Dark Before the Rising Sun (50 page)

Half an hour ago Conny and Robin had returned soaking wet from their wanderings, but it had only started to rain about a quarter of an hour ago, and even then not heavily enough to soak them through to the skin. And as Rhea stood there holding the wet shirts, she became aware of a grittiness coating the material. Touching her fingertip to her lips, she tasted salt. Looking closer at the pile of clothes, she saw for the first time the sand around them.

They had been warned against going down to the beach, and yet they had headed there straightaway upon being left alone. She would have to have a word with them about that, and if her warning did not suffice to keep them from exploring where they shouldn't, then she would have to mention it to Dante, Rhea decided, thinking that at least for now it was something that she could keep to herself.

And on that thought she went to see to the needs of her son, wondering if he would be as mischievous as Robin and Conny when he was their age.

Downstairs, Bess was enjoying a sherry while warming herself before the fire, her eyes lingering on Dante's hard face and encountering his gaze too frequently for it not to be purposeful.

“You have done wonders with this lodge,” Bess commented, glancing around the cozy hall with a sigh of pleasure.

“You must tell Rhea that, for she has worked hard to make it comfortable,” Dante said, taking no credit. “And, of course, Alastair and Francis, who saw to the cobwebs and grime,” he added with a laugh, although Anne Seacombe would never have believed that either of these handsome gentlemen could have been found cleaning like scullery maids.

Anne glanced shyly between the two men, but her gaze lingered longer on Alastair Marlowe's tanned face, for, although Francis Dominick was the handsomer of the two, there was something about Alastair Marlowe that had Anne watching his every move. He was older than Francis, yet there was a boyish quality in him, almost a shyness, which Francis Dominick, accustomed to wealth, had never known. Every time those hazel eyes of Alastair's met hers, she felt she had known him all her life. It was ridiculous, but it was a pleasurable feeling nonetheless, she thought as she smiled at him, thinking he was very kind even to acknowledge her presence. She must seem a silly young thing.

But Anne Seacombe would have been surprised to read Alastair Marlowe's mind at that moment, for he was fighting the memory of her pressed against his back while they rode along the road. And, on that thought, he banished Anne Seacombe from his mind as if sweeping her overboard.

Having found Kit still asleep, Rhea returned to the hall in time to find Bess accepting another sherry from her host. As soon as Dante heard Rhea's step, he turned away from Bess, a smile touching the hardness of his face as he watched Rhea approaching, the firelight held captive in the gold of her hair.

“And how is Kit?” he asked, knowing where she had been.

“Fast asleep, as indeed Kirby said he would be,” Rhea said with a smile while she poured herself a cup of tea. “More tea, Anne?” Rhea inquired politely, startling the girl from her daydreams.

“Thank you, m'lady,” Anne spoke softly, not wishing to draw any more attention to her blushing cheeks.

“I hope you're not coming down with a cold, Anne,” Bess commented. “You look feverish,” she said, far from realizing the real reason for her daughter's flushed appearance. Nor would Bess have believed it, for she thought Anne was still a little girl.

Rhea glanced around, making certain that no one was in need of anything. For a brief moment her eyes met Robin's, and she frowned when those violet eyes quickly glanced away. She promised herself a word with that young man. Rhea's frown gave way to a smile as she watched Charles Seacombe edging closer to where Robin and Conny were sitting cross-legged on the floor before the hearth. And in a few minutes he was sitting beside them, a look of amazement on his face while he listened to one of Conny's more outrageous tales.

“We saw Sir Jacob today,” Dante said, eyeing Bess curiously.

“Oh? How is he?” she asked. Her eyes were locked on the fire, for she could not meet Dante's searching gaze.

“He seems quite well. He's aged some, but Rhea seems to think he is a wily old fox,” Dante said with an appreciative grin.

“How very astute of Lady Jacqobi,” Bess said. “He always has been one for snooping into other people's affairs. He just cannot seem to leave well enough alone.”

“I am surprised that, if you were in Westlea Abbot, you didn't stop in to say hello to him. I think he is lonely, Bess,” Dante said, and to the oversensitive woman his words sounded like criticism.

