“How many rooms are there in the castle?” Lady Jennie asked.
“130,” he replied.
“Extraordinary.” Lady Frannie bounced with excitement.
“I’m ready,” Lady Everly announced at her arrival. She looked over everyone who’d gathered and then smiled as she grabbed Brinley’s arm.
Brinley went to her, relief on her face.
“Shall we?” Lady Everly asked.
* * *
Brinley hadn’t wanted to take the tour, but once they’d entered the first public room, she took such thoughts back. Ayers Castle was spectacular in every way. From the riveting colors, peculiar paintings, and whimsical foliage that embellished both stone and wood paneled walls, she was amazed.
Every room seemed to open the senses and the absence of the larger crowd made the rooms easier to admire.
She was glad Everly had pushed for an early tour. Otherwise, Brinley would have missed the detail and craftsmanship that had gone into making this mighty fortress both a home and an artful masterpiece in its own right.
Great masons and carpenters had been called from France, India, and Italy to see to the design.
The library quickly became her favorite room. Three stories high, its balconies and staircases made it seem endless.
It was like walking through a dream. Brinley lost herself in the bindings. The lamps cast an orange glow that gave the illusion one was going back in time. Ancient treasures adorned the room, catching the eye and making one ponder, as any book in the library’s possession would.
Lord Sillian had a firm grasp of knowledge on almost everything they saw. He was well learned in the arts and literature and had a way of speaking that was quite entertaining.
Lady Jennie and Lady Frannie clung to their chosen escorts and, as usual, Everly clung to no one.
To Brinley’s great dismay, Lore remained ever close, though he did give her space to move about as she pleased. He didn’t offer his arm after Brinley’s refusal to take it.
She noticed more than once that the others were giving them looks.
They’d all made comments as well but nothing Brinley could claim as an outright insult.
Frequently, Lady Jennie asked Brinley if she needed them to slow down and Lady Frannie offered Sillian’s arm whenever they met a flight of stairs no matter how short.
They were comments Brinley was used to.
But Denhollow and Sillian’s curious looks were not.
She didn’t like people looking at her when she wasn’t speaking or actively doing anything to draw attention. She was social when she wished to be. Indeed, Everly wasn’t the only one who enjoyed her company, but Brinley had the ability to blend into the wall when it suited her.
Sadly, being invisible was now impossible with Lore’s radiant beauty attracting attention.
As best as she could, Brinley focused her mind on her surroundings.
“Do you read German?” Lore asked when they were on the second floor. It was the most intimate they’d been thus far.
Over the golden railing, Lady Jennie’s laugh carried from whatever Denhollow had said.
Everly was on the other side of the room from them.
Sillian was speaking to Lady Frannie about the painter who’d depicted a woman and child on the ceiling.
“Every lord and lady learns to read and speak German,” Brinley replied briskly.
“I admit, I’m not very good at it.”
She looked over at him. “No?”
He shook his head.
Unable to help herself, she said, “Lasse mich in ruhe.” Her heart raced as she waited for his response.
His eyes widened, a telling sign that he’d understood.
She felt horrid. She’d just told the son of a duke to leave her alone. Was she mad? One never told someone how they truly felt in proper society. “I…”
A burst of laughter rang from his parted lips and set her back a pace.
She smiled, because he was beautiful, and she’d caused this glorious outburst.
And also, because he clearly thought she’d meant it in jest.
“I… wanted to see if you understood is all,” she said, trying to clean up her mess.
“Oh, no, I know you meant every word.” Lore’s gaze narrowed.
Brinley took a step back.
And ran into someone.
“Brinley, dear.” Everly was there. “Come look at his sculpture. I can’t place the period. Perhaps you could?”
“Yes! Oh, I do love sculptures.”
Lore was still watching her mockingly.
Brinley turned around and rushed away with Everly.
They were on the other side of the library when her friend said, “Now you will tell me precisely what is going on between you and Lord Lore.”
Brinley thought it best to play ignorant. “What do you mean?”
“Brinley…” Everly said in a tone of great warning. “Everyone is talking about it.”
“Everyone?” Brinley gasped.
“Well, Lady Jennie and Lady Frannie were whispering amongst themselves. So are Lore’s friends. I’ll be surprised if the entire party isn’t aware by the end of the night.”
“Aware of what?” Brinley met Everly’s gaze head-on. “None of you can honestly believe Lord Lore is interested in me.”
“Why not?” Everly asked. “You are pretty. I’ve always told you as much.” She smiled. “Perhaps, he finally sees what I have always seen in you.”
Brinley looked away. She was not ready to tell anyone about the shameful conversation that had taken place in Everly’s London residence.
“If only you’d remove that silly cap and wear a gown of your own design. Everyone would see what I see.”
“No, everyone would see more of me and I…” She shook her head and looked at her dearest friend.
Brinley wondered how much longer Everly would put up with her. The woman was stunning while Brinley was not. Everly was twenty-eight yet would fit better in Lady Jennie and Lady Fannie’s circle than Brinley ever could.
