Tomorrow's Dreams (50 page)

Seth cracked open one eye to peer at her. “My father subscribed to the stronger measures?”

She shook her head vigorously. “He just happened along. I was returning from spending a fortnight with a schoolmate when my carriage was set upon by a mob of alliance members. Both my guards were overpowered and pulled from their saddles, and my driver was knocked from his perch by a flying stone. The horses, panicked by the chaos, pulled the driverless vehicle a mile or so down the road before it finally flipped over.”

“It's a miracle you weren't killed,” Seth commented.

The wet towel swept the length of his thigh. “Even more miraculous still that I wasn't hurt, though I was terrified out of my wits. You can imagine my relief when your handsome father came along and insisted on taking me back to the manor house. He was so courteous and charming that by the time he delivered me to my father's door, I was completely smitten. So much so, that I took to contriving ‘accidental' encounters so I could see him.”

She moved to his other thigh. “Until my conversations with Martin, I didn't fully understand the patroon system or see how wrong it was. I wasn't even quite sure why my carriage had been attacked. He opened my eyes quickly enough.”

The cloth glided over his knee to his calf. “Before long we fell in love and took to meeting in an abandoned farmhouse a couple of miles from the manor. I don't have to tell you what we did during our trysts. Naturally I kept our romance a secret from my father. He harbored hopes of me marrying our elderly, widowed neighbor, Cornelius De Windt, and would have evicted the Vanderlyns if he had so much as suspected my feelings for Martin.”

“I was conceived at the farmhouse?”

“Yes. Though your father didn't find out until many years later.” She began to scrub his foot. “Not that I deliberately kept the news from him. The morning of the day I intended to tell him, I was called to my father's study. He—”

“Tickles,” Seth interrupted, jerking his foot away.

Louisa laughed and tossed the washing cloth into the basin. “Your father had ticklish feet, too,” she said, pulling the blankets back up to his waist.

He smiled at that bit of information. “So what happened?”

She rose and went to the highboy across the room. “My maid had noticed my morning illness. Correctly guessing the cause, she took her suspicions to my father,” she replied, opening the top drawer. “When I arrived at his study, I found him waiting with the manor midwife. Without giving me a chance to confirm or deny my maid's allegations, he ordered me examined right then and there.” She held up a snowy nightshirt for inspection.

Apparently judging it suitable, she tossed it over her arm and brought it back to the bed. “I thought he'd kill me when the midwife confirmed my pregnancy. Only the day before he'd promised my hand in marriage to Cornelius in exchange for a bordering parcel of land he'd coveted for years. Of course he demanded that I name your father. Knowing that he'd have Martin killed if I told the truth, I accused my mad brother, Pieter, of raping me.” She looked up from the nightshirt placket she was unbuttoning. “What do you know about Pieter?”

Seth shrugged one shoulder. “The manor caretaker told me that he was mad and forced himself on several of the housemaids.”

Louisa nodded slowly. “I'd overheard the servants gossiping about the matter only a week earlier and thought—I—” Her voice failed then, her words strangled by a sob.

“Mother—” Seth began, laying a comforting hand on her arm.

Her face twisting with terrible anguish, she dropped the nightshirt to her lap and grasped his hand, staring into his eyes with desperate appeal. “I know that accusing Pieter was an awful thing to do,” she said, her voice vibrating with raw emotion, “but please believe me when I tell you that I thought it the only way to safeguard both you and Martin. I was young and foolish.… I never imagined the tragic consequences of my lies or that it would be you, the babe I sought to protect, who would suffer the worst. I—” She broke again, tears raining down her cheeks.

Seth laced his fingers through hers and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ssh. Don't. You don't have to explain. I understand. I, too, have lied to protect a loved one, and with equally tragic results.” He smiled gently at her stricken face. “It seems we've discovered another trait I inherited from you: we both think with our hearts instead of our heads.”

At her faint answering smile, he added, “If you don't feel up to telling the rest of the story just now, I'll understand.”

