Brandon had received a fulsome letter from his father expressing his surprise and joy to learn that his son, over the last five years, had performed exemplary service for king and country. Apparently, all was forgiven. But he still hoped, with increased enthusiasm, Brandon would marry the colonel’s daughter.
Brandon buried his cynicism. If he ever had a son, there would be no restrictions placed on his love, whatever the boy amounted to.
While the circumstances of Marston’s death were in no way similar to Freddie’s, Brandon admitted that something had changed him, that whatever had caused him to seek this dangerous work no longer drove him, and he’d come to accept that Willard was right. He should change his life. But not to set up a nursery with the colonel’s daughter.
Willard and his wife, Veronica, greeted him in their drawing room. “Welcome back, Brandon. Your time in Paris has been well served!” Willard said with unusual insouciance. “London has failed to turn on its best summer weather for you.”
Still strangely out of sorts, Brandon glanced at the rain lashing the windows. “No, but it is reliably unreliable.”
“You must enjoy the rest of the Season, before everyone retires to the country to escape the heat,” Mrs. Willard said. “My niece, Angela, has been asking where you’d got to. She is to perform again tonight.”
“I look forward to hearing her lovely voice again.” Brandon’s smile hid dismay. He enjoyed Miss Willard’s superb performance last time, and would again, but he wearied of society, after endless Paris soirees filled with clever repartee and flirtations which hadn’t captivated him like they once had. He had met several charming, beautiful women, but resisted any involvement. Perhaps he did need a change of scene. Cumbria must be nice this time of year. The thought of seeing Letty brought him alive.
“Shall we adjourn to the library?” Willard led the way to the door. “You can fill me in on the details. One learns so little from dispatches.
“The comtesse was in good health despite spending time in that wretched prison?” Willard asked as he poured the drinks.
“I encountered few difficulties. Nothing, should it be discovered, that would cause a diplomatic upset. The comtesse appeared to have been treated well by the guards who greatly respected her. She is soon to join her husband in Vienna.”
“What are your plans?” Willard rose to replenish their glasses after they’d covered the events on the Continent. He settled back in his chair.
“Sleep, ride, read some books, drink the best claret from my father’s cellars, and try to avoid my mother’s endless parade of young debutantes.”
“And then?”
“Not entirely sure, Fraser. I’ve given it some thought over the last few weeks. Buy a country property and become a farmer, perhaps.”
Willard’s eyes widened. “Sounds…bucolic.”
Brandon laughed. “Well, for part of the year, perhaps. But don’t ask me about the rest.”
Willard rose and picked up The Gazette on the desk. He folded the newspaper and handed it to Brandon. “I wonder if you’re aware of this?”
A small article circled in the Births, Deaths, and Weddings: Mr. Geoffrey John Verney, son of Squire Verney of Hawkshead Village, Cumbria, and Miss Letitia Eliza Lydia Bromley, daughter of Mr. Aubrey Charles Bromley, deceased, and Eliza Mary Bromley, deceased, and niece of Sylvester, Baron Bromley, have announced their engagement.
The force of his reaction shocked him. It almost brought him up from his chair. Aware that Willard watched him, he shrugged and drank more of the fine burgundy, its superior qualities failing to register. “I wish them happy. Letitia is a wonderful young woman.” He managed to sound casual, while his mind was in turmoil. He had feared this would happen, that a lovely girl like Letty would meet a man she wished to marry. But not so soon! To see the evidence stark and vivid in black and white newsprint caused his stomach to tighten.
“Yes, we thought so,” Willard said. “An exceptional young lady.” He brushed lint from his sleeve. “So, shall you be living alone in this country idyll? Or do you seek to find a wife to share this rustic life of yours?”
“No idea,” Brandon said, narrowing his eyes. Willard was going too far. “What makes you ask?”
“Miss Bromley’s uncle came to London a few weeks ago. It was necessary for him to be briefed about what occurred, although nothing more was revealed to him beyond Lady Arietta’s involvement. Decent fellow, a bit straight-laced as country parsons are, but he dropped a couple of things in conversation, which alerted me to Miss Bromley’s state of mind.”
