daughter of lies

by Kenley Davidson

  The golden-haired butler bowed again, a little more appropriately this time, and directed five of the footmen to assist with the ladies’ luggage, while the sixth directed the driver to the stables.

  Brenna and Faline followed Danward up the steps and into the house, and Brenna was once again reluctantly impressed with the opulence of Louise’s new home. If impressed was quite the word.

  Marble tiles, elaborately carved wooden panels, silk tapestries, brocade cushions… if the entryway was a reasonable example of the rest of the house, it might be even more lavish and excessive than Brenna’s own.

  Danward handed her over into the care of a maid whose face appeared to be as starched as her apron. After a brief, perfunctory curtsey, the maid led them upstairs to a bedroom which, to Brenna’s eye, might never actually have been used. The furniture appeared new; the curtains, bedding, and upholstery were a perfectly matching shade of icy blue; and the rug was a vast expanse of unmarred white.

  Brenna hated it. As soon as the door closed behind them, she sank down on the bed and was grateful to find that it, at least, was comfortable.

  “If you remind me even once that you were against this from the start, I will send for Danward and have him set you to polishing silver,” Brenna warned Faline, though her threat was as empty as her stomach after the long day’s drive.

  “Mayhap you should.” Faline’s expression grew calculating. “Might be I could discover whether all of this splendor is just a shiny bauble, to convince the world the former countess has not fallen so far as they think, or whether it’s real all the way down to the bones.”

  Brenna snorted. “You can’t fake that many footmen. And this house isn’t exactly wattle and daub disguised as marble and granite.”

  “She could be in debt to her eyeballs,” Faline countered. “Trying to keep this up in hopes of…”

  “In hopes of what?” Brenna finished the thought. “Convincing her husband to reappear? Nobody knows where he is. In hopes of being accepted by the court? She’s miles from everywhere and hasn’t invited anyone else to see this place. I might not be aware of all the court gossip, but you can wager I’d be the first to know if she was sending out invitations again.”

  “Oh?” Faline asked archly. “Then who is it she’s hosting in her drawing room? And why is it she’s being so careful to keep them out of our way? You’d have thought she’d be eager to greet you, but there’s no question she’s not anxious for you to put in an appearance too soon.”

  Faline was right. Why wouldn’t Louise bestir herself to greet them, unless she didn’t want them to know anything about her guest?

  Brenna grinned. “Suddenly, I’m feeling quite energetic. Now that we’ve arrived, I don’t think I can wait a moment longer to greet our hostess. Surely she’ll forgive my travel-worn state if I explain I was simply eager to see her again.”

  “I think she’ll believe you’ve taken leave of your senses,” Faline retorted, “but since I agree, I won’t be the one to stop you.”

  Brenna didn’t bother changing or washing or even allowing Faline to re-pin her hair. More than a little unnerved by her reception, she decided it wouldn’t do at all to let Louise dictate the terms of their relationship. If she didn’t want to rest, she wouldn’t. If she decided to insist on being addressed properly, she would.

  If. Brenna had yet to decide whether or not the servants’ informal address bothered her enough to consider doing anything about it. She had never cared for her title for its own sake, so why should it irk her that Louise commanded her own servants to refer to her as “her ladyship”? The former countess had been stripped of everything—friends, home and position—and Brenna was now her social superior. What was so threatening about the fact that the woman was clinging to her illusions and living like a duchess?

  Brenna hadn’t made this journey with any real hope that her mother might somehow suddenly approve of her. Their first meeting the previous year had convinced Brenna that the former countess found her daughter lacking in every way that mattered. Louise had barely spoken, or even glanced Brenna’s way—if anything she had studiously refused to acknowledge her oldest child.

  No, Brenna had embarked on this trip with only the tiniest amount of hope that she might be able to connect in some small way with another member of her family. But if her mother truly desired to make a connection, why would she instruct her butler to greet her guests in a manner guaranteed to give offense?

