WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE Read online

  “Oh, how interesting,” Lady Penhollow drawled. “I hadn’t heard this.”

  Eden winced inwardly at the error she had made the day before. “Yes, that is correct,” she said, and held her breath, expecting him to label her a fraud.

  Lady Penhollow’s smile curled even wider.

  Then, to Eden’s surprise, the doctor nodded. “Yes, yes, that is how it should be. Memory comes back in stages. A thought here, a reminder of the past there. Eventually, it will add up to the sum of the whole.”

  “It’s how it should be?” Lady Penhollow repeated, her smile disappearing.

  “Yes!” Dr. Hargrave confirmed emphatically.

  Eden shifted uneasily. “Are there any stories of patients who never regained their memories?”

  “Many, many! It’s all in the mind, you see, and medicine knows very little about what goes on up here.” He tapped his forehead with a finger. “But don’t you worry, Miss Eden. You are among friends—”

  Eden wondered if he included Lady Penhollow in that number.

  “I was thinking to myself last night how disconcerting it must be to not know who you are or how you got to be there,” the good doctor continued. “Some amnesia patients have ended up in sanitariums and were forced to stay there for years, even after their memories had returned. But we won’t let that happen to you. Hobbles Moor isn’t the sort of place to turn its back on a person in need. Is it, Lady Penhollow?”

  Lady Penhollow’s gaze shifted from the doctor to Eden. She drew a deep breath and then replied with forced pleasantness. “Of course not, Doctor.”

  He smiled reassuringly at Eden and picked up his bag. “I will see you on the morrow.” Lady Penhollow escorted him out and Eden found herself alone.

  The minute the door shut behind them, she was assailed with guilt. She was an impostor, a charlatan of the worst sort. She shouldn’t keep misleading these people. For a few hours, she’d let herself believe she could live her lie, but now, she wasn’t certain.

  But then, what choice did she have?

  A knock interrupted her worries. Betsy stuck her head in the room. “Lord Penhollow,” she reminded Eden pointedly.

  Almost mechanically, Eden followed Betsy down the hall. The windows were open in each of the rooms they passed in spite of the threat of rain. The fog outside had not dissipated but drifted along the ground eerily.

  Eden heard Lord Penhollow before she saw him. His voice floated in through one of the windows toward the front of the house.

  Her worries evaporated. Instinctively, she moved toward the open front door and the sound of his voice, passing Betsy in the hallway. She would have immediately stepped out on the front step and called to him except he was not alone. Jim and a tall, lean gentleman stood listening to him. A groom held the gentleman’s horse.

  The gentleman was obviously from London. Eden knew the work of a Bond Street tailor when she saw it and this man patronized the best. Furthermore, his mount was, even to her inexperienced eyes, excellent horseflesh.

  Lord Penhollow appeared very handsome this morning, romantically handsome like a figure from a novel. He was hatless and didn’t wear a coat although today he wore a vest of dark blue superfine. It contrasted with the snowy white folds of his neckcloth, tight buckskin riding breeches, and shining black top-boots.

  He sported a single spur. In London, it would have been an affectation and the mark of a dandy. Here, it was the sign of a man.

  The London gentleman was arguing with what Lord Penhollow had said. He waved his arms and punctuated his words in the air with his hands. Frizzy gray hair stuck out on either side of his head beneath his curled-brim hat, giving him an almost comical look. However, the set of Lord Penhollow’s mouth as he listened grew increasingly grim.

  Eden motioned Betsy away and started to withdraw when she heard the name “Cornish King.” She hesitated, and in that instant, Lord Penhollow seemed to sense her presence.

  “Miss Eden?”

  She had no choice but to step forward into the doorway. “Good morning, Lord Penhollow.”

  His reaction to her was everything she—and Betsy—could have hoped for. His generous lips curved into a welcoming smile and his dark blue eyes took on a possessive glow. He came up on the step and offered his hand. “Won’t you join us?”

  She held back, shy in front of the stranger. “I couldn’t. In fact, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m very sorry, my lord.”

