The Braeswood Tapestry

by Robyn Carr

  “Then there is no way to encourage such a commitment from him?” Charles asked. “If not Sir Troy, there are at least a few honest men who would not be terribly troubled to take Adrienne and her estate. They are in need of some compensation—”

  “I didn’t say there wasn’t a way, Sire,” Trent said slyly. “But the way is not a direct one.”

  Charles smiled his understanding. Perhaps they had all dealt with conspiracies for too many years to take heart from a direct and honest acquisition. “It seldom is, my lord. I wish you luck.”

  Only a few days had passed since his conference with Wescott when a messenger called on the old baron to deliver a letter of great design. Trent could easily have sent a single word in reply to the conference: No. Instead, he took advantage of Julian’s weakened condition and elaborated on how essential a peaceful boundary was to the whole of the monarchy and how devastated the country had been by war; considering the whole of England and all that had happened, there truly had not been many to profit from the war. He thanked Julian for expressing a desire for restitution and flattered him with words attesting to his good nature and noble gestures.

  “As to the matter of your lovely niece, Lady Adrienne,” the letter went on, “it was most unkind of me to forestall the necessary answer. I beg your indulgence, for I did want to hear all the terms of your proposal in order to understand the nature of your wishes for your property and our common property line. I am convinced your wish for peaceful coexistence matches mine and must therefore explain that marriage is impossible for me, for I was quietly wed on my own lands prior to our conference. Lady Jocelyn Wescott of Braeswood awaits my return even now.

  “I would profit indirectly from Lady Adrienne’s suitable marriage and would deem it a privilege to aid you in selecting an honorable man for her hand, with so much property at stake. Perhaps since you would trust me to wed her, you would trust me to aid you in interviewing her suitors. Should this offer prove beneficial, I am at your service. Trent Wescott, Braeswood.”

  Adrienne did not weep or rage as she heard the reply. This was not a crushing blow, but the expected response. She sat rather calmly in front of her uncle’s desk and listened as the missive was read aloud.

  “I think it only fair to tell you, Adrienne. He denied any knowledge of your body.”

  She nodded, seemingly prepared for this.

  “I wonder,” Julian asked. “Can you describe his house to me? The furnishings and decorations?”

  Adrienne sighed deeply, as if the burden was indeed great. “He had seven rooms,” she began in a forlorn voice. “The sitting room was rich in velvet hangings and the family crest rose over the hearth crossed by swords. The settee was covered in a red that looked charred, a color he told me was produced in France. Then the chairs were blue and the tables of pale oak. He kept a desk for liquor, and the crystal was kept in a closet built into the wall and made with delicate glass doors. The rugs that covered the floor in front of the hearth were thickly woven and had many colors of wool that felt deep and soft to walk upon.”

  She answered with such a definite description, so quickly and without pause, that it never occurred to Julian that she was not describing Wescott’s house at all. She looked up at him then with serious eyes that shed no more useless tears.

  “Should you like to hear about the bedchamber?” she asked in an even voice.

  “No,” he said instantly. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m sorry that he’s hurt you. I don’t think I understand his purpose.”

  Adrienne answered him quickly, but again she was not truthfully talking about Trent. “It is quite simple, Uncle. The only woman who might earn his affection and his loyalty will be a woman whom he can love. It is his custom to play the ladies and be finished with them. He simply does not love me.”

  Julian felt crushed when faced with her sad acceptance of this predicament, however much a relief her new and settled disposition might be. “We’ll manage, even so. Tell me, dear, do you desire his help in finding a suitable husband?”

  She thought for a moment and then replied with confidence. “I know you will rest easier when the estate is planned, Uncle, but I think there is no great hurry in my marriage. When I have reached the age of eight-and-ten with no prospect in sight, we might then request aid from his lordship. For now, my virtue is no less lost if I marry quickly. By the grace of God, there is no bastard child breeding.”

  “It is still a matter of some urgency,” he said. “Marriage contracts take time, and we need to see the matter done.”

  “Then we shall give it some consideration until we leave the city. There is always time.”

  Julian looked at his niece proudly. She had softened considerably, but he was well aware that beneath that docile nature she displayed now, the fiery vixen still lived and breathed. He remembered her tantrum over dresses upon their arrival, and her lewd suggestion regarding Wescott. He assumed her ploy had only slapped her pretty face and she stood much chastised by her folly. He doubted she would reduce herself to as much scheming in the future.

  “Are you anxious to return to Dearborn, Uncle?”

  “Quite the contrary; I dread it. It is a sad day when fathers and sons battle. My solace comes from the fact that we have salvaged some family love, Adrienne. I wish I thought the same was possible with Stephen.”

  “Perhaps if he one day finds his selfishness answered with a like degree, he will see the futility,” she offered in a voice of some new experience.

  “I plan a position for him that will give him an opportunity to learn. He’ll have no absolute power, as he has had on his own land, and what he gives his peers, they will give him back twofold. I have not much hope for Stephen, my dear. I have failed him completely.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself, Uncle Julian. He—”

  “He is wicked because I did not force him to stand up and take the blame for his first misdeed. Nor the second, nor the third. It pained me so to think of what his punishment might be that in time I learned to both expect and ignore misbehavior from him. It was soon beyond my ability to change him. Unfortunately, I am to blame. And now,” he said, rising, “I must see if the king will give me audience. I may catch him at chapel or walking. He needs to be aware of this new pact between Wescott and me. It is the one bright light in this darkness.”