“Oh?”
“Said she was depressed and unsettled. Both he and her aunt were concerned about her. The uncle doesn’t believe in modern ideas of marriage. He expressed the wish that she marry the squire’s son—and as you can see, she is about to. As the vicar pointed out, friendship forms the best basis for marriage. And they have been close friends since she came to Hawkeshead Village as a child. Although he did admit to being a little uneasy about her going off to London and showing no obvious signs of reluctance to leave Geoffrey.”
Brandon made no reply. He knew in his heart that Letty didn’t love this man. He remembered how dismissive she’d been when he’d asked her if she might marry Geoffrey. Nor had he forgotten their passionate farewell kiss. Was he clutching at straws to believe she was about to make a mistake? To settle for something she had not wanted.
There was no need to inquire the reason Willard revealed this to him. He suspected Mrs. Willard to be the driving force. Women loved a romance. “Perhaps the uncle is right, friendship is better than love, which can tread a rocky path,” Brandon said, preparing himself for the inevitable heartbreak.
“Dash it all, he isn’t right,” Willard protested. “For either of you. I don’t profess to know what went on between you two during that time you spent together unchaperoned, but I have eyes in my head. As does Veronica. Are you going to let the chance of love pass you by?”
Surprised, Brandon stared at his impassioned spymaster. He was usually so cool whilst dealing with matters of life and death. “My father is urging me to marry our neighbor, Colonel Smythe-Jones’s daughter.”
“I shouldn’t worry about Sir Richard. He will be content with Miss Bromley. A baron’s niece trumps a colonel’s daughter.”
“I can see you intend to press your argument. You won’t be happy until you see me settled. If it arises from some misplaced guilt, I beg you to give it up. Don’t think I’ve regretted the life I’ve lived since meeting you, Fraser. Have I not come out of it relatively unscathed?” At Willard’s scowl, Brandon shook his head with a smile. “Don’t look doubtful! To prove it to you, and prevent any further nudges from you or your charming wife, I shall visit Cumbria and discover for myself how Miss Bromley goes on.”
“Don’t leave it too long.” Willard ran a hand through his grey-streaked fair hair. “That announcement is two days old.”
“I shall go and wish her happy. Straight after the award ceremony, I’ll head north.”
Willard laughed. “I’ve trained you well, Brandon. You are first rate at hiding your feelings. You won’t admit to loving the girl, but I caught the excitement in your eyes. Haven’t seen that for a while. And never for a lady. I wish you luck!”
“Thank you, Willard,” Brandon said with a grin. “And please, thank Mrs. Willard for her concern.” If he got the chance to confess his love, Letty would be the first to hear it. If he wasn’t too late.
Brandon walked to his carriage with a heavy heart. Despite his outward insouciance, he admitted he was deeply in love with Letty. He tried to tamp down his raging impatience. If only he could leave immediately for Cumbria, but to insult the Regent by not appearing to receive his medal, would also permanently injure his relationship with his father. He was forced to face the unpalatable fact that his future happiness must remain uncertain.
Chapter Twenty-Three
If Letty had thought accepting Geoffrey’s proposal of marriage would bring her p
eace, she was wrong. She had not had a moment’s peace since. Now that the matter was settled with everyone busily discussing the ceremony and the wedding breakfast, her unease only grew. They weren’t often alone, but she must talk to him away from his parents and her uncle and aunt whose enthusiasm made it impossible for her to think clearly.
A week had passed, and she’d hardly slept, and knew she was not in her best looks as she set out for the squire’s, where Geoffrey was breaking in a new horse. Squire Verney organized the hunt for the local gentry and supplied many of the horses. He now left most of the work to his son, and Geoffrey was perfectly content with the arrangement.
While it would be wrong of her to be critical of his disinterest in the world beyond their village, she did not share his view. It upset her to realize she would never return to London. She’d just begun to find her feet in society and make some friends when she was forced to leave it.