  “Nonsense, we’d be happy for you to join us, wouldn’t we, Whitby?” He leaned forward and added in a quick aside, “Otherwise the man will never leave.”

  At the first sight of her, Lord Whitby had stopped talking in mid-sentence, his hand frozen in the air. Now that same hand swiftly removed his hat. “I’d be charmed.”

  But Eden immediately regretted coming out the front door. Whitby had just exposed his bald pate and a distinctive raspberry birth-mark on it. She recognized it and him at once as a guest at one of Madame Indrani’s salons.

  And the reason she remembered him clearly was because he had bid on her. Lord Whitby. Why hadn’t she recognized the name immediately? Their meeting had been almost two years ago, but she recalled it clearly. He’d wanted to buy her but refused to pay the full price. Madame had said her price was firm. He’d argued, grown unruly, and then been forcibly ushered out of Madame’s house by the muscular Firth. He hadn’t taken that indignity quietly but had stood on the street shouting at the house. Firth had been forced to see Lord Whitby home.

  And now he was here.

  Eden drew in her breath, barely hearing the introductions, waiting for Lord Whitby to expose her.

  Instead, he bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Eden.”

  Eden couldn’t answer. Her mouth had gone dry and her throat felt constricted. It took all her courage to smile and make a small curtsy.

  He smiled back, no light of recognition in his brown eyes.

  She could feel Lord Penhollow staring at her strangely, but Jim and the other groom didn’t appear to think anything amiss.

  Lord Whitby asked politely, “Are you from Cornwall, Miss Eden, or are you visiting from another part of England?”

  Eden couldn’t trust herself to issue a coherent answer. Panicked, she wanted to turn and run, but she stood, mute and rooted to the ground.

  Then Lord Penhollow came to her rescue. He gave her elbow a small, reassuring squeeze and answered for her. “She is visiting from Devon,” he said smoothly.

  Caught by surprise again, Eden could only mumble some sort of agreement.

  “Well, it’s obvious you have an eye for more than good horseflesh, Penhollow,” Lord Whitby declared bluntly.

  Lord Penhollow’s mouth flattened. The light in his eye turned pugnacious, but Whitby seemed oblivious to his insult.

  Instead, Whitby boldly pretended to draw Eden aside a step and said in a carrying voice, “In fact, perhaps you can help me here. I wish to purchase Cornish King for my own stud farm but Penhollow stubbornly refuses to sell. No matter what price I offer. I’ve already gone as high as fifteen thousand pounds.”

  “Fifteen thousand pounds?” Eden repeated. He’d only offered twelve for her.

  “Cornish King is not for sale,” Lord Penhollow said in a quiet, firm voice.

  “Oh, devil take it, Penhollow, I want that horse. I need him. There’s not another like him and there never will be. What do I have to do to get him?”

  “He’s not for sale.”

  “Everything’s for sale!” Lord Whitby shouted, forgetting Eden’s presence entirely. He slapped his hat back on his head and stamped around a moment. “I’ve come all the way out here for him, and I won’t be disappointed!”

  “Then we have nothing further to say,” Lord Penhollow answered. “He’s not for sale. You may arrange stud services but that is all.”

  Lord Whitby swore a string of curses under his breath and then, remembering Eden’s presence, tipped his hat and apologized. “Forgive me, Miss Eden. I’m beh
aving like an ogre because I’m used to getting my way.”

  His apology surprised Eden… and then she realized this was how men treated women of the upper class. They swore, burped, and worse in front of whores, but they knew how to treat a lady—and everyone at Penhollow Hall considered Eden a lady.

  The revelation opened Eden’s eyes. No wonder Lord Whitby didn’t recognize her. The Eden he knew was not a lady, but a prostitute.

  “There is no price I’d accept for Cornish King. Ever,” Lord Penhollow was saying. “We’ve had this conversation before, Whitby.”

  “Yes, we have,” Lord Whitby agreed. “And we’ll have it again. I want that horse.”

  “Well, you’ll not have him today.”

  An angry muscle worked in Lord Whitby’s jaw. “I see I’m not going to convince you. May I ask that if you ever decide to sell him, you contact me first?”

  “If I ever decide to sell him, you will be the first I notify.”

