The housekeeper, Mrs. Crowder, appeared from the top of the massive staircase, her eyes on Dakota as she descended. Her gaze was respectful, her manner warm, when she saw the green eyes that reminded her of Lady Cillia. "My Lord, your grandfather has asked that you attend him at once."—she glanced at John and Levi,— "and you are to come alone*
The moment had come, and Dakota, who had faced a hundred foes in battle, had faced a bear when he had been only a boy, now felt fear at facing a frail old man.
He followed Mrs. Crowder up the stairs, his back straight, looking neither to the left nor the right.
When the housekeeper stopped before a door and opened it, she stepped back. "You will not need me to announce you; his lordship is expecting you."
The room was ablaze with candles as Dakota stepped inside. It was stifling hot, and a smell of medicine lingered in the air. His eyes moved to the red velvet chair, where a white-haired gentleman was seated, a lap robe covering his lower body.
"Come closer, boy. Don't just stand there," the aged voice crackled out. "How can we talk if I have to yell across the room at you?"
Dakota moved closer, knowing the shrewd eyes watched his progress. When his eyes locked with the old man's; Dakota saw no light of welcome there. "Your hair is dark like your father's, but you have Cillia's eyes." A smile touched the Marquess's lips. "Ill bet the young Indian maidens hankered after you, because you are a handsome devil, just like your father. He could have had any woman he wanted, and he got the best of the lot when he married your mother"
Was this the only greeting he was to have? Dakota wondered. "I am pleased to meet you, Grandfather," he said, glancing at the gnarled hands that rested atop the lap robe, and wondering if this weak old man could understand what he was feeling.
"Sit down," came the command as the Marquess pounded the chair across from him with his cane. "It strains my neck to have to look up at you."
Dakota did as he was asked, knowing all the time his grandfather's eyes were assessing him.
"John told me that you speak English remarkably well, and I see that he is right. I am willing to bet that if no one knew your upbringing, they would assume you had been born into society."
Something about this man brought out the anger in Dakota. He had not expected his grandfather to fall on his neck and weep with joy, but neither had he expected this cold indifferent assessment. "I have little liking for your society," Dakota remarked haughtily.
The old man smiled. "Yes, I can see that. You hate us all, don't you?"
"I do not hate you."
"I don't care if you do or not. What we think of each other is not important. All I want from you is a great-grandson, and then you are free to go your own way."
Dakota felt the coldness of the Marquess's words in the depths of his soul. If he had expected any affection from this man, he had deluded himself. "Am I to be a breeder then?" The words were spoken coldly.
"Hump, that's what your bride wanted to know. Now that I have seen you, I can imagine you and she will not have too much trouble producing a child."
Dakota raised his head, feeling as if all the life had drained out of him. "Is this all you require of me?"
"It is." The old man's head sank to his chest. "Leave me now; you have an anxious bride waiting for you at Weatherford Hall."
Breanna counted off the days as they passed. Although she was surrounded by an army of servants, whose only concern was to make her happy, she was lonely.
Now it was the end of summer, and she had not heard from her new husband, although she had been informed that he had landed in England weeks ago. His was an acquaintance she was not anxious to make.
She was grateful for the fine horseflesh that was kept in the stables at Weatherford Hall, because when she was riding, it helped her pass the time, and she could put aside her loneliness for a time and try to forget that somewhere she had a husband who would one day appear and probably demand that she fulfill her wifely duties.
Since Breanna had never had a personal maid, and she felt she didn't need one to cater to her every whim, she chose Etta, one of the downstairs maids, to attend her. Etta, a tall big-boned Scottish girl, was delighted with her elevated position.
Now, Etta was fastening the back of Breanna's yellow riding habit. Placing the yellow hat on her head, Breanna patted it in place. As she rushed down the stairs, she pulled on her black leather gloves.
On the way to the stables, she noticed that it was a warm, cloudless morning. The stiff breeze from the ocean was tinged with salt, and she found it invigorating and her spirits soared.
Frazier, the head groom, smiled as he led the spirited white mare forward. "She'll be needing a good run this morning, my lady. I could hardly keep her still whilst I saddled her."
Breanna had inspected all the horseflesh in the stables and had selected a magnificent Arabian named Joya as her own. Joya could be a bit skittish at times, but Breanna was a good horsewoman and could easily control the mare.
She patted the sleek neck. "We both need a run, don't we, Joya?" The horse nodded, as if she had understood, and both Breanna and Frazier laughed at the animal's antics.
Once in the saddle, Breanna felt all her troubles melt away. With the wind in her face, she galloped across the meadow, scattering a herd of cattle in the wake of Joya's thundering hooves. She was miles from the house before she slowed the horse's pace to a canter.
Her mind wandered as she cantered past the jagged wall, all that remained of an old Roman ruin. She tried to envision the daily lives of the ancient people who had left their mark on this land.
So deep in thought was she that Breanna didn't see the flock of seabirds that had made their nest in the ruins until it was too late. The frantic fluttering of wings spooked Joya, and the horse reared up on her hind legs. Breanna clung to the reins, but the frightened animal shied to the right, and Breanna went sailing through the air to land with a thud on the ground. Her head struck a sharp rock, and she felt exploding pain just before she lost consciousness.
