Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (17 page)

Ella appeared relieved. “Would you tell me what you know of His Lordship’s former wife?”

“I did not meet Kerrington until a year after the lady’s passing, but, he spoke of her often in those early years, and afterwards, I became acquainted with others who knew Lady Worthing well–His Lordship’s cousin Alma, whom you met last evening, for example. Most, who speak of Elizabeth Kerrington, speak of her beauty, and from the renderings I have seen of her, she was attractive.” Bran saw Ella’s frown return. “Elizabeth Kerrington was pretty, Ella, but no more so than you. She was dark–more along the lines of Velvet’s coloring. A person could not compare the two of you.”

“His Lordship says his wife was all kindness.” The worry lines appeared around his sister’s eyes.

Bran smiled solicitously at her. “I am certain Worthing would say so. He speaks as a man who remembers love’s early bliss, but, Ella, please understand part of grief is selective memories. Those who speak of Lady Worthing remember a girl–not a woman; she was not even your age when she passed, Kerrington having married her when she was but seventeen. He recalls the young girl’s exuberance, but that does not mean as Kerrington matured that his wife might follow suit. I have heard Worthing’s mother say that she never thought Elizabeth Morris was her son’s equal in intelligence or depth of character, and his cousin Alma speaks of the lady’s spoiled nature, always needing to be the center of attention. Lady Alma once commented on her doubts of Lady Worthing being able to love the child, not being willing to share Worthing’s attention with her own son. It is my belief that you could be more to Kerrington than his late wife. A man of twenty sees the world differently from one of thirty, and he requires a different type of woman to fill those changing needs. I seriously doubt Kerrington would even feign interest in ribbons just to please you.”

Ella laughed lightly. “Did you hear our near battle over the advantages of railways over the canal system two evenings ago?”

“Worthing is not likely to find someone at White’s who would give him such a set down,” Bran taunted.

“Am I too fiery in my opinions, Bran? Should I try to soften my approach?” she said with obvious concern.

Bran leaned forward as if to share a secret. “Do you wish to attract Worthing? If he made a declaration, would you accept?”

Caught off guard, he noted how Ella composed herself before answering.
“I value Lord Worthing’s opinion more than I should on such short acquaintance. I fear, I prefer his company to all others; and as far as a declaration, I would seriously entertain such avowals.”

“Then let us give Worthing some hope,” Bran declared. “He has expressed an interest in making his overtures at the Season’s end. If I interpret what you say correctly, it would be acceptable to you if he did so before that time?”

Ella squirmed in her chair, but she said, “I would not wish to wait for an understanding with Lord Worthing, but neither would I wish to force him into acting before he is prepared.”

“I have observed how the man looks at you, Ella. I doubt Kerrington would think himself forced into an offer of marriage, but I will assure him he may speak earlier if he so wishes.” Bran stood, having basically finished his private interview with his sister. “As your official Come Out is less than a fortnight away, we should not upset Aunt Agatha by announcing a betrothal before then. I intend to suggest that Worthing wait a fortnight following your ball before securing your hand. That gives you a month, Ella, to change your mind if you so wish.”

“And if I changed my mind, would I disappoint you, Bran? His Lordship is a dear friend, after all.”

Bran took her hand and brought it to rest over his heart. “I would only be disappointed, Eleanor, if you chose someone who could not make you happy. I would agree to a cottager or a vicar or an earl, as long as you could find comfort and joy in your life by sharing it with the man. You are what is important to me–not Society.”

Immediately, she was in his arms, and Bran felt her fake veneer–the one his sister showed the world slip away, and the passionate and loving girl he once knew slid into his embrace. “I love you, Eleanor. No one will ever replace you in my life. I would move mountains for you; I promise to never fail you again.”

*

When Kerrington called to take Ella driving, Bran motioned him into his study as Mr. Horace sent a maid to find Eleanor. “Have a seat, Worthing.” Bran gestured to the chair before his desk. “I thought I might bring you up to snuff on the Baloch emerald. Lexford reports someone broke into one of his smaller properties and ransacked the rooms, leaving things in disarray. It could be vandals in the neighborhood, but it might have something to do with the emerald. Maybe not surprisingly, Swenton thwarted a similar incident at a manor house on his Hampshire property. There are some parallels in the manner in which the culprits entered the dwellings. Shepherd sent out warnings to the others. I told him I would speak to you and Crowden.”