“You may as well know, if he has not already told you, that things have not been good between us for some time. He seldom comes to call at Seawyck. Besides, I had quite a lot of shopping to do. The shops there stock far more fashionable items than do the ones in Merleigh,” she explained, forgetting to say that, as the highly respected Sir Jacob's granddaughter, she could get better credit in Westlea Abbot. In fact, she could barely show her face in Merleigh any more without some tradesman cornering her on the street and demanding to be paid.

Bess glanced at Lady Rhea Claire, taking note of the fine quality of the other woman's sapphire blue riding habit. Bess couldn't quite control her envy. “That's a beautiful skirt and jacket. I see the style of cut is more severe than it was last year. I must confess that I rather liked the one you had on yesterday,” she heard herself admitting, and then could have cut out her tongue for complimenting the other woman.

“Why, thank you,” Rhea said, but her smile did not come as easily, for Bess's casually spoken words confirmed to Rhea that it was indeed Bess she had seen hurrying up the street in Merleigh yesterday. Perhaps she had been the person who gave Dante the note. “You must have been in Merleigh. I am sorry that we did not have the chance to speak.”

“Errands, you know,” Bess said airily, not saying that she'd been to the bank and tried unsuccessfully to take out a loan. “One is so busy nowadays. What with going to the silversmith to give approval to a special design he is working on for a new tea service I've ordered, and to the jeweler who is resetting my rubies, and then to my mantua-maker and dressmaker, well, there just do not seem to be enough hours in the day,” Bess said, ignoring the look of surprise that had spread across Anne's face, for Anne knew they had been selling some of their silver, certainly not buying any. And the rubies, well, they had been sold last winter in order to keep food on the table. “And, of course, Anne seems to grow an inch taller every year,” Bess said, thinking to halt anything indiscreet Anne might say. “I am having constantly to buy new shoes for her. But you know how the young seem to shoot up overnight. Why, I swear Charles grew two inches in a month.”

“How old are you now, Anne?” Dante asked, thinking Anne bore a startling resemblance to Bess when young.

“Eleven,” Bess answered quickly.

Alastair choked on his brandy. Whipping out his handkerchief, he wiped his tearing eyes, a look of horror on his face as he eyed Anne Seacombe.

“Mother!” Anne said in disbelief. “You know I am well past fifteen. We celebrated my birthday months ago,” she reminded her mother, staring at her as if she'd gone mad.

“Really?” Bess said. “I can scarcely keep up with the years anymore. Are you certain?” Bess laughed weakly, wondering where time had gone, and taken her life with it. Glancing at Rhea, she was struck again, unpleasantly so, by her incredible beauty. Damn her, Bess thought, and glancing down into the sherry swirling around in the glass she held so tightly, she could see her own reflection. Suddenly she seemed old and haggard, for the face reflected there was distorted and ugly and mirrored her future. “Good Lord, all this talk of birthdays is bringing on a migraine. I was so young when Anne was born, why we've often been mistaken for sisters, haven't we, child?” Bess asked, unwilling to give in to time's passage.

Rhea suddenly felt very sorry for Bess Seacombe. She hadn't missed the stricken look on the older woman's face when her daughter said she was fifteen. Rhea knew that Bess must be suffering for losing Dante, let alone to a younger woman. Rhea understood the despair Bess was feeling, for she herself would not be able to go on living if she lost Dante.

The hour that followed seemed an eternity. Finally Bess thought she heard the winds dying down. She wasted no time bidding her host and hostess farewell, for she could stomach only so much, and seeing that possessive, loving expression in Dante's gray eyes when he gazed at his wife was almost too much for Bess.

The worst of the storm had indeed passed when Bess was helped into the saddle by a strong young groom. She was riding a horse borrowed from Dante's stable.

“We'll keep Bristol Boy here as long as you like, Bess,” Dante offered, standing beside Rhea as they watched their guests depart.

“Thank you,” Bess replied gratefully. She had looked in on her horse and couldn't find anything to complain about in the way his injury was being handled. Clauson seemed to know his job. “I'll be back over in a couple of days to see how he is doing. I should be able to take him home then.”

