Dark Before the Rising Sun

by Laurie McBain

  So she had freed her lips from his and turned her face away. It was the first time she had denied him since they had declared their love to one another. Rhea thought she would remember forever the stunned expression on his handsome face. Their eyes had met for a long moment, and then he released her abruptly.

  Getting to his feet, he stood there with an expression of hurt bewilderment, and Rhea had wanted to reach out to him and hold him against her. But something prevented it.

  “What is wrong?” he demanded, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as if he was tired, then his shoulder as if it ached.

  “Nothing,” she lied, unable to meet his eyes.

  “You have never been a very good liar, my dear,” he’d said softly, and grasping her chin in his cupped hand, he raised her face to his searching gaze. “I shall ask you again, Rhea. What is wrong?”

  Rhea could still feel the tenderness where she had bitten her lip while wondering whether she should keep silent, or tell the truth. But she had never been one for subterfuge, and so she stared him straight in the eye and said quite distinctly, “I was standing at the window, Dante. I saw you coming through the gardens from across the lawns. I know you went out. You needn’t have lied to me, Dante.”

  Dante had stood there, an expression of indecision on his face, and his silence convinced her that he did indeed have something to hide.

  Finally he spoke. “Yes, I did leave the lodge. I went for a walk,” he had told her, which she suspected was only part of the truth.

  “Did you not meet anyone?” Rhea asked hesitantly, and Dante laughed.

  “Just whom would I be meeting at this hour?” he demanded, almost daring her to accuse him.

  Then, at Rhea’s stricken look, he knelt down before her and took her hands between his.

  “Rhea, little daffadilly,” he said, forcing her to meet his ardent gaze, “you need never be jealous of another woman. Is that what you fear? Believe that, and trust me. I once asked you to promise me that you would never turn away from me, no matter what you heard, and even if you had doubts. As surely as the sun will rise each day, you may believe in one thing, and that is that I shall always love you.” Meeting the comforting warmth in his gray eyes, Rhea had believed him.

  A little later, when he took her in his arms, she did not draw away from him. And in the heat of passion, she forgot to tell him about the pale figure she had seen moving through the woods. Or perhaps she did not forget. Perhaps she did not want to know the truth.

  Rhea glanced around her at the sparkling beauty of the lodge that would be her home for most of the coming year, and she knew a deep sense of contentment. She had risen early, before the servants, and in the silence of the first light of day, she enjoyed a rare moment alone. How different the lodge hall looked, she thought as she touched the golden daffodils gracing the oak table, their reflection shining in the brilliant waxed surface. A tall case clock chimed the early hour as Rhea walked over to the hearth. Several tall-backed cane chairs and a pair of velvet upholstered winged chairs were positioned in a semicircle around the clean hearth.

  Rhea stood for a moment staring up at the painting above the mantelpiece. Dante himself had hung it with great care. It was the portrait of a very beautiful woman and a boy, the sea mists swirling around the woman’s figure while the boy seemed to stand apart, his small hand clinging to the folds of the woman’s silken gown. Her flaxen hair was tousled and blowing free while she stared down with compassionate, soft gray eyes. And the color of her eyes was reflected in the young boy’s eyes. Until Rhea gazed at that portrait, she had never seen such an innocent, trusting expression in Dante’s eyes. Time had banished that expression and replaced it with one of cynical wariness, and Rhea cried for that loss of innocence.

  She sighed, thinking of the tragedy that had befallen those two people so many years after the portrait was painted.

  “Aye, ’twas a real shame, what happened,” a voice commented sadly from behind her.

  Rhea spun around. “Kirby! You scared the life out of me,” Rhea said, but felt an overwhelming relief as she stared at his familiar face.

  “I’m sorry, m’lady. I didn’t mean to startle ye,” Kirby apologized as he came forward carrying a small silver tray, a china cup and saucer sitting squarely in the center. “I heard someone down here and came to investigate, but ye was so lost in your thoughts that I didn’t disturb ye. I thought ye might welcome a cup of tea.” He set the tray down on the tea table beside one of the winged chairs, then waited for her to sit down before handing her the brimming cup.

  Rhea smiled. “You must be a wizard, Kirby, always anticipating a person’s thoughts. This tastes wonderful,” Rhea complimented him.

