“Jessup, how is he doing? Is he in his rooms?”
“Welcome home, my lord. Yes, your father is in his chamber with your sister and Lady Estella. They are all anxiously awaiting your return.”
Taking the stairs two and three at a time, Brandon headed up. He paused just before his father’s door and ran both hands through his hair in hopes of putting it in some sort of order. He took a deep breath.
And then another.
How could his father be dying at only five and fifty years? Just a year ago, he’d been in his prime, healthy, active and living life to its fullest. It seemed he had decades yet to be upon the earth.
He knocked on the door.
“Enter.” It was his sister, Marie, who answered.
No sooner had he walked into the room than she ran to him, into his arms.
“I’m so glad you are here, Brandon. Father has been asking for you, waiting for you.”
He went to the bedside but before focusing on his father he gave an acknowledging nod to Estella.
He bent over the desiccated form of Silas Bradley, Viscount Brookfield, his father.
Only a year and his father had come to this withered shell of a man. Eyes once bright with energy now were sunken in a pale, wrinkled face.
“Father, I am returned. I came as soon as I received Marie’s note. Tell me how you are.” With a gentle touch, Brandon ran his fingertips along his father’s cold colorless cheek. His eyes fluttered, then opened.
“My son. My son. I thought you’d never get here. The pain is so much worse now. The doctor has increased the laudanum. I wanted to see you before . . . before . . .” His words drifted off as his frail, cold, stiff hand came to take Brandon’s from his cheek.
“I should not have gone, father. I’m sorry I have been gone so long.” He squeezed the withered hand he held.
“Nonsense. I sent you off. I was glad to do it too.” The cough that came halted his sentence. A wheeze followed the cough making Brandon wince at the pain he could hear in the inhalation.
When he regained control, his father said, “I will be better now for a while. I just needed to see you. Go. Wash up and rest. I need to rest too. Come back later and we will talk. I want to hear about the house party. Who you met. How is Asherton and his family? Go now. Come back later.”
Bending to kiss his father’s forehead, Brandon said, “All right, but only for a little while. I’m in great need of a bath, and dinner will be served soon after that. I’ll come dine with you here instead of the dining room.”
“Yes, yes. That will be fine. I must rest now.” His father dropped his hand and closed his eyes as he turned his head away.
Marie gave Brandon a sorrowful look as she nodded toward the door. Quietly, the three of them tiptoed out closing the door silently behind them.
Estella came to him and looked up into his face. “You look tired. You must have ridden with little rest.”
“As I told father, I left as soon as I received Marie’s message. I packed the barest of necessities and came by horseback. I only stopped to rest him. Simpson and my carriage will probably arrive tomorrow or the day after.
“You are looking well, Estella. Thank you for being here.”
“You know your father has been like my own these past six years. And Marie,” she reached out her hand to his sister, “is my very best friend. How could I not come to the aid of my second family?”
“Of course, I knew you would be here. And what of your brother? He is well?” Taking her by the elbow, they turned down the hall.
Estella reached for Marie. Tugged her along to join them.
“Come with us, Marie.” She slid her hand into the crook of her friend’s arm.
“I’ll have tea brought to the drawing room,” Marie said. “We can chat there.” They headed down the stairs to the first floor.
“William is just fine, Brandon. As you know, his second child is due any day now and Alice expects it to be a boy. The two of them are elated with the prospect.”
“But you have been spending most of your time here with Marie, have you not?”
The two ladies looked at each other with affection. “Of course,” Estella said. “I have. William and the entire staff are fluttering around Alice at our house. But Marie has been alone since you left. Here the servants walk softly and stay away from the sick room unless needed so as not to disturb your father. Marie needed someone who cared to talk to. Besides, we have been friends for so many years there is little she needs to tell me I cannot discern myself.” Estella squeezed her friend’s arm as they walked into the drawing room.
“I’ll just ring for tea.” Leaving their side, Marie went toward the bell pull.
After tea and a conversation that brought him up to date on his father’s condition, Brandon retired to his rooms. Looking into the mirror above his washstand, he could see the worry and weariness etched in his own face.
What should he do now? Did his father want him to marry Estella before he died? How could he do that after the last few days with Cilla?
After undressing, he eased his sore and tired body into the steaming tub of water that had been readied for his use. But it wasn’t long before his thoughts of Cilla drove him from the bath. Drying himself with a large Turkish towel then wrapping it around his hips, Brandon went to the secretary and pulled out quill, ink and a piece of foolscap.
My dearest Cilla . . .
Half an hour later, dressed and ready to dine with his father, Brandon went to the main floor to hand the note to Jessup. He gave orders to have it posted immediately. Hopefully, Cilla would still be at Asheville when it arrived. Maybe she would write him back and give him her home address in Northumberland so he could write to her directly.