“Are you certain you want to take that path across the moors? It'll be muddy after the rains,” Dante asked, concerned. “I'm going to send a couple of the grooms along to escort you,” he decided suddenly, for he would hate to see Bess and her children stranded on the moors when darkness fell. “There is no hurry about sending the extra horse back, Bess. If you need it to replace Bristol Boy, then keep him awhile.”

“That is not necessary, Dante,” Bess said, but she was pleased that he should care. It had been a long time since anyone had been concerned about her welfare. “And thank you for the offer, but I have a well-stocked stable. It's one of the few things Harry left me,” Bess said with a bitter smile.

“Nevertheless, I intend to see that you reach Seawyck with no further delays.” Dante intended no slight, but to Bess it sounded as if he could hardly wait to get her off his hands.

“Thank you,” she said in such a subdued voice that both Dante and Rhea glanced at her in surprise, wondering what was wrong.

Rhea and Dante remained standing together in the opened doorway of the lodge, watching the Seacombes and the two grooms ride away.

“She is not a very happy woman, Dante,” Rhea spoke sadly. “I feel so sorry for her.”

Dante glanced at his wife, smiling. “I can remember quite well when you were of a mind to send her to the gallows,” he reminded her.

“She has suffered enough for the mistake she made all those years ago. She lost you. Instead, I have you,” Rhea said, looking up at him, little realizing how seductive her look was.

“I would have said that
I
have
you
,” Dante responded, and since they were alone on the small entrance porch, he took Rhea in his arms and held her close, the warmth of her body burning his. Then his lips met hers in a long, tender kiss.

Bess glanced back at the lodge just in time to see them locked in that passionate embrace. Her eyes filled with tears. It was not fair, she thought, feeling such a deep bitterness that it almost tasted like poison in her mouth.

“Mother? How could you possibly have thought I was only eleven years of age?” Anne demanded, which was the wrong question at the wrong time. “You knew very well how old I am. We spoke only recently of how other girls my age were wed and even giving birth,” Anne continued, and the unpleasant thought that she could very easily be a grandmother soon hit Bess like a blow to the stomach.

“Well, my dear, you know how
old age
makes a person forgetful,” Bess said between gritted teeth, little realizing how very beautiful she was looking with her windblown hair and her cheeks flushed to a rosy hue, her dark eyes sparkling with anger.

“I cannot believe how very beautiful Lady Jacqobi is. And she is so nice too. Not at all what you would expect of a duke's daughter,” Anne said, salting the wound. “And, Mother, I can see why you were so much in love with Dante Leighton. Why, he is the handsomest man I have ever seen,” Anne went on. “He looks just like a Greek god. Don't you think so, Mother? And did you see how very attractive that nice Mr. Marlowe is?” Anne asked hesitantly, blushing.

“No, I didn't, but then my eyesight isn't what it used to be,” Bess muttered. “If you are casting your eyes at any one, then I should take a closer look at Lord Chardinall, for he will be a duke one day, and a very, very wealthy young man. He's damned attractive too—for a mere boy, that is,” Bess added on a savage note.

“Mr. Marlowe is very wealthy too, Mother. He had quite a large sum of that sunken treasure they found. I overheard that young Conny Brady talking about it. It was quite an adventure. But, anyway, I would think you would be pleased that I care more about my feelings for a man than for his bank account. After all, that was the mistake you made,” Anne reminded her mother, which was the last thing Bess wanted to hear.

Anne eyed her mother in growing concern, for her mother could have a terrible temper. Not that she ever hurt them; it just made her more difficult to live with. “What is wrong, Mother? Have I said anything to anger you?”

“Anger me? Of course not, my child,” Bess denied in a tight voice. “I am just surprised by some of the things that seem to be on your mind of late. Like men,” Bess couldn't resist adding. “There is plenty of time, Anne.”

“But, Mother, you were little older than I am when you were engaged to Dante Leighton. Why should it be different with me?” Anne asked.

“Mother? Conny and Lord Robin said I could come over anytime and go exploring with them,” Charles's young voice piped in, reminding Bess of yet another responsibility. It didn't help to think that her son was the same age as Dante's wife's brother. “Can I, Mother? Can I?” he pleaded.