  He came around the desk and kissed her brow. “Rest easy, Adrienne. We will yet find the means for you.”

  The moment Julian left, Adrienne sought the sitting room and tried to pass the time with a book. As in the weeks before, she was so preoccupied with her musings that concentration was impossible. She felt not four-and-ten, but one hundred years old, as if she had lived a long life in just a few days. Her worldly knowledge, gained when she yielded to intimacy that was precious and valued, was tarnished when she was rejected by that same one from whom she expected only devotion. She felt beaten down. But she was like a precious metal, rough and coarse until fired, then pounded into shape and cooled. She endeavored to be as any fine gold, stronger and more valuable after enduring the blazing heat, the ruthless beating, then the shock of brutal cold. “This will never happen to me again,” she told herself constantly. “Never.”

  “Milady, there is a gentleman to see you,” the maid announced. Adrienne looked up in some surprise. Julian had only a few friends in the city who would call, and none of them had ever called on her or arrived without invitation. For a moment her heart quickened, since she knew Trent Wescott had been in London when he sent his message and thought perhaps he had come to berate her himself. “He gives his name as Monsieur Laurant.”

  That announcement only furthered her anxiety. She was distraught with the many possibilities, and most certainly frightened of seeing his face again. She tried desperately to convince herself she hated him, but feared her strength would fail her if she was faced with his open arms.

  “Tell him I cannot see anyone today.”

  The maid gently closed the door and Adrienn
e shook with temptation. She willed herself to be strong and stay seated on the chair. Her legs began to tremble with a will to flee to him and ask if he’d changed his mind, but her heart bled with fear that she would face his rejection again. “He must never know how weak he’s made me. If I have nothing else, I will have my dignity.”

  The door opened again. “Ma’am, the gentleman says it is urgent and he—”

  “No,” she heard herself nearly shout. She tried to still her trembling and quiet her voice. “Tell him I am sorry, but I cannot.”

  The maid began to close the door when it abruptly opened in spite of her. Troy came through that portal quite easily and the maid gasped in surprise. “Madam, I beg a moment,” he said quickly. “I would not trouble you with nonsense.”

  His eyes were flashing with excitement and his cheeks were flushed as if he’d been out in the cold. But the weather was quite warm and pleasant. “Ma’am,” the maid began. “Shall I call for Rex?”

  Adrienne thought quickly. She could have him forcibly removed; she could bid him stay and speak his piece with the maid as chaperone. Finally, she sighed her frustration. “No, go along. I’ll give monsieur a moment, but no more.”

  “Thank you for your gracious hospitality, madam,” he said with a bow.

  The maid frowned slightly in concern and paused by the door until Adrienne waved her out. “What is it you wish, sir?” she asked as calmly as possible.

  “I chanced to meet Lord Wescott of Braeswood at a tavern. Would you care to guess his reason for a troubled mood? He was offered the hand of an heiress and had to refuse because of his own hasty wedding. Adrienne, have you no shame?”

  “What difference does this make to you, Sir Troy? I don’t think I understand your complaint.”

  “My complaint is that you had him blamed for your lost virtue, and most of the court is talking of your secret affair.”

  His words were so curt and distressed in tone that Adrienne nearly smiled in amusement. What difference to him what she did now? He wanted freedom. She rose easily and rather enjoyed his anger. “I think I understand, Troy. You are sorry not to be credited with my defilement?”

  “Don’t be absurd. But why Wescott? What do you find in him that you would have him brought to task for a misdeed he didn’t commit?”

  “You worry needlessly. He suffered no reprimand and declined the offer.”

  “He has set about the task of finding you a proper mate for Dearborn.”

  She nodded amiably. “I think his help in the matter will be most useful,” she sighed. “It needs to be cared for … as do I.”

  “But I thought you would—”

  “You thought I would find some old, mincing earl and make myself richer and soon widowed?” She laughed wickedly. “You expected to meet me on some distant day and make me again your willing whore? Oh yes, Sir Troy, you would have me use my simple plots to gain a duchy and then spend my idle time creeping into your humble bed. No, kind sir, that life does not suit me. I would have a handsome husband, young and strong and able of his own purse. And with that lucky gentleman I will share an equal estate and my loyalty. You may leave me, sir. I will not be chastised by you.”

  “I won’t have you accuse and punish innocent men and grab onto their purse strings only to—”

  “The devil,” she snapped. “What ails you? Wescott is a fine choice for a husband. He is handsome, he is strong and powerful, and I know ’tis not your worry that I could somehow overpower and trick him. He is not a fool, but a brilliant man.”

  “And he is decent. Never mind all that your uncle has to say about him, he is—”

  “My uncle,” she shouted, cutting him off, “has formed a pact with my lord of Braeswood to find a peaceful solution to their problems. Part of that arrangement has to do with my suitable marriage. And unlike you, knave, Wescott does not prefer an aging, impotent old fool for his neighbor.”

