Passion's Series (37 page)

The grandmothers exchanged sly smiles before they looked at Raven.

Lady Montgomery patted his arm. "You shall see, dear, you shall see."

"Yes." Lady Gaylord nodded in agreement. "You shall see in good time."

Lady Montgomery gave Raven a last pat. Lady Gaylord gave a disapproving waggle of her chubby finger at William for his childish behavior. Raven watched the two elderly ladies, one as thin and delicate as a dove and the other as plump and proud as a pigeon, make their way to tell Dawn the good news.

Raven raised and lowered one shoulder in an attempt to ease the chill that was slowly winding its way down his spine. He was just about to resume his stance against the mantle, when Marguerite fell into a swoon.

"Great Spirit! There she goes again." Raven downed his wine in one gulp and aimed the delicate wineglass toward the mantle with a careless toss.

"Its, 'Bloody Hell', man! You're in England. At least try to curse like an Englishman," William grumbled.

Raven's glare at William would have humbled a lesser man. "And this bit of advice comes from a man whose vocabulary contains the word poo? You're getting on my nerves almost as badly as Marguerite."

William placed a delicately limp wrist to his forehead in imitation. "She only swooned, you know. That's what ladies do, ole' man. They swoon." He lowered his hand and flipped it irritably in Marguerite’s direction. "Don't you think you should go to her?" "Why should I go to Marguerite?" Raven growled. "She has effectively gathered all the men in the room away from her newest rival." He tugged again at his cravat. It felt more and more like a hangman's noose. "Which, I might add, was her intent."

William interrupted his thoughts as he pulled the spheres from his pocket again and rolled them a couple of times in his palm. "Maybe you would like to borrow my Baoding Balls?" One quick look at Raven and he wisely plopped the delicately hand painted orbs back into his pocket. "I suppose not."

Raven shifted, placing his other shoulder to the mantle and his back to the irritating scene and to William.

William casually pushed himself away from the mantle and softly chuckled into his wineglass as he sauntered around Raven. "Ah," he breathed a satisfied sigh and raised his glass in salute. "Now I have a clear view of Dawn, and you have to peer over one shoulder to watch her. But then again I say, you should be watching Marguerite."

When Raven didn't rise to the bait, William shrugged and turned his attention to the guests swirling past. "She is amazingly beautiful," he murmured.

Raven pretended surprise. "Why Willie, I'm shocked. I thought you disapproved of Marguerite."

William was so angry at the continued use of his despised nickname that Raven could almost envision him stamping his foot. "It's not Willie! You are the only man in London who would dare call me that."

Raven looked directly into William's eyes. "I like your grandmothers' pet name for you."

"That's right, get your mind off your problems at my expense. It's a good thing we're friends." He indicated over Raven's shoulder with a nod. "I wasn't referring to Marguerite, and well you know it."

Raven shifted again, this time placing his back against the mantle. "You're beginning to sound like a parrot."

He hated these things. These gatherings of women in billowing gowns and full war paint and men dressed like fops, himself included, disgusted him. Analyzing the participants, he found himself dissecting and questioning their every move and motive with suspicion.

He looked over the brightly lighted room for the hundredth time until he once again found Dawn. Instant memories invaded his thoughts: a faraway place with cool mountain streams, a little girl with a halo of sunbeams and eyes that twinkled like stars, calling him to come and play.

"Yes, she's beautiful, but she doesn't belong here. And if Uncle has one fault, it’s his over protective attitude toward his daughter. As soon as her father finds out that she's here, he will descend on London like an avenging angel on a pack of hellhounds."

William shrugged, "So, why not just pack her up and send her back?"

"That is not as easy as it sounds. No one just packs Dawn up and sends her anywhere. Besides, there are no captains in port I'd trust to take her home. And I can't possibly leave London now with all the problems we've had."

William frowned and turned his attention back to Dawn, who seemed to be having a marvelous time talking to his two eccentric grandmothers.

