Truth Within Dreams (10 page)

But she’d deserved it, hadn’t she? Henry had believed he’d taken her innocence. That he’d sleepwalked through the event. It all made sense now: his remorse, his proposal of marriage. And then he discovered he’d been duped by an impetuous girl who thought only of escaping an unwanted match. For her sins, he’d been banished from Rudley Court, a house where he’d been welcome all his life.

Claudia realized, in a cruel twist of irony, it was
she
who’d ruined Henry, not the other way around. No wonder he’d served her a taste of the same sauce.

“Halloo, Miss Baxter!”

Hailing her from the seat of a gig was Mrs. Monroe, a genteel widow who resided in the village. Beside her sat her niece, Miss Purdue, who was several years older than Claudia.

“Good morning,” Claudia greeted her neighbors. “I trust you ladies are well?”

“Tolerably so, I do thank you for asking,” said Mrs. Monroe. “Dearest Anne,” she said, patting her niece’s arm, “had a dreadful toothache these past two days, but it’s quite gone now, isn’t it, Anne? I feared we might have to send for the blacksmith to attend her, or even travel to Bristol to consult a dentist. Lady De Vere paid us the great compliment of calling yesterday and recommended clove oil, and bless me, it was just the thing! Not a bit of complaint since yesterday afternoon. Is that not so, Anne?”

“Yes, I’m quite recovered, Aunt,” said Miss Purdue.

“Lady De Vere is a font of knowledge,” Claudia said. The mention of Henry’s mother made her even more aware of the coat folded over her arms. Miss Purdue gave it a quizzical look.

“I’m so glad to hear you’re on the mend, Miss Purdue,” she said, her fingers clutching tighter into the fine material. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I must be on my way home …”

“You’ve quite a ways to go to reach the Court!” exclaimed Mrs. Monroe. “As we approached, I said to Anne, ‘Bless me, if that isn’t Miss Claudia Baxter! I wonder what could have taken her so far from home, and on foot, too.’ But then, you’ve always been a great walker, have you not, whereas poor Anne has never had the constitution for exercise such as you are accustomed to take. ‘Moderation in all things will be the key to Miss Purdue’s health.’ This was the advice given us by Mr. Whombleby, and I declare it’s proven true. I regret we’ve not room in the gig, or I’d offer to take you up. I’m quite mortified!”

Claudia assured her it was no trouble at all, that she liked nothing so much as a walk on a fine day.

“But you are burdened with a parcel, as well! Is that a length of wool? Oh, no, I see now the stitching of a collar. Is it a coat? I declare, isn’t that funny? Not twenty minutes past, just as Anne and I were setting out from the Clarksons’, we saw Mr. Henry De Vere ride past in his shirtsleeves, if you can credit it! I said to Anne, ‘Though I’m sure he’s wearing a very fine weskit, it is shocking to see the whole of it flaunted before the neighborhood!’ It’s only too bad he didn’t come upon you, Miss Baxter, as you might have remedied his astonishing disarray. Why it’s quite a coincidence that you should have just the thing—”

Mrs. Monroe’s voice slid to a halt, though her final words seemed to ring in the air between Claudia and the gig. Miss Purdue’s eyes lit; she smiled gleefully. Mrs. Monroe, on the other hand, paled.

Shame, deep and hot, blossomed through every fiber of Claudia’s being. She struggled for words to bring about a dignified escape.

Never one to lose the power of speech for long, Mrs. Monroe rallied to put Claudia out of her misery. “Well, I’m sure I’ve quite chattered your ear off. And you’ve such a great distance to walk, we must not delay your progress any longer. Indeed, we must not. Anne, let’s away. Good morning, Miss Baxter.”

Claudia whipped about and strode as fast as her legs would move. She should’ve gone back home across the countryside, the same way she and Henry had ridden out, rather than take the road. Despite the slower going, she’d likely not have encountered another soul. Now, she could only hope Mrs. Monroe and Miss Purdue would exercise discretion. If they did not …

Oh, the humiliation. The shame! She trudged onward, feeling as though eyes peered at her from everywhere, full of knowing judgment.

This, then, must be what Henry had suffered. This painful, writhing guilt. The dread of looking another human being in the eyes, for fear of having her misdeeds known.

She must apologize. If it meant groveling at his feet, she must beg his forgiveness for having wronged him so. She loved Henry; knowing she’d caused him such pain only compounded her misery.

