His Brother's Bride (Historical Regency Romance)

by Rose Gordon

  “Oh, and will we be going somewhere tomorrow?”

  “I think that depends on how well you clean up.”

  She lifted her chin. “And if I don't reach your lofty expectations?”

  “Then we'll stay home and you can ride Lightning again.”

  ~Chapter Five~

  How she'd abide Henry Banks until she gained an “introduction” to his cousin Madison's husband, she didn't know. What she did know was that if he dared to send her back to the cottage to change her clothes or tell her she wasn't dressed well enough to do anything except ride Lightning, she'd...she'd...she didn't know what she'd do; but she wouldn't be happy about it.

  “I'm not sure you're presentable.”

  Laura snapped her eyes up to meet Henry's as he came toward her down the path. She frowned. “Is something not to your liking?” She fisted her hands in front of her. To her mind, nothing was more demeaning than being examined by a gentleman as if she were a piece of horseflesh he was considering purchasing.

  He nodded. “I'm afraid so.”

  Her frown deepened and she squeezed her hands so tightly that her fingers began to grow numb. “I'm not changing nothing.”

  “Very well, but don't blame me if Lightning bucks your frowning form off her back.” He crossed his arms. “Though I do admit it's better than the scowl you were wearing when I walked up.”

  Laura's face grew warm. “Oh.” She shot a quick glance down at the front of her best green muslin dress. It wasn't anything as beautiful or as eye-catching as the gowns she'd once worn, but it was the best she had.

  “Your dress is quite lovely,” Henry said; the tips of his ears pinkening in a way that told her far more than his words he was just trying to be polite.

  She wasn't in a position to reject his kindness, nor did she wish to question it; instead she chose to do what she always did when paid a false compliment: batted her eyes as if a swarm of flies were buzzing about and said, “Thank you, Mr. Banks.”

  “You might not be thanking me in a minute.”

  “And why is that?”

  “With no one else here to talk with, our options are limited.”

  “Limited?”

  His lips formed a thin, grim line and he nodded. “We can ride Thunder and Lightning again. We can go on a picnic down by the creek. Or we can go to Bath and help teach a group of illiterate bastards to read.”

  She nearly choked at his words. “I'm sorry, what?”

  “Illiterate bastards.” He shrugged. “There's a group of them in Bath who get together once a week to learn to read.”

  “I'm not sure I want any more information about that.”

  “What, the activity or their bastardy?”

  She pursed her lips. “Must you keep bandying that word about?”

  “What, bastard?”

  She ignored him. “Are there any other choices?”

  He shook his head. “No. I'm rather a dullard, didn't you know?”

  Despite herself, she grinned but didn't dare deny it, for there was no use in denying the truth. Elijah had always been the one to smile and laugh, while Henry sat quietly in the corner, scowling at her. “What of a trip to Gretna Green to get married, gathering the staff for a game of parlor games, or joining the local sewing circle?”

  “At least I was being serious with my suggestions.”

  “And so was I.”

  He quirked his brow. “Joining a sewing circle?”

  At least he hadn't remarked on her other suggestion. “Going to Bath to visit a group of illiterate...er...you know,” she challenged.

  “Bastards,” he supplied for her. “You can say it, bastard.”

  “I'll most certainly not say that!”

  “Why not?” His blue eyes danced with a laughter she'd never glimpsed before. “It's not a filthy word if used the right way. And in this instance, it's being used the right way.”

  She stared at him. What had gotten into him?

  “Say it,” he goaded. “Bastard.”

  “That's quite enough.”

  “I see your smile,” he teased, the left corner of his mouth tipping up. “You can't deny that you, the prim and proper Mrs. Swift, wants to say bastard.” He made a show of looking all around them. “I don't see anyone here to hear you. Go on, then.”

  “Sir, if you don't stop, it'll be you I call a...a....you know.”

  “A bastard?” He wagged a finger at her. “I'd be careful who you say that around here. My mama, while not the most social of ladies, would be hurt to the core to think anyone would question my parentage and her morals.”

  Laura rolled her eyes up to the heavens. “Has anyone ever told you that you're insufferable?”

  “Actually, yes,” he said with a quick grin. “But they were wrong.”

  She sputtered with laughter. “No, they weren't.”

  “Insufferable or not, you get to spend the day with me. Now what will it be? A ride atop one of the fastest mares in the shire—” he dropped his voice to a stage whisper— “just to be clear, that particular title was awarded more than fifteen years ago when they were a bit younger, but still, it's a title they are loath to relinquish—or a picnic?”

  “What of a tour of the estate?”

  He started. “I hadn't thought of that—”

  “Is that because you were afraid to rack your brain and hurt yourself?” She clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes went wide. An instant later, he lifted his hand and she clenched her eyes shut.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, as calm as could be.

  She opened one eye a sliver, just enough to peer out of and see where his hand was. Was he about to hit her for being so openly disrespectful or was he genuinely scratching his head? “I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me,” she mumbled against the hand that was still clamped over her mouth.

  “I do.” His long fingers encircled her hand and lowered it from her mouth back to her side. “You thought you were being a jester. Then you thought better of it.”

