Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (39 page)

“Hand them over to…to the
authorities if his demand is not met. He would like to see justice done without
any further scandal attaching itself to your family’s name.”

“It is so good to have a ‘friend’
like Mr. Hyde.” The dowager smiled. “Is your client a complete dunce, Mr.
Platt?”

“I beg your pardon, m’lady?”

“Do you both suffer from
imbecility, sir?”

He stared at her, momentarily
speechless.

“Do you truly think that my
daughter-in-law would believe Ohenewaa’s fate could be worse in the hands of
the English penal system than in Mr. Hyde’s brutal clutches?”

“We have no intention, m’lady,
of—” 

“I personally would not trust your
‘we’ with the fate of a dung beetle, my dear man,” she said sharply. “Now, back
to your accusations. Maitland, are you taking all of this down?”

Platt turned quickly around in his
chair and found a door into the adjoining room had been opened. Sitting down at
a table was Sir Richard Maitland, and behind him stood an old black woman. 

“Incidentally, I have asked our
good neighbor, the Earl of Stanmore, a prominent member of the House of Lords,
to join us later as well. The complications of what are legal actions and what
might be construed as extortion constitute a gray area in my mind—though I
believe Sir Richard here would say you have placed yourself clearly in the area
of extortion.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Sir Richard
asserted.

“Nonetheless, I am hoping Lord
Stanmore will be able to reaffirm our view.”

Platt jumped to his feet.

“But about your supposed evidence,”
the dowager continued. “Since we do not know what is it exactly that you have
collected, or what sums you have paid to certain individuals for their
testimony, we will tell you what
we
have collected. Ohenewaa, perhaps
you could start.”

The black woman gazed disdainfully
at Platt. “Dr. Dombey died of old age, hastened by his excessive drinking. From
our first day of returning to London, the following doctors attended him. There
was Dr. Gisborne—”

“From whom I have a statement
here.” Sir Richard indicated a piece of paper on his desk. “Dr. Gisborne
clearly identifies Dombey’s condition and his opinion on the reason of death.”

“And Dr. Billings,” Ohenewaa added.

The dowager’s lawyer held up
another paper. “And here we have a statement from this good physician as well.
He is quite emphatic on the matter.”

“I have spoken with a surgeon named
Boarham, who was called from time to time to bleed Dr. Dombey before his
death.”

“Produce him at your peril, Mr.
Platt.” The old lawyer looked sternly at him. “We have looked into his
character. The courts will see him for the corrupt witness he is. I believe he
would sell his own mother if there was good profit in it for him.”

As Maitland continued to speak,
Platt ran a finger along the inside of his cravat. Accusations and false
testimony by the likes of Boarham would not stand against accredited witnesses.
He thought of Jasper Hyde’s comment about other plans if a peaceful approach
was unsuccessful. Happy to be ignorant of them, he decided that it was time to
lay the problem back in his client’s lap. They had clearly been thwarted here.

“If you would please sit down, Mr.
Platt,” the dowager directed, “we expect Lord Stanmore momentarily. Perhaps you
can give him a summary of your own findings regarding this matter of Ohenewaa.”

Platt shook his head and cleared
his throat. “That won’t be necessary, m’lady. I was only acting on behalf of a
client, whom I can see has been misinformed and led astray by some rather
corrupt individuals.”

He started backing toward the door,
praying that the blasted Highlander was not lurking outside.

“I shall not trouble you anymore,
m’lady. Good day to you all.”

With a stiff bow, he yanked open
the door and hurried along the corridor. As he turned beneath an archway into
the entrance hall, he bumped into a young serving woman who was passing. The
woman’s eyes fixed on him in surprise before narrowing with recognition.

The lawyer, however, had no time to
dally. Grabbing his things from the doorman, Platt left from the house with a
shout to his groom and driver. Hyde could do as he wished, but he himself was
done with this business. 

On the drive north to Scotland, Lyon had spoken a great deal about his cousin. Walter Truscott was the second son of the
dowager’s younger brother, William, who had passed away many years ago, leaving
the responsibility of raising the boy to his older sister. Having spent most of
his years at Baronsford, Walter was much like a brother to Lyon.

