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The Dream   Available from Cerridwen Press Copyright © 2005 by Jaycee Clark. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

London, England; 1813

“It’s past time you took a wife.”

Jason Claymere, Marquess of Ravenscrest with various other titles following, didn’t so much as blink. He continued to scan the message on his desk. “Indeed?” He signed the missive, waited a moment to blot it and then sealed it.

“ Yes indeed. You’ve should have already taken one.”

“ And where might you have me take one to?” He folded the note and placed it in his breast pocket to give to his butler later.

At the dainty clink of china on china, Jason finally looked up from the letter he had been focused on, pulling his mind away from niggling worries to the woman who sat across from him. Lady Eloise Burbanks, his late father’s sister.

She sat straight and perfect, as any lady would, in a gown of deep plum, a wide dark green banding beneath her breasts accenting the fashionable empire waist. Tall and willowy, her dark hair coifed and streaked with gray, she was still undeniably attractive with her angular face and sharp blue eyes, so like his own.

The Claymere’s all had the same coloring, blue eyes, dark hair and tall statures. He was no exception.

Her eyes were narrowed on his. “Could you not, at the very least, appear to be in search of a wife tonight at the Sunderly Gala?”

Jason leaned back in his chair, pulled his waistcoat straight. “And why, pray tell, would I wish to do that?”

Her sigh said more than words, in that mothering way she had about her, that she was becoming annoyed. His aunt stood and walked to the windows, carrying her cup with her. “It’s hardly unheard of for a man of your position and status to seek a wife. Marriages are important, Jason.”

“ But of course they are,” he said, leaning back in his chair and grinning. “Alliances must be made, heirs begotten, and dynasties solidified.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes narrowed. “You are such a cynic.”

“ Who? Me? Hardly. I prefer realist. Women are simply women,” he said. He watched, fascinated as irritated color tinged her cheeks. Women had always fascinated him. They could be fickle and vain, sweet and innocent, honest and liars all at the same time. He often wondered why the war department never invested in women as their intelligence agents, other than it was unheard of and unsuitable, of course. But having spent time in both the ballrooms and the shadier areas of life, he knew that women could often give lessons in the art of covert operations. However, trusting them was altogether another issue.

“ You are more and more like your father every day.”
He stood, flipped the missive over he’d been studying earlier from Sir Vincient Taber. “Never say so, dear Aunt. A son taken after his father, why I’ve never heard the like.”

“ You are in a mood.”

“ I resent that. I never get in moods.” He smiled. “Well, hardly ever,” he amended at her pointed look

She took a deep breath. “Your mother would rest easier knowing you had someone to make you happy.”

“ Mother is hale and hearty and knows to stay out of my business.” Which was more than he could say for Aunt Elsie, though he kept the thought to himself. From her arched brows, he might as well have said it aloud.

Jason strolled to the sideboard and poured a brandy. He held the decanter up to her, but she declined with a shake of her head.

“ Yes, well, Catherine was always too nice for her own good.”
He remained silent as he lit a candle. Tilting the glass, he warmed the brandy then swirled it in the glass.

“ You should just leave it all to me. I could simply make some inquiries,” she said, motioning with her tea cup, “and get the ball rolling.”

The idea made him shudder. He was actually thinking of looking for a wife, but his aunt hardly needed to be aware of that fact. If he wanted a wife, he’d bloody well find one himself. Not at the behest of his independent, meddlesome, widowed aunt, his mother, or sister or any of the ton’s matrons. And the unknown woman in question would not be some missish débutante fresh out of the schoolroom who would go running in the other direction the first time she laid eyes on him.

He ran a forefinger down the long scar marring the left side of his face in a crescent from his brown to his jaw line. No, and besides the fainting young things would have little to talk to him about. What did one talk about with a young miss? Certainly not the war, which was what his life truly revolved around. Not about his eccentric streak of dabbling in shipping. T’would be unheard of.

If he trusted widows, which he did not, nor would he, he might seek a wife there. At least a widow would be experienced in certain areas that a young fresh girl would have not a clue about.

Shaking off the thoughts, Jason turned back to his aunt. She’d put out the word he was in search of a wife, but of course she would, and love every minute of the chaos that ensued.

His brandy balloon in his hand, he raised a brow. “Aunt Elsie, I would not ask such a task of you if I was told I was meeting my maker tomorrow and had one last chance to procure the line.” He saluted her with his faceted glass. “But thank you for the thought.”

“ It is the general way things are done,” she tried, walking to a chair in front of his desk and lowering back into it.

