Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) (9 page)

Harriet's eyes widened in shock. "I am sure he knows what he is doing," she sputtered, looking at Breanna as if she were shameless. "I will say good-bye to you now," she said, hurrying across the room to the door.

Breanna smiled to herself. Let the woman report their conversation to her cousin. She hoped the Marquess would be very displeased with her—her face stiffened—she hoped the Marquess's grandson would find her totally unacceptable!

8

When the coach conveying Breanna to Weatherford Hall came to a halt before the great house, she was quickly assisted to the ground by a smiling footman. As she ascended the steps, she glanced back at the three coaches that carried her belongings and had to admit that the Marquess had not exaggerated when he'd told her that she would be showered with beautiful possessions. Eleven trunks were bulging with gowns, shoes, and bonnets for every occasion. The jewels he had bestowed upon her were worth a king's ransom and were locked away in six velvet-lined chests.

Breanna would gladly have returned everything in exchange for her freedom. She realized that she had somehow lost control of her own destiny.

A column of servants stood on the steps awaiting her pleasure, while she glanced out at the rugged Cornwall countryside. Weatherford Hall was a red brick Tudor-style palace which had been built in the reign of Elizabeth. Built by the first Marquess of Weatherford, after he tore down the original Norman castle that had stood on the site, it was perched high on a cliff overlooking the rock-strewn shoreline of the Atlantic Ocean. Although Breanna could not see the ocean from the front of the house, she could hear the breaking waves splash against the cliff.

Harriet Milford had informed Breanna about the picturesque little village of Weatherford which was an important fishing port. Breanna looked forward to exploring the village and meeting the people who lived there.

Here, in this alien land, with no friend or family member to stand at her side, she was forced to await her husband's pleasure, and deep inside she was terrified.

***

The coach rattled down the London street. Levi pulled his hat low over his forehead, studying Dakota, who was seated across from him. He had to admit that John Donegal had transformed Dakota's outward appearance. The buckskins had been exchanged for elegantly cut blue-gray trousers and coat. The Indian moccasins had been replaced with a fine pair of black leather boots.

The three men were now on their way to the Davenshire Hotel, where they would be residing until such time as John decided Dakota was ready to be presented to his grandfather.

Dakota had been hesitant to give up his buckskins, for he knew with them went his old way of life. He flexed his shoulders, feeling the confinement of the garments he wore. He had the urge to rip the cravat from his neck so he could breathe properly. Why did the white men put on so many trappings? he wondered. The Indian way was better, where one's body was not constrained beneath heavy clothing.

With mild curiosity, Dakota stared out the window of the moving coach. This was the London he had read about. To the west, he could see a view of London Bridge. Then his eyes moved on to the mass of humanity pressed together on the crowded street. Women were ladened with heavy bundles and children dashed about in a game of tag. There were apple stalls, vegetable vendors, and fishmongers selling their wares. The chimney sweep walked unimpeded beside the tradesmen. The singsong voice of a woman selling lavender could be heard above the crowd. "Lavender, buy my sweet lavender."

The coach turned off the main thoroughfare and onto a quiet, tree-lined avenue. They had reached the hotel, and John ushered Dakota inside. As of yet, Dakota had refused to have his hair cut, and John was wondering how he would get around this final obstacle. He realized that each new accomplishment Dakota mastered brought him one step closer to the day he could be presented to his grandfather. John had discovered that Dakota could not be coerced into doing something he didn't want to, so he would have to make Dakota want his hair cut.

When they reached the suite of rooms that had been reserved for them, Dakota paced the room like a caged animal, while they waited for their trunks to be delivered and unpacked.

Levi watched Dakota with amusement. John may have made him look like a young lord, but he was finding the confines and rules of the nobility somewhat constraining.

"How soon can I meet my grandfather?" Dakota asked, stopping behind John, who was standing before a mirror and straightening his cravat.

"I don't know," he said easily. "That depends on you." He turned away from the mirror, pretending to be indifferent to Dakota's inquiry.

