Dark Before the Rising Sun (32 page)

But Sir Miles had misjudged his enemy, for he was no longer dealing with the same reckless man who had left England. He was facing the man who had been captain of the
Sea Dragon
, a man who had stood and faced far worse than anything Sir Miles Sandbourne could attack him with.

Dante smiled, and his crew would have known to beware, for what was to follow boded ill.

“I shall not kill you tonight, Miles,” Dante said, insulting the older man by the informal use of his name, “because I want you to suffer some of the agony of uncertainty and then defeat that I suffered at your hands. I shall enjoy watching you see your world crumble. And then, if you beg me, I shall put an end to your suffering.”

Whether Sir Miles or Rhea and her parents were more startled it would have been hard to say. But Sir Miles well knew the extent of Dante's hatred and the magnitude of his sins against the younger man, and he felt the greatest disquiet upon hearing those calmly uttered words.

The arrival of a guest brought to an end the confrontation. With a slight nod to the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh, Sir Miles continued down the receiving line until his black-clad figure disappeared into the crowded room.

“What a despicable man,” Rhea breathed before she smiled at the couple approaching her, sighing in relief when they moved along the line after greeting her. “That is the man who was your guardian?” she asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Dante replied, his pale eyes searching for that black figure in the crowd.

“How is it that
he
was entrusted with your inheritance?” she demanded.

Dante smiled. “Why shouldn't he have been? After all, he is my stepfather.”

* * *

The first pale mauve shadings were highlighting the eastern sky when Dante entered the private drawing room of the Duchess of Camareigh. He crossed the room and stood broodingly before the tall mullioned windows. Rhea, sitting with her parents in front of the warming glow of the fire, did not need to see his face to know what was uppermost in his mind. She realized that they had stayed too long. There could be no further delay.

“When do you wish to leave for Merdraco?” she asked.

Dante turned around, relieved by her perception. “I—”

“Please, Dante, I understand,” Rhea told him. She knew he had longed to return to his home for many months, but had stayed at Camareigh out of deference to her and her family. Not that he would have gotten far on his broken ankle, Rhea realized, but she believed that even had that not happened, they would have remained at Camareigh for the birth of their child; but now, it was time to go.

She knew that her parents understood.

“He has already left for Devonshire,” Dante spoke, and there was no need for him to explain himself.

“I am sorry for this evening, Dante,” the duchess said, genuinely concerned lest Dante think they had purposely arranged the embarrassing incident. “I had no idea of the bitterness between you and Sir Miles.”

The duke rubbed his scar thoughtfully and then startled everyone by echoing the apology. “I had forgotten the relationship. And even had I remembered, our guest lists were drawn up by my secretary, and far in advance of tonight. Alas, the same people are invited to every party. Sir Miles may well have come as the guest of one of our guests.”

“I haven't checked the list in years, except for adding or removing a name or two, and that is about to change,” the duchess vowed. “You do believe us?”

“I do not blame you, and the meeting between Miles and myself was bound to happen sooner or later. I suspect that Miles was rather looking forward to this. He wanted to bait me, to let me know that he would be waiting for me when I returned to Merdraco.”

“I do not think it went as well as he thought it would,” the duchess remarked. “I think he was unprepared for you, Dante. You must have changed much since last he ridiculed you.”

“Yes, I have, and he'll not drive me away from Merdraco this time,” Dante swore, his eyes narrowed, as if he were already savoring the defeat of his enemy.

* * *

Lady Mary Fletcher awoke screaming. Her heart pounding, she fought her way out of the blackness enshrouding her. But even when she opened her terrified eyes, she saw only darkness, and still felt the cold dampness of the cave. In the distance was the bellowing of the sea in tempest as it challenged the howling winds.

Lady Mary began to weep softly. Pulling the rumpled bedclothes around her shaking shoulders, she buried her ravaged face in the tangle of red hair spread out on her pillow.

“Oh, dear Lord,” she prayed. “Please protect them.” It would all come about as she had seen it, and there was nothing on this earth she could do to stop it. She did not have to be in Sabrina's private drawing room to know that Dante and Rhea Claire were soon to leave Camareigh. Nor did Lady Mary need to travel to Merdraco to see again those dark, solitary towers standing sentinel against the dawn sky.

