If Love Were Enough (15 page)

She refused to be blighted by her sister-in-law. She would not let the harridan get the better of her. She calmly retorted, “Why should he? Ours was just an accidental meeting. He is, after all, betrothed to another. Estella, I believe is her name. What more could he mean to me than a momentary diversion from my devastation over Robert’s passing? We spent much time discussing loss, sorrow, continuing on . . .” Cilla stood up beside the bed.

Anne snickered. “I think there was more than discussions going on between the two of you. I know damn well you spread your legs wide for him, and every chance you could. And why should he leave you any message? He’s the rake he has always been and you were nothing more than his latest harlot. An easy diversion to rut with, to relieve his needs until he was called back home. And you, Miss High and Mighty, a whore at last.”

Cilla felt the rush of blood over her breast, up her neck into her face. She wanted to tear out this woman’s throat and feed her to the dogs.

But she would not give Anne the satisfaction of knowing she was hurt and disappointed.

“It never ceases to amaze me, Anne, how you have no couth, manners nor tact. One would think with your upbringing and money your parents would have invested at least some of it on schooling you in the niceties of society. I guess all of the efforts made were lost on you.

“Now, if you will excuse me and leave my rooms, I want to rest before dinner. We had quite the time of it in the village and I would like to look refreshed at the evening meal.”

Cilla strode over to the door then opened it wide. With cool indifference painted upon her face she quelled the distress tearing up her insides at the hurt and abandonment she felt. But the disappointment that flashed across Anne’s face told Cilla her ruse was enough to mollify her sister-in-law.

At least for the time being.

Once Anne had left, Cilla fell against the closed door in relief.

Now what should she do?

Did she dare stay any longer?

What if she was not pregnant? The timeframe for success might already be closed.

Besides, it was not likely she would consider bedding any of the other men in attendance. Given that opportunity early on, she had no more interest now than she had then.

In fact, it still turned her stomach in disgust.

No, she was done here. Despite having the likelihood of facing Damon when she returned to Northumberland, it was time for her to leave. There was nothing else to keep her here. No one significant to spend time with any longer.

She went to the bell pull to summon her maid.

She would leave first thing in the morning. If the weather held, she could be back by the cold, wild North Sea in two or three days.

Then, time would tell whether her quest had been successful.

She would forget Brandon. She would forget the intimacy and passion. She would forget all the new and wonderful things he had shared with her.

She would focus on the child. There must be a child with as many couplings as they had shared over the last three days.

She would pray for a boy.

She would focus on the child and saving those who had become near and dear to her over these past ten-plus years.

And she would wrest control of the estates back from Robert’s debauched nephew.

This would be the purpose of her life now and for the indeterminate future.

Brandon rode into the courtyard at full speed then drew his horse up short. Less than two days. It had taken him less than two days to return to BrookLea and his dying father.

Dismounting, he tossed the reins to the groom who had hurried from the stables. He ran up the well-worn white marble stairs at the front of the manse; the door opened wide before him.

“Jessup, how is he doing? Is he in his rooms?”

“Welcome home, my lord. Yes, your father is in his chamber with your sister and Lady Estella. They are all anxiously awaiting your return.”

Taking the stairs two and three at a time, Brandon headed up. He paused just before his father’s door and ran both hands through his hair in hopes of putting it in some sort of order. He took a deep breath.

And then another.

How could his father be dying at only five and fifty years? Just a year ago, he’d been in his prime, healthy, active and living life to its fullest. It seemed he had decades yet to be upon the earth.

He knocked on the door.

“Enter.” It was his sister, Marie, who answered.

No sooner had he walked into the room than she ran to him, into his arms.

“I’m so glad you are here, Brandon. Father has been asking for you, waiting for you.”

He went to the bedside but before focusing on his father he gave an acknowledging nod to Estella.

He bent over the desiccated form of Silas Bradley, Viscount Brookfield, his father.

Only a year and his father had come to this withered shell of a man. Eyes once bright with energy now were sunken in a pale, wrinkled face.

“Father, I am returned. I came as soon as I received Marie’s note. Tell me how you are.” With a gentle touch, Brandon ran his fingertips along his father’s cold colorless cheek. His eyes fluttered, then opened.

“My son. My son. I thought you’d never get here. The pain is so much worse now. The doctor has increased the laudanum. I wanted to see you before . . . before . . .” His words drifted off as his frail, cold, stiff hand came to take Brandon’s from his cheek.

“I should not have gone, father. I’m sorry I have been gone so long.” He squeezed the withered hand he held.

“Nonsense. I sent you off. I was glad to do it too.” The cough that came halted his sentence. A wheeze followed the cough making Brandon wince at the pain he could hear in the inhalation.

