Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) (13 page)

Dakota stared at the two life-size portraits that hung behind the huge desk—he realized the miniatures in the locket had been painted from those portraits.

He spoke softly. "It's ironic, Baxley, I had to become acquainted with my heritage through portraits and secondhand information. It is difficult to feel that I am their son, since I never knew them."

"I knew you would be feeling confused, my lord. If I can help you feel a little more like you belong here, I would consider it a privilege. It is the least I can do for his lordship's son."

"What was she like, Baxley?" Dakota asked, staring at the image of the lovely young woman who had borne him and given him into Two Moons' keeping.

"She was kind and generous, my lord. I never heard her say an unkind word to anyone. She even got on with the old Marquess, which was no easy task." Baxley looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Begging your pardon, my lord, if it seemed I was speaking ill of your grandfather. With his lordship, I always spoke my mind; I fear he permitted me great liberties."

"I hope you will feel the same way with me, Baxley"

"It would be my honor, my lord."

"My father, what was he like?"

"He was what the London clubs called a man's man. He was a fearless hunter, a loyal friend, and a good husband to her ladyship. His only regret was that he was not close to his own father. Had he lived, he would have been proud of you, my lord. I can remember how joyful his lordship and her ladyship were when they learned they were going to have a baby."

The old man's eyes turned sad. "I was devastated when the tragedy struck."

Dakota tried to comfort the old man. "I wish I could have known them, as you did, Baxley."

Baxley smiled, blinking back tears. "Were you aware his lordship kept a daily journal, my lord?"

"No. I was not aware there was a journal."

"I thought not. I took the liberty of placing it on the desk should you wish to read it"

Dakota nodded, anxious to read words written by his father. "Very good, Baxley. I will not be needing you any longer tonight."

The valet's eyes gleamed with happiness. It felt good to be serving a Remington again. "I shall lay your things out in the bedchamber, my lord."

Dakota sat down at the desk, running a finger over the leather journal with the gold lettering. He was grateful that Levi had taught him to read, because now perhaps he could gain some insight into his father's mind.

Opening the pages that were yellowed with age, he began to read about his parents' exciting exploits. Holden and Cillia's life unfolded on the pages, and Dakota found the writing witty, amusing, and informative. He came to know his parents as he read about the deep love they had for one another. He could feel the joy his father had experienced when he discovered his wife was going to have a baby. Dakota felt heartbreak and a deep loss when he read the last entry in his father's journal.

On this day, the first day of November, in the year of Our Lord, 1833, Cillia died, delivering our child while I was away. It is my belief that the child lives and has been taken by Indians. It is my hope that every effort will be made to find the baby so it can be sent to my father in England. It is my wish that my wife and I be buried in a common grave so we might spend eternity together.

The candle had burned low when Dakota closed his father's journal. It was as if he had come to know his mother and father and had lost them in the same day.

He clutched the journal and moved out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, he turned and looked back at the portraits of his parents. He wished he could cry out to them to help him find his way. He found himself in a world that he did not understand, forced to live a life that he had not been trained for. How would he face each day and do what was expected of him?

Wearily, Dakota climbed the stairs, trying to make his mind a blank. He didn't want to think about his young bride because he didn't know what to do where she was concerned. He almost wished she had been homely as he had feared she would be, then he would have no trouble moving her to the back of his mind.

Entering his bedchamber, he discovered Baxley had unpacked for him and that the bed had been turned back. Blowing out the candle, he lay down fully clothed, wondering if this was the room his father had used.

"Breanna," he whispered softly. "What am I going to do with you?"

12

Breanna awoke to the sound of shutters banging back and forth. Sitting up in bed, she saw that rain was peppering through the half-opened window and soaking the bedroom rug.

Jumping up, she hurried across the room to close and bolt the window. Grabbing a cloth, she went down on her knees and began wiping up the water.

"Here, my lady," Etta cried, coming into the room and seeing her mistress down on her knees. "You'll catch your death. Let me do that."

Breanna relinquished her task and stood staring out at the bleak landscape. On this side of the house the ocean was visible, and Breanna saw that a thick fog was rolling in, shrouding the view.

"Has his lordship arisen yet?" she asked the maid, hoping he would not send for her.

"Yes, my lady. He was about long before dawn. I was told that he and the other two gentlemen rode out with the intentions of inspecting the estate."

Breanna wondered why Dakota would choose such a dreary day to ride abroad. She was glad, however, that she did not have to face him at breakfast.

"If I may say so, my lady, the house is fairly buzzing with activity. It's exciting the way Weatherford Hall is coming to life. Is it true there may be a ball? Mrs. Hopkins says there will be no slacking from the servants any longer. As head housekeeper, she's cracking the whip over everyone. She's getting old, hard-of-hearing, and she can be somewhat churlish at times."

"Don't gossip, Etta," Breanna reprimanded. "I will take my breakfast in the morning room. Ask Mrs. Hopkins to bring the menu to me there in one hour."

