Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  Reg finished his glass, ignoring the jibe while he refilled it. “Allow him an audience, Gil. It’ll be damned amusing, and you could use that.”

  “If that was all I needed, I could take Simone up on her offer. She’s called every day since Wednesday.”

  “You’re not seeing her again, are you? I thought you had better taste. What am I saying? You did propose to Helen Bingham.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Gil shoved out of his armchair and advanced to the fire, nervous without knowing why. It was bad enough having Helen’s family bother him without sending one of the biggest buffoons Gil ever met.

  “I wish my life were as exciting as yours,” Reg said. “I have a ruin for a castle - a deplorable state, I assure you - and my parents won’t let me follow my heart to wed as you did. I have to hold out for an heiress.”

  “It’s a good thing I like you, Reg.’’ Gil glared at him before walking to the window.

  “A very good thing.”

  “So. Back to the immediate issue. Shall we put up with the swell or sample another whiskey I just procured?”

  “Satisfy our curiosity or drain more from your well-stocked cellar? Devilish choice. I, for one, would choose the cellar every time.”

  “Good choice. Riggs, you heard the man.”

  Gil’s manservant bowed before leaving to obey, but he made it a point to walk past Sir Gerard. The man had such shifty eyes, one had to watch the silver around him.

  “You haven’t had a change of heart?” Reg asked.

  “About Bingham? Let him rot,” Gil replied.

  “About your wife. I don’t think you’ve attended to one thing I’ve said, and look at me. Awash with curiosity.”

  “Not to mention suffering through your dear mother’s interrogations.”

  Reg coughed behind his hand, but his eyes danced. “You could have my tongue the moment I told her anything.”

  “Come on, Reg. Curiosity is eating at you, but I have to beg off. I won’t relent. When I think Brandy’s ready, I’ll introduce you to her, not before. You’re lucky. You should see how many I have to turn from my door already.”

  “Can’t I just have a peek? You won’t have to let her know I was there.”

  “She’ll know, Reg. She’s got your voice down, so she knew the last time. Besides, your mother would pull the rest of your hair out if you didn’t tell her. I’m sorry. I won’t have any more gossip until Brandy’s ready.”

  “Well, barring the remark about my hairline, and I’ll have you know that salve Witherspoon gave me makes it fall out faster than ever, but…when the devil will she be ready? You’re the butt of jokes down at White’s. And unless we can produce a wife, Runyon won’t be satisfied.”

  “So that’s what’s bothering you.” Gil chuckled. “And here I was beginning to think you’d turned into a gossip monger. All this time, you were concerned about adding more to your bulging coffers.”

  Reginald looked at his sleeve and dusted away an imaginary speck. “As I said before…I haven’t your luck, and Runyon won’t release my quid. He doesn’t believe the bet’s a wash, and that there are two Helen Bingham’s. I have to admit, even I shudder at the possibility, and I haven’t seen yours yet.”

  “You won’t until she’s ready, either.”

  “Well, when the devil will that be?”

  “Christ! How can I tell, the way she acts? I’ve never seen that many tears, and each time she catches sight of me, she starts up again. I have strict orders to stay away until Bridget sends for me. That, my friend, is why I can’t take you.”

  “Orders from Lady Bridget to stay away from your own house?”

  “Not mine, Reg. Grandmama’s. And I dare say Bridget could keep out a battalion if she set her mind to it. So. There you have it. My fate rests in Lady Bridget’s hands. I’m left with little to do except entertain the likes of you.”

  “Speaking of entertainment, Gillian, your man’s been away some time, and we do still have an audience with Sir Bingham ahead of us.”

  “Ah, yes, Bingham. My almost-brother-in-law. Sometimes, I truly believe in fate, Reg, when I contemplate what marrying Helen really meant. Well. Might as well have the swell shown in, and we’ll have a nice chuckle when he’s gone. What say you?”

  “The whiskey’s probably better company.’

  Gil gave Riggs the order.

  They didn’t wait long. The man who walked in had such a resemblance to Helen that Gil narrowed his eyes. How in blazes had he ever found such blond, insipid looks attractive? They were good enough for a night’s pleasure — and the ruination of his life, the little witch!

