No Choice but Surrender (13 page)

"But what about Queenie?
Hadn't we ought
to fetch her?" she asked, looking back at him. His stony face made her heart stop.

"You should have thought of that when you stole her. The best we can hope for now is that she will make her own way back tomorrow and that we won't have to shoot her for a broken leg."

"I . . . meant to, return her," she said softly, her voice trembling miserably.

"Did you, now?"

"I just cannot be here when the earl arrives. Why can't you understand that? All this would be unnecessary if you would just return my comb and let me go."

"Your fighting is for naught, Brienne. You run like a panicked deer even though I have tried to make things pleasant for you during your wait."

"But he will be here soon, and—"

"What makes you think Oliver Morrow will be here soon? He's been given so many
handicaps,
I should think it will take him a while to overcome them."

"How long is a while?" she persisted anxiously.

"He could arrive tomorrow; he could take several months. It all depends upon him."

"Months!"
She was astounded. Her tears of frustration dried up in the wake of this new information.

"Perhaps," he added enigmatically, "so diminish this sense of urgency. I would think that if it takes him that long, you could become quite comfortable at Osterley—that is, if you would allow yourself to be."

"I would know why you believe my father may take that long to arrive here?" she demanded.

"He's in
Maryland
now," Avenel explained patiently. "With the war going on, he will be hard pressed to find a ship bound for the British Isles." He appeared to be enjoying his explanation, as if for some reason he were responsible for the earl's inconveniences.
" 'Tis
more than likely he will have to come up from St. Christopher in the West Indies, and that trip alone can take months. In all likelihood we have some waiting time, my wildflower. Of that I can assure you."

"But I cannot stay here overly long. It's not right." She raised her glossy auburn head. "What can you be thinking of?" she asked, giving him a look of complete distrust.

"You don't want to know
. '
Tis best," he said abruptly, and then changed the subject. "However, if leaving is your wish, you have the power to go at any time of the day or night. You may even have my coach at your disposal."

"Are you crazed? You tell me I'm your prisoner one second, and the next you tell me I may leave. Why did you follow me, then?"

"You did not earn the privilege to go, my love. Shall we again go through the motions that we wasted on the cold ground and reenact them in the warmth of my chambers?" He smiled and pressed against her; his hand went to her nape, as if in an effort to brush away her hair and ready her for a kiss.

"You have the comb. I see no further need to repeat that disgusting display." She grew stiff and pulled away from him as far as she could without taking another fall.

"Not even for your freedom? Of course, for that we would have to go further than we did this evening. We'd have to . . . shed that cloak of maidenhood, so to speak." His other arm tightened possessively beneath her breast. She was infuriated.

"If I were a snake, I wouldn't shed my scales for you." She tried to twist his arm from her waist but was grossly unsuccessful. He only laughed.

" 'Tis
your choice. But in the meantime I've no appetite for racing around in the middle of the night to fetch you. If you persist in this vein, I warn you, I will keep you locked in your room." He looked down at her, but she could not read his expression at all.
"Or better yet, locked in mine."

"How is it you think to get away with this? Despite my father's poverty, you still have no right to treat me, the daughter of an earl, this way, holding me prisoner, and then forcing me into . . . this evening's . . . activity." She found herself blushing, but this only made her that much more hostile. "There isn't a decent personage of the crown who would allow you to do this!"

"So where are all these noblemen? I must say, Brienne, you have an appalling lack of protectors. In fact, taking you has been the easiest task I've performed in the past twenty years," he mocked.

"You haven't taken me yet." The second she had uttered the words, she fervently wished she could take them back. It seemed she had all but dared him.

"True. But if you're anxious to start, we could play a game of hide and seek. You hide the comb, and I shall seek it. Only this time, I bid you to place it in a more provocative spot." She could feel his warm breath on her neck. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin on the exposed part of her nape. When his tongue caressed her, her shoulders went up in self-protection.

He laughed. "How refreshingly naive you are, my love. Are you sure you do not want to gain your freedom tonight?"

No!
she
wanted to shout at him. Instead, she jerked her head toward Osterley's lights and watched them in bitter, stony silence.
How weak and naive I must appear to him,
she thought, hating herself. But at the very least she consoled herself with the fact that she hated him more.

When Queenie finally found her way home, she was not unscathed. Brienne watched on as the mare pranced about in the courtyard of the stable block with vines tangled in her usually impeccable mane and with many scratches on her finely boned legs, which seemed to spew dark red blood all over the alabaster pebbles lining the drive. Kelly calmed the animal down and soothed her by rubbing her silky neck with his palm until she could be brought into the stable to be treated. He did not cast any condemning looks at Brienne, but she almost wished that he had. She felt terrible that the mare had been so frightened and hurt. Brienne stared after the animal as she stood by the front steps to the house; her vision became blurred with tears of guilt.

"There, there, now. No occasion for tears." She turned to find Cumberland standing next to her, as he had been when Avenel brought the mare back. She could not stop tears from streaming hotly down her cheeks.

"It is because of me, you know. I suppose he has told you."

"Yes, he told me the entire story. But the mare will be all right. You'll see. She's just fussing now. She'll be like new soon." He took her by the shoulders.