Realizing early on that Walter’s
passion lay in the management of Baronsford, Lyon—immediately after inheriting
the title—had asked his cousin to do exactly that. And based on what her
husband told her, Millicent thought the young man was doing an excellent job of
it.  

His polite behavior and interest in
her came as a pleasant surprise, too, and she was pleased to know she might
find a friend in Walter Truscott. He was kind and considerate, and she sensed
from the moment of her arrival that he was trying to make her feel welcome at Baronsford. At the same time, she understood that Walter’s temperament lay somewhere between
that of Lyon and the dowager. He was not one of those who dispensed meaningless
praise. He was candid in saying what he thought.

“This is as far as we can go on
horseback,” Truscott warned, coming to a low hedge of wild undergrowth near the
cliffs.

“Would you mind if we walked to the
edge?”

As the man shrugged, Millicent
dismounted. Leaving their horses with the groom who rode with them, Walter led
her toward an opening in the undergrowth. “There is a narrow path that runs along the cliff here for a way.”

He held a branch back, and
Millicent passed through it. Immediately she found herself on the very edge of
the cliffs. As she looked straight down, her stomach churned at the sight of
the rocks below, some protruding from the water, others forming the base of the
cliff. Mist rose from the white water moving swiftly over the rocks.

“Does the river always run this
fast?”

He took Millicent’s arm and pulled
her a step back from the ledge. “Yes and no. The river always runs fairly
quickly right here, but we have been having a wet winter. So the water is
running unusually fast and high.”

Millicent glanced down at the rocks
below, imagining Lyon the way they had brought him to Melbury Hall. She
envisioned Emma’s broken body next to his. “Is this where they found them?”

“No.” He pointed downstream. “Less
than half a mile that way. There is a rocky descent down to a small stone beach
where the river bends. Emma’s body was found on the rocks near the beach.
Aytoun must have been trying to climb down when he slipped and fell.”

Millicent was relieved to notice no
accusing edge to the man’s tone. A cold wind blew in from the east, and she ran
her hands up and down her arms to ward off the chill. “Who found them?”

“Pierce did.”

She looked up at Walter’s solemn
face.

“You have not met the rest of the
family. Pierce is the middle brother. Younger than Aytoun by three years, he
is. And then there is David, the youngest of the three.”

“Of course.”

“Aytoun doesn’t talk about them,
does he?”

“I have heard him mention only Pierce’s
name, and that was in connection with Baronsford.”

“Those papers he signed giving this
place away are meaningless, I think. There has been no acknowledgment from
Pierce. He doesn’t want Baronsford, and I believe he would refuse to accept it
in any case.”

Millicent did not care who owned
what. What mattered most was the family that had been torn apart. “How long has
it been since they have seen each other?” 

“Since Emma’s death,” he said. “But I know a wedge had been driven between them long before that.”

Millicent wanted to ask why, but
she held back. What right did she have to question Walter? Besides, she herself was not very good at keeping in touch with her own two older sisters. And she had yet to explain to Lyon the reason for the aloofness of her family. No, any answers
to the questions about his brothers—questions that were burning a hole in her
tongue—had to come from her husband.

They started walking slowly along
the edge of the cliffs. “What do you think happened to Emma? Did she slip and
fall?”

“No. I believe she was pushed.”

Millicent turned sharply to
Truscott. “By whom?”

He shrugged and shook his head.

“You don’t believe that Lyon did it, do you?”

“No. He had already put up with her
for two years. He was resolved to endure the curse his marriage had become.”

Millicent said nothing, trying to
absorb Truscott’s stunning revelation.

“Emma grew up climbing these hills
and cliffs. We all swam in that river in the summer. Her family—she was a Douglas—are neighbors to the east of Baronsford. From the time she was just a wee lass, she
spent all her time here. I think even then she was planning her siege of the
place. In any case, she knew every slippery edge and every loose rock as well
as she knew the Pennington lads.” He shrugged again in a matter-of-fact manner.
“Despite the foul weather that morning, I do not believe she could have missed
a step.”

