Dreams Within Dreams
I'm excited to present Dreams Within Dreams, the second novel in my Dreams of Oakhurst series.
Richard has won his treasure...and so has Alexandra, but Old World alliances and approaching war threaten their magnificent future and their passionate love. Which side will he choose? Can he adhere to his firmly held principles . . . or must he choose those of his wife's English family? He chooses his principles, of course . . . his children and his greatest treasure . . . his beloved Alexandra.
Lord Thomas Graham is back and Richard is on his turf now. Is he a laughable fop or a menacing foe? The man will stop at nothing to destroy the Campbells, and Richard Berkeley is the family's weakest link . . . or so Graham thinks. Three times he's failed to make Berkeley into another Rob Roy MacGregor for yet another Marquis of Montrose. He doesn't worry. He'll succeed in the end . . . if it's the very last thing he does.
Courage . . . Alexandra's special gift . . . is also her curse. How long before Lord Thomas's malignant influence knocks at Oakhurst's great front door? It will Not. Not ever! Not if she can thwart it.
Richard has won his treasure...and so has Alexandra, but Old World alliances and approaching war threaten their magnificent future and their passionate love. Which side will he choose? Can he adhere to his firmly held principles . . . or must he choose those of his wife's English family? He chooses his principles, of course . . . his children and his greatest treasure . . . his beloved Alexandra.
Lord Thomas Graham is back and Richard is on his turf now. Is he a laughable fop or a menacing foe? The man will stop at nothing to destroy the Campbells, and Richard Berkeley is the family's weakest link . . . or so Graham thinks. Three times he's failed to make Berkeley into another Rob Roy MacGregor for yet another Marquis of Montrose. He doesn't worry. He'll succeed in the end . . . if it's the very last thing he does.
Courage . . . Alexandra's special gift . . . is also her curse. How long before Lord Thomas's malignant influence knocks at Oakhurst's great front door? It will Not. Not ever! Not if she can thwart it.
Chapter One
“Mr. Richard Berkeley and Lady Alexandra Berkeley,” the queen’s chamberlain proclaimed in stentorian tones. Sharp pounding resounded throughout the noisy chamber when he struck his long mace against the marble floor once . . . twice.
Heads swiveled their way. Painted and many-patched men and their ladies, garbed in gorgeous court clothes and dripping with jewels, thronged St. James Palace on this Thursday evening for the queen’s bi-weekly Drawing Room. Word of the Berkeley’s appearance had spread through St. James District like fire through a ramshackle barn stuffed with dry hay bales. Richard’s and Alexandra’s sponsors, her grandmother and aunt, flanked them. Two duchesses—such had never before been the case to everybody’s certain knowledge. Richard led Alexandra forward through crowds that parted like the Red Sea before Moses as they passed down the center of the mammoth room. Halting before the very pregnant queen, Richard swept his grey tricorn from his head, extended a foot and bowed from his waist while his wife sank into a deep curtsey.
Murmurs swept through the assembly behind them, scarcely audible confidences, overheard by Richard’s keen ear. One of them, a girl born with every advantage, had allied herself to a mere gentleman whom nobody had ever heard of before, nobody would distinguish with an invitation anywhere, and nobody wanted to know. Yet, from the number of invitations flooding in to Her Grace of Argyll’s secretary, everybody most plainly did. From the corner of Richard’s eye, he glimpsed several short men and a few women clamber onto chairs to capture a better view of them. One elderly dame even lifted a lorgnette containing pink glass to match her silk gown.
“We have not enjoyed your presence in our Court for the past year and more, Lady Alexandra.”
Queen Charlotte’s gaze swept her from high-piled curls to the hem of her magnificent wedding gown, the only acceptable attire for her appearance today. “We hear you have given birth to a son, Lady Alexandra. What did you name him?”
“He is named Edward Thomas Rutledge Campbell Berkeley, Ma’am. He was born last December.”
“We are pleased to see you in good health, for you appear very well, indeed. You give no evidence of your recent travail. And you are happy, we see, for you are aglow with it. Very well, very well,” she smiled, a rare occurrence during one of these tedious events. She waved her hand, “Now step aside, gel, while we acquaint ourself with your gentleman.”