"But she is bleeding."
She hiccuped, feeling altogether miserable.
"Avenel will never forgive me for hurting her." She turned her face from the older man's view. She didn't know why she should even want Avenel's forgiveness, but somehow it seemed very important.

"Horses are large animals. It seems like a lot of blood, but really it is not. She's back home now, and all in one piece. That's more than reason for you to be glad."

"But you saw Avenel's face when he led the mare home." Brienne shuddered, casting down her violet eyes that were reddened from crying and lack of sleep. "It was like the day we first met. He had that awful bloodthirsty look. Avenel hates me, I tell you. He absolutely hates me."

"There, there, love. He doesn't hate—" Cumberland tried to console her, but he was interrupted when she started to purge herself of all her horrible thoughts.

"I know. It's because of my father. Avenel somehow blames me for whatever has happened to him." She faltered. "Perhaps he is right. Perhaps there is something in my blood that makes me do the wrong thing. Things have never gone well for me, nor did they go well for my mother. It seems from as far back as I can remember, I have been running from my birth.
Trying to avoid something that was terrible and obscene.
Maybe I have Oliver Morrow's blood after all. I've always gotten curious looks wherever I've gone. People find me strange," she berated herself. "Perhaps I'm from the devil after all." Flooded with self-pity, she ran down the steps, not wanting to hear Cumberland's words of reassurance.

Needing the fresh air and to be alone, she knew a long walk through the grounds would do her good. When she returned to the house later that evening, maybe she would find Queenie in an improved condition.

"How—how is she, Kelly?" It was dark by the time she finally appeared in the stable. Her hands felt like two clumps of ice, and her piquant face was chapped from the cold.

"Lady Brienne?" Kelly held the lantern up to see her small cloaked figure standing at the end of the stable.

"Is she still bleeding?" she asked tentatively.

"Why, that daft mare is doing just fine! But you must get yourself inside, my lady. It doesn't do to have you out here in the cold." His concern showed in his youthful blush; she guessed that Kelly could not be more than fifteen years of age.

"She will be all right, then? I—I saw her when he brought her back."

"She'll be stiff for a few days, but that serves her right— taking advantage of you like that. She ought to be whipped."

"No, really, it was
all my
fault. She's a lovely animal. It was a stupid mistake. I didn't know what I was doing." Brienne's lower lip trembled, and she knew she was getting herself upset all over again. She turned to leave, saying only, "Good night, Kelly. I'll check on her in the morning."

"Good night, Lady Brienne," Kelly called eagerly to her as she walked away. "And don't you be worrying over the mare. She'll be just fine—you'll see."

Brienne tried to smile and nod her head, but she found she couldn't, so she walked back to the house in dismal silence.

When she went through the front door, she greeted the wizened footmen and then made her way wearily up to her room. All she wanted was to sleep and to stop her mind from going over and over again all the grim possibilities of her past. For a good part of the day she had sat on the marble bench near the house and wondered exactly what had caused all her troubles. She was Lady Brienne to all those around her, but she was dressed little better than a pauper and had no money of her own. She was homeless and had no relatives to speak of except the man who called himself her father. Yet he had never provided for her nor cared for her. And then there was the awful nagging question of her birth.

Her mind had flitted back and forth between the miniature in her chest of drawers and the portrait of the earl in the gallery. God, how she hated the thought of the earl's blood in her veins! She hated the man as much as Avenel Slane did. But to be illegitimate was too awful to think about. The shame that could be brought upon her was terrible to ponder. Her mother had always let her believe that the cruel man who had visited that time in London was her father. But perhaps that had been her mother's way of protecting her. If a man like the earl had reason to question her parentage, he could create grave consequences for both mother and child. Was she now learning the same lesson her mother had learned—that no matter how objectionable the earl was, she would have to accept him as her father? And that to do otherwise might prove fatal? Just thinking these thoughts made her head ache.

Now, up in her bedroom, she sat stiffly on the yellow settee wondering what she should do next. Vivie was nowhere to be found; she missed her cheerful companionship this evening. Glumly she stared down at her hands, which were now chafed and raw from the elements.

"Are you dining like that, my dear?"

She looked up and saw Cumberland standing timidly just outside the open door to her bedchamber.
"Why, no.
That is, I had not expected to go to dinner."

"I saw Vivie, and she is now pressing one of your dresses so that you can come downstairs for dinner." Cumberland made no move to enter her room. Instead, he stayed back at a proper distance.

"Well, I . . ." She shook her head. "Could you tell him that I am not feeling well? I just cannot tonight." She frowned and looked into the fire.

"If by 'him,' you are referring to Avenel, you need not worry. He won't be joining us tonight. He has just left."

"Left?
Where has he gone?" She raised her eyes inquisitively.

"He's gone to London."

"Because of me?
Because of what I did to Queenie?"

"No, no, my dear!
He has been planning to renew some old friendships. I don't expect he will be back for some weeks."

