Moon Dreams
Patricia Rice
www.bookviewcafe.com
Book View Café Edition
February 3, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-61138-459-8
Copyright © 1991 Patricia Rice
Author’s Note
I apologize to the Maclean family for inventing their family history. Like the Macleans of whom I write, the real Macleans were Jacobites nearly annihilated in the Uprising, their lands and castle demolished and taken from them. The sole heir eventually reclaimed and rebuilt the family home just as in my story. I’m certain his history was every bit as romantic as the one I have created. However, for the purposes of this story, all the characters are fictional with the exception of well-known historical figures such as Samuel Johnson.
1
Cornwall, Fall 1759
Alyson Hampton clung to the masculine hand holding hers as she gazed over the choppy sea. Standing on the bluff, she let the wind off the water blow her black cloud of hair over her shoulders. Her eyes reflected the silver gleam of overcast skies.
A vague smile tugged at her lips under the familiar admiration of the man watching her. The desire that had caught them both by surprise a few months ago blossomed into a strong urge that was difficult to fight.
Alyson loved the natural cowlick that normally cascaded golden hair upon Alan’s noble brow. She wished he had not bothered with the formality of his powdered wig today. She had not yet developed the temerity to mention her distaste for his wig, however, so she merely smiled as he drew his hand through her hair.
“You are so lovely, you shame the skies for not smiling upon you,” he murmured.
Her lips parted at this nonsensical statement, and she turned her attention back again to the choppy sea. Watching her long-legged spaniel puppy dancing after some creature at the cliff’s edge, she abruptly frowned.
“Peabody! Heel!” She spoke sharply, urgently, so unlike her usual tones that both man and beast stared in astonishment.
The puppy bounded happily toward her, and Alyson relaxed. Returning to her normal absent-minded state, she scratched the dog’s head before allowing Alan to lead her away from the windy bluff.
As they walked away, a cascade of pebbles fell from the ridge where the puppy had been standing. The soggy mud slid after the falling pebbles, and a moment later the tuft of grass where the dog had been disappeared in a rumble of mud and stone to the sea below.
Alan caught his breath in shock. Alyson serenely picked a late wildflower. He expelled his breath and grinned. “Is that an example of that Scots second sight the servants claim you possess?”
Alyson glanced at him with surprise; then, noting his mocking grin, she laughed. Picking up the skirts of her apron and gown, she raced him down the hill to the sanctuary of a rolling valley where they were hidden from all sight of the house.
Alan caught up with her in a few long strides, pulling her into his arms as soon as the shadow of the hill hid them. His lips found hers, and in a few brief seconds their laughter melted into whispered sighs.
***
Remembering that day with a happy flush, Alyson leaned over the upstairs balustrade to scan the majestic hall below. Boughs of evergreen and ropes of holly looped and spiraled down the polished wood of the staircase and throughout the hall. Tantalizing smells wafted up from the kitchen, and whispered conversations and giggles echoed from the far corners of the house. Excitement raced through her as she noted the footman opening the door.
He was here! Heart pumping, she stepped back into the shadows of the upper hall. She knew Alan’s formidable parents would precede him, and they would not approve of her forwardness in racing to greet their son.
She curled up on the backless sofa at the top of the stairs and listened to the deep male voices carrying up to her. That one was Alan’s, and she smiled as she imagined him swinging off his heavy greatcoat and handing it to the footman. He would be wearing his formal wig, a short, dignified one unlike his father’s old-fashioned full-bottomed one. He would have on his new green frock coat with the buff cuffs turned back and held with gold buttons. She couldn’t decide what vest he would wear, but it would look dashing against the starched lace of his shirt and the gold chain of his watch. When she tried to imagine the rest of his attire, her cheeks grew warm.
