Truth Within Dreams (7 page)

“We’ve nothing to speak about,” Sir John snapped. He stood and yanked his spectacles from his face. Waggling them at the papers on the desk, he continued, “On the other hand, I have quite a lot to discuss with Sir Saint. Thanks to you, Claudia’s marriage contract has to be redrawn.”

Henry was tempted to snatch the hated papers and tear them to bits. “That’s just it, Sir John. You cannot allow this wedding to take place.”

Sir John cocked his head, his eyes narrow and sharp. “I beg your pardon?”

Turning to the other man, Henry gave a polite bow. “Sir Saint, would you please excuse us?”

The old roué’s lips pursed. Moisture glistened between them. “What? I should say not! Impudent hellion. Suppose you’re still trying to steal my bride, what? Baxter,” Tuggle said, leaning forward, his cane gripped in his left hand, “I’m doing you a demmed service by taking your daughter away from this rakehell. Mark my words, you’ve only seen the start of your trouble with this one, what? Lock the maids up tight at night, before he gets a taste for them.”

A flush of anger and embarrassment rose up Henry’s neck. He hoped his cravat kept it out of sight of the other men. “So you will not grant me a private interview?” he directed to Sir John.

“No.”

“Very well, then.” He lifted his chin and rested one arm behind his back. “I had hoped to spare all of us some discomfort by saying this in confidence, but since that is a dream not to be realized …”

Sir John flinched. Henry noticed how wan the older man looked behind a thin veneer of bluster.

Henry couldn’t imagine the anguish afflicting Sir John and Lady Baxter right now. For more than thirty years, their lives had revolved around their children. And now, when they finally had the last of them set up for their own adulthoods, disaster. Henry didn’t like having to add to Sir John’s burdens, but he’d made Claudia a promise.

“Sir John,” he said, speaking to Claudia’s father as though Tuggle weren’t even in the room, “it must have occurred to you that Claudia may, even now, be carrying my child.”

Sir John’s mouth tightened.

“I would ask you to wait, sir. Please, postpone the wedding until Claudia’s state may be definitively determined.”

Tuggle’s cane thumped against the floor. “I mean to have that girl. All the better if you’ve done the hard part for me. I’m eager to have this heir business over and done with.”

Violence.

The compulsion blinded Henry. He saw nothing but a myriad of ways to bring slow, agonizing pain to Saint Tuggle. He’d start with clamps, he thought, or perhaps an iron maiden. There was something so wonderfully Gothic about the contraption. He could almost see himself stuffing the old sausage of a man into the metal casing. Every prick of agony would be richly deserved.

“I rather think not,” he said, his mild tone concealing bloody fantasies.

Sir John frowned. He wiped the lenses of his spectacles with a handkerchief and resettled them on the bridge of his nose. Then he sat behind his desk and sipped from the teacup resting near his elbow.

At last, he spoke. “He’s right, Saint. You cannot marry Claudia while she possibly carries a De Vere.” The hollow resignation in his voice only slightly dampened Henry’s sense of triumph.

Sir Saint sputtered a protest, but Sir John shook his head. “There’s no use for it, Tuggle. You know it must be this way. Hopefully, we’ll know the truth of things, one way or another, inside a month.”

“A month,” Sir Saint fumed. “And what if she is carrying De Vere’s bastard? Are you going to marry her off to him, the man who ravished her? And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit on my thumb, what?”

Sir John sank into his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Saint. I know this is a disappointment to you. It’s a disappointment to us all.”

Henry couldn’t help the victorious gleam shining in his eyes. “I’m sure you won’t have any difficulty procuring a new bride for yourself, Sir Saint. I’d encourage you to run along and find one.”

After the gentleman fumed out, his great belly leading the way, Henry once again regarded Sir John. “With your permission, sir, I’d like to court Claudia.”

“That would be highly irregular. As far as I’m concerned, she’s still engaged to Tuggle.”

A muscle in Henry’s jaw twitched. “Sir John, I would ask you to reconcile yourself to the fact that I, not Sir Saint, will marry Claudia. She’s reached her majority and may marry whom she chooses. She never chose Sir Saint—you did. Claudia went along with the match only because she felt she must.”

