WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE

by When Dreams Come True(Lit)

  “If half of England is Cornish, it’s true,” Pierce replied, but conceded with a smile, “But then, there are at least three other lords in Cornwall who also claim that distinction. Of course, I’m the true one.”

  “And how do you know that, my lord?”

  “Because Arthur was a Celt and I’m the only one of the four of us handsome enough to have been descended from Celts.”

  Her eyes twinkled with laughter while the grooms guffawed. “Celts?” she asked. “Weren’t they small men who ran around in wolf skins?”

  “You can’t see me dressed in wolf skin?” he said, pretending to be offended.

  “I could never picture you as a small man,” she said, flattering him immensely, and causing the grooms—and himself—to go round-eyed. “Although I could see you with your face painted blue for battle.”

  “Blue?” he countered with a mock gasp of outrage.

  “However,” she continued, “I seem to have read in a book somewhere that the Welsh claimed Arthur.”

  Pierce pulled her to his side and made a show of looking right and left as if guarding a secret. “Never say that in Hobbles Moor! They are all very proud of our claim and are willing to fight over it.”

  “But then I have your protection, my lord,” she returned stoutly.

  He paused, pretending to mull over the matter. “I’m not certain you can count on my protection, Miss Eden. After all, you informed me I wouldn’t look good in blue paint.”

  Her laughter pealed to the sky with unconcealed enjoyment, charming every man in the stable yard. “Then I’ll change my opinion,” she promised. “I think you would look best in blue paint.”

  Suddenly, her eyes widened and she took a step back as the groom led Cornish King from the padlock. King was an impressive animal, dappled gray, fifteen hands tall and powerfully built. Every inch of him bespoke his proud Arabian bloodlines.

  Two huge wolfhounds and a small terrier trailed behind him. Seeing Pierce, the dogs bounded forward to greet him but were quickly diverted to the newcomer.

  Eden gave each dog an absent-minded pat while they sniffed at her hem, but her gaze was on Cornish King. “He’s magnificent,” she whispered.

  Pierce walked over to the horse which nuzzled him with obvious affection. He rubbed King’s nose and received a nudge, begging for more. “See, for all his great size, he’s a kitten. Come give him a pet.”

  “I like him well enough from right here,” she answered, and Pierce could see that she was truly wary of the horse. Another piece of the puzzle to her identity. Eden had not been raised around horses. Nor was she overly familiar with the dogs other than giving them a friendly pat.

  “Come here, Miss Eden,” he commanded quietly.

  “Why, my lord?” she asked, her brows coming together in uncertainty.

  And she wasn’t one to trust easily, Pierce added to the mental list of clues to her identity. “Because I asked you to,” he replied readily. “Please.”

  Her lips pressed together and for a second, he sensed she was going to reject his request… and then she moved forward until she stood before him. “What is it you wish, my lord?”

  Pierce held King’s halter. “Pet him. He won’t harm you.”

  She glanced doubtfully toward Jim.

  “Yes, miss, go on,” Jim said. “If you are going to be living here, you’d best get used to horses.”

  Pierce frowned at his choice of words. Eden wasn’t going to be living with them, but he didn’t correct the groom. Instead, he concentrated on Eden. He’d never seen a reason for anyone to fear horses.

  She glanced up at him, admitting, “I’m not accustomed to being around horses.”

  “And you don’t ride either, do you?” Pierce asked, searching for the truth in her eyes.

  Eden gave her head a small shake. “I don’t ride.”

  Pierce felt a stab of disappointment. This beautiful sea waif was flawed. She knew nothing about horses.

  At that moment, King decided matters for himself. He reached down and nuzzled the lock of hair curling down over her shoulder.

  She jumped at the brush of the horse’s nuzzle against her skin, and Pierce reached out to reassure her. “He’s being playful. He won’t harm you. He wants you to touch him.”

  Her gaze locked with his and then slowly, she lifted her hand. Her fingers brushed King’s nose and her eyes widened. “He likes this.”

