Distant Dreams

by Jenny Lykins

His friend’s mouth worked silently for several seconds before he snapped his lips into a disapproving line and glared at Alec.

  “Do you not have enough to worry about with this smuggling business? Must you go in search of yet another source of - ”

  “I am going to wed her.”

  Griffin blew out a dramatic sigh. This is the 1830s, Alec. Not all marriages are arranged. You could defy your father. Charles could defy him. Refuse to wed this woman.”

  “Charles will do whatever it takes to keep peace with Father, because he knows how miserable the man can make our lives. We have always bowed to his wished, but those days are over. By marrying Phillipa, I remove myself from the marriage market, and I free Charles to find happiness. My next goal will be to take Molly off the marital auction block, though the child has shown a knack for scaring away anyone interested, without my help.” Alec set his empty glass on the table and looked at Griffin. “I am going to do this.”

  Griffin rolled his eyes. “Very well. If I cannot halt this insane act, I might as well aid you. How do you plan to accomplish this deception?”

  Alec walked to the window and stared through the leaded panes at the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Just a few miles to the south, her ship was about to dock. His life was about to change.

  “Very simply,” he stated, trying to keep his voice carefree. “I plan to introduce myself as Charles, wed her on the spot, then consummate the marriage before anyone has a chance to find out.”

  Griffin moaned and dropped into the nearest leather wingback, shaking his head and mumbling things Alec was sure he didn’t want to hear.

  “And how will you know her? Pick out the ugliest woman aboard ship?”

  Alec flinched, cringing at how accurate that method might be, if he hadn’t already known how to recognize her.

  “Charles sent her the emerald and diamond ring Mother inherited from that odd great aunt of hers, for the betrothal ring. I suppose I shall look for an ugly woman and marry the one wearing that ring.”

  Griffin quirked a dark brow and leveled a serious gaze upon him.

  “I hope you retain your wonderful sense of humor, Hawthorne. I fear you shall need it in the very near future.”

  *******

  Alec, Griffin, and the traveling minister Alec had attained arrived at the ship just as the gangplank settled against the dock.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind, old boy,” Griffin muttered into Alec’s ear. “We’ll simply tell her who you really are, deposit her at the inn and keep her there until we break the bad news to Charles.”

  Truth be told, Alec had considered that option more than once on the ride to the docks. Even now he fought the urge to fetch Charles and let him deal with the unwanted wife. But he kept reminding himself of the last time he’d seen his brother with Mary Templeton. Besotted. The both of them. Unaware of any other living creature, save each other. And disconsolate that their future together would be nothing more than a collection of fond memories.

  Alec doubted he would ever find a woman who could captivate him so. He would do this for his brother and end his father’s rantings for a grandson. Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

  Yes, he thought with a sigh, and give me enough rope and I’ll hang myself.

  Before the passengers started to swarm off the ship, and before he could have any more second thoughts, Alec strode up the gangplank with Griffin and Reverend Forester in tow, to find an ugly woman wearing his great aunt’s ring. He’d have had the ship’s captain marry them, but he wanted no one he knew to know of his plan. Captain Albritton would be busy with paperwork belowdecks while Alec fetched his bride-to-be. They would be off the ship and wed before the captain came topside.

  Every woman the trio encountered was either accompanied by a man or too old to be the woman in question. With each moment that passed, Alec numbed his mind to what he was about to do. Finally he stopped to scan the deck, turning in time to see a breath-taking creature in pale green silk stumble through a door onto the deck. When she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, Alec’s entire body jerked at the sight of the emerald ring on her finger.

  The homely, chubby child he’d chanced to see years earlier, before her nanny had shooed her up the stairs, had grown into an exquisite beauty. Her flawless skin glowed pink at her cheeks and wisps of shiny dark auburn curls framed her face beneath the frilly bonnet. The ocean breeze molded her gown gently against her tall, willowy body, revealing generous curves in the most appealing places.

