"Thank you, my lady. You are too gracious." He bowed and then said as he left, "We will dine in the breakfast room tonight, if that is all right with you. It's a smaller room, and I think it will be more suitable to both our temperaments."
"It sounds like a wonderful idea. I won't be long," she called to him and got up off the settee, feeling determined to have a pleasant evening.
She had just started to brush out her hair when Vivie came in with her freshly pressed dress. The two women chatted gaily about various things, but when Vivie mentioned Avenel's trip, Brienne once again grew quiet and thoughtful.
"He will be back before you realize it, ma demoiselle. " The little maid relaced her stays, which had become loosened during the day.
"It's none of my concern whether he comes or goes." Brienne tossed this off, trying to be light.
"I see. But perhaps you will change your mind when he returns. I am sure he will not come back empty handed," Vivie said mysteriously.
"He is bringing something back with him?" Brienne questioned. When the petite maid did not continue, her curiosity was roused. What was it? An awful thought occurred to her. Perhaps he was bringing back not something but someone. She ruled the earl out as a possibility after their conversation last night on Idle Dice. But then who else? Was it a woman? Was he going to humiliate her by parading her as his mistress in front of another woman—a woman he was courting? Was that what Vivie was speaking of? Brienne mentally shook herself. She was becoming obsessed. She concentrated on getting ready for dinner and refused to think of anything even remotely related to the master of Osterley.
"You are too lovely, my lady." Vivie smiled at her when she was ready to go downstairs. "Even that sad little dress cannot detract from your fairness. But perhaps we will get rid of it anyway."
"I'm afraid that by the time I can afford to buy another dress, this one will have so many holes it will resemble my polonaise." Brienne looked down at her tired violet wool gown and reminisced. "My mother had a wonderful gown once. It was woven entirely of silver threads. It had tarnished by the time she had to pan with it. There were enormous hoops, much like those of an old-fashioned farthingale; they were worn with it to hold out the material. Then everyone could see how it sparkled in the light. She must have been so beautiful. My mother was even presented at Court, you know. Of course, that was before she married . . ." Brienne looked up and gave a little laugh. "It's funny the things you remember from the past. None of them seems to have any meaning."
"They have meaning. It just takes time to know what it is," Vivie said affectionately. Then, eyeing the clock on the mantel, she said rapidly in French, "Now you must go! The poor Monsieur Cumberland will be on his third brandy by now!"
When Brienne found her way to the breakfast room, she was pleasantly suprised by the cozy atmosphere created by the cheerful fire. It was reflected in the two particularly fine Adam pier glasses. The room was small enough to allow the candlelight to be reflected, creating a magical glow not otherwise possible. She entered the room, and Cumberland jumped up to seat her in one of the lyre-back chairs, covered in delicate needlework.
"Feeling better, are we?" He sat opposite her at the old gateleg mahogany table that had been brought in from the passage.
"Much. I should check on Queenie in the morning, but Kelly told me she will recover quickly." She smiled as the footman filled her footed glass with a heavy claret.
"Wonderful to hear that. I don't like to see you so distressed by half. I wanted Slane to stick around, thinking he could cheer you up, but he felt he had to go."
Hearing Avenel's name, she calmly took from the planer that the footman held out for her, not caring what it was she put on her plate. As she picked at the food, she inquired, "He was planning this trip?"
"In a matter of speaking. You see, he has a cousin on his mother's side of the family in London. He felt it was time to pay her his respects, you see."
"I see." She took a hearty sip of her wine.
"I expect he'll be bringing her back with him. He mentioned something about a ball he wanted her to help him with. To get reacquainted with the gentry, as it were." Cumberland seemed to be enjoying his meal; he took large, vigorous bites of the sautéed prawns.
She found this news strange. "Reacquainted? I was not under the impression he had been acquainted at all. I thought you both had just arrived here in England." . "Ah yes, that's true. But . . . ah . . ." He nervously twitched his brow, searching for words. "Well, it's a long story and much too tedious for me to tell at this time of the evening." He gulped down Some claret and then abruptly said, "I think you will like Slane's cousin. Rose is a wonderful woman, as lovely as they come."
She saw Cumberland's eyes light up at the mention of the woman's name. "It's hard to think of Avenel as having relatives—especially nice ones." She knew she sounded bitter, but she couldn't help herself. If he had such a lovely cousin waiting for him in London, what was he doing at Osterley tormenting her?
But Cumberland merely laughed, finding her comment terribly amusing. "Yes, I suppose to you it does seem an impossibility. But she is a fine one, that Rose. I am sure that when you meet her you will agree. I expect you two ladies will get along famously."
"Yes. Especially when she learns that I am being held prisoner here. That should warm me to her heart." Brienne pushed away her food and stared angrily into her wineglass. An abysmal silence followed, and even Cumberland seemed to lose his appetite at her accusation.