Richard snapped to attention and bowed his head, “Your servant, Ma’am,” he drawled. His accent brought another smile to the queen’s face, with its long, slow, in-gliding vowels so distinctive to those born and reared amongst Charlestowne’s planter elite. Those near enough to witness it gasped, amazed.
The small woman before him lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. He’d come to recognize such smiles. He’d seen them since he was a boy, fighting off advances of flirtatious females.
“We are charmed by your distinctive accent, Mr. Berkeley. You are from our South Carolina colony, are you not?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I am.
“Yet you spent a number of years in England.”
“That’s true, Ma’am,” he grinned, impressed she knew anything of him. Of course, Alexandra wrote her and, doubtless, that explained the matter. “I attended school in England. Lord Edward Campbell convinced my father to send me to Eton when I was eight years old. Later, I entered his alma mater, Christ Church, Oxford. Afterward, I trained in the law at London’s Middle Temple.”
“Is that when you met Lady Alexandra?”
“No, Ma’am. I didn’t have that privilege until several years later."
From the corner of his eye he glimpsed Alexandra slant a glance at him while he relaxed, folded his hands behind his back, and flashed a grin at the queen. The small brown-haired, sallow-skinned woman with striking turquoise eyes, lifted her chin. He suspected nobody ever presumed to grin at her. But Her Majesty was a woman and, he supposed, from the flirty grin playing on her lips and widened eyes, he’d surprised and stricken her, as had most women all his life.
“How was that, Mr. Berkeley?”
“Lord Edward Campbell, Lady Alexandra’s father, was my mentor and, later, my business partner, Ma’am. He and my father had planned a betrothal between us since we were children. Though, they didn’t bother to share the information with either of us until the spring of 1768. Since I was soon to embark upon a voyage to England, His Lordship sent along a letter of introduction to his father in Inveraray, Scotland. After I completed my business in London, I travelled north—and met my wife.”
“I see. Yet, Lady Alexandra failed to mention it to us during the following year when she served us as a Maid of Honor.”
Alexandra spied Richard grin again, while his cheek furrowed with humor and lit his magnificent dark-lashed emerald eyes. Her Majesty gasped and leaned toward him, her eyes widened further. She doubted any gentleman had ever been so genuinely friendly with the queen during all the years she’d sat beside her husband on his throne. Alexandra was certain the queen would have been bowled over, had she not been seated.
“A delicious tale, Mr. Berkeley. We have always been fond of your lady wife, and are pleased you make her happy.”
“I have tried, Your Majesty, but it has not always been possible.”
“And why is that, sir?” By her alert posture and the crinkling of her eyes at the corner, Richard knew laughter lurked while she awaited the outcome of his anecdote.
“You see, once I refused to burn a house down for her. On another occasion I forbade her to ride. I recall even threatening to post guards on her. She was singularly unhappy with me on both occasions, Your Majesty.”
“And why were you commanded to burn a house down, Mr. Berkeley?”
“It contained a nest of snakes, Your Majesty.”
*~*~*~*
Available Now at Amazon Kindle!
Heads swiveled their way. Painted and many-patched men and their ladies, garbed in gorgeous court clothes and dripping with jewels, thronged St. James Palace on this Thursday evening for the queen’s bi-weekly Drawing Room. Word of the Berkeley’s appearance had spread through St. James District like fire through a ramshackle barn stuffed with dry hay bales. Richard’s and Alexandra’s sponsors, her grandmother and aunt, flanked them. Two duchesses—such had never before been the case to everybody’s certain knowledge. Richard led Alexandra forward through crowds that parted like the Red Sea before Moses as they passed down the center of the mammoth room. Halting before the very pregnant queen, Richard swept his grey tricorn from his head, extended a foot and bowed from his waist while his wife sank into a deep curtsey.
