Authors: Karen Kay
The Earl knew what he had to do…
Chapter One
England, August, 1836
The faint wind wafted in through the open doors, the young lady, with hair the color of pale, yellow sunlight, leaned against one of those doors, sniffing at the air appreciatively.
She listened to the wind; its only sound the dim rustle of the curtains against the draft.
Below her lay the Colchester townhouse’s ponds and gardens, the grounds so richly manicured that not a single branch of any one bush lay out of place. Despite the lateness in the year, flowers still bloomed here, carefully cultivated. There were late-year roses, mums of all different colors, daisies, coreopsis. But it was the scent of the wild rose that drifted up to her now. Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly, deeply.
Ah, it reminded her of other times, other places, other people… She moaned. It brought back to mind images of the American West; the wild, beloved, American West. It caused her to remember
him.
She pulled up her thoughts quickly, as though she had committed a terrible faux pas. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of him in years.
Why now?
“Excuse me, M’lady—”
“Anna!”
The Lady Estrela turned around quickly, catching the young servant’s grin, but as though the maid suddenly remembered herself, she stifled the gesture. “Estrela?” And then the maid stumbled, “I mean Lady—Mistress—Estrela—”
Lady Estrela laughed. “They’ve told you then,” she said.
“Yes, M’lady.”
“I tried to send word to you.”
“Yes, M’lady.”
“I didn’t want you to be shocked.”
“Yes, M’lady.”
“What is this, yes, M’lady? Do you know no other phrases?”
The young servant thought a moment and then, grinning, said, “No, M’lady.”
Estrela smiled and, shaking her head, said, “Oh, Anna, how I’ve missed you.” Blonde ringlets of springy curls fell to her ladyship’s shoulders as she spoke. “I’ve missed your friendship. It’s been most…overwhelming here.”
“Yes, Mistress, I kin imagine.”
“In the armoire is the blue gown I’ve been told would be suitable for the parade today,” Estrela said. “If you can get it for me, I’ll tell you what happened while you were gone. Would you like to hear it?”
Anna grinned. “Yes, M’lady.”
Estrela twisted back around to gaze outside once more. The day was overcast and cloudy, but the sight of the flowers below, the fresh smell of cut bushes and drying grasses, the unmistakable scent of fall in the air, all conspired to enhance and brighten what would have been an otherwise gloomy day. The wind rushed by her. It seemed to moan, as though it tried to speak to her, but—“You know it happened in the dining hall, don’t you?”
“Did it, now?”
Lady Estrela stood up a little straighter as she glanced outside. But in her stockinged feet she had to stand on tiptoe to gaze beyond the balcony railing. She was just too petite, but she wished to show Anna where it had all taken place, so she had to step out onto the balcony. She did so now and at once, the wind whipped around her, blowing her hair back from her face, whispering to her in her ear.
Had it spoken to her? She listened, nothing.
“Is this the one?”
Estrela twirled around to face Anna. Startled, Estrela stared, but the maid merely held up a blue gown for her mistress’s inspection, and Estrela, after a quick glance, said, “Yes. But, Anna…” Estrela motioned to her servant, “…come here, won’t you?”
“Yes, M’lady.” Anna laid the gown over a chair and, picking up her own skirts, paced toward the balcony.
“It was there.” Estrela drew her arm through Anna’s and pointed to the dining hall, toward the northern wing, which was directly to the left of the balcony. Estrela’s light-blue eyes gazed over to it now. “It was over a month ago.” As she spoke, she turned and tread back into the room, bringing Anna with her. “The Housekeeper had sent me into the dining hall to attend to the Duchess. You know I had never been there before, being a kitchen maid. It all happened so quickly, I was never sure what… She screamed when she saw me.”
“She screamed?” Anna asked. “Who? T’ Duc’ess of Colchester?”
Estrela nodded. “The same. And I almost fainted. The housekeeper burst back into the dining hall. She grabbed me, was marching me out of the room when the Duchess recovered enough to order her to stop, turn around and bring me back.”
Anna gasped. “What ’appened then?”
“She
fainted.”
