No Choice but Surrender (2 page)

Tenby, Wales

December 1780

The auburn-haired girl took one last glimpse of her empty house as her coach drove by it, headed for London. Several pigs squealed and ran from the road into another abandoned Tudor home nearby. This one, however, stood roofless; its
jettied
-out top floors were now filled with
rainsoaked
debris.

Her
homeplace
, the small fortressed medieval town of Tenby, was not the least bit fashionable. Not for hundreds of years had the town flourished. But it had made a perfect home for her and her mother. In Tenby, people hadn't cast probing looks at a husbandless woman, nor at her daughter, the beautiful dark-haired girl. No one had ever bluntly put questions to them—questions the mother and daughter would have been loath to answer, such as where had they come from years before, and who they were.

The old distressed town welcomed all who came there. It unconditionally offered a beautiful view of
Carmarthen
Bay
from its
embatdements
and fresh prawns and oysters from the
Llangwm
fish sellers, as if in thanks for the pleasure of the company.

But now yet another home was being left empty.
A new lease seemed doubtful in light of the town's dwindling population.
The girl's old home
setded
back quietly, accepting its fate.
The scurries of small gray mice running across the dirt floor in the design-painted merchant's room would soon drown out the echoes of past laughter.

The girl was one of the town's own. She had played there as a child and had dreamed there as a young woman. Now she stared off to St. Catherine's Island and
Casde
Hill. She was now lost to Tenby. And as if mourning her departure, the town looked sadder than usual—a bit more squalid and a
litde
more deserted. Not a soul was in attendance to see the girl off. But still, she looked back at the small coastal town from her worn leather seat in the coach and curled her fingers as if waving good-bye to an old friend, one that had protected her and helped her make her way. How she would miss it! She turned back in the coach, as if not wanting the fragile old place to see tears of homesickness already welling up in her soft violet-blue eyes.

Crossing her arms in front of her, she seemed a dismal
litde
creature. There was no one to divert her sad thoughts—she was the coach's only passenger. They would pick up others on the way to London, but not until they reached the larger town of Carmarthen.

Sitting back in her seat, she looked out the dirty window of the coach at the hilly Welsh countryside. For the time being, she allowed herself to fret and imagine what life would be like where she was going.

OSTERLEY
PARK

. . .
worthy
of Eve before the Fall

—Horace Walpole

Osterley
Park

January 1781

Brienne
Morrow recalled the sight of
Osterley
as she'd seen it when she walked past its brick gatehouse a month ago. The great portico was alive with white griffons plastered on the pediment. Large stone eagles, each holding an adder in its beak, loomed fearlessly over the steps; their gray granite eyes forever watchful.

But now as she sat on the cold stone bench and looked at the house, she found it much more powerful now in contrast to the neglected landscape. There were no hills or stately elms to soften its effect. Rather, it sat on an immense flat plain by a long finger lake and completely overwhelmed even the largest of the trees nearby, a tall spindly oak.

She eyed the withering tree. The harsh winter was taking its toll on it. She had started on a melancholy walk about the grounds for the comfort found in the desolate landscape. Its very bleakness offered the respite she needed from the opulence of the house.

From the marble bench near the pebbled carriage drive, she allowed the house to take over her thoughts. She watched the pair of white griffons, noting the stance of their lifted paws and thinking that they looked as if they had been raised a bit since the day before. The Elizabethan turrets on all four corners were incongruous with the neoclassical facade.
Brienne
wondered if long ago there had been a comfortable, happy house where the portentous one now stood.

But she only had a few memories of
Osterley
at an earlier time, because she'd moved from it as a child of five. She remembered the coldness of the gallery, in which the great Venetian windows at each end had never seemed to break the drafts. Now the windows were bricked up. And she remembered her mother's room, which had been the exact color of sunshine and had always smelled of orange blossom.
Brienne
had an unpleasant memory of that room. She had had a nightmare and had run to find her mother, but her mother hadn't been in her room. The maid had come to put
Brienne
to bed again, but the servant's explanation that her mother had duties in another room had left her feeling even more frightened and alone.