Geoffrey would no more attend a London Season, than honeymoon in Paris, another city he’d expressed an abhorrence for. If she had changed, Geoffrey had not. He was like an immoveable rock. And the differences between them seemed to widen while her fears grew.
She found him in the paddock, holding a rope which was looped around the colt’s neck as the horse circled. He gently guided the animal which was young and unsure, but exhibited no fear of him. There was no violence in Geoffrey, she admired that about him. But he also lacked something that she felt she needed in a husband, the ability to laugh, and be a little outrageous, and not care so much what others thought of him. Because Geoffrey did. He cared very much for his parents’ approval. A fine thing, but taken to extreme she considered it a sign of weakness. An inability to take life by the throat and live it according to one’s own lights, and not others. He should have told his parents to go to the devil and married Anne Wilson years ago. He should now.
Letty sighed. She knew why she felt this way. It was Brandon. He had chosen his own path in life against much opposition. She smiled, recalling his wry humor in the face of trouble. He could be gentle, too. He’d protected her, cared for her. Her chest tightened, she really must stop thinking of him. It was unfair to Geoffrey to compare the two men, when they were so different, and both exceptional in their way. Brandon’s final words came back to her. Don’t make compromises, remember your great Aunt Lydia’s adventurous life.
She rested her arms on the rail as the awful realization struck her like a lightning bolt, making her tremble with distress. Even though she would never see Brandon again, she could not marry Geoffrey.
After traveling through barren moorland bordered by stone walls that seemed to march for miles, the landscape changed to mist-shrouded dells, and fells falling away to large bodies of water, while above in the mist, the mountains rose majestically. It was very beautiful, but all Brandon could think of was Letty. Was he too late? Would he have to offer his felicitations to the bride and groom?
Brandon arrived in Hawkshead Village in the late afternoon. A small pretty place of higgledy-piggledy houses and narrow lanes and squares, surrounded by green pastures dotted with cattle and sheep, known to be the childhood home of the poet, William Wordsworth.
He put up at the King’s Arms, a tidy, whitewashed two-story building with a slate roof and well run by the look of the patrons. Drawing the innkeeper into conversation, he was told that as there was to be a full moon this evening, a dance would be held at the church hall. People came from miles around to attend it. Brandon thought it likely that Letty would be there.
After he washed and changed into his blue coat and buff breeches, he partook of a good supper in the dining parlor, then walked up the hill toward the church spire rising above the trees. In the summer twilight, the air was crisper than London, fragrant with flowers and greenery. The church hall was alight with candles, chatter and laughter drifting out.
A foot on the step, Brandon paused. Might this be a ceremony of some kind, a celebration? The innkeeper would surely have warned him when he expressed his intention to attend it. He would hate to appear in the middle of a wedding breakfast or a pre-wedding celebration. Might it be preferable to wait until he could visit Letty at home? With an impatient shake of his head, he mounted the steps and strolled through the door.
It seemed as if every person in the long hall turned to observe him.
A fiddler and a pianist played a lively piece, a country dance in progress. A gentleman stared at him, lost his place, and trod on his partner’s foot. The lady was vociferous in her condemnation, but the man merely grinned and someone dancing past them chuckled.
Struck by how informal it was and how different to London, Brandon searched the room until he spied Letty where she sat talking to an older woman on one of the benches. She looked up, startled, and said something to the woman who peered at him curiously. Letty rose and made her way over to him, her cheeks pink, a question in her lovely brown eyes he was eager to answer.
He bowed, taking note of her dress, one he remembered she wore in London, and unlike a wedding gown, although he couldn’t be sure, because country weddings would be a different affair. “I came to offer you and your fiancé my best wishes,” he said, smiling down at her.
“That was very good of you.” Her gaze roamed his face as if learning every feature. “Such a long way to come.”
“Yes. Quite a tedious journey in fact,” he said with a smile. “Charming place though, once you get here.” He looked around. “Which one is Geoffrey? I must congratulate him.”
“Over there, the fair man in a brown coat. He is dancing with Miss Ann Wilson.”
“Oh? Why isn’t he dancing with his bride-to-be?”
Letty smiled and shrugged. “He might be, who knows?”
