WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE

by When Dreams Come True(Lit)

“I’m guessing at your size, miss,” the maid said. “They may be a bit big, but they are serviceable. Your other shoes were destroyed beyond repair by the saltwater.”

  Eden tried the black leather shoes on. They were flat-soled and very plain but fit rather nicely. “They will do. Thank you,” she told the maid.

  Betsy looked as if she’d like to linger and gossip a bit, but Eden discouraged her by asking her to deliver a message to Lord Penhollow.

  “Please tell him I’ve decided to rest and must forgo the pleasure of a walk in the garden.”

  “Yes, miss,” Betsy said with a curtsy and hurried down the hall with bustling self-importance. Eden shut the door. She didn’t have time to waste.

  She regretted leaving the rich dresses behind, but didn’t see how she could sneak through the house and fetch them from the laundry without someone seeing her. Instead, she considered them payment for Lord Penhollow’s saving her life. If anything, the dresses might even encumber her plans of escape since selling them would make it easy to trace her.

  It was now past mid-morning. Eden slipped out the garden door and paused. The blossoms appeared even more bright and colorful in the full light of sun.

  It was all so beautiful and peaceful here. She touched the medallion Mary had given her. A longing for something she couldn’t have tugged at her soul, urging her to linger. But she couldn’t. If she was ever going to be free, she must travel as far from the coast as possible.

  She turned away from the garden and, head held high, walked across the lawn beyond the garden toward a pine forest, hoping to escape unnoticed. At the edge of the forest, she looked back at the gray walls of Penhollow Hall. No cry went up to stop her.

  Again, she felt the longing to stay, to belong.

  But it wasn’t to be. She turned her back and slipped into the shelter of the pine forest unnoticed.

  The only evergreens Eden had ever seen had been those trained for a garden. But the trees in this forest had grown wild, their trunks massive, while here and there overgrown branches brushed the ground. The floor was layered deep in orange pine needles, muffling all sound. Not even birds could be heard singing.

  Eden hesitated. Sunlight filtered down through the trees in definite rays of light. It was like a separate world from the happy color in the garden.

  Cautiously, she walked forward, the ground spongy beneath her feet. She’d not gone more than a dozen steps when a voice, crackled with age, said, “This forest was built two centuries ago to break the wind between Penhollow Hall and the sea.”

  Eden shrieked in surprise and whirled to face the speaker—and then feared her eyes deceived her.

  Beneath the sheltering branches of a pine sat an old woman watching her with filmy blue eyes. She was dressed in brown and gray homespun and the lines on her face had been etched there by age. She had a great head of silver-gray hair she wore gathered at the nape of her neck. A huge brown sack of the same homespun lay on the ground beside her.

  For a second, Eden believed she’d conjured the woman from her imagination and fanciful stories of trolls and fairies.

  The old woman rose to her feet, leaning heavily on a walking stick. She’d been sitting on a three-legged stool toward which she now nodded. “I have to take it with me everywhere. I don’t walk as much as I used to. I need to rest from time to time.”

  Eden closed her gaping mouth. “Excuse me, are you speaking to me?”

  The crone frowned. “Who else would I be speaking to, my dear? There is no one here but you and me… except you were leaving. Where were you going?”

  “Do you know who I am?” Eden asked.

  The woman gave her a toothless grin. “Do you know who I am?” she parroted.

  Eden took a step back, and then decided this conversation was ludicrous and to keep walking. Her head down, she started to do exactly that when the old woman cried out, “Halt.”

  Eden stopped.

  “You can’t run away from your destiny,” the woman said. Her words rang in the stillness of the forest.

  Eden turned. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the Widow Haskell, dear. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  The Widow Haskell… the woman Betsy had called a charmer. “For me? You don’t know me.”

  “Oh, but you are wrong, Eden.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I’ve seen you coming. I called you from the sea. We’ve all been waiting for you.”

  A coldness crept up Eden’s spine at her words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t. But I can’t let you run away. Not yet. Your fate is here.”