Everly cupped her chin and forced Brinley to meet her eyes. “Tell me the truth.”
“Lord Lore is doing nothing but being a good host. That is all,” she lied.
“You’re lying.” Everly let her go. “And you’re trembling. Would you like to retire? We could finish the tour another time.”
Brinley frowned. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me. You should go without me. The numbers will be even then.” And Brinley imagined Everly would look far better on Lore’s arm than she ever would.
Everly scoffed and lowered her voice. “You will not leave me with these simpering chits and Lord Den-shallow.” Her golden eyes flashed wide with emphasis.
Brinley laughed. Everly had never liked anyone who was mean to Brinley. “But the tour…”
“I much rather spend my time with you. You ran away from the Season so quickly, I was bored without you.”
Brinley smiled. She adored Everly. She was bold, beautiful, and never seemed to look down on the unfortunate. “Let’s finish the tour. I’m actually enjoying it. There’s so much to see.”
“Are you sure?”
Brinley nodded. It was the least she could do. Everly would never know how much Brinley valued her friendship.
∫ ∫ ∫
0 7
The next room they were shown was even more wonderful than the library.
It was the tapestry room. From one wall to the next a story was woven into the fabric, telling the tales of the Curbain family, starting with their ancestor Corbenaius, who’d been a warrior of Troy during the Trojan War. She glimpsed other warriors and sailors who may have been Vikings.
There were no windows in the room in an effort to preserve the fabric. Instead, a chandelier made of old wood, metal, and Viking war horns for candle holders was strung up from the ceiling. Sunlight spilled in through an archway of a short stone passageway that led to the cloisters outside.
The floor was also the original stone o
f the castle and made the air feel cool.
In the gray frieze that wrapped around the entire room, she took note of the words ‘Sit tibi bonum faustum tibi Opes honores’ in Latin and its English translation, ‘Let good be thee fortune and honor thee wealth.’
The words were etched into the walls, never to be removed.
Gazing at the stunning weft threading of tapestry and the words in such intimate light made Brinley feel as though she were partaking in something forbidden.
Everyone else seemed in awe of the room as well, for no one spoke a word after Lore finished his family’s tale. Brinley wondered what it must be like for him to know he came from a line of brave men.
His second brother Hero had followed in the footsteps of the mighty men who had come before him. He’d been a general in the war against Napoleon. ‘Boney,’ as her countrymen had called the French dictator, hadn’t stood a chance in the face of such valor.
It made her wonder where Lore fit in the grandness of it all. Did he ever wonder about his place?
Likely not. He was a third son. He had no true obligations to anyone but himself.
She brushed her hand against the fabric nearest her, a depiction of the first Duke of Ayers and his wife. Did Lore ever wish to lead a life that would be remembered like this?
“Theirs was a love match,” Lore said near her ear. Though he’d whispered the words, in the silence and romantic lighting. she’d thought him very loud.
She jumped and spun around.
She noticed then that they were alone. The party had wandered out to the cloisters. Amid their voices, she could hear the sound of rain, but the covered pathway that wrapped the wall would keep them dry.
“A love match?” she asked, trying to still her racing heart.
He gave a sharp nod and Brinley wondered how his eyes, even in low light, could still hold their sharp complexity. “Her father was a cruel man who hurt her greatly. The first Duke of Ayers stole her away and spent the rest of his life making her happy.”
Brinley smiled. “Though it had a tragic beginning, that is quite a romantic tale.”
“It is,” he agreed.
“Do you hope for a love match?” Then she shook her head. “Of course, you don’t. You don’t plan to marry.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips.
Lore’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
She blinked. “I… heard it whispered by a lady at a party.”
He grunted and shrugged. “It is not expected of me. My brother Hero is Ayers’s heir and I suspect Hero and his wife Lady Hero will soon have their own child. I’ve no obligation to fulfill.”
“But what of the obligation to yourself?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what do you want?” she asked. “What is it you want most in life?”
Lore blinked. “What is it I want most?” He frowned in thought.
Brinley cringed and readied herself for his answer to be the horse in her father’s possession.
“I don’t know,” he finally replied. “I can tell you what I want right now, but beyond that… Does anyone ever truly know?”
“I do.” She’d thought about it for years now. She’d have a house. Her very own house that she’d buy with her own money. And she’d take in orphans, just one or two, and raise them as her own.
She adored children, and they adored her. She could think of nothing that would please her more.
Lore lifted a brow. “Are you not going to share this grand desire of yours? Am I left to guess?”
“You may guess, but you’ll never guess right.” Deciding they’d been alone for an indecent amount of time, she walked around him and headed toward the passage.
* * *
“You wish to marry,” Lore said, stating the most obvious of dreams for a young woman.
They walked the cloister and remained close to the wall to avoid the rain. The day was still bright even though clouds blocked the sun.
The four sides of the cloisters wrapped around the quadrangle of the castle and at the courtyard’s center was the chapel, a building Lore had not visited in years.
