Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (29 page)

“That is not much of a choice,” Bran remarked as the man strode from the room.

Exhausted by the confrontation, Velvet swayed in place. “I must go with him,” she murmured.

“No!” Bran ordered. “You will remain at Briar House.”

“My uncle is a hard man. He will discredit Ella’s tale; he will deny our joining; he will ruin my reputation rather than back down.” She reached for the chair for support.

Bran, frozen in place, stared helplessly at her. “When will I see you again?”

“Come for me when I am one and twenty. I will wait for you,” she said dejectedly.

“That is nearly two years, Velvet. By then, your uncle will marry you off to someone else.”

“I will refuse.”

“The same as you have refused to stay with me?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Do not turn against me, Bran. I protect your family.”

“It is your family, too, Velvet–more so than are the Averettes.”

“I know, Bran.” Tears now streamed down her face. “Tell Ella I am sorry my family threatens her happiness. Tell her I love her like a sister.”

“Velvet, I beg you...do not go.”

Her lip trembled with her emotions. “I have no choice, Bran.” She ran from the room.

“Damn you!” His words followed her down the hall.

Chapter 15

On Monday, Bran made a point of leaving the house early. Twice during the night he had gone to Velvet’s room, but she had refused to answer. Finally, he resorted to sliding a note under her door, telling her that he would move mountains to protect her if she would just stay, but Bran held no delusions about her agreement. She would leave him. He could either allow the viscount to ruin Ella and Kerrington’s happiness and see the man belie the Fowler name, or he could lose the woman he loved. When he departed that morning, he told Mr. Horace to prepare to shut down Briar House before the week’s end. He would not spend one extra day in London once Velvet left for Edinburgh.

*

Late in the evening, Bran handed his hat to his butler. “Where is my aunt?” Bran did not want to ask, but he needed to know for certain. “And the rest of the household?”

“Miss Sonali and Mrs. Carruthers are in their rooms.” Mr. Horace paused, obviously dreading to divulge the rest. “The Averettes, Sir, left around ten this morning.”

Bran shot a quick glance at the hall clock–nearly twelve hours earlier, he thought. “Miss Aldridge was among them, I assume.”

“Yes, Your Grace. The young lady left a note for you, Sir. I placed it on your desk.”

“Thank you, Mr. Horace.” Bran forced himself towards the staircase. “I will read it tomorrow. Close everything up for the evening. I will look in on my sleeping daughter and then take to my chambers. Would you ask someone to bring me a decanter of brandy?” His feet felt exceedingly heavy as he climbed the steps.

“Right away, Your Grace.” The butler began to dutifully extinguish the lights behind Bran.

He would become what he was before–when he was in Cornwall–a devoted father and a powerful man. All day, as he sat in a secluded corner at White’s, pretending an interest in the newspapers, he had considered what he would do for the next nineteen months and ten days–until she was one and twenty–until as Velvet said last night–he could “come for her.” For one thing, he would not tell Eleanor of the sacrifice they both made to protect the Fowlers. Ella carried enough guilt. Some way, he would give the story of Velvet’s departure a creative slant–make it appear that his heart was not lying open on the floor for anyone who cared to do so to stomp on it.

He walked slowly into his daughter’s room. Looking at the sleeping child gave him some peace. He did the right thing by Ashmita’s child, but it had cost him dearly. Maybe without Sonali he could have come home to claim Velvet long before now–maybe he could have been of more worth to Ella when his father had taken ill. The innocence found within the girl meant she had not suffered because of her mother’s shame, and that was the real reason he had put his life on hold. Now, he would do so for another. Sonali would miss Gwendolyn Averette’s company; over the last month, the Averettes had partaken of his hospitality, and then they had kicked him in the teeth–had taken Velvet away even after Bran offered to marry her.

In his room, pouring himself a stiff drink, Bran collapsed in one of the wing chairs. He should go to bed, but he knew sleep would not come. Tonight would last forever.

*

“You are a hard man to track down,” Aidan Kimbolt announced from the doorway of Bran’s study.

Unable to remain in London even long enough to close Briar House for the Season, Bran had returned to Thorn Hall on Tuesday morning. Aunt Agatha assured him that she would see to it. Mrs. Carruthers would bring Sonali to Thornhill on Friday.

Bran did not stand to greet his colleague. “I returned home, Lexford; it is not as if I left the country.” He returned to the letter he drafted to the overseer of one of his investments.

