Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) (44 page)

Millicent stopped at the base of
the great curved stairway and glanced at the place where Emma’s portrait had
hung. Then she turned and moved through the separating throngs of guests,
looking for her husband.

She heard his voice, and then, just
inside the doors of the great hall, Millicent saw Lyon. He was handsomer than
any man she had ever seen in her life. She stopped a dozen paces from where he
sat.

“I was by the river at the vagrant
camp. At least fifty more families, with all their meager belongings piled on
small carts or on their backs, came into the village. There is hunger,
sickness, but they somehow retain their pride. They have nothing else.”

Millicent’s voice quavered but she
continued to speak as if there were no one else there. She was talking only to Lyon.

“I was delayed in returning. Today
we lost a young woman.” She shook her head. “No, she was really little more
than a child. Without a home, with none of her kin at her side, without anyone
who loved her or knew her to help, she died on a stretch of mud on the bank of
the river giving birth to this beautiful girl.”

She gently pushed back the cloak to
show the tiny infant in her arms.

“That was why I was late. I hope
you understand.”

Millicent pulled the cloak over the
sleeping baby and, without looking back, went out through the hall and up the
stairs.

By the time Millicent reached the
top of the steps, her entire body was shaking. She could hear the voices of the
guests as they all began to speak at once. Hurrying servants pulled the doors
to her bedchamber shut behind her as sobs began to wrack her body in waves.

She didn’t know what she had been
thinking. She had made a fool out of herself before everyone who mattered. Mrs.
MacAlister hastened into the room right behind her.

“I shall take care of this angel,
m’lady. Ye must change.” The housekeeper gently took the baby. Her soft words
and gentle manner made Millicent cry even harder.

The servants’ hands tugged at her
clothes, undressing her and dressing her again, brushing her hair. Millicent
endured it all in a daze. She wondered how Lyon was managing with the
embarrassment of his new wife’s behavior. How was he going to explain her to
these people?

I hope you understand.
She
shuddered.

The dress they had pulled onto her
had silver threads woven into the fabric. Millicent sat and watched skilled
hands frantically trying to arrange her hair.

“One of the women in the kitchen is
nursing her own bairn of two months,” Mrs. MacAlister explained. “I think this
wee one is just waking up. She’ll be looking for some food too, she will.”

Millicent nodded gratefully to the
housekeeper and watched the woman disappear out the door. All the tugging and
pulling and arranging suddenly come to a halt, and they all stood back. She
stared into the looking glass at the strangely familiar woman staring back at
her.

Millicent slowly rose to her feet.
The idea of walking out of this room and down those steps was terrifying. 

There was a knock at the door, and
someone opened it.  

A hush fell over the room, and
Millicent turned to see who was at the door.

It was Lyon, standing in the open
doorway.

Her breath caught in her chest.
Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and she reached a hand toward
him just as she felt the room around her begin to whirl.

Two servants caught Millicent just
as her knees buckled beneath her. By the time she regained her senses, she had
been conveyed to a settee and Lyon was beside her, growling orders at everyone.
She sipped the wine that was being held to her lips.

“I’m fine.” She took his hand and,
despite his objections, pulled herself to her feet. “You’re standing. You—”

“I wanted to surprise you; I never
thought to frighten you like this, my love.” He arms wrapped around her,
drawing her against him.

“How? When?” The tears would not
stop. “This must be a dream.”

“’Tis no dream. I shall explain
everything later.”

Millicent remembered the guests.
She recalled the importance of the gathering. At the same time, she could not
stop thinking of his legs supporting him. She held him tight, fearing he might
fall, but she was the unsteady one at the moment. She took a deep breath. “We
should be downstairs.”

“Are you certain you are feeling
better?”

“I am. I am indeed.” She wiped the
tears and took his arm. She was ready.

As recently as a fortnight ago,
Millicent would have considered this night a borrowed dream. A lifetime of
doubt had been cast to the wind, though, as she had stood proudly beside her
husband in the ballroom of Baronsford, discussing everything from politics to
the living conditions of the vagrants to what might be done to improve their
situation.

