Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (17 page)

“If leaving this room means you
will no longer plague me with your constant mindless chatter, then I will do
it…and gladly.”

Preparing a dinner for the royal
family would not have rattled Millicent as much as planning this meal for her
husband. She wanted everything to be perfect—the food, the wine, the dining
room. She had questioned Gibbs endlessly about Lyon’s likes and dislikes with
regard to the menu, and she had made certain every detail was conveyed to the
cook and to Mrs. Page. Now, shortly before she was scheduled to go to her
husband’s chamber to supervise Will and John in bringing him down to dinner,
Millicent was overcome with yet another reason for uncertainty. What could she
wear that was appropriate? Of course, she wanted to dress presentably, but she
also knew that what she chose for this occasion could relay a specific message
to the earl.

She’d not had any time this
afternoon to dwell on what had happened earlier, but she was still rattled by
his kiss and by her own response to it. Avoiding intimate contact with any man
had simply become Millicent’s way after the physical abuse she’d endured under
Wentworth’s cruel fist. This had been one of the reasons why she had found
marrying Aytoun so unobjectionable. Because of his physical inabilities, there
would be no possible way that any such demands would be put upon her. Her
insistence on a clause allowing for an annulment had been spurred by that very
problem. Of course, she told herself as she stared into her looking glass, a
kiss should not necessarily constitute any change in her thinking on the
matter.

Millicent forced the thoughts to
shift and settle in her mind as her maid Violet rushed about the room laying
out petticoats and stockings and other pieces of clothing. It was a kiss and
nothing more. Millicent silently vowed not to think about it again, and nodded
at the blue embroidered dress Vi held up for her.  

“If you’re sure you’ll not wear the
wig, m’lady, I can work some matching ribbons in your hair and--”

“We have no time for that, Vi.”
Millicent stepped out of her dress and donned the petticoats. In a moment, she
was pulling on the blue dress with Vi’s help. “I cannot chance having the earl
change his mind about leaving his chambers. I told him seven o’clock, and I
need to be there on time.”

“At least allow me to tie a ribbon
at your neck, m’lady. The square neckline of this dress looks far too plain
without jewelry.”

A glance in the mirror at the low
neckline and she agreed. Violet had a good eye for colors, for what was
becoming and what wasn’t. There were many times that Millicent had thought the
young woman’s talents were wasted staying here, but Vi seemed content.

“Too bad you no longer have that
sapphire the squire gave you when you married. The blue stone always looked
fetching with this dress.”

“I like this simple ribbon much
better.”

Millicent felt no regret about
having sold her jewelry after Wentworth’s death. Regardless of whether they
were his gifts or handed down from her own family, she had no use for them.
They all had been sold to take care of her people.

“Thank you, Vi. I think I’m ready.”

“Wait! You need to change your
shoes.” Violet fetched a pair of matching slippers from the wardrobe. “Perhaps
this is not the time, m’lady, but I was wondering if you would mind if I were
to spend two days away at the end of this week.”

“Visiting with your family in St. Albans?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Violet crouched before Millicent as
she stepped into the slippers. She thought the young woman looked thinner.

“I don’t see any problem with that
at all. But are you feeling unwell?”

“No, m’lady. I am quite well.”

“I think you have been working too
hard, Vi. In fact, if you speak to Mrs. Page about it, perhaps she can arrange
to have one of the grooms drop you off while he is running errands for the
household and pick you up again on another return trip.”

“Don’t fret about any of that,
m’lady. I’ll take care of the arrangements.” She rose to her feet. “’Tis almost
seven, I think.”

Millicent looked at the mantel
clock as it began to chime.

“Indeed, it is,” she said, and
hurried to the door.

****

Try as he might, Lyon couldn’t find
anything to object to about the evening. The light from a dozen candles cast a
soft glow over the room. A small fire crackled on the hearth. The food had been
exquisitely prepared; the wine was excellent. He let his gaze run
appreciatively over the woman seated near him. The company was enchanting. 

Instead of taking the chair at the
far end of the table, Millicent had chosen to sit beside him. After the food
had been taken away, she had dismissed the servants, including Gibbs, and the
two of them sat together. Lyon could tell she was in good spirits. Not only had
he followed through on his promise, allowing his men to carry him downstairs,
but he had also consumed small portions of fish and venison.      

He watched her graceful movements
as she poured more wine into his crystal glass. He was glad she had not retired
to the drawing room and left him to drink alone.

“Frankly, I’m surprised that you
trust me with this.” Lyon nodded toward the glass.

“Are you referring to drinking the
wine or breaking the glass?” Millicent asked lightly.

“The wine. I understand your late
husband had some difficulties in that regard.”

A small furrow formed on her brow.
She reached up to smooth it with the tips of her fingers, and Lyon noticed the
redness of her ears and the blush that had crept into her cheeks. “He had many
difficulties.”

“I am sorry to hear that your life
was less than ideal.”

“Thank you. But you are full of
surprises. Here I had been afraid that you’ve been spending every moment
perfecting your gibes.”

“I enjoy a change of pace every now
and then.” He sensed her distaste of the topic, but he decided to press her on
it, anyway. “And what were his other faults?” 

He watched the delicate column of
her neck as she took a sip of her own wine. The soft curves and the ivory skin
above the neckline of the dress glowed in the candlelight, and for an insane
moment he wondered if she tasted as sweet as she looked. He forced his thoughts
away.

“Your husband’s faults?”

“I am afraid I don’t consider that
a topic for dinner conversation,” she answered as brightly as she could. “And I should tell you that it is senseless to listen to household gossip here at Melbury Hall.
With the exception of a trusted few, the rest of these people are fairly new in
their positions.” 

“And why is that?”

