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

by Jackie Ivie

She refused to smell the rot, sit in the dirt with nothing to do, or wait idly while Sherry went looking for work. The maid listened to her calmly, told her there were worse fates, and locked her in.

  Helene had never been locked up in her life, and the cell Sherry chose had only one piece of furniture, a sagging, slat-board bed. With nothing else to do, Helene slept on it, only to be tossed from it by an abusive man she’d never seen before when Sherry returned.

  He was but the first.

  Helene closed her eyes in shock that night, afraid to speak, and then she shut her mind to it, as well.

  And every day, Madame Guillotine was busy. Sherry’s customers spoke of it, but she hadn’t given it meaning, until one day. She’d gotten brave. And gone out to see...

  That’s when she saw Madame Guillotine’s purpose. It made her retch even now, a lifetime away. Sherry had almost deserted her then, and she would’ve been justified because of all the trouble Helene caused…but Brandy came to her rescue. Brandy; the little wench of loose virtue, fast tongue, and even quicker reflexes.

  She became Brandy so fully that Helene hadn’t resurfaced for over six years.

  It was safer that way. She’d rather receive a thousand blows than do what Sherry did to keep them fed. And then one day, Sherry told her to go. She gave little Brandy a small amount of money, an aristocratic dress that proclaimed her position in life, and paid for passage to Calais with yet another faceless male friend. Sherry had sent her to meet Helene’s English uncle. Her father’s brother had come to France in search of any survivors of the Bingham family. He’d promised to take Helene with him, keep her safe, and protect her from nightmares.

  Lord Bingham had frowned at Helene’s attempt to dress up, and then wrinkled his nose in distaste. She hadn’t enough perfume to override smells, but she’d refused to undress in order to bathe properly. She didn’t have payment for her own room. And the others staying at that inn weren’t discriminating. So, she’d drawn water from the pump, splashed herself, shoved her hair under her cap, and donned a manner reserved enough to please anyone — especially Gerard Bingham.

  Her cousin.

  She’d been unbelievably stupid; hoping against hope that her new family would save her, sending any nightmares of the past six years so far away, she’d never be bothered again.

  Helene knew exactly what Gerard wanted the instant she’d met his glance. It was the same look Sherry’s men had, only this time, Sherry wasn’t around to save her. So Brandy had done it. She’d kneed Gerard in the groin when he tried to rip off her dress during a dance lesson, and then she’d sent a sword so far through his gullet, he shouldn’t have recovered.

  That’s why Uncle Bingham beat her so severely it overrode memory of any prior punishment, before he’d delivered her to the sanatorium. That place had even seemed a haven from her uncle’s fist and his words as he rid himself of his brother’s ‘French baggage’.

  A haven.

  She’d been naïve.

  It was rather funny how the memories made her cringe – even now – buried under a mound of covers in a bed so far from all of it, it was ludicrous. But that’s what happened. It had almost stopped her feet at the wedding, when she’d walked that aisle on his arm. And been wed to Gillian Tremayne.

  She should be thankful to her husband, not make him think the sight of him sickened her. Especially as it seemed to create the opposite reaction. But she couldn’t think of anything else when he’d called her a virgin, except to tell him the truth.

  “Helene? Are you awake?”

  The connecting door opened and Gil stuck his head in. She saw the shape in the dimness.

  “Yes, My...Gillian.”

  The door shut behind him.

  “Christ, Helene! Don’t call me that, especially not like that. I wouldn’t have come…except you know. Servants.”

  “It’s...all right, Gil.”

  “Perhaps you’d better stick to My Lord after all.”

  She couldn’t help giggling.

  “Could you find another way of expressing your regard? I’m not particularly fond of disgust.”

  He stopped halfway to the bed, moonlight outlining how he put his hands to his hips. It also delineated his frame even through the thick nightshirt.

  “Gillian.” She lifted the covers. “There’s enough room, and if you don’t snore, I promise not to keep the linens from you. Of course, you’ll probably find your nightshirt too confining.”

  He choked and backed away one step. “What game are we playing now, Helene?”