  As Brenna reached the bottom of the stairs, one of the interchangeable army of footmen appeared and bowed stiffly.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  Apparently the order to omit Brenna’s title also extended to the footmen, which meant she would be forced to make up her mind whether or not to object. If she insisted on being addressed as Lady Seagrave, she might appear to be insecure and jealous of her dignity. If she let it go, she might appear to be cowed by Louise’s dictates and unwilling to challenge the former countess for her rights.

  This was exactly the kind of game Brenna hated the most, and one of the reasons she had fled court. Apparently, she hadn’t escaped her problems anywhere near so thoroughly as she’d hoped.

  Brenna came to a decision, lifted her chin and gave the footman what she hoped was an imperious stare. “You certainly may,” she said coolly. “You may address me as Lady Seagrave, and you may direct me to the drawing room at once.”

  The footman’s mouth flopped open and then snapped closed. “I, er…” He floundered. “That is, my lady was not expecting you to join them… that is, her, just yet, miss… I mean, my lady…”

  Brenna took pity on him. It wasn’t his fault his mistress was delusional.

  “The drawing room,” she repeated. “At once.”

  His face went pale, but he bowed and turned on a perfectly polished heel, leading her swiftly to a pair of wide, carven doors at the rear of the house. Brenna could hear voices from within, slightly raised. One delicately female, the other deep and decidedly masculine. Was Louise entertaining gentlemen?

  The idea struck Brenna with some force, but there was no time to consider it. The footman pushed open the doors and preceded her into a bright, sunlit room, bowing towards the left wall as he announced, “Lady Breanne Seagrave, my lady.”

  Brenna entered behind him and immediately turned her gaze to the small blonde woman holding court on a settee in the corner. The settee was positioned carefully to afford a commanding view of the room, but it was the woman’s expression that Brenna noticed first.

  She was decidedly annoyed.

  Louise Seagrave was not quite fifty, but appeared much younger. Her eyes and mouth had begun to show lines, especially when pinched with disapproval, but she was still a regally beautiful woman. She was dressed in the height of fashion, her golden hair was elaborately bound with silvery-blue ribbons, and the hands resting in her lap were smooth and perfectly manicured.

  At their first meeting, Louise had seemed quiet and self-effacing, deferring in everything to her larger, louder husband. At present, however, the tilt of her head and the challenge in her eye caused Brenna to wonder whether that could have all been an act.

  “Breanne!” Louise smiled, but it was not an expression that made Brenna feel particularly welcome. The older woman also remained seated, which further punctuated her insistence on granting herself precedence in her own home. “I thought you were going to rest, after such a long and tiring journey!”

  “I thank you for the offer, but I’m not the least bit tired,” Brenna said politely.

  “Well, I’m sure I instructed Danward to inform you that I had another guest and would greet you as soon as I was able,” Louise said, “but perhaps he was remiss.”

  As much as Brenna had not cared for Danward, she couldn’t allow him to be reprimanded for her decisions. Nor did she care to let Louise believe that she would be easy to manipulate.

  “Oh, he mentioned it,” she said brightly, advancing further into the room. “I simply couldn’t wait
to begin renewing our acquaintance.”

  “Hmmm.” Louise smoothed her dress and patted her hair with one delicate, be-ringed hand. “I suppose there’s little harm done. And I am so glad you’ve finally arrived, Breanne, dear. I had expected you several weeks ago, but perhaps my invitation was not delivered promptly.”

  As if Brenna could not possibly have spent those weeks contemplating refusal.

  “I am delighted to be here,” she responded mechanically, eying the available chairs and wondering whether she ought to simply sit down, despite the absence of an offer. “But I’m afraid I must insist that you call me Brenna. After twenty-eight years, I simply can’t seem to accustom myself to Breanne.”

  Hah. Louise’s icy smile became a grimace carved from marble.

  “Of course, Brenna. I will be sure to instruct my staff and visitors accordingly. I wouldn’t wish to make you feel uncomfortable in any way.”

  Brenna nodded, a single, genteel bob of the head to show that there were no ill feelings.