  Fear of discovery coursed through Eden. “What do you know about my fate, or about me?”

  The Widow leaned heavily on her walking stick. “I know it is not your time to leave. You’ve only just arrived and must see the play through to the end.”

  “The play? You’re speaking gibberish. I know nothing of a play.”

  “Of course you don’t, child, but you have a role nonetheless. And you must stay until it’s done.”

  “I can’t stay,” Eden confessed with brutal honesty.

  The Widow picked up the three-legged stool. “1 will not argue with you, Eden. Your fate is here. The question is, are you bold enough to meet it?”

  “There are people who will be looking for me. I must not let them find me.”

  “So you plan to run all your life?”

  Eden fingered the medallion Mary had given her. “I have no choice.”

  “We all have choices, Eden. Every one of us. But I will tell you this, there is no finer man than the Lord of Penhollow. You have been sent for him and he will protect you.”

  “He barely knows me.”

  The crone smiled benignly. “The choice is yours.” She tucked her stool into the sack. Hoisting the sack on her shoulder, she turned and began walking away from Eden through the forest.

  Eden took a step after her. “Wait! I want to know more. Why do you say I was sent? How can he protect me? What do you see that I don’t?”

  But the Widow kept walking.

  “Please!” Eden called.

  “Courage,” came the faint response as the old woman continued her way out of the forest without stopping. A few seconds later, she was out of sight.

  Courage. May you have the courage to free yourself. Mary’s words.

  Eden clasped the medallion in her hand. Courage.

  She stood in indecision, “what ifs” crowding her mind… but in her heart, she wanted to believe the Widow’s words—even as her common sense warned her there was no such thing as fate or destiny. Not for girls born in the gutters of London. Not for slaves running from their captors.

  But then, a man offered protection in return for certain favors… and a woman would be very fortunate to have Lord Penhollow for a protector.

  Eden turned and faced the direction of Penhollow Hall. The sunlight shafting through the pine branches seemed to mark a path back in the direction from which she’d come.

  Fate.

  Slowly, almost without conscious thought, she began walking back toward the house, the garden, and the Lord of Penhollow Hall because just for once, she wanted to believe.

  In a scene that was replayed in the homes of every member of the gentry boasting a marriageable daughter, Mrs. Willis burst into her husband’s bedroom without knocking. Her hair was half combed, her toilette half complete, and she still wore her dressing gown. Her husband, who enjoyed late mornings, slept soundly.

  “Mr. Willis, you must wake this very second! Something dreadful has happened!” She gave his shoulder a rough shove.

  Mr. Willis came awake with a groggy start. “Are the stables on fire?”

  “No, it’s something worse!”

  His eyes opened wide at her statement. “Something worse?” he repeated in disbelief. He pushed back the bedclothes and squinted at his wife from under his night cap. “What is it, my dove? Has the King died and we are f
orced to crown that fool Regent? Or has Napoleon escaped again and is now threatening Cornwall?”

  Mrs. Willis sat down on his bed with a flounce. “Lord Penhollow has chosen a bride.”

  She had Mr. Willis’s full attention now. “A bride! Penhollow? This is a bit sudden, isn’t it? And what of our Victoria?”

  “What of our dear daughter?” his wife cried. “She shall be heartbroken… and just when I was beginning to have hopes. He’s always been unfailingly polite to her. Very proper. In time she would have sparked his interest. Now, I feel betrayed. Betrayed, I tell you!” She broke out into noisy tears.

  Mr. Willis climbed from his bed. He wore a nightshirt that hung down past his bony knees. He slid his feet into his slippers. “That’s preposterous! I saw Penhollow the day before yesterday. If the man had contracted a marriage, he would have told me so himself. What proof have you that he has made an offer?”

  Mrs. Willis loudly blew her nose into her delicate lace handkerchief. “I had the information from my dresser, who heard it from the cook, who received word of it last night from her cousin whom she went to visit in the village and—” She emphasized the last word lest her husband think she were trading in rumor. “—to be certain… I questioned the downstairs parlor maid, who claims the story is true. The maid said that everyone in Hobbles Moor knows that Lord Penhollow’s bride has arrived. She said the bride is at Penhollow Hall at this very moment.”