  “I’m not playing a game. I’m welcoming you to my bed, and you’re preventing it...Gillian.”

  “My Lord, damn it!”

  She dropped the covers. “Very well, My Lord. If you wish to play the shy sacrificial lamb, who am I to say nay? I shall lie on my side of the bed and await your presence.”

  “Goddamn it, Helene, I never play shy. I’m simply trying to act as if we’re helplessly in love, and you confound me at every turn. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re trying to seduce me.”

  “I am.”

  She whispered it, and then had to listen to her own heartbeat get louder and faster through the long silence that followed.

  “Well. Well. Bridget was right about one thing. You are never boring.”

  “Does that mean you’ll...accept?”

  “Oh. I never turn down a lady, darling.”

  She heard the rustle of his nightshirt and that’s when fear took hold of her limbs. The mattress moved, and she clenched her hands until her fingernails bit into her palms.

  “You’re as stiff as a board, Helene.”

  He whispered it against her ear. And the thighs pressing against hers felt as strong as they’d looked two days earlier, outlined by the window. She trembled at the contact and instantly moved away.

  “Having second thoughts, my little madwoman?”

  He lifted her hair from her ear, and she squealed slightly when he licked that spot.

  “My...Lord?” she panted.

  “Forget I offered. Call me Gil, or better yet…my love. I think that would be my favorite.”

  He had his lips on her throat. And he was sucking on her skin. Sending rivulets of goose bumps from the spot. And she was having trouble breathing.

  “Gil...lian?”

  “Are you going to insist on talking the entire time? Because I have a much better alternative.”

  And then he proved it, touching his lips to her, making her jerk. He lifted his head, and she held her breath.

  “Are you so frightened? Of me? Oh, love. I’ll be gentle. Not at all like your other men friends.”

  “There were...no other...men friends,” she stammered.

  “All right, Helene…I’ll play. I’ll be more gentle than the others you’ve serviced, who weren’t such friends.”

  “I’ve never had—or…done…uh. I haven’t.”

  “Are you trying to seduce me with lies now? I need to warn you in advance, love. It won’t work.”

  “You’re impossible!”

  He hooted. She felt his amusement clear through her breast, because it was pressed against his.

  “You know something, Helene? I’ve already tired of your game. I’m buggered if I can figure it out. My mind is befuddled with this newfound virginity you’re trying to gift me with, and you don’t desire me at all. Hell. You’re frozen in place.”

  “I’m not frozen! I don’t know how you do it proper! How do you do it with someone you—!”

  She slammed her lips shut, and then put a hand atop them, too.

  “Someone you...what?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Held her breath. Regarded him with wide eyes that she didn’t dare move. Oh no. She hadn’t just said it. And worse. It couldn’t be true!

  “What? Now I’m supposed to decipher that, too? Christ, Helene. I forfeit.”

  He rolled away from her with a shake of the bed beneath them. And then he lifted his head.

  “This pillow
is soaked, love.” He lifted his head and tossed it to the floor before settling atop another one. “I don’t suppose that’s part of your game? Gifting me with cold and discomfort?”

  “I…have nothing to say either way.” She couldn’t believe it. Her voice worked.

  “Ah! The frost bitch returneth! Thank God. I’ve about run my gamut of patience tonight. Go to sleep, Helene. Dream up some more games — they’re ever so entertaining.”

  She waited until the sound of his even breathing filled the chamber before carefully scooting as far from him as possible. She was near tears. Again. Of all the horrid places and rotten times. She didn’t want him to know anything about them, either. Because it was his fault..

  She’d done everything possible to save her virtue, and for what?

  Her husband didn’t even want it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You don’t mind if I intrude, do you, Helene? I mean, that son of mine has kept you so close to his side that we haven’t had time for a real conversation, have we? Not that I wouldn’t want it any other way, mind you. I’ve never seen him so happy and enthused, especially after I had my second cousin see to it he wouldn’t get anywhere near the front lines in the stupid war. Losing Broderick was quite enough for me, I assure you.”