It was now the hour that turns back the longing of seafarers and melts their hearts, the day they have bidden dear friends farewell, and pierces the new traveler with love if he hears in the distance the bell that seems to mourn the dying day.

—Dante

Five days later a caravan of coaches was sending up a cloud of dust as it moved along the narrow road winding out of the valley. Through the small, sleepy hamlet of Camare it traveled. Its passage did not go unnoticed, for most of the villagers who had gathered beside the road had known many of the travelers since they were small. They were gathered to bid a fond farewell to one of them. Rhea Claire was bound for a new life.

She leaned out of the coach window time and time again, partly to wave to familiar faces and throw tuppence to the young children running alongside the coach, but mostly to catch last glimpses of Camareigh. But the golden walls blurred before Rhea's eyes, and then the coach rounded a turn and the great house, her home, disappeared from view.

Rhea leaned back against the cushioned seat, feeling a deep sense of loss. But then she looked down at the sleeping baby snuggled warmly beside her on the seat and she knew that a wonderful future must surely await her.

“Aren't you excited, Rhea?” Robin demanded, his violet eyes sparkling. Except for an occasional visit to London, he'd never traveled far from Camareigh, yet here he was traveling into the wilds of the West Country. “You aren't crying, are you?” he asked with worried impatience, for this was the start of a great adventure and Rhea should be happy.

Conny, sitting next to Robin on the seat opposite Rhea, eyed her uneasily. Ladies reacted in the strangest ways sometimes. For no good reason they would start to cry, and he didn't want the cap'n to think either he or Lord Robin had done anything to upset her.

But Rhea surprised them. Composing herself, she smiled. “Are you excited about the journey?” she asked them, banishing the melancholy vision of her mother and father standing on the steps of Camareigh, waving good-bye.

“Been hearin' about this Merdraco since I first signed aboard the
Sea Dragon
, so I reckon I'm lookin' forward to seein' it now. Glad I don't have to be ridin' horseback all the way there, though,” Conny said with a wide grin. He hadn't quite mastered the art yet, and his seat still smarted from being saddle sore.

“You're doing quite nicely, Conny,” Robin told him, wanting just what Conny didn't want. He'd like to be riding alongside Dante, Francis, and Alastair, all of whom were riding a short distance ahead of the first coach.

“I was afraid Papa and Mama weren't going to let me accompany you, Rhea,” Robin admitted, still concerned that they might change their minds at the last minute and send someone to fetch him back. “But I guess since Francis was coming, they didn't think it fair not to let me.”

“They probably thought Francis wouldn't know what to do unless he had you around to keep out of trouble,” Rhea said. She would not tell her brother of her parents' deep concern about him. They hoped Robin would regain the disposition he had had before the kidnapping if allowed to go to Merdraco. They had always been close, and perhaps his staying with her for a while would reassure him that his world had not really fallen to pieces.

Rhea sighed contentedly. With Robin and Francis along she really did not feel that she was abandoning her home. She remembered now how Francis, looking rather ill at ease, had come to her and Dante, and had asked if he might accompany them to Merdraco. He had declared that he had always desired to see the Devonshire coastline, but Rhea suspected that he was exercising a bit of brotherly concern, and wished to keep an eye on his sister and young nephew for a while longer, and although on good terms with Dante, he most likely wanted to make certain he had not been hoodwinked by the man. Dante was not displeased. Indeed, he had genuinely welcomed his brother-in-law to join their party, perhaps with the intention of setting to rest once and for all any fears the Dominicks might still possess concerning his suitability as a member of the family. The group had already grown in size with the announcement that Alastair, who claimed he had nothing better to do, would be traveling with them. Perhaps he would even purchase an estate near Merdraco, he had joked, and then they would be cursed with his presence forever. But Rhea suspected that Alastair still felt a deep loyalty to his former captain and wished to be at his side should events turn against Dante.

