Winds of Nightsong. V. J. Banis
except Lydia Nightsong and Pamela.
Pamela, Adam thought with a sigh as he walked into the house and on through the marble foyer toward the library with its rose-flocked walls and dark woods. He was engaged to Pamela and he’d believed it only right that she read the letter and learn the truth about him, the man she intended to marry. Pamela hadn’t wanted him to go to San Francisco to meet with his real mother. She had urged him to forget the letter, to destroy it.
But he’d been determined to go to America. He had to see the woman who’d borne him. It had been a mistake, though. The mother he’d envisioned—the beautiful half-Chinese princess Lydia Nightsong had told him about—turned out to be a dreadful disappointment. Slipping between fantasy and reality, she’d mistaken him for the husband who’d been beheaded in the Forbidden City.
His paternal grandmother, Lorna MacNair, hated him. She saw him as the son she’d lost to the Nightsongs, whom she also despised. The lot of them had frightened him, and he’d run back to England to try to forget the unhappy experience.
But he couldn’t forget. In the many long months since his return, he found himself softening toward the poor pathetic woman who was his mother. In his boyish dreams he saw that beautiful Chinese palace with its armored soldiers, its golden lions, its gleaming marble and ivory. He was, after all, a Manchu prince. His mother was a princess. It pleased him to think of himself as her son, despite the unfortunate reunion.
Adam was deep in thought when Pamela came into the library. He didn’t know she was there until she put her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.
“You’re thinking about your mother again, aren’t you?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “I can’t help it, Pamela. I really believe it was cruel of me to have run back here without giving her a chance. It was selfish.”
“You mustn’t talk like that, darling. I do wish you’d put the whole unpleasantness out of your mind and think about the future. You can’t go back to something you never knew.”
“But I know it now,” he argued. “I know I am not Lord Clarendon’s son and I’m not really entitled to live in this house or on these grounds. They aren’t mine. I’m not Adam Clarendon. It’s foolish to think I can live a lie.”
“You mustn’t talk like that, Adam.”
“I’m an impostor and you know it. You read Father’s letter.”
“See,” she said. “You still look upon Lord Clarendon as your father, as you rightly should. He was your father. Oh, perhaps not by blood, but he raised you and cared for you. He loved you, Adam, as did your mother, Lady Clarendon.”
“What a bloody mess!”
“Don’t swear.”
“I’m sorry, Pam. I just can’t help it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I wish Father had never written that letter.”
She hugged him again. “So do I.”
Adam pounded his fist against the mantelpiece. “I can’t help the way I feel. It just isn’t right for me to pretend to be something I know I am not.”
“We’ve been over this and over this, darling. Legally, you are Adam Clarendon. There is not a court in the world that can disprove that. You will take your investiture as Lord Clarendon at the beginning of the year and that will be that.”
He shook his head. “In all good conscience, Pamela, I can not.”
“You must.”
He felt her anger. “Please don’t be annoyed with me, darling. You know I love you. All I ask is that you look at things from my point of view.”
“I’m trying, Adam. Really, I am. I can’t see you as anyone but Adam Clarendon, the boy I grew up with. You are not Adam MacNair. You are not American. You’re as British as I am. It’s the way you were raised and educated. You’d be miserable assuming the role of someone you no longer are.”
“I suppose you’re right. But still....”
“Of course I’m right.” She reached up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “You and I will marry after your investiture. You will be the new Lord Clarendon and I will be your lady and we will raise dozens of little Clarendons.” She laughed but there was no joy in it.
He took her in his arms. “And we’ll go to China on our honeymoon.”
She stiffened. “China? Good heavens, Adam, why on earth would you want to go to that terrible place? It’s in revolution. “
“It’s something I’ve always dreamed of doing ever since I can remember. I’ve told you this before. You know how intrigued I am by Oriental history. It was in my blood before I knew the truth about myself.”
“Will you kindly forget your awful Chinese blood,” she said sharply. “You mustn’t think about April Nightsong or those people in San Francisco. You don’t have Chinese blood, Adam. Forget this Oriental ancestry nonsense you suddenly seem so proud of. Remember, you are a Clarendon and you must never let anyone here know anything about your real mother in America.”
He knew she was very annoyed, so he smiled and held her close. “We could always go to San Francisco on our honeymoon,” he said with a smile. “It really wasn’t such a terrible place. I just didn’t give myself the opportunity to enjoy it.”
Pamela lost all patience. “Honestly, Adam Clarendon, I wonder if you will ever stop acting and thinking like a little boy. All this fantasizing about Oriental royalty is infantile. You’ll be twenty-one in a few months. I thought you were a man, but I see I was wrong. You’d much prefer to dabble in dreams than to face the truth.”
“Damn it, Pamela, I am facing the truth.”
“You’re not!” she said, stamping her foot. “You’re enjoying this idiotic notion about being part royal Chinese. What’s wrong with being a lord here in England?”
“A lord,” he scoffed. “My mother is a princess. I would be a prince.”
“Stuff and nonsense.” She turned abruptly. “Enjoy your childish fantasies, Adam. When you decide to grow up, call me. Perhaps I’ll be waiting. Perhaps not.” She stormed out.
“Pamela!”
The door of the library slammed shut after her.
He stood at the fireplace looking at the door, then turned and bent his head, cradling it on his arm. “Perhaps she’s right,” he said to the empty room. “Perhaps I never will grow up.”
It was true that he didn’t want to be responsible for the Clarendon estates. Not yet. Besides, he wasn’t a true Clarendon. Still, he wondered if he wasn’t using that as an excuse to shirk his responsibilities to the two people who’d raised him.
Caroline hadn’t thought of him as a boy, he reminded himself as he glowered at the door through which Pamela had left. Caroline had thought him quite the man despite the almost four years’ difference in their ages. But Caroline had acted as young as he and was just as innocent, or so she’d claimed. No, the bloodstains proved it had been the first time for both of them.
Now as before—when he’d first met Caroline—his mind became a confusion. He loved Pamela. He also loved Caroline, or thought he did. He missed her terribly and wondered if she missed him as much. Where she was, he had no idea. Lydia’s letter said she was still travelling abroad, which meant she was somewhere on the Continent. Maybe if he found Caroline and talked to her, things would be clearer in his mind.
But what good would that do? he asked himself. Caroline was, after all, his sister...or half-sister. No matter. What was the difference?
He felt alone and emotionally confused. He wished his father were here. Lord Clarendon had always taken him out riding on Devon Downs when he was upset about something. That’s what he’d do, Adam decided. He’d saddle one of the stallions