  “I took the liberty, m’lady, of preparin’ it for ye. I reckon by now I know how ye like your tea,” he said with a grin.

  “You should have brought a cup for yourself,” she told him, wondering if he would ever remember that he was no longer a servant.

  “Oh, m’lady, what would the captain think if he was to come down and find us in here sippin’ tea?” Kirby asked, grinning widely. He truly did believe it would be improper, especially with her still clad in her nightdress.

  “He would think that two friends were sharing tea,” Rhea responded, but her smile didn’t come quite as easily as it should have. “What was she like, Kirby?” Rhea asked, glancing up at the portrait.

  Kirby sighed deeply. “Ah, the Lady Elayne, she was a saint, she was. The kindest, most thoughtful lady I’ve ever met, exceptin’ for yourself, m’lady. And, of course, Her Grace,” Kirby added, for the Duchess of Camareigh was a lady he would not soon forget. “The Lady Elayne adored Dante. Lived for him, she did. I imagine ’twas because she wasn’t all that happy with her husband. He was a fine man, but he didn’t care for anythin’ except books and paintin’s and all them things he liked to collect. Loved fine things, he did, and spent more time lookin’ over his sculptures and paintin’s than he did with his family. Even collected engravin’s, medals, gems, all sorts of little gewgaws. And, beggin’ your pardon, m’lady, just in case ye happen to run across one, he brought back some statues of half-naked women and naked gents from one of them foreign countries he visited on his Grand Tour. Remember like ’twas yesterday, I do. Nearly sent the old housekeeper, her bein’ a maiden lady, into an apoplectic fit when she caught sight of them bare-as-s-ah, forgive me, m’lady,” Kirby choked.

  “A dilettante,” Rhea remarked, unembarrassed.

  Kirby looked embarrassed. “M’lady, really, he wasn’t like that at all.”

  Rhea smiled. “I meant no offense. A dilettante is someone who has a love and appreciation of the arts. It sounds as if the late marquis wished to surround himself with beauty. I think that is admirable.”

  “Oh, is that what it means, then?” Kirby said, rubbing his chin in relief. “Aye, reckon ye be right. I sometimes got the feelin’ that he looked upon Lady Elayne as one of his possessions. And he was always pushin’ away his son. He was a high-strung young lad, and I guess Lord Jacqobi thought the lad would break one of his figurines or somethin’. Can still remember the hurt expression on the captain’s face every time he was told to get out by an irate Lord Jacqobi. All the lad wanted was a wee bit of affection. The marquis was the same with Lady Elayne, and if ye ask me, she was a far sight prettier than one of them marble statues without their proper clothes on,” sniffed the little steward. “Reminds me a lot of ye, m’lady,” Kirby said unthinkingly, then turned a bright, painful red. “Oh, m’lady, I didn’t mean what it sounded like I said,” he said, flustered.

  “Oh, Kirby, I know what you mean. I am honored that I remind you of Lady Elayne,” Rhea told him, her lips twitching.

  Kirby stared up at the portrait, feeling the same melancholy that Rhea had been feeling. “I wish with all of my heart, m’lady, that ye’ll be happier than Lady Elayne was. I’d hate to see ye suffer the way she did.
Sometimes I feel it would be worth hangin’ for, just to see Sir Miles punished for what he did to her.

  “Never liked him, I didn’t,” Kirby said. “Never trusted the man. Always figured I couldn’t go wrong if I believed just the opposite of what he said. Always lyin’ and connivin’. Usin’ people, he did, then he’d sit back and smile that evil grin. He took real pleasure in sellin’ them things of Lord Jacqobi’s.

  “Aye, ’twas probably a blessin’ Lady Elayne died. Only way she could escape him,” Kirby declared. “Always thought it real queer like, ’cause it was almost as if Sir Miles both loved and hated the Lady Elayne.” Then, glancing around nervously, he added in a whisper, “Ye don’t really think her ghost is hauntin’ the cliffs, d’ye, m’lady? I’d hate to be thinkin’ she wasn’t at peace,” Kirby said, his face screwed up with worry. Rhea was about to reassure him, despite the fact that she had seen that pale figure in the darkness, when Kirby suddenly cried out. Jumping up in surprise, he felt something rubbing against his stockinged legs.

