Dangerous Passions
Leigh Anderson
Contents
Part I
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Part II
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Part III
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Part I
“The dreams we imagine when we are asleep should not in any way make us doubt the truth of the thoughts we have when we are awake.”
~Descartes
Chapter One
“Isoline…”
Isoline gasped as she opened her eyes. He was here…again…always…
“Isoline…”
She climbed out of bed, her hands gripping her satin robe as she stood, but when she looked back, the bed was gone, as were the walls of her room. She wrapped the robe around herself as the fog crept in around her ankles. She was somewhere outside. She could feel the grass under her feet and the dampness in the air, yet she was not cold. The strange sensations told her that none of this was real…yet she knew it was.
“Isoline…” he called to her again.
“I’m here,” she replied softly. “Show yourself.” She knew he would not, but still she tried to convince him to reveal his face. In the five years he had been coming to her in her dreams, she had not seen who he was, but she could feel he had gotten closer to her.
She took a step forward. Just because she was alone in a dream with a strange man did not mean she could not enjoy a short walk. She had been coming here for so long, this place no longer terrified her.
It was a large open glade, with grass up to her knees, surrounded by forest. She had tried many times to reach the edge of the glade, but she had never made it that far. A pale blue moon lighted her way. She clutched tightly to the robe at her chest and ran the tips of her fingers along the edges of the grass as she walked. She shivered, not from cold, but from the way the grass tickled her bare calves as she walked.
She heard footsteps behind her. She slowly turned her head, but there was no one there, as usual. She continued her walk, and she heard the footsteps again, closer this time.
“I want to see you,” she said. “It is time, don’t you think?”
He did not respond, but she felt the wind lightly touch the ends of her long dark hair. No…it wasn’t the wind. It was him. She knew it was. She shivered again.
“If you cannot reveal yourself to me you need to stop bringing me here,” she said. “I…” She had delayed in telling him the truth. This man in her dreams. She shook her head, disappointed with herself. What was she afraid of? Offending a figment of her imagination?
But what she knew to be true and what she knew to be reasonable and logical warred in her mind. She knew she was dreaming. But she also knew this was much more than a dream. But if it was more than a dream, what was it? It was the unknown that scared her more than the dream itself. She no longer feared the dream as she once did. She actually longed for it. She did not know what caused the dreams to happen. There seemed to be no logical order to when they happened. One night, two nights, three nights could pass before she would find herself here. When too many nights passed that she was not awakened by him calling her name, she would miss him. Miss this place.
And yet, as a dream, she could not let it stop her from living.
But she did. She had for too long. She had to put an end to it. It was time to focus on the world of the waking.
“I am getting married,” she finally said in one quick breath.
The world stilled. For the first time in a dream, she felt cold. She pulled her robe more tightly around her and could see the crystals of her own breath before her.
“Do not be angry,” she said. “You know we cannot continue like this.”
We. As if she had a choice in being here. She could not will the dreams to come to her. She had tried. She could not change the content of the dreams. She had tried that as well. And yet…she wanted to be here. She wanted to see this man who had called to her all these years. She wanted to know him. To touch him. To see him. But if he could not give her that, she could not keep coming here.
“It is dishonorable to my future husband,” she said. “I cannot keep coming to you from my marriage bed. It is disloyal.”
From over her shoulder, she could see him breathing. He was right behind her. Her own breath stilled. They were so close. If only she could touch him.
“Just show me your face,” she panted, “and I will end the engagement.”
The hairs on her arms prickled. He was right there, so close. Almost touching her but not quite. She had to look. She turned to face him.
And he was gone.
She stood alone in the field.
“Who are you?” she yelled.
Isoline opened her eyes. She felt near to tears. Was that it? Was he gone? Was it over? She sat up and shook her head. She needed to get ready for the day. She pulled the covers back and shivered as her feet touched the ground. Her warming pan had long gone cold, but her down blanket provided immeasurable warmth compared to the chilly room, her fire nearly gone out. She pulled on some woolen socks and a thick fur-lined robe. She crept over to her fireplace and tossed some more logs on it. Her family had some servants, but not enough to tend to every single need. The family was comfortably upper-middle class, but not wealthy. Of course, her father hoped that her marriage to Lord Crowden would change their circumstances. And she did as well. She found Cyril pleasant enough of a companion and could imagine loving him one day. It was a good match, she had to agree.
He was no man from her dreams, though.
She removed the kettle from over the fireplace and added the water to the nearly frozen water in her washbowl to make it a comfortable temperature. She washed and selected her own clothes for the day, dressing herself as completely as she could before the maid, Nicola, arrived to help her tie and fasten everything she couldn’t reach.
