Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) Page 7

  "What qualities are those?" she boldly asked.

  "You have an impeccable bloodline," he admitted. "Despite your brother's attempt to drag your family name through the mire, you are well respected in your village. You are an unsullied maiden, virginal, without worldly wisdom, stubborn, but with a good head on your shoulders. As I said, you are not bad to look upon. We will do something about your clothing and polish you up a bit so my grandson will be attracted to you. The rest is up to you."

  "I am surprised you haven't asked to see my teeth," she remarked in disgust.

  His eyes danced with amusement. "I don't have to. I already know you have perfect teeth," he answered, smiling. "Yes," he said, turning his head and staring into space. "You will do very nicely." His attention was drawn back to Breanna when she came to her feet.

  "By the way," she asked, "what is wrong with your grandson that you have to buy a wife for him?"

  "If you can curb that tongue of yours, you will make an admirable wife," he replied, ignoring her question. "I imagine that my grandson is accustomed to Indian maidens who are subservient to their men. I hope you will remember this."

  Breanna's eyes sparkled with a dangerous glint. "I will be subservient to no man. Not even if that man is my husband."

  A strange light came into the Marquess's eyes. "Perhaps therein will lie your true charm, Breanna Kenton. It seems I have chosen well. You may be worthy to mother the next Marquess of Weatherford."

  She was puzzled for a moment. "Haven't you skipped a generation, My Lord? By right of succession, should not your grandson be your next heir?"

  His eyes clouded with sadness. "My grandson will be unfit to rule since he knows nothing of our ways. No, I will have him make his mark on paper renouncing the tide in favor of his son."

  Breanna felt a chill in her heart. "Knowing your grandson is unworthy to inherit your lands and tide, knowing him to be uncivilized, strikes terror in my heart!" she admitted.

  The Marquess's heavily-lidded eyes blinked. "I believe very few things in life would strike terror in your heart. I have little doubt that you will deal well with my grandson. I will admit to you that I have very little interest in my grandson other than his ability to produce a son." His eyes narrowed in on her. "Do we understand one another?"

  She stared back at him unflinchingly. "Yes, perfectly, my lord. You are using me and your grandson as breeders."

  "Crudely put, but accurate. Now leave me. I have instructed Mrs. Growder to see to your comfort. Starting tomorrow, my cousin, Harriet Milford, will see that you are properly attired. Tomorrow night you will be married to my grandson by proxy."

  Breanna bobbed a quick curtsy and moved across the room when his voice stopped her. "Breanna, if a son is born to you from this union, then I will deny you nothing."

  She didn't bother to reply, but hurried out the door. The meeting with the Marquess was most unsettling and had ended so abruptly that it left her confused and unsure. She had found him to be a hateful, domineering old man who was accustomed to manipulating people with no thought as to what they might be suffering.

  Outside the room she was met by the unsmiling housekeeper, who led her to a door at the other end of the long hallway.

  "This will be your room while you are here, my lady," the woman announced, showing Breanna inside and leaving abruptly.

  Breanna had told herself that she wasn't going to be impressed by anything she saw here. In spite of that resolve, she gasped in disbelief at the huge bedchamber. The walls were pale pink and the furnishings, rugs, and window hangings were all white. It was so magnificent it took her breath away.

  She was caught up in admiring her surroundings and did not see the tiny woman who rose from the chair near the window and approached her from behind. "I am Harriet Milford, my lady, his lordship's cousin. I am very glad to welcome you."

  Breanna turned to stare into soft brown eyes. "Yes," Harriet Milford said, walking around Breanna. "You have potential." Her eyes shone with anticipation. "We shall make a great beauty out of you."

  The next day Breanna was tucked, pinched, and prodded. Dressmakers, couturiers, jewelers, and shoemakers paraded through her bedchamber. She was draped in silks, and her hair was washed, scented, and pulled away from her face to fall down her back in long ringlets.