  Gil’s mother paused a moment to press a linen to her eye and catch her breath. Helene smiled. She didn’t mind being bothered at all. She’d been doing too much thinking.

  “Not that Gil hasn’t thought of you, darling. He asked, if I saw you that I was to remind you he’s taking you driving after luncheon. Oh, don’t look so crestfallen. It’ll be that time before you know it.”

  Crestfallen?

  “You know, we spoiled him terribly, but it was such a long time between boys that my husband, bless his soul, had almost given up hope. Then to find Gil asked Helen Bingham to be his wife! As fastidious as he is? I almost fainted on the spot. Oh, dear, I’ve done it again. I do apologize. I keep forgetting how closely you two are related. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

  She continued without waiting for an answer.

  “It’s such a classic story. I thank my stars Gillian spotted you when he stayed at the Bingham estate. That’s on the road to Bath, isn’t it? You mustn’t think we look down on you for any reason for being a poor relation, Helene. Gillian never gave it a second thought. He was simply bowled over by your beauty the moment he set eyes on you. I don’t blame him.”

  Helene forced a blush, acting as if she accepted the compliment for what it was. A beauty? She’d never been a beauty. She had too small of a mouth, her face was too round, and she had a stick figure that no amount of drapery disguised. And that was before her scarring.

  “Of course, I’d hoped for a wedding at the St. George Cathedral. After all, that’s where my daughters wed. Then I could’ve exulted over Gil’s choice, but I quite understand. And I hold Sir Bingham completely responsible.”

  Helene nodded. It was true, in a roundabout fashion.

  “Why, I really pulled off a coup, when my Eleanor wed the Duke of Belmister. I wasn’t quite as successful with Anne or Abigail, although I made certain both became countesses. Of course, Anne’s husband is a bit advanced in years…being eight years older than myself, but that can’t be helped. Rich, eligible earls do not fall out of the sky. And I know she thanks me every day of her life for securing her future.

  “Gillian’s always been a bit difficult, though. I don’t blame him for being out of sorts with me over his desire to join a regiment, but, after I lost Broderick, I couldn’t see sacrificing any more Tremayne blood for that peasant uprising. You’re very fortunate that you escaped all that nasty turmoil, my dear.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Gillian told me about your parents’ carriage accident. It was a blessing in disguise, although I doubt you felt that at the time. At least you were safely on British soil, and not anywhere near that Robespierre fellow. I shudder to think of the horrors that man inflicted, but it’s so removed now, isn’t it?

  “Now that this Corsican, Napoleon, has opened the borders again, we’ll be able to visit and see for ourselves, but I haven’t the courage. Gillian might think it a grand idea, and I suppose every woman wants to see Paris, but you’ll have to work it out with him. I’ve tried to talk sense into the boy, but he won’t listen, and then he’ll punish me again.”

  “Punish…you?”

  “Well, not the way you’re thinking. Gillian wouldn’t harm a soul. At least, I don’t think he would. Where was I? Oh, yes. Somehow he found out I’d been behind his being excused from the first uprising…and he wouldn’t speak to me for three years. Three years! The most I could do was listen to the tales about him and act like I knew which lady had caught his eye.

  “Oh, dear! Drat this tongue of mine! That’s not the sort of thing I should tell his wife. You’ll forgive me. Won’t you? I mean, you’re so in love, I hope you’ll forget it. You’re so lucky, my dear. I don’t mean that simply because I’m his mother, although I am rather proud of that, but to catch my son, Gillian and find true love at the same time? Heavens! It’s like a fairy tale come true.”

  “He didn’t say where he was going, did he?” Helene asked.

  “Not to me. Laws, I’m grateful he even speaks to me. If I hadn’t been up as early as I was this morning, I wouldn’t even have the knowledge about your drive. He was a bit annoyed with me for delaying his ride, actually. He always rides at the crack of dawn when he’s in town. When we’re in the country, you can hardly get him out of the saddle. I suppose he’s had an excuse for staying abed these last few days, though, hasn’t he?”