At times, Millicent had surprised
herself. Here she was, speaking with such passion. She cared naught if the
scrutinizing looks directed at her were critical or approving. She was happy
with who she was and how she looked. What meant most to her, though, was the
fact that the most important person in that room, Lyon, was openly proud of
her. For the first time in her life, she felt complete.

It was only after the rest of the
guests had either retired or gone home that the earl of Dumfries--the first
guest to arrive according to Lyon--decided to leave. As his carriage rolled
away from the door, Millicent sank against her husband’s chest.

“You were magnificent,” he
whispered in her ear, his arms wrapped tightly around her.       

“And
you
are standing.” She
looked up with amazement at him. “I still cannot believe it. Standing.”

Lyon had not been able to manage
the stairs. When he had appeared in the ballroom, standing beside his wife
shortly after going up after her, though, word had spread with amazing speed
through the assembled guests. Millicent had seen many staring as if they were
witnessing a miraculous event. Others stood looking on in silent awe. Many of Baronsford’s household staff came up to admire their laird’s recovery, as well.  

“And do not forget the steps I
took, too.”

Millicent hugged him fiercely,
fighting back her tears. “I shall never forget that. But how long have you been
hiding this from me?”

“The feeling in my limbs has been
coming back slowly, and I was looking for the right opportunity when I could
share with you something significant.” He brushed a tear off her cheek. “Seeing
you tonight coming in here with that bairn in your arms and facing these wolves
so bravely, I could wait no longer. You taught me, showed me, this had to be
the moment.”

“I love you, Lyon.” She kissed him.
“I shall never forget this night.”

When she pulled away, she saw him
lean heavily on the cane he held. She quickly motioned Lyon’s valets to bring
in his chair.

“You are not putting me back into
that.”

“We shall only use it to manage the
stairs for a while.” She lowered her voice. “This is the quickest way to get
you upstairs and to our bedroom.”

“In that case—” A wicked grin broke
onto his face. “There are other things about my recovery that I am looking
forward to showing you.”

Millicent blushed at his suggestive
words. 

Will and John positioned the chair
behind Lyon. He handed the cane to Millicent and sat down without the aid of
the valets. “When will I get a chance to meet the new addition to our family?”

This time Millicent could not hold
back her tears. He understood. Without her having to ask, Lyon knew that they
would be raising the child as their own. She walked ahead of his chair as they
ascended the steps. “I checked on her once tonight. She was fed and sleeping. I
shall ask Mrs. MacAlister to bring her to us if she is awake.” 

He nodded. “Have you named her?”

“I thought perhaps she should be
called Josephine. Her mother’s name was Jo.”

“That is a beautiful name.”

When they reached their apartments,
Millicent went to her own dressing room, where Bess was waiting to get her
ready for bed. Mrs. MacAlister sent word that the infant was asleep and it
would be best to wait for the morning for his lordship to see the bairn.
Millicent returned to their bedchamber to find the valets gone and Lyon already in bed. He had been told the housekeeper’s recommendation.

“I suppose we should enjoy this
night of sleep, as I can only imagine we shall have some sleepless nights with
a bairn in the house.”

“Will you mind it?”

He laughed and stretched a hand
toward her in invitation. “I’ve been waiting a lifetime for this.” 

“Have you really?” Millicent
removed her robe and climbed into the bed. “Do you really mean it? Do you want
a child of our own?” 

“A houseful of them! And I do not care how we get them, either.” He pulled her close to him. “What hurt me most
during the years that I was married to Emma was being separated from my family.
I felt isolated, alone. After the accident on the cliff, I realized that my
brothers had severed the last ties that bound us. They had moved away from me,
and that cut me deeply.” His hand cupped her face. “I have made a vow to mend
that rift, if they will allow it.”

“That is a good thing.”