She wiped the dampness from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “No. I want to tell you.”

“You're sure?” He looked at her dubiously. When she nodded, he said, “I know from the Pinkerton reports that Pieter was confined to an asylum shortly thereafter, and according to the caretaker you disappeared as well. As I remember, your father told everyone that you'd gone to Paris to buy a trousseau.”

She nodded. “He wasn't about to let my pregnancy stand between him and his precious land, so he locked me and my shameful condition in the attic of the old patroon house, an abandoned cottage about a half mile from the manor. The trousseau story was his way of explaining my absence and stalling the wedding until after you were born.”

“I'm surprised your father didn't insist on a hasty marriage so he could fob me off as De Windt's.”

“He was worried that you might inherit Pieter's madness and was afraid that people would think that it was the Van Cortlandt, not the Decker, blood that was tainted.”

“So he planned to wait until I was born and then dispose of me like an unwanted kitten,” Seth stated flatly, chilled that any human, much less his own grandfather, could be so cruel.

“I didn't know of his plan, truly I didn't!” she swore, releasing his hand to pick up the nightshirt again. “He told me that you were to be fostered with a good family. I agreed only because I was certain that Martin would doubt the stories of my Paris trip and find a way to rescue me before you were born.”

Seth raised up a fraction to help her slip the nightshirt over his head. “But he never came, did he?” he inquired gently, sliding his arms through the sleeves.

“No. He thought I'd decided against an uncertain future with him in favor of a secure one with Cornelius, and left the county shortly thereafter.” She drew back the covers to pull the hem of the gown over his hips and down to his calves. “So for the next seven months, I remained a prisoner. Except for the attendance of my jailer, the midwife, and an occasional visit from my father, I was left completely alone. I passed the days talking to you and making plans for your future. By the time you were born I loved you so much, I thought I'd die of it. I almost did die of grief when I was told a few hours later that you had died.”

She shook her head, her expression pensive as she tucked the blankets around his shoulders. “It wasn't until my father lay dying seventeen years later that he confessed to having ordered you killed and told me that his manservant had instead abandoned you at St. John's Chapel. I tried to find you then, but to no avail.” She seemed about to add something, but instead kissed his forehead. “And that, my boy, is the whole tale.”

“Not quite,” he contradicted, smiling at her maternal kiss. “I know that you were widowed in '51, shortly before your father died, and that you married Martin in '52. But I don't know how you two were reunited or why you came to Denver.”

She nodded. “Martin's father died about the same time as mine, and he returned to the county to sell what was by then his parents' land. As fate would have it, we met on the road where he'd rescued me eighteen years earlier. It turned out that he, too, was widowed. When I told him about you and my father's betrayal, we reconciled. We were married a month later. You know from your reports that Corenlius and I never had a child, so all his property went to his sons from his first marriage. What was left of the Van Cortlandt fortune was put in trust for Pieter's care. Since there was nothing to hold us to the county, we decided to come West and start anew. Except for always wondering about your fate, we lived happily until Martin's death two years ago.”

“And that truly is the end of the tale,” she declared. “Now, unless you're up to eating some broth, I expect you to honor your part of the deal and take a nap.”

Seth made a face at the thought of food. “I'll take a nap.”

After giving his cheek a fond pat, she rose. “I'll be nearby if you need anything.” As she gathered up the damp towels and basin of water, she began to sing the same song she'd been singing when he'd awakened.

“That's pretty,” he murmured. “What is it?”

“It's a Dutch lullaby my mother sang to me when I was a child. I used to sing it to you when you were in my womb.” She chuckled. “You were an active baby, and it stilled your kicking.”

The mention of lullabies and babies brought forth the memory of Penelope singing her “Song of Dreams” to Tommy. His voice catching on his heartbreak, Seth asked, “Penelope … is she well?”

Louisa set the towels and basin on the washstand with a sigh. “She spends most of her time sleeping, though she is talking now. She told me about your son … I'm truly sorry. I know how painful it is not having the chance to know and love your own child.”