Kirby, who would always remain at his captain's side, had insisted on riding in the second coach with several other new members of the Leighton household. He had promised, with a glint in his eye, to acquaint them with the rules to be set down at Merdraco. There was Nora, the granddaughter of Mason, butler at Camareigh, the old man proudly watching his granddaughter become personal maid to Her Grace's daughter; and Thompson, Nora's cousin, who was personal valet to Francis. Although excited about the adventure, he was looking forward to returning to Camareigh and resuming his courtship of Alys Meredith. There was Betsie, one of the upstairs maids from Camareigh. She had hoped to succeed O'Casey as nanny for the youngest Dominicks, having helped to raise her own young brothers and sisters, but with the arrival of Alys, she had been displaced. She was happy to have been invited to become young Kit's nursemaid. Finally, there was Barton, Alastair's valet, who most certainly had not imagined himself traveling into the wilds.

In a third and fourth coach, respectively, were several other maids and footmen, all of whom sought to better their positions in a new establishment. Among them was a kitchen maid who had tutored under Mrs. Peacham and had many of the acclaimed cook's recipes safely tucked away in her trunk, which was wedged in with countless other trunks in the heavily laden wagons that trundled along at the end of the procession.

Rhea glanced down lovingly at her son's sleeping face. With a smile curving her lips, she reached out and lightly touched a soft, rosy cheek. Such a sweet little mouth and chin, she thought admiringly, wondering once more if he would grow up to look like Dante. He already had his father's chestnut curls. Rhea continued to gaze down on her son almost disbelievingly, for she was still incredulous at having created a life. He was so tiny, Christopher Dominick Leighton, and yet he would inherit Merdraco one day.

Feeling a cool draft across her knees, Rhea rearranged the fur rug more carefully around the peacefully sleeping child, but even the sudden jolting of the carriage as the wheels rolled into a pothole hadn't the power to awaken so innocent a rest, or to disturb such a lazy feline as Jamaica, who remained contentedly curled against the corner of the seat.

Rhea rested her head against the cushioned seat, wishing she could put everything out of her mind as easily as Robin and Conny had. They had spread Robin's wooden soldiers out on the seat between them and were absorbed in lining up their armies. But she kept remembering her Aunt Mary's face.

Lady Mary had taken her niece aside and, cupping Rhea's face in her hands, had stared deeply into those unshadowed, violet eyes. She looked troubled, and Rhea had felt for a moment that her aunt didn't recognize her. Then Lady Mary smiled that sad smile of hers. Pressing her cool cheek against Rhea's, Lady Mary whispered, “My dear child, if only I could spare you the oncoming darkness. But I cannot, for what must happen will happen. But please, you must not despair or believe the worst, for your doubts will rob you of great happiness if you allow them to. I am very perplexed, my dear, for I have had many visions lately, but I cannot seem to sort them out. If only I could discover the key, but I cannot, and what information I do have might confuse you, bring you harm. No, 'tis best you go to Merdraco with a clear mind, for you must discover the answers yourself. However, there is one thing I must tell you,” Lady Mary said, an underlying urgency in her words. “It is vitally important, my child, that you remember this:
The answer lies in the grave
. 'Tis madness, I know, but humor a half-mad woman, will you?” she had begged, her gray eyes dark with whatever fearful visions she had experienced.

“I promise, Aunt Mary,” Rhea told her, though of course she didn't understand.

Lady Mary kissed her lightly, her smile understanding. “I know you do not understand,” she answered Rhea's question before it was voiced.

Rhea sighed in frustration, beginning to understand a little better some of the anxiety that her aunt had lived with all her life. “The answer lies in the grave,” Rhea murmured to herself just then, but Robin glanced up curiously from his soldiers.

“What was that, Rhea?” he demanded.

“Nothing important, Robin,” Rhea answered as she glanced out at the sun-filled day beyond the coach windows and hoped that, for once, her Aunt Mary had had a plain, ordinary nightmare and not one of her visions.

* * *

The sun had climbed high into the cloudless blue sky by the time the weary travelers broke their journey, pausing for their own luncheon and to rest the horses. Before a stream with wild woodland and meadow, bright with spring's first buddings, wicker hampers were unloaded and blankets were unfolded and spread across the soft grass.

The sun was an opiate. Sitting slightly apart from the others, Rhea was feeling drowsy as she glanced down at the small chestnut head resting against her breast. Pressing a kiss against his soft curls, Rhea lifted her face and glanced up at the sun, her eyes closed. She dozed for a moment, a languorous feeling enveloping her. Suddenly everything seemed so peaceful, set apart from the rest of the world.

