Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (3 page)

“It was Ashmita’s dearest wish for Sonali to make a valued match. My wife begged me to bring Sonali to England where she might find a place of prominence.”

“I assume your wife meant real Society, not this unveracious one you have manufactured in Cornwall. As Mr. Fowler, no matter how much wealth you acquire, the best for which you can hope for Sonali is to marry a wealthy merchant and to live on the fringes. However, if you come home and assume your title, Sonali is a duke’s daughter–one of the land’s highest positions–her nationality will no longer be an issue. Compound that with your independent wealth and Thornhill’s reputation as a seat of the aristocracy, and your child will be able to name her match. Is that not what your wife truly for her daughter?”

The truth of her words ricocheted through Bran’s body; he fought to keep his composure. “Your argument is a sound one, Ella, but I do not know whether I
can
return to Thorn Hall. There are too many shadows–too many memories of the depravity–too many images of what our father did to all of us.”

“The key words in that sentence are ‘to all of us.’ I want Thornhill to survive despite our father. Return, Bran. Do it for me–do it for Sonali–do it for you–do it for our mother. She would want it so. She suffered much to keep her children safe. Our mother wanted the title for you. Are you willing to throw that away?”

“How many people know I am here?” It was a question he had wanted to ask from the moment he had laid eyes on Eleanor outside The Blue Bull.

“I told no one. Those at Thorn Hall believe I took a holiday–took private time to grieve for our father.”

Bran chuckled lightly with her words’ irony–as if anyone would grieve for his infamous father’s passing. “If I refuse to go back,” he said at last, “will you tell the others you found me? Will you force me to take Sonali and flee to the Continent or to India?”

She shook her head in the negative. “No...no, I shall tell no one. You may continue to exist as Mr. Fowler, investor. Cousin Horton shall become the Duke of Thornhill.”

“Thank you, Ella,” Bran said at last. “You have given me much of which to consider. If you will excuse me, I have business to address in my study.” He rose to offer her a bow; instead, he crossed to where she sat. Bending low he kissed her cheek. Softly, he whispered in her ear. “You have grown into quite a beauty, Ella. You remind me so much of our mother; you have her eyes and her hair. I am honored you believe my presence at Thorn Hall would make a difference.”

Chapter 2

“Look, Aunt Ella,” Sonali called as she chased a rabbit the English Springer spaniel, known as Luxman, routed from the hedgerow. Ella and Bran strolled along the river walk, an escape from his property’s carefully planned gardens. His daughter and the family dog trotted along before them. An unseasonably warm day, they enjoyed the late winter sun warming the afternoon.

“Not too fast,” Ella warned as the child skipped down the hill’s slight descent.

Bran patted her hand. “She is fine, Ella. Let her play. Sonali will grow up soon enough.” The governess rushed forward to catch the little girl’s hand. “Let us sit by the river,” Bran suggested. “There are several benches along the bank. Sonali can toss pebbles into the water like you used to do when Mama took us to Ramsgate. Do you remember how pleasant those days were?”

“I would think you might not recall the time so pleasantly. After all, watching a child, nearly six years younger, try to skip a stone across the water must have bored you.”

Bran seated her on a wooden bench where a cluster of trees provided protection from a persistent breeze. He cleaned away the leaves and twigs with his handkerchief before joining her. A barely visible gesture told Mrs. Carruthers to supervise his daughter’s playing near the water. “I admit to finding your ability to throw properly a bit amusing,” Bran’s tone spoke of the satisfaction he took in teasing her. “Yet, in reality, those were some of my life’s best days. Mama doted on us, and I, for one, relished those moments when it was just the three of us. Even when Velvet came to stay, nothing compared to hearing Mama’s laughter as it echoed across the beach line. She was happy then.”

Ella looked off as if seeing what he saw. “Do you think our mother knew then?”

“Father never hid his perversions. Even as a boy of ten I observed his taking one of Delaney’s barmaids–walked in on him actually. He had backed her into the storage room. I watched with a child’s curiosity for a brief moment, and then I caught his eye and, stopping his actions. He motioned me forward. He took my hand and placed it on the woman’s bare breast and told me how I would be exactly like him some day. I ran from the room, mortified by the way the woman started moving against him when my hand touched her. Father’s resounding laughter followed me. If he did not hide it from his son, why would our mother not know?”

Ella jealously accused, “You had Mama all to yourself for over five years.” As the oldest and the only son, Amelia Fowler had worshipped Bran.

“Mama needed to produce an heir. With my birth, she had fulfilled her obligation to father. I always imagined it a relief to complete it with the first attempt.”

“Then why have me?” Blame laced her words. “If not for me, Mama might still be alive.”

“I cannot answer that one, Ella. Possibly, Mama succumbed to the old adage of having a spare. Many families want a second son in case something happens to the first.”