  Gil had been in hiding at his townhouse, the front secretary littered with dozens of invitations which he carefully avoided, especially if the invitation came from a Tremayne. His mother and sisters were shocked at his quick wedding, and he couldn’t admit the reason and that Helen had threatened to expose his deed with a maid.

  The whiskey settled at the back of his throat. Maid, my foot. Helen claimed more lovers than a working girl. Gil should kick himself for succumbing to her wiles, especially when what she really wanted was to be Lady Tremayne and wasn’t above blackmail to get it.

  “Good eve to you both. It’s the devil’s own night out there, My Lord.”

  Gerard inclined his head and sat beside Reg. Gil smiled as Reg moved his arm away.

  “I wouldn’t know, Bingham,” Gil replied. “I haven’t your penchant for visiting so late.”

  Gerard colored at the rebuke, while Reg nodded and lifted his glass in salute. Gil studiously ignored him.

  “You have a point there, My Lord,” Gerard said. “Hand me a quaff of that whiskey, would you, Man?”

  Gil watched Riggs hand the visitor a glass, and they waited while he drank.

  “That’s much better. Really, My Lord, you’d think now that we’re related, you wouldn’t be calling me a visitor. Where is Helen, by the way?”

  “As far as I know,” Gil replied, “she’s enjoying her new status as Countess of Chaffin. She and the earl eloped, you know.”

  Gerard Bingham choked on his whiskey. Rather than assist him, Gil and Reg ignored him, exchanging amused glances.

  “But...I saw you wed, My Lord.” Gerard sputtered over his stiff cravat, spotting it with whiskey-tinted spray. “My father gave the bride into your care. I heard the vows. Didn’t you hear them, Lord Reginald?”

  “Most assuredly,” the marquis replied in a bored tone.

  “You’re funning with me, My Lord. I should have known you’d be too much for Helen.”

  “I’m grateful for your estimation of my abilities, Bingham, but I misjudged Helen. Sounds like you did, too.”

  “What the devil does that mean?”

  “Only that Helen handled me quite well. You see, she wed me — most legally — to your long-lost cousin, Helene.”

  “Did...did you say Helene?”

  Gil watched Gerard adjust his cravat, probably for air, since he still hadn’t regained his color.

  “I did.”

  “She...she hasn’t mentioned me, has she?”

  “Helene hasn’t mentioned your entire family, My Lord, but I daresay her sojourn in the sanatorium probably didn’t put you in her best graces.”

  “Is it possible for me to see her?”

  “Why solicit her good graces now, Bingham? Not that I care, but I fail to see where it would be of any benefit.”

  “I was against the idea from the first, My Lord, but my father wouldn’t hear differently. She...she needed the rest. That’s what I was told.” He mopped his eyes with a lace handkerchief, and Gil frowned at the obvious display of regret.

  “She means something to you, then?”

  “Of course she does. We were raised together, damn it!”

  Gil stiffened, feeling a chill run through him. He opened his mouth to ask, and then shut it. Suddenly, he needed MacGruder’s bottled stock. He walked to the sideboard and replenished his glass while Gerard kept
glaring.

  “That places an entirely different light on it, Bingham,” Reg said. “Helene is claiming a childhood spent in France. That would be a difficult feat to accomplish, would it not?”

  Gil’s gratitude showed in his face as Reg asked, ignoring the man at his side as he examined his glass in the firelight.

  “Of course she does,” Gerard said. “My uncle married Valerie Montriart, after all. Until their death, Helene lived with them. She’s told you some story, hasn’t she? Not that you’d know her penchant for lies, but really. Why do you think she was at the sanatorium in the first place…for her health?”

  Gil watched the man laugh before flinging his glass across the room and into the fire. The instant flare stopped Bingham’s laughter.

  “Now, Gil....” Reg began.

  Gil ignored him and stood at his full height to glare down at Helene’s brother. “I suppose that next you’ll tell me her parents didn’t die by the guillotine, either?”

  Gerard gave what probably went for a smile.

