But truly, it mattered little whether Brenna believed in the truth of the observations or not. Clearly her “mother” hoped to make her daughter over in her own image, or perhaps to revive her self-consequence by pointing out that the current countess was nowhere near so beautiful and accomplished as herself.
Louise gave every indication of being fully as weak, self-centered and dependent on the perception of others as Brenna had long assumed, and as Lizbet’s vague warnings had no doubt been intended to convey. Brenna should have listened to her mentor’s instincts, and her own, which had always insisted that a woman who could so easily surrender her own child for the sake of power could never truly be a mother in any but the most basic sense of the term. For some reason, Brenna simply hadn’t been willing to give up.
After this, however, she should have more than enough evidence to convince her to admit her mistake and move on. There was nothing to grieve, because there had never been anything there in the first place, except Brenna’s foolish, scarcely realized hopes.
“Faline,” she remarked, as she readied herself for bed on the third night, “whyever did I promise by letter that I would stay for at least two weeks? I don’t think I’ll be able to bear this for even two more days.”
Her maid looked over from where she was rearranging dresses in the wardrobe. “Are you perhaps forgetting, my lady, that you are under no obligation to this woman? She may have borne you, but then she gave you away without a backwards look. A few days of self-pity can’t change the past, and you don’t owe her more than you’ve already given.”
“No,” Brenna admitted, “but we still haven’t discussed the past, so I can’t truly judge her for what happened all those years ago. Maybe it wasn’t her idea. But even if that turned out to be true, I find that it’s the present I’m struggling to forgive her for now.” She picked at a corner of the bedspread, feeling irrationally pleased when the seam parted beneath her fingers. “She can’t seem to find anything about me to approve of, and she’s spreading her judgements throughout the household. Even her servants feel like they have leave to correct me! Her personal maid actually shushed me yesterday morning!”
Faline snorted. “Aye, it’s ridiculous and you shouldn’t be forced to put up with such impertinence, but believe me when I say it was never their idea. They’ve been given specific instructions on how to go on.”
“Really?” Brenna sat up, her eyes narrowed. “Faline, you’ve been holding out. Tell me what you’ve learned downstairs.”
Her maid came over to sit on the bed. “Are you sure you want to hear it? It seems to me you still harbor hopes of your mother’s redemption. I shouldn’t wish to interfere, if you truly intend to find out the truth of the past.”
“I don’t know that I care anymore.” She did care. She just didn’t want to, and anything Faline had to say would only help douse those ridiculous embers of hope.
“Then I can tell you that her orders all come through that Danward fellow. I don’t know how he was ever hired, as he’s hardly older than the footmen, but he runs an orderly household and knows everything about everyone.”
“And you’re sure it’s Louise, and not Danward’s idea for them to be insulting?”
Faline shook her head. “For all that he’s young, and a bit too sharp to my way of thinking, he’s not one to set his own rules. Besides, I’ve heard him talking of it, when he didn’t know I was close enough to hear. He said the mistress had given instructions that everyone was to watch you and either report or point out your mistakes.”
“And he doesn’t suspect that you’re watching him?” Brenna felt a sudden jolt of unease on behalf of her maid—no, her friend. “Faline, you’re alone here, but for me, and you could find yourself in danger if they suspect that you’ve been spying on them.”
“And what are they going to do to me?” Faline asked, one dark eyebrow arched. “I can take care of myself, my lady, and I’ve made it my business to be friendly and obliging. Except to that Danward fellow—he’s too smart by half and I don’t trust his looks. Also, he sneaks out at night, at least once a week, or so one of the chambermaids tells me. He could be engaged in something more than half shady.”
Brenna laughed. “I think you’re simply unused to attractive butlers. You can bet that every maid for miles around has noticed his youth and good looks, same as you—he’s probably just sneaking out to meet a sweetheart.”
Faline scowled. “You may joke of it, but it’s a fact that men like him don’t often hold such a position.”