“But that is only a small part of
what I dream of for the future.”

“What else do you dream of?” she
asked.

“Of making you happy. I love you,
and I promise to do my best to make up for all the sadness of your past.”

“You have already done that, love.”

His fingers delved into her hair,
and he brought her mouth to his. She cherished his tender touch and felt her
body come alive. He peeled away her nightgown, and Millicent looked into his
face.

“When you mentioned the houseful of
children…” Her voice trailed off.

“I meant it. It matters naught how
we get them,” he repeated. “I will not have you worrying about heirs and other
such nonsense. There are hungry bairns and orphans amongst the poor. There are
those who need a home wandering tonight on the London streets. There are the
children of Africans who have been stolen away from their homes who need
families. We’ll have no trouble filling up our house, I should think.”

She pressed a finger against his
lips. “And there is the one who is growing inside me now. Do you think we might
raise this one amongst all the rest?”  

It took a moment for her words to
sink in, but then he was the one overwhelmed with emotion. His fingers threaded
into her hair.

“Do you mean it? Right now?” His
voice shook. “You are carrying our child now?”

Millicent nodded and wiped away the
tear that trickled down his cheek. “Yes, my love. A part of the two of us is
growing inside me right now.”

“Tonight, when you became light-headed,
I should have guessed there was something more than excitement. Our child!” He
lifted her chin. “But how are you feeling? You are not eating properly. You are
certainly not getting enough rest! Doctors. We have to find a good one to look
after you. But…Ohenewaa! She can—”

“Stop,” Millicent scolded with a
smile. “You shall not fuss over me like this.”

“I shall do as I wish. I intend to
provide perfect care for my wife and bairn.” Lyon rolled her on the bed until
she lay beneath him. “Wait, this might not be a good position for you, bearing
all my weight.”

Millicent looped her arms around
his neck and pulled him back to her.

“I shall tell you what is good for
me,” she said, silencing him with a k
iss.

Violet asked the
groom to wait with the cart by the shops facing Knebworth Village’s market
square and walked up the hill toward the rectory. Mrs. Page’s basket of baked
goods for Mrs. Trimble hung from one arm. In the other, she carried a bundle of
London newspapers she had been told she should leave with the new
schoolmaster. 

The morning sky promised to be
clear, and the smoke from the breakfast fires and the fragrant smell of bread
baking somewhere smelled domestic and good to her. Passing the blacksmith shop
and the livery stable, Vi was startled by a woman who jumped at her from behind
a cart, grabbing her arm. Violet immediately pulled her arm away and took a
step back when she recognized her.

“Don’t you dare talk to me.”

“Please, I’ve something important
to tell ye.”

Violet stepped toward the middle of
the street, turning away from her. The last time she had seen the wretch had
been in Ned Cranch’s bed at the inn.

“Please, Violet,” the girl pleaded.
“I know yer name’s Violet, and ye work up at the Hall.”

She reached for her arm again, but
Violet shook her off. “Get away from me, I’m telling you.” 

“He’s coming back,” she hissed,
looking around nervously. “And he means to do something wicked out there at
Melbury Hall.”

The warning cut through Violet’s
anger. She took a few more steps toward the rectory before she stopped and
glanced over her shoulder. The young woman was standing by a carriage in the
yard of the livery stable. She was watching Violet.

Glancing up and down the street at
the few people who were moving about, Violet backtracked to the miserable
creature.

“If you’re lying, I swear—” The
words withered on Violet’s tongue as the young woman pulled away the shawl
around her neck, showing Vi the black and purple bruises there.

“He was better to me than he was to
ye. At least folks won’t see these unless I show them myself.” She covered up
the marks again. “He almost choked me to death, though. The bastard. He was
just using me. Using us.”

Vi did not want to feel any sympathy toward the woman, but she could not help herself. Ned was the one at fault. They were just
two simpletons who managed to fall victim to his charm. How many others were
there? she thought. “Why did he do this to you?”