  As night fell, and the time for the wedding approached, Breanna was dressed in a white satin gown and led to the Marquess's bedchamber. Harriet Milford's son, a sober man in his late fifties, stood in for the Marquess's missing grandson as a bishop performed the marriage by proxy. Breanna made the proper responses as terror waged a war inside her. She heard the name of the Marquess's grandson for the first time. The Bishop had called him Lord Dakota Remington. What kind of name was Dakota? Of course it was an Indian name, she reminded herself.

  There was no celebration after the ceremony was over, but the shine in the Marquess's eyes showed he was delighted.

  Feeling sick inside, Breanna excused herself and returned to her bedchamber. Dark terror filled her mind as she thought of the uncivilized man, Dakota, who had just become her legal husband! She could not imagine what the future held for her. The most that she could hope for was that this Dakota would find her undesirable. Perhaps, since he was accustomed to Indian maidens with their dark coloring, he would find her unattractive. She hoped that would be the case.

  Breanna could not help thinking over all she had heard about Indians. It was said that no white woman was safe with them, that they were murderers and thieves who couldn't drink liquor because it made them crazed. She wondered if this Dakota had ever taken a human scalp.

  She tried not to think about her new husband. After all, anything could happen to Dakota Remington before he reached England. Storms frequently came up at sea and ships were lost without a trace, she told herself, not feeling in the least guilty for taking comfort in that fact.

  6

  For two weeks Levi and Dakota had been traveling, and in that time, Dakota remained silent and brooding. Levi kept his thoughts to himself, realizing that Dakota was still grieving over the deaths of Two Moons and Running Deer.

  Even at night, when they set up camp, few words would pass between them. So far, Levi had avoided most of the white settlements, but when they reached Indianapolis, he knew they could no longer avoid civilization.

  As the old hunter and Dakota walked down the main street, Levi became aware of the curious glances Dakota was receiving. Therefore, their first stop was the general store, where Levi attempted to purchase clothing for Dakota. But Dakota stubbornly refused to exchange his buckskins for the white man's attire.

  Levi noticed that Dakota was beginning to take an interest in his surroundings. Everything was strange to the young man, since Two Moons had kept his adopted son isolated from white settlements, fearing someone would try to spirit him away.

  With an amused smile on his face, Levi watched Dakota's eyes follow a young lady down the street, whose wide hoop skirt swayed gently as she walked. With amazement, he turned to the hunter. "How can it be that the white woman has such a strange shape to her body?" he asked in Arapaho, bewilderment and disbelief etched on his face.

  Levi laughed. "Speak in English, Dakota, and to answer your question, the white woman in many respects is little different from the young maidens of the Arapaho tribe. You see, they have this contraption under their gowns that make them stick out all funny like. Don't ask me why they do it. It seems damn foolish to me, but then I never did understand women, whether they be white or Indian."

  At that moment, a pretty young woman passed by and Dakota followed her with his eyes as he spoke to Levi. "I like better the way the Indian woman dresses. A man should not have to marry a woman and not know the shape of her body until it is too late."

  Levi smiled and scratched his beard, amused at Dakota's observation. "I'd never thought of it that way. You could be right."

  Levi spent the day introducing an astonished Dakota to civilization. Instead of sleeping in a hote
l, they spent their last night beneath the stars. The campfire had gone out, and Levi was drifting off to sleep when Dakota spoke.

  "I feel as though I am leaving behind all that I love and am going into a deep void, Levi. My heart hurts because of the death of my father, and my soul cannot find peace because my brother killed Running Deer. I know that by now, Black Otter will have been put to death, and even though it was not by my hand, in some ways I feel responsible. I am tormented with the thought that my father's spirit may not be able to find peace."

  Levi had been waiting for the day Dakota would decide to confide in him.

  "Do not blame yourself in any way for what happened to Black Otter. If he met Arapaho justice, he got what he deserved."

  "Where do I belong?" Dakota questioned, in a plea for understanding.