She was eighteen-years old and had never been out of Cornwall in her life. Alan Tremaine was the only young gentleman of her acquaintance. She had no business knowing about a man’s breeches and what was under them, but she had heard enough from hushed conversations in the kitchen to know there was some marvelous secret to it. She felt every confidence that Alan would be the one to teach her all his secrets. Perhaps this very night he would seek her out. It had been so long since she had seen him. She had never known time could go so slowly until he went to London.
Her grandfather’s greeting rose from the drafty magnificence of the hall, and Alyson leapt to her feet to find occupation in the second-floor salon. The earl would be accompanying his guests up the stairs shortly. He would not like to find her hovering in the dark like a common maidservant.
Alyson knew Lady Tremaine considered her no better than the earl’s bastard granddaughter, but Alyson shrugged off her foolishness. She was aware her father had never married her mother in the church, but the romantic tragedy of their lives overshadowed the whispered labels people applied behind her back. In Scotland, formal vows weren’t necessary.
Besides that, her father’s father had married her mother’s mother, and it seemed to her that made everything perfectly legitimate, particularly since she had never known her parents. An only son, her father had perished at sea, and her mother had died of consumption within a year of her birth. Her grandparents were the only parents she had ever known.
Sadness crept into her heart as she watched her grandfather enter the salon. Since her grandmother’s death two years ago, the earl had grown old. He moved slowly, and the tired lines in his aristocratic face grew deeper with each passing day. But he carried his tall, lanky frame proudly erect, and his smile of pride upon seeing Alyson warmed her all the way to the bone.
She rose and curtsied, blithely casting a laughing gaze to Alan and ignoring Lady Tremaine’s frown. He looked harassed as his mother launched into a monologue of the tribulations of their sojourn in the city, and his father headed for the brandy decanter. Alyson drifted back to the settee and dreamed of Alan’s kisses while she waited for him to find an excuse to leave the room with her. Surely he must be as eager as she to renew their sweet exchanges.
Accustomed to allowing the conversation to flow unheeded around her, it took some time before Alyson grasped the subject under discussion. She caught it then only because Alan suddenly looked guilty and turned to pour a drink from the decanter for himself. Frowning, Alyson tried to tune in to Lady Tremaine’s incessant chatter.
“It should be an excellent match. She has impeccable breeding, and her dowry is every bit as significant as her older sister’s. They seem well-suited. Alan scarcely left her side during the entire visit. They’ve not decided on a wedding date yet. Of course, they’ll reside here most of the year, where dear Alan will help his father in the management . . .”
Alyson didn’t hear the rest. A hammer seemed to be battering at her heart, chipping it into little pieces. Surely she had not heard aright. Her grandfather was always accusing her of not hearing one word in two, and he was quite likely right. She had misheard Lady Tremaine’s lengthy monologue. Alan could not be marrying another. His kisses had promised her.
With great dignity Alyson rose from the settee, murmured a vague excuse, and drifted from the salon. She felt Lady Tremaine’s malicious look, but she seldom took notice of the thoughts of small minds. Only Alan mattered, and she
held that thought close while she waited for him to follow her. She had half-hoped it would be this night that he would pledge his vows to her. That was the only Christmas gift she craved. He would come and make everything right.
Skirts lifted by fashionable side hoops, she swept down the darkened corridor lined with portraits of her English ancestors. She knew the name and history of each one of them, but her portrait would never hang here. Her illegitimacy barred her from the family tree. This had never truly bothered her, but waiting for Alan raised the specters of all life’s uncertainties.
As long as Alan stood at her side, she had not cared that she couldn’t be introduced to London society. She enjoyed the vast loneliness of her grandfather’s Cornish estate. She kept her own company well, and although she might wish for friends with whom to share secrets, she couldn’t miss what she had never had.
She heard footsteps hurrying down the echoing stone corridor. She stepped into the moonlight of an arched window, where he could see her silhouette. She had known he would follow. Now he would explain, and everything would be right again.