“How long have you known of these attacks?”

Bran played with his pen, stroking the feather across a stack of papers. “A week or two.”

“And you did not care to share it with the rest of us?” Kerrington accused.

“As only my family has suffered from the actual attacks, at first, I considered it a possibility that the reports of the emerald could be false. Now I am of a different persuasion.”

“I need to contact Mr. MacKelroy, my father’s steward...have him check the outlying holdings.” He motioned to the foolscap lying on the desk, and Bran nodded his agreement. Worthing took up the pen Bran had abandoned. “Have there been other attacks?”

“None of which Shepherd is aware.”

Worthing finished his short directive to the estate’s steward before looking up at Bran. “Any leads on the coach or the shooter in the park?”

“Shepherd believes he has a lead on the coach.” Bran handed over the hot wax after Kerrington wrote the directions on the outside. “Other witnesses saw a coach. It held a crest, but the street hawker could not identify it. The coach nearly ran him down in its flight to escape you. With what you shared, I suspect the coach the hawker observed belonged to the fake ‘Frenchie,’ rather than the Baloch.” Worthing used his signet ring to seal the missive as Bran rang for a footman to send the message on its way. “I had another reason to speak to you, Worthing.”

Leaning back into the chair, the viscount eyed Bran with suspicion. “I am at your disposal, Your Grace.”

“I spoke to my sister after her morning callers departed.”

Worthing shifted uncomfortably. “Were there many?”

“It was a packed house between those who called on Eleanor, those to see Velvet, and those who would take either. It made me wish to clean my gun before them,” he mused. Bran swirled the brandy he sipped. “I find I drink more often than I once did. It dulls my response to my cousin’s presence. Tell me, Worthing, how do I let her go if Velvet chooses another?”

“I assume that is a rhetorical question, and you seek no response from me.”

When the footman appeared, Bran handed him the letter before returning to their conversation. “I noticed you not among Eleanor’s admirers,” he half mocked.

“As you must subjugate your desire to make Miss Aldridge your own, I find I am not so magnanimous regarding those who would place a claim on your sister. I am not of a personality to share Lady Eleanor’s attentions with a room full of would-be lovers.” Worthing sighed deeply, accepting his fate.

“You will be happy to know, Worthing, that my sister prefers you to all the others.”

The viscount set forward, hands on the edge of the desk. “Do not tease me, Fowler; I am not a school girl seeking news of my latest infatuation. If you wish to speak to me of Lady Eleanor, then do so directly and truthfully.”

“I have told Ella,” Bran smiled, the corners of his mouth turned up mockingly, “I would entertain a petition for her hand before the Season’s end if she found someone to her liking. I have suggested some time–perhaps a fortnight, shall we say–after her official Come Out ball. It would be unseemly to do so before the ball. Aunt Agatha would be most livid.”

“Do you speak the truth, Fowler?”

“Make her happy, Kerrington. Teach Ella to love. I wish never to witness her begging for my father’s attentions again. My sister received ill treatment’s worst form, and I cannot bear to think she might spend the rest of her days without knowing love.” Bran leveled a stare on Kerrington. “Tell me you really love Eleanor, and I will fight the heavens to bring you together.”

Worthing did not look away. “I love Lady Eleanor with every inch of my heart. You will not believe this, but when I am with Ella, I do not think of Elizabeth–never has that happened.”

“Then you have a month to convince Ella to be your wife. After that, any exclusivity I have permitted you as my friend will no longer exist,” Bran warned.

“I understand, Your Grace.” The viscount stood to make his leave.

Bran gestured to stay him. “One thing more, Worthing; release Mary. If Eleanor discovers that you have a mistress, it will kill her. I will not see her hurt ever again. If you choose to make Ella your wife, you must do so with the understanding that you will find pleasure only in her arms. If I hear of your doing something contrary to that, you and I will meet on a dueling field, and I would dislike losing you as a brother.”

