Brenna snorted indelicately. “I certainly do not lack for invitations, but wherever I go I’m bound to be as overwhelmed by male attentions as I am here. I know quite well that the only point of those house parties is the formation of marital alliances.”
“Unless you choose to visit someone who is unlikely to be interested in male company.”
Brenna grimaced and thought back over her innumerable invitations. Most of them were from families with at least one or two offspring of marriageable age. There had been a few from desperate single males, who were probably only attempting house parties in order to lend an illusion of respectability to their pursuit of a specific woman. And then there had been that other invitation…
She’d ordered Faline to throw it away. At the time, she was quite certain she would never want anything to do with the sender. She’d been bitter, hurt and furious.
But now…
“I might have something,” she announced thoughtfully. “I don’t know that it’s a good idea, but in the absence of a better one…”
“Is there any matrimonial intrigue involved?”
“None whatsoever,” Brenna replied. “That I’m aware of. It was a personal invitation, from a woman.”
“Is it far, far away from any of your ardent suitors?”
“I should think so.” Brenna chuckled. “It’s at least five days’ journey to the northeast. Near the town of Camber.”
Lizbet raised a brow in surprise. “I believe I have heard of Camber. Though I can’t say I remember any families of note residing in that area.”
“Not many. It’s too wooded, but there are a handful of estates. Not wealthy ones, but enough to support the appearance of gentility.”
“Sounds lovely,” Lady Norelle admitted with a sigh. “There are days I’d rather enjoy running away into the woods myself, as Ramsey used to do.”
“Used to?” Brenna echoed.
“Well, perhaps he does still disappear on occasion.” She grimaced. “Though these days he’s so nervous about Trystan’s pregnancy that I can be assured he won’t be gone long. So. Whose invitation are you considering accepting?”
“Louise Seagrave’s.”
Lizbet sat back in her chair and regarded Brenna with a studiously bland expression.
Brenna had been working for her long enough to guess at what it meant. “You don’t approve?”
“It isn’t so much that I approve or don’t approve,” Lizbet said. “It’s more that I recall your vow never to have anything to do with the parents who cast you aside. Are you sure you want to give that woman a chance to wound you again?”
Brenna winced. “When you put it that way, I don’t know that I’m certain, but I’ve been thinking about what I know of the situation, and I believe it’s possible that it was never my… Louise’s idea.” She still had difficulty calling the woman mother. “Her letter seemed quite determinedly civil, and considering what a recluse she’s been since I was named countess, I’ve wondered whether her refusal to see me could be out of embarrassment and shame, rather than rejection.”
“Perhaps,” Lizbet allowed. “And while I rejoice to see you feeling so hopeful, I would not be much of a friend if I permitted you to proceed without warning you that my experience of Louise suggests more than one possible interpretation.”
Brenna slumped down in her chair. “And are any of those interpretations happy ones?”
“Difficult to say. Much of my impression of her is based on conjecture, I’m afraid. She was always quiet at court, while Stockton did all the talking. Though his style of conversation was perhaps better called blustering.”
“That’s what I’d heard.” Brenna picked up one of the tassels on her dress and wrapped it around her fingers. “I thought it at least possible that Louise genuinely does want to know me, but is too shy of her reception at court to bring herself to visit me here.”
“Yes,” Lizbet agreed. “It is possible. But once again, I feel inclined to caution you. As I said, I know little of Louise Seagrave, and what I do know…” She broke off and stared at her desk. Lady Norelle appeared indecisive, which was not at all like her. “I don’t know quite what to make of her, but I would encourage you to be on your guard if you do visit. I have never been able to determine her motives, and, as you are aware”—she grinned wryly at Brenna—“not knowing makes me nervous.”
“Would you suggest that I reconsider the visit?” Brenna’s heart sank a little. Part of her had felt a surge of excitement when she mentioned the idea aloud for the first time. If she decided to go, perhaps she could finally find out what had really happened all those years ago and lay the ghosts of her past to rest. But if Lizbet was worried…
“No,” Lizbet replied decisively. “If you truly believe that your mother wishes to reconnect with you and you find yourself inclined to allow it, then I will wish you a pleasant journey and merely beg you to be cautious. As your friend. I have the utmost confidence in your judgement and your abilities, but I have no wish to see you hurt.”
“Nor do I.” Brenna stood and gripped her packet of papers a little tighter. “But if it’s a choice between learning that Louise isn’t really interested in me as a person and enduring another fifty marriage proposals, well… at least one of those I’ve already dealt with for most of my life. It can’t really hurt me that much more than it already has.”
“I hope you’re right.” Lady Norelle smiled, though the expression seemed a bit strained. “And I hope that I’m wrong. Perhaps this could be the first step towards escaping the past and finding something better for your future.”
“Thank you,” Brenna said, with a smile that was nearly as fake as Lizbet’s. “I’ll be sure to let you know whenever I decide.”
Brenna was thoroughly engaged in muttering to herself when she pushed open the door to her rooms and encountered the very last person she would have expected to see there. And the second-to-last person she wished to see, ever.