Would he believe she’d learned her lesson, that she didn’t fault him for his improper teaching method? At least Claudia had been aware of what she was doing. Every step of the way, she chose to allow Henry another kiss, another touch. He might have asked her to disrobe, but it was Claudia herself who began it and who willingly took part. She’d gasped at his ministrations and begged for more.

Henry, however, had had no choice when Claudia came to his bed with that bottle of blood. She’d not granted him so much as the courtesy of consciousness when she decided to change the course of his life. For the first time, Claudia realized the magnitude of her deception and its consequences.

Oh, yes, she had much to atone for.

• • •

“Where did you get that?” Claude demanded.

She thrust the coat at her brother. “Please, just put it in your wardrobe,” Claudia begged.

They were alone in Claude’s room. Mrs. Baxter was out making calls, and Sir John had gone to the village tavern, The Bull’s Horn, for the weekly meeting of his gentlemen’s club. He claimed they met to discuss local and national affairs, but Claudia suspected that was just an excuse to raise a pint with friends.

Claude took the coat and shook it out. The dark blue wool had become rumpled.

“I say, isn’t this Henry’s coat?” Her brother’s brows snapped together. “Wasn’t he wearing it just this morning?”

“Shh!” Claudia flapped her hands. Even with no chance of being overheard by one of their parents, Claudia instinctively sought secrecy. The realization unnerved her.

“This is what’s become of me,” she wailed. “I’m an unnatural creature, a woman of shadows and lies. Oh, Claude, you must help me!” She burst into tears.

Her twin guided her to a chair. As she sat, Claudia grabbed Henry’s coat back and buried her face in it. Warm and permeated with Henry’s scent, it was the next best thing to having his arms around her.

As she started to calm, Claude took the coat away again. “You’ll ruin it with tears and snot,” he chastised. Her twin had worn clothes belonging to older siblings, as well. He stuffed the stained garment into his walnut wardrobe before turning to regard her, his face creased with concern. “Why do you have Henry’s coat? Did he violate you again? I knew that story about sleepwalking was tripe! I’ll kill him. Did you kick him in the berries, like I showed you?”

“Violate me?” Claudia snuffled.

He glowered. “That’s the name for what happened to you, Claudia. You were forced. Violated. Raped.”

“You mean …” she started. “The surgeon? He came because I was … was violated?”

“Why else?” Claude gripped her arms. “Did De Vere hurt you again? You must tell me, Claude. If he’s abused you, I won’t give him the dignity of a duel. He’ll stand trial for his crimes.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “You think … Everyone thinks …
Henry
thought …”

The truth was far worse, far uglier than she’d imagined. Her parents and brother concluded she’d been forced against her will. No wonder Mrs. Baxter had quailed at the sight of the bloody bedclothes. No wonder Mr. Whombleby had come to medicate her supposedly injured body and nerves.

“Does Henry really sleepwalk?” she demanded.

Claude snorted. “Gads, yes. Caused me no end of trouble at Harrow. I was practically his night nurse. Had to sleep with our room key hidden behind a loose bit of baseboard. Can’t tell you how many times I woke to find him leaning over me, talking nonsense, or repeating a lecture.” He chuffed through his nose. “The man claimed that’s what happened with you. Said he didn’t remember.”

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “Poor Henry!” He had been made to believe he had done violence against her while he slept. His grave demeanor, his demands that she not absolve him, his pain. It all made sense … terrible, awful sense.

Claude’s mouth twisted and pinched. “And I believed him. I’m so sorry, Claude. I shouldn’t have let him come anywhere near you, not ever again. I blame myself.”

She grabbed his hands. “No, Claude, that isn’t what happened. Henry didn’t hurt me today—or the other night, either.” At her brother’s incredulous expression, Claudia said, “Sit down. I have something to tell you.”

Claudia confessed to her brother about the blood and the bottle. About Henry’s proposal and his visit during her opium-hazed night. She told him about Henry’s intervention regarding Sir Saint, and about his revenge.

At the end of her sorry tale, Claude gaped at her for long, tense moments.

“Say something,” she begged.

“Jesus, Claudia!” he blurted. Claude wiped a hand down his face. “You’re either the most naïve bumpkin ever to stumble out of a cornfield, or a conniving bitch. Either way, you’re frightening as hell.” He raised his hand as though lifting a drink, discovered his hand empty, and saluted her, instead.

