by Jenna Brandt
Chapter 17
The day after her abduction, Margaret was sitting in her study across from Mulchere.
“My lady, I am glad to see that you are all right, considering your ordeal from last night.”
Looking at the detective, Margaret noticed the deep purple bruises on his face from being knocked out by the thugs who had taken her.
“You seem to be the one worse for wear because of last night.”
“Unfortunately, it is a regrettable aspect of this type of work.”
“Were you able to ascertain if my safety in France has been compromised? How many of them were there?”
“It seems there were three men working in conjunction together. The two who were killed last night and a third man I subdued when I went back to the scene shortly after you and your brother left the tavern.”
“How did you find out where we were?”
“Your brother had one of the boys who hangs outside the tavern go with him, and once the mercenaries took you inside, he sent the boy back to get me.”
Her brother was quite smart. Without knowing it, he probably saved both her life and Henry’s as well.
“Were you able to keep them from telling my location to who hired them?”
Mulchere paused for a moment, most likely uncomfortable talking about such a gauche subject with a lady.
“Come now, Monsieur Mulchere. When I hired you, I made it clear that you were to discuss my situation with me as if I were a man. I need you to be blunt.”
Reluctantly, he continued, “I was unable to get any information from the man and was forced to bring in, shall we say, an expert in extracting information.”
Margaret paused for a moment, thinking about what he was trying to imply. Then she realized what he meant and stated candidly, “You forced the information out of him.”
“It was a necessary precaution.”
“And what did he tell you?”
“It seems the one you killed was in charge and the only one to have direct knowledge of the task. The other two men had been hired by him and were following basic instructions. He most likely did not want them to have details, fearing a double cross. I was able to find contact information for the employer on the body of the dead one. I am having false information relayed back to the employer that the woman they had been looking into was not the woman he was searching for.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Mulchere.”
“You are welcome, my lady.”
“What happened with the third man?”
“He succumbed to his wounds and is no longer with us.”
“I need to ask you one more question, and it is of the utmost importance.” Margaret steeled herself for the answer. “Who hired them?”
“My lady, it was as you feared. He was hired by the Duke of Witherton.”
Margaret tried not to react visibly, but inside she was filled with terror. He had almost found her. And she knew he would not stop once he set his sights on something he wanted.
“He cannot keep looking for me in France or he will find me. He must be convinced that it is useless to keep searching for me here. I have too much at stake to leave now.”
“My lady, now that we know it is the duke looking for you, we can have my emissaries relay misinformation to his people directly. I will even have one of them gain employment from him to keep track of his investigation into your whereabouts.”
“Will it work?”
“It should. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you are safe, my lady.”
“If it does not, I will have to leave France quickly.”
“My lady, I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
“I appreciate that—”
All of a sudden, Jackie burst into the room and cut off Margaret and Mulchere’s conversation. She stood with her hands on her hips and glared at Margaret. “Why did you never tell me that you had a brother? I am your best friend, and I find out from Monte today that the marquis met him last night. I could not believe my ears. All this time, I thought you told me everything, but no, you must not, for I have come to find out this secret of yours from the lips of someone else. I felt such a fool as he looked to me to fill him in on what was going on. How could I, when you have been keeping it from me?”
Jackie’s French accent always got thicker when she was upset. Absentmindedly, she shoved several of her fiery locks out of her face.
For the first time, Jackie noticed the man sitting in the room with Margaret. Slightly embarrassed but trying to mask it with a lackadaisical attitude, Jackie said flippantly, “I did not realize you had a guest. This is not your brother, is it?”
“No, it is someone who is working with me on a project, and he was just leaving,” Margaret said.
Mulchere took his cue to leave. “Good day, my ladies.”
“Good day, Monsieur Mulchere,” Margaret replied.
Once the two women were left alone, Margaret stood up and said to Jackie, “I was going to tell you, but I only found out yesterday that he had been located.”
Pierre walked into the room. “I am sorry about my cousin, Margaret. She rushed to get ahead of me, and I was unable to keep her from bombarding you.”
Jackie made an exaggerated sigh and then stated, “Well, she could have told me she was looking for him. She told you after all.”
“She needed my help to find him. I am sure that, if she did not, she would not have involved me either.”
“Both of you, stop it. Jackie, I am sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
“I am capable of keeping a secret if I need to, Margaret.” Jackie was starting to calm down. That was good. Margaret did not need her to cause a scene and draw any attention to their conversation.
“What is all the yelling about?” Randall entered the room and looked at Margaret.
Too late.
“Nothing, two of my close friends just dropped by for a visit. I did not expect you up so soon after last night.”
