Discreet Gentleman Book One: A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery

by Tualla, Kris

  Yes. I think so.

  "She seems reasonably intelligent," he fished.

  Very intelligent, Brander corrected. And very clever.

  "She reads and writes?"

  And figures her own ledgers.

  "She understands business?" Jarl frowned.

  It's not such a hard thing to understand.

  "No..." Jarl readjusted his stance in the chair. "Do you believe she'll be an obedient wife?"

  Brander pondered that particular trait in reference to Regin and wrote: She has a mind of her own.

  Jarl's eyes widened. "A rebellious mind?"

  A strong mind.

  "But her behavior is appropriate? Ladylike? As befitting our station?"

  Brander thought of the calluses on Regin's palm, and the way she jumped to cut the horses loose during the mudslide. Not once on the journey had she ever complained about the cold, the mud or the less than luxurious conditions.

  He wrote: She is not too proud. She will do what needs to be done.

  Jarl nodded and seemed lost for a moment. His cheeks flushed before the next words spilled from his lips. "Will she be passionate, do you think?"

  Passionate? Brander mouthed. God yes. The image of her spread under Jarl pounded in his head. He closed his eyes and rubbed them but the image wouldn't be erased.

  Jarl touched his arm across the desk. Brander opened his eyes.

  "Is it a migraine?" he asked. Concern muted his façade of anger and disdain.

  No.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that question. It was inappropriate and you have no way of answering."

  If only that was true.

  Jarl stood. "You are staying for the wedding, I assume."

  Brander stood as well and shrugged his lack of promise.

  Jarl's expression turned stormy. "You marched out of here eight years ago and none of us knew if you lived or died!"

  Brander straightened and looked down at Jarl, three inches shorter at six-foot-two. He spread his hands as if to ask, what now?

  Jarl rounded the desk. "Do you have any idea how our father suffered over that? How we all suffered?"

  Brander realized this wasn't the right time to mention his own sufferings. Not if Jarl was too foolish to puzzle it out on his own. He rubbed his forehead instead.

  That infuriated Jarl. The man's face was burgundy and bits of spittle flew from his mouth. "And then you walk in here as if that were the expected thing to do -- and you won't even stay long enough to mend what you tore apart!"

  What I tore apart? Brander yelled with his hands. You were there that day!

  He whirled and stomped to the study door. He jerked it open and faced Jarl again: Why do you even care if I stay?

  Jarl stood in the middle of the study, hands fisted into balls against his thighs. "Brand, listen to me..."

  He glared at his younger brother: What?

  "I never, never, asked to be the heir. I swear it."

  Brander's shoulders slumped and he stared at the floor for a long moment. Then he faced Jarl again.

  And yet... you never said 'No' either.

  The door closed with a satisfying vibration of wood and metal.

  *****

  Brander hid in the medieval chapel; no one would think of looking for him there. He was surrounded by the graves of nearly three hundred years of Hansens, going back to Rydar Hansen who built this chapel in the fourteenth century. The Black Death wiped out half of Europe and more than half the Hansens until Rydar and his Scottish wife re-established their lineage in the mid-thirteen hundreds.

  Now he hoped the wisdom of his ancestors would seep into his consciousness and help him solve his life-defining dilemma. He sat on the forward bench and leaned his forehead on the stone railing. The single candle he brought danced shadows of light across the floor as he prayed for guidance.

  He must decide.

  The easy choice would be to secretly accept the debt pay-off money from Jarl and let him have Kildahlshus. Brander would have to wait for another estate to buy. After he saved more money. And if he was fortunate to discover another debtor in as deep as Thorlak Skogen was.

  The idea of postponing his satisfaction raked his gut. He was thirty-one already. How much longer would it take?

  Perhaps he should confess his position to Jarl and Regin and claim Kildahlshus as his, as was his plan before Regin wrote to 'Lord Olsen' and requested his help.

  If he wanted revenge, that path would certainly shock his father and infuriate Jarl!