“I’m not a … what you said. And I’m not naïve, either,” she insisted with a lift of her chin. “I knew what to do.” She sniffed. “My execution was just a little off.”

The corner of his lips kicked up. He snorted.

“It’s not funny!” she wailed.

“Yes, it is,” Claude retorted. “That’s the funniest damn story I’ve heard in … ever. I can just see old Mrs. Monroe’s face now.” He threw back his head and laughed, long, deep, and loud.

“What shall I do?” Claudia demanded. “You’re my brother. Help me!”

Claude’s laughter slowed to gasping whoops while he caught his breath. He sounded like a braying donkey. She said as much, which just set him off again. Doubled over, he grasped his sides. He fell to the floor, his face beet-red and tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Leave off!”

“I can’t!” He pulled his knees up. “Christ, I’ll wet myself.” But he kept on laughing.

Claudia bore his display with all the bruised dignity she could muster. Finally, his spasms of hilarity subsided to chortles and sighs.

“That’s your ration of jollies for the coming year. Have you stained yourself?” she inquired, brow lifted.

Claude shook his head. “Pride intact.” He jumped to his feet and reached for Claudia’s hand. “Sister mine,” he said as he hauled her to standing, “you did a terrible thing. It’s a hilarious story, but it wouldn’t be any wonder if Henry wanted to throttle the daylights out of you. Not that I’d ever permit him to, of course. I’d strike him down before he ever laid a finger on you in violence.”

She pinched his nose and waggled his head back and forth. “You’re a bloodthirsty brute,” she said with a great deal of affection. “Always ready to lay waste to my malefactors. Sadly, I’m the wrongdoer this time.”

“You really are,” he agreed with good cheer. “You should have seen the woeful state Henry was in when he realized he’d defiled you—or thought he had. Putting a fellow through that kind of hell was badly done of you, Claudia. And I thought you had a care for Henry.”

“I have more than a care,” she exclaimed. She was brimming with love and sorrow, so full of them she worried her emotions would leak through her skin. She looked into the eyes of her twin, trusting their close bond to communicate what words could not express.

Claude sighed. “If that’s the way of it, come on. I’d better take you to see him.”

• • •

After returning to her room to set her hair and clothes to rights, Claudia collected her brother. The twins Baxter presented themselves at Fairbrook in time for tea.

They were received by Henry’s elder brother, Duncan, who informed them Henry had departed not two hours past to escort their mother to her sister’s home in Bristol. The news caused Claudia no small degree of anxiety. How could she apologize to the obstinate man when he’d absented himself?

She considered writing a letter, but this suggestion earned her a censorious frown from Claude.

“Haven’t you landed Henry in enough trouble?” Claude asked as they walked home again, with Coco in their company. When they’d collected the mare from Fairbrook’s stables, Claudia had felt the questioning glances of the grooms. “Would you further embarrass him in front of his mother and aunt?”

Claudia squirmed. Naturally, she knew correspondence between unmarried young ladies and gentlemen was frowned upon, but considering all the evils heretofore perpetrated, of what import was one more offense? “When did you become an arbiter of etiquette? Besides, don’t you suppose, in this one instance, my good intentions outweigh the impropriety?”

A world-weary sigh answered her questions. “Has it not occurred to you,” Claude drawled as they reached the top of Rudley Court’s long drive, “that Henry might have abruptly left Fairbrook to get away from you, sister?”

In fact, it had not occurred to her. She made a stricken sound. “Well then, what shall I do?”

Claude patted Coco’s neck. “Give him time and space, Claudia. That’s all you can do. He’ll be home soon enough.”

“Supper was excellent,” Henry told his hostess. “Another splendid meal.”

Around the table, four more males offered their compliments and groans of satisfaction.

“Having a married friend isn’t so bad, after all,” said Lord Sheridan Zouche. “One never leaves Mrs. Dewhurst’s table regretting having sat down at it, which cannot be said for many a house in Mayfair.”

Norman Wynford-Scott chuckled. “Here, here,” boomed his deep voice. “I don’t mind making the trip from Town for such a gratifying reprieve from the poor fare they foist upon us at the Inns of Court.”

“To Mrs. Dewhurst,” proclaimed Harrison Dyer, lifting his wine glass in a toast.

“To Mrs. Dewhurst,” chorused the rest of The Honorables.

Brandon, seated at the head of the table and husband of their lauded hostess, tipped his glass in a private salute. “To my own Mrs. Dewhurst.”