by Meara Platt
He shook out of the thought and concentrated on the countryside, the white ground glistening under moonlight, and hills and trees that blended into darkness. They rode in silence until the de Wolfe home came into view, a stately, old castle that had retained all of its medieval charm. By the amber glow emanating from the many windows, Brynne knew that the castle had been improved with comforts necessary to render the place liveable.
He was immediately impressed as they entered. The entry hall was large and its stone walls were decorated with old tapestries and displays of battle armor, and yet there was something about this place that felt warm and inviting. Perhaps it was the sincere cheer with which the three of them were greeted by their host and hostess, Lord Maximillian de Wolfe and his wife, Lady Nicole, a pretty brunette with dark hazel eyes that had the same soft, accepting warmth as Lettie’s.
They appeared to be only a few years older than he and Lettie, and it was clear to even the most casual observer that theirs was a love match.
“At Christmas, this place will be a crush,” Lord de Wolfe, who currently held the title of Viscount Wrexham, explained. “We’re a much smaller party tonight, only fifty or so in attendance. But we are short one very important person tonight. Lady Frances, my father extends his sincere apologies, but his gout flared up again this afternoon and he is in terrible discomfort. He’s resting upstairs and won’t be joining us this evening.”
Frances allowed the viscount himself to assist her out of her fur. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear the earl is suffering. Do convey my wishes to him for a speedy recovery.”
“I will, of course.” The viscount then continued to boast about the castle and its enormous dining hall that could accommodate one hundred and fifty guests with ease. It wasn’t the sort of boast that was meant to belittle others he considered beneath his station. Quite the opposite, his words were delivered with pride and wonder that his family should be so fortunate to hold this exquisite property. “Do stop me at any time, for I will go on forever about this place unless you do.”
The viscountess laughed merrily. “And then our meal will grow cold and Cook will come after us with her meat cleaver for allowing all her hard work to go to waste. So you must stop right now, Wrexham, or our friends will never forgive us.”
Yes, she had the same unaffected sweetness that Lettie had. The two would become close confidantes, which gave Brynne much relief. Lettie would need a good friend, especially in the days and weeks immediately after he left.
The viscountess seemed to take to Lettie at once, chatting with her as though they’d known each other for years. She gave a little squeal when Lettie removed her fur and gave it over to the butler. “Lady Letitia, you are going to break several hearts tonight. You look exquisite in that gown. The ecru silk perfectly compliments your rose complexion.”
Ecru? Brynne had never heard of the color before. He hoped Lettie wasn’t going to test him on it later because he was going to forget that word - ecru - within five minutes.
Possibly three minutes.
“Thank you, Lady Wrexham.” She blushed.
Lord Wrexham grinned. “A deadly combination, beautiful and modest.” He shot Brynne a quizzical glance, as though to say, “What are you waiting for, you ass? Why haven’t you married her yet?”
Frances joined in the merriment. “I expect Lettie will have no less than three offers of marriage before this night is through.”
Brynne bridled.
After a moment, the viscount took him aside while the ladies remained speaking to the young viscountess. “I understand you’ve been researching the battle of Towton. My ancestors and those of my wife were notable participants. We have an extensive library here that I’ll gladly put at your disposal. You’re welcome to use it at any time.”
Brynne expressed his sincere appreciation. “But it’s really Lady Letitia who is determined to find out all she can. It isn’t so much the battle, but the families involved.” He stopped, not wishing to further discuss his family history or lack thereof.
“You know, Wrexham is a small place and there aren’t many secrets here. Lady Frances paid a call on us earlier today. Needless to say, we know everything.”
Brynne stifled a groan. “Then you know I’ll be leaving in a few days’ time.”
“Breaking Lady Letitia’s heart.” He grabbed two glasses filled with champagne off the tray of a passing servant and handed one to Brynne. “I love my wife deeply,” he said, “but I almost lost her because of my stubbornness. Fortunately, I came to my senses in time. Now, I can’t imagine my life without her.”
Brynne tried not to appear rude or impatient, but he wished the viscount would get to the point.
“Lady Letitia obviously loves you. And you don’t appear to be immune to her charms.”
“So why haven’t I claimed her for my own?” Brynne arched an eyebrow. “Did Lady Frances neglect to tell you of my parentage?”
He shook his head. “You are Lord Woodburne’s adoptive son.” He paused a moment and waited for Brynne’s response.
Brynne sighed. “That’s right. Adoptive, as in dumped at his doorway one wintery night. I have no idea who my parents are or why they didn’t want me. As for Lord Woodburne, he’s one of the finest men I know. But I’m not his heir and he never formally adopted me. But I owe him everything, for he saved my life that long ago night. I will never ask more of him. He raised me as his ward and educated me, showing far more generosity than he ever needed to.”
Lord Woodburne had taken him into his home when he could have tossed him into the stables to grow up to be a groomsman, or turned him over to the nearest orphanage... or simply left him on the doorstep to die.
Wrexham seemed genuinely distressed. “Forgive me. I’ve stupidly overstepped. I’m truly sorry if I’ve caused you any pain.”