***
Dakota glanced out the coach window, still feeling unsettled by his meeting with his grandfather. Although Dakota knew John and Levi had been curious about what had transpired between him and his grandfather, they had refrained from asking questions, and he did not feel inclined to enlighten them.
As the coach left London, with its crowded streets and mass of humanity, Dakota began to feel more at ease. As they traveled across Cornwall toward Weather-ford Hall, he became aware of a beauty that touched his heart. He had been told that this was the land of his ancestors, and he could almost feel the pull of the land, as if long dead Remingtons were welcoming him home.
As if Levi could sense what the young Viscount was feeling, he spoke. "If I was to live in England, this would be the place I'd choose."
"I agree with you, Levi. This is always what I think of as home" John said.
Dakota rested a tan hand on his black boot. "One thing that has been bothersome to me is being called 'my lord.' I was not comfortable with the attention from the servants at my grandfather's house. It does not suit me to have people cater to me."
John chuckled. “You may not like it, but that's your lot in life. There are many who would gladly exchange places with you. Besides, you look the way a young viscount should look. I did a hell of a job smoothing off your rough edges, don't you agree, Levi?"
A teasing light danced in the old hunter's eyes. "You had a lot to work with, John, but yes, he does fit the picture to me. Lordly, aloof . . . well dressed."
Dakota frowned, not the least amused by their light banter. "It's easy for the two of you to laugh. You don't have to deal with a wife you have never seen. You don't have to worry whether she is . . . uncomely . . . old . . . of a quarrelsome nature. When I try to picture her in my mind, she always seems to resemble the captain's daughter."
"Whatever she's like, you'll find out today," John observed lazily.
At this point John called out to the
coachman. "Pull off the road here." To Dakota he said, "I want you to see Weatherford Hall from this vantage point."
The coachman readily complied. John opened the door and stepped out, motioning for Dakota to follow him. "This is a sight you will never forget. There can be no more beautiful spot in the world."
Dakota allowed his eyes to run along the rugged coastline. Huge waves slapped against the cliffs, and at the highest ridge he saw the house gleaming like a red jewel in the sun. Green meadows with flocks of grazing sheep and frolicking horses lent a tranquility to the landscape.
Dakota was reminded of the contrast between Weatherford Hall and the tepee he had grown up in. At the moment he was caught between both worlds, feeling like he belonged to neither. "It is different than I thought it would be," he murmured. "I never imagined it would be so magnificent."
"It will all be yours one day" John told him. "As far as you can see in any direction, the land belongs to your grandfather. While you were meeting with him, I was talking to his solicitor, who assured me there is conclusive proof that you are the legal heir to the tide and estates. No one will ever challenge that you are the Viscount of Remington."
Dakota shook his head. "I feel the responsibility will be great. I have not been trained for this. Besides, I am not sure I want to remain in England."
"It's in your blood. You can manage it," John said with confidence. "Already you know that this is where you belong."
Dakota surveyed the beauty around him and in some hidden corner of his mind, he felt as if he had truly come home. He did not know what the future would hold, but for the moment, he belonged to this land as surely as if he had been born here.
"People die—brothers might turn on one—but land endures, and Weatherford Hall is forever," John said solemnly.
When the carriage pulled through the arched, vine-covered gateway, it was apparent there was some kind of commotion in front of the house. Several servants were milling about, some of them were mounted on horseback. John stepped out of the carriage, followed by Dakota and Levi.
"What's the trouble?" John asked the head groomsman.
"Oh, sir, it's glad I am that you are here," Frazier declared. "The Lady Breanna's horse returned without her. We was about to ride out and search for her ladyship."
"This is the Viscount," John introduced Dakota hurriedly. "Give us three horses, and we will begin the search."
Frazier bowed to Dakota. "I'm sorry that you should arrive to such disturbing news, my lord. Her ladyship is a good horsewoman, and I never considered she'd take a tumble."
Dakota glanced at John. "Are they saying that the woman who is my wife fell from her horse?"
"Yes," John confirmed. "We had better hurry; she might be injured."
A horse was led forward, and Dakota quickly swung himself into the saddle. "In which direction did your lady ride?" he asked Frazier.
"She rode in that direction, my lord." The groomsman pointed toward the meadow.
Before the others could mount their horses, Dakota's sprang forward. Racing over the meadow, he easily followed the fresh tracks that Breanna's horse had left. Dakota outdistanced the others and was soon out of sight.
10
Dakota saw the woman lying on the ground, and concluded that she was unconscious. Leaping from his horse, he knelt beside her.
A strange emotion took hold of him as he looked for the first time upon the face of his wife. Red-gold hair was tumbled about her porcelain face, a face that was almost too perfect to be real. Her long lashes fluttered open, and he stared into eyes that were golden like the autumn leaves of Arapaho land.
Breanna opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by the sun streaming through the branches of a tree. She felt someone beside her, and when she could focus her eyes, she stared into a pair of the greenest eyes she had ever seen.
Breanna was frightened at first. She tried to move away from the stranger, but he held her firm. "Do not move," he cautioned. "You have been thrown from your horse and may be injured."
