Finding the Black Orchid : A Victorian Historical Romance (Brides of Scandal Book 3)

by Diana Bold

  Since he’d missed both breakfast and lunch, one of the servants directed him to a basket of fruit and pastries. He selected a shiny red apple, then headed out to the small garden he'd glimpsed from the dining room window.

  Though no longer in bloom, the flowerbeds were well tended. He followed a winding path and took a few deep breaths of the misty English air in an attempt to clear his head.

  Near the back wall, he came to an abrupt halt, enchanted. Jessalyn knelt on the ground, her skirts stained with mud, her golden head bent to her task as she planted a row of bulbs along the base of the brick wall.

  Ethan had come outside to be alone with his troubled thoughts, but he found himself unable to turn away. Despite all his misgivings, he couldn’t keep his distance.

  Jessalyn had always been easy to talk to. Though quite a bit younger than he and Christian, she'd always been wise beyond her years. He'd told her of his plans to travel the world long before he'd dared mention them to anyone else, even Christian.

  And she'd trusted him with her secrets as well. A melancholy smile curved his lips as he tossed his apple core over the wall.

  "Do you still dream of running away to join the circus, Jess?"

  Jessalyn flinched and pressed one grimy hand to her heart. "Ethan. You startled me."

  He took a seat on the stone bench beside her. "I'm sorry. I've been watching you for so long I thought you knew I was there."

  Her blue eyes widened, and she tried to scrub away the streak of dirt on her cheek. Unfortunately, her hand was so dirty she only made it worse. He hid a grin and wondered if he'd ever seen anything quite so adorable.

  "I thought you left with Christian." She sank back on her heels and gave him a suspicious stare. "What have you been doing all morning?"

  "I overslept," he admitted. "Bad dreams."

  Her expression softened, and she leaned forward to cover his hand with her own. "I'm sorry. Do you have them often?"

  "Often enough." She started to withdraw her hand, but he captured it with his. "You didn't answer my question."

  She laughed and shook her head. "The circus? I must have been about ten when I told you that. I can't believe you remember."

  "You wanted to escape Harding Hall. Nearly as much as I wanted to escape England."

  She extricated her hand from his, and her cheeks darkened with embarrassment. "Obviously, nothing has changed. I wanted away from Harding Hall so badly I ruined myself."

  "Ruined?" Ethan reached out and brushed the dirt from Jessalyn's cheek. "You're wiser, perhaps. Sadder. But not ruined, Jess. Don't ever think so."

  Her eyes welled with sudden tears, but she blinked them away. "Don't be nice to me. I can’t bear it."

  With a sigh, he let his hand fall away. He understood how hard it was to believe someone else understood your mistakes, especially when you hadn't forgiven yourself for making them in the first place.

  "Do you need any help with your bulbs?" A change of subject was definitely in order.

  She gave him a grateful glance. "That would be wonderful. But you'll get dirty."

  He smiled. "I've been dirty before."

  For a few moments, they worked in silence. He shook his head at the offer of a pair of gloves. The tactile, familiar texture of the damp earth between his fingers felt good.

  For the first time since Christian opened the door yesterday afternoon, some of the wildness churning inside him abated. Jessalyn soothed him. She always had.

  "I don't know why I'm doing this," she admitted as she dug another small hole. "I won’t be here to see them bloom."

  "Probably for the same reason I'm helping you. Because being out here with your hands in the dirt makes your problems recede for a little while."

  Their gazes caught and held, and a strange sort of kinship flared between them. Perhaps she’d understand the things that drove him if he ever opened up and told her about them.

  Not that he ever would. Some hurts went far too deep.

  As they worked quietly side by side in the garden for a half an hour or so, Jessalyn's gaze returned time and again to Ethan's hands, which were large and calloused, yet fine-boned and elegant. He worked the earth with a deft grace that stirred something deep inside her.

