Dark Before the Rising Sun

by Laurie McBain

  “I have come home to stay, Bess,” Dante said quietly. “But we shall have to live at the lodge for now. While I was away from Merdraco, someone—and I think we both know who—broke into Merdraco and deliberately made it unfit to live in,” Dante said harshly. His forbidding expression sent a shiver through Bess Seacombe. Dante Leighton had become a man who could hate.

  “We?” Bess asked.

  “Yes. I did not return alone,” Dante said, his gaze lingering on Rhea’s flushed face.

  Bess did not miss the softening of his expression as he stared at the young maid. She sighed. He hadn’t changed all that much after all. In fact, he was probably more expert at seduction than he had been when they’d lain together. Bess found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in his arms again.

  A moment passed and then Bess tapped her riding crop in irritation, for she seemed to have lost Dante’s attention to the golden-haired maid. Not quite understanding her sudden jealousy, she said, “Your servants are impertinent, Dante. And this maid of yours was hardly accommodating when I demanded to see her master. She even went so far as to demand my name!”

  “Her master?” Dante asked, glancing between the two women. He frowned, but then he became aware of the misleading impression of Rhea’s costume. He laughed. “I doubt she considers me her master,” Dante murmured. “Do you, little daffadilly?” he asked as he saw the golden daffodils she was holding.

  Dante didn’t wait for Rhea’s reply, but went on quickly. “I have been remiss in not introducing these two people—no, three people,” Dante corrected himself as he reached out and took his son from Alastair.

  Lady Bess Seacombe raised a delicately arched brow. Was he really going to introduce her to servants? Even if one happened to be his mistress, the idea was astonishing. “Do you really think that is necessary, Dante?” Bess asked patronizingly. “I heard rumors that you lived in the colonies, where, I am told, servants are treated as equals to their masters and where tradesmen are the most respected members of society. Indeed, they seem to be society, for those colonials respect any man who works, even one who dirties his hands. ’Tis an outrageous practice which can lead only to difficulties. I am surprised that you should adopt such a revolutionary policy, Dante.”

  He startled Bess by laughing. “I had forgotten how regal you were, Bess,” he said, recalling she never let anyone forget she was a titled lady in her own right. “This gentleman is Alastair Marlowe, a former member of my crew aboard the Sea Dragon, and a very good friend of mine. And this lady is my wife.” Dante spoke the words proudly.

  “And this is my son,” Dante continued, his words ringing in Bess’s ears and destroying her dreams. She had hoped…no, she wouldn’t even think about what she had hoped, she told herself as she stared down at the woman who was mistress of Merdraco and wife to Dante Leighton.

  “Rhea, this is Lady Bess Seacombe, an old friend of mine from many years ago. Almost too many to count,” Dante added. He intended no malice, but his words slapped Bess in the face as she stared down at his incredibly beautiful, young wife. Bess had to admit that Rhea was a beauty.

  “Well, what a surprise. And when did the blessed event take place? I’m sure I’d have remembered seeing the banns posted,” Bess remarked.

  Dante smiled. “We were wed this past year.”

  “I am surprised I did not read about it.” Bess’s questioning voice cast doubt on the fact.

  “We were wed in the colonies.”

  “Ah! Now I understand. I should have guessed by your bride’s quaint attire. You really will have to teach her propriety if she is to accompany you in polite society,” Bess suggested kindly. “I should be happy to tutor her in the art of being a lady.”

  “I shouldn’t think that would be necessary, Bess, or that you were qualified,” Dante said, his voice cutting. “As it so happens, my wife is English. In fact, you may have met her parents.”

  “I shouldn’t think that likely,” Bess responded incredulously. “I doubt we move in the same circles.”

  “Her parents are the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh. Before we wed, my wife was Lady Rhea Claire Dominick.”

  Bess could have howled. “Well! ’Tis an honor, for I have met your parents in London on several occasions.”

  “Lady Bess. It is a pleasure to meet an old friend of Dante’s,” Rhea said coolly, not intending the word “old” as a criticism. But that was how Bess took it, for she wanted badly to dislike the chit who had captured Dante’s heart and who wore his ring.