  “She told you that? Well, I don’t blame you for believing her, My Lord. She has a tongue best suited for lying, after all. But no. My uncle and his French wife had a carriage accident when Helene was a small child. Her grandfather, the comte, couldn’t keep her safe, so he sent her to us. She was about six at the time.

  “I remember how small she looked, and not a bit like our Helen. That was a strange thing my uncle did, wasn’t it, naming his daughter after his brother’s. I suppose it’s not that amusing now, given the circumstances, is it, My Lord?”

  Gil didn’t know what to answer or how to phrase it. He’d never felt so out-of-sorts and confused. And angry. He glanced toward Reg for assistance. His friend stepped in.

  “Do tell…why should we believe your story over hers, Bingham?” Reg asked. “After all, your family placed her in that dreadful place.”

  “Dreadful? Only because she must’ve made it so. My father wouldn’t put his niece anywhere but the finest place — good beds, staff, and food. I should know. I chose the location.”

  Gil swiveled back to the window, glaring at his reflection rather than Gerard. The stupid fop hadn’t even checked once Helene was sent there? And for what? Lies? If that was the punishment for lying, half the town should suffer for it.

  “You don’t have to believe me, My Lord.”

  Bingham chuckled and stood, holding out his hand for his cloak. Gil watched the reflection of Riggs handing it over, holding it by thumb and forefinger as if it stank. Gil appreciated his staff’s loyalty.

  “Any member of the family will tell you the same, or my mother can vouch for me. She wasn’t particularly fond of Helene — with her tongue, who would be? But she’ll tell you the truth.”

  “Thank you for the visit, Bingham,” Reg said. “I’m sure Lord Tremayne will have more questions for you when he’s had time to digest this.”

  “Very good. Very good. I’ll take my leave then. You know where to find me. Good eve, gentlemen.”

  He dipped his head toward Gil, who ignored him, and left.

  It took exactly seven seconds to react, and Reg was there blocking him, although it looked to take all his weight to do so.

  “Curse the witch!” Gil was enraged and barely holding to it. It helped to clench his teeth. But then, every word was barely intelligible. Clipped. Short. “Riggs? Ready my phaeton, and be quick about it!”

  “You can’t leave now, Gil,” Reg protested. “Think, man. The road’s dark, there are highwaymen about, and you’ll ruin your chestnuts with the speed.”

  “You wanted to meet my bride, didn’t you?” Gil shoved his friend’s hands aside, reached the door, and slammed it into the wall with opening it. “Now’s your chance. You have exactly ten minutes to make up your mind.”

  ***

  There was something to be said for a stroll through the grounds. Even in early spring. Helene sniffed the brisk air appreciatively. Bridget had said she needed time to compose a letter and asked if Helene could find something to occupy her. Of course she could. She was so grateful to Lady Bridget she’d do anything the woman asked.

  The commotion behind her made her start. She had just enough time to turn before the best-looking man she’d ever seen grabbed her arms.

  “You little whore!” Gil snapped. “Damned if I shouldn’t put you over my knee, and—. What in blazes have you been doing to yourself?”

  Helene went limp. If it hadn’t been for his hands holding, her, she would’ve dropped. Perhaps he saw it in her eyes, because his hands on her arms tightened until she winced.

  “My Lord? Please? You’re hurting me,” she whispered.

  “I’ll do a damn sight more than hurt you, you little guttersnipe!”

  “Such a loving reunion, Gillian. And I really hate to interrupt, but would you be so kind as to introduce us…properly?”

  The man holding her turned, and Helene found her back against him, facing a slight man with a receding hairline, soft chin, and the sweetest eyes she ever saw. Of course, after looking into the almond-shaped, blue hatred of the man holding her, anyone’s eyes would look sweet.

  “Helene, meet Reginald Dunston, the marquis of Dunsberry.”

  “I think I’m charmed.”

  She smiled slightly, and the arms around her tightened even more.

  “You can unhand her, Gil,” the marquis said. “I doubt she’ll run. You won’t run, will you?”

  He smiled solicitously, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, don’t cry, My Lady. I beg you. I’ve heard of that state, and it was enough to send Gil running from the place.”

  “She’ll do more than cry, Reg. Out of my way.”