Sir John lowered his face into his hands. “Henry, don’t you think I know you’re young and handsome? Do you suppose I just happened to overlook eligible young men next door? Please give me a little more credit than that, son.”

“Then why—?”

“Because you’ve no prospects,” said Sir John, raising eyes as weary-looking as Henry felt. “Duncan hasn’t much, given the state of that land your father mismanaged, but at least there’s a title. Unfortunately, your sire rebuffed my overtures when I approached him about marrying Duncan to one of my girls. Said his heir could do better than a baronet’s daughter, so I never raised the subject again, even after Duncan inherited. What have you to offer, Henry? You’re a younger son of a minor barony. You’ve no fortune. How would you even begin to support a wife and family with that minor shipping concern of yours? You’re affable enough to liven up a party, but you aren’t precisely marriageable.

“Tuggle may be as old as I, but he’s richer than Lady Baxter’s Christmas gravy. Sooner or later, he’ll make Claudia a wealthy widow, and she’ll be free to do as she likes. All told, it’s a much neater plan than any other offer she’s received, which is precisely none.”

Behind his back, Henry’s fingers clenched and released. “Thank you for your candor,” he said. “I hope you know I’ve always respected you and your good opinion, Sir John.”

The older man snorted.

“Allow me to assure you,” Henry continued, “I will be able to comfortably support Claudia and our future children. As you so accurately stated,” he said with a touch of ice, “the barony Duncan inherited was nothing of which to boast. But over the last two years, Duncan has invested his share of the profits from De Vere and Sons into Fairbrook and improved the estate, while I’ve put mine right back into the company. We now own two ships. While I’ve little by way of ready cash, the seeds have been sown for a prosperous future, both for my brother and myself. In the meantime, Duncan would welcome us at Fairbrook. Last night, he assured me Claudia and I are free to use the dower house as long as need be, although I look forward to setting up our own establishment as soon as possible.”

Sir John sighed. His shoulders drooped. He seemed bleak, resigned. “I didn’t know your little company was doing as well as that. I apologize for casting aspersions. Still, I cannot like this. Not after …” With a shaking hand, he lifted his teacup and took a long sip. “Claude told me about the sleepwalking. Is that truly what happened? I remember the fits you gave your parents when you were a boy, and how you used to bump around here at all hours, but
that
? Is it even possible?”

Henry dropped into the chair Tuggle had vacated. Idly, he toyed with the empty hole in his shirt cuff. “It must be, Sir John. True, I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I got into all sorts of trouble in my sleep when I was younger. Ate myself sick more than once. Woke up in a tree—that was particularly terrifying. I swear to you, sir, I would never willfully harm Claudia. I’ve no memory of the incident. You’ve known me all my life. At this point, you know me better than my own father did. Do you believe me capable of brutalizing your daughter?”

John Baxter’s face crumpled. Suddenly, he seemed older and frailer than he’d been a moment ago. “No. No, Henry, I don’t.” He sighed. “I suppose I must let you court Claudia, mustn’t I?”

Given the circumstances, it was difficult to feel any elation at Sir John’s acquiescence. Still, as Henry departed the study and went in search of his missing cufflink, he found himself growing more excited.

Even as a boy, he’d mooned over Claudia’s big eyes and long hair. She’d been a mischievous wench, but she’d only caused trouble in the name of fun. Her games were the cleverest, her barbs the funniest. Being in Claudia’s orbit had always made Henry happy.

Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten used to the idea of Claudia always being there. She’d seemed like such a sure thing, as if she was his by some unspoken rule. Her London Season had been a rude awakening. Even though he couldn’t really have her for himself, prior to her come-out, some five years ago, it had never occurred to him that another man might claim her heart. He’d made it to Town for her debut ball where, it seemed, every buck and popinjay in London had danced with her. Afterwards, he’d had to return to university, and had spent several months feeling as though his head was on the chopping block, waiting to hear that some other man had discovered Henry’s treasure and scooped her up for himself.

When the Season ended with Claudia still unattached, Henry breathed easier. His condition rendered him unsuitable for matrimony, so he’d contented himself with admiring her from afar. He’d never spoken to her on the subject of his infatuation, never allowed himself to be more than her friend.