  “In truth, we were rather more than friends. I remember when he left here. He had hardly a farthing to his name, and now he has come home to Merdraco with a very, very wealthy bride. It seems your luck has changed for both you and Merdraco,” Bess said, leaving no doubt that she believed Dante had wed Rhea for her fortune. “But really, Dante, did she even have a season in London before you snatched her up? Not taking any chances with that dowry,” Bess said, for her pride was smarting, and she wanted to strike out and hurt the man she refused to admit she still felt something for, even if he felt nothing for her.

  Apparently unaffected by her words, Dante glanced at the other two riders. “And would this be your daughter, Bess?” Dante queried with the polite interest of a casual acquaintance and nothing more, his barb striking deep.

  Bess’s nostrils flared with temper. But she steeled herself and, smiling proudly, said, “Yes, this is my daughter, Anne, and my son, Charles. Children, come and meet Dante Leighton, Marquis of Jacqobi.”

  As the two approached, their horses moving slowly, Anne Seacombe stared in bemused fascination at the man who very easily could have been her father. This was the man her mother had been so very much in love with. “Hello,” she said demurely, her dark brown eyes wide with wonder as she stared at that muscular chest. She began to understand her mother a little better.

  “You are very lovely, Anne,” Dante said with a smile, charming Anne further. “You remind me of your mother when she was that age. Only she was not as shy. Were you, Bess?” he asked, relenting for a moment as he remembered her riding across the moors, her dark curls blowing free, daring him to catch her.

  “You should remember, Dante,” Bess reminded him with an intimate look. Then she glanced down at Rhea pityingly. “Dante and I were quite close at one time. I doubt whether he told you that we were affianced?” she said. She was sure that Dante had not told his wife about his former lover. And because she’d wanted to place doubts in Rhea’s mind, she’d brought up a subject that she should have left buried.

  “Indeed, Lady Bess,” Rhea answered smoothly, her smile understanding this time as she stared at the older woman, “Dante has told me everything about his relationship with you.”

  Bess’s lips tightened with her indignation and then with shame as she met Dante’s gaze and knew that Rhea spoke the truth. “I see,” Bess mumbled, mortified before Dante and the duke’s daughter he had married. When they discovered that the high-and-mighty Lady Bess Seacombe was an impoverished widow, they would probably laugh their heads off.

  But Bess did not know the manner of woman Rhea Claire was. She would never enjoy another’s unhappiness. And as Rhea watched the play of emotions crossing Lady Bess’s face, she sensed some of her anguish. She didn’t know that the woman was nearly destitute, but she knew that Lady Bess had lost Dante through her own selfishness, and she pitied her even if she couldn’t forgive her. With that in mind, Rhea said tentatively, “It must have been a long ride. We would welcome you and your son and daughter to join us for tea.”

  Rhea’s friendly invitation seemed to startle Dante and Alastair as much as it had Bess, for they all stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

  “I am afraid the lodge is in a bit of an uproar. We are in the midst of cleaning it, as you may have noticed from my attire, but I promise the tea will be strong and hot, and served in china, which will have been unpac
ked by now. And Hallie’s scones will be quite delicious,” Rhea said with a smile which included the lad sitting quietly on his mount. At the mention of pastry, Charles Seacombe’s homely little face showed its first spark of interest.

  Bess was flummoxed. She realized that the offer was being made with sincerity, when all she wanted was to heartily dislike Lady Rhea Claire, whose existence destroyed her hopes.

  Bess was a proud woman. Perhaps that was what had caused her downfall, for it was almost impossible for her to admit that she needed help. She’d choke on those scones if she had to sit across from Dante and his wife, pretending that she was pleased about their happiness, for it was only too apparent that theirs was a love match. She was about to refuse, her chin rising with affronted dignity, when the sound of horses’ hooves along the lane drew everyone’s attention. All eyes turned toward the approaching riders. They moved as though they had a purpose in visiting, and from the expressions on the riders’ faces, they were not bringing good tidings.

  Twenty-five

  It oft falls out,

  To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean.

