Emerald Desire (Emerald Trilogy) (22 page)

“
Aye." The woman began cutting the required amount, while Anna stood a respectful distance away. Though she was Dera's confidante in private, in public she became a servant and waited in silence.

"Do you live in the village?" Dera asked Mrs. Dugan.

"Aye, your ladyship. In the back of the shop. ‘Tis more convenient for me that way."

Dera walked among the counters and fingered the bolts of material. "Were you frightened by all the burnings?"

Mrs. Dugan glanced up, eager to converse. "Aye, that I was. I feared those rebels would set the torch to the village. Once, I seen them with my own eyes! In the dark of night when I let my cat out."

"You don't say?" Dera asked with interest.

"I did," she said, a look of indecision on her face. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, but I saw that Flannery fellow, the one accused of killing your husband."

"Oh."

"Now don't go getting yourself upset, my lady. I mean no harm," Mrs. Dugan quickly assured Dera, frightened that her ready tongue would lose Dera's patronage.

"Of course you didn't. I'm curious to know if the man has been captured."

"Nay, the king's men haven't caught him. I talked with the constable myself after seeing him and his rebels. You know, just to ease my mind."

"What did the constable say?"

"Well," the woman whispered in conspiratorial fashion, "it seems like the fellow just up and disappeared. No one has seen him for more than a fortnight. 'T'ain't been no more burnings, so it looks like we're rid of him for good. The constable said the army has ceased their searching. They feel sure he's a good distance from here and not likely to return." She smiled at Dera, pleased that she had information the young woman was interested in knowing.

Quint was gone, and though Dera had suspected as much, a sick feeling clawed at her stomach. Suddenly she was tired and wanted to return home.

"Thank you for the material, Mrs. Dugan, but I must head for home.”

“
Oh, but I haven’t finished cutting the tulle yet.”

“
Please send it to the manor when you’ve finished. Good day." Dera left the shop, Anna following.

On the way back to the manor, Dera sat across from Anna in the carriage and took deep breaths until the nausea abated. "That man has left you too much misery," Anna said.

Dera's voice broke. "Don't say anymore." A tear slipped down her cheek, because she knew now that Quint was gone, truly gone....

Dominick paced the length of the garden, annoyance prevented him from sitting and enjoying its glory. He felt he had played the devoted friend long enough. He hated being a guest in Dera's house; he wished to be more to her and he hoped she would see his sincerity. Dera had told him she was pregnant and this news only made him more eager to prove to her how much he loved her.

He found her alone in the library going over the account books. Now that she was mistress of the estate, he knew she felt obligated to turn her attention to managing it and seeing that everything ran smoothly. Even with his help, she still insisted she be informed about all problems.

Dominick frowned. Her dark head was bent over the ledgers. He thought it was improper for a woman to undertake such a chore; a woman should devote herself to a man, not to men's matters.

She smiled absently when he entered. She had grown used to Dominick's presence and was grateful to him for helping her through the ordeal of Avery's funeral, but she still found herself unable to return his feelings of love.

Standing awkwardly before the desk, he cleared his throat. "I should like a word with you," he said.

"Hmmm?" she said, going back to the book.

"A word with you, Dera." She glanced up again and noticed Dominick was agitated. She closed the books.

"I'm sorry. Tell me your problem, Dominick."

His face softened and he was thankful to have her attention at last. He went to the other side of the desk and drew her gently to her feet. He encircled her with eager arms. Dera. rested her head against his shoulder. "I've neglected you," she said. "You're very dear to me."

"I want to be more than a dear friend. I want to be your lover. But more than that I ask you to become my wife and return to New Orleans with me."

"I can't," she whispered, disentangling herself from his arms. She admitted that she did find him attractive, liking the way his voice soothed her and the way he tenderly held her in his arms. He made her feel warm and secure. But she didn’t love him in the way she would always love Quint. There was heat but little passion in her feelings for Dominick, and she doubted she could ever give her heart totally to him. More than anything she wished to nurture Quint’s child in the manor, to fulfill Quint’s dream. She hoped she would bear a son. Though the child would always bear Avery’s name, she would tell him when he was old enough to understand about his natural father.

"Dera, I cannot believe you would give up love to stay in this treacherous land. I hate to think the wealth has corrupted you."

She smiled at Dominick's idealism. In many ways, he was more naive than she. He possessed all the qualities she had longed to find in Quint, but she couldn't envision being married to Dominick. "The money isn't one of my reasons. I can't marry you. Please try to accept that."

Like an urchin begging for bread, his eyes implored her. "I shall care for the child as if it were my own. We could make a good life."

“
I don’t wish to discuss this now.”

He grabbed her arms, and his eyes became hard. "Everyone assumes I am your lover since I reside in the same house. I hate for your honor to be questioned in the taverns. It is a disgrace to me also."

"I'm sorry for you, Dominick, but I care not a whit what anyone says about me."

"But I care and I can't remain under this roof much longer."

"I hate to lose your friendship, but I understand and am sorry for hurting you. However, my life is here." She hoped she had stated her case as firmly as possible without hurting his feelings, for Dominick was a gentle soul.