  "I know you are feeling misplaced at the moment. Sometimes I wonder if I am doing right by taking you away from the life you have become accustomed to. I don't know where you belong, Dakota, I just don't have all the answers."

  "If it had not been my father's wish for me to accompany you, I would have stayed with . . . my people . . . with the Arapaho. My father knew that if I remained, Black Otter and I would have to face one another. He knew one of us would die."

  "Yes, Two Moons knew."

  "Levi," Dakota said, changing the subject, "you have told me many things about England. You have brought me many books, which I have read. Will England be a settlement such as we saw today?" Dakota asked in Arapaho.

  "Speak English, Dakota," Levi reprimanded mildly. "And yes, there are some similarities. But in many ways they are very different."

  "Which is no answer at all," Dakota observed.

  Levi smiled at Dakota's quick mind. "I suspect you will just have to judge for yourself."

  "Will you remain in England with me?"

  "I will not abandon you."

  "Levi, tell me more about the man and woman whose likenesses are in this locket. I know they are my father and mother, but you have told me very little else about them."

  "I don't know much. I was their guide, but since I was not on the same social level with them, they did not confide their personal life to me."

  "What does this mean, social level?"

  "Well . . ." Levi said thoughtfully, "they were of the gentry—the nobility of England. They are likened to chiefs in their own land."

  "Does this make them superior to you?"

  "In the white world, it does. You may as well realize, Dakota, that you are one of the nobility. If you want to be happy, you will have to put your old life behind you and look to the future."

  "No, never. I will not forget the father that raised me. I never want to forget my mother, White Wing."

  "I would not want you to forget the two people who gave you love and made you their son. I'm just saying that if you brood on the past, you will be wasting the future."

  After that, Dakota fell asleep, but Levi remained awake pondering the fruit of his labors. Was he doing the right thing in taking Dakota to England? The old Marquess was a hard man who was steeped in family tradition and would not be welcoming his grandson out of love, but from duty. No, the Marquess of Weather-ford's only concern was to have an heir. Many thoughts plagued Levi. He was fond of Dakota, and hoped he hadn't been instrumental in adding to the young man's confusion and unhappiness.

  ***

  It was a hot, sultry afternoon when they arrived in New York. Dakota accompanied Levi into the Blue Horse Inn, where the Marquess's solicitor had arranged for them to stay until they sailed for England. Levi was aware that Dakota was attracting attention, especially from three well-dressed young gentlemen who were seated at a table playing cards. He had given up trying to convince Dakota to change his buckskins for the more conventional apparel of the white men.

  John Donegal had been instructed by his great-uncle, the Marquess of Weatherford, to wait at the Blue Horse Inn for the arrival the Marquess's grandson, and teach him the rudiments of social graces so he would not be an embarrassment to his grandfather. John had been waiting for weeks, and had just about exhausted all the enjoyable activities this provincial town had to offer. He had counted himself fortunate when he became acquainted with two fellow countrymen, Alec and Tate Henley, who were the sons of a wealthy tradesman. In England, he would never have spoken to the Henley brothers, but here, in America, it seemed the sensible thing to do. Together they had passed the time playing cards, and John had won a great deal of money from them.

  Now his eyes moved across the features of the old hunter, and then on to the tall, dark Indian who stood at his side. So, John thought, this was his cousin, the Viscount of Remington, future Marquess of Weather-ford. John, who was wearing a dark green frock coat and trousers along with a bright yellow waistcoat, regarded the buckskins his cousin wore with distaste. How in the hell was he expected to teach this man enough manners so he could function in polite society? As John glanced at the buckskin moccasins Dakota wore, he wondered how he would ever get him into a pair of fine English boots.

  Rising to his feet, John threw his cards on the table. "It seems we shall be parting company, gentlemen. Unless I am badly mistaken, my cousin has arrived."

  Alec Henley, the oldest brother, dabbed at his brow with a lace handkerchief while staring at Dakota in disbelief. "Surely you are mistaken. That is an Indian savage! Your uncle has set you an impossible task. You will never be able to introduce him into polite society. I wager he will never be accepted by the gentry. He will be made sport of the moment he steps on English soil."