  But it would leave Regin a pauper with no home and no income.

  And no husband.

  Brander fought the idea bubbling in his chest, but it surfaced in spite of his efforts: should he go against his long-held resolve to remain single, marry Regin himself, and keep the estate?

  Justified revenge and a passionate wife in one action.

  It was a heady combination.

  And it shuddered through him like an avalanche.

  *****

  Regin climbed the stairs to the bedchambers, not seeing anything in front of her and her feet moving by habit. Brander's words in the stable, 'I don't want to watch my brother marry you' said so much. And his urgent kisses shouted even more.

  She walked through the outer apartment into her bedchamber. She stood in the middle of the room, stared at the finished wedding bodice lying on her bed as if she had never seen it before, and wondered what in God's name she was going to do now.

  "My lady?" Marthe murmured.

  Regin didn't turn around. "I'm about to make a mistake, Marthe. A very big mistake."

  The maid appeared in front of her. "Mistake? What mistake?"

  Regin wagged her head slowly in disbelief. "I'm going to marry the wrong man."

  "Jarl?"

  "No." Regin's unfocused gaze gradually sharpened over Marthe's features. "Brander."

  Marthe gripped her arms and her nails pressed Regin's flesh sharply. "No. You're marrying Jarl the day after tomorrow."

  "No," she insisted. Her world felt watery and dreamlike, not solid and real. "I'm going to marry the wrong man."

  Marthe pressed her into a chair and brought her a cup of wine. "Lady, listen to me! Are you ill?"

  Regin sipped the wine. Her heart bashed her ribs so hard her hand shook. She let Marthe fuss over her while she examined her resolve and found it solid. She knew what she wanted. And what cost she was willing to pay to get it.

  It was time to find Brander.

  Regin hurried down the hallway and looked into every open door. Could he be on the servants' floor? No. Down the stairs. The Great Hall. The dining hall. Jarl in his study.

  "Jarl!" she blurted. "I'm sorry. Please excuse me." She backed out and pushed the door shut but he called to her.

  "Lady Regin? Is anything amiss?"

  She widened the door's opening and forced a smile. "No, Jarl. I was looking for Olvir. Have you seen him?"

  "He was with my father, I believe, in his apartment." Jarl walked toward her. "Is there something I might help you with?"

  Regin wagged a finger at her promised husband. "That is not a fair question to ask your bride two days before your wedding."

  "Oh!" Jarl backed up a step. Bewilderment claimed his expression.

  "It's a surprise." If she got what she wanted, there was no doubt that would be true.

  Jarl's expression leveled with relief. He gave her a tremulous grin. "Oh!"

  "No questions!" Regin backed out of the study, a complete and guilty dissembler. She whirled and walked through the main hall of the manor, trying every door.

  *****

  The light from the hallway was dim, but in the windowless chapel it still made Brander squint. He turned to see who had found him. When he saw Regin his pulse surged and roared in his ears. It was too soon. He hadn't decided.

  Regin pulled the door closed and the room was again dipped in ink. The single candle flickered with the brush of hallway air, then stilled. He couldn't see her mouth, it was too da
rk.

  She walked forward and sat on the bench beside him. She reached for the candlestick. She set it between them so her mouth was in its light. Even so, she moved her hands as she spoke.

  "I have something to tell you."

  He nodded, wary.

  "I love you."

  His shoulders slumped, pushed down by her lack of guile: No.

  "Yes." She inched forward. "I want to marry you instead of Jarl."

  No.

  She held up a hand to stop him. "Yes. I cannot marry your brother because I don't want to live without you."

  No.

  "I know I'll lose Kildahlshus. I don't care! I'm the only one left. I can't lose you. I'd rather live in your garret -- if you'll have me."

  Brander shook his head, thrilled and terrified. You don't know me, he warned.

  "I know enough. You are intelligent and educated and kind and honest."

  No.

  "You are! And you work hard and you aren't afraid." A shy smile crept past her urgency. "You're my hero, Brander."