  “Jamaica!” he growled, picking the big tom up in his arms. “Ye old reprobate. How did ye get in here? Where have ye been? Hasn’t been home in three days now. Out courtin’ the ladies, eh? Aye, once a tom, always a tom, that’s what I say,” Kirby pronounced. “Say hello to Lady Rhea Claire. Not that she should have been worryin’ about ye, but she asked me where ye was time and time again. Ye oughta be ashamed of yourself, causin’ the lady such concern.”

  “Hello, old boy. Where have you been? Have you a lady friend?” Rhea asked, rubbing the purring tom under his chin while Kirby gingerly held him close to her. He thought he’d better check Jamaica for fleas before he let her ladyship hold him.

  “Not talkin’, eh?” said Kirby with a disapproving shake of his head, for Jamaica was no youngster. “Got your secrets to keep. Well, reckon I might think about cuttin’ up some chicken livers for ye if ye behave yourself and don’t get greedy. Last time I was doin’ that, he took the whole dam—the whole chicken instead,” Kirby grumbled, but Rhea knew that the little steward was very pleased to have Jamaica home.

  “Can I be gettin’ ye any more tea, m’lady?” Kirby asked.

  “No, I really should dress before the footmen come down and I embarrass them,” Rhea said with a grin that was reminiscent of Robin’s when he was up to mischief.

  “Aye, m’lady,” Kirby agreed. “’Tis disgraceful that ye should be up before your maid is. Lettin’ her sleep in like ye do. I dunno what Her Grace would be sayin’ and I know her grandfather wouldn’t be approvin’, Lady Rhea Claire. I’ll see that she gets up before another few minutes have passed. I only hope she has brushed out the wrinkles and dust on your ridin’ dress. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure ’tis ready for ye,” Kirby told her with a glint in his eye, for he knew how to crack the whip over sluggards’ heads, even if Lady Rhea Claire didn’t. Too kind, she was, he thought.

  “I don’t think I will have need of my riding habit today, Kirby,” Rhea informed him. Placing the empty cup back on the tray, she got to her feet, glancing one last time at the portrait of Dante and his mother. She knew that Kit would one day look very much like that boy.

  “Oh, but, m’lady,” Kirby said, stopping her as she left the room, “the captain said ye was to ride over to Westlea Abbot today.”

  Rhea halted. “That is odd. Dante did not mention it to me,” Rhea said.

  Kirby looked baffled. “Reckon he’s become a mite forgetful of late, m’lady. Got a lot on his mind. Reckon we all do,” the little steward said with a deepening frown. There they were, just settling in, and there were people who wanted them gone as soon as possible.

  * * *

  Westlea Abbot was a larger and busier town than its nearest neighbor, Merleigh. It was located along a gentle slope of sheltered hillside, and its cobbled streets, lined with whitewashed stone shops and cottages, followed a gradual descent to the floor of the valley which was covered by forest and meadowland. Westlea Abbot was located along the center of a wide, sweeping bay with a curving sandy shore, but there were no foaming breakers rolling in from a rough sea. This was a safe harbor, one that had a fishing fleet moored along several stone piers.

  The small group of riders attracted much less attention than they had in Merleigh. Their horses’ iron-shod hooves striking noisily against the cobblestones, they passed quickly through the village streets, their destination an estate on the far side of Westlea Abbot.

  Sevenoaks House sat at the end of a short drive lined with three oaks on both sides. A noble oak of magnificent proportions stretched its ancient limbs into the sky at the end of the lane, forcing the drive to encircle it and partly hiding the house from view.

  It was a dignified brick house with a hipped roof and massive chimney stacks, which perfectly balanced the octagonal cupola perched in the center. Two neat rows of tall, stately mullioned windows marched along the front of the modest house. A short flight of wide steps with a curving stone balustrade led to the entrance.

  At the arrival of the riders, several young grooms hurried over from the stable block, which was hidden in a grove of trees off to the right. After the grooms took their horses, Dante took Rhea’s arm and escorted her up the steps. Francis and Alastair followed. A footman in plain livery opened the door as they reached it, and allowed them entrance to Sevenoaks House.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Jacqobi,” the stiff-backed, stern-visaged butler greeted Dante.

