Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (22 page)

“Go away with you!” Mrs. Wright laughed as she left
.

“So speak up, Helene. You wish to wait for my cordial or start your story? I’m rather
intrigued about this bath you mentioned. Come along, girl. I’m all ears.”

“Well…Gillian meant to punish me for the accident in the park.”

“Accident?”

“He fell out of the curricle, and then the horses ran amuck.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re saying…he fell? Gillian? Out of his own carriage? Odd.”

“I pushed him,” Helene whispered.

Lady Bridget coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Helene didn’t look to check as she waited.

“Well. Go on. And what happened then?”

“The carriage got wrecked and he had to put down one of the horses. And it was so terrible!”

“And you? No harm there?”

“Oh, no. I climbed atop a branch before it happened.”

“That was excellent thinking.”

“But it was still my fault. And he was very angry at me…so
he ordered a bath delivered to my room.
We were both soaked, and I thought the bath was for me, but it wasn’t. He…
made me undress and wash him, but I made a muck-up
of it, and now he won’t believe anything I tell him.”

Lady Bridget made a sound similar to a horse’s snort. That’s when
Helene noticed how red the woman was as she held
back her laughter.

“Go ahead. Laugh,” Helene said dispiritedly.

“Oh, darling! You two are absolutely priceless. I wish I had
the talent for putting ink to paper. Better yet, putting this on
stage! Why, we’d make a fortune.”

“I’m baring my heart and you call it theater. This isn’t helping.
”

“You’re not crying anymore, are you?”

Helene blinked. Straightened her back. And stared.

“See? So. Here is the plan. You’re going to tell Aunt Bridget every detail, and
she’ll sift through it before giving you advice. You don’t know how lucky you are, darling, because I rarely give advice. Before we start, though, I’d better ring up for a cold platter. We’ve still got most of
yesterday’s squab pie, and Mrs. Hotchkins made tea cakes, too.”

“You stole Mrs. Hotchkins, too? You have no conscience!”  Helene
giggled.

“She was wasted at the cottage, and you know it. I
simply gave her a reason for her existence. Can you imagine how
that poor dear must’ve felt to have her talents ignored most of the
year?”

“I’m not particularly hungry, you know.”

“Nonsense. After a nice cry over a man, there’s nothing
better than good food and lots of it. Now go on with your story, d
ear. Auntie Bridget’s all ears.”

Helene told Bridget everything — the Montriart chateau, her
time with Sherry, the inn at Calais, Gerard’s attempted
murder, and the sanatorium. She left out the gazebo with Gil, because Bridget could figure that out for herself. Helene blushed too much to talk about
that.

She didn’t notice when another plate of goodies from Mrs. Hotchkins’ kitchen arrived, or the second bottle of claret, or when
it grew too dark to see Bridget clearly, and they stopped to have
the lamps lit. If she had, she would’ve fallen silent or cried again
at the waste of a whole day away from Gillian.

She had only two days left.

***

Gil called for her the next afternoon after luncheon. H
elene bit her lip, arranged and rearranged the hair at her
forehead, and jumped each time a caller was announced. Bridget wasn’t any help. That woman had given orders not to be disturbed. Helene wasn’t surprised, after watching the woman imbibe almost as much claret as food. Her absence was a relief, too, because Helene already wished she’d kept her mouth closed, and her history hidden.

And then the footman informed her Lord Tremayne awaited her
in the foyer, Helene nearly slunk back to her chamber. She didn’t know what to say. How to act. She’d
prepared herself in the clothing sent over the previous day and
looked calm and composed…yet it was Gillian! And she found, when he approached, that she
couldn’t even look him in the eye
.

“I suppose I should apologize, Helene.”

He was looking at her nose. Helene
quickly glanced down and forced her mouth to speak, using a flippant tone and vacuous words.

“There’s naught you need to apologize for, My Lord. I—I’m
sorry I didn’t stay at the dance, but…I was tired. And Lady Bridget…did ask me to stay
.”

Her lying ability was failing her. She’d stammered and paused all through it.
Helene stood there, twisting her reticule strings in her
hands.

“Reg told me I made a fool of myself, Helene. I’m certain
you noticed. I believe I even entertained the guests on a grand scale with a piano recital. I don’t recollect doing anything quite that
moronic, but I seem to have lost a lot of the evening.” 

Her heart stopped. And then it dropped. She felt every bit of it. And no amount of swallowing, or blanking her mind, or counting, or modulating breathing made it feel any different.

“I really do
beg your apology. And I assure you it won’t happen again.”

Her heart decided it would restart, thudding away from somewhere inside, and with a ragged rhythm that hurt. Or something worse was happening.

“You will accept my apology, won’t you love?” 

“It won’t…happen again?”
  Someone else must’ve been
speaking — her throat wouldn’t utter one word, let alone those.

“Of course not. You’ve firsthand knowledge of
what overdrinking does to me. I was…a bit under the weather for a spell. You won’t hold
my absence against me?”

“No.”

She turned away to fasten her bonnet securely under her
chin, wincing as she pulled on the ribbons.
He’d been ill from over-imbibing, and here she’d been pouring out her heart and wailing about
a lost day? She should’ve known.

She walked out the door and then froze at the sight of an enclosed coach with a complement of six horses. And outriders.