Randall smirked. “I always recover quickly from my drinking binges.” He turned and looked at Jackie and Pierre, noticing them for the first time. She could tell he was trying to minimize what happened the night before, and frankly, she was glad. She did not want to discuss it, and she definitely did not want Jackie or Pierre to know about it. She could not handle any more prodding questions about her past, not with her nerves frayed the way they were at the moment.
Jackie curtsied and extended her hand to Randall. “I am the Vicomtesse of Durante. I am… pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Margaret immediately recognized the change in Jackie’s voice from friendly to flirtatious.
Randall bowed and took Jackie’s hand as he came up. He kissed the top of it, saying, “I am told”—he glanced at Margaret—“that I am the Earl of Renwick. I am delighted to meet such a beautiful and striking lady.”
Margaret made note that even though he chose not to show it the night before, her brother was capable of demonstrating manners. Some things were like second nature if you were raised to do them your whole life. He may not remember who he was, but he did seem to remember how to act the part.
Pierre stood in the corner of the room, observing but not saying a word. He looked pale, as if seeing a ghost.
Jackie curled her lips with a suggestive smile and gave Randall a look with a deeper meaning. “I hope the countess allows us to get to know each other better.” She glanced at Margaret and asked, “Would you mind, Margaret, if I got to know your brother better?”
Margaret gasped. She had not expected for Jackie to say anything, let alone blurt out her identity so quickly. But then, she supposed that Jackie did not know she had not told Randall yet.
He dropped Jackie’s hand and turned to look at Margaret with pure astonishment.
“So, you are the Countess of Renwick? You are my sister?” he said with accusation in his voice.
Margaret inhaled sharply, holding her breath as she nodded and waited to see what he said next.
&nbs
p; “Well, that explains why you did not want me to kiss you last night.”
“Quite.”
He moved towards her and placed his hands on both sides of her arms while asking, in a softer way this time, “Why did you not tell me in the beginning?”
“I made multiple attempts, but I was not even certain until last night at the window that you would be able to get your memories back. And you were tired and I thought it could wait,” Margaret finished lamely.
The truth was that she was afraid. She could have said it at any point the previous night, but she had worried that, if he did not get his memories back, she would not be able to handle it. If he did not know who she was, it somehow made it easier to accept that possibility.
Pierre approached Randall and looked at him for several moments before saying, “I think it time I introduce myself. I am Pierre Girald, the Vidame of Demoulin.”
Randall furrowed his brows together and asked, “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Because Pierre was your best friend until you went missing. You were in boarding school together.”
“Truly?” Randall asked.
Pierre nodded. “I am glad to see you, Randall. You may not remember me, but we were very close growing up. I hope that we can build a new friendship in the future.”
“I think I would like that.”
Jackie moved towards the door, pulling Pierre behind her. She said in parting, “I think we will leave you two alone. I will stop by later, Margaret.” She turned and hastily left the room.
“It seems that you have known all along that, if what you say is true, we are joint heirs to the Renwick title. How is that?”
“Actually, we are not joint heirs. I inherited the title when our father died a year ago, but because you are my brother, I want to relinquish it to you. It should have been yours if the sea had not taken you from us. If we were in England, we could have the title legally changed back over to you, but since we are in France, it is impossible. However, having it legally changed is just a formality and no one will question it.”
“What will you do without the title?”
“I am getting married soon, and Michel will take care of Henry and me. Most noblewomen must marry because they do not have a title of their own. This will be no different.”
“I do not want you to have to marry someone just so he provides for you and my nephew. I am your brother, and I want to take care of my family.”
She smiled, realizing that even without his memories, Randall was still being the protective brother she had always depended upon. It was good to feel sheltered again.
“Tell me about our family, if you do not mind.”
“I was born Lady Margaret Elaine Wellesley, twin to you, Lord Randall Thomas Wellesley. Our parents were Lord Stewart Patrick Wellesley, the Earl of Renwick, and Lady Charlotte Elaine Sunton, Baroness of Ramlin. Our mother died giving birth to us and our father died last year from consumption.”
Walking over to her liquor cabinet, Randall poured himself a drink. She noticed that it was brandy. He always had been partial to brandy.
She remembered when they were nine and he was home from boarding school. They had sneaked into their father’s study when he had been in town for a meeting, getting into his supply of spirits and trying every last one. They had been unbelievably drunk and Randall kept going back to the brandy.
Margaret had been sure when their father found them that he was going to give them a sound thrashing. But instead he laughed, patted them on the back, and told them they got a one-time pass to drink like that. He always did have a soft hand when it came to punishment.
“Why did you decide to drink the brandy? It is not your typical dock tavern drink.”
“I do not know. I have had it on occasion, and I find it to be my favorite drink.” He winked at her. “Although I would never admit that down at the docks.”
She smiled. “We have both always been partial to brandy. We got caught once drinking all of Father’s liquors.” She stood up and walked over to the window. “I miss him.”