“Then she must have been sadly disappointed to deliver a daughter,” she whispered. Tears slid from her eyes’ corners.

Bran flicked them away with his thumbs. “I truly have no idea, Ella, why she chose to have a second child, but what you must remember is she did choose to do so. I know because Mama lost a baby a little over a year before you were born. She was very sad for a while, and no matter what I did to try to please her, her countenance said she was sorry to have lost that child. Old Mrs. Cunningham, her maid, used to speak of how Mama’s heart was broken, and I would see it in her face. Then you were born, and she smiled again. Sometimes I was jealous because you made Mama happy when I could not, but I have never regretted having to share our mother with you. Her love was big enough for both of us.”

“Often I wonder how she could take him to her bed.” The words surprised Brantley. They had never spoken so honestly before about their time under the duke’s roof.

“Maybe she loved him,” Bran mused. “Maybe she did not recognize the danger or maybe Mama’s desire for another child simply overrode what we, in hindsight, see so well. There is no culpability here. Our mother made her choice. Have you not made choices you regret, Ella, or are you still too innocent to know the world’s temptations? I often question the choices I have made.”

If Bran had looked at her, he would have seen his sister squirm with his accusation, her face flushing with color. Yet, his eyes rested on his child. From beside him, Ella said softly, “Surely, you do not regret your marriage, Bran?”

“No...” He shook his head as if he wished to leave his thoughts behind. “I adored Ashmita.” Bran paused before continuing. He had made his decision long ago to never betray his wife. Instead, he would speak of the idealized love affair; he would not break his promise by exposing Ashmita’s shame. “I first laid eyes on my wife in the tent of a Baloch war lord on the Persian border. The lord ran his own small kingdom, and Ashmita was his third wife’s daughter, a woman of Indian descent. I had saved his life, and Shaheed Mir offered any treasure within his domain. When I asked for Ashmita, he roared his refusal, but when I declined his other offerings, the lord relented. I remained in his tent for another six months until Ashmita’s sixteenth birthday. It was also our wedding day.”

“Your wife was but fifteen when you appealed for her?” His sister’s incredulity returned.

Bran sent her a warning look. “I was not yet twenty myself,” he justified.

“And who married you?” she charged. “Surely the church never sanctified the marriage?”

Bran stiffened with her accusation. “Unlike you, Eleanor, I have learned to accept the fact that not everyone follows the rules of English society. Ashmita and I married under the customs of the lord’s realm, and I took her to Bombay, where we lived until her passing.”

“You were but one and twenty!” Her disbelief continued.

“Quite young to be a father,” he reasoned, “but I had lived ten years during those three and a half I sold my services. Ashmita’s innocence and spontaneity soothed the pain I had carried with me from the day I stormed from Father’s study.”

Eleanor’s attention now rested purely on her brother. “What happened that day, Bran? I never knew what precipitated your leaving. What did Father do to finally drive you away?”

Bran’s eyes darkened in anger. “I will never speak of it Eleanor! I either had to leave or kill him. Often I wish I chose the latter. He was a vile man.”

Someone cleared his throat from behind them, and Bran spun to see one of his footmen standing less than ten feet from them. He wondered how he had not heard the man’s approach. His hatred for his father had consumed him as no other emotion ever had. Not even Ashmita’s gratitude drowned out the anger. Only the chubby arms of Sonali offered any comfort. “Yes, Murray,” he murmured.

“Beg your pardon, but Mr. Horace says to tell you, that you have a visitor, Mr. Fowler.” The man pulled at his coat to straighten the seams.

“A visitor?” Bran knew his butler would send casual callers away. For Mr. Horace to admit someone to his house with Bran not present meant something was amiss. “Did Mr. Horace say who the visitor might be, Murray?”

“No, Sir, but I sees Miss Daisy arriving in Sir John’s gig.”

“Thank you, Murray. Would you escort Lady Eleanor, Mrs. Carruthers, and Miss Sonali to the house when they have finished their time along the river?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Bran walked over to where his daughter flipped pebbles into the water. “Sweetheart, I must return to the house. Some important business occurred unexpectedly. Please listen to Mrs. Carruthers. Murray will return you to the house.”

Sonali placed her arms about his neck. “Will you show me how to make the rocks jump, Papa?”

“Not today, Little One, but soon. Perhaps we can go out in the rowboat if the weather stays warm.” He kissed the top of Sonali’s head.

“May I take a net to catch the fish?” she begged.

Bran laughed at her suggestion. “It is not likely fish will jump into the net, but we will see, Little One.”

Eleanor joined them along the bank. “Should I follow you to the house?”

“No, stay and learn more about your incredible niece.” He kissed the back of her hand and headed towards the house with a quickened pace.

“Miss Daisy,” he called out as he swept into his study. Mr. Horace had told him the woman needed his protection, but even he did not expect the picture of violent stupration unfolding before him. Without saying another word he closed and locked the door.