“I have seen Mary but once since the day your sister stumbled into my arms, and even then I left to spend my evening alone. I think of no one but Eleanor. I give you my word on it. If Eleanor is mine, I will release Mary to another protector.”

Chapter 9

For the next week, their lives became the Season’s routine. A number of invitations comprised each evening, and they chose among the ones the Duchess deemed most worthy: dinners, soirees, musicales, balls, and the theatre. For the ladies, entertaining callers, shopping, and attending athomes filled their days. The men attended to Parliamentary duties, fencing or boxing, and afternoons at White’s. Maintaining their ruse, Godown regularly escorted Velvet to Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. They had agreed to a program to make Fowler jealous, not to trap Crowden. In fact, by the end of the first week of their acquaintance, Crowden had already changed his opinion of Miss Aldridge, and Velvet had returned his sentiments. They still found each other physically attractive, but he thought her too needy for his taste, and she found him too egotistical. One day in a heated exchange, he told her, “You would be perfect for Brantley Fowler. He always wanted to be the ‘hero’–to save every needy woman or child we encountered in our assignments.” Despite this tiff, they agreed to continue their deception a little longer. Velvet thought Bran might come around soon, and Godown still wished for his family to believe he seriously considered marriage.

*

Two days before the scheduled Come Out ball, the Fowlers, along with Worthing and Godown, enjoyed an evening at the theatre, making use of the Thornhill box. Bran recognized how things had changed for his sister: Since their confidential talk, Ella had publicly accepted Worthing. Tonight, she proudly entered the theatre on his arm, glowing with his presence. Bran expelled a deep sigh–
just maybe
–
maybe Ella’s sadness might finally disperse.

Then Bran saw her: Mary Cavendish, Worthing’s mistress, standing at the top of the main stairs and clinging to an elderly gentleman’s arm. Bran stiffened wondering what he could do to protect Eleanor. He had warned Kerrington less than a week prior to rid himself of his mistress, but Bran seriously doubted Worthing had done anything of yet.
Poor Ella
, he thought. She would not handle well the knowledge of Worthing’s sharing his attentions. Living with the late duke had twisted Ella’s concept of a man’s lust.

Mary’s eyes met Bran’s, and she stepped back, denying the connection. Bran liked Mary; Kerrington had brought her occasionally to some of their gatherings, and he had known how Mary had assisted his friend in his grief. The woman was a friend, a counselor, and a lover, but Bran’s concern rested with Eleanor. He would not allow even his best friend to hurt her. Therefore, Bran gave Mary a warning glance, telling her with his eyes to keep her distance. He would deal harshly with Mary if she made a scene before his family. He knew Ella and Kerrington trailed behind him, and he wanted Mary as far away as possible. Bran silently fumed as he urged Aunt Agatha toward the box.

“What is it, Brantley?” she asked curiously.

“Nothing, my Dear,” he soften his tone. “It is nearly time for the performance to start is all.”

He held the drape away from the opening as Aunt Agatha entered. He did it on purpose; he had wanted to observe Ella. A sickening feeling crept into his stomach; without words, Bran realized she knew–somehow his sister knew; her face held Kerrington’s betrayal. She momentarily swayed, and Worthing steadied her steps with his weight. The color had drained from her face, and Ella’s hands trembled. Although, at the moment, Bran cared not to hear any apologies, Kerrington’s tight-lipped mouth spoke of regret. As he caught Worthing’s arm, Ella unsteadily ducked into the box’s darkness. “Do something!” he hissed. “I will not see Ella hurt!” Giving his friend a deadly look, Bran preceded Kerrington into the private seats.

They were no more than settled when Ella suddenly announced, “Excuse me. I shall step to the ladies’ withdrawing room before the play begins.”

Bran noted the tears misting her eyes when he turned to look at her, and his heart lurched in pain.

“Shall I go with you?” Velvet offered.

Tucking her chin to hide her real expression, he watched Ella shake her head in the negative before she sprang to her feet. In another instant, his sister disappeared through the opening.