“No,” Brinley answered without even bothering to look at him. She held her head up when she walked. In the short time he’d known her, he’d never seen her look down. Away, yes. She’d given him more cuts than he thought her aware of, but never did she look down.
He wondered how much of her strength came from knowing her greatest want. As he studied her, he began to think that whatever it was she wanted, she would surely get.
She didn’t wish to marry?
It would ruin everything for him if that were true, though he suspected it wasn’t in the least. All women wished to marry.
He wondered if she had negative thoughts about her appearance and if that was the reason she hid beneath her shapeless clothes. If she worried about her size, he thought that an easy remedy. He could show her just how attractive her every curve could be.
His fingers itched to remove that cap, wondering what it would reveal.
But it was bold for a woman to admit aloud that she didn’t desire matrimony.
Perhaps, she aspired to be like Everly, a confidently decided spinster who threw grand social occasions.
Though that vision didn’t seem to fit the Brinley he knew.
Not that he knew her at all.
And did he truly care to know her, really?
Perhaps if he did, he’d find a way to appease her father and change her tune on the whole marriage idea.
But where to start?
He’d never had to encourage a woman’s romantic feelings. He needed Brinley more compliant and less… whatever she currently was.
“Are you sure you’ll not marry?” he asked.
“Never.” She sounded very set on that.
He grinned. “And what if I asked?”
She laughed. “I would advise you do so only if you wish to find yourself embarrassed.”
“Who knows?” he said. “You could grow to change your mind in time.”
“Time will have no effect.” Again, there was certainty. “Today. Tomorrow. It makes no difference. I’d turn you down, my lord.”
Her words left unrest within him, though he didn’t know why.
She turned suddenly, moving toward the short wall at the edge of the cloister. She held out her hands and allowed the rain to fall in them. “I wish to see the chapel. There is no need for you to accompany me there. Without the presence of the group, it would be improper.” She turned to him. “You should return with the others. I’ll be all right.” Then she cut through the opening and sprinted across the grass.
Running from him.
Had a woman ever run from him before? Lore’s claim of charm was surely being tested with this woman.
If there was any place she could go where he’d not follow, she’d found it.
There were a few other people around. He noticed two older women slip into the chapel as well.
He could remember every detail of the chapel, how the sunlight cast a myriad of colors from the stained-glass windows. How many pews sat in the nave and the number of steps to the altar.
Asher had been married in that church, as had their father.
Lore had not gone inside since his departure from the clergy. Again, the memories of his mistakes assailed him.
Helen. She was Mr. Landon’s daughter and, at one time, had been the wealthiest heiress in town. After Valiant, of course.
Pretty and diffident, or so she’d have everyone believe. Only when she’d been alone with Lore did she become someone else, someone confident and captivating.
He’d compared her to Helen of Troy. Lore had been her Paris.
And as the tragic story went, Paris fell into despair.
He returned to the main part of the castle and found a servant to get an umbrella and to see Brinley to her room safely.
Then he went in search of Lord Tellock.
∫ ∫ ∫
0 8
After dinner, Everly came to Brinley’s room. “I cannot wait to see your latest work. You should truly be charging Madam Keats much more than you do for your designs. That modiste would be nothing without you.”
Brinley opened her trunk and dug to the bottom of it. Alongside all the money she possessed in the world was her book of designs. Pieces of silk and lace were stuck between the pages. She placed the heavy book on the table and flipped toward the center. She pointed out the latest dress she’d been working on.
Her first designs had been inspired not by Grecian clothing but its architecture. At the top of the bodice were rows of lace whose arch design hinted at the Colosseum. Striped muslin skirts had been like marble columns in Brinley’s mind, holding up the bust and frills that took place there.
The design had sold well in an assortment of shades. Brinley’s dress had been the talk of the Season three years ago and, since then, she’d continued to design as many dresses and gowns as she could, all in the hopes of freedom.
“It’s beautiful,” Everly said as she looked through the designs that Brinley planned for the coming season. There was inspiration from India, but Brinley always made sure to never veer too far from what a lady would be comfortable wearing. An extra stitch here, a splash of color there. Button arrangement and ribbon placement as she’d done last year.
Everly was the one who took the designs to Madam Keat’s seamstress shop on Oxford and was always the first to have the dress made.
“The world should know that these are your ideas,” Everly said.
Brinley settled on her bed. “You know that would never work. The ton would take one look at me and all my plans would be ruined. No, I am to remain anonymous.”
“Have you been listening to your mother again?” Everly asked. “Brinley, you’re beautiful. We are nearly of similar build.”
Brinley looked over Everly from head to toe. No, her friend was not thin like the countess or Arabella, but Brinley insisted that Everly carried it far better than herself. She saw no reason to continue that particular conversation, especially since they’d had it over and over again. “I’ll also take the usual fare for the designs. You may take a percentage if you wish. I am thankful that you keep my secret.”
The Perfect Gentleman (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 4
