A Stockingful of Joy (21 page)

He glanced around, but didn't see Brand. With so many people milling about, a brief absence would not be noted. "Very well, Cecilia," he said without enthusiasm. "Where shall we meet?"

She thought. "The gallery."

"You go ahead. I'll follow in a moment."

She nodded and headed down the passage that ran to the main hall. Anthony waited until she was out of sight, then followed at an unhurried pace. The gallery was a long chamber on the floor above. It served several purposes, from providing an exercise area in inclement weather to displaying paintings and fencing foils.

When Anthony arrived, Cecilia was lighting more candles with a Christmas candle from one of the windows. She glanced up nervously at his entrance, men replaced her candle in its window fixture. In the soft light, she looked fragile and almost unbearably lovely, as petite and exquisite as a gilded marzipan holiday angel.

Wryly recognizing that he was not the kind of man who could stay angry with an attractive woman, Anthony said, "What did you wish to discuss with me, Cecilia? Is something wrong?"

She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Will you talk to Brand? He has the absurd notion that you and I have been having an affair."

"What!" Anthony stared at her, shocked. "Where did he get such a ridiculous notion?"

"I have no idea." Tears began spilling from Cecilia's blue eyes. "Oh, Anthony, everything has gone wrong, and I don't know what to do."

According to Anthony's mother, it was a gentleman's duty to allow a lady to cry all over his best waistcoat if she was in distress. Recalling that Cecilia had always had a tendency toward melodrama, he put an arm around her soothingly. "Surely things aren't that bad, Cecy."

She clutched at him, weeping harder than ever.

Brand chose this inauspicious moment to enter the gallery. He stopped dead in the doorway, his face going dead-white. Then he strode forward, eyes blazing. "Damn you, Verlaine! I knew I'd find you with Cecilia in your arms."

"If so, you're cleverer than I," Anthony said with exasperation. "She's your wife, Brand. Let her cry over on your shoulder." He disentangled himself from Cecilia, hoping that would defuse a potentially volatile situation.

No such luck. Brand stalked over to the rack of fencing foils and grabbed two of the weapons. "Tonight I'm going to do what I should have done nine years ago." Grimly he flicked the protective buttons off the points of the foils, then tossed one of the weapons hilt first to Anthony. "I challenge you to a duel. Right now, right here."

"For God's sake, Brand!" Anthony exclaimed as he reflexively caught the hilt of the foil. "It's bad form for you to challenge a guest, or for me to accept. For that matter, if you're the challenger, I get to choose the weapons, and I don't choose swords."

"We'll do it
now!
" Brand barked at he stripped off his close-fitting coat. "
En garde!
"

Beginning to feel seriously concerned, Anthony removed his own coat, keeping a wary eye on his angry cousin. "This is ridiculous. I'm damned if I know what I've ever done to make you so eager to kill me."

"Oh, you most assuredly will be damned," Brand said in a voice like a whip. "Prepare yourself, Verlaine, because tonight justice will be mine."

Then, as Anthony stared in stunned disbelief, the man who had once been his best friend lunged at him with glittering blade and murderous eyes.

«
^
»

After her audience with the dowager duchess, Emma left the nearly empty drawing room to go to the ballroom. She was looking forward to her first waltz with Anthony. He was undoubtedly a superb dancer. She was badly in need of practice, but she didn't think that would matter.

As she entered the hall that led to the ballroom, she saw Cecilia slip away from the crowd ahead and go down the cross passage that went to the foyer and the main staircase. Emma thought nothing of it, until she saw Anthony leave as well—going the same way as Cecilia.

Emma stopped in her tracks, her stomach turning. Surely Anthony could not be having an assignation with Cecilia, not after what had transpired between him and Emma last night and today.

She swallowed hard and told herself not to be a ninny. The fact that Anthony and Cecilia had gone off in the same direction was hardly proof of amorous intentions. Fiercely she told herself that she must learn to trust her husband or she would go mad, for there would always be women hovering around him. Nonetheless, not ready to face the laughing people in the ballroom, she sank into a chair tucked beside a massive carved console table.