“I suppose it is just the natural
progression of life in a household like this.”

“Is it? And what is that
progression?” Lyon stared at her flushed face, awaiting an answer. There was no
point in retreating now. She had used the business of the estate as a lure. He
had every right, therefore, to know what had brought Melbury Hall--and
Millicent--to this point. 

“I should hate to repeat what you
already know. So why not—”

“Start from the beginning.”

“Beginning of what?”

“You are being evasive.” He caught
her wrist when she started to rise. “Sit, Millicent. You wanted me down here.
You asked for my help. I am here, but I need to know your situation.
Our
situation.”

“Very well.” She sat down again.
“As long as we can keep my personal life and my first marriage out of the
discussion, I have no objection to telling you what is happening at Melbury
Hall.”

His nod was a lie, and he knew it.
Leave out her personal life? Not likely. The person inside was what interested
him the most. The truth behind the lingering sadness in those gray eyes was a
mystery that was beginning to nag at him. He’d been told so little by his
mother and Maitland before agreeing to the marriage. The dowager had been
looking for someone to provide some care for him. Millicent, a widow, had been
in financial need. That had been all he cared to know at the time. But the situation was changing now. He was improving every day, and he wanted to know everything
about her. To achieve that, Lyon knew he would have to summon up his patience—certainly the least exercised of his virtues.

She took another sip of wine.
“Perhaps you have noticed that a large number of black men and women live and
work at Melbury Hall.” 

“Freed slaves.”

She nodded. “Over the period of
five years that I was married to Squire Wentworth, these people were brought in
from his plantations in Jamaica to work the land here. Most of them,” she shook
her head, “no, all of them were severely abused by a score of brutal bailiffs
who were also brought back from the islands to oversee them.”

Lyon watched her closely as she pushed
her glass away. The candlelight danced in her gray eyes, now glistening. He
knew many men who had made or saved their fortunes by investing in sugar
plantations in the West Indies. Even as stories about the barbarous conditions
of the places trickled back, many excused the practice, saying that the slaves
that were transported to the islands were all criminals and captives of war.
Lyon knew the excuses were falsehoods, however, for he himself had seen young
children on the ships tied up at Bristol’s Long Quay.

“You freed them.” 

“After the squire’s death, I tried
to return a small portion of what had been taken from these people. While I let
go those servants who were loyal to my last husband, I felt it only just to
replace them with the freed slaves. As a result the household has continued to
function, but the farms have suffered.” She rubbed her temple absently. “I do
not wish to bore you with details of what was then and what is now. What I am
really in need of advice on regards how to balance the needs of both Melbury
Hall and its farms.” 

“Did all the people you freed
stay?”

“Most of them.”

“And do you pay them all wages?”

“Of course! They do the same work
as anyone else. They should earn the same wage.”

“I am not being critical.” He
matched the tone of her voice. “You married me because you were approaching
financial ruin. Was Melbury Hall the cause of it?”

Millicent paused to answer, and he
could tell she was contemplating how much to reveal. “No. I was confronted by
other debts passed on to me. Large sums beyond what my annual income could
afford.”

“Left by your husband.”

“That is correct. But, having become the recipient of your gracious generosity, I can say that those debts are now
paid, and I am even left with enough money to make some desperately needed
renovations.”

“Renovations to this house?”

“No, to the cottages adjacent to
it. But that is a project with a one-time expense and not the subject of my
greatest concern. As I look over the books from previous years, I realize that
Melbury Hall has never been able to sustain itself financially. During the
years when Wentworth was alive, it seems that he used the profits from his
plantations in Jamaica to support this place.”

“Such things are not uncommon,
depending on the amount of land and the quality of the farms here. Are such
funds still available to you?”

“No! I lost those lands to one of
Wentworth’s friends. A man to whom my husband was deeply indebted. But even if I still owned those plantations, I would never consider it,” she responded passionately.
“I could never have drawn any profit from them. Before I knew I had lost the
Jamaican properties, my plans were to free the Africans there as well.”

Lyon noted the rising color again
in her face. He could see the passion of her beliefs in the flash of her eyes.
She looked so incredibly alive. Almost beautiful.

“Also, I am not willing to place
the burden of this place on you. I am determined, however, not to pursue any solution that would mean turning out anyone else or cutting wages to make things work
here.”

The high degree of intelligence and
compassion in the woman was a rare mix that Lyon had not come across very
often. He studied her with new interest. Another scrap of information he had
learned since arriving here was that Millicent was almost thirty years old, and
that she’d borne no children in her first marriage.

“You are fond of your large
household,” he said. “I respect you for wanting to keep it together. I also
admire you for all that you are trying to do.” 

The trace of a smile on her lips
washed over him like a warm breeze. 

“Gibbs tells me that Melbury Hall
has been cursed recently with a line of incompetent stewards. That alone could
have been the reason for the poor management of its lands and crops. With
capable stewards in charge, you might not have any problem at all.”

“My mind would rest more easily if
I could somehow be assured of that, but for too long I have felt myself buried
beneath a mountain of debt.  Now, thanks to you, I feel I finally have the
opportunity to breathe fresh air. I cannot leave the future to chance, though.
I will not allow things to continue on as they have been.”

“I understand. I would be happy to
go over the account ledgers and review the crop books. I would also like to see
a map of your lands, if you have one.”

“I do. It is in the library.”

“Then, whatever they are worth, I
shall share my thoughts with you.”

“You will?” She placed her hand on
his arm. “I am so impressed with this change in you. The truth is that in
dealing with the
financial areas of running an estate, I have often felt
adrift in a rudderless boat. Would you mind greatly if I were to look over your
shoulder and ask the hundreds of questions that I have?
”

“Dozens I might be able to endure. But hundreds?”