Calling on all her strength and willpower, Breanna moved down the hallway and into the salon. Pulling the pleated draperies aside, she watched Dakota and Levi get into the carriage. John stood on the steps, waving good-bye.
Leaning her cheek against the soft velvet draperies, Breanna allowed herself to cry out her misery. The silence of the house crept into her heart, as she watched the coach pull away and disappear down the tree-lined driveway.
Loneliness hung heavily in the room, and she was overcome by the silence. After allowing time to compose herself, Breanna made her way slowly up the stairs to sit with the Marquess so she would be fulfilling her promise to Dakota.
***
The old Marquess died that night without ever regaining consciousness.
Breanna and the doctor were with him when he breathed his last ragged breath. She cried, not out of affection for the Marquess, because he had not been a lovable man, but because he was Dakota's grandfather, so therefore worthy of her grief.
The Marquess's body had been prepared so he could be transported to Weatherford Hall, where he would be interred in the family crypt with generations of Remingtons.
***
It was a dreary day. Breanna and John stood beside the graveside, surrounded by the servants from Weatherford Hall, while the village vicar spoke glowing words about the old Marquess.
Tears blinded Breanna's eyes as she thought about the sad old man who had so few people who mourned his passing.
John stood stiffly at her side, and Breanna could tell by his eyes that he was sad at his uncle's passing. She understood how he felt, because the Marquess had been head of the family.
As a flock of ravens winged their way through the darkened heavens, gloom hung heavily in the air. John put his arms around Breanna and led her back toward the house, while the servants disbursed, going their separate ways.
As Breanna and John walked slowly along, John reflected on the Marquess's life. "My uncle was a forceful man, and he almost always got his way. But oddly enough, I respected him and I shall miss him," John said sadly. "He was the last of a proud breed of Remington men with his kind of thinking. He always put the survival of the family name above all else, never weighing the consequences or how it would affect any individual family members.''
"I did not have the chance to know him very well," Breanna replied. "But I have to say in all honesty that in our few meetings, I did not gain an affection for him."
"He was not the kind of man who encouraged affection. I wonder how different he would have been if Holden and Cillia had lived."
"Many things would have been different if they had lived" Breanna speculated. "Dakota would have been raised here in England and . . . oh, well, that did not happen. Tell me about Dakota's parents," Breanna urged, wanting something to take her mind off the sad old man who had lived his life without true affection.
By now, they had reached the steps of the house and John steered Breanna to the library.
She walked over to the desk and stared up at the portrait of Holden and Cillia. "They look like they belonged together," Breanna said, noting the green eyes of the woman—green eyes that she had passed on to her son.
"They were very much in love. I was young, but I always felt good just being around them. They laughed a lot, and made the people around them laugh also. I can remember being devastated when we received word that they had died so tragically."
John walked over to the desk and opened the drawer, pulling out Holden's journal. "Have you read the last entry my cousin made in his journal before he died?"
"No, I haven't," Breanna said, sitting down in the chair and allowing her eyes to move over the yellowed pages of the journal. Tears blinded her as she read:
On this day, the first day of November, in the year of Our Lord, 1833, Cillia died, delivering our child while I was away. It is my belief that the child lives and has been taken by Indians. It is my hope that every effort will be made to find the baby so it can be sent to my father in England. It is my wish that my wife and I be buried in a common grave so we might spend eternity together.
"Even after all this time, it is so tragic," she said, wiping her eyes on a linen handkerchief. "It must be wonderful to have such a love as Dakota's father had for his mother."
John could only stare at Dakota's beautiful wife, thinking how exceptional she was. He would always have a special place for her in his heart. But she must never know how he felt, or he might lose her friendship, for John knew that Breanna belonged to Dakota.
"You realize that one or the other of us will have to leave today for the townhouse in London, Breanna. If we stay under the same roof, it won't take gossiping tongues long to draw the wrong conclusion."
Breanna rose and stood beneath the portraits, unmindful of John's concern for her reputation. "Cillia never allowed her husband to go anywhere without her, did she, John?"
"No, never. I recall Holden once commented to me that since their marriage, he and Cillia had never spent one night apart." John looked at her suspiciously. "What makes you ask, Breanna?"
Baxley chose that moment to enter the room, carrying a tray. "Mrs. Hopkins thought you might like your tea served in here, my lady."
"Baxley," Breanna said, still staring at the portrait of Cillia, "you knew my husband's mother and father very well. Would Lord Holden have considered going to America without his wife?"
"No, my lady, never!"
Breanna's eyes took on a glow, as she turned to face both men. "Then Dakota should not have gone without me."
John shook his head, knowing by the gleam in Breanna's eyes that trouble was coming. "I know there is a bee in your bonnet, Breanna. What are you thinking?"
She raised her chin with defiance etched on her face. "I am going to join my husband in America."
"No, you are not," John said emphatically. "Where Dakota is going is no place for a lady."
"Be that as it may, I am going. I will take a page of courage from Cillia's book. I promised Dakota I would stay with his grandfather as long as he needed me, and I have fulfilled that promise. There is no longer anything to keep me here."