Until now she had not let herself wonder if Anthony would be a faithful husband, because the answer was probably not one she would like. Many men of his class had mistresses, and a man who loved women as Anthony did was a prime candidate for infidelity. Her heart bled a little at the thought.

Would she still love her husband even if he was unfaithful? Probably—but if that ever happened, part of her would retreat from him. Never again would there be the openness and trust they had shared today.

She sat very still and concentrated on her breathing until it was regular again. There. She had faced the worst. If Anthony was unfaithful, at least she would be a little prepared.
But—please, God, don't let it happen
.

She was about to continue to the ballroom when she saw Brand stalk out and head in the direction that Anthony and Cecilia had gone. His face was like granite. Merciful heaven, had he seen them leave? If he caught the two of them together, there would be hell to pay, even if the meeting was perfectly innocent.

Swiftly Emma considered what to do. Go for the duke? He would certainly put a quick end to any conflict. But by the time she found him, it might be too late. Better to follow Brand, and hope that she could head off any trouble.

She got to her feet and walked after Brand, her long legs covering the ground quickly. By the time she reached the great hall, he was disappearing from sight on the upper floor, heading toward the gallery. Emma followed, praying that she was being an absolute idiot and nothing untoward was going to happen.

Halfway up the stairs, she was halted in her tracks by a woman's scream. Merciful heavens, Cecilia! Lifting her skirts indecorously, Emma raced upward, knowing with icy certainty that years of festering anger had reached the explosion point.

Anthony's mind was stunned by Brand's attack, but years of fencing practice saved him. As Cecilia screamed, Anthony knocked aside his cousin's blade. Retreating, he exclaimed, "Christ, Brand! Have you gone mad?"

"It's you who are mad, to meet my wife in my own house." Brand attacked again, this time controlled and far more dangerous than in his initial lunge.

With a shriek of clashing steel, Anthony countered well enough to save himself from injury, but this couldn't last long. Brand had always been a better swordsman, and now he was in a blind rage.

Hearing the door open, Anthony spared a swift glance, hoping to see the duke or one of the duchesses. They were the only people Brand might heed. Instead Emma entered. Christ, she was the last person he wanted to see. If he was going to be spitted like a lamb for roasting, he did not want his wife to witness it.

In the instant that his attention was divided, Brand drove in again, slashing at his opponent's sword arm. Anthony managed to block his cousin's blade, but only just. The sleeve of his shirt was ripped from elbow to wrist. Knowing he could not retreat forever, Anthony stood his ground, fighting back furiously. He managed to battle Brand to a standstill as their blades shrilled together with metallic fury.

Then heavy folds of fabric whipped violently between them, trapping the foils and knocking them downward. With amazement, Anthony saw that Emma had wrenched one of the great tapestries from the wall and slammed it over the dueling weapons. She looked like a furious Valkyrie.

"Bloody hell!" Brand sneezed from the dust released by the tapestry. "For God's sake, Emma, stay out of this, or you'll get hurt."

Not moving, Emma snapped, "What the devil is this all about?"

"It's none of your affair." Recovering from the shock, Brand wrenched his weapon free from the heavy fabric and prepared to resume fighting.

"Not my affair when you're trying to kill my husband?" she exclaimed. "
Men!
Of course this is my affair."

Deciding it was time to take a hand, Anthony hurled his foil away. The sword flew across the gallery and stabbed into the wall about a yard above the floor, then hung there, quivering. "Enough, Brand! I won't fight you any more, not when I haven't the faintest idea why you're so outraged."

For a terrifying moment, it appeared as if Brand might renounce a lifetime of gentlemanly training and attack an unarmed man. Then Emma grabbed the cowering Cecilia's hand. "Come on, Cecy, make yourself useful."

She hauled her smaller cousin between the men so that the two women formed a barrier. Then, with a practiced schoolteacher voice, she ordered, "Brand, explain yourself."

He looked mulish, which at least was an improvement over homicidal. Since he seemed unwilling to speak, Anthony said helpfully, "From what Cecilia told me, Brand suspects me of having an affair with her."

Emma's face tightened, but her voice was calm when she asked, "Are you?"

"Don't be absurd!" he retorted. "Until yesterday, I hadn't laid eyes on Cecilia in nine years."