When he regained control, his father said, “I will be better now for a while. I just needed to see you. Go. Wash up and rest. I need to rest too. Come back later and we will talk. I want to hear about the house party. Who you met. How is Asherton and his family? Go now. Come back later.”

Bending to kiss his father’s forehead, Brandon said, “All right, but only for a little while. I’m in great need of a bath, and dinner will be served soon after that. I’ll come dine with you here instead of the dining room.”

“Yes, yes. That will be fine. I must rest now.” His father dropped his hand and closed his eyes as he turned his head away.

Marie gave Brandon a sorrowful look as she nodded toward the door. Quietly, the three of them tiptoed out closing the door silently behind them.

Estella came to him and looked up into his face. “You look tired. You must have ridden with little rest.”

“As I told father, I left as soon as I received Marie’s message. I packed the barest of necessities and came by horseback. I only stopped to rest him. Simpson and my carriage will probably arrive tomorrow or the day after.

“You are looking well, Estella. Thank you for being here.”

“You know your father has been like my own these past six years. And Marie,” she reached out her hand to his sister, “is my very best friend. How could I not come to the aid of my second family?”

“Of course, I knew you would be here. And what of your brother? He is well?” Taking her by the elbow, they turned down the hall.

Estella reached for Marie. Tugged her along to join them.

“Come with us, Marie.” She slid her hand into the crook of her friend’s arm.

“I’ll have tea brought to the drawing room,” Marie said. “We can chat there.” They headed down the stairs to the first floor.

“William is just fine, Brandon. As you know, his second child is due any day now and Alice expects it to be a boy. The two of them are elated with the prospect.”

“But you have been spending most of your time here with Marie, have you not?”

The two ladies looked at each other with affection. “Of course,” Estella said. “I have. William and the entire staff are fluttering around Alice at our house. But Marie has been alone since you left. Here the servants walk softly and stay away from the sick room unless needed so as not to disturb your father. Marie needed someone who cared to talk to. Besides, we have been friends for so many years there is little she needs to tell me I cannot discern myself.” Estella squeezed her friend’s arm as they walked into the drawing room.

“I’ll just ring for tea.” Leaving their side, Marie went toward the bell pull.

After tea and a conversation that brought him up to date on his father’s condition, Brandon retired to his rooms. Looking into the mirror above his washstand, he could see the worry and weariness etched in his own face.

What should he do now? Did his father want him to marry Estella before he died? How could he do that after the last few days with Cilla?

After undressing, he eased his sore and tired body into the steaming tub of water that had been readied for his use. But it wasn’t long before his thoughts of Cilla drove him from the bath. Drying himself with a large Turkish towel then wrapping it around his hips, Brandon went to the secretary and pulled out quill, ink and a piece of foolscap.

My dearest Cilla . . .

Half an hour later, dressed and ready to dine with his father, Brandon went to the main floor to hand the note to Jessup. He gave orders to have it posted immediately. Hopefully, Cilla would still be at Asheville when it arrived. Maybe she would write him back and give him her home address in Northumberland so he could write to her directly.

He returned to his father’s rooms and pulled up a chair beside the bed. Studying his father’s sleeping face, he regretted all that had happened over the last year to sap his father’s vitality.

He tried not to regret his recent absence.

If he had not gone, he would not have met Cilla.

Cilla, and his feelings for her, had changed his life. Had changed everything.

But now he had new questions and new challenges.

What was he to do about Estella? About their betrothal and marriage? What were his father’s expectations before his death?

A quiet knock on the door preceded Jessup entering with a large tray.

“Good evening, my lord. I have brought up dinner for you and his lordship. Miss Marie said you would be eating here in his lordship’s rooms.”

“Thank you, Jessup. That is my plan.” He rose from his chair as the butler set down the tray on the tea table in front of the hearth.

“The broth is for his lordship, my lord. Miss Marie has been feeding him these last few days. He does not quite have the strength to do it, you see.”

“I will handle it, Jessup.”

With a bow, Jessup said, “As you wish, Lord Brandon,” and left the room.

Days passed in like manner. Brandon sat with his father most afternoons and evenings. The only break he took was to ride the estate in the mornings, weather permitting, followed by brief meetings with the overseer. At the moment, all was kept in order and there was little for him to do. How that would change after his father’s passing he did not know, nor did he spend much time thinking about it.

Two and a half months passed in such manner. Estella was there almost continuously and usually at Marie’s side. He had spoken to her at meals and while she was in the sick room but had spent little time with her alone. It seemed Estella had no desire to speak with him or nothing of note to say at present.

