letter.

  He knew that each of the three brothers had their own distinct relationship with Emma. Lyon was the eldest. He had high expectations of her, and she had complied during the years prior to becoming his countess.

  Of all of them, David had always been closest to her. They were the youngest of their merry band. From the time they were little more than bairns, the two of them had played along the cliffs at Baronsford, and the vision of them together was etched in his mind. David and Emma had been inseparable through the years. Pierce believed that his younger brother may have been the only one who truly loved her.

  To Pierce himself, she had been like a sister. He worried about her from the time she could walk, watched over her. Pierce had always considered it his responsibility to teach her and guide her. He too had high hopes, but Emma had been willful and impulsive. She had a streak of wildness that could
never be tamed.

  When it was time, Lyon had gone away to complete his education and take his commission in the army. Emma had gone off to London with her mother. Then, their father had died, and Emma was waiting when Lyon returned. She turned the full warmth of her gaze on him. They all knew that Emma’s one wish in life was to be Countess Aytoun, mistress of Baronsford. This was her dream.

  And Pierce had warned him. He told Lyon that she wanted this marriage not for love of him, but for love of his title.

  Despite the warnings, though, Lyon married Emma, and that was when the wedge had been driven between them. David had taken a commission and gone off to serve the Crown.

  Becoming mistress of Baronsford—as grand as that might have seemed to her before—was not enough once she had married Lyon. Increasingly, she wanted more. Pierce knew now that he had been blind to so much at the time. He had even allowed her to pit the brothers against each other. She knew how much Pierce cared for her in spite of his warnings to Lyon, so she had used him as a means of riling Aytoun. If anything at all displeased her, she would run to Pierce. Of course, the fault for every problem lay with Lyon.

  He unfolded the letter, but could not see the words. The rain and mist of those last days at Baronsford clouded his vision.

  Through two years of his brother’s marriage, Pierce allowed himself to be manipulated by Emma, and it wasn’t until after her death that he recognized his own blindness. She had been a part of their family for too long. He foolishly trusted her and tried to correct Lyon on every occasion when he had no right to do so. He continued when it was obvious that his interference was breaking the marriage even farther apart. There was so much about Emma that was a lie and he ignored it until it was too late.

  Now, he questioned everything about her…even her final words to him.

  Emma had thrown a great party, supposedly to celebrate the dowager’s birthday. Families from both sides were invited. For the first time in what seemed like months, Lyon and Emma were under the same roof. But that morning, after most of the guests had gone hunting, the two had a row.

  No one at Baronsford was surprised by it. Everyone knew that Lyon and Emma fought when they were together.

  When Pierce had run into Emma in the gardens that morning, she was upset. Without his asking, she started telling him about Lyon’s poor treatment of her…that the real purpose of this party was to announce her pregnancy. But Lyon was being inconsiderate of her condition—of her wishes. She was distraught, at wit’s end.

  Pierce had been rendered speechless by the news, but when she saw Lyon coming into the garden, she had run off in the direction of the cliffs. Pierce had stopped him, and then railed at his older brother once again about the poor treatment of his wife.

  He would never forget the look on Lyon’s face when he told him that Emma was with child. He didn’t think his brother heard anything else, not one of the accusations Pierce had hurled at him. As if in a daze, Lyon had simply gone off after his wife.

  Pierce had paced the garden for only a few moments before panic seized him. As he ran after them, he knew there was something very wrong. The rain and the mist and Lyon’s stunned face were a slap of truth. When he arrived at the river moments later, he had discovered Emma’s dead body at the bottom of the cli, Lyon’s broken one beside her.

  Pierce had remained at Baronsford until after the funeral. He could not bring himself to look into his brother’s face. Lyon was left a broken man—his body crippled, his mind sedated by the drugs to ease the pain. Or was it to forget what had happened?

  There were whispered rumors. There were those who claimed that the earl must have pushed his wife off the cliffs. But Pierce didn’t listen to any of it. Deep inside, he did not believe Lyon could hurt Emma.

  If there was any blame to shoulder, Pierce felt it belonged to him. And that was when he had decided that he could stay there no longer. He’d left for the colonies and tried not to look back.

  Pierce tried to focus on the letter in his hand. The handwriting was not that of their lawyer, Sir Richard. He read the first couple of lines over again, and then stopped and began once more, trying to make certain he was not imagining what he had just read.

  The tone was definitely his brother’s. This was Lyon, as he had been, before his marriage to Emma—strong and direct, to the point of being abrupt.