He returned to his father’s rooms and pulled up a chair beside the bed. Studying his father’s sleeping face, he regretted all that had happened over the last year to sap his father’s vitality.
He tried not to regret his recent absence.
If he had not gone, he would not have met Cilla.
Cilla, and his feelings for her, had changed his life. Had changed everything.
But now he had new questions and new challenges.
What was he to do about Estella? About their betrothal and marriage? What were his father’s expectations before his death?
A quiet knock on the door preceded Jessup entering with a large tray.
“Good evening, my lord. I have brought up dinner for you and his lordship. Miss Marie said you would be eating here in his lordship’s rooms.”
“Thank you, Jessup. That is my plan.” He rose from his chair as the butler set down the tray on the tea table in front of the hearth.
“The broth is for his lordship, my lord. Miss Marie has been feeding him these last few days. He does not quite have the strength to do it, you see.”
“I will handle it, Jessup.”
With a bow, Jessup said, “As you wish, Lord Brandon,” and left the room.
Days passed in like manner. Brandon sat with his father most afternoons and evenings. The only break he took was to ride the estate in the mornings, weather permitting, followed by brief meetings with the overseer. At the moment, all was kept in order and there was little for him to do. How that would change after his father’s passing he did not know, nor did he spend much time thinking about it.
Two and a half months passed in such manner. Estella was there almost continuously and usually at Marie’s side. He had spoken to her at meals and while she was in the sick room but had spent little time with her alone. It seemed Estella had no desire to speak with him or nothing of note to say at present.
His father’s health continued to fail. Finally, while he was sitting next to him reading aloud, his father held up a pale hand. In a weak voice he said, “Stop,
Brandon. I think we have put off the necessary discussions long enough. I expected you to bring the matter up but it is obvious I must broach the subject and soon lest I die without it being settled.”
Brandon lifted his eyes from the pages of the book as he placed a marker then laid the closed volume on the bedside stand.
Bracing himself for the onslaught, he answered, “And what topic would that be, Father?”
“Marriage. I had expected you would have had the banns read and the preacher perform the service by now. I am getting no stronger. Have you discussed this with Estella?”
Brandon swallowed and looked his father in the eye. “No, Father, I have not. She has not mentioned the matter and you had not pushed. I simply let it go.”
“Are you planning to marry, Brandon?” The cough and wheeze that followed this question told Brandon he should not tax his father for long.
“You know I am.”
“Was it not Estella you had planned to wed?”
“You know it was.”
“But something has changed?”
“I cannot lie to you, Father. A great deal has changed.” He took a frail hand in his own and plunged into the abyss. “Let me ask you, Father. . . .”
“Anything, my son. Now is the time as there is little time left.”
“You and mother, it was an arranged marriage with no bonds of affection between you, was it not?”
“It was. The monies and titles required such be done. I did my duty as my father bade me.”
“But, if you had it to do all over again, would you do the same, Father? Or would you choose another path?”
“My son, that is a difficult question to answer. Should duty and honor count for naught?”
“Of course they count for much. But, all these years, you have spent here at the estate. Mother stays in town with few visits home. Even when Marie and I were younger she spent almost no time at all with the family. Would it not have been better to have a wife who was here for you? Even now, on your deathbed, Mother has not made her presence known. Is that not a disappointment?”
“Brandon, life is never so easy as to give us the things we would hope for. I hoped your mother and I would grow close. But she was for town and the social life. That was never something I could enjoy. I have always loved the country. When I was in town, I would count the days to return here, to the estate. For your mother, it was just the opposite. When she was here her temper would be stretched until she could return to town.”
“So you would claim your marriage unsuccessful?”
“On the contrary, the goal was to beget an heir which we did shortly after our wedding. Then we had Marie. After two children and almost five years in the country your mother could stand no more and moved back to town.”
“Was that enough for you, Father? Were you lonely? Did you not wish for a partner in life?”
“I had my share of liaisons, as did your mother.”
“But Father, you cannot tell me those were the same as loving the woman to whom you were leg-shackled.”
“No, son, it was not, could not be the same. So this is why you have not married Estella.”
“To be honest, Father, when I left to visit Asher I had no doubts I would return and wed Estella. But . . .”
“You have met another, someone who you feel is more important than to insure your line before I die?”
“Lady Rutherford could insure our line just as easily as Estella. And I would be spared the loneliness and emptiness you had to endure for more than thirty years. Must one suffer to do his or her duty? Estella does not give me the least impression she is so eager to wed me either. Maybe she had another in mind as well.”
“And this Lady Rutherford, would she have you, Brandon?”
“I have yet to ask her. I hope she would. She is widowed and free to remarry as she chooses.”
“Does she have children already by her deceased husband?”
“No.”