Brienne
looked down at her mended brown mitts and shook her head. Despite her memories and her mother's accounts of
Osterley
, she had still been unprepared for its greatness. She had been overwhelmed by the magnificent house as soon as she entered its gates. The very fact that she was its only resident, aside from the servants, gave it that much more command over her. Day after day, she walked through the elaborate rooms, more as a servant than as the daughter of Lord Oliver, the eighth Earl of
Laborde
. She found it ironic that she, small and shabby, was his only claim to manhood and the only bearer of his name.

Her mother's stories hadn't always been truthful. She twisted uncomfortably on the cold marble bench. Her thoughts turned to a miniature stowed in a secret panel of her bedroom chest of drawers. She had found the miniature in a trunk at "an old merchant's house in Tenby right after her mother had died. It was a picture of a man's angelic profile, painted neatly on a thin sheet of ivory. He was young and very handsome, but his beauty had not made her gasp. Rather, what the miniature had seemed to imply was a greater shock.

It was something
Brienne
had wondered about for years. Had her mother ever been in love? She knew her mother had never loved the earl.
Brienne's
father had proven himself unworthy of love. So who was this beautiful man in the miniature?
she
had asked herself. Was he a distant cousin who even now pined for her mother? Or was he a sea captain who kept Grace Morrow in his thoughts even though he might be clear on the other side of the world?

Holding the miniature to her breast,
Brienne
had clung to her romantic fancies. There was comfort in believing her mother had known love after all. That she hadn't gone through her short life having known only one man, Oliver Morrow, who had treated her more as an ornament for his precious
Osterley
than as a woman who could be hurt by harsh words and rough hands. Though
Brienne
knew there would have been consequences had her mother had a relationship with another man, she chose not to dwell on those. In the distant corners of her mind, she thought she herself bore a likeness to the gentleman in the picture. But then, she told herself sternly, perhaps she was reading more into the picture than was warranted. The only thing she knew for sure was that the miniature had meant a lot to her mother. It had been important enough to keep all these years, and for that reason it had been a precious find.

That search for valuables had been necessary for more than just personal reasons. The creditors had come to call. A
tuppence
pending for a long-ago-worn-out bolt of cloth and a shilling owed for a long-ago-eaten side of pork had added up. Not long after that
,
 
she
realized she would have to leave Wales.

There had been long sleepless nights when she'd been overwhelmed with doubts and fears. She'd lain awake in the top room and stared at the arched rafters, holding the precious miniature in her cold palm. Now and then she'd risen, only to find small relief in opening the leaden mullioned windows to the night air. Finally she'd made a decision. There would be no joy in her new home. She had shuddered at the thought of a chance meeting with the man she knew as her father. But she really had no choice. She had nowhere else to go.

Being forced to move, she had had to part with many of their treasured belongings—several of her mother's pearl pins, all her mother's gowns and most of her own, and all their wonderful books, including volumes of Shakespeare and Chaucer. But there had been two things Brienne had refused to part with, no matter how urgent her need for money. One was a gold and amethyst comb that she'd found with the tiny portrait. It was a bittersweet reminder of her mother's kind eyes, the same shade of blue-violet as her own. And the other precious possession was the miniature.

Brienne sat very still on the bench. Her mind was flooded with memories. They left a bad taste in her mouth and gave her a deep, lonely ache inside her belly. But she'd enjoyed one bit of good fortune in the recent past: Her father had been blessedly absent from Osterley in the month she'd been there. And from what she could gather from the servants' gossip, he was not expected back anytime soon.

So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she didn't notice a fashionable coach-and-four enter the grounds until it was almost in front
of
the house. Before she could rise from her bench, the familiar figure of her father's solicitor sprang from the vehicle and made his way toward her. His gait was impatient.

"Good day," Brienne said from her position on the bench. Warily, she wondered what had inspired this unwelcome visit.

"Good day, Lady Brienne. No, please do not rise. I won't be staying long." The dour man stood over her and continued in an arrogant manner. "I have come to inform you that I am no longer your father's solicitor. He hasn't the funds for my services." He looked as if he expected a reaction of some son from her, but she disappointed him by not giving him one.

"Excuse me for my candor," she finally spoke up, "but I don't see the necessity to inform me of that. I have never had any need of your services."