Without an invitation, Lexford paused before coming to join Bran at the desk. “I called at Briar House,” the Viscount shared. “I was surprised to find you had departed for Kent.”

“I assumed you would be elsewhere, considering that Miss Cashé returned to Edinburgh. I did not expect your company.” Bran barely glanced up from his letter, hopefully, indicating that he was not in the mood to socialize; yet, his friend ignored the frustration in Bran’s tone.

“It is for the best; I leave for Calcutta today.”

The words put an end to Bran’s avoidance measures. “Calcutta?”

“Shepherd contacted me yesterday. Agents confiscated a note delivered to Levering in his jail cell. One of the baronet’s friends assisted Levering in making contact with Mir himself. It seems Talpur planned his own attack on Lady Worthing, and the Baloch helped Levering’s stooge escape the captain that day. Now, Levering offers to serve Mir if the Baloch will assist in Sir Louis’s escape. Lucifer and I plan to foil that attempt.”

“Do you require my assistance? Should I go with you?” Bran leaned forward in anticipation.

“Lowery and Wellston will serve as my backup. They departed yesterday. I thought it best to let you know of the changes occurring in the case.” Kimbolt looked around tentatively. “You have returned to Kent alone?”

Bran forced calm to his face, but his tone betrayed his real thoughts. “Miss Aldridge accompanies her family to Scotland.”

Lexford looked uncomfortable–not certain what to say. “I am sorry, Your Grace.”

“There is nothing for which to be sorry, Lexford. Miss Aldridge and I discussed it, and neither of us felt we could make the type of commitment it would take to keep her here. Let us face facts; without Eleanor at Thorn Hall, I could not allow Miss Aldridge to return to this house without the calling of banns–even if she is my ward. It is just not done.”

“I suppose you are correct,” Kimbolt said cautiously.

Bran shuffled the papers on his desk. “It is as you said about Miss Cashémere–‘it is for the best.’”

“The Realm’s ship waits for me at Dover,” Lexford shared. “I will keep in touch, or someone from the Home Office will send word.”

“Be safe,” Bran cautioned as he stood to take his friend’s hand. “Do not do something ill advised.”

“You are the impulsive one, my Friend.” Lexford headed toward the door, knowing he had a ship to catch. “Will you send word to Kerrington?”

“I will see to it,” Bran called to Kimbolt’s retreating figure. A moment later, Bran heard the front door close behind the viscount.

In some ways, Bran had wished that he could travel with his friends. It would give him a purpose–something to occupy his time, but he had responsibilities to Thornhill–to his cottagers, his staff, his daughter, his extended family. He could no longer “run away from home.”
Home
required him to be the Duke. His days as an active Realm member had ended when he had chosen to raise Sonali in Brittany–to give her a sense of normalcy. He would have to find another way to forget Velvet Aldridge.

*

For the first month of his return to Kent, Bran had gone through the motions of being the Duke. He had spent time daily with Sonali; trying to replace the pain in his heart with the one in his body, he had ridden out across the land each morning, and he had spent countless hours on estate business. Each night he had drunk more brandy than he had thought possible. It had dulled his senses enough to give him some sleep. He had turned down invitations and simply had stayed at home. Velvet’s letter still rested on his desk. He had brought it with him from London, but Bran had never opened it: It was a letter of farewell, and he could not read those words. Occasionally, sitting at his desk, he would trace his name written in her familiar script with his fingertip–a way of keeping Velvet close.

The second month, the pain had eased–needing only a half decanter of brandy to bring on sleep, but the uncertainty never went away. He had amused himself in trying to describe the anguish: an emptiness completely devoid of feeling; a knife thrust deep into his soul, buried to the hilt and turned over and over again; an anvil thrown full force from an explosion and striking him in the gut. Nothing had explained it, and nothing had made it go away. Although Bran sometimes had felt the pain to be less intense, he suspected that he was now used to it and no longer took as much notice.

He had never informed Eleanor of Velvet’s leaving. Bran just could not acknowledge the action. He had supposed Aunt Agatha would do so; therefore, he had chosen to ignore the situation, withholding a public acknowledgement of it. In her letters, Eleanor never mentioned it, and he was thankful for his sister’s discretion.

*

By the end of the third month, his life had become a routine, and although his staff still gave him a wide berth, they no longer jumped with fear when he spoke to them. He had tempered his words, not biting out orders as he had done in the early days of Velvet’s desertion. It was not his employees’ faults that he had felt ripped in two.