  His green eyes were hooded and weary, giving proof to his claim of a sleepless night, but the chiseled perfection of his features was still incredibly beautiful. She longed to cradle his face in her hands and kiss his cares away.

  Forcing away her foolish, dangerous thoughts, she tried and failed to remember what they'd been talking about. She was pleased he'd sought her out and flustered that he'd remembered the conversations of their youth.

  "Tulips must seem very bland to you, after collecting wild orchids in the jungle for so many years."

  “I like tulips.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, a wry curve to his lips. "It's so peaceful here, Jess. You can't imagine how nice it is to relax and enjoy the dirt between my fingers."

  She sighed. "I still think your travels sound terribly exciting."

  "Don't get me wrong," he clarified. "I don't regret a minute of it. But I missed England more than I realized."

  She thought of the scar on his wrist and wondered again what had happened to make him do such a thing. She wanted to ask but was afraid to ruin the tentative trust between them.

  "I'm glad you came home," she told him on impulse. "I've thought about you often over the years. Wondering where you were, hoping you were all right."

  He sat back on his heels and rested his dirty hands on his muscular thighs. His green eyes held some of the shadows of the day. "I don't know what to say."

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you that." She flushed and glanced away. Had she said too much?

  Why couldn’t she keep a single thought to herself? The next thing she knew, she'd confess the intense infatuation she'd had for him as a child. An infatuation that had stood the test of time, even though she’d allowed another man to break her heart.

  Hopeless love. Hopeless dreams. Her whole life had been defined by wanting things she could never have.

  Ethan leaned forward and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "No, Jess. Don't be sorry. I'm touched. Sometimes I felt as though Christian was the only one in the world who remembered I existed."

  Even if she'd known what to say to that, his touch would have rendered her speechless. She could only stare at him and wonder at the quirk of fate that had thrown them together again.

  He smiled and let his hand fall away. "I should go in and get cleaned up. Christian will be home soon, and we have a lot to talk about."

  She nodded. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time."

  "Don't be sorry," he admonished her again. "I haven't enjoyed anything this much in longer than I can remember."

  He gave her one last smile, then stood and left the garden. As he strode away, she buried her face in her hands. Of all the men in the world, why had Christian arranged for her to marry the one who was sure to break her heart even more thoroughly than James had?

  Chapter Seven

  Ethan was on his way back up to the house when Christian’s battered carriage arrived. Changing direction, Ethan intercepted his friend, curious to find out where he'd been all day.

  “Christian,” Ethan called, as he came up beside the vehicle. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.”

  "You needed the rest." As Christian stepped down from the vehicle, his eyes widened in surprise. "You look as though you’ve been rolling around in a pig sty."

  Ethan laughed and brushed some of the dirt from his knees. "I've been helping Jessalyn in the garden."

  A strange look flashed across Christian's face before he lowered his gaze. "It's good that you have something in common. Perhaps she can help you with the orchids."

  "Perhaps," Ethan replied, wondering at Christian's mood.

  Christian sighed and gestured toward the house. "Shall we go in? I need a drink."

  Ethan stopped to
take off his muddy boots in the back hall. By the time he reached the office, Christian had already downed a shot of his ever-present brandy.

  "Care to join me?" Christian asked, as he sank into the chair behind the desk.

  Ethan winced and shook his head. “No, thanks. I overindulged last night.”

  Christian leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling as though gathering his strength for something unpleasant.

  Ethan shifted and wondered what other bad news his friend had to impart.

  "I spent the morning with Julian." Christian’s abrupt statement put an end to the suspense. "I promised I'd let him know if I heard from you."

  Hurt and betrayal washed through him. He’d held on to the belief that Christian hadn't had anything to do with the letter he'd received from his brother, but his friend's confession destroyed his illusions.

  "The two of you plotted together to bring me back?"

  Christian averted his gaze. "I knew he'd written to you. We both wanted you to come home. There didn't seem to be any other way to accomplish it."

