Rebel Dreams (41 page)

“We can dress your hair better later, my lady. ’Twill do for
now.” She pushed a straying pin into Evelyn’s chestnut tresses, making certain
no strands escaped. “You’ll make his lordship a lovely countess.”

The words were said soothingly, but shards of fear pierced
Evelyn’s soul. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She must go to Deirdre.

She flew down passageways to the far wing of the house where
the earl and his wife had their rooms. The rustle of stiff cottons and the
clatter of heavy shoes sounded throughout the halls, but she scarcely saw the
servants running about at this unusual hour.

A worried maid in stiff white apron and black gown opened
the door at Evelyn’s scratch. The Cranvilles’ sitting room was identical to
Alex’s except that the decor had been converted by two separate lifetimes of
memories. A painting of the earl’s foreign daughter hung with a painting of
Deirdre’s ancestral home in the Highlands. The bagpipes, Evelyn knew, were a
jest from Alyson to both of them. But the magnificent collection of shells came
from Barbados, and the enormous claymores over the grate belonged to Deirdre’s
father. The room spilled over with these remembrances of days past, and her
heart swelled with sorrow as she found the small woman huddled on the sofa with
an emerald satin robe in her hands.

She looked up as Evelyn approached, and Evelyn could see the
ravages of tears in reddened eyes and stained cheeks. Deirdre had always seemed
ageless, her petite stature and proud stance disguising her years, but the
disguise was lost in the tide of anguish. She hugged the luxurious robe closer
as Evelyn sat beside her.

“He hasn’t had time to wear his Christmas gift,” Deirdre
murmured brokenly.

Deirdre had lovingly spent months embroidering the earl’s
initials and crest on the robe. Evelyn smoothed the fabric across both of their
laps and fought back tears. “But he loved it. He showed it to me at Christmas
and hung it where he could see it. He loved you so much, and he was so proud of
you. That’s what counts, isn’t it?”

Deirdre began sobbing again, and Evelyn wrapped her arms
around the woman who had showed her nothing but kindness. She didn’t know what
to say, but tears rolled down her cheeks to mix with Deirdre’s.

Alex entered from the earl’s chamber, and his grim weariness
chased away Evelyn’s fears. Tomorrow she would worry about titles. Today her
husband needed her calm and reasonable. She gave Deirdre a handkerchief and
helped her compose herself.

“We’ve sent for Alyson and a physician, but in this storm it
will be a while before they can arrive.” Alex stoically removed his own
handkerchief and offered it to Evelyn to mend her tear-streaked face. “The
solicitors and the newspapers and a number of others will have to be notified.
Will you be all right here?”

Evelyn nodded. “Have someone go to my mother. She has some
sleeping powders that we might need. I’d like to have her here.”

As Deirdre composed herself, Alex awkwardly offered his
condolences. “You’ve known him as long as I, Deirdre. I wish he could have been
my father. He was the closest I ever had to one. He loved you dearly. He wouldn’t
want you to grieve.”

“I know. I know.” Deirdre held the handkerchief to her nose
for a minute. “I’ll be all right in a while, Alex. It’s just . . .
I didn’t expect it!” This last came out as a wail, and Evelyn caught her in her
arms again.

“Neither did I,” Alex said harshly, as if blaming his cousin
for these unfortunate circumstances. Unable to say more, he stalked out.

“I’m making it harder for him, I know,” Deirdre whispered
into her handkerchief. “He can’t cope with emotional outbursts, but I know he
loved Everett in his own way. They fought all the time, but they respected each
other. Everett was so proud of how well Alex has been doing, and he was
thrilled with your marriage. He said Alex couldn’t have made a better choice.”

Evelyn let her wander on. It seemed the wisest thing to do.
There was a gaping emptiness in her own life, knowing the charming man in the
next room was no longer there. She didn’t want to imagine what Deirdre must
feel.

Amanda hurried in a while later, concern lining her brow. She
quickly took charge, sending maids for tea and ordering Deirdre back to bed.
With relief, Evelyn let her take over. Her own emotions were too raw.