Often, meaning several times daily, he relived those few moments he and Velvet had shared: the kisses, the intimacy of her bed, the conversations, the dream of being together. He had thought it ironic how quickly he had bought into the belief that Velvet would be his. He had brought the hopes he had carried with him to Kent. A glimmer of fulfillment had come with those times they had held each other. Now, those moments seemed so long ago. She had sent him a letter, at least, once weekly. However, Bran had yet to read any of them or to answer her. It would tear his heart from his chest to hear Velvet speak of enjoying Edinburgh, hating Edinburgh, being promised to another man, regretting leaving him, or any other scenario. He just could not deal with any news of her happiness or of her misery. Bran could do nothing either way.

*

“Lowery,” he called as he greeted his friend. “What news do you have from the East? Were you able to foil Sir Louis’s escape?”

The time had passed slowly since Kimbolt, Lucifer, Lowery, and Wellston had departed for Calcutta. Bran had expected some word from Shepherd before now, but he had accepted the difficulty of getting accurate information out of the Orient.

“Then you have not heard? I expected as much.” Lowery propped his feet on a nearby ottoman.

“Not a word.” Bran handed his friend a glass of port before joining him in a leisurely conversation.

Lowery took a sip of the drink before setting the glass on a nearby table. “I debarked at Dover. Kimbolt travels on to Barton-upon-Humber. He plans to call on Kerrington before traveling on to Cheshire. Wellston returned over a month prior. There was little for him to do.”

Bran listened closely to what his friend did not say. “I assume,” he began, “there is something you avoid telling me. Did Levering manage to escape after all?”

“No,” Lowery declared, “Levering did not escape. We discovered after we departed for India, that the message the baronet received at Old Bailey had actually told him that assistance awaited him in Calcutta. We were misinformed on that fact, but it was true that his friends Heath Montford and Gavin Bradley had contacted a former associate, whom we have assumed was Murhad Jamot.”

He paused again before continuing, appearing to search for the right words. “Our yacht reached Calcutta before the
Star of the East
, and we awaited the ship on the docks, making certain Levering did not leave the prison ship and none of Mir’s men boarded the craft. However, we were too late.” Bran fought the urgency rising in his chest. “When the
Star of the East
made land, the captain reported to port authorities that Levering had gone overboard during a storm.”

“How could a man chained in the ship’s hole go overboard?” Bran demanded.

“During the night even.” Lowery smirked. “Obviously, the ship had not conducted itself properly in the handling of prisoners.”

Bran snapped, “Absurd! Did the captain of the
Star
think anyone would believe such poppycock?”

“Unfortunately, the Calcutta authorities accepted the captain’s report. His official paperwork claims that they permitted Sir Louis out for some exercise–that a swift wind sent the mast spinning, knocking the baronet overboard. The captain claims they attempted to save Levering, but it was night; they lost the man in the dark–the assumption being Sir Louis was unconscious when he hit the water.”

“And unofficially?”

Lowery leaned forward, placing his feet on the floor and resting his arms on his thighs. “Lucifer’s common looks allowed him to move freely among the unwashed throngs found on Calcutta’s docks. He pretended to seek employment on the
Star of the East
, buying drinks for several sailors on day leave. One of those became more than a bit drunk; the man swears he actually found Sir Louis’s body on deck before the ship had docked in Calcutta. Supposedly, someone had slit the baronet’s throat during the night and had left Levering to bleed to death. His jailers had chained the baronet above board–to one of the masts; evidently, he had bribed the sailors to permit him some freedom. Levering had slept in the open. His ankle chain would reach one of the railings, which is where the sailor known as Jatson Smythe found him–dangling over the railing. The quartermaster filed the paperwork as ordered, and the boatswain disposed of the body overboard.”

“Then Levering is really dead?” Bran could not conceive of the possibility. He had considered slitting the baronet’s throat himself, but he had thought it an awful way to die.

“I questioned the boatswain myself. He confirmed what Lucifer had discovered. One thing he added, however, was the disappearance of one of the crew when they had reached Calcutta. A man known as Shar Hasni among the crew went on shore with the others from the
Star
, but he never returned. They did a search of the dock areas, thinking he might be passed out somewhere, but no one found him. There is not much they could do in a place like Calcutta. The man was of Indian extraction, and the captain assumed Hasni had worked onboard long enough to return home. Men come and go such as that all the time. India is not known for its lawfulness.”