His breath quickened. Unfamiliar with the force of the emotion which gripped him, he struggled to retain his composure. “You and Geoffrey are not to be married?”
“No. We decided against it. I’ve behaved foolishly. Everyone thinks so.”
He took her hand. “Then we need to talk.”
He drew her toward the door.
“Mr. Cartwright, Brandon, you can’t just drag me off,” she said, half startled, half laughing. “Really, I am already the subject of much gossip.”
“I suspect you will always be the subject of gossip, Miss Bromley.” He led her down the steps.
Drawing her back out of sight of the window, he placed a hand on the wall on each side of her, in case she should choose to escape him. She made no attempt to, however.
“Let me look at you.” His gaze wandered from her shiny dark hair to her lovely eyes and soft lips.
She lowered her brows. “I look tired, I haven’t slept well since…”
“Since?”
“Since London.”
“Ah. Why is that?”
“You are not going to learn anything more from me, Brandon, until you tell me why you are here.”
“I think you know why I’m here.”
She flushed, and her eyes slid away from his. “How was Paris?”
“I will tell you about it…later.”
A troubled look crossed her face, which he feared might herald a crushing refusal.
“Before you’re sent on another mission?”
“No more missions. I’ve retired.” He searched her lovely brown eyes, watching them change from disbelief to hope to joy. “Do you want me, Letty?” He held his breath.
She gasped. “Oh, Brandon. I do, of course I do.”
“Then please say you will marry me.”
She breathed in sharply. “Yes, oh yes, my darling, of course I will marry you.” She smiled, tears in her eyes. “Even though you have not asked me properly.”
He grinned and eyed the muddy ground. “I could go down on one knee, but I shall present a sorry picture when I approach your uncle and ask for your hand with dirty breeches.”
Letty laughed. He remembered that laugh and felt as if he’d come home. His troubled world seemed to right itself. Willard was right, he’d
been extraordinarily slow witted.
He pulled the small jeweler’s box from his coat pocket and flipped it open with his thumb. The diamond sparkled in the light from the window above them. She gasped as he took her hand and threaded the ring onto her finger, pleased that he’d accurately guessed the size.
“It’s beautiful!” she murmured, holding it up before her. Her eyes met his warm and loving, sending heat rushing through his veins. “Is it a family piece?”
“No. Bought it in Paris. You see, this has not been a hasty decision, Letty.” Gazing down at her lovely face, he yearned to hold her tightly, to carry her off. Now, wouldn’t that be talked about in the village for years? Aware that her uncle might still disapprove of him, he restrained himself. Framing her face with his hands, he lowered his head to capture her lips. He drew away and gazed at her. “I love you, Letty.” The deuce! He had to kiss her again. He sighed and gathered her into his arms, lowering his head to kiss her deeply.
A rousing cheer came from above. Brandon looked up. Several faces were pressed to the window overhead, and more people peered out the door. “Kiss her again,” some fellow yelled.
“My goodness,” Letty murmured with a startled laugh, turning to look up.
“No objections there at least,” Brandon said with a grin.
“Perhaps not, but I’m more worried about what my uncle will say.”
“I remain hopeful he will agree to marry us.”
“Married here in his church? I would love that, but the bans must be read for three whole weeks.”
He cupped her chin with a thumb and forefinger. “I won’t wait that long,” he said huskily. He put a hand in his pocket and drew out the document. “Which is why I brought this with me.”
“What is it?”
“A special license. We can marry as soon as we wish, with your uncle’s blessing, I trust.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. How did you come by it?”
“Fraser Willard.”
He took her hand to lead her inside, but stopped before they reached the steps, reluctant to share her with the whole village just yet. “Willard is on good terms with His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who furnished me with this extremely useful document. Despite the notice of your engagement to Geoffrey in the newspaper, he and Mrs. Willard remained hopeful of our marriage. I think Willard expected me to fight your fiancé for your hand. Fortunately, I shan’t have to. Geoffrey looks quite fit,” he added with a laugh.
Presenting Miss Letitia Page 19