  “And now, I suppose I ought to make introductions,” Louise continued, turning to her right, where her prior visitor stood with his back turned, seemingly staring into the fire. “Rommel, my friend, permit me to introduce my daughter, Miss Brenna Seagrave.”

  The man turned, and Brenna had to force herself not to take a step back when she realized how enormously tall he was.

  “Brenna, this is Lord Griffin, my nearest neighbor and a newly arrived resident of Camber. He has only recently purchased the estate to the west of Crestwood and hopes to make it his home.”

  Fighting back a sigh, Brenna made her curtsey, aware that by Louise’s design, she now appeared to have the lowest rank in the room. More properly, the introductions ought to have been reversed. What did Louise hope to accomplish with this snubbing? What did it mean that she had clearly not intended her guests to meet? And if this man was her friend, ought Brenna be wary of him as well?

  His initial appearance suggested wariness would be wise. He was positively the tallest, broadest man Brenna had ever seen, though none of that size was due to excess. But the longer she watched him the more she wondered whether he was anywhere near so imposing as his height would suggest. His bow was slow and deliberate, and though his features were generally handsome, his expression appeared lazy, touched with only mild interest. His gray eyes met hers with congeniality, but without so much as a smidge of curiosity. Though that could be due to their respective ages—the gray in his somewhat rumpled brown hair indicated he was at least some years older than Brenna herself, though not so advanced in age as Louise. Probably about forty.

  “Miss Seagrave,” he said slowly, in a voice that rumbled like an earthquake. “I am very much afraid that I’m intruding on a joyous family reunion.”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Brenna replied brightly. “Louise was kind enough to invite me and as I had nowhere else to be, I decided a short jaunt to the country might prove refreshing.”

  She heard a quick intake of breath from Louise.

  “But… Breanne.”

  Brenna glanced over to see a look of hurt steal over the woman’s face.

  “I most explicitly said in my letter that I hoped to reconnect with you. It is my deepest desire to make something better out of this disaster your father…” She paused and collected herself. “…that the earl has made of our family.”

  It was possible that she meant it. That all of her delicate snubs were nothing more than a carefully constructed delusion, meant to keep despair at bay. But Brenna wasn’t ready to forgive and forget quite so easily.

  “Perhaps there will also be opportunities to explore our familial connection,” Brenna agreed affably.

  “I, for one, intend to find this a cause for celebration,” Louise insisted. “My daughter has been restored to me and it is a source of both consolation and joy.”

  Not surprisingly, her face indicated neither emotion.

  “My lady, I have just had the most marvelous idea,” Lord Griffin announced in a ponderous, plodding tone. “I simply must have you both to Lorenhall.” He favored both ladies with a smile, but slowly, as though it dawned across his face like the rising sun. “We shall have a picnic, to celebrate your reunion.”

  “Oh, but, Rom,” Louise protested, “I couldn’t possibly put you out by expecting you to entertain us both. We will be spending our time getting to know one another, and I’m sure our conversation would prove to be of little interest to a bachelor. I believe it would be best if we put off our little visits until after Brenna has returned to Evenleigh.”

  She smiled up at him in an unmistakably flirtatious way, forcing Brenna to suppress a gag. What was the woman thinking, batting her eyes at a man ten years her junior?

  Lord Griffin, however, hadn’t seemed to notice. Or if he had, his response was as delayed as his smile. “Nonsense.” He waved off her protests. “We are neighbors, and all that. I’ll expect you around the end of the week. Send someone round with a note, and I’ll be sure to have the gardeners prepare the west lawn.”

  “Oh, but…”

  “I won’t hear of any objections,” he insisted, in that deep, rumbling voice. “And now I’ll take myself off. I fear I should be very much in the way now that your lovely daughter is here to keep you company.”

  “No, of course not!” Louise mustered an excessive degree of polite enthusiasm for this rebuttal. “And thank you, my friend, for your kind invitation. I’ll send someone over with a message about the best day for our picnic. Does that suit you, Brenna?”