  In the letter, Lyon said that he was married again to a Millicent Gregory. Regarding his health, he had made vast improvements, and he and his wife were dividing their time between Baronsford in Scotland and Millicent’s estate, a place called Melbury Hall, which was situated north of St. Albans in Hertfordshire. They were expecting their first child in the fall, though they had taken in an infant girl already that they intended to raise as their own. They’d named her Josephine, and the “wee lass” was a spirited thing.

  Pierce blinked and moved the letter closer to the lamp before reading the first section another time. Hundreds of questions ran through his mind. Lyon with children. He shook his head.

  The second part of the letter was all praise of his new wife and the variety of projects that she was involved in at both places. This time, Pierce found himself smiling. This was certainly a change to the Lyon he had known.

  The last part of the letter was something that he should have taken care of at first but then had put it aside. Weeks after Pierce’s departure, he had received a letter from Sir Richard saying that his brother had signed all the lands of Baronsford over to him.

  The lawyer had explained that this was Lyon’s attempt to salvage their family. In turning over Baronsford, he could then withdraw and let the hard feelings gradually fade. Pierce could take charge of the family lands and perhaps bring David back to help him administer them. That way, the people of Baronsford could continue to live their lives peacefully and productively, as they once had. Giving away Baronsford had been Lyon’s way of determining the future for everyone. Pierce, however, wanted no part of it. He’d considered the papers meaningless. Lyon was the Earl of Aytoun. He was the one responsible for Baronsford. It belonged to him. Pierce had not even bothered to acknowledge the letter.

  The last part of Lyon’s letter talked of the land clearings in the neighboring estates and about the tenants fears that Baronsford’s farms were next in line to go. He also explained that the lands were still in Pierce’s name, and unless he came back in person to put their people’s mind at ease, the anxiety would grow.

  Pierce knew he could sign the appropriate papers and send them back to Scotland, revoking what he had never agreed toIn fact, this was something he needed to see to right away, for he didn’t want any inquiry into his affairs to include Baronsford. He could send the papers off on the next ship bound for England, and perhaps follow with a visit of his own.

  Pierce surprised himself for even thinking of it. But then he picked up Lyon’s letter and started reading from beginning about his brother’s recovery and marriage. Perhaps there could be a new beginning for everyone.

  A knock on his door interrupted him, and one of his servants informed him that there was a messenger waiting to see him. Pierce closed the letter, put it aside, and followed the man down.

  Standing by the front door, dusty from his travels, a young lad of perhaps fifteen or sixteen stood waiting. When he saw Pierce, he removed a pouch from under his shirt and handed it to him. Going to a window, Pierce opened it and found a letter from the captain of his ship, the Lothian.

  The vessel had met up with an outbound merchantman commanded by a friend rounding the cape. Receiving word of what was happening aboard the Thistle, Captain Cameron had decided to come about and set a course for Newport. The letter informed him that the Lothian was anchored just off of Newport, and he would await Pierce’s instructions.

  “How long were you riding, lad.”

  “Not e’en six hours, sir. Captain Cameron said to get a fine mount, ‘e did.”

  “Well done. Off to the kitchen with you, lad. You can fill your belly while I co
nsider how to answer your master.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Portia had not been at the mansion an hour when Mrs. Green, who had been hovering about while her mother finished her breakfast, brought in the Admiral’s physician. It soon became apparent that the military physician visited her mother nearly every day to lecture her on the medications that she was supposed to be taking, but often refused to take. Unsettling as this all was, it appeared to be the routine of the household.

  What Portia decided she would not allow, however, was Captain Turner’s continual visits, which had begun immediately after the physician’s departure. After his second appearance in an hour, it became obvious that he was going to supervise her all day.

  Portia had been stunned this morning to find the officer waiting for her with a carriage outside her door. Taken off guard, she had not been able to come up with an adequate excuse, and had been forced to ride to the Copp’s Hill mansion, grumbling to herself the entire way. He had informed her en route that he would have to leave the mansion for several hours during the afternoon, but that he would return for her by five o’clock and that she was to wait for him. Silently, Portia vowed that she would be long gone by the time Captain Turner came back.

  Between Mrs. Green and Captain Turner, the morning was a series of constant interruptions. Not once did Portia have a chance to speak alone with her mother. Around noon, a small repast of tea andbread was served, and Helena asked her to sit and join her, earning Portia a sour look from Mrs. Green. After the servants had cleared the food and dishes away, Helena turned her head toward the open window.

  “The day is a fine one, is it not, Miss Edwards?”

  “’Tis indeed, ma’am.”

  “Then we shall spend some time in the rose garden.”