“You look pretty as a picture today, Miss Beresford,” Nicola gushed as she helped Isoline tame her wild tresses into something like an acceptable hairstyle. “Of course, your father would accept nothing less on the day of your engagement party.”
Isoline felt her heart skip a beat at Nicola’s words. It didn’t hardly seem real to her, not yet. Cyril had only proposed two days previously. She had accepted, not because she loved him, but because it had been the right thing to do. Cyril Hawtree, Lord Crowden, was a baron with a proper house and medium-sized estate only a few miles from her home in the village of Hawkshire. He was reasonably handsome, with fair hair and grey eyes, and only in his early thirties. He was more than ten years older than Isoline, but that was preferable to the other landed gentry her father would surely consider if she waited much longer to find a husband on her own. She was not an old maid, or even anything like it, but any woman who had been in society for five years would soon surely be on borrowed time.
It wasn’t that men had not been interested in her when she was younger, but she had not been interested in them. In her foolish, girlhood days, she had given much more power, more credence to her dreams. She imagined the man calling to her was going to simply breeze through the doors one day and sweep her away to a life of magic and passion.
But nothing of the sort had ha
ppened, and Isoline liked to think she had grown a little wiser, in addition to older. She was not sure what her dreams meant, if anything, or what the source was. But five years was long enough to wait for any man. And she was done waiting.
Nicola finished dressing Isoline by adding a simple pearl necklace and pearl drop earrings. “There, my lovely. Your mother must surely be smiling down on you today.”
Isoline touched the pearls at her throat and couldn’t help but notice the similarity between herself and her mother. The same dark eyes and hair, the same pale skin, the same nose and ears. She had died when Isoline was fifteen, the year before she started having the dreams. She hoped her mother would be proud of the woman she had become.
Isoline took a deep breath, nodded, and headed downstairs.
The house was a flurry of activity. All of the staff, as well as her brothers and sisters-in-law, had been tasked with preparing for the party that evening. Compared to Lord Crowden’s estate, their house was quite simple. It took a lot of work—and money—to bring it up to the standards of the class of people who would be attending tonight to give the soon-to-be bride and groom their well-wishes.
She only had time for a bit of toast and tea before she was whisked away to help arrange the flowers and rearrange the furniture. Gifts and notes arrived in a steady stream. And lording over all of it, was Isoline’s father, Vincent Beresford.
“All of this must be moved out of the room,” he barked at a footman. “I don’t care if there isn’t any space, drag it upstairs if you must!”
“Papa, you are going to give yourself an aneurysm if you don’t calm down,” Isoline said as she held a door open wide enough for the poor footmen to move an awkward overstuffed chair from the room, doing her best to lighten the mood with a smile.
“As long as you are married before I do it will all be worth it,” he said as he patted his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Don’t rush it,” Isoline said. “Let me enjoy being the center of attention for once before I’m locked away as the lady of the manor.”
“You’ll hardly be locked away,” Geraldine, the wife of Isoline’s eldest brother said as she entered the room. “You’ll have more responsibility than you know what to do with as a baroness.”
“Thankfully I will have Cyril’s mother to help train me in all those matters,” Isoline said.
Geraldine pressed her lips, but said nothing. Of course, they both knew the cliché of meddling obnoxious mothers-in-law, and many of their own friends suffered at the hands of an overbearing one, but Geraldine married into the family after Isoline’s own mother had passed, so she had no experience in that area. Cyril’s mother had so far seemed pleasant enough, but how she would be as a mother-in-law once Isoline moved into the family estate was anyone’s guess. Isoline preferred to imagine she and the current Baroness Crowden would continue to get along after she and Cyril exchanged vows.
The rest of the day continued in much the same manner, with everyone rushed and harried in preparation for what should be the most important evening of Isoline’s life. Of course, her actual marriage would be the crowning moment, but this was when everything would be made official: she would be named as the future Baroness Crowden—wife, heiress, Lady. Everything would change after tonight.
The sun began to set before the guests started to arrive. Cyril and his parents were the first to arrive, as was proper. Isoline expected her heart to leap in excitement as he stepped out of the carriage, but she felt something else, something completely unexpected.
Dread.
As he climbed the stairs of the house to greet her, she felt the inexplicable urge to run. Run far and fast and never look back. She couldn’t explain this sudden feeling of terror sitting deep within her stomach. She had known Cyril for years, long before he started courting her a couple of months before, and she had never felt anything akin to fear of him. Even if he had not courted her, he was someone within her sphere of acquaintances and could even be counted among her friends. This sudden sensation of fright was unsettling to her.