  “Oh, decidedly.” It wasn’t as though she’d been left the option of disagreeing. “I would be most delighted to pay a visit to your estate, Lord Griffin.” Brenna would mostly be delighted because Louise didn’t appear to want to go. It was quite clear that Brenna hadn’t been intended to make Lord Griffin’s acquaintance at all, and now she thought she knew why.

  Was Louise really making eyes at a man with the intention of trapping him into marriage? True, Stockton Seagrave had been missing for a little over a year. Under Andari law, that made her a widow, entitled to inherit his estate and free to marry again. But was she really so desperate as to go after the first man she could find? Lord Griffin was a peer, true, but he was quite a bit younger, and not exactly sharp-witted.

  Or could it be that the two of them had been a couple longer than anyone might suspect? That Lord Griffin had been part of Louise’s decision to move to Camber in the first place?

  A single hour in her mother’s house and Brenna was already regretting her decision to come. She ought to have gone to one of the numerous house parties that had begged for her attendance. At least there she would have known what to expect. Here, she could very well be trapped in Louise’s bizarre retreat from reality, where titles were dependent on Louise’s own inclination and the past could be ignored if she chose.

  After enduring three endless days of her mother’s company, Brenna was more than ready to assert that a picnic was exactly what she wished for. Even if it required her to watch Louise flirt with their lumbering giant of a neighbor.

  Brenna had joined the former countess for meals and for tea, for embroidery in the drawing room, and for one painfully awkward walk through the gardens. Thus far there had been no mention whatsoever of the past, only a bewildering recitation of the merits of Crestwood, a litany of the many offenses against her, and innumerable paltry attacks on Brenna.

  They were so small and so gently phrased that at first Brenna barely noticed, but after a time she could hardly avoid being stung by them.

  Over breakfast, there had been comments about her wardrobe.

  “Brenna dear, that dress is just a trifle low cut for morning, isn’t it?” Followed by a self-deprecating laugh. “Oh, I am sorry, I suppose you haven’t had anyone to guide you in the development of your taste. Never fear, my dear”—a motherly hand on the arm—“I shall be sure to remedy that while we are together.”

  While chatting over tea, there were animadversions on h
er conversation. “Breanne—oh, I am sorry—Brenna, I don’t mean to make you uneasy, but perhaps you did not know that it is considered somewhat unseemly for ladies to speak with quite so much volume, especially when indoors.”

  During their attempt at embroidery, Brenna’s lack of ability with a needle was remarked upon, just sharply enough to annoy even Brenna, who cared little about such domestic skills.

  “Child, I know your upbringing was not what it ought to have been, but did no one teach you the importance of a neat and tiny stitch?”

  At luncheon, her style of eating came in for its share of censure.

  “I feel certain that I should tell you—that bite was just a trifle larger than what might be considered acceptable in the best company.”

  And on their outing in the gardens, even Brenna’s gait was criticized.

  “Your stride, my dear. Perhaps you might moderate it, especially when in company with gentlemen.”

  On that occasion, the helpful commentary was followed by a lowering of lashes over Louise’s enormous blue eyes. “I understand that I should have been there to help you all along…” She broke off with a tiny hiccup that was probably supposed to be a sob. “And I know that my attempts now may be unwelcome. But I wish to assure you, with all my heart, that I do not say these things to shame you. Only to help you, in the event that you ever decide you wish to marry. We cannot, perhaps, overcome all of your disadvantages,”—she shot Brenna a look of sorrow and sympathy—“but I feel certain there would be several men of appropriate fortune who could overlook deficits of style in favor of the attractiveness of wealth.”

  Brenna did not even have to feign her indigestion, and retreated to her room to have a headache and castigate herself for dreaming of reconciliation.

  She’d had sufficient etiquette lessons as part of her training to feel assured that her decorum was beyond reproach and her manners unexceptionable. Those criticisms she could easily dismiss as jealousy, or even an older generation’s stricter standards. The comments regarding her person, however, were more difficult to brush aside, perhaps because they hit a little too near her own insecurities about her appearance.