Emerald Garden (41 page)

“Are you angry?” Brandi asked in a small hopeful voice.

Mrs. Collins’s lips twitched. “I should be. Since your accident, I fret every time you’re dashing about the grounds alone. But how can I be angry with you on this all-important day? ’Tis far too special an occasion for that. So, no, I’m not angry. But next time I will be.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Brandi vowed.

With a knowing chuckle, the housekeeper hurried out to make arrangements for more hot water. “Oh, yes there will be.”

The bath felt wonderful.

For long minutes after she’d washed, Brandi just languished in the soapy water, leaning her head against the tub’s surface and daydreaming about the future.

Her future as Quentin’s wife.

The concept evoked all the wondrous little butterflies she’d always envisioned as part of the timeless love that led to marriage—a love she’d doubted ever to find. As she’d explained to Pamela, the man of her dreams couldn’t possibly exist. Where could she hope to find a man who would revel in her spirit and rejoice in her unladylike diversions? A man whose passion for challenge matched hers, who loved her for who she was and not for the fictitious creature he yearned for her to become?

A man named Quentin Steel.

Dreamily, she smiled, sinking back into the water.

How could she not have fathomed that the man she’d described was the very man she’d worshipped all her life?

Pamela had fathomed it for her.

The sudden realization made Brandi sit bolt upright in he bath.

Brandi,
she could hear Pamela’s gentle voice as if she were right here in the bedchamber,
contrary to what you’ve concluded, I promise you are not destined to remain alone. The man of whom you dream does exist … I can see him as clearly as if he were standing before me. And he is someone special, someone rare. All that remains is for you to discover each other, which will happen in its own time
—
a time I suspect is not too far off.

“Oh, Pamela,” Brandi whispered aloud. “You knew.” Two tears slid down her cheeks. “All the time, you knew.” Shakily, she climbed from the tub and wrapped a towel around herself. Acting on instinct, she walked over to her nightstand, opening the drawer she hadn’t touched since the day of the will readings when she’d hidden Pamela’s jewel case away, unable to bear the hollow pain evoked by its presence.

With trembling fingers, Brandi lifted out the exquisitely painted wooden box, running her palms over the surface.

For the first time since Mr. Hendrick had read the wills aloud, she permitted herself to contemplate the clause that had accompanied Pamela’s gift:

To my precious Brandice,
it had pronounced,
I bequeath all that I would leave a daughter: my jewel case and all its gems, my silver, and most of all, my love. While the possessions may be passed on to your children, the love is yours to keep. Shed no tears. Brandi
…

Smiling, Brandi obeyed Pamela’s request, brushing the dampness from her cheeks.

…
for in my heart I know you will never be alone.

Pamela’s final phrase reverberated through Brandi’s heart, offering her a peace she’d not known she needed, but had somehow been incomplete without.

Clutching the jewel case in her arms, Brandi tilted her head back. “Thank you, Pamela,” she breathed to the ubiquitous heavens. “Thank you for giving Quentin and me your blessing.”

“Miss Brandi?” Mrs. Collins sailed into the room, Brandi’s wedding gown draped over her arm. Her gaze darted from the empty tub to the edge of the bed where Brandi sat. “Why didn’t you summon me to help you from the tub? You might have slipped and hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Collins,” Brandi answered, stroking the box before placing it on her nightstand. “Better than that, in fact. I’m wonderful.”

The housekeeper glanced at the jewel case, her kindly face softening with compassion. “Do you know,” she offered quietly, “it just occurred to me that the bodice of the gown leaves your throat utterly bare. To truly compliment the layer of silver lace I toiled over, you need the proper necklace—something in silver.” She walked over, laying her hand on Brandi’s shoulder. “Her Grace’s necklace—you recall, the one the duke gave her last Christmas—would be ideal. It’s delicate and refined, with just a spray of diamonds and emeralds amid the threads of silver.”

Brandi swallowed past the lump in her throat, her lashes lowering as she stared at the jewel case.

“How proud and honored the duchess would be,” Mrs. Collins added, “to see you carry a symbol of the love she shared with the duke into your new life with their son. Knowing the way she felt about you, I can’t imagine anything that would mean more to her.”