“That’s…a traveling coach, Gillian.”

Oh God
. Her time was up. Their act finished. She’d done her part. And now he was sending her away. They’d never have to see each other again. Wasn’t that their bargain? Her eyes filled with such painful tears, they burned
.

“Of course, darling. The season is at an end, and London palls during the heat. I’d hoped you
felt the same.”

“My…clothing?”  Odd. Her voice didn’t carry any of the trauma. She’d be on her knees in thankfulness over that later.

“Already seen to, love. The baggage carriage is well ahead of us by
now. I hope my arrangements meet with your approval
.”

Helene looked up at the trees, skittered her glance over the iron gate, ignored any passersby, blinked rapidly, doing anything she could think of to stay the sobs
. The previous night, when Bridget finally retired, Helene
thought she’d spent the last tears she owned, yet here she was, proving that wrong.

‘We’re starting to gather attention standing here, Helene. Would you like assistance to the coach?”

She shook her head and forced her feet to move. And after the
first step, walking was easier. The carriage shimmered until she reached it, and then it was as solid and unemotional as she was.
She fully expected him to shut the door on her and send the
coach on its way. When he joined her inside, she gasped. And then went wide-eyed as he ignored a spot on the opposite bench, and took a seat right beside her. He was taking up more than his share of the cushioned bench, too.

“Pray, don’t look at me like that, Helene,” Gil said. “I dislike
riding with my back to the horses.”

“You’re…traveling, too?”

“Of course.”

Of course?
Oh sweetness!
Oh mercy! The day was instantly filled with light and wonder and absolute joy. And she hadn’t any idea how to hide it. She stared at her gloved hands jammed together in her lap and tried to contain it.

“And I’d like to make better time
than our last journey.”

“If…you’re ill…it’s entirely your own fault.”

“I’ve already apologized for that and been accepted, unless
I’m mistaken. Are you holding a grudge, love? I’m sorry if I was
inattentive at the ball, but you won’t glower at me all day for that, will you?”

“In...attentive?”

Someone else was in command of her body. She would never have asked it and never in such a lost, childlike voice! She felt him stiffen beside her.

“I recall dancing with the
signora,
or I think I did. If I’m not
mistaken, I could’ve done worse. And I‘m tired of apologizing.
Please don’t hold it against me further.”

He recalls his waltz with the
signora
and not the gazebo?

“I don’t want to talk about it, Gillian.”  She moved her vision out the
window and made her voice as disinterested as possible.

“What would you like to talk about, then? No answer? Very
well. If you have no preference, I’ll talk about my wretched day.
Perhaps I’ll start by describing my repaired curricle and the
new roans I bought. Reg has an eye for horse flesh. He found the pair for me. The Chaffins have
fallen on hard times and needed to part with them in a hurry. Do you
know something else that’s strange?”

She wasn’t paying the least attention to his talk about
horses and almost missed her cue.
The lapse in his talking clued her to murmur something,
which he must’ve taken as sign of her listening, so he continued.

“The title is passing, and debts brought to light
due to the earl’s unfortunate accident while on his honeymoon.
I’m not boring you, am I?”

“Oh, no,” she mumbled. “The Earl of Chaffin had an
unfortunate accident, and there’s a new earl who sold his horses. That’s what you
said, isn’t it?”

He stretched his legs out and moved somehow, matching his thigh to hers. The contact sparked. Heated. Even through her skirts. Helene’s eyes widened.

“It’s being quieted, but apparently his accident involved a duel. Something about defending the bride’s honor after too
much celebrating at a party in Monte Carlo. The earl never was
good with a sword. At the height of his ability, you probably could’ve gone a
few rounds with him. It appears to be a tragedy that wasn’t really a tragedy,
doesn’t it?”

“What does that mean?”

“Someone wanted the late Earl of Chaffin dead, and I don’t think we’ll have to look far to figure out who, will we?
”

“Could you...sit on the other bench?”  She
couldn’t concentrate with his leg pressed
against hers.

“I find this side more conducive to my health. Should you wish more room, you’re free to move, Helene.”

The longer he told his story, the more abrupt and clipped his voice became.
She didn’t check for why. She was having enough difficulty pretending he didn’t bother her. And probably failing.

“Thank you.”

She scooted across from him, arranged her skirts
and tucked them under her legs, before realizing the stupidity of her
move. Sitting across from him meant his legs easily reached hers. And w
orse, she had a very good view of him. It was better to focus on the padded section behind his head.

“Since you haven’t been attending to a thing I’ve said, I suppose I’ll have to be quite blunt, won’t I?”

“Are you ever anything but?”

“I’ve been asked to annul our marriage.”

He’d surprised her. She’d jerked and darted her glance to him, before quickly returning it to the carriage wall.
She still saw him shrug and then fold his arms.

“You...want to annul our marriage? But…that’s not possible!”

“Why not? There hasn’t been a consummation, and I find it
has some appeal, especially after the illuminating visit to the Bingham residence this morn. And that’s before I factor in your decided thorniness to me at present.”

“Thorn...iness?”

“And instantly she becomes Brandy again, copying everything
she hears and confounding all around her! You, Madame, are a
consummate liar, a tale-spinner of no small imagination, an actress of amazing ability, a mimic of uncanny talent…I can go on.”