John turned to Baxley, hoping to enlist the valet in his argument. "You went to America with my cousins, Baxley. Tell her ladyship it would be impossible for her to go."
The old retainer's eyes danced with excitement. "I would never presume to tell the new Marchioness what to do, sir."
For the first time Breanna realized that on the old Marquess's death, Dakota had become the Marquess of Weatherford. "See, John, Baxley doesn't believe that my joining Dakota is a bad notion."
Baxley smiled broadly. "If your ladyship will allow it, I will be honored to accompany you. I know a lot about the land and would be of great help to your ladyship."
John threw up his hands. "I think you are both mad. Dakota would not approve of your going to America."
"You cannot know that, John," Breanna said, her mind already filled with preparations for the voyage.
"I will not be a party to such a scheme," John stated, disconcerted by the far-off gleam in Breanna's eyes.
"With or without you, John, I am going. My mind is made up."
Seeing the determination in Breanna's eyes, and knowing he would do anything she asked of him, regardless of the consequences, he conceded. "I will accompany you if you persist in this madness, but you will have to explain it to Dakota when we see him."
Breanna, in her glee, threw her arms around John. "You won't regret it, John, I can promise you." She smiled at Baxley. "Make all the arrangements, because I want to leave as soon as possible. My husband has already had a week's head start on us."
***
The Phoenix was a steam-powered merchant ship that could make the voyage between London and New York in less than three weeks. John had told Breanna that they might even reach New York ahead of Dakota and Levi, since the two men had been forced to sail on a frigate, which could take four to five weeks to cross the Atlantic, depending on the wind.
The Phoenix had set sail from London on a cold, dreary morning and had been under way for a week. As they neared the end of the voyage, the weather had changed from cold damp fog to clear days and warm breezes. Even though it was late autumn, the weather was so warm that Breanna had exchanged her heavy wool cape for a light shawl.
John's cabin was located on one side of hers, while Baxley’s was on the other, and both men had appointed themselves her faithful watchdogs.
In her weaker moments, she wondered if Dakota would be angry with her for her impulsiveness, but she pushed those concerns aside, having convinced herself that she was doing the right thing. Besides, it was too late to be concerned now. She was on her way to America to join Dakota, and there was no turning back.
Breanna felt her heart lighten and her cares melt away in the heady salt air. With the wind in her hair and a warm sun on her face, she stood on deck, feeling exuberant and alive. No longer would she have to dream about sailing away to some far-off land; it was a reality.
"America," she said aloud, loving the way it lingered on her tongue. In her mind she pictured America as wild and unpredictable as her husband.
John joined Breanna on deck. "Pipe dreaming, or fanciful wishing?" he queried.
She gave him one of her warmest smiles. "Actually, I was wondering about America. I know you have been there. What's it like?"
He leaned his arm on the top railing and propped a booted foot on the bottom rail. "I didn't see much of it."
"Have you been to the Arapaho land?" she wanted to know.
"No, just New York. I found it damp, humid, and the mosquitoes were intolerable."
Her eyes were shining with excitement. "I cannot wait to go ashore. I'm looking forward to seeing my first Indian."
John's lips curled into a smile. "I hate to be the one to point this out to you, Breanna, but the whole time I spent in New York, Dakota was the only Indian I saw."
She missed the amusement in his voice. "Oh, John, I mean a real Indian. Dakota was only raised by the Arapaho war chief, he's not really one of them."
John glanced into her face, and something akin to pain throbbed in his heart. She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen, and again he reminded himself that she belonged to his cousin. "I have a feeling that when you see Dakota, it will take some of the enthusiasm out of you. To say he is not going to be happy is putting it mildly."
"Dakota may not like it at first, but when I assure him that I will not be a burden to him or slow him down, he will accept it," she said confidently.
"You say you would like to see a real Indian, but have you ever considered that a 'real' Indian might want to slit your pretty throat?"
She only laughed. "Oh, John, you have always been one for dramatics."
"My God," John said, throwing his hands up. "You think you are going on a Sunday picnic."
She smiled at him. "I only know that I am going to be with my husband." There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she loved the man she had married. She no longer fought against the emotions that ruled her heart and dominated her thinking. She longed for the time when she would see him again.
***
It was a bright Wednesday morning, without a cloud in the sky, when the cry came from the watch. "Land ho."
Excitement ran through the passengers who clambered to the railing, straining to catch their first sight of America.
Breanna stood beside John and Baxley, expectancy in her eyes.
"Well sleep on American soil tonight," John said. "Heaven help me when we face Dakota, because he is going to want to rip my head off for allowing you to come."
"I shall tell him you had no choice in the matter. He will be grateful you came along to protect me. Besides," she said, conceding that Dakota might be a little upset, "let him vent his anger on me."
"Oh, I shall, because you have better powers of persuasion with him than I."
Happiness brightened her smile. "Do you think Dakota and Levi will still be in New York?"
"I would think so, Breanna."
She linked her arm through John's, catching sight of a tiny speck of land in the distance. "I can hardly wait, John. I have dreamed of this moment!"