Slowly, Brandi lifted her gaze, meeting the housekeeper’s. “I miss her so much.”

“I know you do, love.” Mrs. Collins patted her cheek. “But she’s with you in spirit. Surely you feel it, especially today.”

“Thankfully, I do,” Brandi replied reverently. “More than I dared hope.”

“Then consider my suggestion. In the interim, I’ll have the water taken away, after which it will be time to dress.”

Nodding, Brandi rested her palm atop the jewel case, waiting until she was alone to slip her hand around back. Other than Pamela, she was the only one who knew of the hidden notch in the box’s rear panel. Pamela had emphasized that fact while demonstrating how to retrieve the key—on the evening of Brandi’s coming-out. The jewels inside were valuable, she’d explained, and no one, not even her own lady’s maid, had access to them.

A small smile touched Brandi’s lips. It had been Pamela’s fervent hope that, as a woman grown, Brandi would avail herself of the treasures within, for the Season’s gala balls and the winter’s endless stream of house parties.

It hadn’t happened that way.

Brandi could still recall the disappointment in Pamela’s eyes as she’d come to the realization that the young lady she loved as a daughter would always prefer pistols to jewels.

“Perhaps today I can make it up to you, Pamela,” Brandi murmured. “Suddenly, for the first time, I have not only a longing but a reason to don your treasures. Perhaps that was really all it took, after all. Perhaps I can, at last, offer you the joy I never before could.”

So saying, she extracted the key and unlocked the jewel case. Her hands shook as she lifted the lid, her eyes misting with tears as she gazed at the contents. Flashes of memory accosted her—memories of Pamela preparing for an evening at Almack’s, laughing with Brandi as her maid fastened the clasps of her glittering bracelets or affixed the earrings that accentuated her dark cloud of upswept hair.

The necklace Brandi sought lay on the right-hand side of the box, and she carefully removed it from its velvet bed.

A patch of white caught her eye.

Frowning, Brandi reached for what appeared to be an out-of-place envelope.

A single word was penned upon it:
Quentin.

Before she could ponder the envelope’s significance, she spied a small object that had been hidden beneath it. A key.

Now totally at sea, Brandi lay the necklace on her lap and took up both items, studying them with a puzzled expression. The key appeared to be identical to the one she’d just used to open the jewel case—an extra, perchance, should the first one be lost?

But how odd to place a spare key in a spot that was unattainable without the original. And equally odd to store a letter addressed to your son in a jewel case.

“Miss Brandi?” Mrs. Collins poked her head into the room, smiling when she saw the necklace on Brandi’s lap. “The footmen are here to dispose of the water. Would you like to wait in your dressing room while they do so?”

“Oh.” With a swift glance at herself—clad only in a towel—Brandi nodded. “Yes. Please just ask them to give me a minute.”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Collins disappeared.

Posthaste, Brandi returned the key and envelope to their original home, locking the jewel case and replacing the key in the back. Whatever the contents of the envelope, Pamela had meant them for Quentin.

She chewed her lip, wondering if she should act immediately, ask Mrs. Collins to go to Quentin’s chambers and give the note to him posthaste.

These next few precious days belong to us, little hoyden.
Quentin’s assertion echoed in her head.
The unanswered questions and suspicions are going nowhere, and can be addressed afterward. Our parents would want no less.

“He’s right, Pamela,” Brandi uttered aloud. “You would want no less.” Lovingly, she carried the jewel case across the room to her dressing table, giving it the place of honor it deserved.

I won’t wait beyond tonight,
she determined silently.
Just in case the note can offer Quentin the solace my memories have just offered me. I’ll show it to him tonight.

Late tonight,
she amended with a secret smile.
I have plans for the earlier part of this evening.

Plans, Pamela, I have no doubt you’d applaud.

“You look breathtaking,” Mrs. Collins declared, stepping away to survey her handiwork. “Oh, Miss Brandi, I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride.”

Brandi stared at herself in the looking glass, tentatively touching one shining cinnamon curl. “Do you think Quentin will think so?”

“There’s not even a doubt.” Mrs. Collins bent to drape the satin skirts at Brandi’s feet, nodding her approval as she stood. “You are perfection.”

That elicited a smile. “That’s not what you implied a while ago when I forgot about my bath.”