“How then do you think she is not barren, that she is able to provide you with an heir? Would it not be better to marry Estella, beget your heir, possibly a spare, then have this woman as your mistress. It’s common in town for widows to take lovers, is it not?”
Brandon tempered the rage and insult his father had thrown at him knowing his meaning was not vindictive, just protective. After all, his father didn’t know Cilla as he did. Nor did his father comprehend the feelings that roiled inside of Brandon. His father’s sole intent was the continuance of their line.
“Father, her husband was forty years her senior and impotent. In ten years of marriage, they never consummated their vows. Her ability to bear children is just as likely as Estella’s. After all, Estella has had no children either.”
“I would think not. She is a lady of good breeding and a virgin I am sure.”
“Well, then, since both women are of good breeding, both are as likely to carry my child, both are available to wed, would I not be happier for the many years a marriage shares to wed the one who speaks to duty, honor and to my heart as well?”
His father’s head fell back against the pillows, his eyes shut, his face slack with exhaustion and contemplation. “Brandon, I had no choice when I was in your position. There was no woman of the proper station whom I cared for so much I would marry her and do my duty as well. My heart was given to a country lass, not even the daughter of a country squire. My father would hold no consideration for such a match. How do I know this Lady Rutherford is of a station appropriate to your title?”
“Father, she is Asher’s younger sister and was married to a marquess.”
Silence ensued. Then his father asked, “And how will you tell Estella she is not to be your bride? It is my understanding she has every expectation you will honor your betrothal.”
“I know not but it will have to be done. If you will accept my choice and decision then Estella will have to do likewise. After all, it is to you I owe my first duty.”
“Then I will go to my grave, Brandon, hoping and praying your plan will work out as you desire. May Estella let you off with little temper and may Lady Rutherford accept you and bear you the sons and daughters our estates require and you deserve.”
Brandon squeezed his father’s hand then laid it on the counterpane. “I hope that is what my future will hold.”
Brandon was pacing the library when Estella answered his summons leaving the door ajar after she entered.
“My lord, you have need of me?”
She was always so distant with him, never rude, never unkind but never warm or friendly either. How could he ever countenance a marriage to Estella after his time spent with Cilla? Beyond their lovemaking there had been discussions and laughter. He could never remember laughing with Estella, even as children.
“Estella, I think my father is near his end and I feel we must come to terms at this juncture. Please, come sit down.” He waved toward a chair by the hearth as he leaned an elbow on the mantle.
Taking a seat in one of the green brocade bergère chairs Brandon indicated, Estella settled her skirts then looked up to him in expectation.
Brandon stifled a groan. He could tell from her solemn demeanor and expectant look she was anticipating the confirmation of their betrothal and the setting of the wedding date.
He was on the edge of the abyss and about to fall in. What if Cilla turned him down after he released Estella? What would he do then?
He girded his loins, took a deep breath and began.
“Estella, I know our families have had a certain understanding over these many years. And, until recently, it was my expectation this understanding would be solidified before my father’s passing. . . .”
Brandon could see the glimmer of doubt pass over Estella’s face, a wrinkle furrowed between her brows, her lips tu
rned slightly downward.
He continued, “However, there have been . . . I mean to say . . . You must know I feel . . .”
“Brandon, what is it you are trying to say? Is there some change of which I need be made aware?”
“Estella, I cannot marry you and wish to release you so you may choose someone else to make you happier than I ever could.”
“No!” Marie burst through the door and ran into the room. “Brandon, you cannot do this! You must marry Estella. You are betrothed to her. You promised. I need you to marry her.”
Brandon swung around to see his sister in a high state of agitation. Her face red, her eyes glaring, Marie held her hands in tight fists at her sides.
Estella rose from her chair then went to Marie to wrap her arms around her. Holding her close she rubbed her back then crooned, “Marie, wait just a moment. Do not react as yet. We need to hear more of what Brandon has to say.”
“I know what he has to say. I heard him speaking with father. He’s not going to marry you. He wants to marry some widow he met at Asher’s. He’s going to beg off and ruin all of our plans.”
Estella turned on Brandon, her face taut. “Is this true, my lord? Is this what you are trying to tell me? We are not to be wed? You are throwing me over for someone you just met and barely know?”
Brandon’s hands rose in front of him, outstretched and beseeching. “Estella, be honest. You have never been in love with me. In fact, you show almost no feelings for me whatsoever. You occupy yourself with Marie and spare hardly a glance for me. Why, if someone didn’t know better they would think . . .”
Brandon looked first at Estella, whose face was still tight, then to Marie who was now clinging to her friend, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The thought hit him like a brick, but the way the two young women were clinging to each other, the height of passion they were sharing, there could be no doubt.
His hands dropped to his sides as he tightened his fists and fought the anger and bile rising within him.
If Love Were Enough Page 15