  “Then that’s the best I can ask,” Lord Whitby said, but Eden sensed he wasn’t satisfied. He walked to his horse and was about to mount, when he paused.

  He glanced in Eden’s direction and she saw the question in his eyes. Their gazes held, and she realized he wasn’t thinking about Cornish King. Had something in the conversation triggered a memory? She bravely smiled at him.

  Lord Whitby shook his head as if deciding he must be wrong about something and, to Eden’s relief, climbed into his saddle. He tipped his hat to her. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Eden. Penhollow, don’t forget your promise.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, don’t wait too long. Cornish King has only five or six good breeding years in him.”

  “I appreciate your taking the time to visit us at Penhollow Hall, Whitby,” Lord Penhollow said with stiff formality.

  Lord Whitby’s answering smile didn’t reach his eyes. He put his spurs to his horse and rode off.

  Eden prayed she’d never lay eyes on him again.

  “Lord Whitby is not happy,” she said in the silence that followed.

  Lord Penhollow watched the man ride down his drive until he was out of sight. “He’ll be back again next month. He’s one of the richest men in England and doesn’t understand there are some things that money can’t buy. I would never sell Cornish King.”

  He nodded a dismissal to Jim and the groom and then turned to her with a smile. Eden’s stomach went all fluttery and weak. A woman could bask a lifetime in one of his smiles.

  “But enough of him,” he said. “He’ll return again and the answer will be the same and he’ll bluster and carry on, but that is what he gets for coming uninvited. However, your interruption was most timely.”

  Eden wished she’d stayed in her room.

  Then all her worries vanished with his next words. “You look lovely this morning. Your dress reminds me of the roses around the fountain.”

  She hoped Betsy was someplace where she could overhear Lord Penhollow’s words.

  “But you aren’t dressed for our riding lesson,” he said.

  Now Eden hoped Betsy was far away. “About the lesson, my lord—”

  “I have a mount for you. Her name’s Velvet and she’s the prettiest mare I’ve ever seen. Well-trained too.”

  Eden hesitated, not wanting to seem less than perfect in his eyes.

  Lady Penhollow’s voice from the front step startled her. “She can’t go riding with you, Pierce. She doesn’t have gloves for this evening and we must go to town for them. After all, she can’t appear in front of our friends without the proper gloves.”

  His disappointment was plain. “We can have our lesson after you return,” he suggested to Eden.

  Lady Penhollow walked down the steps to them. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, her expression anything but one of regret. “But there won’t be time. We mustn’t overtax Miss Eden’s strength. At least, not yet,” she added with an overly sweet smile in Eden’s direction. “By the way, Miss Eden, we must go all the way to Plympton for gloves. I notice you have not yet breakfasted and I advise you to do so. We probably won’t eat until we return later this afternoon.”

  Something in the gleam in Lady Penhollow’s eyes told Eden she was very proud of herself for snuffing out Lord Penhollow’s riding lesson. Eden almost wanted to burst her air of superiority by kissing her on both cheeks and shouting “Thank you.” She’d been granted a reprieve from the riding lesson.

  Then Lord Penhollow said, “We shall go riding tomorrow. Let’s say first thing in the morning? We won’t be disturbed at that hour by business.”

  Before Eden could say anything, Lady Penhollow stepped between them and answered smoothly, “Pierce, do you really believe Miss Eden is interested in horses? I mean, she hasn’t learned to ride yet, has she? Why push her in a direction for which she is unsuited?”

  Eden heard a footfall behind her and glanced up to see Rawlins, Mrs. Meeks, and Betsy in the doorway, listening to the whole conversation, their expressions anxious—and suddenly, she wanted to be the woman they thought she was, but not for herself. For them… and for the many kindnesses they’d already extended to her. She wanted them to believe in magic and dreams and charms.

  She turned to Lord Penhollow and gifted him with one of her most dazzling smiles, one she had practiced and knew quite well its impact. “I do want to learn to ride,” she said. “I may be a terrible student, but it is something I wish very much.”

  “Then you shall be my pupil,” he answered and returned her smile with one of his own. Staring up into his smile, her knees went weak and she felt a little giddy.