  Alec’s spirits lifted considerably.

  He strode forward, anxious to get this charade over, but not dreading the deed nearly as much now.

  She looked up at him as he approached, a question in her eyes but a smile on her lips.

  “Phillipa Morgan?” Alec said as she gazed up at him. She cocked her head and her brows drew together in question. “Allow me to introduce myself. Charles Hawthorne, at your service.” He bent over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Her gaze darted to the Bible in the reverend’s hand.

  “Oh! You must be the man I’m going to marry,” she said with an odd accent and more self-confidence than he’d ever encountered in a woman.

  He struggled to keep his surprise from showing on his face. Certainly hers was not the coy, retiring personality he’d expected.

  “Yes,” he mumbled. “May I present my friend, Griffin Elliott, and the Reverend Forester.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” She looked up at Alec, then glanced around. “So where’s the ceremony going to be? Here?”

  Again, he schooled his features. He’d been prepared to give a spurious reason as to why the marriage needed to take place immediately, but apparently she expected to be wed upon arriving. Perhaps she had no desire to arrive at his home as an unwed woman.

  “Yes. Of course. Here will be fine. But where is your chaperone?”

  Her brows drew together again, then she blinked and smiled, as if they shared a private joke. “Oh, she’s feeling a little under the weather. Ocean travel doesn’t agree with her. But she said we should go ahead with the ceremony.”

  He could have sworn that she winked at him then, but surely he was mistaken. He turned to the minister and nodded, ignoring Griffin’s accusatory glare.

  Reverend Forester cleared his throat, and with the words, “Dearly beloved,” a crowd gathered. The minister spoke of the meaning of marriage, the sanctity of marriage, the trust necessary in marriage.

  Alec felt an overwhelming urge to run a finger around his collar. Was he doing the right thing? Should he stop this farce now, before it was too late? He glanced down at the woman beside him. She lifted her face and beamed up at him, her smile achingly similar to that of Mary Templeton’s when she gazed at Charles.

  “Dost thou take this man to be thy lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor and obey, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do thee part?”

  “I do,” she responded in a slightly breathy voice.

  “Dost thou take this woman to be thy lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor and cherish, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do thee part?”

  Could he do this thing? Could he deceive this woman in order to free his brother? He looked down into her wide green eyes, fringed with ebony, at her smile that made those eyes sparkle. So trusting.

  “I do,” he heard himself say, appalled that he’d spoken the words without yet deciding to do so. What had possessed him? Griffin had been right. He was mad, and becoming more so by the moment.

  “…now pronounce thee man and wife. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  What had he done?

  Alec drew in a deep breath, then stopped breathing when she tilted her face up in obvious anticipation of a kiss.

  People were watching. Griffin was smirking. And the reverend smilingly nodded in a misguided attempt to condone the kiss.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Alec bent hi
s head to brush his lips across hers, but her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him close as she came up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the convulsive surge of pure lust that shot straight to the center of his being. When her lips parted, he forgot the crowd, and Griffin, and the minister; he forgot he’d just deceived this innocent woman into marrying him. With a will of their own, his arms curled around her slender back, pulling her closer as he sought her tongue with his, as his head spun and his body responded to her sweetness.

  How long the soul-stirring kiss lasted, he had no idea. When he finally raised his head, a cheer rose from the crowd. Phillipa stepped away awkwardly, the pink in her cheeks deepening to the red of a sailors’ sunset, yet she still smiled at him, a hint of surprise lighting the depths of her moss-colored eyes.

  “Shall we fetch your aunt and be on our way?” Alec asked, trying not to stammer like a schoolboy.

  Phillipa blinked, looking surprised at his suggestion. Then that mysterious smile stole across her lips again.

  “My aunt said to go on without her. She’s going to…umm…visit some friends. She’ll catch up with us later.”

  Odd behavior for an elderly aunt, but then the girl was uncommonly odd as well. Just look at her manner of speech.

