No Choice but Surrender (25 page)

Rose nodded to him and then led Brienne up the grand staircase to her room. But during the evening, Brienne was only dimly aware of the care she received from Rose and Vivie. Her mind was far away in the state bedchamber, where

Avenel lay. The physician from town arrived promptly, and when he left, she was told that Avenel slept comfortably and that she must also. But as she sat in the yellow settee watching the crackling hearth, she knew it would be more difficult to sleep tonight than it had ever been.

A
week had gone by—a week of hearing news from the state bedchamber.
A week of waiting to see Avenel.
But no request for Brienne ever came from the resplendent green velvet room.

Every day, Brienne watched people go back and forth from Avenel's chambers. The florid-faced village minister, Reverend Trumbell, came once, nodding to her in brusque greeting before he disappeared down the passage. The physician was a common sight now. But there were, strangely enough, no other outside visitors. At Avenel's request, security was tightened around the Park. Cumberland informed the gatesmen and groomsmen of the looming threat of the earl, and al-
^v
though Brienne ached to ask Cumberland why Avenel hadn't asked for her, she stayed clear of the troubled man; her guilt become unbearable every time she looked upon his pleasant, endearing face. Then all she could think of was how much she hated her father.

Rose seemed to be the only one who understood her sufferings. Every time Brienne said she was sure that Avenel loathed her and refused to see her because of all the damage her father had done, Rose quickly came to her aid, reassuring her that this was not so. But even Brienne knew Rose was perplexed by Avenel's unexpected refusal of her company. Left with nothing but frustration, all Brienne could do was roam the halls and passages of the great house and wait for the moment when Avenel would say he missed her.

But there seemed no desire on Avenel's part to seek her out. The days trudged on, yet not once did Avenel make any effort to see her as he recovered. As Rose and Cumberland had predicted, Avenel was quick to heal. Although Brienne was relieved by this, she was also disheartened, for this only made his rejection of her even more puzzling.

Every evening when Brienne, Cumberland, and Rose sat down for their meal in the eating room, the dear couple would try and make light of the situation, relating stories of Avenel's strange fancies throughout the years they had known him. There had still been no response from his bedchambers concerning Brienne; but Rose would toss it off as one of his odd quirks. She would make excuses, each day adding a new one, until they all realized there simply were no excuses. For some cursed reason, Avenel was shunning Brienne's company. She had saved his life, and yet others who finally had been allowed to call, such as the Duke and Duchess of Hardington, were the ones he entertained as his bedside companions. Brienne felt as tossed away as his old bandages. And that very fact seemed to drive the green dowel of jealousy right through her heart. Even the winged sphinxes that supported the chairbacks in the state bedroom had more of his time than she did. Brienne found
herself
envious of the mere sheets that he lay upon.

By now the last vestiges of clear weather had left. Snow dusted the grounds, and though it was late, winter finally descended on the Park. The grounds grew too slick and icy to ride. Because of this, Brienne sat up in her room and watched the dismal fields grow heavy with wet, white flakes. Dusk had fallen early today, and the day seemed to mirror her spirits exactly—it was dark, cold, and miserable. A tray was set up by Vivie for her dinner, and the little maid, ever sensitive, now bustled quietly about the chamber, giving her a bit of com- party with her discreet presence yet not intruding upon her thoughts.

Standing up from the tray, Brienne roamed her bedchamber, restless and unspeakably agitated. She forced herself to settle down to read a book of poetry that she had borrowed from the downstairs library, but once she was sitting comfortably on the taffeta settee, her attention wandered to the flames licking up from the fireside. She stared into the fire and sought out its orange and lapis-tipped warmth as solace for her inexpressible feelings. She was in a particularly black mood this night, for Rose and Cumberland had spent the entire evening with Avenel.

Putting down the book of poetry, she couldn't help but wonder what they were doing now. She bit her lower lip, deep in thought, trying desperately to understand what was going on. Why would Avenel behave this way to her? Although her guilt was still upon her, she knew she could not be considered merely the daughter of Oliver Morrow any longer. She had saved Avenel's life. Why had he turned his back on her after she'd proved how much she cared for him?

Because it was your father who shot him.
The words could not be stopped from entering her mind. Moaning, she acknowledged the possibility that Avenel hated her now more than ever. With every ache and pain of his recovery, she knew he thought of the earl—and then he thought of her.

Shaking off her despair, she told herself that the situation had now become a matter of pride. She would not force her company on him if he had no desire for it. But she knew, as the days had passed, so had her anguish over his rejection.

"Tout de suite!"
Vivie called out as someone knocked loudly on the bedchamber door. Brienne looked up from the settee; the knock brought her temporarily out of her melancholy.
"Oui?"
the Frenchwoman inquired. Brienne saw that a young footman stood outside the door, giving Vivie a message. Then the maid closed the door and ran up to Brienne in a flurry of excitement.

"Ma demoiselle!
The Monsieur has called for you in the tapestry room!"

Her nerves jumped but Brienne tried to exude a false calm as she inquired, "What answer did you give Toby?"

"I told him that you would be there." Vivie looked at her in wide-eyed amazement. "You wanted me to tell him that,
non
?"

"That's all right, I suppose," Brienne said reluctantly, her ire was raised not by Vivie's mistake but by Avenel's unparalleled gall in issuing commands.

"But, my lady, I did tell the boy that Master Slane would have to
wait
for your appearance." Vivie let out a sly smile, which Brienne now returned.