“Fainted? The housekeeper or t’ Duchess?”
“The Duchess.”
“If she fainted then ’ow did ye—”
“It was the Duke. He had come around the table to see what all the commotion was, and then he spotted me. And Anna, he went white. The Duke looked as though he had seen a ghost. It was the strangest feeling, standing there, watching him look at me as though I were a phantom.”
Anna gazed at her mistress and friend as they tread across the room. “I ’ave seen t’ painting of ’is mother. Ye look jest like ’er. I should ’ave seen it meself.”
Estrela smiled. “The Duke told me then that it was like looking at his mother as she had been at nineteen. He took me aside, he asked me how I had come to be in his household as a servant and when I told him a friend had sent me, the Earl of Langsford, the Duke had looked distant. He had known the Earl from their youth. And the Duke told me that he could tell, just from my likeness to his mother, that I was related to the Colchester family—and that he intended to find out just how I had been lost from the family. That was the beginning of this whole thing. In truth, he and his wife have been most kind to me, have lavished me with all sorts of gowns and pretty things, given me my own rooms, my own chamber—made me a part of their home. I only wish…”
“What?”
“I only wish other things could turn out so well.”
“Other things? There’s more?”
“No. Yes, Anna.” Estrela glanced away, toward the doors. “Did I ever tell you of my Indian heritage?”
Anna paused. “No, not really. But I knew it was t’ere.”
Estrela looked back. “You did?”
“Was ’ard t’ miss, M’lady. Ye ’ad some strange ways when ye first came to us.”
Estrela smiled. Yes, she supposed she’d had some “strange ways” when she’d reached England, almost five years ago.
Anna bent over to pick up the blue gown, holding it out toward her mistress. But Estrela, caught up in her own thoughts, turned slowly away, striding back toward the windows. She laid a hand on the door at the same time a breeze blew in, bringing with it something else…an effusive fragrance…
his
scent.
A memory stirred, a vision; without her willing it, the sweet image of
him
swept before her. And as though caught in a dream she could neither change nor control, she remembered other things.
His
touch. The taste of
his
lips. The feel of
his
body against hers. She inhaled sharply. She swayed. And all at once the fragrance from the garden was her undoing. It was the same scent, the same rosy fragrance that had been there that last day. The last day she had seen
him.
Estrela closed her eyes and for just a moment, one delicate instant in time, she allowed herself to remember.
She moaned. She shouldn’t. Estrela tried to pull up her thoughts, but it was useless. She could not keep them at bay.
It was a warm spring day, and the Earl of Langsford waited for her as she and Mato Sapa returned to camp, the two young people’s moccasined feet making little sound over the newly washed, green grasses. Estrela sniffed at the air appreciatively, noting the fragrance of the wild rose and of the welcoming campfires that scented the moist air. They strode into camp, the Indian brave in front, Estrela following. Both she and Mato Sapa were trying to restrain their joy. Estrela was looking down so she didn’t see the Earl until she was almost upon him.
“
Ma!
” she exclaimed, the Indian interjection proclaiming her surprise. She hadn’t known the Earl had returned and, at first, all she registered was astonishment, though her shock gradually subsided into a shy smile. Still she dared not look up at the Earl, observing a form of Lakota courtesy.
Four years. Four years the Earl had been gone. It was a long time for the man to be away. A long time to wait. And so much had happened during that time. Why, she was thirteen winters now, marriageable age by Indian standards, having passed into womanhood almost one year ago today.
Estrela smiled and darted a glance upward at last. It was perfect. The Earl had returned and would soon learn of her good fortune. Mato Sapa, Black Bear, had at last asked her to become as one with him; to share his sleeping robes, his adventures, his very life. And she had told him she would accept his hand in marriage. It was wonderful. And her old friend, the Earl, would be here to witness her happiness. After all, wasn’t Mato Sapa going to offer his two new ponies to her Indian parents today? And wouldn’t her parents accept his proposal? Hadn’t she already spoken to her father and mother?
Estrela, her blond hair gathered in two neat braids at each side of her head, waited the required time that good manners dictated she wait, until at length, she said in Lakota, almost under her breath, “
Ma!