Alyson arrived on Rory’s arm and broke into tears at sight
of Evelyn. Again Evelyn opened her arms and cried silently as her new friend
poured out her heart. Rory looked embarrassed and ill-at-ease, and Evelyn sent
him in search of Alex. Alex needed someone with him.

The physician arrived, and various solicitors, and soon
Alyson was called to consult with them, and Evelyn found herself abandoned. The
cold breakfast in the dining room didn’t appeal, and she flinched every time a
servant addressed her as “milady.”

A butler wearing mourning black entered the salon where
Evelyn sat morosely contemplating a cabinet of curios. He bowed and waited for her
to acknowledge him.

At Evelyn’s nod, he announced, “A gentleman to see you,
milady. Lord Cranville was too busy, but the gentleman asked if he might have a
word with you before he departed.”

“Who is it, Burton?”

“A Mr. Franklin, milady. An American, I believe.”

The name seemed familiar, and she nodded acquiescence.
Anyone braving the icy streets outside deserved recognition. The snow had
stopped, but she could see from the window that the world was coated with an
icy frosting of white.

A footman introduced a stout plain-clothed gentleman in
old-fashioned bob wig to the salon. Evelyn sat on the sofa beside the velvet
draperies at the window, and he approached with a gleam of masculine
appreciation.

“Mrs. Hampton, I’m Benjamin Franklin, from Philadelphia. I
hope I do not intrude.”

“You have caught me at an unhappy moment, I fear, sir, but
your journey into the snow should not go unrewarded. I have sent for tea and
coffee. Would you have a seat?” Evelyn regarded him with curiosity. She
remembered Alex mentioning him now, and she studied him as the maid laid out
the table. He had a kindly face, with intelligent eyes that seemed to smile at
some private joke. She rather liked what she saw.

“I will not stay long if it’s inconvenient, but Mr. Hampton
mentioned that you were from Boston and concerned about events there. I’ve
received a letter from a friend in that city, and I thought you might wish to
hear what he had to say.”

Evidently no one had seen fit to inform him of the earl’s
death and Alex’s new status, but Evelyn was in no hurry to correct the
omission. The mention of Boston held her attention. “When was the letter
written? After the Stamp Act went into effect? What is happening now?”

He sipped at his steaming coffee. “Your husband called you a
flaming rebel. Will you be pleased to hear that the courts have, indeed, been
closed down? That much business has come to a halt and ships are trapped in
port with no legal means of loading or unloading?”

“I know we will suffer in the short term, but in the long
term, is it not for the better? Surely Parliament will see that we cannot be
forced to give up our rights. Tell me more.” Evelyn sat forward eagerly.

“Well, the situation becomes a little complicated. Without
courts, a man cannot sue for payment of debts, so there are those who do not
pay simply because they know they can’t be made to. On the other hand, those
nearly ruined by this economic crisis can’t be sent to jail. Many ports are
allowing ships to leave with letters to the effect that no stamps were
available to franchise the cargo, but the owners risk imprisonment if they try
to sell their goods in England or the West Indies without the stamps. Those who
refuse the risk have laid off their crews, and Boston is filling with
unemployed, disgruntled sailors. It is the same in many other cities. I fear it
will be a cruel winter for many.”

Evelyn sighed and closed her hands around her cup as she
stared into it. “I stand to lose all that my father made, but it would be no
different if we had accepted the stamps. There was no cash to pay such a tax. I
don’t believe they would have accepted payment in flour. I wish there were some
way to help. If Parliament would only act swiftly, some end could be brought to
this tragedy.”

“Perhaps you can help. Parliament is made up of men with
minds that can be swayed. What is happening in the colonies has them concerned.
Now they need to hear the voice of reason. What better way than to have you
whispering in their ears at their homes while people like me bellow at them in
their offices?”

Evelyn gave him a slight smile that showed she understood,
but she shook her head. “You have found the wrong person for that. Even if I
knew any of these men or was invited into society, they would not listen to
such speech from a woman. But you see before you a house of mourning. Lord
Cranville died last night. There will be no society for me for some time to
come.”