“ I am well aware of the machinations of the haute ton. However, when have I ever been known to follow society’s dictates?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why must you be so difficult?”

He shrugged. “It was the charm I was born with.” Like her, he sat again behind his desk. “Besides, think of the pandemonium your announcement alone would cause.” He leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink. “I’d be mobbed the moment I stepped from the house,” he scoffed. “Crushed beneath the slippers of august girls shoved to the fore by their plotting mamas.”

Her lips twitched. “You are positively hopeless, Jason.”

He grinned, “I do so strive, Aunt Elsie.” He glanced at the missive on his desk. Pointing to it, he said, “In regards to this evening, unfortunately, something has come up. I won’t be able to attend the Sunderly Gala.”

A faint wrinkle appeared in her smooth brow. “Something is always arising with you. This is the third engagement this month you’ve broken off with me.”

He smiled. “I’m certain you would much rather someone else escort you than me, Aunt Elsie.”

She huffed and sat back, taking a sip of tea. Her lips pursed, she said, “Tonight would be such a crush, I’m sure.”

“ Undoubtedly,” he said dryly.

“ What is it this time?” she asked.

He drummed his fingers on his chair and without a moment’s hesitation said, “Problems with the latest shipment from the Continent. I need to check out things at the shipping yard and then head to Kent.”

Her frown deepened. About to take a drink, she set the cup back down. “To Kent? To Ravenscrest Abbey? But you’ve been in Town less than a month.”

Jason flashed her a smile, one he knew all women found handsome. “You’ll miss me, I’m touched.”

She rolled her eyes.

“ Why you couldn’t have been a normal heir, I’ll never know. Drove your father daft, you did.”

“ Hmmm.” He sipped his drink and thought about the evening ahead. He needed to send his message.

His aunt was right, he, the heir to a vast fortune and coveted title, had never been one to easily conform. He’d always been on the search for more.

When he’d bought a commission ten years ago and joined the Navy—or at least for a time for those intent on asking—he and his entire family had had a row, with his father and he yelling, his mother crying and his sister laughing like a loon. He smiled at the memory. His father had threatened to disown him. Then after his return, years later, he’d been asked to go into shipping. Not the done thing for an earl of the peerage to do. But he’d long gotten past what the done things were in society. He’d seen too much, been part of too much in the Peninsular Wars to go back to the frivolities and idiosyncrasies of the ballrooms.

So he’d gone into trade upon his return along with two other veteran peerage prodigals. To most they were seen as eccentric, whispered about behind fans just as parents thought their daughters would make wonderful matches for them because of the wealth they’d accumulated. To a few select, they were something else all together. And those few select were the ones he needed to concentrate on this eve.

“ Have you heard a word I’ve said?” his aunt asked, jerking his thoughts back

“ I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere.” Jason gave her his attention and sipped, striving for his charming face. He had too much to think of, to sit and discuss his aunt’s plans for his as-yet-found bride.

She took a deep breath and cocked her head to the side, studying him. “I often wonder what happened to that little boy who used to laugh all the time.”

He frowned. “What?”

“ Sometimes I wonder what you are about and other times I get this feeling none of us really know you at all.” With that, she gently set her teacup on his desk and stood.

Jason rose and was surprised when she walked to him and cupped his face. “You need a wife far more than you know, Jason.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

He watched as she walked to the door and listened when it softly closed behind her.

And what had that last bit been about? Jason turned and looked out the window, to the sloping lawns and the gardens. His house here in Mayfair was one of the older ones complete with vast grounds, and unlike the newer townhouses, his did not join another’s. The Claymere House set back off the street behind a gated wall.

The guarded fortress.

He took a deep breath and scratched the side of his mouth. He had more to guard than this house or his family. Glancing over his shoulder his gaze landed on the foolscap upon his desk.

Striding across the room, he jerked the bellpull. He needed to send his own message and have his valet pack a bag. When he returned later from the shipping yard, they would leave for Kent.

*****

Waves lapped against the port in Dover, chopped against the moored hulls of ships. Though it was night, men still shouted as crates were unloaded, ships being relieved of their cargo. Horses snorted and their hooves beat on the wooden planks of the docks and the cobbled streets. A wagon trudged by.

“ Are you certain?” Emily asked yet again. It wasn’t she minded so much traveling by night, but didn’t the stage generally go by day?

The full moon rose high in the sky, but she could smell rain on the briny wind off the ocean and the breeze was picking up.