  Mr. Willis sank down on the bed beside his wife. “Well, this is unusually fast action for Penhollow. I’d always thought him a singularly prudent and circumspect young man. Are you certain, my dove?”

  “Would the servants be gossiping about it if it wasn’t true?”

  “No, of course not.” He sat in silence a moment, before conceding with a sigh, “I see nothing we can do but to wish him well then.”

  “Nothing we can do?” Mrs. Willis jumped to her feet. “I’m not going to give up. Not yet! He’s too good a match.”

  “But what can you do, Dovie?”

  Mrs. Willis marched to the door before announcing grandly, “I will see this woman for myself! You are right, Mr. Willis. This is all too quick. Furthermore, Annabelle Penhollow would have told me if her son was planning to become betrothed. I want to see this ‘bride’ for myself!”

  On those words, she sailed out the door to finish her morning toilette.

  Chapter 5

  Lady Penhollow sat on one of the cushioned chairs in her favorite room in the house, the Garden Room. The bank of windows overlooking the garden was open and she could hear the splashing water in the fountain, a usually soothing sound. But not today.

  She stared in front of her with unseeing eyes, her mind reeling from the implications of Pierce’s infatuation with this stranger.

  No, warned a small voice inside her, this is more than mere infatuation. She’s the one.

  The one.

  Her future daughter-in-law…

  Her every mother’s instinct warned her that this could be so. There was an air of interest about Pierce that was a touch more intense and marked than he’d ever demonstrated for a woman before.

  Then there was his almost proprietary behavior toward the girl, as if in saving her life she’d become his personal responsibility. He’d been genuinely disappointed when Betsy had delivered the message that Miss Eden wished to rest and would not be able to go for a walk. And instead of returning to his study or going about his business as he normally would, he’d actually lingered around the hallway leading to her room, his expression concerned.

  If Lady Penhollow hadn’t known better, she would have said this Miss Eden had cast a spell upon her normally sane and sensible son—

  She broke off such silly thoughts, chiding herself for thinking nonsense! He was interested in Miss Eden because she was uncommonly beautiful. Her looks would interest any male… although beauty alone had never turned Pierce’s head before, she realized with dismay. After all, she’d already paraded a host of girls as beautiful as Miss Eden before him without any desired effect.

  So why was he so taken with this one?

  Lady Penhollow loved her son and wanted to see him dutifully married. He had a responsibility to produce an heir and the time had come for him to get on with it.

  But a suitable bride for Pierce would have to have a sweet, amenable disposition—the kind of young woman who would not insist Pierce move his mother out of the house.

  She did not want to spend the last years of her life lonely and unwanted. She was all too aware that in spite of her title, she was still Annabelle Longstead, the daughter of a very wealthy butcher. Her marriage settlement was long gone and she had no family left other than her son. She wanted to stay at Penhollow Hall and feared being sent away even as far as the dowager cottage. She longed to hold her grandchildren in her arms and hear the sound of childish laughter again in the hallways and corridors of this heartless Cornish estate.

  What would happen to her if Pierce formed an attachment for this Miss Eden?

  Last night, he’d refused to leave her side until after the doctor had seen her and even then, he and Dr. Hargrave had argued over her treatment. Of course, one rarely argued with Pierce. His was an iron will and few people opposed him.

  She also knew that one of the reasons he hadn’t married yet was because of her relationship with his father. His view of marriage was not a happy one—but marrying a complete stranger of unknown social class was not the answer!

  At that moment, Rawlins, the butler, interrupted her thoughts. “Lady Penhollow, Mrs. Willis, Lady Baines, and Lady Danbury have come to call. Shall I send them in?”

  “Yes, please, and have Lucy prepare a tray for us. Cakes and Ratafia, if we have any. Oh, yes, and a pot of tea for Mrs. Willis. She is very fond of tea.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bowed out.