  Helene found herself staring at the ground as the man tossed her over his shoulder, ignoring her pitiful struggles. Where was Bridget? And the servants? They wouldn’t allow anyone to be man-handled like this. Would they?

  She knew the answer before he walked into the parlor and tossed her into a chair, with a motion that nearly sent her over the other side.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Brandy?”

  “I...I don’t know where it’s kept.”

  His complexion darkened. “Know where what’s kept?”

  “The brandy.”

  He leaned down on the chair arms, entrapping her, and Helene shook as her eyes filled with tears again. His eyes remained hard.

  “I’m not playing any more games, Madame.” He sneered and narrowed his eyes further.

  “Gil!” Lady Bridget shouted. “Unhand her this instant!”

  “Don’t interrupt, Bridget, or I’ll serve the chit for sup!”

  He didn’t turn his head to answer, as if looking at Helene for her reaction to his threat. And she gave it to him. She paled, her gloved hands going to her cheeks.

  There’s something you should know, Gil,” Bridget said.

  “Get out, Bridget, or I’ll have you thrown out!”

  “The day I back down to you is the day I go back to my husband, Gillian Tremayne! I don’t care what your excuse is for your behavior, but there’s something you should know. She’s changed, blast it!”

  “She only lies better. Don’t you, darling?”

  Helene’s eyes went wide as he leaned in to whisper it, his voice so deep. So masculine. So threatening.

  “What? No answer? What a shame. I look forward to hearing what else you’ll present to me. What say you, love?”

  “She can’t possibly remember anything the way you’re treating her,” Bridget said. “And I hope you’re listening to me, Gillian! She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t!”

  He had eyes as hard as sky blue agates, an aquiline nose, and, even with his dark hair wind-ruffled, he was astonishingly handsome. Her heart fluttered oddly. She had to stifle it. And quickly.

  “Oh…she remembers just fine, don’t you, darling?” Gil asked. “She’ll even tell me all about her childhood memories. And I’ve got all blooming day to listen.”

  “Oh de
ar.” She cleared her throat and blinked the moisture in her eyes away. “This isn’t how I wanted to say it.”

  “You hear that, Bridget? She’s going to talk to me now. You can stop acting like a knight defending virtue, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Gil, this is ever so entertaining,” the marquis inserted, “but, since we just traveled all night, and I’m famished, perhaps your lovely aunt would show me to some victuals?”

  “Well, I never!”

  Helene watched Bridget stand to her full height, dwarfing the Marquis of Dunsberry, but he met her look squarely.

  “Surely you have, Madame. And often. I suppose it wouldn’t be amiss if I talk you out of some coffee? An egg or two wouldn’t go unappreciated, either. Let’s allow the Lord and Lady Tremayne to get reacquainted, shall we? Charmed.”

  He bent his head toward Helene and adroitly steered Bridget away.

  “Well, Brandy love?”

  Helene swallowed, watching his blue eyes soften a bit. She couldn’t resist the smile he gave her, and she returned it tremulously.

  “I don’t drink it,” she whispered.

  “Goddamn it, don’t play me for a fool! I’ve had enough of that state to last me a lifetime. If I ever get my hands on Helen, I swear I’ll strangle her.”

  “Helen? You speak in riddles, Sir, and then won’t give me the chance to answer. What does my cousin have to do with anything?”

  “You remember a cousin, do you? Amazing gift you have, My Lady.”

  “I don’t understand, but, as it happens, I remember Helen quite well. You say you know her. How is she?”

  “I don’t give a damn for her health. A more conniving, cursed, blackmailing bitch has never been whelped.”

  “You really do know Helen.” Helene placed a gloved hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

  “I amuse you, do I? Odd. Here I thought you might expire of fright.”

  He lifted one side of his mouth, and Helene didn’t dare comment on it. At least his blue eyes were sparkling. And he no longer looked thunderous. He really was terribly handsome, too. But she’d been warned about that.

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to be frightened of you,” Helene replied. “After all, Bridget said I married you, but I don’t suppose it was a love match?” At his frown, she continued, “Not a love match by any stretch. All right, then, Lord Tremayne, you tell me why you wed me, since I’m a ‘guttersnipe and all’.”