  “Oliver. It has been a long time. But you haven’t changed at all,” Dante said with a smile as he handed over his gloves and hat to the footman by the butler’s side.

  “Thank you, m’lord,” Oliver responded, and Rhea could have sworn there was a look of genuine pleasure in the old man’s eyes. “And if I may be so bold, m’lord, ’tis good to see that you have returned to your rightful place at Merdraco.”

  “Thank you, Oliver. That is very kind of you.” After a warm silence, Dante asked, “Is your master at home?”

  “Yes, m’lord. Shall I tell him you wish to see him?” Oliver asked with a polite look of inquiry at the strangers accompanying the Marquis of Jacqobi.

  “My pardon, Oliver. This is my wife, Lady Jacqobi, her brother Francis Dominick, Lord Chardinall, and Mr. Alastair Marlowe. The gentlemen are our guests at the lodge,” Dante made the introductions.

  “Your wife, m’lord?” Oliver repeated, and for the first time he seemed disconcerted. But he quickly regained his composure and bowed. “I shall announce you,” he said. He had started to turn away when he stopped. Looking back he said gruffly, “I heard a rumor about Merdraco, which it would sadden me too much even to repeat. I suppose, if you’re living in the lodge, the rumor might be true?” he asked. Seeing Dante’s expression, he shook his head, mumbling as he made his way to the double doors opening off the hall.

  They had a brief glance beyond of a comfortable-looking salon as footmen opened the doors. The old butler reappeared a moment later and nodded to them to proceed while he announced them in a surprisingly loud, authoritative voice. Alastair and Francis exchanged humorous glances as he roared their names.

  Rhea glanced around the colorful room, which was handsomely furnished with several plump, upholstered winged chairs in dark burgundy velvet and sapphire blue. The silk hangings were a rich golden hue. A Turkey rug was a splash of color against the floor, and flowers of every shade and type abounded in delicate vases. The room was resplendent with sunshine.

  “Dante! My boy, how very good to see you again!” a frail voice cried out as they entered.

  “Sir Jacob!” Dante called just as enthusiastically, and then, to Rhea’s further surprise, Dante hurried to the old gentleman’s side and clasped his arms around that bent figure. “It has been too long, Sir Jacob,” Dante said, staring down into those twinkling but sharp blue eyes. They peered at the world from beneath bristling white eyebrows that looked as if they had taken to flight.

&nb
sp; “My boy, you are looking splendid. And I don’t care if you disagree with me or not, but the best thing that ever happened to you was in having to leave Merdraco. Going to sea made a man out of you, Dante. I’m proud of you, boy,” the old man said with a gleeful chuckle. “Oh, yes, sir, wish I were twenty years younger. I’d be at your side, boy, when you get them hornets all stirred up,” he said, laughing, then wheezing, much to the consternation of Oliver, standing in watchful silence by the door.

  “Shall I order tea, sir?” he intoned.

  “What? Oh, yes, yes, do that, Oliver,” Sir Jacob said, waving him away. “Now, who are these people? Don’t see as well as I used to, but I know a pretty lady when I see one,” he said with an audacious wink.

  Dante threw back his head and laughed. “Some things never change, do they, Sir Jacob? Always had an eye for the ladies, you old devil. Well, I give you fair warning now to keep your distance, for this is my wife, Lady Rhea Claire. Rhea, meet Sir Jacob Weare, the best friend a scoundrel like me could have. He has been my eyes and ears in Devonshire for the past, what, century?” Dante asked with a grin.

  “My old bones feel like it has, but not as long as it would have been if I’d been on my toes instead of listening to gossip. I didn’t realize you weren’t quite the scoundrel I thought you to be until you had already left Merdraco. More the fool me, eh?” he said, slapping his forehead.

  “Whatever the amount of time, I could not have succeeded without you, Sir Jacob. You have my undying gratitude,” Dante said seriously.

  “Ah, boy, forget it. ’Twas the least I could do for going against you like I did. Anyway, let’s not talk of dying. I’m too close to it to like the sound of it,” Sir Jacob said as he came closer to where Rhea stood. Taking her hand in his, he stared down into her face. Although bent with time and arthritis, he was still a tall man. “So this is the little lady who finally managed to get your ring on her finger, eh?” he chuckled, and Rhea worried that he might start to wheeze again.