Daisy Hollander, long time mistress of Sir John Cartwright, a local baronet, reclined on one of the chaise lounges, her maid kneeling over Daisy, tending to her many wounds. Bruises and abrasions covered the woman’s face. Raw wrists and cut marks highlighted her arms. Bran could easily imagine how the rest of her appeared. Sir John took great pleasure in hurting Daisy, liked to tie her up and whip her, and more than once, Brantley had begged Daisy to leave him. This time, she had, and she had come to him for assistance. “Why do you not ask Mrs. Smithson for some ointment for Miss Daisy’s wounds?” Bran dismissed her maid so he might speak to Daisy privately.

When the girl curtsied and left, Bran immediately dropped to his knees beside the woman. Blood caked the blonde ringlets loosely gathered at the back of her neck. “My God, Daisy,” he whispered close to her ear. “What has Sir John done to you?”

“I am not so pretty now, am I, Bran?” she mumbled.

“You are beautiful, Sweetheart,” he assured her. “I will take care of you. You must promise me, Daisy, you will never return to Sir John. The next time he will kill you.”

One swollen eye made contact with his. The other one remained shut from the dried blood. “Where will I go, Bran?”

“I will take care of it. You will find a new life on the Continent, and a man who will adore you. I guarantee it. Now, I must send you some place safe until you are able to travel. I ordered Sir John’s gig returned–left it on his property, but he will come here. Sir John knows I am the only one who would defy him. Is your maid loyal?”

“Molly comes with me.”

“You will be in pain so I will have a doctor I know treat you, but we must move you today–now, Daisy. Can you tolerate it?” He gently kissed the inside of her wrist.

Daisy tried to smile, but with a split lip, it was a futile effort. “If I can tolerate what Sir John did to me, a few more hours of pain will be nothing.”

Within twenty minutes, his staff had loaded a laudanum-minded Daisy, along with Molly in the back of a wagon. Hidden in a secret compartment, they had lain side by side waiting for the workers to close the space and load the wagon with barrels. “Molly, a man will meet you and Miss Daisy and give you shelter until your mistress is able to travel on her own. You must follow his directions exactly, and you will be safe. In a fortnight, your mistress will be on her way to a private house I own in Venice. You understand you cannot contact anyone here again, or Sir John will come for you?”

“Me have no family. Miss Daisy only one to take Molly in, Sir.”

“You will do well with Miss Daisy, Molly.” He started lifting the lid to place it over their hiding place. “Give Miss Daisy my regards when she wakes. It will be at least two hours so make yourself as comfortable as possible.”

“Bless you, Mr. Fowler.”

She lay down beside her sleeping mistress. The men lowered the trap door to cover their existence. In another five minutes, the barrels were set, and the wagon rolled towards safety. Bran allowed a ragged breath to escape. Daisy Hollander was just the latest woman in distress he had saved from a tyrannical man. Sometimes it was a husband, sometimes a father or brother, and sometimes a half-crazy Baloch warlord.

Returning to the house, Eleanor greeted him with a frown and pursed lips when he reentered the study. “What is it now, Ella?”

“Who was that woman, and why are you hiding her in a wagon?”

“It is none of your concern, Sister dear.” Bran bristled at being asked questions regarding his behavior. “I am capable of addressing my affairs without your permission or your censure.”

Ella folded her hands primly in her lap. “I heard the servants talk. They say the woman was a local man’s mistress, and you gave her comfort. Do you plan to place her under your protection?”

Bran grinned. “You might say that.”

“As Thornhill, you cannot bring more disgrace to the family name,” she insisted.

Bran’s patience with his sometimes rigid and proper sister broke. “Eleanor, you are my sister, not my mother nor my wife. I am quite competent with making my own decisions and living with the consequences. Nothing I did today concerns you. It is my money and my life. I spent nothing from the Thornhill estate to protect Miss Hollander. I suggest you forget you ever saw the lady.” The seriousness of his tone made Ella wince, but she did not back down.

“So you take a mistress? You are very much like our father,” she accused.

“As they say–the apple does not rest far from the tree.” He rose from the chair he had purposely taken to give the impression of being relaxed. Bran now crossed the room and held the door for her. “I will see you at supper, Eleanor.”

For hours Bran had anticipated the confrontation with Sir John, but the man did not appear at the manor house. Eventually, word came that Sir John had gone on a drunken binge, before being found by his manservant, lying face down in his own vomit. The man, evidently, had felt some regret for his actions, according to the servant gossip line. Yet, Bran suspected Sir John only regretted two things: his perversion being common knowledge and his lost property. For Bran knew implicitly Sir John felt nothing for Daisy Hollander; in Sir John’s mind, Daisy belonged to him; he had bought her the same as he would a horse. He had paid for her services, and Sir John would take Daisy’s defection personally.