  “Like any man,” Jim said baldly. “Headstrong and irritable if he doesn’t get his way, but ready to curl up his hooves over a spot of attention.” The grooms chuckled at the image and Dane gave him another punch in the ribs.

  “Go ahead, pet his neck,” Pierce urged Eden, letting go of her arm. It was very important to him that she like King. “He loves to be made much of. Watch his hooves though. They won’t curl up like Jim claims, but they will crush your toes if he steps on them.”

  King shifted position and Eden took a step back. Then, tentatively, she reached out and stroked the animal’s neck. “I can feel the muscles ripple beneath his skin. I’ve never seen a more beautiful horse. Ever.”

  “During his heyday, there was no horse faster than him,” Pierce said with pride. “Or is there one as intelligent. Here, Jim, let me have the red kerchief from around your neck. We need to show Miss Eden King’s tricks.” He tucked the kerchief in the waistband of his leather breeches, one tattered end hanging out. Walking a few steps away, he turned his back on King, pretending to ignore him.

  King, who understood his role in this little farce, clopped over to Pierce and pulled the kerchief from his waistband as he ambled past.

  Then Cornish King did something that astounded even Pierce: he turned and walked back to Eden. With a shake of his head, he offered it to Eden who was dauntless enough to accept it from the horse’s teeth.

  Impressed, Jim said, “That horse grows smarter every day.” He took back his kerchief.

  “Yes, soon he’ll have your job,” Dane answered dryly, and earned a bark of laughter from the grooms.

  Eden stroked the horse’s forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered for the horse alone, and again a strange feeling of harmony with this woman, much as he’d felt the day he’d found her in the boat, rolled though Pierce.

  “You’ve made another conquest,” he said, coming up behind her. Actually, she’d made more than one. All the grooms appeared moony-eyed over her, even the tough old rooster Jim and the solemn, quiet Dane.

  “Another?” She slid a glance from beneath long, black eyelashes in his direction and only then did he realize what he’d said.

  Well, he couldn’t deny it. He told himself all he felt toward her was a strong sense of responsibility, but he wasn’t sure that was true.

  “We shouldn’t let you overexert yourself,” he said. “Let me walk you back up to the house.”

  “I’m not ready to go back to my room yet. It’s such a beautiful day, I’d prefer to stay out here just for a moment or two longer.”

  “Aye, the mist rolls in and out of Cornwall and you never know what the weather will be,” Jim chimed in. “Tomorrow you may not be able to see your hand in front of your face.”

  One of the grooms agreed that was so and Pierce decided he’d prefer to spend his time with her alone rather than sharing her attention with the grooms. “Do you feel well enough for a small walk?”

  The radiance of her smile was all the answer he needed. “We’re taking King back to pasture, Jim.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Pierce nodded his head and said, “Follow, King.” The horse began following him, as well trained as any dog.

  Eden walked beside him as they followed a dirt path leading around the stables to a fenced field in the back. Next to the path was a good-sized pond with a number of gray ducks swimming on it. Waddling around the perimeter was a hissing white goose.

  “Watch out for that one,” he warned Eden. “He’s fat and ill-tempered and next Christmas he will be our dinner.”

  At that
moment, the goose stretched out his neck and hissed at them as if confirming Pierce’s words. With a laugh of surprise, Eden quickly put Pierce between herself and the goose.

  The dogs ran ahead of them, already aware of which pasture Pierce would use. King for his part was far from his best behavior. He kept nudging Pierce in the back, pushing him ahead.

  “Is he always this anxious?” she asked.

  “When he is heading toward his pasture,” Pierce said, giving King a mild rebuke on the nose for his pushiness. “He enjoys the freedom.”

  “Did Jim help you train Cornish King to do those tricks?” Eden asked.

  “No, I did that myself. There was no Jim in those days. This was before my father came home sick.” The words had slipped out almost before he’d realized what he was admitting.

  He stopped and she stopped with him. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  For a moment, he studied her, the fine lines of her face, the intelligence in her eyes.