Emma turned to Brand. "You heard what Anthony said. Do you honestly think they're having an affair?"

Brand wiped his brow with one forearm. Though he still looked dangerous, the wildness had faded from his eyes. "There might not be a physical affair," he admitted gruffly. "But Anthony has stood between Cecy and me every day and night of our marriage. When he fought me after she accepted my proposal, he said…" Brand stopped and swallowed hard. "He said that whenever I bedded my wife, she would be thinking of him. And he was right, damn him!"

Cecilia gasped. "Brand, how can you say that? I could have married Anthony if I wanted to, but I chose
you
. What made you think I secretly preferred Anthony?"

"Everyone always did!" Brand stared at his wife, his expression anguished. "He was always the leader. Smarter, more charming, more handsome, everyone's darling—including yours. You only married me because I have a greater fortune and title."

Anthony cringed as he remembered how he'd flung both those taunts in Brand's face when they'd fought over Cecilia. Who would have believed that his angry words would have taken such poisonous root?

Exasperated, Emma said, "Don't you two ever
talk
to each other?" She unobtrusively removed Brand's foil from his relaxed grip. "Cecilia, why did you marry Brand instead of Anthony? I'm sure you had your reasons."

"I married him because I loved him, of course." She hesitated, then said painfully, "I loved them both, really, even though they're so different. But I'd always thought that Brand's feelings for me were more those of a brother. Anthony was the one who treated me like a sweetheart. He and I both drifted into thinking that we would marry, even though he hadn't formally offered."

By this time tears were running down Cecilia's cheeks. Emma wordlessly produced a handkerchief from somewhere and handed it over. After Cecilia had blotted her eyes and blown her adorable little nose, she continued, "Then Brand asked me to be his wife, and I realized that he was the husband I wanted, not Anthony." She stared at Brand beseechingly. "Do you remember what happened after I accepted?"

Her husband turned an interesting shade of red. "Of course I remember," he said stiffly. "But that is hardly something to be discussed before others."

Blushing herself, Cecilia gave a nod of agreement. "I didn't accept because of your fortune or your title, though of course I didn't object to becoming a duchess. But what I loved was your… your steadiness. The way you made me feel cherished. Special," She gave Anthony an apologetic glance. "Marrying Anthony would have been very jolly, but he would always have mistresses, and we might have ended up in debtors' prison. I didn't want that. I wanted
you
."

Anthony felt a sharp pang at her words. She hadn't trusted him. It was not flattering knowledge. Yet he could not blame her for her mistrust. Emma hadn't entirely trusted him, either.

Brand swallowed hard, a muscle jumping in his throat as he stared at his wife. "I… I wasn't second best?"

"
Never. "
Cecilia's tears began flowing again. "But after we married, I began to wonder if you'd ever really loved me. As time went on, and you became colder and colder, I… I decided that you had only wanted me because Anthony did. You two were always competing, and I was merely one more prize. Once you had me, you lost interest."

Anthony winced. He couldn't speak for Brand, but he had to admit that there had been an element of competition in his courtship of Cecilia. She'd been the prettiest girl around, so he had assumed that he, dashing Anthony, everyone's darling, deserved her.

Sometimes he didn't like himself very much.

Speaking as if he and his wife were alone, Brand said hoarsely, "How could you think that, Cecy? You're the only woman I've ever loved. But you never said that you loved me, not once."

"You never said that you loved me, either," she said starkly.

"At first it seemed unnecessary," he said. "Later, I couldn't because I started thinking that you had married me for the wrong reasons. It was like… like acid in my belly."

Cecilia went into his arms, sobbing, "Oh, Brand, Brand. Why didn't we talk like this years ago? I've always loved you, even when I was sure that you didn't love me."

Brand embraced his wife with feverish intensity, his own eyes glittering with tears. They clung together for a long moment. Then he looked up and said haltingly, "Anthony, I'm sorry. I've behaved abominably. I wanted to blame you for wrecking my marriage, because that was easier than blaming myself. Can you forgive me?"

Anthony realized that he was being given a golden opportunity to act like an adult. "Much of the fault was mine, Brand. I didn't want to believe that Cecilia preferred you, so I said things no man should ever say to another. I'm sorry." He offered his hand.