  John Donegal's eyes lit up with humor. He had dusted the pockets of Alec and Tate Henley, and saw a way to extract even more money from them. "I say you are wrong. How much are you willing to wager?"

  Tate poked Alec in the ribs. "Make it high, we are about to get the money back that John won from us." He cast a sly glance toward Dakota, who was following the old hunter up the stairs to the second floor. "No one could make that uncivilized person into a gentleman."

  John reached into his breast pocket, withdrew a leather bag, and tossed it on the table. "Here's two hundred pounds, which is every cent I have in the world. I'll wager it all to prove that I will present Lord Dakota Remington to you by the time we reach England, polished and primed for his role as heir apparent to the Remington fortunes."

  "You wouldn't have that money if you hadn't won it from us," Alec Henley stated. "But yes, done."

  "Done" his brother parroted.

  With the wager still ringing in his ears, John made his way up the stairs to present himself to his cousin and the old buffalo hunter. He knew the task he had set before himself would not be an easy one, but he had never been one to disregard a challenge! Still, the odds had rarely been so much in favor of his opponent.

  ***

  Not liking to be closed in, Dakota left open the bedroom door that led to the hallway. He moved restlessly around the room, examining the porcelain water pitcher, the soft material of the window covering, the mirror on the wall. He sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into its soft, feathery depth. "I have seen many wonders since starting out with you, Levi—but this place —this place you call New York, is beyond anything I could have imagined."

  "This is nothing compared to what you will see, Dakota. Wait until you get to England and observe wonders that will make you question your own eyes."

  "You always say this to me, Levi, but I find your knowledge of England severely limited."

  The hunter smiled. "Although I have traveled there twice at your grandfather's request, I have little knowledge of the English, especially the titled ones. You're the one who read all the books on England —you should be the one telling me what it's like. I wish it was in my power to make you feel less lost when we arrive, but your needs go beyond anything I can teach you."

  At that moment a voice spoke up from the doorway. "If you are Lord Dakota Remington and a hunter called Levi Gunther, perhaps I could be of assistance." John Donegal smiled jauntily.
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  "That's who we are, but who are you?" Levi asked, looking the stranger over, noting his fashionable mode of dress and the fine way he had of speaking. He gathered this would be someone who had been sent by the Marquess.

  John gave an exaggerated bow. "Allow me to present myself. I am John Donegal, from the Scottish branch of the Remington Family." His eyes twinkled. "Actually, we are the poor side of the family —good bloodline, but no money."

  So far Dakota had not spoken, and John wasn't sure he understood English; therefore, he did not know how huge a task he had set himself. "I am Lord Dakota's cousin," he added.

  Dakota came to his feet, his eyes moving over the fancily dressed gentlemen who claimed to be his cousin. "How is it that you are my cousin?" he asked.

  "Well, I'll be damned!" John exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't have to teach Dakota English, though he would have to polish his accent. "Actually, my grandmother was your grandfather's sister, so you can see I am no threat to you as far as inheriting from my uncle."

  "I do not understand," Dakota said. "What do you mean by inherit, and why do you call me Lord Dakota?"

  "All will become clear to you in good time, cousin," John answered. "Right now, I want to take you to a good tailor so you can be fitted with the proper attire."

  Dakota was not certain if he liked this man who admitted to being his cousin. "I will not wear clothing such as yours," Dakota stated obstinately, reminding John of the Marquess. "I do not want to look like you."

  John chuckled. "We will try to dress you more conventionally. I have instructions from your grandfather to see that you are attired as befits an Englishman of your rank. Of course, we shall find you the proper tailor once we reach England."

  Dakota's eyes flamed, and his chin clamped shut in an inflexible line. Levi smiled to himself. John Donegal was not going to have an easy task trying to make Dakota conform to his expectations.

  7