"There is something else. Your father has been in America for some time now. He has been found to have gambled excessively." The solicitor eyed her; this time he was hoping to provoke a reaction from her. "He has had heavy losses."

"Yes?" Brienne looked up at him. Her eyes held no apprehension whatsoever.

"In fact, he has lost everything. He gambled and lost Osterley entirely."

"I see." She thought about this bit of news for a second or two and then brushed it aside. "I shall inform the servants. Is there anything in particular they need to be told?"

"Excuse me, Lady Brienne. I don't know if you heard me correctly. I said the earl has lost Osterley. You are in effect homeless."

"Yes, I heard you correctly the first time. And I'm not surprised. How very like my father—by the mere draw of a card, to lose such a magnificent home, not caring whose livelihood he has ruined."

"The new master has requested the servants to remain here. In his letter he asked me to inform them that he will choose who is to go once he has arrived."

"And when do you expect that will be?" She was nonchalant, reasoning that she would be far away from Osterley by that time.

"It's hard to say, but my guess would be the end of the week at the latest, perhaps even tomorrow, according to the dates he stated in the letter."

Finally the solicitor got the reaction he'd been waiting for. Gasping out loud, she stared at him in disbelief. "Surely you are jesting! Why was I not given notice?"

"Letters from the Colonies more often than not arrive with the senders, my lady. This was the best I could do. I myself just received notice of your father's impoverished state." The bony solicitor couldn't hide his look of distaste. "He has relieved me of my services and informed me of his difficulty in returning to England. I fear that the war and his lack of funds for passage have found him in dire straits."

"Well, at least that is good news," she murmured under her breath.

The solicitor cleared his throat. "Though I have not yet been paid for my past services for the earl, I nonetheless did find it my duty to drive here and offer you my assistance. If I may make one suggestion, my lady, the place in Bath is still in your father's possession, I believe. And I know he still has a small, modest town house in London. I expect that when he returns to England, he will arrive there. I'm certain, as he is your father, that he would not find it objectionable if you were to take up residence there in the meantime."

"Perhaps he would not find it objectionable, but I would. I've come to Osterley only for a short time while I find a more suitable place to live. My stay here will just have to be cut."

"The new master seems very charitable. I'm certain he would not be disagreeable if you remained here until further arrangements were made. Of course, anyone would understand your humiliation at accepting such an indecent offer."

"Humiliation?
Why should I feel humiliated by accepting the kindness of a stranger? The true humiliation is living under my father's "kindness." My mother could have told you about that." She mumbled these last words, not willing to elaborate on the subject.

"Well, if it does not bother you, Lady Brienne, I'm sure Master Avenel Slane would bid you to stay until it is comfortable for you to leave. The situation's lack of propriety is shocking, but if you are not bothered by it, then I shall offer no further advice."

"You can tell my father, if by chance you see him, that not only will I accept the kind Master Slane's offer, should he extend it, but to avoid the earl's company, I would even consider taking up a position permanently in the new master's household." She laughed and then added, "Yes, do inform him of that. Tell him I would prefer being a scullery maid at Osterley than living with him in London. You will tell him, won't you?" She looked up at the man; her beautiful eyes were alive with merriment.

"Yes, my lady. If that is what you wish." He looked at her as if she were crazed. Then, perhaps because he thought her daftness made her vulnerable to him, his eyes wandered over her rich auburn hair. It was so dark it could pass for magenta. Her figure was petite and young, and its only fullness was found in her chest and her hips. There was an invitation in his small, squinty eyes, but Brienne dealt with it by staring at him with a stony expression until he realized his flirtation was hopeless. She had told him she was willing to stay on in a stranger's house rather than live "respectably" with her father, but she would never take a lover, not one of her choosing or anyone else's. She watched determinedly as the solicitor swiftly took his leave without offering her pity or solace.

She knew she had to inform the army of servants and make her own plans before Avenel Slane showed up. Brienne dejectedly got off the bench. Making her way through the grand portico and across the uncovered courtyard, she noticed that all was eerily silent—too silent for such an immense and well- furbished house. It was a testament to the fact that there was no owner in residence—yet.