John offered Breanna his spyglass. "Use this for your first glimpse of America," he said, helping her adjust the lens to fit her eyes.
"I see it," she cried happily. "Just think, I am about to set foot on American soil."
"I hope you won't feel disillusioned, Breanna. It isn't much by English standards.
Breanna handed John back his spyglass and gave him an impish smile. "You are such a snob, John. I want to see the mountains and rivers and prairies."
He smiled down at her. "Who has been filling your pretty head with such romantic notions? It sounds like Levi talking."
"Yes, Levi and Dakota. I will even be glad to see Levi. I have missed him"
John stared at the shoreline, knowing he would have to face Dakota's wrath. He glanced down at Breanna and saw the happy glow on her face. It didn't matter what trouble came his way, because he would do anything Breanna asked of him.
27
As the hired carriage raided over the cobblestone streets, Breanna's spirits were dampened, not only by the mist that had rolled in and hung in the air, cloaking her view of New York, but also because now that she had arrived, she feared Dakota would be angry with her.
John and Baxley sat silently across from her, neither of them inclined to talk. Breanna knew that both men were wondering what Dakota's reaction would be when he discovered they had followed him to America.
In the glow of the carriage lamp, she glanced at John. "I see no reason to allow the gloomy weather to keep us from enjoying our first day in America."
"There's nothing to see," John said, pulling his hat low over his forehead.
Glancing up to catch Baxley’s eyes, she saw understanding there. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but this fog could clear within a moment's notice."
"I did so want to see New York" she said wistfully. Glancing out the window, Breanna could see nothing past damp mist, and could hear nothing but the sound of muted horses' hooves.
"You will probably see more of this city than you want to before we leave," John observed with his usual cynicism for anything American. His eyes caught Baxley's. "You are sure that the frigate his lordship sailed on has docked?"
"Yes, sir. I was told they tied up yesterday."
"How long do you think Dakota will remain in New York?" Breanna asked.
"I should think it will take at least three days to gather what supplies and equipment they will need for the journey, my lady. This is Wednesday. . . I would expect his lordship to leave by Friday."
"We should have no trouble finding them if they stay at the same hotel as before," John stated.
"I should think they would, sir."
The rest of the ride was covered in silence. Breanna thought it strange that three people who were about to embark on a great adventure found little to say to one another. Her head was filled with questions she wanted to ask Baxley since he had been to the wilderness, but now was not the time to ask them.
Breanna's heart was thumping against her ribs. Soon she would see Dakota. Let him be angry with her for coming, let him tell her how irresponsible her actions were, but please, she prayed, oh, please, let him be happy to see me.
When they reached the hotel, John steered Breanna inside while Baxley made inquiries at the front desk, his voice carrying to Breanna.
"Have you a Lord Remington registered here, sir?" Baxley asked, with his stiff English accent.
The desk clerk peeped over his glasses, studying his ledger. "No, but I have a Dakota Remington."
"That would be him, sir. Would you please tell me his lordship's room number?"
John glanced at Breanna. "Well, dear girl, the fat's in the fire now. Do you want to take ship home?"
She gave him a half-smile. "Certainly not," she replied, exuding more confidence than she actu
ally felt.
By now Baxley had rejoined them, dangling the key from his fingers. "If your ladyship will allow me, I will see you settled into his lordship's room. After that, I'll have your trunks sent up."
"Is his lordship in?" she asked.
"No, my lady. Not at this time. The man behind the desk informed me that his lordship and Mr. Gunther had gone out early this morning and have not yet returned."
***
Breanna had been waiting for Dakota for over an hour. For the hundredth time, she looked at the green and white furnishings, wondering what could be keeping her husband. She removed her bonnet and draped it over the bedpost, realizing she might have made a mistake in coming here. Suppose Dakota insisted she go right back to England?
Moving over to Dakota's trunk, she picked up a blue shirt that she found there and held it up to her face because it made her feel close to him. She loved him desperately and was so anxious to see him.
Another hour passed and still Dakota had not come. John had knocked on the door earlier to see if Breanna wanted to go to the dining room for dinner, but she sent him away.
The mist was still heavy and she could see nothing as darkness fell over the town.
It had been a long day and Breanna was weary. She thought she would just lie down for a moment and rest, but when her head touched the pillow, she relaxed into the soft mattress and was soon asleep.
***
Dakota stood in his darkened room; his keen hearing picked up the sound of soft breathing. He knew there was another presence in the room. He moved, catlike, across the floor, staying in the shadows. He heard the breathing coming from the bed and unsheathed his knife. Silently he reached out, his hand coming in contact with a woman's soft body!
Breanna felt the touch of a man's hand on her wrist, and she knew it was Dakota. Raising her arms, she slid them around his shoulders. She took advantage of his astonishment to press her lips against his.
He stiffened for a moment, and then the knife clattered to the floor. There could be no mistaking the soft scent of his wife's perfume that now enveloped him. "Breanna! Can it be you?"
"Yes," she whispered, her lips seeking his kiss.
Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) Page 26