“But Lyon fell. Why not her?”

“He was going down to rescue her,
or so he thought,” Truscott argued. “You stare down there and see someone’s
eyes looking up at you from the bottom, and it can throw you. I saw her down
there, too. I believe Lyon’s fall was an accident, but not Emma’s.”  

“But they were both on these cliffs
together. If someone had pushed Emma, wouldn’t he have seen it happen?”

Walter gave her a sympathetic look. “He hasn’t told you anything, has he?”

“He has had such a difficult time
recovering from his injuries. It hasn’t been very long since he has gotten back
to being himself. But no matter how curious I might be, I would never bring up
anything that might slow his recovery.”  

“You are a good woman. Selfless…I
can see that. After everything he has been through, it is about time.” He
raised his face into the air, as if scenting the wind. “I will tell you this
because I know you will not ask and because I also know how impossible it might
seem right now filling Emma’s shoes at Baronsford.”    

It
was
impossible, Millicent
thought.

“I mentioned it before.” Truscott’s
brooding face turned to her. “Emma had been planning to be the Countess Aytoun,
to rule Baronsford, from the time she was a wee lass. She married Lyon not for love of him, but for love of his title. He was the one who would inherit
everything. And it was this that brought on the quarreling between the
brothers.” 

He waited a heartbeat before
turning his gaze on the hills across the way. 

“Wild, beautiful, untamed she was.
In their own way, each of the Pennington lads was enthralled by her. Each of
them wanted to change her or protect her. Of course, we always knew that Lyon would be the winner. Or loser.”

Millicent put aside her questions.
She focused hard on every word that Truscott spoke.

“After me, David was the closest in
age to Emma. As children, they were inseparable. As they grew older, she became
the very embodiment of what a woman should be in his mind. Of the three of
them, I think he was the one who was always in love with her. But of course, he knew he couldn’t have her.”

He started walking again, ushering
Millicent to the side, away from the edge.

“Then there was Pierce. He was
always the protective kind. A born hero, that Pierce. He worried about her from
the time she could walk. Watched over her through all the wildness. In a way, I
think he regarded Emma as a sister. It was his responsibility to teach her and
guide her. He had high hopes, but Emma was willful to say the least. She could
never be tamed.”

Walter kicked a pebble with the tip
of his boot, and Millicent watched it roll down the rugged cliffs and bounce
high off the rocks before disappearing into the waters of the rushing river.

“Of course, Aytoun was the one with
the greatest expectations and the most to lose. He tried, though. He did his
best to make her happy in her role as countess. And she did conform to what was
expected, I suppose, but only on the surface.” He cast a sidelong look at
Millicent. “Do you know why Aytoun was called ‘Lord of Scandal’ among the
members of the
ton
?”  

“Because of his temper? His duels?”

Walter Truscott nodded. “Duels to
protect his wife’s reputation. To salvage what he could of his honor. All of
those men with whom he fought, every one of them, had supposedly had a
relationship with Emma.”

“But was it true?” she challenged.
“Rumors have a way of starting with no justification.”

“Who can say?” he said vaguely.
“Emma liked to toy with men. One never knew if she was speaking the truth or
lying just to get a reaction. Whatever it was, she thrived on the attention.”
He paused, frowning. “But she was also as ambitious as she was wild. And becoming mistress of Baronsford—as grand as that might have seemed to her before her
marriage—it was not enough once she had it.”

Millicent looked back in the
direction of Baronsford. Even at this distance, it was immense.

“Most of all, though, she wanted to
control Aytoun. She didn’t know how to go about it, though, so she started this
dangerous game of playing on his jealousy. She soon found that she could not
easily manipulate him. The more she flirted, the more reserved he became. In a
very short time, Emma became a burden that he was responsible for, but that was
the extent of it. No affection.”

The conversation she and Lyon had
in bed last night came back to Millicent. In a perverse way, that was what she
wanted out of her marriage, as well. Not to control her husband—and never by
using the methods that Emma had used—but Millicent, too, wanted to know for
certain that she mattered to him. That she was the only woman he wanted.