Alan’s arms slid around her waist, and Alyson raised her mouth to the ecstasy of his kiss. Her heart beat against a cage of whalebone as he pulled her close. Her hands rested against the smooth satin covering his chest, and as his kisses drifted across her cheek and down her throat, she sighed. Everything would be fine.
“Tell me about London,” she murmured, turning from his embrace when his caresses became too bold. “Who is this heiress your mother has found?”
“You need not worry about heiresses, my love. Lucinda prefers London, whatever my mother might think. I’ll ensure the family name and fortune by wedding her, but you’re the one I will come home to. It will work, I promise you. Come, give me a kiss, and I will show you what I brought for you.”
She could see the outline of his neat bagwig in the moonlight, but in his eyes she could see only shadows. Alan’s head descended to find her lips, but Alyson twisted in his grasp. Perhaps she did not know a great deal about the world, but the effects of marriage, or lack of it, she had learned at a painfully early age.
“I don’t understand, Alan. I thought you loved me. How can you wed another? Please explain,” she asked patiently, waiting for the understanding that sometimes came so slowly to her. She knew she was not stupid, but she had insufficient knowledge of people to always understand what they tried to tell her behind their words.
Alan pressed a kiss to her hair and daringly slid his hand to the curve of her breast. She inhaled sharply as he stroked the edge of her bodice, and he smiled.
“You know I love you, little turtle. And I’ve made plans for us. We’ll be together as often as we want. I’ll provide for you. You need never worry about that. Did you think my love so shallow as to forget how you feel in my arms, how your kisses torment my soul? Look, see what I’ve brought for you.”
He released her breast to reach into the deep pocket of his coat to produce a small box, which he opened with a flick of his thumb. He held it up to the moonbeam from the window, and the magnificent garnet winked against the intricate gold of its setting.
Alyson stared at the lovely ring with incredulity. This was what she had planned and dreamed and hoped, a sign for all the world to know that he claimed her as his. The words of love and kisses were there too, just as she had imagined them. So why, then, was everything so wrong? Perhaps she still misunderstood. She scanned the handsome curve of his jaw.
“The ring is very lovely, Alan, but only a wife can accept such extravagant gifts. Forgive me if I am too overwrought to understand. Did you not say you were to wed this Lucinda?”
Alan attempted to place the ring on her finger, but Alyson curled her hands into tight, frightened balls against his chest. He kissed her nose.
“I have no choice, Alyson. The title requires legitimate heirs. Everyone accepts that’s the way things must be. But what is legality to love such as ours? You will be my wife in all but name. Wear the ring, my love, for me.”
Perhaps she really was very stupid. Others understood their place in the way of things. Why couldn’t she? Her mother had borne her out of wedlock, and thenceforth, so must all her own children be the same? It seemed a singular feat of logic that she had not quite grasped before. She grasped it now, however, like twisting her fingers around a fiery brand until the pain seared with white-hot heat, leaving only ashes behind.
“Your generosity overwhelms me, Tremaine. I must go now.” Dropping her hands from his chest, Alyson stalked down the hall, not caring if he followed. Pain lit her path and pain carried her feet and pain held her head high. She would walk away and never look back. Never. It had taken a long time to grow up, but her eyes were open now.
***
Six weeks later, that night was no more than a half-remembered nightmare. Reality was the cold gray mist soaking her woolen cloak and clinging to her lashes and mixing with a torrent of tears. The polished coffin slid into its stone tomb, out of her sight forever, and Alyson choked on a sob.
The vicar hastily concluded the service before the rain worsened. She didn’t hear words of comfort or love in his voice; she had to turn inside herself for that. Grandfather had loved her, and she wanted him to be happy. He couldn’t be happy lying ill in bed calling for her grandmother. He was much happier now, up in heaven watching over her. She shouldn’t mourn his passing, but be glad for him.
Still, the tears rolled down her cheeks. The earl’s death left her with no one except this stranger the solicitor had introduced as the new Earl of Cranville. She knew it was the grossest self-pity she indulged in, but she could not imagine rising in the morning to a day with no grandfather in it.