  “Very well. I’ll have a servant collect your trunks and arrange to fetch your aunt when she is ready.”

  The minister handed Alec the marriage certificate, which he signed and handed to Phillipa. She glanced at it, laughed, and awkwardly dipped the quill pen into the tiny inkwell. Alec slipped a “donation” to the reverend’s fund while Phillipa signed the certificate.

  The foursome wound their way to the gangplank. Alec noticed that Phillipa watched her feet while she walked and still managed to trip over the hem of her skirts twice. His hand shot out to steady her both times.

  She looked up at him and shrugged with a smile. “Good thing I don’t have to wear these things all the time.” She forged ahead while Alec puzzled over her enigmatic statement, then he forgot what he was thinking when she lifted her delicate green skirts above her ankles to step onto the gangplank. Not only did she reveal several inches of slender ankle, but she wore no stockings beneath her skirts.

  Was fashion so different in England as to allow a lady to discard her stockings?

  Her skirts dropped back to brush the gangplank and she continued to watch her feet as she gingerly crossed to the dock.

  Ned, his coachman, pulled the horses up to them on the secluded dock and Alec helped Phillipa into the closed carriage. He climbed in beside his bride and made room for Griffin and the reverend.

  Griffin, however, bestowed a wicked smile and merely stuck his head in the door.

  “Wouldn’t dream of intruding on the newlyweds, old friend. I’ll hire a carriage for the reverend and me. A pleasure to attend your nuptials, Mrs. Hawthorne.” He took her fingers and brushed a kiss across her knuckles, then looked at Alec. “I’ll come around in a few days, when the waters have settled.”

  “What did he mean by that?” Phillipa asked after Griffin left, leaving Alec throwing glares at the traitor’s back.

  “Oh, nothing,” he said, itching to choke the life from his friend. “He often speaks in riddles. No one pays attention to him.”

  He banged on the ceiling of the carriage and they lurched forward at a healthy pace. They would be home in an hour, and by tomorrow morning this whole thing would be behind him.

  “Great carriage. Has it been restored?”

  He turned to look at the very odd woman he now found himself married to.

  “Restored? No.”

  “Wow! It’s in great shape.” She drummed her fingers on her lap. “So, when do we go back to the ship?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Shaelyn watched the devilishly handsome man arch jet black eyebrows nearly to his hairline. What in the world had she said to cause such a reaction? Maybe they were supposed to ride out of sight of the ship.

  “How long have you been participating in the living history thing?” she asked chattily. He didn’t look like the type to dress up in period costume and pretend he was someone else.

  “Living history?”

  “Yeah.” Shae had never seen the combination of gold-brown eyes and shiny black hair put together with such devastating effect. She wondered if he was single.

  “I have no idea to what you are referring.” Those gorgeous eyes had narrowed, and now he looked at her as if he expected her to pick his pocket.

  “You know. Living history? What you just did?” When he continued to just stare at her, she decided to change the subject. “So, shouldn’t we be getting back to the ship?”

  His gaze now turned to a look of total bewilderment.

  “There is no need to return to the ship. I’ve arranged for your aunt and your trunks to be brought to Windward Cottage.”

  A cold chill, like droplets of melting ice, trickled down her spine.

  “Heh,” she forced the laugh from her throat. “You really get into this, don’t you? But, seriously, I’ve got a date tonight,” she lied, “and my clothes are on the ship. So if we could just turn this thing around…”

  The man, Charles, she believed, shook his head as if he didn’t understand.

  “What are you speaking of, Phillipa? Are you overly fatigued from the voyage?”

  The ice water froze solid in her spine. Had she gotten herself mixed up with a nut case? Stay calm, she told herself. Maybe he’s teasing.

  “Now Charles, you know my name isn’t really Phillipa. But I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m Shaelyn Sumner. Shae for short. I freelance for Atlantic Press News Service.” She offered her hand to shake, but he merely stared at it for a second, then patted it down onto her lap.