“Eland.” She pronounced the word with profound distaste.
Once the heir to the Seagrave properties, Eland was a tall, slender, cold-looking man with dark blond hair and a perpetually peevish expression. And that was before he’d been disinherited in her favor.
“Sister.” He might as well have said “viper.”
“Yes, well, that’s a matter for debate, isn’t it?” Brenna said nastily.
She probably should have been kinder—it wasn’t as though Eland was responsible for the deception that had left her an orphan. He was as much the victim of her father’s arrogance and lies as Brenna, and she’d hoped at first that they might find a way to be friends. She’d even dared to dream that he might be willing to embrace her as a sister, as Kyril had done the moment he first discovered their relationship. But Eland had been relentlessly unpleasant and condescending to her ever since they met, and Brenna was having a difficult time forgiving him.
“What are you doing in my rooms and do you need any special encouragement to leave?”
“I came only to see you, my lady countess, of course.” Eland leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Now that I am dependent on your generosity, I felt it only right that I should inquire how I might best serve you.”
“I don’t want your service,” Brenna said bluntly. “I want you to leave my life alone. I will continue to support you because I’m not a monster and I know you have no skills beyond those you expected to need as an earl. But beyond that I’m not interested.”
“That’s not what you said when we first met,” Eland reminded her smoothly, a slight whitening around his mouth betraying his agitation. “You were, at that time, rather more eager to make my acquaintance.”
“When we first met, I was a naive young woman with no concept of the overwhelming self-righteousness practiced by most of the class that gave me birth. The last six months have done a great deal to rectify those… gaps in my education.”
“And may I say,” Eland returned blandly, “how very much improved you are. A
little polish has done wonders for your social presence.”
“Out!” Brenna snarled, drawing herself up and pointing at the door, which might not have been very hospitable, but it was more hospitable than what she would have preferred to do. Stabbing him in the eye with a hairpin might have left a mark.
Eland rose and made a punctilious bow. “Of course, sister. I am at your command. And,” he added, “as I wish only to prove my willingness to serve, allow me to offer a small piece of advice. A token, as it were, of my sincerity.”
“Oh, do you have that?” Brenna asked snidely. “I was under the impression that our class avoided such things whenever possible.”
“Well, we certainly attempt to suppress inappropriate outbursts of vulgarity,” Eland said coolly. “But I’m sure you will find your way with time.”
Brenna decided against further outrage. It would only make her insufferable “brother” happier. “Just say whatever you need to say and get out.”
“I understand you have been suffering from an excess of proposals.”
“That’s hardly a state secret,” Brenna muttered.
“I do not bring this to your attention as a way of improving my credit”—he seemed to hesitate—“but I fear it is not unheard of amongst my peers to resort to less than gentlemanly tactics in order to secure an advantageous marriage.”
Brenna looked up at him, almost as though seeing him for the first time. Was he actually warning her that she might be importuned? “Are you suggesting that I might be compromised?” she asked baldly. “That someone might attempt to force my acceptance of a less than desirable suit?”
“Well…” Her ridiculous brother seemed slightly less pale. Possibly even a trifle pink. “Perhaps compromised is a strong word, but…”
Brenna burst out laughing. “My dear Eland, do you suppose the concept is foreign to my delicate ears? I once spent half a year keeping a tavern only a few streets from the docks. It isn’t as though I don’t know what compromised means.”
“And that,” Eland muttered, “is precisely why I warn you. There are fellows who might take your history as an invitation.”
Brenna’s insides turned to ice. “Fortunately, I am quite well-versed in the twisted reasoning common to the male gender in those respects,” she said coldly. “I am also well able to defend myself from their advances. Perhaps you meant well, but it is not as though I required a reminder that I am commonly viewed as the future property of one man or another.”
“But you will marry,” Eland announced, quite without any doubt. “Or the earldom will die.”
“No,” Brenna reminded him, “it could very easily pass to a child of Kyril and Princess Ilani’s. There is no particular need for me to produce an heir.”
Eland’s jaw dropped. “You would permit Norleigh to fall to a half-foreign brat?”
Brenna marched over to the door and yanked it open. “Go be an idiot somewhere else. Before I lose my temper and prove that I know how to deal with men who annoy me.”
The former Seagrave heir was white to the lips as he stalked past her into the corridor, his fists clenched at his sides. “This conversation isn’t over,” he insisted. “You must reconsider.”
“I am.” Brenna smiled, showing most of her teeth in the process. “Currently I’m reconsidering allowing you to walk away with both of your eyes unblackened. If you ever insult my brother or his wife again in my hearing I will not be so forgiving.”
Eland opened his mouth to reply and Brenna slammed the door in his face.
Perhaps she ought to thank him. If nothing else, he’d helped her come to a decision—she would accept the invitation to visit her mother at Crestwood. Considering the estate’s distance from anywhere of interest, Brenna thought it reasonable to assume that she would be unlikely to see Eland or any other irritating men of her acquaintance for the duration of her stay.