His father’s health continued to fail. Finally, while he was sitting next to him reading aloud, his father held up a pale hand. In a weak voice he said, “Stop, Brandon. I think we have put off the necessary discussions long enough. I expected you to bring the matter up but it is obvious I must broach the subject and soon lest I die without it being settled.”

Brandon lifted his eyes from the pages of the book as he placed a marker then laid the closed volume on the bedside stand.

Bracing himself for the onslaught, he answered, “And what topic would that be, Father?”

“Marriage. I had expected you would have had the banns read and the preacher perform the service by now. I am getting no stronger. Have you discussed this with Estella?”

Brandon swallowed and looked his father in the eye. “No, Father, I have not. She has not mentioned the matter and you had not pushed. I simply let it go.”

“Are you planning to marry, Brandon?” The cough and wheeze that followed this question told Brandon he should not tax his father for long.

“You know I am.”

“Was it not Estella you had planned to wed?”

“You know it was.”

“But something has changed?”

“I cannot lie to you, Father. A great deal has changed.” He took a frail hand in his own and plunged into the abyss. “Let me ask you, Father. . . .”

“Anything, my son. Now is the time as there is little time left.”

“You and mother, it was an arranged marriage with no bonds of affection between you, was it not?”

“It was. The monies and titles required such be done. I did my duty as my father bade me.”

“But, if you had it to do all over again, would you do the same, Father? Or would you choose another path?”

“My son, that is a difficult question to answer. Should duty and honor count for naught?”

“Of course they count for much. But, all these years, you have spent here at the estate. Mother stays in town with few visits home. Even when Marie and I were younger she spent almost no time at all with the family. Would it not have been better to have a wife who was here for you? Even now, on your deathbed, Mother has not made her presence known. Is that not a disappointment?”

“Brandon, life is never so easy as to give us the things we would hope for. I hoped your mother and I would grow close. But she was for town and the social life. That was never something I could enjoy. I have always loved the country. When I was in town, I would count the days to return here, to the estate. For your mother, it was just the opposite. When she was here her temper would be stretched until she could return to town.”

“So you would claim your marriage unsuccessful?”

“On the contrary, the goal was to beget an heir which we did shortly after our wedding. Then we had Marie. After two children and almost five years in the country your mother could stand no more and moved back to town.”

“Was that enough for you, Father? Were you lonely? Did you not wish for a partner in life?”

“I had my share of liaisons, as did your mother.”

“But Father, you cannot tell me those were the same as loving the woman to whom you were leg-shackled.”

“No, son, it was not, could not be the same. So this is why you have not married Estella.”

“To be honest, Father, when I left to visit Asher I had no doubts I would return and wed Estella. But . . .”

“You have met another, someone who you feel is more important than to insure your line before I die?”

“Lady Rutherford could insure our line just as easily as Estella. And I would be spared the loneliness and emptiness you had to endure for more than thirty years. Must one suffer to do his or her duty? Estella does not give me the least impression she is so eager to wed me either. Maybe she had another in mind as well.”

“And this Lady Rutherford, would she have you, Brandon?”

“I have yet to ask her. I hope she would. She is widowed and free to remarry as she chooses.”

“Does she have children already by her deceased husband?”

“No.”

“How then do you think she is not barren, that she is able to provide you with an heir? Would it not be better to marry Estella, beget your heir, possibly a spare, then have this woman as your mistress. It’s common in town for widows to take lovers, is it not?”

Brandon tempered the rage and insult his father had thrown at him knowing his meaning was not vindictive, just protective. After all, his father didn’t know Cilla as he did. Nor did his father comprehend the feelings that roiled inside of Brandon. His father’s sole intent was the continuance of their line.

“Father, her husband was forty years her senior and impotent. In ten years of marriage, they never consummated their vows. Her ability to bear children is just as likely as Estella’s. After all, Estella has had no children either.”

“I would think not. She is a lady of good breeding and a virgin I am sure.”

“Well, then, since both women are of good breeding, both are as likely to carry my child, both are available to wed, would I not be happier for the many years a marriage shares to wed the one who speaks to duty, honor and to my heart as well?”

His father’s head fell back against the pillows, his eyes shut, his face slack with exhaustion and contemplation. “Brandon, I had no choice when I was in your position. There was no woman of the proper station whom I cared for so much I would marry her and do my duty as well. My heart was given to a country lass, not even the daughter of a country squire. My father would hold no consideration for such a match. How do I know this Lady Rutherford is of a station appropriate to your title?”

“Father, she is Asher’s younger sister and was married to a marquess.”

Silence ensued. Then his father asked, “And how will you tell Estella she is not to be your bride? It is my understanding she has every expectation you will honor your betrothal.”