"How does it depend on me?"

"It's very simple. After your hair has been cut, I shall take you to meet your grandfather."

Dakota was quiet for a moment, and Levi knew he was pondering the dilemma. "I will have my hair cut now," Dakota said at last. "I do not like it, but I have seen that it is the way everyone else wears their hair."

John stood up, ready to act before Dakota changed his mind. "You wait right here while I send for Sidney Cox, who is the best hairdresser in London."

***

Dakota observed the stranger in the mirror, with the neatly clipped hair, feeling as if he had lost his identity. Now he was just one of many, looking like the mass of humanity that occupied London.

"Dakota," John said, breaking into his thoughts. "Do you recall I told you that I made a wager with the Henley brothers?"

A muscle twitched next to Dakota's lips as he tried not to smile. "Yes, I believe you wanted to prove to them that you could turn a savage into a gentleman."

"Yes, well something like that. I believe the time is right to collect my wager. When that is accomplished, I will take you to meet your grandfather."

"Just where do you expect this meeting to take place so you can show off your successful attempt to civilize me, John?" This was asked with humor dancing in Dakota's eyes.

John realized that only a man with great inner strength could jest about the situation. "Now, this is the tricky part. As you know, the Henley brothers are not on the same social level as you and I, and it is most unseemly that we should invite them here."

Dakota's lips eased into a smile. "No, perish the thought. That would never do for it to become known that we associate with the likes of them."

John ignored the insinuated jab at his snobbery. "Would you consider coming to their club with me?"

Dakota picked up one of his prized books and thumbed through the pages. "I suppose that is the least I can do for you, after all you have done for me; however, this is the one and only time I will make a spectacle of myself for your gain."

John nodded, grinning. "This is the last time I ask it of you. It pains me to admit it, but I have used the fact that you feel indebted to me to obtain your consent."

Dakota laughed at his cousin's humor. "Indebted? Perhaps."

John rubbed his hands together, anticipating the conclusion of his wager. "This will be the easiest money I have ever earned."

"Are you saying it was easy to make me an Englishman?" Dakota's eyes were seeking and probing as if John's answer was important to him.

The teasing light left John's eyes, and he became serious. "It was easy because of the man you are. I have to be honest with you. When my uncle first assigned this task to me, I had little hope I would succeed. I taught you a few manners, took you to a tailor and boot maker, and changed your mode of dress. But you were already a gentleman by birth. I thought I would find an uneducated man once I reached America; instead, I found a man who had read more books than I will read in a lifetime. I found you to be truthful and honorable, and I am proud of our kinship." Thinking he was becoming too serious, John smiled. "You know, you could ruin me if you decided to be Dakota the Indian when we meet the Henley brothers."

Devilment danced in Dakota's eyes. "Yes, I could, could I not? That's something you should think about, John. If I turn savage on you, what will you do?"

***

As the brougham turned onto St. James Street, John reached forward and straightened Dakota's elaborately tied cravat. He quickly assessed his cousin, taking in the single-breasted black jacket which reached to Dakota's thighs. The black trousers hugged his legs, and were pulled taut by the strap that fit beneath the short, black boots. The green silk embroidered waistcoat gave just the right finishing touch, and brought out the color of Dakota's green eyes. Dakota's hair had been clipped in the latest style, his sideburns tapered almost to his chin, but Dakota had adamantly refused to grow a mustache; his Indian upbringing was still too much ingrained in his mind.

John's eyes gleamed with a light of triumph. "Damn if I don't think 111 pull this off, Dakota. Now remember, act aloof, and don't say anything until just the right moment."

Dakota's lips twitched in amusement. "I suppose it does not matter to you that I am to be paraded before your friends as your creation, your successful transformation of a savage into a gentleman?"

John rubbed his gloved hands together with glee. "First of all, you have to understand the Henley brothers are not my friends. They are simply acquaintances, whom I enjoy taking money from. Secondly, I promise you will not be paraded, because I intend to fleece the brothers with the utmost decorum. This will be my finest hour; it had better be your finest hour, too, Dakota."