“Hopefully he doesn’t find out that you think him young and attractive,” Brenna remarked slyly.
“And how is it that we’re talking of me, now?” Faline folded her arms and glared at Brenna. “What we should be talking of is what you’re going to do about all this. If you’re unhappy, why not just leave? We could be going home tomorrow.”
“I don’t know, Faline.” Brenna flopped back on the bed. “All she’s done is subject me to humiliating personal remarks. If I cut and run now, she’ll know she’s hurt me, and that may mean she’s won whatever insidious game she thinks she’s playing.”
Faline offered an evil smile. “Well, if you’re not interested in running, my lady, there are other options. After all, weren’t we agreed that no one has ever accused you of being nice?”
Brenna pursed her lips and folded her arms. “Perhaps you should tell me what you have in mind,” she said, beginning to smile rather evilly herself. “Because at the moment, you are correct. I am feeling anything but nice.”
Chapter 4
Lord Rommel Griffin cursed his employer under his breath as he tied his cravat for the fourth time that morning. The first time he hadn’t been paying attention and the knot had been far too neat. The second looked like a child of four had tied a bow around his neck, and by the third attempt, the cloth had been too wrinkled and had to be discarded.
His hair was too long and it itched. Neither his boots nor his coat fit, nor did this life he was pretending to enjoy—and they wouldn’t for as long as it took to complete his mission. And now, because he had not yet managed to obtain the evidence his employer sought, he was about to be forced to play host to a pair of catty females who—his man on the inside informed him—had lasted barely a day in the same house before drawing up the lines of battle over issues so ridiculous as the length of one’s sleeves.
Rom could have been halfway across the ocean by now, sailing into a new port as advisor to one of His Majesty’s ambassadors. But thanks to the ridiculous knee injury he’d sustained when jumping off a roof near the Trentham docks in pursuit of a smuggler, he’d been put on enforced rest and assigned to surveillance.
Rom wished he’d hit that smuggler harder once he’d caught him.
He’d heard of Breanne Seagrave once or twice since his return from a two-year mission to Vidor. She was rumored to be an overnight heiress and an amusing novelty at court, though he hadn’t stopped in Evenleigh long enough to have met her or heard much of the gossip. It was only because of his present task that he knew as much as he did.
Dispossessed first daughter of the Earl of Hennsley, Breanne had taken over the earldom when her father’s deception was discovered. Her early life, by all accounts, had not been easy, and could have done little to prepare her for her new role, though she’d presumably found an education somewhere. Even a brief meeting had been sufficient to ascertain that she was far more genteel than one would expect given her upbringing. Perhaps she had not attended to all the proprieties, but then, neither had Louise.
Of course, his opinion of Breanne had been formed at least in part by what he’d heard of her from her mother, though Rom considered every word out of Louise Seagrave’s mouth to be highly suspect. According to Louise, the girl was sadly neglected, poor dear, and a bit of a disappointment in both looks and deportment. Louise had extensive plans to groom her into something resembling respectability so as to eventually find her a man who could overlook her less desirable qualities.
But that was coming from a woman who couldn’t seem to admit—even to herself—that she’d lost both her title and her position, and had instructed her servants to snub the new countess at every available opportunity.
During the few minutes he had spent with the newest Lady Seagrave, Rom had seen nothing out of the ordinary. She had a pleasant face, an attractive smile, and a very keen pair of blue eyes, though her manner had been bland enough.
What he couldn’t be sure of was her motives. Why had she come to visit the mother who had so comprehensively rejected her? And why had his employer asked him to keep an eye on her while she was there?
It added another layer of complexity to his task, and Rom didn’t like it. He wanted to get this over with and get back to real work. But until his man could acquire the evidence they both needed, he was stuck. Stuck pretending to be the sort of fellow who had no objection to squiring a pair of simpering women about his purposefully neglected grounds until they were bored enough to leave again. Stuck enduring the none-too-subtle hints of a woman over ten years his senior that she considered him a suitable prospect for a second marriage, now that her first could officially be dissolved.