“ Looksee ‘ere, Miss. This ‘ere coach be leaving for Lunnon. If ye be wan’ing to go, there’s more ‘n room, as it’s just the other cove that be going. The next one runs tomorrow mornin’.”
Emily Smith stood holding her single valise, dressed in her black mourning gown. She should probably wait, traveling at night was always risky, but if she left now…

“ When, dear sir, would we be arriving in London?” she asked with a smile. Smiles tended to get her more than frowns.

The short man rolled his eyes. “ ‘Pends. Prolly ‘round dawn, I say.” He shrugged.

By dawn. By dawn she could find her family. Finally see her mother after all this time. All these years.

“ Fine.” She handed the man her bag, watching as he secured it in the back.

She paid her fare and stood waiting to depart. A portly older man, dressed in a cardinal red uniform, shiny brass buttons, white pantaloons and high black boots opened the door for her.

“ Heading to London are you, then? Family there?” he asked.

She nodded and took his offered hand, climbing in.

He hopped in after her and shut the door. In minutes the coach rumbled out, its wheels clattering over the stones to whir once they hit unpaved roadway.

Emily looked out the window and tried to ignore the other passenger’s eyes on her.

“ You’re very young to be traveling alone and at night no less. Do you have no man looking out for you? No chaperone? Lady’s maid?” he asked, the edge of disbelief clear to her.

She looked across the dark space at him. Why did he want to know?

Clearing her throat she said, “Surely I’m not the first woman to travel by night.”

“ Unaccountably not, but most do not travel unaccompanied.” He shifted. “I do apologize if I’ve seemed rude, ‘tis a shock is all. You remind me of my daughter Francis. Just married and I’m to be a grandfather.”

The pride in his voice jigged in the air between them.

She smiled. “Congratulations.

“ Thank you. I’m Colonel Ludlow.”

“ Mrs. Smith,” she answered.

“ Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Smith. You’re from the Colonies?”

She smiled. “America. Yes, I am.”

The colonel snorted. “Brigands. We could have won that war, still might.”

Emily only shook her head. She’d never cared one way or the other about the politics between the two nations, didn’t care who won or lost. She’d been too busy worrying about staying alive to be concerned with the troubles between England and America. Though after Theodore’s death freed her, and she moved to Baltimore, she began to see the importance. She rather hoped the British did not regain control of the freed American colonies. Once freedom was tasted, the idea of going back was a very black one.

“ You might,” she conceded diplomatically.

The man hmphed. “Just arrive here?”

Emily sighed, she wished for silence. There were too many things to think of, but she didn’t want to be rude. “Yes, actually. Sailed in on The Jewel.”

“ Pleasant voyage? I’ve just arrived from the Continent myself. Gads, its good to be home. No place like England. Bloody French. Beg Pardon.”

She looked back out the window, hoping he would leave her to her thoughts. Thankfully, he did, and she watched him from the corner of her eye from time to time. He seemed nice, but then she knew the devil often looked like an angel.

The darkened countryside passed by, washed colorless in the fading moonlight. She’d been right, she could still smell rain and she noticed the clouds were quickly covering the moon.

Snores from the colonel hushed across the coach.

Emily tried to imagine what London would be like. Would Anne be there with Mama? Of course she must, there was simply no other option. She’d never thought anything else for the last two years.

After their mother’s disappearance she and Anne were inseparable. They’d hoped and dreamed of escaping their tyrannical father’s clutches and sailing to England where they knew, just knew, their mother awaited. Of course they’d also dreamed she’d made it home to her family in England and that one day, with their uncles and grandfather, she would come back for them.

No one ever came. And life with Neil Merryweather did not improve. Then came the day when he informed Emily she was to marry Theodore Smith, a revered elder in her father’s church.

She’d been young enough, naïve enough to believe she was finally escaping hell.

Foolish, foolish girl she’d been, she might have escaped Neil’s house, but she’d been put in a purgatory far, far worse.
Where Neil crutched on alcohol with his anger, blame and repercussions, Theodore… Well, Theodore thought it his God given duty to save her harlot’s soul.

Emily shuddered.

Thank God, both men now rotted in hell.

Battles had been waged and lost, and she still awoke in the dead of night terrified she’d forgotten something, that she’d done something wrong, that she would have to face the consequences to some imagined slight to God or husband.

The muscles in her neck tightened.

Colonel Ludlow mumbled and shifted, and she jumped at the sound.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes.

One day. One day she would be the strong girl she had been. The girl who used to run through the fields, the girl who stood up for her mother and sister. The girl who wasn’t afraid. One day she would find that lost person and maybe then she could forget.

Perhaps once she found her family, found peace, she would become the person she knew hid somewhere inside her.