He searched her face, but finally dropped his hand, seeing that he had lost. "I will begin making arrangements for my return home."

She kissed his cheek. "I want us to remain friends."

"Yes, friends we shall remain." He left her, his shoulders drooping with defeat, wondering why God had not answered his prayers.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

On Dominick’s last evening, he and Dera dined formally, their meal enhanced by candlelight. She had put her widow’s weeds away in honor of Dominick’s departure and wore a gown of peach satin with brown ruching at the neckline and hem. The color of the gown complemented her ivory complexion; her cheeks glowed a soft pink.

He listened to her and smiled politely, but his heart felt heavy. He doubted he would be able to keep up the pretense for the rest of the night.

"You've hardly touched your food," she scolded him playfully.

"My apologies. The fare is delicious, but I have no appetite. You must excuse me for. . . ." His sentence was interrupted by the creaking of the front door, then a gust of wind blew through the room, causing the candles to flicker.

Lydia rushed into the dining room. She looked as if she had been rolling with the pigs. Her hair was matted in filthy strands; she wore the same gown Dera had seen her wearing weeks ago. She was soiled and ragged, but it was the fanatical glint of her sapphire eyes which disturbed Dera more than her appearance…and those eyes bored into Dera like a nail through wood.

"You're to have a babe," Lydia said in a raspy voice.

Dera and Dominick both rose in unison, the meal forgotten. "That's true," Dera told her.

"The Lord isn't just. You've always gotten everything you wanted." Lydia shook with emotion.

"I've never gotten anything I wanted, Lydia," Dera said.

"Ha! I should spit on you. Married to a wealthy man, and in six months time, you are a rich and pregnant widow. Don't tell me the babe is your husband's, for I think not."

Dominick moved forward. "You slander Dera with your words. The child isn't mine."

"It isn't you I had in mind. Ask Dera if she doesn't carry the seed of an Irish rebel."

Dominick glanced at Dera in astonishment.

"Go home to Timothy, Lydia. He needs you," Dera said gently.

"Nay, I hate him, but I will leave. I hope your child dies," she said coldly and departed into the night.“Dear God, she's demented," Dera said, putting her hand on her forehead. "Timothy must be told of this."

“
Forget Timothy." Dominick's voice sounded bitter. "Is it true about your child? Avery wasn’t the father?"

“
Lydia spoke the truth," she admitted with some hesitation.

"You should have told me," he said.

"There was no reason to tell you. My husband wasn't a husband in the true sense and I never intended any of this to happen. That's partly why I chose not to accept your proposal."

"I see.
Bon soir
," he said curtly and left the room.

Lydia stood on the edge of the bog. She looked into the dark veiled blackness of the night and smiled. Her Gavin and the infant son she had lost waited on the other side for her. They beckoned to her. Every night Gavin and the child waited for her in the same spot. But she never dared cross the bog. It was too dark and she could never have found her way. Still, she ached to be with them.

Slowly, she poised a foot in mid air and stepped into the wet, spongy muck. In a panic, she realized there was no bottom, just an endless, fathomless pit of black mud. "Gavin!" she called, but when she looked to the other side, he and the baby had disappeared. "Help me!"

Her arms flailed helplessly; the mud sloshed up to her nose. She felt unable to breathe. Then she heard Timothy's hysterical cry. She knew he was searching for her and would take her back home and run his hot, sweaty hands over her body. She could no longer endure being touched by him and performing her wifely duty. She decided that anything was better than living with a man she didn't love.

She ceased thrashing and grew still. Slowly, she allowed herself to be sucked under by the warm, soft mud.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Dera finished slipping into her shoes the moment Anna walked into her room. "She's settled downstairs in the drawing room," Anna told her. "My, but she is an uppity one!"

Dera grimaced and smoothed down her black gown. "She's a Fairfax. Lady Cecelia knows no other way to behave. I hope her visit isn't an extended one. She unnerves me." The message of Cecelia's imminent arrival had reached Dera only the previous night and she was barely prepared for it. Dera made a prayer of thanks that Dominick had postponed his trip after learning of Lydia's fatal accident. Without his steady presence, she doubted she would have been able to pull Timothy through the ordeal.

For the most part, her uncle seemed to be holding up well, but she knew he wasn't over the shock yet. Lydia's death had been ruled as accidental, but Dera believed the distraught woman had taken her own life. And she guessed Timothy did also.

Now Cecelia was perched like a vicious black crow in the drawing room. Dera greeted her with a polite kiss and to her surprise, received one in return.

"You're looking well, my dear," Cecelia said. "A bit pale perhaps, but under the circumstances. . . ." She bit her lower lip. "Avery's death was a great shock to my system. I'm just recovering from it."

Dera gave her a wan smile. "I've rung for tea. Your trip from London must have been tiring."

"Indeed. But I wish to know about you. How are you faring?"

"Very well. The estate is running smoothly. Dominick, I mean Monsieur Saucier, has been invaluable to me."

Cecelia pursed her mouth in disapproval. "Really, Dera, he should have left long ago. He's a handsome, eligible man. You know how people gossip."

"There's nothing to gossip about." Dera defended herself against Cecelia's attack. "Nothing improper has happened."