He poured himself another and one for her as well, then walked over to the window and handed it to her.
“Is he buried back in England?”
Saddened, she nodded as a flood of grief washed over her as she thought about the loss of their father. “I did not have much time before I had to leave to come here. It has been hard not being able to go to his grave to visit.”
“I am sorry.”
Margaret flinched at her brother’s unattached tone.
“You do not remember him, do you?”
He shook his head. “I am afraid not.”
“You probably do not remember our home either.”
“Again, no.”
She turned to face him and asked in a voice that she could not quite keep the pleading from, “Do you remember anything from your childhood?”
He furrowed his brows in concentration as he thought. A few moments passed, and he replied, “I do recall one thing. I do not know why, but I seem to remember the scent of lavender. It was thick and it surrounded me, but not in a smothering way. Actually, when I got sick here in France, that scent would fill my dreams and I would feel safe and secure. It comforted me. Do you know why I would dream about that?”
Tears welled up in the corner of Margaret’s violet eyes. She nodded as they slowly cascaded down her cheeks. She attempted to brush them away but more followed in their place.
“Our mother wore lavender perfume. She loved the smell so much she had trees planted around the family estate. There were trees outside our windows, and when the wind blew, the scent from the blossoms would float into our rooms. When I was older, Father gave me mother’s bottle of perfume, and I have worn it ever since.”
Hesitantly at first, Randall leaned forward and sniffed her neck. Then he inhaled more deeply and leaned back in recognition.
“That is the scent. That is the exact smell I remember.”
She saw sadness enter his eyes, and she realized he too felt the loss of not ever knowing their mother and losing the last years he could have had with their father.
A bit awkwardly at first, he dabbed at Margaret’s tears as she gave him a lopsided half smile.
He winked at her, then asked, “What was that smile for?”
“For your kindness.” She put her hand on the side of his cheek while looking into his eyes. “For years I did not cry because I considered it a bond between us. I never let myself cry because you were everything to me and I needed something to hold on to that was just for you. My tears for many years were only for you.”
“I do not want you to ever have to cry again.”
“I will not have to now that you are here.”
“I hate that it has taken us this long to find each other.”
“Yes, but now we have, and I want us to make the most of it. No dwelling in the past and what we have lost. We need to concentrate on the future.”
“You are right.” He leaned forward and sniffed her scent again. “But I cannot help wanting to know more about our family. What did she look like?”
“Who? Mother?”
“Yes.”
“Like us. People have always told me that I look exactly like mother. And since you and I are almost identical, she looked like you as well.”
“We look alike?”
She took him over to the mirror and pointed at their reflection.
His mouth dropped open as he stared at their images in disbelief. They were so similar, from their jet-black hair to their deep violet eyes. Side by side, they stood as matching figures that had been separated for far too long.
Margaret laughed. “We are not only brother and sister, but we are also twins. I am the female version of you.” Thinking twice about her comment, she amended her statement. “Well, physically anyway.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Can I help it if I am adventurous?” He pulled his sister by the arm over to the sofa. “So, tell me everything. I w
ant to know about our family, your life, how you came to live in France, how you found me.”
“We do have a lot of catching up to do. But first, there is something that I have wanted to do since I saw you last night.” She reached over and pulled him into an embrace. “I have missed you so much.”
He hugged her back, and after a few moments said in a confused but sincere voice, “I do not know how, but I feel that I have missed you as well.”
“I think that it is time I tell you about yourself.”
She was so overjoyed that God had chosen to give her back her brother. She thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with no family left, no one who had known her since she was born. But her brother was back, and she was going to do whatever it took to make sure their relationship was completely restored.
Chapter 18
While reading in the study, Margaret heard a soft knock at the door. She looked up. “Come in.”
It was Pierre. She raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “What are you doing here?”
He picked up a ceramic knickknack from the entry table and idly shifted it back and forth between his hands. Margaret knew Pierre well and could tell he was contemplating how to phrase what he was going to say next.
“I came to say goodbye, actually.” Apparently, saying it bluntly was how he planned to say farewell. Margaret could not believe it; after all this time of pursuing her, he was finally giving up. Even though it was what she thought she wanted, somehow it still hurt.
If she was honest with herself, she was not surprised. She was astonished that he had stuck it out as long as he had. Because part of her still hoped she might have heard him wrong, she asked, “What do you mean ‘goodbye’?”
“I am leaving for England tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“I have some business matters to attend to there.”
“How long will you be gone?”
He paused for a moment, then replied, “Indefinitely.” She could hear the pain in his voice that he was trying to hide. “I can no longer stay here and watch you with the marquis. Before you were engaged to him, I thought I had a chance to convince you that we were meant to be together. But now I know it is hopeless. Before I go though, I wanted to tell you one thing. I feel I need to leave knowing that I told you exactly how I feel.”