She patted the pocket of her cloak, the thick bundle of letters tucked safely inside. They were too precious to put in her bag, which had been tied to the back of the coach.

So intent on her musings, it took a moment for the noise to register.

Shots.

Shots were being fired.

The colonel jerked upright in his seat. “Bloody hell.”

“ Stand and deliver!” a shout came from outside.

“ What’s happening?” she asked.

“ Highway men. I don’t believe it. Don’t you worry, Mrs. Smith, I’ll not let the blackguards harm you. Stay back in the shadows.”

The carriage halted, and the door was thrown open.

Colonel Ludlow, barreled out. Emily sat motionless in the dark interior. She could see nothing past the dim glow of outer lamps on the carriage’s side.

The Colonel’s back was to her. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“ We thought we’d stop you for some pleasant conversation,” a voice replied. “Now empty your pockets while my partner retrieves the cargo.”

“ Utterly outrageous. The Dragoons will be crawling all over this land by morning. When I report this…”

“ You,” said another voice, “unfortunately, won’t have such a worry.”
Another shot rang, the silence that followed heavy and still. She watched as Colonel Ludlow weaved and fell to the ground.

She fisted her hand against her mouth. Oh dear God. She did not come all this way to die.

The door was jerked back open and a man with a large hat, pulled low over his face, motioned for her to move. “Come, my pretty, no need to hide.”

Her muscles froze. The man smiled, she saw the flash of his teeth.

“ Come.” He reached for her and she struck out at him.

Did the man think her simpleminded? There was no way she was about to get out so he could shoot her.

“ Mademoiselle, I tire of this game.”

She kicked out at him, but he leaned in.

Someone shouted from outside. “Let’s be away, mon ami.” Another shot sounded and she heard a moan before something, or someone thudded off the driver’s box.

The carriage lurched at the gun’s report, and the man tried to clamor half way inside. He mumbled in another language. French maybe?She’d heard it occasionally before.

The coach picked up speed and the man hurried to climb up the open doorway. They hit a bump and the carriage jolted. Emily slammed against the side, throwing her arm out to catch herself.

The man was muttering and climbing up the outside of the coach. Oaths mumbled on the air and his booted foot thumped against the windowsill. What was he doing? His dark form disappeared from the carriage doorway. The horses. The unlatched door banged open and closed against the coach.

His booted foot disappeared from the windowsill and she heard him above. What would happen when he did slow the coach and gain control of the cattle? He would shoot her. They’d shot everyone else.

The carriage slowed. His loud shouts reached her over the clattering wheels.

Emily stood and braced herself, looking out the open doorway. She was not about to let the man shoot her or worse, and she’d been through worse. There was simply no way she could endure that again.

The ground, glowing from the carriage lamps, blurred beneath her.

The man’s warnings to the horses were apparently going unheeded. With a silent prayer, Emily bunched her skirts in one hand, holding onto the doorframe with the other. Carefully, she stepped onto the steps that were still lowered. The carriage hit another pothole and she almost lost her footing.

The rain falling registered just as a flash from above lit the ground around her. Hedges grew close to the road.

She dared a glance towards the driver, and hoped she’d make it.

On another prayer, she shoved off from the carriage, and for a moment felt free as the air blew around her.

Then she hit the ground, rolled and rolled.

Her head and shoulder slammed against something and everything grayed.

A horrible grinding noise splintered across the air and someone shouted.

Rain ran down the side of her face. She tried to move, but pain exploded in her head and the ground tilted.

Voices filtered through the rain. Another shout.

“ Stupid wench.”

“ Are you out of your mind?”

Pain seared through her shoulder and the world went black.

*****

“ Explain to me again, Ravensworth, why it is we find ourselves gallivanting around the countryside at dawn, and a wet and dreary dawn it is too?” Lockley asked.

Jason didn’t even look at his valet, used to his man’s constant complaints.

“ We could have taken the carriage. Why you insist on riding all this way…”

“ Consider the fresh air good for your fair disposition, Lockley.”

“ Fair disposition?” The disdain in Lockley’s voice made Jason smile.

He glanced at the man who acted as his valet, but in truth was much more than that. Lockley was a small wiry fellow, narrow of face and features. And did not have a single adventurous bone in his stiff, perfectly starched and attired, body. Jason enjoyed bantering with him. “I’ve not heard another whine like you since I dropped Irene, my last mistress.”

Lockley breathed deeply through his nose. “I do not whine. I prefer the comforts of a carriage. Of all people I don’t know why you chose last night of all nights to be out and about. One should not venture out into storms if one can help it.”