"Weeks?" she repeated dumbly. Now, why did his going away bother her? She should be elated, but oddly enough, she felt even worse than she had before. She felt empty. Was she developing a liking for that cold, hard man? Was it possible? Then, as if to deny this, she said almost too brightly, "If it's to be just the two of us, then I shall be delighted to come downstairs to dine with you, if you will give me some time to make myself presentable."

"Why, of course. And you must excuse me for being so forward as to come upstairs like this." He blushed, and his wrinkled, pink cheeks took on an iridescent glow. "I just was not sure if I would see you downstairs otherwise. Perhaps you can forgive me?"

"Of course.
It need not be mentioned again." She smiled at him tenderly. Through all her troubles, he always seemed to be the one who was on her side. She knew he cared for her despite his compliance with Avenel. His thoughtfulness at times was quite touching.

"Thank you, my lady. You are too gracious." He bowed and then said as he left, "We will dine in the breakfast room tonight, if that is all right with you. It's a smaller room, and I think it will be more suitable to both our temperaments."

"It sounds like a wonderful idea. I won't be long," she called to him and got up off the settee, feeling determined to have a pleasant evening.

She had just started to brush out her hair when Vivie came in with her freshly pressed dress. The two women chatted gaily about various things, but when Vivie mentioned Avenel's trip, Brienne once again grew quiet and thoughtful.

"He will be back before you realize it,
ma demoiselle
.
"
The little maid relaced her stays, which had become loosened during the day.

"It's none of my concern whether he comes or goes." Brienne tossed this off, trying to be light.

"I see. But perhaps you will change your mind when he returns. I am sure he will not come back empty handed," Vivie said mysteriously.

"He is bringing something back with him?" Brienne questioned. When the petite maid did not continue, her curiosity was roused. What was it? An awful thought occurred to her. Perhaps he was bringing back not something but someone. She ruled the earl out as a possibility after their conversation last night on Idle Dice. But then who else? Was it a woman? Was he going to humiliate her by parading her as his mistress in front of another woman—a woman he was courting? Was that what Vivie was speaking of? Brienne mentally shook herself. She was becoming obsessed. She concentrated on getting ready for dinner and refused to think of anything even remotely related to the master of Osterley.

"You are too lovely, my lady." Vivie smiled at her when she was ready to go downstairs. "Even that sad little dress cannot detract from your fairness. But perhaps we will get rid of it anyway."

"I'm afraid that by the time I can afford to buy another dress, this one will have so many holes it will resemble my polonaise." Brienne looked down at her tired violet wool gown and reminisced. "My mother had a wonderful gown once. It was woven entirely of silver threads. It had tarnished by the time she had to pan with it. There were enormous hoops, much like those of an old-fashioned farthingale; they were worn with it to hold out the material. Then everyone could see how it sparkled in the light. She must have been so beautiful. My mother was even presented at Court, you know. Of course, that was before she
married . . ."
Brienne looked up and gave a little laugh. "It's funny the things you remember from the past. None of them seems to have any meaning."

"They have meaning. It just takes time to know what it is," Vivie said affectionately. Then, eyeing the clock on the mantel, she said rapidly in French, "Now you must go! The poor Monsieur Cumberland will be on his third brandy by now!"

When Brienne found her way to the breakfast room, she was pleasantly suprised by the cozy atmosphere created by the cheerful fire. It was reflected in the two particularly fine Adam pier glasses. The room was small enough to allow the candlelight to be reflected, creating a magical glow not otherwise possible. She entered the room, and Cumberland jumped up to seat her in one of the lyre-back chairs, covered in delicate needlework.

"Feeling better, are we?" He sat opposite her at the old gateleg mahogany table that had been brought in from the passage.

"Much. I should check on Queenie in the morning, but Kelly told me she will recover quickly." She smiled as the footman filled her footed glass with
a heavy
claret.

"Wonderful to hear that.
I don't like to see you so distressed by half. I wanted Slane to stick around, thinking he could cheer you up, but he felt he had to go."

Hearing Avenel's name, she calmly took from the planer that the footman held out for her, not caring what it was she put on her plate. As she picked at the food, she inquired, "He was planning this trip?"

"In a matter of speaking.
You see, he has a cousin on his mother's side of the family in London. He felt it was time to pay her his respects, you see."

"I see." She took a hearty sip of her wine.

"I expect he'll be bringing her back with him. He mentioned something about a ball he wanted her to help him with.
To get reacquainted with the gentry, as it were."
Cumberland seemed to be enjoying his meal; he took large, vigorous bites of the sautéed prawns.

She found this news strange. "Reacquainted? I was not under the impression he had been acquainted at all. I thought you both had just arrived here in England.
" .
"Ah yes, that's true. But . . . ah . . ." He nervously twitched his brow, searching for words. "Well, it's a long story and much too tedious for me to tell at this time of the evening." He gulped down
Some
claret and then abruptly said, "I think you will like Slane's cousin. Rose is a wonderful woman, as lovely as they come."

She saw Cumberland's eyes light up at the mention of the woman's name. "It's hard to think of Avenel as having relatives—especially nice ones." She knew she sounded bitter, but she couldn't help herself. If he had such a lovely cousin waiting for him in London, what was he doing at Osterley tormenting her?