As he stepped into the guest room, Henry recalled Claude’s accusation that he had bedded Claudia so that he might have her for himself. He’d answered in the negative. But what if, on some deep, underlying level, his dismay over learning about Claudia’s imminent marriage to another man
had
triggered the terrible episode? After all, when Claudia told him about her upcoming nuptials, had he not internally reeled at the news? Had he not wanted her to throw over her affianced husband for his sake?

Those reactions, and the horrible thing he’d done while asleep, strongly implied Henry was an absolute scoundrel, the lowest of the low. He could scarcely countenance himself. In no way was he worthy of Claudia, and the only things that stayed him from running away to live on a mountaintop in Tibet were the possibility that she might be pregnant with his child and the fact that he’d promised to keep her out of Tuggle’s clutches.

The guest room had been cleaned. The bed was made and if Henry pulled back the counterpane, he would find clean, unbesmirched sheets. Still, just the sight of the large piece of furniture made acid rise in his throat. He’d always slept here when he stayed at Rudley Court, but he would have to request a different chamber for future visits. This one was ruined for him.

A glance around the floor didn’t turn up his missing cufflink. If a maid found it, it might have been handed over to Ferguson for safekeeping. With all the scuffing about in the room the other day, perhaps it had been kicked under a piece of furniture. Dropping to hands and knees, he crawled to look under the washstand. Nothing. The wardrobe, perhaps? No.

Then he remembered he’d placed the cufflinks on the bedside stand when he undressed. He circled around the bed and looked beneath that small table. Not there, either. With a frustrated growl, he turned his head to look under the bed. A telltale golden glint caught his eye. “Ho! Success!” he crowed. The cufflink was beside another object.

Henry fished them both out. He affixed the cufflink to his shirt, then, curious, turned his attention to the other item. It was a small bottle, made of green glass. Cautiously, he sniffed at the opening and drew back at the metallic tang. He brought the bottle to the window for a closer examination. The container was empty, save for a residual ring around the bottom. Though it had discolored in drying, the substance was unmistakably blood.

He let out a rush of air, as though he’d been punched in the gut. His lips went cold an instant before the feeling of betrayal whipped through him like a wild storm. The bottle vibrated to a blur in his shaking hand, but he didn’t need to inspect it any more closely; Henry knew what had happened.

Claudia Baxter had trapped him.

• • •

At a table in the library, Claude bent over a mountain of ledgers and correspondence. He was preparing to take on the post of steward at Sheerness Downs, an estate in the neighboring county, and, despite the intensity of her glare, seemed quite oblivious to her boring into the top of his head. So much for that special twin connection.

Claudia watched her brother work with pangs of envy and regret. She couldn’t help feeling jealous that he was about to embark on a new life. As far down the line of Baxters as he was, Claude had no choice but to earn his own living. After studying husbandry and finance in school, he’d come home to learn from Sir John everything there was to know about running an estate. Now, he was absorbing as much knowledge about his future home as he could cram into his head. He waited only for Claudia’s wedding; then he’d be off, leaving her behind.

She glanced at the book in her lap, Byron’s latest, and saw she hadn’t turned the page in half an hour.

It was a strange kind of grief to think of her twin being so far away. Though they’d been separated before, it was always with the understanding that the parting was temporary. Deep down, Claudia always knew her brother would be back. This time, though, the visits home would be temporary reunions. Separation would be their normal state of being.

Absently, she pulled a hank of her hair—loose but for the ribbon holding it back from her face—and began twisting it. “Claude?”

“Yes, Claude?” he replied without looking up.

Claudia smiled. Lady Baxter despised how the twins referred to one another by the same name, but Claudia, at the wise old age of six, had very matter-of-factly informed her mother she should have thought of that before giving them nearly identical appellations. It only worked amongst the two of them. Too much confusion arose when other family members had tried to adopt the pet moniker for Claudia, and so it was her brother’s alone.

“Nothing, I just wanted to hear you say it.” She set aside her book and strolled to where he worked. “Soon you’ll be gone, and no one will call me that ever again.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged.

Claude patted her arm. “I’ll only be in Somerset, not Outer Mongolia.” He turned in his seat and scrutinized her face. “You’re awfully maudlin. Are you feeling well? Perhaps you should go back to bed.”