DARE THE WILD WIND (34 page)

"Show her into the main salon."  Brenna rose from the table, startled and annoyed by her sudden irrational flash of fear.

"My lady, the dowager countess is already waiting there."

Distracted
, Brenna nodded.  The past few months had schooled her to expect calamity at every turn.  But she had never anticipated any anxiety about Drake.  But Cam had been snatched from her, and Fenella and Iain had vanished beyond her reach.  It was senseless guilt that assailed her, some grain of superstition that she carried a curse for everyone close to her, even Drake.

Very likely it was only curiosity that had drawn Drake's grandmother to Wellingbroke so soon
,  that and a certain confusion that sometimes came with age.  The elder Lady Seton had sent word she was too infirm to attend their wedding.  Drake had told her his mother had died at thirty, giving birth to his younger sister, but his grandmother was well past seventy.  Under different circumstances, Brenna might consider the visit an intrusion, but receiving her was hardly an inconvenience when Drake had absented himself without explanation, this of all mornings.

Still she felt a twinge of apprehension.  How much had Drake told his g
randmother about her?  And how much had Theodora Seton heard of the gossip about her that circulated in London?

The butler led the way to the drawing room.  When Ediston opened the double doors, Brenna paused for a second, half
  dazzled by the bright light pouring through the many  paned, floor  to  ceiling windows.  A stiff erect figure in black bombazine sat facing Brenna on a straight  backed chair, a gold  tipped cane gripped upright like a scepter in one twisted, age  gnarled hand.

A dry, disparaging voice cut across the room.  "So this is the new countess."  Theodora Seton gave the butler an impatient wave of her hand.  "Off with you, Ediston.  You're dismissed."

Features emerged from the silhouette, striking once and still imposing.  Withered and veiled by a web of lines and colorless sagging flesh, the dowager countess's face was sharply
  modeled and dominated by an aquiline nose very like Drake's.  Critical amber eyes assessed Brenna, and Brenna realized the old countess had deliberately seated herself with her back to the windows and the bright morning sun.  She had wanted to see Brenna before Brenna could make her out clearly.  And whatever else had prompted Lady Seton's visit, it couldn't be chalked up to vagueness or senility.

Brenna fell back on the manners drilled into her as a girl.  "My lady, how gracious of you to call."

"Not in the least," she said in a testy voice.  "The dower house is only a stone's throw from Wellingbroke.  In my younger days I walked the distance in less time than it takes to order my coach."

It occurred to Brenna that Theodora could have seen Drake's departure.  But, idle as she might be, why would she watch from the windows of her own house or deliberately choose to pay a call while Drake was away?

Courtesy forbade asking, and she took another tack.   "How good to see you recovered.  Drake was disappointed you couldn't travel to
London to attend our wedding."

The old countess let out a small derisive sound.  "My health is excellent.  And I don't doubt my grandson was greatly relieved."

Had Drake lied to her?  Or only tried to save her feelings?  Whether it had been Theodora or Drake who c
ontrived illness as an excuse, Brenna had no desire to make an enemy of Drake's grandmother.

"Shall I ring for some refreshment?  Tea?  Or chocolate?" 

"I'm still quite capable of ordering anything I wish in this house," Theodora told her in a biting tone.  "And I have no desire for tea or cakes."

Brenna saw that no amount of cosseting would disarm  her.  She tilted her wide skirts and seated herself on the delicately
carved chair opposite the aging woman. 

"Perhaps you'd care to tell me why you've come," she said quietly.

The amber eyes narrowed a fraction.  "Perhaps to see for myself how well you'll breed."

First Drake and now the dowager countess.  Bearing an heir might be the traditional duty of any wife, but until yesterday Drake had never given Brenna the impression it had been his chief aim in marrying her.  A hot angry flush rose in Brenna's face.  And she knew it was the effect Theodora had intended.  But she would be lost with the dowager if she allowed herself to be cowed.            

"What a rare gift," Brenna said, "to judge by sight."

She saw Theodora's eyes flicker at the faint tart edge in her voice.

"I should have expected you'd be an impudent piece.  And I can see you're robust enough.  But I'd ca
ution you to remember that now you carry the Seton name."

For a fleeting, wrenching second Brenna thought of the name she had expected to bear on her wedding day
, and of Cam. 

"I need no reminder of that," she answered in a barely audible voice.

The dowager gestured impatiently.  "Spare me your coy airs.  You may be able to deceive my grandson, but
you'll wring no sympathy from me."

Brenna's gaze lifted again to defy hers.  "I've never made any attempt to deceive Drake."

The old countess snorted her contempt.  "Let's have done with sham and pretense."  Her grip tightened on her go
ld  tipped cane.  "If I haven't made it clear, I didn't attend the ceremony at St. Paul's because I don't countenance this marriage."

"I  make no apology for who I am," Brenna said with stiff dignity.  "I'm proud to be a Scot, and I didn't marry Drake for his title."

"You gained it, all the same," Theodora retorted in a cynical voice.  "Bad enough for a Seton to wed so far beneath him.  Far worse to marry a shameless tart."     

Brenna jumped to her feet.  "Madame, you have no right to insult  me."

"I have every right.  It's common knowledge at court that you made your way to
London on your back."

Incensed, Brenna struggled to speak.  "I made my way to
London with the legacy my mother left me.  And I didn't travel alone."

"And who was your chaperone, my dear?" Theodora mocked acidly.  "A girl as young as you, and baseborn in the bargain."    

"Fenella Strath is the daughter of our village rector.  Neither of us would have left
Scotland if the Duke of Cumberland hadn't taken prisoners of the men we were promised to marry."

The old countess regarded her with chilly  malice. 

"A story I'd hardly repeat in English circles."  Her expression told Brenna she had endeared herself even less with Theodora with the reminder that Drake had been second best. 