  “You’re distraught. I’ll send someone to fetch your aunt as soon as we reach Windward.”

  Shaelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn’t teasing her. This guy’s porch light wasn’t on.

  “Look, Charles, I know you guys stay in character while you’re performing, but we don’t have an audience now. Why don’t we just turn around and you can take me back to the ship. You know I’m not Phillipa.”

  He lifted her hand and examined the ring she’d found. Oh great. The ring. Now she had someone else’s ring on and it was probably going to be stolen.

  Stolen. Heck, she’d give the darned thing to him if it would get her out of this mess.

  “You want the ring? Here. You can have it. Just stop the carriage and let me out.” She pulled on the ring, twisted, turned, but it wouldn’t budge over her knuckle. Frantic now, she yanked her hand against her chest and pulled. She spit on her finger and worked the saliva around, but still the ring wouldn’t move.

  “Phillipa, stop it! I don’t want - ”

  “It’s Shaelyn!” she yelled, panicked at his use of the other name. She jumped to her feet and banged on the ceiling. “Stop! Stop the carriage!”

  Not until she felt them slow did she stop hammering the ceiling with her fists. She grabbed the handle of the door and shoved, leaping to the ground while the carriage still rolled.

  The skirts of her cumbersome gown tripped her as she tried to land. She dropped to her knees, falling into the dirt, rolling across gravel and jutting rocks. Scrambling to her feet, she ran, not caring where, as long as it was away from that carriage. A light shone in the early evening from a window of a two-story house just a few yards away. She yanked up her skirts and stormed across the manicured yard, bounded up the steps, then banged on the door as she tried the knob. Miraculously, the door opened and she burst into the interior, screaming for help, turning wildly around in the dim foyer.

  A door opened to her left and a stocky, well-to-do man appeared with a candle in his hand just as Charles burst through the front door.

  “Help me! Please! This man’s crazy!” She ran to the gentleman, who backed away from her with horror in his eyes. “Call 911! He’s crazy! He’s
trying to kidnap me!” She chased the man into the room he’d just left, where a portly woman sat huddled in alarm in the corner of an antique sofa. She wore a long gown, similar to the costume Shaelyn wore. At the sight of her, Shaelyn spun and took in the stocky man’s period garb. Oil lamps lit the room in dim puddles of light.

  The couple just stared at her, as if she were crazy. Charles approached her, his arms wide, doing a magnificent job of looking like the sane one.

  “It’s an act, don’t you see? He won’t take me back to the ship! I’ve got a date! People will be looking for me!” She babbled until she realized calm would get her farther with these people. She stopped, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Charles moved toward her, but she stepped away and glared at him.

  “May I borrow your phone to call 911? This man is attempting to abduct me.”

  Neither the man nor the woman spoke, but continued to stare as if she had two heads.

  “Where’s your damn phone?” she screamed. The couple both jumped a foot in the air. The man snatched up a poker and waved it at her.

  “I have no knowledge of what a phone is, and I wouldn’t lend it to a foul-mouthed madwoman if I did. Get out of my house now, and leave God-fearing people alone.”

  Shaelyn scanned the room for a telephone, then ran through the rest of the downstairs, checking everywhere. As she went from room to room she realized there were no modern conveniences in the house. No TV’s, no radios, no electric lights, for pity sake. The kitchen was a sparse room with no sink, no cabinets, not even a stove. A thing that looked like a small barrel laid on its side just inside a huge fireplace. Good heavens, the whole place looked like a museum. Had she run into another living history?

  Nearing hysteria, she whirled around to run out the front door. She ran straight into the immovable chest of her abductor.

  “No!” she screamed, and drove her knee into his crotch. She ran without looking back as he curled forward, the air leaving his lungs in a gasping retch.

  She ran past him, through the house and out the front door. The carriage still stood on the street - a dirt street.