The rattling of carriage wheels indicated that his time for whining and regrets was over. His visitors had arrived and he would need to become the man he pretended to be in company—slow and genial, a countrified member of the gentry with no pretensions to fashion or intelligence. A man Louise Seagrave believed she could easily manipulate.
Next time he decided it would be a brilliant idea to leap off a roof, he was going to have his head examined.
By the time his guests descended from their carriage, Rom was already waiting to receive them, his lips stretched in a pleasant expression of welcome. The elder Seagrave was the first to appear, and she had clearly exerted herself to please. Her dress was new, in a flattering style, and her hair had been arranged so as to conceal her age as artfully as possible.
Breanne, by contrast, appeared in the doorway of the carriage wearing a dress designed for an evening out, in a cut entirely unsuited to her generous curves. Her shoes were almost-nonexistent sandals and her blonde hair gave the impression of having been styled in the midst of a windstorm.
But she was smiling as if nothing was amiss, and accepted the hand of his footman with an outpouring of elaborate thanks.
Rom could be mistaken, but this did not seem like quite the same woman he’d encountered in the drawing room at Crestwood only three days before.
“Lady Seagrave, so happy you could come. Lady Seagrave.” He bowed, hoping he’d managed to offend at least one of them. “It’s an honor to host two such beautiful ladies. I confess that I now feel quite ashamed at the state of my grounds. They’re well enough for a bachelor, but not quite the thing for welcoming guests.”
“Rom, you mustn’t make yourself uneasy on my account,” Louise said demurely, casting her eyes down and offering him her gloved hand. “We are far too close of friends by now to judge one another by our estates.”
Which was why she’d been going out of her way to make him believe her a wealthy widow ever since he moved in next door.
“Of course we are,” he agreed, kissing her hand before turning to her daughter.
“Miss Breanne, so honored you were able to join us.”
She giggled. For some reason, it didn’t suit her at all.
“Oh, but the honor is all mine, sir,” she demurred, mimicking her mother’s downward glance, but without any effective pretense of shyness. “Louise has been explaining how kind it is of everyone to be patient with my missteps in society, and how I ought to make every effort to be grateful to those who condescend to receive me despite my unfortunate coarseness of manner.” She leaned forward and winked. Actually winked. “Too many years on the docks, I suppose.”
It was all Rom could do to maintain his placid, bovine expression. Definitely not the same woman. Louise had frozen in evident horror and appeared to be searching for words to cover the embarrassing revelation.
“But,” Breanne went on, “Louise has promised that she will be well able to teach me how to present myself with the style befitting a countess, considering that she used to be one, you know.” This was uttered with blithe unconcern for the effect it was having on its subject, who appeared to be choking. “I must say, the lessons have been quite instructive.” Breanne leaned closer as if to impart something in the nature of a secret. “I had no idea it wasn’t quite the thing to discuss one’s stockings in public, or to mention how many fellows I’ve kissed, or to brag of how many sweet rolls I can eat in one sitting.”
“I suppose not,” Rom agreed solemnly, but only with a great deal of effort. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had to work so hard to hold back laughter. “Much more appropriate conversations for young gentlemen, I believe.”
“But not for true gentlemen, of course,” Louise stated, casting him an imploring glance.
“But of course, Lady Seagrave. I do apologize.” Whenever he was with Louise, Rom made a habit of agreeing with everything. It made him sound like a fool and relieved him from the burden of deciding what sort of opinions he ought to hold given his present facade.
“Now then,” his elder guest said brightly, looking desperate to change the subject, “what do you have planned for us today?”
“Well now, I thought I might show you both around the house and the grounds, and then my cook is preparing a picnic, provided the weather stays fine.”
