Emerald Garden (6 page)

Quentin walked over, hooking a gentle forefinger beneath her chin. “Are you sure, Sunbeam? We can postpone this if need be.”

“No.” With more weariness than aversion, Brandi shook her head. “Waiting would be worse. Please, let’s get on with it.”

“Very well,” Hendrick replied. “If you
^’
ll all have a seat in my office, we’ll proceed.”

“Come, Brandice.” Desmond was beside her instantly, proffering his arm. “The ordeal is nearing an end. Once the wills have been dispensed with, we can put this nightmare behind us and concentrate on the future.”

Reflexively, Brandi accepted his arm—and his strength. “Thank you, Desmond.”

Soberly, Quentin followed them in, only half-listening to Hendrick’s preliminary instructions. He was troubled, not only by Brandi’s dazed state but also by an uneasiness spawned by her unexpected and obvious closeness with Desmond—a closeness Quentin could no longer ignore.

Frowning, he lowered himself into the chair on Brandi’s right, glancing over the top of her shining head to Desmond’s hard profile on her left. What precisely had developed between the two of them while he’d been away?

“The Last Will and Testament of Kenton James Steel,” Hendrick was saying as he unfolded the first document. “ ‘To my beloved wife, Pamela …’ ”

Two tears slid down Brandi’s cheeks, and Quentin watched Desmond tenderly press his handkerchief into her hand.

“‘… and all my assets to my son Desmond, who, in assuming his title as the Duke of Colverton, assumes all responsibilities herewith; including, but not limited to …’ ”

Quentin closed his eyes, suddenly inundated by the pain of loss. Simultaneously, Brandi reached over and squeezed his fingers tightly in her small gloved hand.

“ ‘… To my son Quentin, I leave the sum of one million pounds, and in return ask but one favor: take care of your mother for me. I fear my death will prove too much for her to withstand. Never before have I asked that you compromise your military career. But I’m asking now. Should Pamela need you, I beg you to stay by her side. You and Brandi are the only ones who might infuse her with the strength and the will to persevere. I know you won’t disappoint me, Quentin, and for that I thank you.’ ”

Quentin bowed his head, unshed tears burning beneath his lids.

“ ‘… In the event of Pamela’s death, I also bequeath to my son Quentin that which means so very much to him, as it did to his mother and me—something I hope will keep us forever alive in his mind and his heart: Emerald Manor. It is Pamela’s and my greatest hope that the cottage gardens will one day be alive with the laughter of our grandchildren.’ ”

A harsh sob escaped Brandi’s lips, and Quentin tightened his fingers about hers.

“That concludes the Duke of Colverton’s will.” Hendrick cast a concerned look at Brandi. “Shall I pause between documents?”

“No.” Brandi shook her head adamantly. “At least not for my sake. I’d prefer you finish.”

Hendrick’s gaze moved to Desmond, who gave him a concurring nod. Without further comment, the solicitor returned to his task, smoothing out the pages of Pamela’s will. “Being that all the duchess’s worldly possessions were legally bound to Kenton’s, her will contains but one special provision. With your permission”—he glanced at Quentin—”I’ll skip directly to that clause. You, of course, are free to peruse the entire document at the culmination of our meeting.”

“You have my permission,” Quentin consented.

“The paragraph reads as follows: ‘To my precious Brandice, 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, for in my heart I know you will never be alone.’ ”

Hendrick cleared his throat, lowering the document to his desk. “The rest is customary.”

“You needn’t read it, Ellard,” Quentin interjected, acutely aware of Brandi’s desperate battle for self-control. His thumb caressed her trembling fingers, feeling the tension that radiated from her hand to his. “Let’s hasten this ordeal as best we can.”

“I agree,” Desmond said, shifting in his chair. “Read Ardsley’s will and be done with it.”

“Very well.” Hendrick turned his attention to the final document. “I have before me The Last Will and Testament of Ardsley Edward Townsend.”

The solicitor’s voice droned on, pronouncing that all Ardsley’s worldly possessions were to be left to Brandi and ultimately her children, and entrusting the administration of the Townsend businesses to Kenton and, upon his death, to Desmond.