"Yes, my lady. Will you dress now?"

"Yes. Lay out my gray-and-white candy-striped gown." Breanna was not accustomed to having a personal maid, so she moved to the dressing table and seated herself before the mirror while quickly running the boar bristle brush through her hair. She parted it in the middle and wrapped it around in a tight chignon.

In a flurry of tight lacings, petticoats, and a whalebone crinoline, Etta helped her mistress dress.

A short time later, Breanna made her way downstairs. She had chosen the morning room as the place to handle her correspondence and to run the household, since the magnificent floor-to-ceiling windows faced the ocean, giving her a tranquil view.

After eating a light breakfast of poached eggs, Breanna met with Mrs. Hopkins. The elderly housekeeper sat on the edge of her chair, her eyes lively and bright, her round rosy face drawn up in an apprehensive frown. "Will you be approving the menu each morning, my lady?"

"Yes. Since my husband has arrived, I will see to the running of the house, supervise the menus, and visit the kitchens at least once a week."

"My lady, let me say I know about the gossip that's going around about me. There are those that complain that I work them too hard. Some even say I am too old to be head of such a large house." She looked as if she would like to cry. "I admit I do work everyone hard, but I don't ask anything out of them that I'm not willing to do myself. As for getting old . . . we all either have to age or die. That's the only choices we have."

"Do you feel that the work is too much for you?"

The little woman rose to her feet. "No, my lady." She hesitated before she spoke again. "Is Your Ladyship pleased with my running of the house, or would you prefer to bring in a younger housekeeper?"

Breanna saw the anxiety in the older woman's eyes. "I have seldom seen a more organized household, and I attribute this to your ability. Are you pleased to serve this house?" she asked.

Mrs. Hopkins's face gleamed from the compliment. "Oh, yes, my lady. I was born at Weatherford Hall, and it has been my pleasure to be in service here for forty years, the last twenty as head housekeeper."

"Then you will continue with your duties as long as it pleases you. I have no intentions of interfering with a well-run house; I merely wish to incorporate your ideas and mine for our mutual benefit."

Mrs. Hopkins's eyes shone with relief, but she had been well trained not to show any emotion when speaking to the mistress of the house. "Very good, my lady. I will do the best I can for you and his lordship. It's glad we all are to be having members of the family living with us once more. It's been many years since we have been called upon to serve the family."

"Did not my husband's grandfather live here at Weatherford Hall?*

"Not in over ten years, my lady."

Breanna found that odd. "You may go, Mrs. Hopkins."

"Will you be wanting anything else, my lady?"

"No, not now."

Mrs. Hopkins bustled out, almost colliding with John Donegal in the doorway.

Dakota's cousin smiled at Breanna as he moved into the room. "I can see that you have things well in hand, Lady Breanna. One can tell that you have been trained in running a large household."

Her eyes challenged him. "I am sure you are aware that I helped run my brother's household because we could not afford servants."

He chose not to comment on what he knew about her brother. "This has always been my favorite room. As a lad I liked to come here when it was storming and watch the waves pound against the cliff. If the storm was severe, the waves would crash against the windows. Once they hit with such a force that all the windows in this room were smashed."

"May I offer you a cup of tea?" she asked, reaching for a china cup that rested on the silver tray.

"Yes, if it's no imposition, and I take mine with milk. This will give us a chance to get to know one another."

"I thought you rode out with my husband."

"No, not me. Few things could induce me to ride out on a day like this."

Breanna smiled as she handed him a steaming cup of tea that had been laced with milk. "I have been alone for so long, I fear I may have lost the art of conversation."

John tried not to stare at the lovely angel, but he couldn't help noticing how her skin resembled the petal of a blushing rose. He assumed that her severe, matronly hairstyle was worn in an effort to make her appear older, but it had failed. She looked young and defenseless.

Tell me about yourself," he implored. "I had heard of your brother, in fact I met him on several occasions, but he never said anything about you. I know nothing about you save the fact you are married to my cousin."

She leaned back in the chair, looking misplaced for a moment. When she smiled, John sucked in his breath at her ethereal beauty. "To talk about myself would only bore you, Mr. Donegal. Nothing untoward has happened in my life that would make interesting conversation."

"Not so. I would be interested in anything you could tell me."

She was beginning to like John Donegal. His soft blue eyes held an earnest light, and she had the feeling he was a good friend to her husband. "My life was spent on my family estate, and I had never been to London until your uncle sent for me." Again she gave him a smile that melted his heart and made him envy Dakota's good fortune.

"I can see why your brother kept you in the country, Lady Breanna. You are far too pretty to flaunt before the whole of London."

Her golden eyes were radiant. "I believe you mean to flatter me, Mr. Donegal. And please call me Breanna. I don't believe there is any great need for us to stand on ceremony here in the country."

"Breanna," he repeated. "I suppose cousins should call one another by their given names. Will you call me John?"