“I've been too ill to feel much grief,” he admitted, guilt stabbing at his chest. While he'd been lying here in sweet oblivion, Penelope had undoubtedly been suffering the torments of hell. Wanting nothing more than to hold her, comfort her, and promise her the forever he was now free to pledge, he asked, “Can I see her? I mean, after I take my nap?”

When Louisa didn't immediately respond, he rolled onto his side to look at her. Her face was turned away from him, but there was something about the set of her shoulders that sent a shiver of uneasiness tingling up his spine. “What is it, Mother?” he demanded, dreading the answer.

She turned around then and faced him, her expression an unsettling combination of misery and compassion. “She refuses to see you. She—”

“Blames me for the death of our son,” he finished for her.

“No … no!” she exclaimed, shaking her head as she rushed across the room to the bed. “It's not like that. She blames herself for the baby's death and for almost causing yours as well. She thinks that she's cursed by God. She fears that if she comes near you, you'll come to more harm.”

“That's ridiculous,” he snapped, laboring to sit up, determined to somehow go to Penelope and talk some sense into her. “None of what happened was her fault.”

Louisa easily wrestled him back down to his pillows. “I've told her that, but she won't listen. She won't listen to you, either. She's too full of grief to see logic.”

“But I have to do something to help her!” he protested, frustrated by his invalid state. That Penelope was suffering and he was unable to comfort her was beyond bearing.

Louisa shook her head and braced both hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the bed as he tried to rise again. “She'll simply be all the more convinced that she's a curse if you get up too soon and have a relapse. Give her time. She'll come around. I promise.”

A sob ripped from Seth's chest as he stared helplessly up into his mother's sympathetic face. “I love her so much. There has to be something I can do to help her.”

“I think you already have,” she said, stroking his cheek with loving hands. “Some friends of yours, the Skolfields, came by. Apparently you left them a note informing them of your whereabouts and your baby's death. Anyway, they expressed their condolences and brought a reply to the telegraph you had them send. I took the liberty of opening it.”

“Penelope's brother is coming, I assume?” he asked, though he never doubted it for a moment.

“Yes. He and his wife will be here on the fifteenth. That's the day after tomorrow.”

Seth frowned. The fifteenth? That meant he'd been unconscious for … “I've been here four days?” he asked, aghast.

“Yes. And according to the doctor, you'll be here for a great while longer. Not,” she added, giving his shoulder a squeeze, “that I'm complaining. I'm looking forward to pampering you.”

He smiled faintly at that prospect.

“As for your young lady,” she continued, “I think that seeing her brother and most especially her sister-in-law will do her a world of good. She said that her sister-in-law is a doctor, and she seems to put a great deal of stock in her skills. Perhap's the woman can disabuse this notion of a curse.”

Hallie
. Seth felt a weak rush of hope. If anyone could make Penelope see logic, it was her no-nonsense sister-in-law.

As he'd seen Penelope do a thousand times before, Seth crossed his fingers and wished upon his lucky star.

Chapter 27

They picnicked on her favorite bluff by the ocean. Like the weather and her company, the scene was perfect. Billowy white clouds paraded across the cerulean sky, each in the unmistakable shape of a circus animal. The air, scented with lilac and clover, was sweeter than the perfume of Eden; the breeze carried the warm kiss of spring. Below them, smooth and gleaming like an endless spill of liquid jade, stretched the sea. All around them bloomed flowers of every color and genus. There were rabbits everywhere.

Seth had laid a jewel-toned Persian carpet on the grass upon which they now lay arm in arm, watching the delighted Tommy scamper from rabbit to rabbit, feeding them gingerbread and nuzzling his rosy cheek against their fur.

He was such a bright, curious boy, their Tommy. So tall and straight and healthy, like his father. He continually ran to and fro, forever in motion, forever into mischief. “A real handful,” as his nanny would say, a fond smile wreathing her lips.