  It appeared the Dowager Lady of Tremayne had better inquisition skills than Helene had ever run across — without one word from her victim. No wonder Gil avoided her.

  “Well, don’t let me keep you, dear. I understand Lady Bridget will call for you later, and I try to avoid Dexter’s wife whenever I can. It’s not that we don’t get along or anything. I’d hate to have you think that. It’s simply that a woman’s place is beside her husband, even in these war-torn, licentious days. Ah, for the old days…”

  Her voice faded as she walked off, and Helene dropped the society sheet she’d been looking over. She wasn’t adept at reading. It was still a chore, but it did keep her occupied. Telling Gil the truth and being rebuffed came as a blow. To find him missing when she woke was worse.

  She prayed he wasn’t stupid enough to want to visit Paris. If he did, she couldn’t go with him. The memories were too painful. He must realize that. Raised at Bingham Manor, indeed! Gil might call her a liar, but his tongue was equally false.

  ***

  “You’re quiet today, Helene. Since I know it for a rare affliction, I’ll just pretend to enjoy it.”

  Helene avoided answering, feasting her eyes instead on the gentry taking the air in Hyde Park. When her maid first set out the organza dress, Helene protested, but Bridget allayed her fears. Even with lace adorning each sleeve and ribbons tying her hat, embellishing her shawl, and crossing under her breasts, she looked underdressed.

  She would’ve liked a parasol to twirl, like the Signora Simone across the way. Of course, if she had a parasol, she would’ve hit Gil with it the moment she reached him in the foyer.

  She’d been careful to tie the bow on the left side of her jaw, but did he truly have to remark how sensible she was for hiding her cheek?

  “You’re not still angry at me, are you?”

  He clicked his tongue to the horses, flicked the reins across their flanks, and Helene didn’t bother to answer that, either. Rain clouds gathered at the edge of the sky, and a brisk wind blew through the trees. It was better to simply ignore him. Not that it was easy. Gil was dressed in the height of fashion, with his greatcoat folded across his knees and a top hat set slightly on his head. It was obvious. Every lady dropped her voice to a sultry tone when speaking to him.

  “Signora del Casta. My…how wonderful to see you again.”

  His tone
was akin to a caress. Helene looked away.

  “Why…Señor Tremayne! And his little wife! I’d no idea you’d be out today. Not that we can stay long, can we? I vow those clouds look like rain.”

  “That they do, Simone. And I see your concern. Water probably wouldn’t do your gown much good. My complements to your dressmaker. That creation is a measure of perfection as unique as yourself.”

  “Thank the lord for that,” Helene whispered to herself.

  “Oh. Go away with you, Gillian!”

  The way Simone said his name sounded like a sneeze. Helene nearly parroted it before catching herself.

  “Why…coming from your tongue, compliments are like jewels.” Simone answered.

  Helene rolled her eyes and started toying with the ribbon trailing from her hat.

  “I hear your mama is planning a huge ball, Gillian, and I haven’t received an invitation. Such an oversight! I nearly had the vapors when I found out, you naughty boy. You will see to it, won’t you?”

  “Any festivity, even a ball of the magnitude my mother is planning, is like a downpour without rain...no – a candle without a flame – if it isn’t blessed with your presence, Simone.”

  Helene’s fingers had wrapped the ribbon into a little shiny ball, and then she unwound it before starting it again. Driving with Gillian was turning into an exercise in patience and tongue-biting. She wished she had a parasol! At least she’d have a place of refuge while those two flirted outrageously.

  “Oh, you’re such a gentleman to tease me so! And a newlywed as well. Ah. Señor. I vow, no rain clouds could cast darkness on the sunlight you’ve brought to my heart.”

  “Your servant, my dear Simone.” Gil sounded suspiciously like he was almost laughing. “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, hasn’t it, darling?”

  His hand pinched her elbow, and Helene turned automatically to the signora, sitting like a goddess in a leaf-green dress with black piping. Helene smiled shyly.

  “Forgive me. I wasn’t paying attention. Did you say something, Signora del Casta?”

  She gave her best innocent expression and saw the woman’s eyes narrow.