Brynne took no offense. In truth he liked the viscount, and although he was reluctant at first to accept the invitation to visit his library tomorrow, he readily agreed. He knew Lettie would be delighted, not only because it was another resource for her hopeless search, but she seemed to like the cheerful and engaging viscountess very much.
The viscount and his wife had spent far too long with them and soon left to attend to other guests. Lettie went off with Frances to be introduced to more friends, but Brynne had been more shaken by his conversation with Wrexham than he was willing to let on. That conversation made him realize just how impossible his situation was.
Oh, he had brains and confidence and a good education now. He’d make his way in the world, of that he had no doubt. But it would be without Lettie, for daughters of earls married somebodies.
And he was a nobody.
After spending almost every waking moment of these past four days with Lettie, he felt surprisingly bereft when he was seated a good distance down the table from her. Of course, it was to be expected. They were seated according to rank. His dinner companions were quite pleasant, mostly prosperous local families with no aristocratic connections.
Lettie’s dinner companions, obviously sons of dukes and earls, were too busy ogling her chest to look higher and notice her beautiful face.
He’d have to break a nose or two if the louts didn’t start behaving themselves. As though sensing his menacing gaze, they finally did. That was worse, for once they really noticed Lettie, they were besotted. He wanted to break their noses anyway, but that was just his protective instincts acting up.
He supposed there was a healthy dose of possessiveness mixed in, too.
He silently chided himself for worrying about Lettie as he did. The girl knew how to take care of herself. She’d proved as much as the scrappy five year old who’d come to his rescue long ago.
After supper, instead of the men stealing away to have their port and the ladies going off to do whatever they did while the men drank, the viscountess invited everyone into the music room. She was an accomplished musician and graced with a lovely voice, so her guests were delighted when she offered to entertain t
hem with English and Scottish ballads.
Lettie sidled next to him, ignoring the noblemen who were besotted and could no longer bear to live without her. The urge to break bones subsided and he began to pity those men, for he understood what they were feeling.
He wasn’t certain Lettie understood what was happening, she was that inexperienced around men.
It didn’t stop her from breaking hearts though.
Mainly his.
She had never mastered the ability to look upon anyone with cool disdain, and kept shooting him private smiles as the viscountess sang of broken hearts and men dying in battle. “I have so much to tell you,” she whispered, leaning against his chest and immediately bringing his heart to a stop.
He edged away. “Tell me later.”
She nodded and returned her attention to the musical recital, but a moment later she leaned into him again. “I met two Berts tonight.”
Was she purposely trying to torture him?
“Hubert Rockville is a marquis. Norbert Leysdown is a viscount,” she said in a whisper, her shoulder once more molding to the curve of his chest. “But I didn’t like either of them. They’re not my Bertie. And I haven’t heard anything yet from Jeremiah. I was certain he’d give me another clue today.”
He eased away again and listened to Lady Wrexham’s next song, a more cheerful Scottish tune that others knew well and she invited all to join in. Which gave Lettie an opportunity to lean her shoulder against his chest, yet again. “I was so busy thinking of myself that I neglected to tell you how handsome you look tonight. The women were swooning over you. Miss Blair and Mrs. Blevin declared you the handsomest man they’d ever met. I heartily agreed.”
“Thank you, Lettie.” Was she ever going to pull away?
“You know what’s odd? My heart tugged when I saw you earlier in the parlor just before we left for this party. You were standing in shadow and looking up at the stars. Did you notice the sky? One half of it was clear as mountain water, filled with stars and a bright moon, while the other side of the sky was hidden under the cover of clouds.”
He nodded. “I did notice.”
“I wonder if it’s an omen. I think we’re getting closer, clearing away the clouds to your identity. I’m sure this is Jeremiah’s way of telling us to persevere, that we are getting close. You’ll see. When we leave tonight, the clouds will all be gone, chased away by the winds of truth.”
“Winds of truth? Seriously, Lettie?” He rocked back in his chair, not wishing to be cruel to her, but he hated seeing the hopeful look in her eyes when he knew there was no hope. “Did you have a chance to look at the de Wolfe portrait gallery?”
She nodded. “You’re purposely being mean to me, Brynne.”
“I’m not. But you know bloody well that not a single portrait among the twenty or so hanging on the walls resembled me. There are no winds of truth out there, Lettie. Just cold, bitter air.”
“We only had a quick look at them. You can’t tell. And there is too such a thing as the winds of truth. You’ll see. The clouds will be gone and we’ll have a clear, starry night.”
When the evening was over, Lettie charged outside ahead of him to look at the sky. She looked as if she were about to cry. “Oh, Brynne.”
He put a gentle hand on her slumped shoulders. The sky was covered in thick layers of clouds. “It’s just the weather, Lettie. Not an omen.”
Farewells were exchanged with their host and hostess who reminded them to come around tomorrow. Then their carriage was brought around and Lettie was once more swallowed up in the fur Frances had loaned her as she settled against the leather squabs. Now that the three of them were alone, they had the chance to exchange stories. “Lady Wrexham invited us to use their library,” she explained to Frances. “She suggested we go over there tomorrow and spend the day researching the de Wolfe records. Afterward, we’re invited to tea.”