Well, he hadn’t exactly known it was going to rain. The storm that hit was quick and furious and over almost as soon as they’d stabled the horses at an inn. As soon as the rain cleared, they set off again, much to Lockley’s dismay at not being able to stay for a hot breakfast. They would have been home hours ago if not for the problems at the docks, the meeting with Sir Taber, and then the storm.

He fingered the scar across his face. He hated storms.

“ My lord.” Lockley cleared his throat. “That was uncalled for. I do apologize.”

Jason only nodded. He opened his mouth, the stinging blithe reply on the end of his tongue. Something lay across the road ahead. The graying dawn cloaked whatever it was in shadows and a heavy fog. They were still several minutes from his estate.

He clicked Fury, urging his stallion into a canter.

A carriage lay on its side, pieces scattered over the road behind it, part of the top crushed and broken. One of the horses neighed, still connected to the wreckage. Jason jumped off Fury and walked slowly up to the animal, talking softly. It would probably have to be put down. From the looks of things, the horse’s leg was broken.

The gelding barely lifted its head.

A carriage door lay to one side of the road and two wheels were missing. One of the remaining ones broken, its spokes splintered, lay at a crooked angle on the axle.

Jason, expecting the worse, looked inside what was left of the carriage.

It was empty. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He scanned the ditch and hedges to see if anyone lay hurt.

“ Lockley, you take the right side of the road, I’ll take the left.” He pulled a pistol, the one he always carried with him when traveling, from his waistcoat and put the poor horse out of its misery. The shot echoed in the silent, shrouded morning. Fury shifted as Jason swung back up into the saddle.

There was one of the missing wheels, wet and gleaming, splattered with mud, crushing a stand of blue mallow flowers.

A few more yards down the road and a bundle caught his attention. A black bundle against the hedges and an old oak tree.

Jason maneuvered Fury off the roadway and onto the wet grass, hopping down. It was a cloak. He knelt beside the person, a young girl.

His muttered curse was lost in the fog. “Lockley!”

Carefully, he eased her over. A gash along her head left a ribbon of blood across her forehead down the left side of her face. He pulled his hand away to check her pulse and noticed his hand was smeared with blood.

On another oath, he jerked the cloak back. A gunshot wound ripped open the front of her left shoulder, the black gown shiny and crusted with blood. Easing her up against him, he saw the entry wound had been in the back. He could not believe what he was seeing. A gunshot wound? A woman shot in the back?

He eased her down and laid his hand on her chest. She was breathing, though thready, and the beat of her heart was weak. Her clothing was soaked through. How long had she been out here? He glanced around. All night?

“ My lord?”

Damn last eve’s storm.

It was a risk moving her. He’d been in battles and situations to know what happened with bloodloss and wounds. More than likely, she’d get an infection. If she didn’t die, it would be an absolute miracle.

He pulled at his cravat until he’d loosened it. With quick practiced moves, he tied the material around her shoulder, the bandage awkward in its location. The bleeding was sluggish, but still glared through his pristine white silk.

“ Give me your cravat, Lockley.”

It was already dangling from his valet’s hand.

He looked up. “Thanks.”

As he was tying it off, he glanced at the ground, saw the bloodstained grass and froze.

Could just be the light.

Reaching over her, he put his finger in the whole in the ground, it wasn’t deep. With a little digging he found what he was looking for.

He pulled the lead ball up out of the ground.
“ Surely that’s not…” Lockley started.

Jason shot him a look. “What does it look like?”

“ The ball.”

“ Precisely.”

“ But that would mean…”

Jason sighed and looked back down at the woman, all dressed in black.
“ That would mean that whoever attacked her, stood above her as she lay here and shot her in the back.”

The thought chilled his jaded heart.

“ I shall fetch the doctor at once.”

Jason nodded as he jerked his Garrick off and wrapped her in it, the heavy layers of coat all but swallowing her small form. Standing, he gently lifted the woman in his arms. He handed her off to Lockley as he mounted Fury, then took her back. He looked down into a pale and oval face. The woman was light and small. Jason still wasn’t certain if she were a woman or a young chit, not that either mattered at the present.

“ Find out what you can,” he said to his valet. “Surely she wasn’t traveling alone. I want to know what happened.”

They took off, not speaking, their horses neck and neck until the road split. Lockley took the right road into the town of Himpley Downs and Jason the left, to Ravenscrest Abbey.

Fury’s hooves flew over the ground with little urging and Jason let him have his head.

He held the woman tight against him, and hoped — he knew against the odds — that she would not die.

 

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