At the moment, she couldn’t imagine anything more sublime.
Chapter 2
Dear Sir,
After a long search, your name has come to my attention as a man of many talents who may be equipped to assist me in a small matter of inheritance. I have been assured by multiple parties of your discretion, accuracy, and promptness in these transactions, and wish to discuss the potential for a contract that may be to our mutual benefit. In addition to the usual requirements, there is in this case some uncertainty as to the exact moment at which your services will be necessary. I am sure this comes as no surprise to one of your experience. If you are amenable, please reply to the bearer of this message as to your terms and availability, as well as any exclusions which may affect our contract.
- Grim Hill
When Brenna’s maid bustled into the room a short time later, she took one look at Brenna’s face and put her hands on her hips.
“Eland?” she asked, wearing a pronounced scowl.
Brenna chuckled without much humor. “Was he making a nuisance of himself to you as well? Faline, you know you have my permission to evict him, forcibly if necessary.”
“He insisted on waiting for you,” Faline replied, “though I told him he and his nonsense weren’t welcome. You know he’s not much of one for listening. At least not to me.”
“Not to anyone,” Brenna assured her, taking a seat in her favorite chair and leaning her head back against the cushions. “At least not that I’ve noticed. But never fear—I sent him off with his knickers in a considerable twist.”
The tall, straight-backed maid gave a nod of decided approval before kneeling down to remove Brenna’s shoes. Or at least trying to.
“Faline, I believe I’ve told you I can take off my own shoes,” Brenna reprimanded the dark-haired woman.
“Yes, my lady, you have,” Faline responded meekly, standing up again with her hands folded and her head bowed. “But it is such a habit. You’ve no idea how hard it is to have nothing to do.”
“Oh, don’t I?” Brenna challenged.
Faline lifted an eyebrow and grinned at her mistress. “Perhaps, my lady.”
Brenna snorted. She and Faline had been together less than a year, but it had taken only a few days for them to become more friends than mistress and servant. Their life stories were not so dissimilar—both had worked for a living from an early age—and, as Brenna had a difficult time permitting anyone else to do what she could very well do for herself, they had soon fallen into a familiar habit of bickering about most aspects of Brenna’s life, from her need for a maid to current court fashions.
“And now that we’re speaking of employment…” Brenna cast a glance at Faline from under her lashes. “How would you feel about going on a journey with me?”
The maid looked at her sharply, dark eyes narrowed. “I know very well you’re not going to Norleigh, and you’ve told me a hundred times you’d rather die than go to any of these house parties. You’ve reconsidered, haven’t you?”
Brenna sighed and reached down to remove her own shoes. “You know, sometimes I wish Lady Norelle had found me a slightly less perceptive maid.”
“No, you don’t.” Faline took the shoes and carried them back into the bedroom before emerging again with a much-worn pair of slippers.
“All right, fine. I don’t. You’re right, that would be terribly dull.”
Faline’s cheek dimpled slightly in response to Brenna’s admission, but she didn’t respond, merely waited for Brenna to answer her original question.
“Yes,” Brenna admitted finally. “I have reconsidered. Thanks in part to my horrible brother, I believe I may have finally decided to answer the invitation favorably. No matter what we find at Crestwood, it’s unlikely to include Eland. Do you mind terribly?”
“What is it that you’re hoping to accomplish, my lady?” Faline’s expression remained neutral as she held out the slippers for Brenna to take.
Brenna scowled at Faline’s outstretched hand. Or rather, she scowled at a question she didn’t particularly care to answer.
She wasn’t sure she knew wha
t she hoped to accomplish. It seemed overly optimistic to believe that she might be able to forge a connection with the woman who gave birth to her. Was this merely an overly hasty decision that she would come to regret? An elaborate excuse to escape a life that was causing her to doubt herself more every day?
Brenna had once been a generally confident person—good at her job and entirely comfortable with herself. But somehow, becoming a countess seemed to have stripped much of that confidence away. These days she was uncomfortable with her position, her authority, even her clothes, and had a strong suspicion that she wasn’t good at much of anything. And she had a strong aversion to mirrors.
As a spy, Brenna had never much minded what she looked like. Her lack of a classically beautiful face or a willowy figure had actually been an asset. It was far easier to pass unnoticed if one was not the style of woman most men considered attractive. She had found it a simple matter to be invisible and had often used her invisibility to her advantage. But now, she was expected to be seen. It was, apparently, part of her job as a countess to be stared at. Evaluated. Judged. And Brenna found herself wondering far more often—what, exactly, did everyone see? Did they see nothing but her title? Did they see her parents? Or did they see her? Breanne. Brenna. Worst of all, if they did see her, what did they think of what they saw?
Brenna hated the direction of her thoughts. Hated the perpetual feeling of discomfort with her own skin, the constant wondering whether there were things about herself that did not stand up to sustained scrutiny. Breanne Louise Seagrave attracted far too many assessing glances to ever pass in front of a mirror without wondering whether the short, frumpy blonde woman she saw in it was good enough.
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