***

"He is a Baronet, dear. You address him as Sir Edward Blake and his wife as Lady Blake. The two of them are quite particular about the proper form of address," Lady Gaylord corrected Dawn for the second time.

"Edward is a kind man, but as it is with most of everyone you will meet here, he puts on airs. He and his wife have a lovely daughter named Rebecca. They had high hopes that she would marry up." Lady Gaylord grinned mischievously. "She disappointed them terribly when she fell in love with a handsome Baronet, Sir Richard Whitmore. Although Richard is prosperous, he hadn't the fortune nor the political aspirations the Blakes envisioned for their daughter."

The two women smiled and sighed in unison. "Wilhelmina and I knew the moment each first spied the other, in this very room, that they were meant to be together."

Lady Montgomery nodded in agreement. "Now they lay all their hopes on their son Nicolas, poor chap." She tilted her head to one side and studied Dawn. "I can see you are more interested in Marguerite than the proper forms of address." She took Dawn's hand and patted it affectionately. "Don't you worry one bit about it. You just follow Victoria's and my lead."

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, and I do want to learn, but you're right. All I can think about right now is that woman." Dawn indicated the dark haired beauty that had been pointed out to her earlier as Raven's fiancée.

Dawn was surprised to see Lady Montgomery actually reveal her disapproval of a guest. "Ah, Marguerite DePingre. Widow of the late Sir Gaston DePingre." Lady Montgomery placed a hand delicately to her chest, "It was a match made in heaven,'" she mimicked Marguerite.

"Humph," Lady Gaylord responded. "Or so she claims. We hear poor old Gaston died shortly after their marriage." With a delicate shrug, she added, "She is considered to be quite a beauty. I can't say I find her particularly so."

"I can't believe everyone thinks that she fainted. I have a bad feeling about her," Dawn mumbled.

"And well you should, she's French you know." Lady Montgomery's words and tone of voice left little doubt as to her opinion of England's neighboring countrymen.

Dawn only half listened. The whole affair seemed a form of madness to her. The loud music, women's high, exaggerated giggles springing fourth in response to nonsense, men's blind doting over staged performances. This miss-matched accumulation of nonsense made this the most unpleasant and curious evening in all her experience with the white man's world.

Lady Montgomery interrupted her thoughts. "And no one really thinks she fainted, dear." She patted Dawn's hand. "Or, at least most of them don't."

"Then why all this?" She indicated the activity that was taking place a short distance from them, where men still thronged around Marguerite as she pretended to weakly accept their assistance.

"Why, dear, because it's expected. Ladies are supposed to swoon."

"They are expected to swoon?" Dawn asked incredulously. "Yes, of course, and some truly do," Lady Gaylord answered.

"Of course, the tight corsets, the drink, the crowd, the excitement. It's only natural that some sweet frail little thing will be overcome by it all and naturally swoon," Lady Montgomery added.

"But," she continued in what appeared to be an attempt to head off Lady Gaylord, "there are those who are not so overcome. When they feel they're being left out, they bring the attention back to themselves by feigning a swoon. I'd suggest Marguerite’s little performance was equal to that of a temper tantrum."

"Yes! She's angry," Lady Gaylord pushed forward.

Dawn gazed at her in surprise. "Why? With whom?"

"Why, with you, dear."

"Don't look so startled, dear. You've stolen her...thunder, you might say."

Dawn smiled. Knowing about her Cherokee ancestry the two dears continually tried to interject words into their speech they thought would make her feel more at home. Considering what they had just said, she looked hard in Marguerite’s direction and replied, "That is ridiculous. I never stole her thunder or anything else. Perhaps she's just insecure."

Both women swung their heads in Marguerite’s direction and stared for a short while before shaking their heads. "No," Lady Gaylord spoke decisively.

"No, you're wrong, my dear," Lady Montgomery agreed as she turned back to Dawn.