“Damn you, Worthing!” Bran charged under his breath as he caught Kerrington’s sleeve.

“Release me, Fowler,” Worthing’s tone held no options. “I will see to Lady Eleanor.”

“If you hurt her, we will meet at dawn,” Bran warned.

Kerrington shook off Bran’s hand and followed Eleanor out.

“What is it?” Velvet begged.

“Not now!” Aware the
ton
watched their interactions, Bran plastered on a smile.

Velvet appeared confused; she did not understand, and his caustic tone had, evidently, upset her. “That is how it always is–keep me in the dark and then criticize me when I do not comprehend your secrets!” She huffed and turned her back on him.

Bran felt a moment of regret, but he had greater troubles than Velvet’s temper tantrum. Likely crying her eyes out, his sister was somewhere in this monstrosity of a building.

Resentfully, Bran turned his eyes to the stage. Fifteen minutes later, Ella and Worthing slid into their seats. Bran had wanted to turn immediately and demand an explanation, but he gritted his teeth instead and maintained his composure.

After the third act, when the house lights were relit, the audience began to stretch and mingle for the intermission. “Will you join us for some refreshments, Ella?” Bran encouraged as he assisted Aunt Agatha to her feet. He wished to gauge Ella’s temperament.

“I think not.” She reached for her fan and reticule. “I have instructed Lord Worthing to introduce me to Mrs. Cavendish.”

Bran fought the urge to openly react. Instead, he caught her hand and leaned in close to Ella. “It is unacceptable, Eleanor. Viscount Worthing knows better.” He shot a look of warning in Kerrington’s direction.

“Lord Worthing and I will have no secrets between us,” she insisted. Her eyes told Bran this issue was not one upon which she would look favorably for his interference, but he gave Worthing another deadly glare.

Bran pointedly released her hand, registering his objection. “If you must do this, do so with an eye on your position in society,” he whispered.

*

When they returned to Briar House, Bran wasted no time in discovering what happened. “Worthing, if you would, might I have a word in my study?” He waited for no one before turning on his heels to leave them in the drawing room. Moments later, Kerrington stepped into the room, and Bran turned on him immediately as he shoved the door closed. “I want to know everything that happened.”

“I am not certain it is any of your business, Your Grace.” Kerrington flopped down into the nearest chair.

“Eleanor is my business, Kerrington. So, you can either tell me, or I will drag my sister into this room also.”

Kerrington rolled his eyes. “Your sister is correct; I should never have listened to your advice; you know nothing about women.”

Bran took offense, “Ella did not say that!”

“Bring your sister forward; I have nothing to fear,” Kerrington asserted.

He stared at his long-time friend for several moments. Then, as his temper quickly deflated, Bran sat down in disgust. “So, did you release Mary as I suggested?”

“I introduced your incomparable sister to Mrs. Cavendish. Eleanor set the tone, silently demanding Mary’s withdrawal and my fidelity. In one fell swoop, Eleanor marked me as hers.”

“Are you complaining?” Bran growled.

“Not in the least. If your sister asked me to walk on water, I would drown in my attempts to please her.”

Bran looked about sheepishly. “Did Ella really disparage my advice?”

Kerrington laughed with the irony of the evening. “Lady Eleanor scoffed when I told her that you had given me advice on how to handle her. Your sister’s exact words were, ‘The man who cannot make up his mind about how to win his cousin’s love? That man? That is whose advice you accepted about me?’”

“I may kill her instead of you.” Bran shoved to his feet. “The important thing is do you and Ella still affect each other?”

“Very much so, Your Grace.”

*

“Lucinda?” Bran spoke to the woman who suddenly appeared in the hallway of the Royal Academy. “Lucinda Warren, is that you?” He stepped forward to greet the lady.

Her hand went to her mouth in surprise. “Brantley Fowler, as I live and breathe!” Then seeing everyone stare, they both dropped into proper bows.

“When did you arrive in London?” Bran caught her arm and steered her to a nearby settee where they might converse. “Is Matthew with you?” He looked about as if expecting his old schoolmate to materialize.