  —Shakespeare

  Lady Bess Seacombe was the only one not surprised by the visitors. Dante, Rhea, and Alastair were disbelieving, although pleased, for one of the riders was none other than Sir Morgan Lloyd. They had bid him farewell in London thinking he was returning to the colonies. They did not know the young man accompanying Sir Morgan. But his red coat with its gilt buttons and his black tricorne with its gold lace binding identified him as an officer of the Crown. Dante surmised this was not to be an informal visit from Sir Morgan Lloyd, his old nemesis with whom he had established a truce.

  Alastair frowned and tried to catch his captain’s eye, but Dante’s attention was on the two riders, his gaze narrowed, which confirmed Alastair’s suspicions that something was amiss; for it brought back memories of the captain standing on the deck, his narrowed gaze searching the horizon for that first sighting of the enemy. Rhea saw nothing strange in Sir Morgan’s being accompanied by another officer, and she stepped forward, her arms still full of flowers, and a smile curving her lips.

  “Sir Morgan! How wonderful to see you again,” Rhea exclaimed, her words of welcome and recognition startling both Bess and Lieutenant Handley, for neither had thought this to be anything but a meeting of strangers. Both remembered a conversation at Seawyck Manor when the good captain had professed little knowledge of Merdraco or its master.

  “Lady Rhea Claire,” Sir Morgan shocked them by speaking the lady’s name with a gentleness that neither Bess nor the lieutenant had ever heard in that stern voice. “I had remembered your uncommon beauty, m’lady, but I confess to being once again entranced by it. You are a breath of spring after a very long, bleak winter,” Sir Morgan said with so charming a smile that Bess raised a haughty eyebrow. The man had been barely civil to her. Indeed, the impertinent fellow had issued her a warning to watch her step, and here he was fawning over this fair-haired chit and smiling one of his rare smiles.

  “You are too kind, Sir Morgan. But what brings you here to Merdraco? I thought you would be in the Carolinas by now. What a coincidence to find you here. I am afraid that we are ill prepared for entertaining, for we have just arrived at Merdraco,” Rhea explained apologetically, glancing toward the lodge, “although we would be delighted to have you stay. I hope you accepted my invitation and paid a visit to Camareigh? I know my mother and father would have been delighted to see you, Sir Morgan. Is that how you discovered where we were?” Rhea was about to inquire about her family when she was interrupted.

  “I do not think a social visit was Sir Morgan’s intention, Rhea,” Dante spoke for the first time. He had been watching Sir Morgan’s expression while Rhea conversed with him, and Dante knew that something was bothering Sir Morgan Lloyd, so he was not surprised when that man turned a hard eye on him.

  “I am afraid, Lord Jacqobi, that I am here on official business. It is my intention of…”

  “…of giving you fair warning that I shall rid this coastline of its infestation of smugglers,’” Bess concluded for him. “I give you fair warning now, Dante, that Sir Morgan Lloyd is a man who takes his responsibilities most seriously. Almost to the point of being a bore.”

  “Lady Bess,” Sir Morgan said patiently, but his blue eyes were as frigid as the arctic winds. “Forgive me, I hadn’t noticed your presence until now,” he said, which must have been bending the truth a bit, for he could not have missed that scarlet figure perched arrogantly on her black stallion, which in his opinion, was too much horse for the lady. “And may I compliment you on your remarkable memory. I can only hope that you have the good sense to follow my warning and not simply to mimic me.”

  “Indeed, sir,” Bess smiled provocatively, her dark eyes shimmering with defiance. “I have found myself pondering your words of advice often, or at least until I find myself nodding off,” she confided to him. “But what is this? You are friends with the lady? Now, this is an extraordinary coincidence. Or did you purposely get yourself transferred here so you could resume an old friendship? I must agree the idea has merit,” she said with an arch look at Dante before glancing at his embarrassed wife. But it was on meeting Sir Morgan’s flinty stare that she remembered, too late, the reason for Sir Morgan’s presence. She began to feel ashamed, for she had not intended to be insensitive to his loss.