  Lady Penhollow was thankful for her friends’ timely arrival. They were new friends actually. It had taken years before Cornish society, such as it was, had accepted Annabelle, the countess of Penhollow, and even now she was aware that their acceptance hinged on the goodwill of her son whom all seemed to like and respect.

  They would not visit her if she was reduced to living in the dowager’s cottage.

  A moment later, Millie Willis sailed through the doorway. “Annabelle! What a lovely morning. Can you believe our good fortune to have two perfect days in a row? It feels almost as if we were in London.” Mrs. Willis detested country life and enjoyed rattling on and on and on about the sights in the city. Lady Penhollow had often wondered, based upon what the woman said, if Mrs. Willis had ever been there—but she didn’t dare question her.

  “How good to see you all,” Lady Penhollow said. “I’ve asked for a pot of tea and some Ratafia. I hope you have time to share a glass.”

  “Oh, we do, we do,” Mrs. Willis responded, pulling off her gloves. She smiled at Betsy who was carrying the tray loaded with tea items into the room. “I’ve always liked this room, Annabelle.”

  “Yes, it’s my favorite too,” Lady Baines chimed in. She perched herself on the edge of the chintz settee. The heavier Lady Danbury sank down beside her.

  For a moment, they discussed banalities like Lady Penhollow’s needlework while Betsy finished setting up the tray on a table in front of the settee. “Please shut the door behind you, Betsy,” Lady Penhollow said when the maid was done.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She closed the door.

  The lock no sooner clicked into place than Mrs. Willis whirled around to confront her, her face a mask of fury. “And this room is where we’ve spent hours discussing ways to get our two children together in marriage. Annabelle! I can’t believe you would be so unfeeling as to let us learn from the servants instead of informing us yourself.”

  “Learn what?” Lady Penhollow asked. She looked at Lady Baines and Lady Danbury who also frowned at her with disapproval. “I’m sorry, is something the matter?”

  “Oh, no, nothing is the matter,” Mrs. Willis said with false
sweetness before adding through clenched teeth, “Only that your son has contracted to be married!”

  “What?” Lady Penhollow exclaimed, but Mrs. Willis wasn’t listening.

  “You know Victoria has been besotted with him ever since she left the schoolroom last year.”

  “It’s true, it’s true,” Lady Baines said, helping herself to a tea cake. She offered one to Lady Danbury.

  “Wait. Please,” Lady Penhollow said, holding up her hands for attention. “What are you talking about?” She glanced over her shoulder before adding, “And please, let us keep our voices down. You know how the servants like to eavesdrop.”

  “I know all too well,” Mrs. Willis said stiffly. “However, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay. Neither will Letitia or Emily.” Both Lady Baines and Lady Danbury, upon hearing their names, guiltily put the cakes back on the plate.

  Mrs. Willis moved to the door. “I only came here to confront you with the truth and to let you know I think it shabby beyond repair that one of your closest friends must learn secondhand of your son’s betrothal.”

  “Betrothal—?” Lady Penhollow almost choked on the word.

  Mrs. Willis would have marched out the door, followed by Lady Danbury and Lady Baines, except that Lady Penhollow hurried to block her way. “Millie, there is no betrothal,” she said.

  “No betrothal?” Mrs. Willis said, lifting a skeptical eyebrow.

  “No,” Lady Penhollow said. “My son is not contracted to be married. He is still an eligible party.”

  Mrs. Willis reeled back. “Still eligible?” She glanced over her shoulder at Lady Danbury and Lady Baines who listened round-eyed. She turned back to Lady Penhollow. “Perhaps I have been hasty. We obviously need to discuss this matter.”

  “You are so right, my dear,” Lady Penhollow agreed. She waited for the volatile Mrs. Willis to take a seat before collapsing on the settee next to Lady Baines. Lady Danbury took the seat nearest the cake plate.

  “This has already been a trying day,” Lady Penhollow said. “You have no idea what my life has suddenly become. But where did you hear such a thing?”

  A line formed between Mrs. Willis’s brows and she looked sheepish. “I’m not certain.”