Rhea opened her eyes. She had been enjoying a false security. They could not remain in this tranquil setting forever. Soon they must resume their journey and face whatever awaited them.

The realization took away some of the magic of her surroundings. No longer did she smell the sweet woodruff carried by the gentle breeze, or see the pale-hued buttercups swaying in the meadow, or hear the spotted woodpecker's busy tapping. There came a sudden rustling in the hawthorn scrub, then the flash of a shyly curious deer fleeing back to the safety of the deep woods.

Rhea's gaze came to rest on the familiar figure of her husband as he stood in conversation with Alastair and Francis. Her loving gaze remained on that tall figure and she murmured softly, “Dante Leighton. Captain of the
Sea Dragon
. Marquis of Jacqobi. Master of Merdraco. So many titles. So many different men. Yet sometimes all I can see is that brokenhearted young man who had no family, no friend to stand by him. My poor Dante,” Rhea whispered as she thought of the pain and sorrow he must have suffered over all of his stepfather's treachery.

Miles Sandbourne had pretended to befriend a fatherless young boy, while all the time planning to revenge himself against the heir to the family he hated.

Rhea smoothed her sleeping son's curls, then glanced up toward her husband, feeling a sudden fierce protectiveness toward both of them. She had felt the same way when Dante told the tragic tale of his youth to her and her parents. He talked softly yet unemotionally, refusing to allow the remembrance of his pain and humiliation to surface. He first talked about his mother, Lady Elayne. Orphaned at a young age, Lady Elayne Shambry came to live at Merdraco. Daughter of a marquis and ward of Merton Leighton, she was accepted as a member of the Leighton family. Raised at Merdraco, it was not surprising when she became engaged to the old marquis's son. Only one person was surprised, and that man knew that he, not John Leighton, possessed the lovely young Elayne's heart. That man had been Miles Sandbourne. But it was Miles's misfortune to be second in line to inherit the family estate, Wolfingwold Abbey. His prospects were bleak. But even if he had possessed a great title and fortune it would not have mattered. The old marquis wished to see Elayne married to his son. And because she felt indebted to him for his kindness, Elayne agreed. But her heart belonged to Miles.

So the beautiful, flaxen-haired, gray-eyed Elayne wed the handsome heir to Merdraco, much to everyone's delight. But there was no fairy-tale ending. John Leighton died within seven years of his nuptial day. He had done his duty, however, by leaving to Merdraco an heir.

By that time, Miles Sandbourne had, through the untimely death of his elder brother, inherited Wolfingwold Abbey. He had been knighted as well. Quite naturally, he had sought out his newly widowed former love. They were married shortly thereafter. And all should have been blessed, as true love sometimes is.

But Sir Miles had not forgiven his lady for marrying another. He nurtured that hatred over many years, waiting for the time when he could make her suffer, as he had suffered when he watched her walking arm in arm down the aisle with another man.

Miles's revenge was subtly played. Too late Lady Elayne realized that his love had turned to hatred. By then he had destroyed her life and her son's life as well. Dante Leighton, who had been an ever-present reminder of Elayne's first husband, was an important part of Miles's plans for vengeance.

With the death of the old marquis, Sir Miles moved his family from Wolfingwold Abbey into Merdraco, where he could savor more completely his revenge while he destroyed the great family. Under Sir Miles's influence, the heir to Merdraco became a rakish young man for whom honor and decency held little importance. Fulfilling his base appetites was all Dante cared about. All the while he never understood that he was a pawn in an evil game.

Lady Elayne suffered in silence for many years and spoke of her fears too late. She was humiliated and debased as Sir Miles, a man she had once loved so deeply, took her to bed without love or tenderness. He flaunted his many mistresses before her, even daring to bring them to Merdraco, where he would fondle them before her eyes, holding her up to ridicule before his friends.

Then, much too late, she realized that Sir Miles's revenge had not centered on her alone. He had been cunningly turning her son against her, leading Dante into a world of debauchery. Soon his presence would be tolerated by no decent person. And because Sir Miles was the heir's guardian, he had had full control of the estate. He had nearly bankrupted the Marquis of Jacqobi.