Cokanhiyuciya
. Welcome home.”
“Ah, Estrela.” The Earl spoke to her in a foreign language that Estrela had not heard for so long, she at first barely understood.
She gulped. “Es-tre-la?” And though she easily spoke the words, they still sounded strained—and so foreign.
“Do you not remember your own language, my girl? Has it been so long?” the Earl asked.
She understood what he said. Strange. Though his speech was odd, she could comprehend him. She answered, however, in Lakota.
“
Wa-ksuya
. I remember,” she said. “And yes, it has been a long time.”
“I’ve come to bring you home.”
“
Waglapi?
”
“Yes,” the Earl said. “I have come to take you home.”
She looked up at the Earl then, catching his glance and gazing straight into his eyes.
“I am home,” she said.
“No, my girl,” the Earl said, still in English, “this is not your home.”
Mato Sapa stepped between the two of them. He glanced at Estrela, then at the Earl. His eyes narrowed. “You are upsetting her and I do not understand what you have said that would make her nervous. Speak in a language I understand,” he demanded, “so that I, too, can know what it is that distresses her.”
“You,” the Earl accused, speaking in Lakota, “have no right to speak to me like this.”
Mato Sapa raised his chin. “I am her husband.”
“Her husband?”
He nodded. “Soon.”
The Earl’s gaze flicked over the young man, down once, back up, inspecting Mato Sapa as though the old Englishman had never before seen an Indian. At length the Earl asked, “Soon?”
Mato Sapa folded his arms over his chest. “Today, I will give her parents my ponies and all that I own. Today, she will be mine. Tonight we will celebrate. You may join us in celebration.”
“Then you are not yet married?”
“Whether we are joined now or not is immaterial. We are as good as married. You will have to speak with me.”
The old Earl raised one eyebrow. He smiled. “We will see,” he said in English, making Mato Sapa frown. And before the young Indian could say another word, the Earl spun around, catching one of the Brulé band chiefs by the arm and speaking to him in Lakota. Both men disappeared into the chief’s tepee.
Mato Sapa turned to Estrela. “What did he say to you?”
Estrela didn’t answer at first, instead looking down. At last, though, she spoke, her voice barely over a whisper. “He said he is taking me home.”
“You are home.”
“Back over the sea.”
“Hiya! No! He cannot do this. I will not allow it.”
“Mato Sapa.” Estrela actually looked up at him, gazing directly into his eyes, unaware that her gaze held a plea. “I sense that you should offer for me now to my parents, before the Earl speaks with all the chiefs. Something is wrong. I fear it.”
Mato Sapa set his lips firmly closed. “I do not take orders from a woman,” he said and as Estrela sighed, he continued, “but I think I should listen beneath the tepee flap where our chief and your guardian speak. I agree with you. Something is wrong.” He smiled at her then. “Do not worry. Am I not already a great warrior? Have I not already taken many coups? Can I not defend your honor? I swear to you, you are mine. Let him try to take you from me. He will not be successful. And if he does succeed in taking you from me, I will follow. This”—he raised his chin—“I promise you.”
But in the end he could not keep her old guardian from taking her away. Mato Sapa did listen to the conversation between the Earl and the chief, but before the young Indian had the opportunity to gather his horses all together and confront Estrela’s parents, a counsel had already been held—the chiefs all in agreement. Estrela was to leave, was to return to her “home” across the great water. And no matter her protest, no matter the anger, the speeches, the demands of Mato Sapa, by evening Estrela was packed and sitting atop one of her Indian father’s prized ponies.
Her gaze sought out Mato Sapa, lingered there. She would not lower her eyes as was Indian custom; she would remember him, her love, now, forever; his solemn face, his long, dark hair rushing back against the wind, his chin jutting forward in anger. And using her hands in the age-old language of sign, she promised him, “I will return to you. Wait for me.” It was all she could say, all she could permit herself to communicate, for with one more gesture, one more sign, she knew she would break down, embarrassing not only herself, but all her friends and her parents.