  Laura licked her lips. Was that it? Why didn't he hit her as Robbie had done every time she'd said something to cause him the slightest bit of embarrassment, whether intentionally or not? “I'm sorry. I'll try to be more mindful of what I say to you in the future.”

  A strange look came over his face, almost as if he wanted to say something, then he thought better of it and didn't. He kicked a stone with the toe of his boot. “As it would be, I didn't think to take you on a tour, because to me, there's nothing vastly interesting about Watson Estate. I grew up here. I've roamed over every inch of the fields and walked over every stone, board or patch of carpet inside. It never occurred to me that what I might find uninteresting as a result of my life here, you might find of interest.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  She took his arm and followed his lead. From beneath her lashes, she looked up at him. He was a very strange gentleman, indeed. Her first husband had always been in a temper, especially with her. Nothing she'd ever done was good enough. The only thing she was good for was the cotton plantation Robbie would inherit when her father died, since there were no male relatives to take precedence. A bitter taste filled her mouth at the memory of Robbie's sickening smile as he cruelly informed her that he'd only married her at his father's urging, because when her father passed, he'd inherit—and then sell—her father's cotton plantation. She hadn't realized when she'd awoken that morning, that after she'd spoken just a few simple words, she'd seal her fate; Robbie would inherit the land and Laura would inherit a hellish marriage.

  “These,” Henry said, bringing her back to the present, “are the front steps.”

  “I'm so glad you told me that,” she said, trying to keep her tone as serious as she could so not to seem as belligerent as she wanted to be.

  “No, you're not. But you will be.” He led her up the stairs. “See the five white columns?”

  How could she miss them? “Yes?”

  “Odd, because I only see four.”

 
She had the strangest urge to elbow him playfully, but wasn't sure how he'd react and decided to keep to herself. “All right, you're correct; there are only four. I must have been imagining the fifth.”

  “That or not really interested in our tour?”

  She studied his face. Was he actually trying to accuse her of something so childish as a means to get rid of her or was he having her on? His blank expression told her absolutely nothing. She opened her mouth to confirm that she was indeed interested, when he cut her off.

  “No matter; you asked for a tour of the house, and that's what you'll get.” He dropped his voice. “All of it.”

  A shiver ran up her spine. The only problem was she couldn't decide if it was a shiver borne of nervous excitement or a different type—one at being alone in certain rooms with Henry.

  She banished the thought instantly. It was neither of those possibilities. It was merely the slight chill in the air.

  And perhaps if she kept telling herself that, one day it might be true.

  ~Chapter Six~

  Henry wondered just when the butler would come in and announce it was time for him to wear a dunce cap.

  “This is the drawing room,” he said with as much excitement as he could muster. “We all draw together in here.”

  She sighed and walked to the middle of the room. It was clear she wasn't enjoying this tour any more than he was.

  He couldn't say why she didn't find it entertaining. She'd been the one who suggested they tour the grounds, and that's exactly what she was getting. As for him, he was at a loss of what to make of her. One minute, she seemed not to have a worry in the world what she said to him, and the next, she acted as if he might actually strike her. His gut clenched. He certainly found her annoying, but he'd never raise a hand to her or any other female, no matter how insolent they were. Perhaps what was most troubling was she thought that he might.

  He looked over at her as she examined the artwork on the back wall. Could it be possible she knew he was Henry, not Elijah, and that's why she feared him so?

  “Laura?”

  She started and turned to face him, her brows drawn. “Yes?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “We might want to go see some of the other rooms if we're to be through with our tour in time for our nightly dosage of gruel.”

  “Oh,” she said with a blush.

  He fisted his hands as he watched her walk across the room to him. He wanted so badly to assure her that she had nothing to fear from him, whether she believed him to be Elijah or himself. But what good would it do? A man's words were only as meaningful as his actions. He had to show her, and in the meantime, he'd just pray he didn't do something foolish to make her lose faith.

  “Would you care to see the bedchambers?”

  Her blush deepened, just as he'd hoped it would, cad that he was. “Very well.” He offered her his arm. “If you insist on seeing them, I shall show you.” He led her up the grand staircase and down the western hall. “This is my sister's room.” He opened the door and ushered her in, blinking at all the shades of pink and purple that assaulted his eyes. “I hope, for her husband's sake, she did not decorate their bedroom.”

  “Is there a problem with her chosen decorations?”

  “Yes. Too much frippery can emasculate a man faster than a sword,” he said, scowling.

  A smile spread her lips. “Surely not all men.”

  “No, I'm fairly certain this particular maxim applies to all men.” He shuddered. “You don't plan to decorate so tastelessly, do you?”

  She kept her eyes fixed on the bed and shook her head.

  He'd be a liar if he didn't admit a small measure of relief flooded him at her response. Last night she'd said she'd put everything away that had arrived with her, which he assumed was just clothes since he hadn't seen any new additions to his house, and implied that not all of her things had arrived yet. He just prayed whatever else was coming wasn't this ghastly.

  “Are you ready to see another room?”

  “Of course.”