  “I met Sir Morgan when I was in the colonies. He came to my aid and I consider him a gentleman and a friend,” Rhea said stiffly. Bess didn’t miss the blush that spread across her rival’s cheeks.

  “How very interesting. Do you know, I still find it difficult to believe that you have actually been to the colonies. You certainly have traveled rather extensively for one who has no doubt led a rather sheltered life. I suppose that is where you met Dante? Or was it in London? Of course, I’m not at all surprised that I didn’t hear of your nuptials, since I haven’t been to London in over a year. Lud, but it seems an eternity since I left the country. I don’t know when was the last time I attended a soiree, or…well…” Bess stopped herself, for she certainly didn’t wish to admit to her lack of funds. “Actually, I must admit that I mistakenly thought that young man,” she said, indicating a dumbfounded Alastair, “was Lady Jacqobi’s husband. And the father of her child,” Bess said with an apologetic laugh which had nothing to do with being sorry. “Isn’t that just too awful of me? But you have to admit they do make a handsome couple and seem well suited to one another, both appearing rather naive. Wouldn’t you agree, Dante?”

  “Experience has nothing to do with maturity. I found Lady Jacqobi to be one of the most courageous and perceptive young women it has ever been my privilege to meet,” Sir Morgan said, surprising everyone again by his unexpected comment, and it certainly set Bess’s teeth on edge.

  “My, my, it would seem as if the good captain is not only heroic but honey-tongued as well. You will have to keep an eye on this perfect wife of yours, what with these two handsome and obviously lovesick gentlemen by her side. I shouldn’t turn my back for long, if I were you, Dante. I should hate to have to console you, my dear,” Bess said ruefully, but the look in her eyes was telling Dante something altogether different.

  “You were never very good at consoling, Bess,” Dante said, and Bess felt her cheeks pinkening from the snub. To add to her annoyance, she caught Sir Morgan’s hawk-like stare on her. She felt a sudden urge to raise her riding crop to him and smash that damned holier-than-thou attitude off his face, for Sir Morgan Lloyd had the strange ability to make her feel small. Bess sent him a smoldering look that should have left him a smoking cinder in the saddle.

  “Perhaps you won’t need consolation. Perhaps this marriage of yours is one of convenience? At least on your part, Dante?” Bess inquired matter-of-factly before she met Rhea’s untroubled gaze with a puzzled one. “I am sure, once he set out to woo you, that you fell head over heels in love
with Dante. He can be such a persuasive lov—” Bess let her words trail off discreetly. “Of course, Dante gambled away his fortune and has been in search of another for ages. Has he found one with your dowry?”

  “Mother, please,” Anne Seacombe was embarrassed enough to speak up, even though she knew she risked being punished later.

  “As a matter of fact, madam,” Alastair said shortly, unable to hold his tongue any longer either, “Dante Leighton is a very wealthy man. He needed no wealthy wife. And were you more observant, you would see that the captain is very much in love with Lady Rhea Claire.”

  Bess eyed the handsome young man with dislike. “How can this be true? Are you wealthy, without having to wed?”

  “I would not have returned to Merdraco otherwise,” Dante answered simply. “And had Rhea been a beggarmaid, I would still have married her,” he added, and the look that he and Rhea exchanged hurt Bess in a way that no stinging rejoinder could have and left her speechless.

  “Laid her on her beam-ends,” Alastair said beneath his breath, using a seafaring phrase for a ship in danger of capsizing.

  “If you haven’t come on a social visit, then what is your business here, Captain?” Dante drew the conversation back to the naval officer’s visit. To see the former captain of the Sea Dragon standing there at ease, holding his son, one would have thought the question merely conversational.

  For a moment, Sir Morgan’s gaze lingered regretfully on that peacefully sleeping babe. Then he seemed to put the feeling aside and said in an authoritative voice, “I am giving you fair warning, Lord Jacqobi,” Sir Morgan began, only to be interrupted by Bess’s amused voice.

  “Oh, lud, here we go again,” she complained, ignoring Sir Morgan’s irritated glance. There was something about the man that seemed to bring out the worst in her and made her act more outrageous than she thought wise. But sometimes she was helpless to control her tongue.