  He’d never talked about his past with anyone—but now, he felt an urge to be completely honest with Eden. Better she know everything from the beginning and not learn small pieces and bits from others the way his mother had about his father.

  “My father enjoyed gambling,” he said without preamble. “One day, a messenger from London arrived with Cornish King, only the horse didn’t look like this. He was a young colt, half-starved and neglected. Father had won him in a game of chance. He couldn’t even remember winning the horse because he was a man given to drink.” He stroked King’s neck. “From the moment I laid eyes on King, I knew he was a winner. But even more important, at a time I needed a friend, he was there. After Father died, I decided to race him. I rode him bareback over these pastures. There were times I could almost believe we were flying. I told Dane of my plan and he guided me toward Jim who was working for a neighboring stable. I couldn’t pay him the wages he was earning but Jim said he’d be honored to work for me.” Pierce gave a small smile. “After all, I am the true descendant of Arthur.”

  “And they really believe that?” she asked, more a confirmation than a question.

  “Absolutely, blue paint and all.”

  She smiled the way he’d hoped she would. He continued, “Between the two of us, we proved I was right about King. There wasn’t a horse in England that could beat us,” he said, his voice full of fierce pride. “Today, horse owners come from all over Europe to breed off him.” He opened the pasture gate. “Go on with you, King.”

  The great stallion ambled through and then wasted no time in stretching his legs, running the length of the field and back. The dogs barked excitedly after him, unable to keep up with the horse.

  Leaning against the fence, Pierce said, “We are no longer allowed to breed thoroughbreds with Arabians anymore and race them. Cornish King is three-quarters Arabian. He has a strength and speed few horses will have years from now, and that is why he is in such demand as a stud.”

  Eden leaned against the fence, her attention no longer on Cornish King but on him. “So, my lord, you did not have the usual childhood of an earl.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  “I assume earls would not need to turn to blacksmiths for advice. Am I wrong?”

  The woman was damned perceptive. Pierce shifted uncomfortably. After all, he’d opened this Pandora’s box. “Father was not a successful gambler. When he died, he left us penniless. And it’s true, I hadn’t been sent off to school or even university like the other boys. I was tutored at home.”

  “You’re obviously not penniless now.”

  “I rebuilt the family fortune, and I did it through hard work,” he added almost defiantly. “I am no London dandy or even a—” He shrugged his shoulders, uncertain of what terms the ton used in London nowadays. “—or would fit in with the Almack’s set.” He gave a short laugh. “I doubt if I would fit into the coffeehouse set. But in Cornwall, I wield considerable influence. And, of course, having money in the bank has enhanced my prestige/‘ he added with a self-deprecating smile.

  Eden laid her hand on his arm, her gaze rising to meet his. “I think you are every inch the gentleman, my lord,” she said fervently. “Not every man would do as you have done to help a stranger.”

  “I only did what any Cornishman would have done.”

  “You are too humble, sir. There are few men like you.”

  Her gaze was filled with such hero worship, Pierce could have basked a lifetime in it. He felt the urge to gather her in his arms and promise to slay dragons and keep her safe forevermore…

  But that would be foolish. He took a step away. He’d never been a fanciful man, and yet Eden seemed to bring out that side of him.

  Almost brutally he said, “I’m no paragon, Miss Eden. My mother’s father was a butcher. He made his money in trade. He was a very smart man and he wanted a title for his daughter so he bought one. My parents’ marriage was one of convenience. I’m the product of that marriage.”

  She leaned against the fence. “So, not only was your father not a successful gambler, but the marriage was not successful either.”

  Pierce nodded, and shifted his gaze to where King grazed in the pasture. “My parents hated each other and it grew worse after Father gambled the money away. Even today, the subject of my father is best avoided around my mother. It is also wise not to mention her tradesman roots.”

  “But it doesn’t bother you?”

  Did it? He’d never considered that question. “I refuse to think of myself or any man as lower-class. Not when a man knows how to make his own way in the world.”

  “Do you have any other family?”