They came to a halt before the Broadrick Club, one of the exclusive men's clubs in London, but not one John had ever frequented, or ever would after today. "Remember, Dakota, follow my lead," John instructed as the coachman jumped to the ground and whisked the door open.

Dakota stepped out, and John looked him over one last time. Yes, Dakota had an air of dignity about him that had nothing to do with his fashionable attire. He somehow represented a nobility that went beyond his rank, John thought, gaining a fresh insight into the inner man.

John could already feel the money warming his pocket. He clapped Dakota on the back. "Come, the brothers Henley will be waiting for us. Shall we honor the peasants with our presence?"

Dakota filled his lungs with air, pulled on his white gloves, and smiled at his cousin. "You are a pompous ass, John."

"Yes, admittedly," John acknowledged. "When one is light in the pocket, sometimes all he has to fall back on is his arrogance."

By now they had approached the doorman, who bowed, knowing from their mode of dress and their lofty airs that these men were of import. "Your names, sirs?" he asked politely.

"I am John Donegal, and this is Sir Geoffrey Spaulding. One of your members, Alec Henley, is expecting us."

The man checked his list before glancing back to John. "Sir, I have your name on my list"—he hesitated, feeling embarrassed—"but I do not show your companion."

"It's of no importance," John said, lazily tapping the man on the shoulder, and with practiced snobbery, stepped around him. "Don't bother announcing us. We shall find our own way in."

"What was that all about?" Dakota asked as they walked down the gold rug runner to the gaming room beyond.

"The memberships of these clubs are jealously guarded, and they strive to keep out undesirables. However, I am sure this one has never before had anyone of your rank cross the threshold. The club you will later join will consist of your peers, and not tradesmen."

Dakota's hid his amused smile. He would never grow accustomed to the class distinction and snobbery the English leveled at their fellow man. "Oh, I see. I keep forgetting how important I am." Suddenly his laughter rang out. "Would you consider Levi beneath me? He has sold animal skins; would he be considered a tradesman?"

"Well" John considered seriously, "he is a friend, and that goes beyond social classes . . . I suppose."

"You relieve my mind. I feared I would have to rid myself of him," Dakota said, his words laced with irony.

John spotted the Henley brothers at one of the gaming tables. When Tate Henley glanced up and saw him, he caught his brother's attention. Both men threw in their cards and advanced on John and Dakota.

"By the way, I am about to give you a demotion. I am going to introduce you as a baron. Get ready" he mumbled under his breath. In a louder voice, he remarked, "My dear Alec and Tate, how are you?"

"You are late. We had decided you weren't coming."

"Sorry for the tardiness, but you see, I ran into a friend of mine, and we got to talking—you know how it is—anyway, I decided to bring my friend along with me. I hope you don't mind."

Alec glanced at John's companion, who was looking down his very aristocratic nose at him. "Of course not, you are both welcome."

"Good. Now may I introduce you to my friend? Sir Geoffrey, may I present Alec and Tate Henley?" Dakota acknowledged the introduction with a slight nod.

John was definitely enjoying himself. "Alec and Tate, meet Sir Geoffrey Spaulding, the Baron of Cheltworthy."

Alec and Tate both looked at the stranger suspiciously at first, thinking this might be John's cousin. But when the gentleman's eyes moved over them with bored indifference, they dismissed the possibility as ludicrous. This man was not John's cousin; this was a lord born to the manor.

"Where is your cousin?" Tate asked, glancing over John's shoulder.

"I thought you were bringing him," Alec said smugly.

"I regret to inform you gentlemen that my cousin is elsewise occupied."

Alec smiled. "What you mean is, you couldn't turn that savage into a gentleman, so you forfeit the wager."

"As you wish," John said airily.

"Come," Tate cajoled, the smile of triumph on his face. "Don't take it so hard. Let's have a drink, and toast our victory." He held up his hand, signaling to the servant that he wanted four brandies.