Brynne nodded. “Her husband made me the same offer.”
Lettie continued to address Frances. “Do you mind if we abandon you tomorrow? We’ll return right after tea and help you put up the holiday decorations.”
Frances gave Lettie a quick hug. “I don’t mind at all. Most of the decoration are up, anyway. It’s only a matter of putting on the finishing touches. I will not feel abandoned in the least, for you and I shall have the rest of the month to spend together.”
“Thank you, Aunt Frances.” She gave her a quick hug in return before casting her attention on Brynne. “I hear that their son, also called Maximillian like the viscount, is a tiny terror. He’s only four years old, but Lady Wrexham claims that he’s aged her twenty years. She calls him Max the Terrible, and vows that if he doesn’t reform his ways by the age of five, she’s going to have his name officially changed to Ivan.”
Brynne’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’m not surprised. We’ve read enough accounts about the de Wolfe men and their fighting prowess to know they were fierce, brave warriors. Seems little Max will continue the proud family tradition.”
They fell silent as they approached Wolverton Grange. Lettie had spent the last twenty minutes looking out the window obviously praying for the sky to clear, and he had spent those same twenty minutes looking at Lettie beneath his hooded eyelids.
“Brynne, I think the clouds are thinning. They’ll be gone soon.”
That was Lettie, ever hopeful.
But the clouds actually thickened and a wet snow began to fall halfway into their journey, slowing their travel. However, they were close to town and managed to make it home with only a slight delay. Judging by the sudden wind and ferocity of the icy mix of rain and snow that now fell, Brynne knew they wouldn’t be going anywhere tomorrow.
When they reached Wolverton, he assisted Frances across the slippery few steps and returned for Lettie only after he’d gotten her aunt safely into the house. Even the few steps it took to get the ladies safely inside were treacherous, for the wintery mix stung their faces and blinded them with its howling force.
Brynne had just stepped inside with Lettie when she turned right back and poked her head out the door before the Wolverton butler could close it. “Brynne,” she shouted to be heard above the wind, “I’m sure it’s clearing up.”
He scooped her up by the waist and held her pinned against his side until the butler had securely fastened the door’s latch. “Stop looking for that omen, Lettie.”
“Never,” she vowed as he released her.
He shook his head and sighed. Lettie wanted so desperately for him to stay that she kept looking for miracles and was heartbroken when they didn’t happen.
But he’d never believed in miracles.
He wasn’t staying.
If anything, he planned to leave a day sooner.
He felt Lettie’s gaze on him, as though she sensed something was wrong. He returned her gaze with a steady, expressionless one of his own. He’d make tomorrow special for her. The storm wasn’t going to let up, so he and Lettie would be spending the day with Frances, helping her to decorate her home for the holidays.
He had to make tomorrow special for her.
It would be their last day together.
He was going to leave a day sooner than planned.
Lettie just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter 6
“Goodnight, dear ones,” Frances said, making her way to the stairs soon after they’d all entered the house. “I do hope this storm passes quickly. We’ve had such awful weather these past few weeks, one would think we’d angered the heavens!” As though to prove her point, a particularly strong gust rattled the windows with enough force to break them, or so it appeared to Brynne.
Frances paled and put a hand to her heart. “Goodness! They’re angry indeed! This mix of damp and cold isn’t doing much good for my old bones or my tender joints. They’re quite stiff and aching.”
“Shall I get you a warm compress?” Lettie offered, regarding Frances with concern.
“No, dear. I shall manage once I’m i
n bed. My maid knows to put a warming brick between the sheets. Its gentle heat should ease this old body of mine.” Another gust, even stronger, rattled the house. Frances glanced upward in alarm. “I’m glad we’re safely home. I hope the others made it safely to their homes as well.”
“I’m sure they did,” Brynne assured her. “Most guests left earlier than we, and none of them live very far from the de Wolfe estate.”
“You’re right, of course.” Frances smiled at him, hugged Lettie, and then climbed the stairs as fast as her tired legs would carry her.
Lettie stared after her until she disappeared from view and only then did she turn to Brynne. Her expression reminded him of an adorably confused kitten. She began to nibble her lower lip, causing it to swell lightly and flush. His heart caught in his throat as it had about a hundred times today. “What’s wrong? Are you worried about Frances?”
She also looked sexy as hell with that little pout to her lips, and her eyes were dusky with fatigue, giving her a ‘take me to bed’ look that shot his body temperature through the ceiling.
“I don’t understand,” she said softly, resting her hand upon the newel post, unaware of his turmoil.
He waited for her to continue, for she seemed to have something worrisome on her mind that she wished to talk through with him. She was obviously tired, contemplating whether or not to leave the discussion until morning while she headed upstairs to the warmth of her bed.
Brynne closed his eyes a moment and silently groaned as the image of Lettie in his bed, her red hair flowing over her pale shoulders, wearing nothing but a loosely draped sheet around her body, came to mind. “What don’t you understand, Lettie?”
Something was troubling her and he didn’t want her having bad dreams over it.