"Do you expect anyone in London to believe you and your pretty little companion could have barred your door to your benefactors aboard ship?  Or to the riffraff that frequent the inn where you stayed on the Thames?"

"Let them believe what they want," Brenna snapped back.  "The captain and officers of the ship were impeccable gentlemen, and Scotswomen never travel unarmed."

She saw unbending dislike in Theodora's eyes.  "More's the pity you travel at all."  She lifted a hand when Brenna started to speak.  "Drake may have been besotted enough to marry you, but don't delude yourself that you'll ever take me in.  And I suggest you listen to me now."

"What exactly have you come here to tell me?" Brenna asked with an effort at control.

"I've come to warn you."

Brenna stared at her, incredulous.  "Warn me?"

"Setons don't hang their heads in front of society.  Since I couldn't dissuade Drake from this folly, I insisted he brazen it out in full view of everyone who matters.  But I won't tolerate another breath of scandal."

Brenna spoke with cold dignity.  "I have no intention of provoking any more gossip."

Theodora's answer was a thin and implacable smile.  She rose stiffly and painfully to her feet.

"I'd strongly advise you to remember that."

She rapped on the floor with her cane, and Brenna heard her retai
ners stir outside in the hall. 

"My grandson is away from Wellingbroke more often than you think.  And there isn't a servant or a tenant on t
he estate who dares to disobey me. 

"If you bring another shred of scandal on the Seton name, I'll see you shorn of every hair on your head and whipped through the village streets." 

Chapter 20

Brenna stared out the drawing room's tall windows.  She had found a new and unyielding enemy in the dowager countess.  Would Theodora really behave in such a ruthless and outrageous fashion?  And would the tenantry on the estate actually carry out such orders?

As Drake's bride, Brenna was the mistress of Wellingbroke now.  But in name only?  She was an outsider at Wellingbroke, an outsider in
England.  And old loyalties ran deep.  She was a Scotswoman, and Charles Stuart's army had come within a hundred miles of London.  Simple country folk in Surrey could regard any Scot as an enemy.

Brenna told herself Drake's tenants would never risk his wrath by harming her.  But part of Theodora's threat struck home.  Brenna had married a man who would often be absent from Wellingbroke
, one, in fact, so accustomed to departing he saw fit to vanish the morning after their wedding.  Drake had other estates to attend to in Devon and Cornwall, and his townhouse in London, and a man of his rank owed frequent service to the King. 

She could find herself alone at Wellingbroke in a month or two, or even in a fortnight.  And if she did conceive, she could languish alone in
Surrey far longer, while Drake pursued more lively diversions in London.  But the aging countess would be at Wellingbroke, spying down on her from the dower house on the hill.

Brenna forced a small rueful laugh at her gloom.  She had no reason to create a scandal again, no desire to do anything but
find some sort of peace in her marriage to Drake.      Obstinate as Theodora appeared, Brenna told herself in time she might win her trust, if not her affection.  And when Drake's household and his tenants came to know her, they might hold her in some of the regard she had enjoyed at Lochmarnoch. 

Behind her, she heard the doors of the salon slide open.  Drake stood in the doorway.  The sight of him sent a physical chord through her, a weight in her limbs that turned them liquid for a second.  Unnerved by her reaction, she fought her sudden and all
too vivid recollection of the feel of him in the night. 

His tall form seemed to fill the half
  open door, his head nearly scraping the molded frame.  He was dressed in riding clothes, powerful horseman's legs cased in boots and snug whipcord breeches buckled at the knee.  In the midsummer heat, he wore no coat, and his fine lawn shirt lay open at the throat, exposing a golden mat of hair damply curling on his broad muscled chest.

Tied back with a ribbon at the nape of his neck, his pale hair glinted like a new
minted coin in the light streaming through the windows, and as his hazel eyes traveled over her, they turned a darker gold.  Assailed by a treacherous heat seeping through her, Brenna groped for some greeting that wouldn't  betray her. 

"I see you still prefer a simple toilette," Drake said in a low voice.  His glance swept the delicate, uncluttered lines of her leaf
green gown and approved the coppery luster of her freshly  washed, unpowdered hair. 

"As you do, my lord," Brenna said with cool formality.  Whatever had taken him from their bed, she wouldn't humiliate herself by interrogating him. 

Her tone snuffed the drowsy desire in his eyes.  He stepped through the doorway.  "I assume you've breakfasted by this hour?"     

"Quite well," she answered, refusing to make any excuse for sitting down to the table alone.           He tossed his riding crop atop a gesso and gilt table.  "My apologies for failing to join you, but I found myself detained."

So soon in their marriage, such an excuse was beyond belief.  But Brenna wouldn't play the jealous virago.  "I've always been capable of occupying myself in some fashion."

He shot her a quick assessing look.  "Of that I have no doubt.  Not many ladies of my acquaintance rise as early in the morning as I do, and I thought to let you sleep.  But I see you haven't yet taken up the fashionable habits of London."

"Perhaps in time I will," Brenna responded.  She would prefer slumber to a knowledge that last night's tireless lover could scarcely delay past dawn to find other amusements. 

Drake's brows lifted for a second.  "Is it my grandmother's visit that's put you out of humor?"  At Brenna's surprised look, he went on in a dry voice.  "I encountered the redoubtable Theodora as I rode through the village.  I should have suspected my grandmother would take the first opportunity to view you for herself."

Brenna was wary of telling him all that the dowager countess had said.  She settled on a small portion of the truth.  "It seems she preferred to conduct an audience in your absence."

Drake grimaced.  "If you mean by that my esteemed grandmother waited her chance to see you alone, you're probably right.  She has very little to do but stir whatever mischief she can devise."