Murmurs swept through the assembly behind them, scarcely audible confidences, overheard by Richard’s keen ear. One of them, a girl born with every advantage, had allied herself to a mere gentleman whom nobody had ever heard of before, nobody would distinguish with an invitation anywhere, and nobody wanted to know. Yet, from the number of invitations flooding in to Her Grace of Argyll’s secretary, everybody most plainly did. From the corner of Richard’s eye, he glimpsed several short men and a few women clamber onto chairs to capture a better view of them. One elderly dame even lifted a lorgnette containing pink glass to match her silk gown.
“We have not enjoyed your presence in our Court for the past year and more, Lady Alexandra.”
Queen Charlotte’s gaze swept her from high-piled curls to the hem of her magnificent wedding gown, the only acceptable attire for her appearance today. “We hear you have given birth to a son, Lady Alexandra. What did you name him?”
“He is named Edward Thomas Rutledge Campbell Berkeley, Ma’am. He was born last December.”
“We are pleased to see you in good health, for you appear very well, indeed. You give no evidence of your recent travail. And you are happy, we see, for you are aglow with it. Very well, very well,” she smiled, a rare occurrence during one of these tedious events. She waved her hand, “Now step aside, gel, while we acquaint ourself with your gentleman.”
Richard snapped to attention and bowed his head, “Your servant, Ma’am,” he drawled. His accent brought another smile to the queen’s face, with its long, slow, in-gliding vowels so distinctive to those born and reared amongst Charlestowne’s planter elite. Those near enough to witness it gasped, amazed.
The small woman before him lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. He’d come to recognize such smiles. He’d seen them since he was a boy, fighting off advances of flirtatious females.
“We are charmed by your distinctive accent, Mr. Berkeley. You are from our South Carolina colony, are you not?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I am.
“Yet you spent a number of years in England.”
“That’s true, Ma’am,” he grinned, impressed she knew anything of him. Of course, Alexandra wrote her and, doubtless, that explained the matter. “I attended school in England. Lord Edward Campbell convinced my father to send me to Eton when I was eight years old. Later, I entered his alma mater, Christ Church, Oxford. Afterward, I trained in the law at London’s Middle Temple.”
“Is that when you met Lady Alexandra?”
“No, Ma’am. I didn’t have that privilege until several years later."
From the corner of his eye he glimpsed Alexandra slant a glance at him while he relaxed, folded his hands behind his back, and flashed a grin at the queen. The small brown-haired, sallow-skinned woman with striking turquoise eyes, lifted her chin. He suspected nobody ever presumed to grin at her. But Her Majesty was a woman and, he supposed, from the flirty grin playing on her lips and widened eyes, he’d surprised and stricken her, as had most women all his life.
“How was that, Mr. Berkeley?”
“Lord Edward Campbell, Lady Alexandra’s father, was my mentor and, later, my business partner, Ma’am. He and my father had planned a betrothal between us since we were children. Though, they didn’t bother to share the information with either of us until the spring of 1768. Since I was soon to embark upon a voyage to England, His Lordship sent along a letter of introduction to his father in Inveraray, Scotland. After I completed my business in London, I travelled north—and met my wife.”
“I see. Yet, Lady Alexandra failed to mention it to us during the following year when she served us as a Maid of Honor.”
Alexandra spied Richard grin again, while his cheek furrowed with humor and lit his magnificent dark-lashed emerald eyes. Her Majesty gasped and leaned toward him, her eyes widened further. She doubted any gentleman had ever been so genuinely friendly with the queen during all the years she’d sat beside her husband on his throne. Alexandra was certain the queen would have been bowled over, had she not been seated.
“A delicious tale, Mr. Berkeley. We have always been fond of your lady wife, and are pleased you make her happy.”
“I have tried, Your Majesty, but it has not always been possible.”
“And why is that, sir?” By her alert posture and the crinkling of her eyes at the corner, Richard knew laughter lurked while she awaited the outcome of his anecdote.
“You see, once I refused to burn a house down for her. On another occasion I forbade her to ride. I recall even threatening to post guards on her. She was singularly unhappy with me on both occasions, Your Majesty.”
“And why were you commanded to burn a house down, Mr. Berkeley?”
“It contained a nest of snakes, Your Majesty.”
*~*~*~*
Available Now at Amazon Kindle!