  Lady Penhollow stepped between them. “You don’t have the time for riding lessons, Pierce. You have the mine and the stables, not to mention your other duties.”

  “I’ll make time,” Lord Penhollow said easily. “You’ve been telling me for years that I work too hard. I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

  “Well,” Lady Penhollow said in a tight voice. She turned to Eden. “Then I guess that is settled.” She marched up the steps to the door. Rawlins and the women quickly ducked back into the hallway out of her path.

  On the top step, she paused. “We leave in one hour’s time, and I should warn you, Miss Eden, that low-cut bodices such as you favor are de trop in the country. You will wish to wear a shawl to cover yourself.” She slammed the front door behind her.

  The joy Eden had felt earlier that day vanished with his mother’s angry words. Eden turned to Lord Penhollow. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

  Lord Penhollow stared at the closed front door a moment before saying, “My mother is not a happy person. She doesn’t always know what she wants and searches for it by attempting to control others.”

  “I don’t see why she can’t be happy.” Eden gestured to the house and the gardens. “Everything a person could want is right here.”

  “Yes? Well, I think so, but I’ve come to believe that happiness means different things to different people. Each of us decides what makes life meaningful… and Mother has never made the right choices.” He shook his head, breaking his train of thought. “I’m looking forward to our riding lesson tomorrow.”

  Eden hedged. “I must warn you, I’ve never been on the back of a horse.”

  He laughed. “Miss Eden, you have obviously lived your life in cities. In the country, everyone rides. By the way, have any other memories come back to you?”

  She hated deceiving him. “Bits and pieces, but nothing important.”

  “What of family? Have you had any memory of them?”

  Here she could tell the truth. “No.”

  He took her hand. His fingers closed reassuringly around hers. “Don’t worry. Everyone at Penhollow Hall is beside you until the end on this, even Mother.”

  She read genuine compassion in his eyes. She’d never seen a man show such a thing to a woman. For a moment, she thought of giving him her complete confidence, of telling him the truth—and then she squashed such a idea.

&
nbsp; A wise woman trusted no one. Years with Madame Indrani and a hard childhood had taught her that lesson. Even if she was going to rely on Pierce’s protection, she must never give him complete power and knowledge over her.

  He squeezed her hand gently, bringing her back to reality. With a start, she realized that the pressure of her fingers had tightened around his until he couldn’t release himself.

  She pulled back her hand, and, murmuring an excuse, turned and headed into the house.

  Betsy met her just inside the door. “That was perfect, miss. Perfect! Now we must find you a habit!”

  But Eden barely paid attention to what she was saying. Instead her thoughts were on Lord Penhollow. There was something between them. Something that had nothing to do with superstitions and love potions. Something that made her unable to give him up.

  Pierce slapped his quirt against his boot, watching his mother and Eden set off on the shopping expedition to Plympton in the landaulet with his coat of arms on the door. His mother’s coldness toward Eden irritated him. He wanted the two women to get along, but he feared that was wishful thinking. His mother could be a very selfish woman.

  Eden. Even the sound of her name was enough to set his blood boiling. He wanted her with a force he’d never felt with another woman. He’d been tempted to rip Whitby’s eyes out of his head for the way he’d ogled her. Whitby wore the veneer of a gentleman but beneath his shell, he was a scoundrel. He’d never sell Cornish King to the man.

  But what really bothered him had been Eden’s reaction to Whitby. She knew him. She’d recognized him. Pierce had sensed it in the way her eyes had widened slightly when Whitby had removed his hat and the sudden tension in her body… although Whitby had not recognized her.

  Thoughtfully, Pierce started walking toward the stables. Amnesia, or was Eden just a good actress?

  Chapter 9

  It was not a good day for a shopping expedition. Fog still shrouded the countryside while heavy clouds threatened rain all the way to Plympton.

  Eden and Lady Penhollow sat beside one another in the narrow confines of the landaulet, hands folded in their laps, faces averted from each. Each pretended to watch the passing scenery. Eden wore a cream-colored Kashmir shawl around her shoulders.