“ ‘And finally,’ ” Hendrick concluded, “ ‘as to the well-being of my beloved daughter, Brandice, whose happiness means more to me than my own; in the event of my death, I hereby appoint Kenton Steel as her legal guardian, to oversee her future until the day she marries, at which point the privilege of caring for her shall become her husband’s duty. In the event of Kenton’s death, I hereby appoint his son Desmond as successor-guardian, to enact all the responsibilities described herein.’ ”

Unanticipated resentment surged to life inside Quentin as Ardsley’s final stipulation struck home. Desmond—responsible for Brandi?

Quentin glanced over, gauging Brandi’s reaction to the thought of being entrusted to a man she’d once called a relic. He could tell naught from her expression, which remained unchanged; her eyes vague, faraway. Had the reality yet to sink in, or had her relationship with Desmond altered so dramatically that Ardsley’s provision was not only tenable but welcome?

“That concludes the will readings,” Hendrick announced, coming to his feet. “Unless, of course, there are questions.”

“I think it would be best if we postponed questions or discussion for another time,” Desmond inserted at once, inclining his head meaningfully in Brandi’s direction. Gently, he guided her from her chair. “Today has depleted the final vestige of our emotional reserves.”

“I fully understand.” Hendrick turned to Quentin. “Is that amenable to you as well?”

“Perfectly.” Quentin rose. “Moreover, I have no need for clarification. The terms of the wills were quite clear.”

“Brandice?” Hendrick asked gently.

“I’d like to go home now,” Brandi whispered.

“Come, little one.” Desmond cupped her elbow. “I’ll accompany you back to Emerald Manor.”

Brandi took two steps, then halted as Desmond’s choice of words spawned a new concern.

Narrow shoulders tensed, she pivoted slowly to face Quentin. “Emerald Manor,” she repeated, gazing at Quentin with a bleak, disoriented look that tore at his heart. “I don’t know what your plans are, what you want me to do. Shall I pack my things and have them sent back to Townsbourne tonight?”

Quentin’s brows drew together. “Why would you do that?”

“I …” She swallowed, her lips quivering. “The cottage is yours now. I’m sure Pamela and Kenton would want you, not I, living there.”

Quentin stepped forward, framed her face between his palms. “You’re wrong, Sunbeam. Nothing would make my parents happier than knowing you’d chosen their loving haven in which to heal. And nothing would insult me more than if you chose to leave.” His forefinger traced a tender line down the bridge of her nose. “Moreover, who but you could help Herbert tend the gardens? Left in my inept hands, Emerald Manor’s splendid gazebo would be surrounded by perishing flowers and unkempt ivy. Need I tell you how Mother would feel about that?”

A whisper of a smile. “No, you needn’t.”

“Good. Then that puts an end to your ludicrous suggestion. Unless, of course—” Quentin’s eyes twinkled. “This wouldn’t, perchance, be an attempt to back out of our shooting match, would it? If you recall, we did plan it for tomorrow morning.”

This time, Brandi’s smile appeared of its own accord. “I recall. And I assure you, my lord, I have no intentions of backing out.”

“That’s a relief. Then I suggest you stop spouting this nonsense about returning to Townsbourne and instead hasten off to Emerald Manor to prepare for battle.”

“I’ll do that.” Brandi scrutinized Quentin’s face, her disorientation temporarily held at bay. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

“Yes. And so are you.” Gently, he ruffled her hair, then urged her toward the door. “Now go with Desmond. I’ll be by at ten tomorrow, pistol in hand.”

“And—pistol in hand—you’ll be defeated, just as you were four years past,” Brandi managed to tease back. Complying with Quentin’s request, she walked over to join Desmond in the doorway.

Quentin chuckled, vastly relieved by Brandi’s attempt at humor, however small. His gaze slid from her to Desmond, and he started, taken aback by the sharp, disapproving look he saw reflected in his brother’s eyes.

“Are you ready, Brandice?” The new duke’s tone was curt.

Brandi seemed not to notice. “Yes.” She paused to address Hendrick. “Thank you. You displayed patience and compassion—both of which I badly needed.”

“Not at all, my dear,” he replied. “Your grief is perfectly understandable, given the magnitude of your loss. I’ll make arrangements to have Pamela’s jewel case and silver delivered to Emerald Manor posthaste. In the interim, should you think of any questions once the shock has worn off …”

“I’ll
contact you with whatever questions Brandice might have,” Desmond interrupted. “Good day, Ellard.” He glanced coldly at Quentin. “You’re going directly to Colverton?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll see you there.” Without another word, Desmond ushered Brandi out.