Shoving her gloved fist in her mouth, Alyson turned and raced back to the house, ignoring the black-clad company who so studiously avoided her. Only the servants dared offer her any comfort, and they had to maintain a respectful distance during the service.
Behind her, Alan Tremaine started to break away after her, but his mother caught his arm with an angry hiss and held him back. As he had throughout the service, the new earl, Alexander Hampton, watched with bored disinterest.
A little later, Alyson rubbed at the red in her eyes with cold water before descending to meet with the solicitor. Her maid Hettie clucked and brought a warm shawl to wrap over Alyson’s mourning gown. She hovered to brush straying curls back into Alyson’s chignon.
The salon would be full of mourners who had traveled all the way from London and would spend the night. The late earl had had many friends in government and society, but Alyson scarcely knew them. She had never needed more than her grandfather.
That was a lie, but she consoled herself with it anyway as she patted her hair and arranged her shawl and prepared to meet the gentlemanly old man who had requested her appearance in the study. In typical fashion, she had never wondered what would happen to her should anything happen to her grandfather, but a niggling doubt raised its ugly head now. She knew she had no legal right to the home she had called her own for nearly nineteen years, but beyond that she did not understand. She would have to go down and find out.
Besides the bespectacled solicitor, the only other occupant of the study was her hitherto unknown cousin. Alyson sent him an anxious look as she settled her skirts in the chair. He was very big and cold and distant as he sat there in his extravagant London fashion. The full skirt of his coat flared out over his velvet breeches, silk stockings, and lace. She had never seen a cadogan wig, and she tried to keep from staring to see how the satin tie of the wig wrapped around his collar and ended up in front. She had heard her grandfather call these young fashionables “macaroni’s” with scorn, and she fancied he had thought of his heir in that manner.
The solicitor coughed to catch her attention. Alyson blushed and primly set her hands in her lap. She had been daydreaming again. She had been warned time enough and again that she shouldn’t let her mind wander, but it was so much easier to go off on distant journeys inside
her head than to suffer tedium. She tried to concentrate on the formidable legal terms the solicitor read aloud, but she couldn’t keep her attention on words she didn’t know.
Instead, she watched the way the solicitor rubbed at his temple, indicating his increasing nervousness. A growl made her throw a surreptitious glance to her cousin. He seemed ready to choke on some particularly unpleasant morsel. She feared in a moment he would turn purple, and she wondered if she ought to pat him on the back. The explosion, when it came, did not surprise her. One would feel inclined to violently expel such unpleasantness.
“He was mad! Criminally insane! I’ll protest it in the highest court! Bigawd, I’ll have you in Newgate for perpetrating this fraud! Don’t think I’m some yearling who can be flummoxed like this. Nobody in his right mind could expect me to run this rattling old castle without a cent to spit on.”
The solicitor imperturbably adjusted his spectacles. “The land surrounding the estate has always produced adequate income for the maintenance of the property—with proper management, of course, my lord. As a matter of fact, your great-uncle’s fortune began with similar humble beginnings. He managed his money wisely, invested, and watched it grow. You have every opportunity to do the same.”
“But I’m the heir! The money should be mine, not some half-witted bastard female’s.” He threw Alyson a furious look that caused her to draw back in surprise. “How do we even know she’s a blood relative? There are no marriage lines to prove her mother wasn’t just some doxy out for what she could get.”
The solicitor’s lips thinned into a tight line. “There has never been a question of Miss Alyson’s parentage. His lordship documented the facts most thoroughly. And even if there were, he was quite free to bring beggars off the street and endow them with his wealth. Only the title and the estate were entailed, my lord.”
Alyson heard the solicitor’s hint of scorn in speaking to the new Earl of Cranville, and she lifted her eyebrows. Never had anyone spoken to her grandfather in such a manner.
Moon Dreams Page 1