"She knows what she wants," injected Lady Gaylord.

"And she knows just how to get it. I'm sure she would stop at nothing. You, my dear, took away some of her thunder. She just took it back."

"You know, Victoria," Lady Montgomery tapped her fan against her hand speculatively. "I don't think she likes it at all that Dawn is here."

Dawn listened while the two matrons conversed between themselves as if she were not present.

Lady Gaylord nodded in agreement. "No, she's very unhappy about Dawn. Raven has given his new ward far too much attention to suit Marguerite."

"Well, why shouldn't he? She is his partner's daughter and she is here under his protection." Lady Montgomery smiled slyly, a hint of triumph in her voice. "And she's very beautiful."

"Yes, she is. More beautiful even than Marguerite, in my opinion." Lady Gaylord grinned wickedly, then sobered. "Dawn must be very careful of Marguerite." Dawn stiffened.

"Yes, she must," Lady Montgomery spoke softly as she moved closer, reminding Dawn of a mother hen shielding her chick.

Lady Gaylord, with the same air of protectiveness, put a reassuring hand at Dawn's waist. "We'll just have to help her."

"Yes, we must."

"Help me what?" Dawn could hold her tongue no longer.

Both women jumped and quickly exchanged secretive looks before they returned their attention to Dawn.

"Oh, nothing, dear. Nothing at all."

"You have nothing to worry about." Lady Gaylord patted Dawn's hand. "We'll not let Marguerite hurt you."

Dawn straightened. "I do not need anyone to protect me. I'm not afraid of some silly white woman who can't even achieve a proper death sleep."

"Oh, of course you're not afraid, dear." The grandmothers exchanged looks again. "You've nothing to fear. We just feel that you should not underestimate Marguerite. She is very cunning. By the way, dear, what is a death sleep?"

Dawn shrugged. "I'll explain later." She was stung by the older women's lack of belief in her. She was as much a warrior as her mother, and Marguerite had declared war.

She stole a glance at Marguerite, who now sat perched on a low stool where some gallant young man had placed her after he so graciously caught her in his arms. All around Marguerite silly young men, and not so young men, fretted and fluttered like wild birds in a mating dance.

Yes, this was war, a different kind of war. The rules, as she understood them, were confusing, but she knew she would win it. The stakes were too high to lose.

She looked at Raven leaning against the mantle, the look of a storm cloud on his face. The strength she saw in him did nothing to reassure her. Her vision was real. Raven was in mortal danger and his strength would not save him. It was up to her. The Great Spirit would not have sent her the dream if that were not so.

She saw him take a deep breath and push himself away from the backrest. He was about to go to Marguerite. It was time to let Raven's fiancée know her challenge had been accepted.

Without a word Dawn raised her wrist to her forehead.

***

A glance in Dawn's direction and Raven froze. "Great Spirit, no.”

William shoved himself from the mantle. "Good Lord, Raven, what's got into you?"

Raven watched as Dawn sank to the floor. As if in slow motion Lady Gaylord turned in Dawn's direction, placed a hand to her cheek and let out a wail to put any Cherokee mourner to shame. The resulting pandemonium gave credit to Dawn's flare for drama. Ladies, young and old, no doubt believing they had just
witnessed the demise of one of their own, dropped faster than the bewildered gentlemen could respond.

William chuckled in spite himself. "I haven't seen the like since Gram's pup charged Lord Chester's prized fainting sheep."

Raven was halfway to Dawn's side by the time William finished his statement.

"Please everyone, move back. Give her some air," Raven demanded as he pushed his way through the pressing crowd.

"My, my!" Lady Montgomery wrung her hands. "There was no warning. She just," she waved her thin hand above her head dramatically, "just…swooned!"

Raven knelt and felt her weak pulse. His brow raised a fraction as his suspicion was confirmed. "She'll be all right."

Lord Blake looked up with a start. "I think we should send for a physician. This is no simple swoon."