"Of course, John"

John and Breanna found it easy to talk to one another, and they were soon conversing like old friends. Breanna was laughing at John's tale of a certain gentlewoman whose belled gown had caught a gust of wind and the poor woman had tumbled end-over-end down Percy Street in London.

Mrs. Hopkins had directed Dakota and Levi to the morning room. As they advanced down the hallway, Dakota heard the tinkling sound of Breanna's laughter joined by John's deep chortle.

"You should have seen the poor woman, Breanna. It took two men to halt her downhill roll," John said, laughing heartily.

Breanna covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. "I know it isn't kind to find humor in the unfortunate woman's misadventure, but you tell it so entertainingly, John, I can almost see it as it happened."

"Gentlemanly decorum prevents me from revealing the poor woman's name, but I can tell you that since that incident, she never goes abroad on a windy day."

Levi saw the muscle tighten in Dakota's jaw as he stood in the doorway watching his wife and his cousin laughing together, To relieve the tension, the hunter moved into the room. "I wouldn't say no to a cup of that tea, Lady Remington, and I like mine best with three lumps of sugar." He plopped down in a chair and smiled at John. "It's not a fit day out for man or beast. You were wise not to come with us."

Breanna could feel her husband's gaze, and her hand trembled when she held a steaming cup of tea out to Levi. "Would you also like a cup of tea, my lord?" she asked, wondering why Dakota's green eyes were glimmering with anger.

He moved over to stand at the window before he answered. "No. I have never acquired a taste for the white man's bitter brew."

His back was to her, and she stared at him, looking confused. "Why should you call it white man's brew?"

He turned and his eyes swept her face. "You will do well to remember that I do not consider myself white; therefore, I am not inclined to waste time sitting on a satin chair, making polite conversation."

John, seeing more than Breanna did, knew Dakota was feeling pangs of husbandly jealousy. "If you will all excuse me, I have taken up enough of Breanna's time. Levi, how would you like to take me on in a game of cards?"

Levi chuckled. "Not if money's involved. I have no desire to be skinned alive by you."

Breanna watched both men depart, wishing she could also leave. Dakota was staring at her, and she felt her throat close off. "Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?" she asked in a small voice.

For a moment he stared down at his mud-splattered black boots, feeling very unsure of himself where Breanna was concerned. With pride as his shield, his face did not show how vulnerable he was. "I believe we should get to know one another. Would this be satisfactory with you?" His voice was formal and stiff, to cover up for his uncertainty.

Breanna thrilled at the sound of his deep voice. His speech was cultured with just the slightest hint of an accent. The thought of spending time with him made her tremble with some unknown anticipation. "If that is your pleasure, my lord," she replied with anticipation of the unknown tugging at her heart.

Dakota realized that he must allow her to get to know him slowly. She was so beautiful, it made him feel good just to look at her. It was beyond his conception that this lovely delicate creature belonged to him. He had been appalled at the way the fashionable hoop skirts looked on other women, but on Breanna they swayed gracefully as she walked, and he found it a most pleasing sight.

He stood staring at her for so long that she began to feel uncomfortable. "Can I help you with something, my lord?" she asked at last.

"No," he said, unable to think what to say to her next. "If you will excuse me, I want to talk to John."

"Yes, my lord," she said stiffly. Breanna watched him leave the room, wondering what went on in his mind. She had a feeling that he found her displeasing, and it was most unsettling to her.

Dakota found John and Levi in the library playing a game of cards. "What are you doing here when you have that beautiful wife to pass your time with?" John wanted to know.

Dakota sat down in a leather wing-back chair, his thoughts troubled. "I don't know how to talk to her, John. Shall I tell her about a buffalo hunt, or would she rather hear about the rites of a young warrior coming of age? What do English ladies like to talk about?"

John smiled to himself and exchanged glances with Levi. "Well, I guess she would like to hear about how pretty she is. Tell her you like her eyes."

"Mention her hair," Levi piped up. "Women are always doing something about their hair."

"Yes, that's good" John agreed. "And you might want to ask her opinion on something. Women like to think they are helping a man find his way."

"Yep " Levi agreed. "I once had me an Indian woman that wanted to reform me. It took two years for me to untangle myself from her." Levi smiled. "Course she had other advantages that made me stay around so long."

Dakota frowned. "Breanna is different. I have a feeling she would not like flowery compliments."

John shook his head. "I never met a woman who didn't like to be told she was beautiful."

Dakota closed his eyes for a moment, and Levi realized the turmoil that was going on inside him. "You have always had women hanging on to you, Dakota, and you were never at a loss on how to handle them before. I always say every woman is the same underneath."

Dakota stood up. "I have never been near a woman like Breanna. She ties my tongue in knots, and I don't know what to say to her. When Fm alone with her, I can feel that she is frightened of me." He looked at John for direction. "What am I to do to win her confidence?"

"She needs time to get to know you. Do things together, like riding, talking, or just take a walk by the ocean. In time, you will both feel more at ease in each other's company."