“That was then. This is now,” the housekeeper retorted, fussing at the bodice for an instant before checking the clasp of Pamela’s necklace. “ ’Tis as if the duchess offered you this piece specifically for today. Why, it’s just what the gown needed.”

With a wealth of tenderness, Brandi touched the delicate strand of jewels at her throat. “You’re right. ’Tis exactly right—for many reasons.”

Mrs. Collins cleared her throat. “My lady, have you any questions you’d like to ask? I don’t know how much you and the duchess discussed.”

Brandi’s brows drew together. “About what?”

“About what to expect. Tonight. When you and Master Quentin …” An uneasy pause. “That is, about performing your marital duties.” Ever so slightly, she gestured toward the bed.

Awareness erupted on Brandi’s face. “So those were the duties Herbert was babbling about this morning. I had no idea what he meant—in truth, I thought he was referring to some distasteful household chore I had to learn.” She dissolved into laughter. “Forgive me, Mrs. Collins,” she apologized, seeing the flush that spread across the housekeeper’s cheeks. “I truly appreciate your attempts to prepare me. But I have a fairly good idea what to expect.”
And ’tis far from a duty,
she wanted to add. Wisely, she said nothing, silently praising herself for that small semblance of tact.

“Are you certain?” Mrs. Collins asked, exuding relief.

“Quite certain. Pamela explained the procedure to me several years ago.”
The procedure, yes, but not the pleasure,
she modified silently.
No one could explain pleasure as acute as what she’d experienced in Quentin’s arms
—
and that was only a mere taste.

The anticipation brought a glow of excitement to her cheeks. “In any case, we needn’t pursue this further. I’m fully prepared.”

“Excellent. Then I’ll have Bentley summon the carriage and we can start for the church.”

The next few hours passed in a golden haze of euphoria—a euphoria that was forever ingrained in Brandi’s memory. The solemn reverence of the church, the security of Herbert and Bentley flanking her on either side as they escorted her to meet her future—but most of all, the love and pride reflected in Quentin’s eyes as he watched her approach him, led her to the altar to become his wife.

The ceremony was simple—a few timeless words that would forever divide Brandi’s life into before and after. The magnificent gold band, brandishing tiny diamonds Brandi recognized from Pamela’s wedding band—an exquisite melding of two immeasurable loves. The warmth of Quentin’s lips brushing hers, binding them together as husband and wife.

And then, the heartfelt congratulations of those who loved them—Bentley, Herbert, Mrs. Collins, the elderly Vicar Arbors who’d known them both since childhood—all wishing them well, sharing their happiness. Most important was the unseen but nonetheless tangible presence of their parents, joyously watching as their children were forever joined.

The picnic at Emerald Manor was a feast for the heart, as well as the body, stretching long into the afternoon hours.

The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, when Mrs. Collins spied the inevitable: Brandi depositing her punch on a nearby table, restlessly gathering up her exquisite satin skirts and—despite the profoundness of the day—preparing to initiate an all-too-familiar ritual. Swiftly, the housekeeper caught Quentin’s eye.

She received the prearranged wink.

Her cue given, Mrs. Collins drifted over—and waited. “What are you doing?” she inquired, precisely as Brandi darted forward, whistling softly at an overhead branch.

Brandi froze, guilt etched onto every delicate feature.

“If you’re planning to dash about with Lancelot, wouldn’t it be wise to change clothes first? Ruining a day dress is one thing, but your wedding gown?”

The admonishment had its desired effect.

With a sigh, Brandi released her skirts. “You’re right, Mrs. Collins. What would I do without you?”

“What indeed.” The housekeeper rolled her eyes. “Come. Those hooks are a bit tricky. I’ll assist you.”

“Very well.” Brandi trotted over to her new husband, who was deep in conversation with Bentley. “Quentin?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m going into the cottage to don a more suitable dress. Mrs. Collins is accompanying me. We’ll be back before you miss us.”

“Good idea.” Quentin nodded his approval. “By all means, go ahead.”

He resumed talking with Bentley.

“Do you know,” Brandi muttered to Mrs. Collins as they entered the cottage, “Quentin didn’t look the least bit sorry to see me go.”