She could tell by his voice that he was not from England, but she could not place his accent. Perhaps he was Italian, or even Russian, she thought. He was certainly the darkest man she had ever seen.
His eyes swept her face, and she saw concern there. "I remember falling," she said. "I must have been knocked unconscious."
"Sit up slowly," he urged, while he supported her back. "Do you hurt anywhere? Your arms —your legs?"
"No, I . . . my head aches, but other than that, I do not believe I am hurt"
Dakota tenderly brushed her silky hair from her forehead and saw a slight discoloring of the skin and a pebble-size bump. "Yes, I see that you have hit your head. Do you think you could stand with my assistance?"
John and several of the riders topped the rise, with Levi in the lead. When the hunter saw Dakota with his new bride, he knew that they were not needed. "The lady is in capable hands," he said to the others, motioning for them to ride on and leave the two young people alone. "He certainly doesn't need us to complicate his first meeting with his wife."
Breanna leaned heavily on the handsome stranger. Her head was swimming, and she clutched his shirt-front. "I am sorry to be such a bother, but I feel weak as a kitten."
Dakota looked into her soft eyes, and a feeling not unlike drowning shook him. "You are not a bother. Would you like to sit down for a moment?"
"Yes, perhaps that would be best," she said, wanting to distance herself from this disturbing stranger.
He led her to a smooth rock and eased her down gently. Kneeling down beside her, Dakota watched as she twisted her long hair up and secured it to the back of her head.
"I fear I have lost my hat," she said, feeling strange under the man's close scrutiny.
He glanced around until he spotted an object the same color of her gown, which he judged to be her missing hat. Standing, Dakota walked in that direction.
Breanna watched the man move away, thinking he must be someone of extreme importance. His coat fit snugly across his broad shoulders. He was tall and carried himself with an air of assurance. He was perhaps the handsomest man she had ever met, but his green eyes were the most unusual thing about him. They were probing, searching, startlingly open and honest eyes. She felt drawn to him, and it frightened her. She touched the bump on her head and decided her reaction to the man was caused by her confused state. Yes, that's what it was. After today, she would never see or think about him again.
When Dakota returned, he held her hat out to her and watched her place it atop her red-gold head. Could she tell that his heart was beating fast? he wondered. Could she sense the turmoil that was going on inside him? She was so lovely it unsettled him. He realized he should tell her who he was, but how could he tell this lovely creature that he was her husband?
"Perhaps it would be good if you walk about for a bit," he said, offering her his hand.
Hesitantly, she placed her small hand in his, and he eased her to her feet. "I should return to the house," she said only half-convincingly. The mere touch of his hand sent a thrill through her body, and she moved away from him, her heart throbbing. Over the rise, Breanna could hear the surf pounding, and she hurried in that direction. What was the matter with her? she wondered frantically. The bump on her head must surely have unsettled her mind.
Breanna breathed in the sea air in deep gulps. She turned so the salty spray would hit her in the face, hoping it would have a calming effect on her emotions. She felt the stranger beside her, and she glanced up at him. Their eyes met, and for what seemed an eternity, they stared into each other's eyes.
Dakota was the first one to move. He reached forward and lightly touched her cheek, which was moist with beads from the salty spray. When she swayed on her feet, his strong arms went about her waist.
"Allow me to support you. You are still too weak to stand alone." Suddenly he feared this lovely woman might not be his wife. He had to know if she belonged to him. "I do not know your name. Will you tell it to me
?"
"Breanna" she answered breathlessly. "Breanna K—Remington " she said, remembering she was a married woman. "Lady Breanna Remington."
"Breanna," he repeated in a deep voice, as joy sang in his heart.
She quickly glanced up at him. "You must not call me by my first name. We have not been introduced. I shouldn't even be speaking to you!" She moved to put some distance between the two of them, but he held her to him.
"I apologize if I have committed an offense. I am unfamiliar with many of your English customs."
She drew in a cleansing breath. "I am grateful for your assistance, sir, but you see, I am a married woman, and I must go now. It would not be suitable for me to be alone with a man who is not my husband."
His eyes softened. "This man, your husband, is a very fortunate man. What is he like?"
"I . . . don't know." She gazed at the distant horizon. "He is from America."
Dakota sensed in her a bewilderment that was tinged with fear. He wanted to tell her that he was her husband, but he was silenced by the thought that she might reject him.
"I have the feeling you are troubled about something," he said, wondering how she felt about being married to a man she had never met. "I am a good listener if you want to talk."
Breanna experienced a tide of feelings that she did not want to examine. This sympathetic stranger was tugging at her heart and drawing out all her secrets. She had been alone for so long with no one to confide in, and the words poured from her mouth.
"I am troubled because I have never met my husband." She turned her face up to him. "You see, we were married by proxy:"
"And this disturbs you?"
"Yes," she admitted. Raw feelings riveted through her mind—feelings of being used by her brother for his personal gain, anger that she had been sent to the country and abandoned to her fate by the old Marquess. Too many nights she had lain in her lonely bed, fearing the noises she heard were her new husband, and that he would demand his husbandly rights.
Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) Page 10