“My darling,” he said as he bounded the steps and gripped her hands. His smile stretched from ear to ear. Indeed, he had always seemed more excited about the prospect of their marriage than she did. While she hoped to one day love him, she was certain he already loved her. He was kind, thoughtful, and considerate of her in all things. That she didn’t appreciate him to the same extent filled her with shame. But what was she to do? She couldn’t force herself to have feelings that simply did not exist. But she would do her best to be a loyal and dutiful wife to him. That was why she sent the man in her dreams away.
The man in her dreams.
Was he behind this? Was he causing her to have this irrational fear of Cyril? She had never noticed him having an effect on her during her waking hours before. Was such a thing even possible?
According to Descartes it was. At different points in her life, Isoline questioned the nature of her dreams, and even her own mind. She had sought an answer to what was happening to her. Descartes, the seventeenth-century French philosopher, had wondered if there was any difference between being awake and being in a dream. When we think we are awake, how do we know we are not in a dream, he had asked.
Isoline had posed the opposite question: when she was in a dream, how did she know she was not awake? Were her dreams simply an extension of her real life? Or were they perhaps another life? A life she was living at night not unlike the life she lived during the day, just separately.
Of course, she had not gone to school like her brothers. By the time she started having dreams and started researching philosophy, she was beyond the age of having a governess or tutor, not that her governess or tutor ever discussed such weighty matters with her anyway. And when she tried to talk about such things with her father, he simply patted her on the head and encouraged her to focus on her embroidery or to go for a ride. When her brothers were home, she tried to talk to them, but they had no interest in philosophy or the metaphysical world. Her eldest brother, Royston, studied politics, and her other brother, Laurence, was a man of science. And certainly, none of her female friends had any interest or understanding of the questions she posed. After a while, she put away her Descartes and simply had to accept the dreams as they were, with no explanation.
Until now.
As Cyril led her into the house by the hand, his touch turned into something like revulsion in her stomach. She could not wait for the first excuse to slip her hand from his grasp.
“I must see to the guests!” she said as she quickly excused herself. She flew to the butler, who was serving welcome drinks to the honored visitors and helped herself to one, two glasses of wine.
“I can do this,” she muttered to herself. “I would be crazy not to go through with this.” She fanned herself with her hand as she tried to calm her panicking heart.
“Isoline…”
She gasped as she felt his touch on her arm. Not his touch, but his hand just beyond her skin, just like she felt in her dream last night. She looked over her shoulder, but he was not there.
“Stop!” she whispered harshly as she ran to a small side room and shut the door. “Whoever you are, you must stop! I have a life to live. Leave me alone!”
But even as she said the words, she wanted to take them back. The idea of not having him in her life, even though she did not know him, filled her with sadness. She already felt a pain at the loss of him. It wasn’t that she wanted him to go, it was that she wanted him to be real. If only she could somehow will him into existence.
“Isoline!” Her other sister-in-law, Eunice, grabbed her arm and pulled her into the main parlor, which had been cleared of furniture to make room for more socializing space and, later, dancing. “It is time for the toasts!”
As Isoline entered the room, a round of applause broke out.
“There she is!” he father said, wearing the biggest smile she had ever seen him don. It was unnatural on a face that usually looked at her sternly.
Cyril took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the back of it gently as he smiled. She tried to smile back, but she felt the edges of her mouth quiver.
Her father raised his glass. “I had only hoped to live long enough to see the last of my children finally settled,” he said. “But to see my youngest child, my only daughter, married to such a fine young man as Cyril Hawtree, well, that is a blessing I could never have expected or even dreamed of.”
Isoline’s throat nearly closed up at the mention of the word dream. She felt she was going to be sick.
“To Isoline and Cyril!” her father said.
“To Isoline and Cyril!” everyone else chimed in as they raised their glasses and then took a sip. They all then turned to the presumably happy couple.
“And I could not be more honored to have such an amiable father-in-law,” Cyril said. Everyone made an aww sound. “But to try to put into words how much I love and look forward to marrying this woman right here next to me…” He paused, and Isoline thought she saw him tearing up.
“Don’t…” she started to say, but she did not know how to finish. Don’t what? Don’t cry? Don’t say it? Don’t marry me?
“When you have a title,” he dared to say, “you grow up fearing that love will not play a role in your marriage. After all, when so many people depend on you, such important decisions cannot be made on flights of fancy. But when Isoline allowed me to court her, I knew that love would certainly play a part in my marriage.”
Everyone gasped and murmured happy words. Some women even held their handkerchiefs to their eyes. But Isoline began to shake. She couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t let him marry someone who didn’t love him back.
Dangerous Passions Page 1