Considering that it was sunny and warm without a cloud in sight, this was, of course, a rather silly thing to say, but Louise clutched at his arm and glanced at the sky in alarm.
Breanne burst out laughing. It wasn’t a genteel sort of laugh, but more the kind that rang out above everything in the vicinity—a genuine expression of amusement.
“Louise, I do believe you are flirting with poor Lord Griffin.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “At least, you’re going about it exactly as I would if I wished to attract a handsome fellow. Fancy thinking that it might actually rain on a day like this.” She let out another peal of laughter while Louise’s face turned an alarming shade of red.
“My dear,” she said between gritted teeth, “did we not discuss that it would be more appropriate for you to call me Mother? And of course I am not flirting. Lord Griffin is my friend and neighbor, that is all.”
“Is that how you explain it so as not to seem forward?” Breanne’s eyes widened innocently. “Thank you, Louise. I’ll be sure to use that strategy next time I meet a man and wish him to know I’m interested.”
“Mother,” Louise insisted.
“Oh, but I couldn’t.” Breanne paused to adjust her neckline and fiddle with her numerous bracelets, before looking up with a bright smile. “It simply wouldn’t feel right. There’s something about the word “mother” that doesn’t seem to fit you at all.”
She shrugged, and that’s when Rom began to wonder whether Lady Breanne Seagrave was quite the person she appeared to be.
It didn’t take long for her to confuse him even further. What had become of the Lady Seagrave he had met at Crestwood? She hadn’t said much, but she had seemed reasonably educated and polite. This Lady Seagrave was going out of her way to be as unpolished and uncouth as possible, and yet managed to accept every one of her mother’s reprimands with cheerful equanimity.
When he led the ladies through the overgrown gardens at the back of the house, Breanne clapped her hands and exclaimed with delight.
“It’s just like a wilderness, don’t you think, Lord Griffin? I’m delighted with how the forest seems to be growing right in the middle of your lawn.”
When he showed them the drawing room, where he almost never set foot, she exclaimed in horror at the state of the furniture. “I declare, a room like this makes me want to give it a good dusting,” she said, her hands on her hips. “Perhaps I could borrow some rags and polish? I could have it looking good as new in no time.”
“A lady does not dust,”
Louise said, her tone a bit hollow by now with fatigue.
“Then should I fetch a servant and command them to dust?” Breanne inquired. “I feel as though I have a great deal of understanding of what a lady does not do, but no one has yet bothered to be clear about what it is a lady does do. Certainly nothing amusing.”
“But ladies do so many things.” Rom felt moved to contribute to the absurdity of the conversation. “They dance and draw and paint and sing and read improving books.”
“Yes, but as I already said, nothing amusing,” Breanne retorted. “Gentlemen may ride about doing as they please, shooting and hunting and looking out for agreeably indolent ladies who will go on doing nothing once they’re married. And if some poor girl happens to be unable to paint or sing, what’s left?”
“I suppose she might read some more.”
“Indeed, she might,” Louise interjected in a glacial tone, “but she does not ever, ever argue with gentlemen.”
“Oh, but we were not arguing,” Breanne insisted cheerfully. “We were discussing. Or is that another activity that is not encouraged for ladies? I realize it’s not quite the thing for gentlemen to find out that we have ankles, but should they also not be permitted to discover that we have thoughts?”
Rom choked, and barely managed to disguise laughter as a fit of coughing.
“I believe it may be time for our picnic,” he said hastily, as soon as his coughs had subsided sufficiently to allow for speech. “Please do be seated, ladies, and I will inquire of the cook whether our basket is prepared.”
Even with the door closed behind him, he could hear Louise’s voice as she began castigating her guest for various misdeeds, both real and imagined.
Rom couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the new countess. She’d discovered a family, only to find that she hadn’t any hope of pleasing them or fitting into their lives. It was probably fortunate that she was so obliviously cheerful, or Louise’s diatribes might have wounded. Though perhaps they did, even if she didn’t show it.
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