  His head swirled with the irony and its tragic path: Regin, listen. I'm not those things.

  "Yes, you are."

  He gripped her shoulders and faced her straight on: I'm not your hero.

  "Brand--"

  He jumped to his feet: NO!

  Regin's jaw fell open and her cheeks hollowed. Even by candlelight she looked paler. "What are you hiding?"

  He scuttled his hand through his hair and shook his head. Disaster shadowed the chapel so thickly he could feel it.

  "Tell me."

  Regin.

  "What?"

  There is only one lien holder.

  "One lien holder? Is that what you said?"

  Yes.

  "Only one man is owed the entire five thousand one hundred and fifty dalers?"

  Yes.

  She stood to face him and asked past a jutted jaw. "Who?"

  He took her hands in his, hoping it might soften the pronouncement. Perhaps she would readily see how this might be advantageous to her own plan.

  She squeezed his hands, hard. "Who, Brander?"

  Me.

  She threw his hands aside with bone-rattling force and thrust the candle into his face. "What! How is that possible?"

  I paid all the creditors' liens.

  She turned away and the candle waved in front of her. When the realization hit, she spun to face him. "You live in a garret! How could you pay over five thousand dalers?"

  I had over five thousand dalers because I live in a garret.

  Regin jammed one fist on her hips, incredulous. The candlestick wobbled in her other fist. "So you saved money for eight years? For what purpose?"

  To buy my own estate.

  "Oh my Lord in Heaven..." She sank to the bench as if his words turned her knees to jelly.

  He sat as well and waited.

  Her eyes in the dark were huge and black. "What does that mean?"

  It means that I have the right to claim you as wife and your estate as mine.

  She recoiled. "You lied to me."

  He hesitated; he had no legitimate rejoinder.

  "You lied to me, Brander. About everything! Your name, your identity, and your purposes!"

  There was no explanation; her accusations were true: Yes.

  Her lips tugged down at the corners of her mouth. "Why?"

  I didn't know you.

  Her brow wrinkled with dark shadowy furrows. "And now what will you do?"

  That was the question he wrestled with unsuccessfully and he still didn't have the answer: I don't know.

  She huffed her disgust. He felt the heat of her angry breath on his cheek. Then she did something completely unexpected. She smiled. The sort of smile that shimmied up a man's spine and screamed warnings in his mind.

  She reached out and traced his lip seductively, throwing his remaining speck of composure completely out of kilter.

  "You can have me," she offered.

  Then her fingers pinched his lip painfully. "Or you can take me."

  When she let go of his lip he tasted blood.

  "Or..." She shrugged. "You can collect your money and leave me to your brother in peace."

  She gripped the candle and walked to the door. He turned to watch her. She paused with one hand on the handle and held the candle close to her face. She formed her words slowly and distinctly to be certain he understood.

  "You know my heart now, Brand. But be aware. If you choose to simply take me, I will never be yours."

  She puckered her lips and blew out the candle. The darkness was complete -- though his mind still saw her face clearly. A flash of light startled him and a feminine silhouette exited the chapel.

  He sat alone in the blackness, more confused than ever.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hansen Hall

  October 25, 1720

  Regin awoke on the day before her wedding feeling like a mudslide had buried her. For a moment she struggled to remember why. Then she recalled all of Brander's lies.

  Everything he told her was a fabrication, and that realization was crushing her.

  He and Niels sneaked onto her estate acting like creditors. He pretended to be Lord Olaf Olsen, the 'Discreet Gentleman of Discovery.' And all the while he corresponded with her about her economic concerns he was paying off Thorlak's debts for his own gain.

  She cringed when she thought of the intimate details they discussed about her marital bed. True -- his motive was her safety. But that didn't ease her current humiliation one whit.

  And when she sold herself as a wife to try and save her estate, he let her. Even when the offer was from the usurper of his birthright: his own brother. Another fact he concealed until they stood cold, ragged and starving in the entry of Hansen Hall and the horrifying truth slapped her across the face!