  Ethan pushed out of his chair and paced across the room. As he stared out the window at the garden, he fought the unmanly urge to cry. "All you needed to do was ask me yourself. You didn't have to involve Julian in your schemes."

  "You're right." Christian's voice was rough with emotion, but Ethan refused to be swayed. He felt used, manipulated. "But I saw this as a chance to make you listen to what your brother has to say. You need to talk to him. You'll never be at peace with your past until you do."

  Ethan’s hurt gave way to anger as he whirled to face his friend. "I am not your puppet, Christian! How dare you pull me this way and that as though I am?"

  "I'm sorry. You have every right to be furious, but please believe I had your best interests in mind."

  "My best interests?" Ethan gave a short, bitter laugh. "Everyone profits from this situation except me. Julian gets the opportunity to clear his conscience, and you get a husband for your sister."

  "You get a home," Christian interjected. "You finally get a family of your own."

  "A brother who once looked me in the eye and told me he hated me," Ethan scoffed. "A woman who'll never see me as anything but a friend. Another man’s child."

  "Just give them a chance," Christian pleaded. "All I'm asking is that you open your heart to the possibilities."

  "You're asking a hell of a lot more than that." Ethan sifted a hand through his hair in furious agitation. "You know how difficult it will be for me to face Julian. And being responsible for Jessalyn and her child, after what happened to Nathaniel and Elizabeth, terrifies me."

  "What happened to Nathaniel and Elizabeth was not your fault," Christian cried. "You have to accept that and move on with your life."

  "I don't have to do a goddamn thing," Ethan exploded, pushed beyond all reason. "I can wipe my hands of the entire lot of you and be on the next boat out of this godforsaken country."

  Defeated, Christian sank back in his chair. "Yes, you can. In fact, I really didn't expect anything else. You've always been best at running away."

  For some reason that taunt, though accurate, goaded Ethan more than anything else. He turned back to the window and clenched the sill until his knuckles turned white under the strain. The urge to run was tempered by the urge to stay and prove the bastard wrong.

  "Julian wants to arrange a meeting," Christian murmured, after a long silence. "He's desperate to see you."

  Ethan sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. "I’ll go see him eventually. All I need is a little more time to accustom myself to the idea."

  Christian stood, crossed the room, and squeezed Ethan's shoulder. "I’ll let him know you‘re not ready."

  Ethan shook his head and stepped away. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I have been running from it for too long."

  "Then you'll see him?" Christian’s pale eyes flooded with relief.

  "Yes," Ethan confirmed with a sigh. "I‘ll go see him tomorrow."

  * * * * *

  The next afternoon, Ethan found his brother in the billiard room at White's, the elite gentlemen's club that catered to those privileged few who possessed both wealth and breeding. Despite his pedigree and the fact that he was Christian’s guest, he was still a bit surprised when they let him in.

  He could have met with Julian at the family mansion on St James Square but preferred this first exchange to take place on neutral ground.

  He wasn't ready to go home in the literal sense. He doubted he ever would be.

  “There he is.” Christian gestured to a tall man on the other side of the billiard room. “Shall I tell him you’re here?”

  “Give me a minute.” On the way over, Ethan had been glad for Christian’s presence, but now he wished he’d come alone. If Julian said any of the things he feared, he’d rather they weren’t overheard. For a long moment, he stood in the doorway and watched his brother through a haze of cigar smoke.

  Julian took off his jacket and leaned across the billiard table in his shirtsleeves to concentrate on his shot. The years had been good to him. The slim youth of Ethan's memory had matured into a powerful, athletic-looking man.

  Ethan's heart lurched in his chest. Until this very moment, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed his brother. How much it bothered him that they were strangers.

  Julian's ball went wide of the pocket, and he gave an easy laugh. "You win again, Blake. Perhaps I should cut my losses and give up."

  His companion raised an amused brow. "Give up? You must be sick."

  “No.” Julian grinned. “I just can’t seem to concentrate. I’m seeing Jane this evening."