  He debated which room to take her into next. He had no right to take her into Alex and Caroline's rooms or Mother's since all of them still lived here and used their rooms regularly. Edwina only used hers when she came to visit, so it was devoid of anything personal, except those dreadful bedclothes which he didn't doubt Sir Wallace had insisted she leave behind.

  He glanced at the door of Elijah's room, then to the door of his. He didn't like lying and considered opening the door to his room and letting her look around. There shouldn't be anything incriminating lying about. But that was the catch; there shouldn't be. That didn't mean that there wasn't and the possibility of her learning the truth and creating a scandal was too great to risk it.

  “This is my room,” he said evenly, opening the door to Elijah's room.

  She stepped in and looked around the room, presumably thinking the same thing as Henry: Elijah needed to mature a bit. Tomes from their days at Eton were stacked on the floor next to his small oak desk. All across the top of the desk, however, were papers. Some with Latin scrolled across them, others were blank or had rough drawings, none that were drawn recently, of course. Since becoming Agents of the Crown at eighteen, they'd spent very little time here. Usually it was only for days or weeks at a time until their next assignment came through.

  Henry arched his brow and idly shuffled through the drawings on Elijah's desk. He didn't have any great drawing ability, either, but neither had he even attempted it. His eye caught on a picture of what looked strangely like Amelia, Elijah's new bride. Below his lashes, Henry peeked over to Laura to see if she was also looking at it. She wasn't, or if she was, she gave no indication of it. Humming quietly, he straightened the stack of papers, pushing the image of Amelia to the bottom. “I didn't realize I'd left it so messy in here.”

  “Indeed,” she murmured, looking around the room. “But I'm sure you had no need to keep it straightened. It wasn't as if you were expecting to ever bring a young lady up here.”

  He nearly choked. “No. The only members of the opposite sex allowed in my room were the chambermaids, and only to clean while the door remained open, my mother, and on occasion, my sister, who would come in just to be a nuisance. Other than that, while it was every young gentleman's fantasy to take a young lady to his room, alas it never happened.” Even now, he could think of nothing more erotic than if they were in his room alone together. But they weren't.

  Her snort pulled him from his thoughts. “Why do I find that difficult to believe?”

  “Which part,” he asked; though he had a feeling he already knew the answer. He'd never actually met her first husband, but he'd heard enough gossip to know the man had a hard time controlling his primal urges.

  Laura ignored his question and picked up the ivory comb Elijah had placed on top of the hand mirror on his vanity. “Does being a twin ever bother you?”

  “You mean because people get us confused?”

  “I suppose there's that,” she conceded, running her fingers along the teeth of the comb. “But does it ever bother you that anyone who has shared intimacies with him has as good as seen you in the same context?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “She shared his bed, not mine. We may look alike, but I'm fairly certain we don't do everything alike”

  Pink stained her cheeks. “I know that physically it was him, but since you're twins... Never mind.”

  Henry gave her a sidelong glance. Surely there was something else to her question, but what it was or how to approach it, he didn't know. “Are you ready to see the dining room now?”

  Laura set down the comb and offered him a smile. “Yes, particularly if there will be something being served.”

  “No need to fret. There will be something served. Whether it's edible or not, is yet to be determined.”

  ~Chapter Seven~

  “What do you have planned for us to do today?”

  Henry offered her his arm. “Come along and you'll see.�
��

  Tentatively, she placed her hand on his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to a little red brick building with a glass ceiling that was positioned a few hundred yards southeast of the main house. “Where are we going?”

  “To the conservatory.”

  “Really?” Her face flushed at the way her voice had squeaked.

  He came to a halt. “Really.”

  She nearly laughed at the serious expression on his face. “You don't like the conservatory,” she ventured.

  “No.”

  “Then why are we going?” She had no idea why she'd asked that. She wanted to go and prayed he didn't take her question as a means to get out of going. She loved to look at all the different kinds of flowers one could grow in a conservatory.

  “Because my brother has written and asked me to check on his prized azaleas.” His lips curled in disgust.

  As did Laura's, “Why am I not surprised Henry can only think of his own pursuits while on a trip with his wife?”

  Henry bridled and Laura hid her grin. It wouldn't be nearly as much fun to say these things about him if he weren't pretending to be Elijah, and until he quit pretending to be Elijah and trying to scare her off by acting scandalous, she had no plans to stop telling him the truth. “Actually, it was my eldest brother, Alex,” he said stiffly. “You have yet to meet him. However, his wife has no problem whatsoever with him thinking about flowers and stars on their trips together. Those two are so much alike it's almost frightening.”

  Laura cocked her head to the side. “Do you have a fondness for your brother's wife?”

  A shadow crossed his face. “No.”

  “Yes, you do.” A small smile spread her lips. “You fancy your brother's wife.”

  “Not the one you think and not in the manner you think,” he muttered. He abruptly jerked open the door to the conservatory. “Here. Let's see to those azaleas.”

  She wanted so badly to prod him further about his tendre for his sister-in-law, but thought better of it and walked inside. “It's beautiful,” she breathed. All around her were vibrant colors: red, blue, green, purple, white, yellow, orange, in various shades and with flowers in different states of bloom.