"I see. So tell me, Vivie, since I have all this time, I think I shall
have . . ."
Brienne thought for a moment, wondering what activity would take the most time and would therefore cause an irritating wait downstairs. "Why, a bath!" She laughed out loud, unpinning her gleaming hair. "I do believe my hair could use a good washing. After all, we've just gotten it dry
from
this morning's bath!"

Both women laughed mischievously, and Vivie took her time calling for the housemaids to bring up the tub.

Two hours later, Brienne stood in the drawing room by the mahogany door that led to Avenel's private apartments. Her vigorously brushed hair gleamed with highlights of magenta. It was artfully dressed, and one glorious, swelling curl rested on her bosom. She was simply gowned in
a hyacinth
satin brocade. The dress's stays laced up the front over a stomacher of the same material. There was not a stitch of embroidery to be found on the plain but vastly becoming material. She felt fresh and pretty, and this gave her the confidence to open the door after she heard Avenel give die disagreeable command, "Come in!"

Quietly she stepped into the tapestry room. Vulcan courted Venus in half-naked
elation,
and Cupid and Psyche played as well in Boucher-inspired medallions that were woven
trompe I'oeil
into the rich crimson needlework; they represented the loves of the gods. Amid them, Avenel sat on the richly hued Moore carpet with one leg bandaged and straight and die other bent at the knee. His back rested against a settee upholstered in needlework from another Boucher design,
"Let Amours Pastorales."
He stared away from her into a blazing fire that chased away the draft and actually gave the elaborate room a cozy atmosphere.

Brienne was forced to take several steps farther into the room to see his face.
When she did have a full view, Avenel's visage appeared unusually hard and strangely desolate.
It was not the face of a man who had just spent the evening in the company of his friends. She noted that his hand was wrapped around a crystal glass filled with fine aromatic brandy.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked, moving softly to him until she could be seen in the distant ring of firelight. She noted that the dark red wallcoverings made the edges of the room disappear. As there were no candles lit in die farther reaches, the room was deliciously warm and intimate.

"How dare you order a bath after I called for
you!
" He shot
her a
glaring look and spoke with tight, forbidding lips. He picked up an apple from a plate of fruit and started peeling it exactingly with a sharp steel fruit knife.

"I was not aware of my servitude here at Osterley. Must I now run to the master at his every beck and call?" She did not move or flinch underneath his baleful gaze. She was still very angry with him, and she vowed that she would let him know it.

"You've kept me waiting for over two hours!" he yelled at her, dropping the fruit knife and crossing his dark-haired, muscular forearms over his robe. He was obviously waiting for her apology.

"Yes," she said, taking time to note every sorely missed aspect of his appearance. His dark locks gleamed in the firelight, and she took a particularly long moment to appreciate the way his thick, green-blue robe fell open at his chest. This left to her view a magnificent male torso that rippled down to a taut abdomen and finally disappeared suggestively underneath the folds of a silk and velvet sash. "Yes, I suppose two hours is a very long time to wait," she finished, letting all the bitterness she'd felt during the past week fill her voice.

He looked at her sharply. "I see. You're angry with me, are you not?" He let out a mirthless laugh. "Sit down, little one. I will ease your tensions."

She complied, taking an armchair directly in front of him. "What was it you wished to see me about, sir?" she asked sarcastically, feeling the heat of his eyes on her more intensely than that of the flames that burst up through the chimney.

"I have come to a decision where you are concerned, my beauty." His returning sarcasm forced her gaze to his arrogant face. "It has taken me a week, but at last I have made it. It will be finalized tonight."

"A decision?"
She frowned.

"Yes." He looked away momentarily and took a long draught of his brandy.

"I don't understand—"

" 'Tis
not for you to understand!" he snapped at her. Suddenly he tossed a golden object to her that landed in the lap of her gown. She looked down at it and swallowed the dread that had caught in her throat.

"What is the meaning of this?" She held the gold key in her hand.

"You've earned it. I should have given it to you a week ago, but I needed the time to think." His eyes glistened and then chilled to a solid frost as he watched her reaction. Finally he snapped out ferociously, "Take it then, and be off with you!"

"It's worthless," she gasped, reeling from a sudden, inexplicable pain in her chest. "I have no comb any longer. It was broken here in this very room. If you will recall, the Earl of Culpepper crushed it."

"I've had it repaired. Along with the bag of gold I plan to give you, you will have enough money to go anywhere you like. And the coach will be at your disposal to take you there in the morning." He moved the knee of his wounded leg stiffly and then grimaced as he relaxed it once again. He looked up at her and made her jump with the harshness of his voice. "Go! I tell you, leave this instant!''

"You don't—" She found herself choking on the words.

"Find some lost relation and live there, Brienne." He softened, seeing the torn look on her face. "You've more than earned your freedom. And it's my duty to urge you to get away from this mess."

At Avenel's words, Brienne envisioned the two of them at the little cottage. She remembered with heart-twisting clarity how warm his arms had been when she had lain in them that night. She remembered, too, the deep regret she had felt that it had probably been her father or one of his henchmen who had attacked them in the clearing. In the morning, when Avenel had been forced into the torturous mounting of Idle Dice, she recalled how she had felt compelled to apologize for all that had.
happened
to him. But she knew that "I'm sorry" wasn't enough to make up for all his pain. She had stood by searching for the right phrase that would be a balm for
both their
spirits, one that would help them make the journey back to Osterley more pleasant, one that best expressed what she felt in her heart. But then, quickly realizing the insanity of her thoughts, she had mounted Queenie and they were off before she had uttered those terrible, irretrievable words, "I love—"