  “And he tells me that marriage is essential and must take place soon,” Troy said, shouting back at her. Adrienne raised one finely arched brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is this? Is there a child of our amusement?”

  “No, thank God,” she snapped. She was about to say there was no hurry, in her opinion, but clamped her mouth shut. It was Wescott’s interest, the urgency for marriage, and the fact that she might indeed find a worthwhile groom that had Troy rattled. She opted to continue the charade. “I suspect that before the new year, I shall be aptly settled.”

  “You little fool, you could arrange this much to your liking if you but played—”

  “I played once, sir, and deeply regret it. I deserve a decent husband and I think I shan’t have much trouble finding one.”

  “I’ll make it no secret: I don’t like what I find myself doing, but I’ll consider marriage, although we’ll have to accomplish it very quietly.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir Troy, but you are far too late. I have no desire to marry you now.”

  He was stunned and his eyes clearly showed his surprise. He was hardly accustomed to being refused by a woman. He could not answer her.

  “I see no reason I should lower myself to marry a liar who will not be faithful; a man who does not love me.”

  “You were filled with compromise when last we met—”

  “Aye,” she said easily. “And how charmed you were to watch me weep in devastation and listen to my pleas for consideration. It must have moved you to hear me promise ignorance of your affairs and offer to live on a meager purse for your comfort. Well, those were the childish notions of a girl, and you may credit yourself somewhat, Troy, you made of me a woman. And now I have no use for frivolous little boys. I want a man.”

  He stiffened at the final insult and stared at her coldly. “Very well, milady.” He gave a curt half-bow and turned sharply to leave the room. He made no effort to leave graciously—the door slammed on his departure. She heard the loud bang of the second door outside the foyer as he made his angry departure. Promptly the door to the sitting room opened and the maid peeked inside to assure herself of her mistress’s well-being.

  Adrienne smiled in some secure comfort. “I’m fine, Mary,” she said smoothly. Then she sat on the settee rather heavily. “I will have a brandy, though.”

  “Brandy, ma’am?” she asked.

  “Yes; in a moment I shall begin to shake.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Through the last of April and the first of May, Trent kept himself occupied with a continuous surveillance of his property. By day and by night his people rode the perimeter of his land, made their presence obvious in the towns, and kept the manor more secure than ever in the past. The numbers of his men were not as great as Kerr’s, but they worked double time and they were each, in their own right, better.

  There had been a brief chance to warn his spies, Matthew and Bruce, that there would be trouble upon Lord Kerr’s return to Dearborn. The guard was increased and the manor alerted. Trent could not say how long after Julian’s return to the country Stephen would be informed that he was disinherited. And Trent vowed not to relax his vigilance until enough time had passed after Stephen’s departure.

  He had promptly explained the reason for the conference in London to Jocelyn. “Ah, you see,” she teased. “You could have had yourself a well-bred wife and more land to boot.”

  He had laughed and touched her middle. “How much better bred can one be, madam?”

  “Sir, you are incorrigible.”

  “You don’t know the half. I know the name of the rogue who used her. He is a friend and I’ve played against him for the first time in my life. I hope to find I haven’t injured him severely.”

  “Who, Trent?” she had asked.

  “It is undoubtedly Troy. And rather than feigning anger at Adrienne’s accusation, I played the part of a swain sorry for my own hasty marriage and wishing I might have been the one to taste of her. I attested to her beauty and wit and nearly drooled at the inheritance.”

  “Trent, you are horr
ible.”

  “I promised Troy that I counseled Julian and his niece on the advantages of a young and virile husband who would sustain Dearborn longer than a tired old knight weary of arms. I saw Troy’s eyes sparkle in some form of grave interest and assured him I would work hard to find Adrienne a worthy partner.” He sighed heavily and could not suppress a smile. “Then I threw him to the lions, knowing his mouth watered for her, and asked him to guard the Kerr’s London house until Julian departed. He must witness the comings and goings of the one he wants.”

  “But whatever is your purpose? Do you mean to punish him?”

  “In a manner. Had I suggested he wed the lass and settle himself to less adventurous pursuits, he would have argued me into the dust. But allowing that he might soon find her unattainable, and indeed lost to a husband who can handle a sword in a duel, if he finds he wants her more than his back-road life, he will find a way to have her.” He laughed outright. “It is more Monsieur Laurant’s style to take her if he is told he cannot have her.”

  “And you’re not ashamed of your trickery?” she giggled. “When you call him friend?”

  “What wouldn’t I risk to find a loyal neighbor for the first time in decades? And beyond that, he has never done anything in his life he didn’t want to do. If it troubles him to be with her, he’ll forget the thing instantly.” He cleared his throat. “I … ah, I did ask several young men from court who I knew to be both handsome and rich to call on the young woman. Troy will most likely observe that.”

  Jocelyn let out a shriek of amused outrage. “He will kill you if he ever learns what you’ve done,” she promised.

  “And should he cross our door with his presence, do not sacrifice me, wench. Better he thinks me sincerely interested in my property line than in seeing him nobly wed.”