  She trusted him and that made her a fool. And she was an even bigger fool because she still desperately wanted him.

  Marthe prodded her out of bed and helped her dress. She stumbled down to the dining hall to break her fast, though fear over whom she might meet there had seized her appetite and hidden it out of reach. She didn't want to see Jarl -- whom she had cruelly misled -- nor Brander, whose multiple falsehoods were still shredding her disposition.

  And above all others, she cursed Thorlak whose imprudence put her in this situation to begin with.

  Both Jarl and Brander sat at the table making her nightmare complete. Regin refused to look at either of them and concentrated her attention on choosing the perfect sausage to complement her two soft-boiled eggs.

  "Good morn, Regin." Jarls' deep voice wrapped smoothly around her guilt. "Did you sleep well?"

  "Yes, thank you," she lied without turning around. She selected a raspberry tart. Finding nothing else she could pretend to eat, she steeled herself and moved to the end of the table. Brander was closer than Jarl so he jumped up and held her chair. She nodded her thanks.

  Brander sat back down and she was relieved to see his plate was empty. Hopefully he would leave the room soon. Jarl's plate was empty as well. Perhaps the brothers would leave her in peace. She cracked one of her eggs and spooned a bite.

  Jarl tapped Brander's hand with a fork and Brander turned away from her to face his brother. "The horses and tack will be ready for you today. But I still hope you'll stay for the wedding."

  Yes.

  Jarl's expression brightened. "Father will be happy. So am I."

  Brander shrugged. His intense gaze returned to Regin. I need to speak with you, he gestured.

  Does he understand you? she gestured in return.

  Not anymore.

  Jarl's expression grew brittle. "What are you saying?"

  "He wants to show me the horses," she fibbed. She faced Brander and motioned as she spoke. "Are you giving Jarl the two horses we brought from Christiania?"

  Yes. His mouth twisted with mirth: They'll make excellent dog food and glue.

  A laugh gusted from her at the unexpecte
d jest. "Dog food and glue!" she squeaked for Jarl's benefit.

  Jarl chuckled awkwardly. "Yes. Very amusing."

  Brander stood: Will you come now?

  Regin considered her barely touched meal: Yes.

  She asked Jarl to excuse her and followed Brander out of the room without waiting for a response. She sent a maid to retrieve her cloak and paced the entry waiting for the girl to reappear. Brander opened the front door and she stepped past him into the startlingly bright morning. They walked toward the stable and didn't attempt to converse. But she had nothing particularly kind to say to the big man anyway, so that was acceptable.

  Brander took her elbow and led her behind the stable and out of sight of the manor. Then he stopped and faced her. His mouth moved with his hands.

  I have something very important to say.

  She folded her arms over her chest. "I'm listening."

  I'm sorry about all the lies.

  She didn't say anything, but waited for him to continue.

  Niels and I needed a name we could share, you see? It helps with our discovery to be able to take turns being Lord Olsen because sometimes, Lord Olsen needs to hear and speak.

  Regin nodded reluctantly. He made a point.

  And I was already attempting to recover your husband's debts when you sent me your first letter.

  "How long?"

  Six months.

  "Oh." She motioned for him to continue.

  When you offered yourself for the estate, I didn't know you. I only knew that you were Thorlak Skogen's wife.

  She nodded a little and pondered his words.

  I did not set out to deceive you.

  "I accept your apology," she said abruptly. Why had he tucked her in a corner for this conversation? Just let it be finished. But he raked his fingers through his hair and worked his lips like he had something more to tell her. She decided to help him along or she might be standing behind the stable for hours. "What else did you want to say?"

  He gave her an awkward look: I never courted anyone.

  Rage simmered her blood. Her fingers curled into themselves and balled in a fist. She swung her arm wide to hit him as hard as she could, but he leaned away and she only grazed his shoulder. When she came around with the other hand, he caught her wrist and held it. The bemused expression on his handsome face might have made her laugh if she wasn't so furious.