Franklin became instantly apologetic. “I’m sorry. I had not
realized his illness was so serious.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly. “If you would
forgive me my presumption, I believe you are underestimating the situation. You
may not engage in the frivolities of the season, but in the days to come, the
most influential families in the country will visit to pay their respects.
Politics might not be an appropriate subject in a house of mourning, but it
will give you an opportunity to meet the people who most need influencing. All
that I ask is that you keep that in mind.”

Evelyn pondered what Franklin had said after he left. She
disliked being useless, and she had felt worse than that these last months.
Franklin’s suggestions didn’t sound very effective, but he had given her
something to think about, and she badly needed that.

Caught up in his own grief, pressed by the demands required
of the new earl, Alex retreated behind his wall again, and Evelyn saw little of
him. She spent her days with a grief-stricken widow and daughter, greeting
their visitors, maintaining a flow of conversation when Deirdre stopped in
mid-sentence or Alyson drifted off to another world.

She learned to order the servants to bring tea, to announce
when they weren’t accepting calls, to answer their questions when Deirdre
retreated to her chambers. If she pretended she was home running the warehouse,
it wasn’t too difficult, and it occupied the time.

The evenings were worst. No one called then. Alyson went
home to her husband and children. Deirdre was little or no company. And Alex
was seldom there. Gratefully Evelyn turned to her mother, aunt, and cousin for
company, but they were feeling as if they imposed on a house of mourning.
Increasingly they spoke of traveling to Surrey to visit relatives.

Late at night Alex would come to their bed, but if Evelyn fell
asleep first, he didn’t disturb her, and he would be off again before she woke.
Most nights she tried sitting up and reading until he arrived, but he was
inclined to be surly and uncommunicative. Their lovemaking was often frantic,
as they poured out their fears and frustrations in this physical act rather
than speak of them.

Lying beside him, she closed her eyes and tried to remember
those times when they had laughed and loved together. But that was before the
responsibilities of an earldom had come upon them, and she greatly feared she
would never see that Alex again.

Having abjured responsibility for the greater part of his
life, he took it seriously now. Evelyn caressed his broad back and wished she
could relieve some of his burden.

Franklin’s suggestions kept coming back to her. She had
feared and deplored being called countess, but Franklin had been right about
the influential people crossing their doorstep. Alex was seldom home, but
Evelyn had accepted condolences from aristocrats she had never dreamed would be
more than vague names to her. Some disdained her colonial accent, but the truly
well-bred among them greeted her with more curiosity and politeness than
disdain. She had a chance with them, if she tried.

Did she dare try? Would Alex appreciate her turning the
gracious salons of Cranville House into tea parties for Whigs and Tories? She feared
he wouldn’t, but she could not make the idea go away. Although her beliefs were
pure Whig, there was little sense in preaching to the converted. Alex’s title
put him in a position to be coveted by the influential Tory party, and it was
there that she must lay her groundwork.

Thomas Henderson came to express his sympathy and ask if
there were anything he could do. Again he pressed for the details in the packet
about the smugglers, and Evelyn uneasily remembered she had promised to look
for it, but that problem seemed too distant. She distracted him with talk of
the people she had met and asked about all those he knew. By the time he left,
he had learned nothing, but Evelyn possessed a few more valuable pieces of
information. If she meant to make her scheme work, she needed to know these
people as well as they knew each other. It wouldn’t be easy.

Alyson was of no use. She had never cultivated society and
spent most of her time in Scotland. Evelyn doubted that she knew the difference
between Whig and Tory or even cared. Rory was shrewd enough to have connections
in the political world, but asking him questions was tantamount to asking Alex,
and she wasn’t ready for that yet. Deirdre was her best hope.

After that first emotional week, Deirdre regained some
semblance of control, but Evelyn often found her lost and drifting down some
empty hall with no notion where she was going or why. She needed focus as much
as Evelyn.

Entertaining was out of the question, and they could not be
expected to begin their round of visiting yet, but Evelyn had urged some of
their more sympathetic callers to come again, and to her surprise, many of them
did. She started with these people, asking Deirdre questions after they left,
learning of their lives and relations.