  Surprised to hear his brother sound so smitten, Ethan entered the room. From everything he'd gleaned over the years, he'd assumed Julian's upcoming marriage was as much for convenience as his own.

  Ethan skirted the billiard table and warily approached his brother. He should have planned his words in advance, because now that he was here, he had no idea what to say.

  “Can you wait a bit before rushing off to see your fiancée?” he finally managed lamely. “I’d hoped you might spare your long-lost brother a few moments."

  Julian froze and lifted his gaze. "Ethan," he breathed. "My God. I can't believe you actually came."

  Ethan gave an awkward shrug. "How could I not? I've waited my whole life for you to ask."

  Passing his pool stick to his bemused friend, Julian crossed the distance that separated them and gathered Ethan in a bone-crushing hug. Ethan tensed in startled confusion, then forced himself to relax and return the embrace.

  Never, not even in his wildest dreams, had he imagined such a welcome from his brother.

  Christian ushered Julian’s friend toward the bar to give Ethan and his brother some privacy.

  Julian pulled away and looked him up and down with a grin. "Christ. You've grown up, little brother."

  Ethan gave his brother a guarded smile. "So have you."

  "I didn't think I’d ever see you again," Julian admitted, sobering. "I've been an ass."

  Ethan shrugged, overwhelmed. "I understand why you said the things you did. You couldn’t have blamed me half as much as I blamed myself."

  "But it wasn't your fault. You were a child. And I was just parroting Father's words. We were all mad with grief."

  The mere thought of their father made Ethan's stomach churn with remembered fear and pain. His father had beaten him half to death after the accident.

  It was his father's voice Ethan heard in his nightmares, never Julian's.

  "Let's not talk about it." Ethan didn’t want to peel the scabs off wounds that were only half healed. "For now, it’s enough that you asked me to come, and I accepted. I'd rather think on the future than dwell on the past."

  “There's so much I need to say to you.” Julian frowned. "I think it would help you to hear it."

  Filled with sudden panic, Ethan shook his head. He couldn't bear to do this now, not when he was still
so confused, his emotions drained from Christian’s illness and the prospect of his own marriage. If his brother insisted upon digging up the skeletons of the past, he feared he’d lose whatever tenuous control he still possessed and completely fall apart.

  "I can't." He gave Julian a wary glance. "Just give me a little time. Let me get accustomed to the idea that you don't hate me."

  Julian closed his eyes, then nodded. "Of course. Take all the time you need. But just know that if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

  "Thanks, Julian. That means a lot."

  Julian gave him a cautious glance. "Do you feel any more comfortable talking about your marriage to Christian's sister?"

  Ethan laughed and shook his head. "Not really."

  Julian raised an eyebrow but let the subject drop. "Well, how about a drink and a game of billiards?”

  “I’d like that,” Ethan agreed, which was perhaps the biggest understatement of his life. “I’d like that a lot.”

  Several hours passed with pleasant swiftness. Christian and Julian’s friend, Dylan Blake, rejoined the brothers and the four men spent the entire afternoon smoking cigars, drinking fine whiskey, and playing billiards.

  They kept their conversation limited to neutral subjects, like Julian’s upcoming wedding and the imminent birth of Dylan’s first child. Ethan smiled and made all the correct responses, but inside he reeled from his brother’s genuine overtures of friendship.

  Deep down, he’d feared Julian only wanted him to return so he could cut the ties between them once and for all. Now he felt a terrible sense of loss for all the years they’d wasted. Years that could never be reclaimed.

  “I’d like you to come for dinner tonight,” Julian told him, as they stood beside the table waiting for Dylan to take his shot. “We have a lot of catching up to do, and I’m sure Jane is dying to see you.”

  Before he could answer, Christian doubled over, seized by another coughing fit. Ethan hurried to his side, helplessness washing over him as he watched his friend struggle for breath. He met his brother’s concerned gaze over Christian’s head. “Can you have our coach sent round?”