Colverton was unusually chilly and dark when Quentin entered its doors that night—or perhaps it was only his mood which made it appear as such. The day had been understandably difficult, leaving him tired, drained, and vaguely unsettled in a way he had yet to examine.

Although it took little insight to discern that Brandi was at the heart of his unrest—Brandi and her nebulous relationship with his half brother. A half brother he recalled as small-minded and envious, a man far too self-centered to embrace someone’s pain as his own, unless he had something to gain.

The same man Brandi had once loathed, yet now described as solid and supportive: “a pillar of strength,” to be exact.

Obviously, Desmond had changed a great deal over the past four years.

Or had he?

“Good evening, Master Quentin.” Bentley hastened over, his lips pinched into a tight line of worry. “Was the day as trying as you feared?”

“Yes, Bentley, it was.” Quentin massaged his temples. “Would you mind pouring me a drink? I’m in sad need of fortification.”

“You’ll find a glass of brandy awaiting you in the sitting room,” Bentley instructed, relieving Quentin of his coat and gloves. One brow arched in response to his lordship’s obvious surprise. “When I saw your approaching carriage, I took the liberty of fetching not only your brandy but a light snack. Undoubtedly, you’ve eaten nothing since breakfast.”

A corner of Quentin’s mouth lifted. “I’d forgotten how well you know me.”

The butler sniffed. “Since the age of two, you’ve dealt with upset in the same manner—by neglecting your food.”

“A vice you continually remedied.”

“And one I will continue to remedy whenever I can.” Bentley gestured toward the sitting room. “Your meal is ready whenever you are.”

Quentin stared down the dimly lit hallway and hesitated.

“Do you know,” Bentley remarked casually, “as luck would have it, I’ve just completed my evening duties and was about to indulge in a welcome respite. I don’t suppose you’d like some company?”

Relief flowed through Quentin in a great wave. “Indeed I would, Bentley.” He shot the butler a quick, knowing look. “You couldn’t have arranged your respite at a better time—as luck would have it, of course.”

“Of course.” The barest glimmer of a smile. “After you, sir.”

Warm and cheerily aglow, the sitting room was a splendid contrast to the dreariness of the entranceway. A delicious-smelling plate of cold roast lamb and mint sauce greeted Quentin, beside which sat a basket of sugar-iced buns and, of course, the requisite goblet of brandy.

Crossing over to the sideboard, Quentin surveyed the room, noting every one of Bentley’s personal touches right down to the fire blazing cozily at the hearth. “Thank you, my friend,” Quentin said simply, lifting his glass in tribute.

“You’re quite welcome, sir.” Bentley cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back. “Will Master Desmond be returning tonight?”

Quentin tossed down his drink. “Not for another hour or so. He escorted Brandi to Emerald Manor.”

“But he will continue residing at Colverton?”

Quentin halted, midswallow, lowering his drink to the sideboard. “That’s an odd question. Of course he’ll continue residing at Colverton. Where else would he live? After all, he is the newly appointed duke.”

Surprise flashed briefly on Bentley’s carefully schooled features. “Did you say the duke, sir?”

“I did.” Quentin sighed. “I know it will take some getting used to, Bentley, but Father is gone. The sooner we come to terms with it, the better.”

“Mr. Hendrick did read the wills today, did he not?”

“He did.” Quentin nodded. “The documents yielded no surprises; Desmond will assume Father’s title and businesses, both of which I’m sure he’ll handle admirably.” Turning to refill his glass, Quentin missed the startled look on Bentley’s face. “He’ll also oversee Ardsley’s business and …” Quentin broke off. “I retract my statement, Bentley. There was one surprise. Not only will Desmond be responsible for Ardsley’s business, he’ll also be responsible for his daughter.”

“Miss Brandi?”

“Yes. Father was designated her guardian, Desmond his successor. Hence, Desmond is now Brandi’s overseer.”

“I see.” Bentley pursed his lips thoughtfully. “And how did Miss Brandi react to this news?”

“I’m not certain. She’s taking all three deaths extremely hard and is still very much in shock. Frankly, I’m not even sure she comprehended what Hendrick was telling her.”

“And Emerald Manor? Did the duke and duchess will their cottage to Miss Brandi?”

“No, they willed it to me. But, given the circumstances, I’d rather Brandi continued to stay there. You saw how precarious an emotional state she was in. Evicting her from Emerald Manor might be more than she can handle. Besides, where would she go—back to Townsbourne? That estate holds nothing for her but pain and emptiness.”