  A breeze swept through the trees. Large puffs of clouds floated across a blue sky. Pierce answered her. “I was raised by the people of Hobbles Moor. My mother was not a happy woman and shortly after I was born she became ill and took to her rooms. Mrs. Meeks is the one that mothered me and I consider myself fortunate. She nursed me when I was ill, lectured me when I deserved it, and if she wasn’t available then Dane or Rawlins or a host of others took the task upon themselves. I didn’t need a London tutor because I learned my letters from Samuel Cobbler, a retired vicar in the village. I learned sailing from village fishermen and mining from men who were born with spades in their hands. They taught me what I needed to know to refill the Penhollow coffers. From Cornish King’s winnings, I reopened the tin mine that had been closed decades ago. There were those among my neighbors who called me mad to take such a risk.” He faced Eden, his lips curving into a smile of satisfaction. “Today the Penhollow Mine is the most productive mine in Cornwall. I’m also not afraid to pay my people the highest wages.”

  He pushed away from the fence. “You asked if I had family. The people of Hobbles Moor are my family.”

  He waited for her to laugh or tell him he was ridiculous for caring so much about the villagers as so many others had over the years.

  Instead she said quietly, “I’ve never had a family and very few friends. Madame Indrani would say they aren’t practical, but I believe they are.” Her hand came up to touch the gold medallion around her neck. “The one I had gave my life new direction.”

  “Who is Madame Indrani?”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “You just mentioned Madame Indrani. You’re starting to remember. It must be a name from your past. Can you recall anything else?”

  Her face drained of all color and Pierce feared she was about to swoon. He started to reach for her but she backed away, shaking her head. “I don’t remember. I don’t think I know that name.”

  She was lying. He sensed it. “Miss Eden—”

  She cut him off by whirling away and would have bolted for the house, but stopped suddenly with a small cry of alarm.

  Pierce grasped her elbow just as she stepped back toward him for protection. He looked in the direction she was staring, and then smiled.

  “Good afternoon to you, Widow Haskell,” he said.

  The crone didn’t a
nswer but studied Miss Eden intently. He rested his hands reassuringly on Eden’s shoulders. “There is no need to have any fear,” he said in her ear. “The Widow Haskell will do you no harm.”

  As if to confirm his words, the Widow gifted Eden with one of her rare smiles. Leaning heavily on her walking stick, she raised a gnarled finger. “This is as it should be,” she said in her weak, raspy voice. Without waiting for a response, she turned and hobbled her way back up the path to the stables.

  As if realizing she practically rested in his arms, Eden straightened her shoulders and pulled away from him. “I think I need to return to the house now.”

  He dismissed the Widow’s words with a wave of his hand. “She’s harmless.”

  Eden brought a hand up to her neck, clasping the gold medallion. “I have the feeling she can see right through me.”

  “Yes, well, the villagers believe she has that ability. They think her a ‘charmer.” Her appearance is somewhat disturbing but she is a good person.“ He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. ”Here, perhaps we’ve overdone it for the first day. I’ll walk you to the house.“

  She didn’t speak but nodded her assent. Nor did they speak again until Lady Penhollow met them at the door.

  “I have good news,” she said cheerily. “Our neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Willis have insisted on hosting a dinner party tomorrow evening to welcome Miss Eden. Isn’t that a splendid idea?”

  Pierce looked from his mother to Eden. Eden’s brow was still slightly furrowed in worry. “Yes, Mother, provided it doesn’t overtax Miss Eden’s strength,” he answered, his attention more on the silent young woman at his side than his mother’s dinner plans.

  Without a further word, they left Lady Penhollow at the door. He escorted Eden to her room. “I’ll send Betsy to you. I think you should lie down and rest. Don’t worry about coming down to dinner. I’ll have a tray sent to your room this evening.”

  She turned the handle. “Yes, that would be nice.” She started into the room but paused a moment. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Thank you. I have rarely spent such a lovely afternoon.” Her words were sincere. She entered the room and closed the door.