“Oh, Bran,” the lady’s voice held real regret. “You have not heard? Mr. Warren fell during the Peninsular Campaign. I only recently returned to London. I shed my widow’s weeds less than a month prior.”

Bran looked completely shocked. “Matthew Warren was a credit to his country. My condolences feel inadequate, Lucinda. How may I be of service to you?”

“I need nothing, Bran; Matthew provided for me, and I have a small allowance from my late mother.”

“Your Grace,” a footman stepped forward, “your carriage awaits, Sir.”

Bran nodded to the servant. “Thank you.”

Lucinda’s smile fell to disconcerted embarrassment. “Your Grace?” She looked around, as if ready to flee.

Bran reached for her hand, holding her in place. “I assumed my father’s title several months prior, but to you, my Dear, I am simply Brantley Fowler.”

“I feel such a fool,” Lucinda blushed. “How could I have forgotten? As Matthew was a second son, I sometimes do not recall that his friends were titled gentlemen–another adjustment I must make in London.”

“I have a suggestion...something to make your transition easier.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Bran’s eyebrow shot up in amusement. “I will overlook that one,” he cautioned. “Would you be my special guest at my sister’s ball tomorrow evening? It is her Come Out.”

“Oh, Bran, I would love to, but on such short notice, I would not presume to upset your sister’s plans.”

“First, Lucinda, it is I who assumes the bill for this grand entrance into Society. I should be extended permission to add one name to the guest list. Secondly, my sister would be pleased to have your acquaintance. Although only briefly, she knew Mr. Warren also.” Bran stood to take his leave. “Tell me your directions, and I will send my carriage for you.”

Lucinda followed him to her feet and dutifully provided the address.

“My carriage will call at eight.”

*

The smell of an English garden comforting and enticing, the ballroom swelled with floral arrangements. Yellow roses and daises and lavish greenery filled every vase and urn in the room. Two crystal chandeliers and wall sconces every three feet lighted the room with hundreds of candles. French doors and windows stood open to the late spring night, where outside colorful lanterns and ribbons adorned the garden walkways and balustrades. The orchestra, on the raised dais, tuned their instruments and arranged sheet music upon stands.

Bran, all in black, except his white linen, stood aristocratically at the head of the receiving line, followed by Aunt Agatha, who wore a dark green, nearly black, gown with matching hair plumes and who looked remarkably handsome for a woman of her age. Ella wore a creamy satin gown, with short puffy sleeves and a low décolletage, draped with a golden mesh that made her look very royal. Golden picks and yellow petals were woven into piled-high hair–a double gold chain and locket draped about her neck. Velvet had chosen a shimmering gown of the palest lavender, accessorized with silver about her neck and woven within her dark curls. When Bran had seen her descend the Briar House stairs, he saw “home”–the way it should be. “You are exquisite,” he whispered close to her ear. “Each day, I think that you could not be lovelier, and each evening, you prove me wrong.”

The evening progressed splendidly. The music–the food–the accommodations–combined to create a major “crush.” Bran escorted Eleanor to the floor for the opening set. “I am so proud to be known as your brother,” he told her as they passed each other in the form.

“Thank you for giving me this moment, Bran.” Ella’s eyes teared with happiness for a change.

For the second set, Bran claimed Velvet’s hand. She had spent the first one on Crowden’s arm, which still bothered him, but not as much as before. Bran realized his former cohort might truly hold an interest in Velvet, but, if she went to such extremes to make him jealous, then Bran still held her interest. “You are beautiful,” he told her as he led Velvet down the dance’s line. “You actually take my breath away.”

Velvet’s smile grew, and he noted a slight flush of her cheeks. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Bran,” he corrected.

They separated to acknowledge the other couple in their quad, but when they came together, she lowered her eyes before saying, “I cannot.”

He circled her, although they did not touch. “Cannot what? Use my name?” he demanded.

Locked in desire, Velvet’s eyes came to his. “It is too intimate–too private.” She stepped toward the other couple and then returned to him for another circle. “In public, I must think of you as a duke–my guardian.”