"Listen, my child, you mustn't let yourself go on in this overwrought state."
"I cannot continue in this vein!" She pleaded with the elderly gentleman, "Can you at least tell me what he wants? Can't you tell me now so that I can give him—"
"I cannot. Do not ask me for that, because I cannot tell you anything without revealing what he has kept a dear secret." He reached over and took her smooth, young hand in his wrinkled one. "It's nothing as bad as you may fear."
"But he is living in a fantasy, thinking I can stay here indefinitely to wait for my father! It's pure folly. What will be the explanation for my presence here during all that time? His cousin is to arrive. What will he tell her? What can he tell her but that I am his mistress? And he will have to continue telling that story until it is so!" She stood up and walked over to the gilt pier glass and looked at herself. The girl who stared back looked tired. There were deep hollows in her cheeks, and her eyes had faint lavender smudges underneath them from worry. "But I tell you that will never be so. I will not be a man's plaything. I think it would be more pleasant to die first." She thought of the earl, and her mouth formed a grim, straight line.
"Do not say such things." There was heaviness in Cumberland's voice, and his guilt feelings were betrayed. '-It will not come to that. Avenel is not one to force himself upon a woman. He can be quite the gentleman if he wishes. And I know he has tried to see to your comfort."
"Yes, he has." Once again she felt cheated out of her anger. "It's just that something is going to snap." She faced him and looked directly into his aged, understanding eyes. "I'm aware of how my situation must appear to you both. I have nowhere to go. I admit I have no home. I must seem terribly pathetic and helpless to you both in my threadbare gowns, which I wear night after night, and my sad lack of funds. But yet I am not so helpless as to go blindly along with this game we are playing. I know something is being set up here. And I know I am the one who will receive all the punishment."
"You admit you have nowhere to go." He shook his head in bewilderment. "Is it not better then that you remain here, where you will be taken care of and looked after?"
"But for how long? Until this charade has ended? Then what?"
"It's impossible to tell you what will be then." He walked up to the glass and watched her, and his voice softened. "I realize that Avenel is a terrifying man. He is filled with anger and hatred toward your father. And for the time being, he cannot always separate you from the earl. The times when he
has been able to, he feels guilty—as if by accepting you as anything else but Oliver Morrow's daughter, he has betrayed his past and his purpose. But I also think that, given time, he could find you to be his salvation. He has a penchant for you, one that I have not seen in him before." He finished softly. "I know you better each day, my lady, and I know you could never resemble your father in any manner. As strange as this may sound, I think you can bring Avenel the peace he deserves."
"Tell me what he did," she whispered almost inaudibly. "What did the earl do? I want to understand this."
"It's not my story to tell." Cumberland backed away and placed his thumbs in his green brocade waistcoat. "But I would like to tell you this, if I may." He took a paternal stance and continued. "It is my wish that you try to be comfortable here, even if you have to take each day as it comes. That will be beneficial to all of us during these trying times. I cannot stand to see you so unbearably upset. Even if it is just to please a wizened old man, I hope that you could find this life agreeable enough to tolerate it, if only for a short amount of time."
She listened to him throughout his speech, and when he stopped speaking, she could not help but smile in a soft, affectionate way. He stood before her so anxious to please and yet so worried that she would not be. She actually got a feeling of what it must be like to have a father, one who absolutely doted on her.
"I suppose I can try, but only for a while," she said eventually. "I must say, it should be much easier if Avenel is to be gone for a few days." She gave a wry little laugh, and soon Cumberland joined in.
"I promise to make it as enjoyable as possible, my dear." He held out her seat for her to return to the table. "So for now let us both try to forget your situation here and relax! How does that sound?"
"I can promise at least to try," she said reluctantly. Reclaiming her seat, she suddenly wished fervently that Cumberland were the owner of Osterley. She let out a small, undetected sigh. How much simpler things would be then, without that flinty-eyed man now in London.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was the most wonderful time of her life. Before Avenel returned to Osterley Park, the winter sky held the promise of snow, but miraculously none came. It seemed that this winter, February's Nordic winds and tedious white landscapes were destined never to materialize. Although Brienne still had to dress in her heaviest worsted petticoats and jackets, it was possible for her to continue the walks about the ground that she enjoyed so much.
During one of these walks, she came upon the grounds- buildings that faced the lawn. The Temple of Pan, she had decided, would be the perfect place to read in blissful solitude. Entering another grounds building, the Doric Orangery, she found to her delight that a few neglected trees were making a brave attempt to blossom. The other trees sat in their jardinieres withered and dead, but they provided a perfect foil for the wispy, gentle white blossoms of the more hearty plants. Brienne breathed deeply, filling her nostrils with the mineral scent of cold soil, the burned fragrance of dried wood branches, and then the overriding, sweet fragrance of orange blossoms reaching their peak. Before she returned to the house later that afternoon, she made a decision to take the care of the trees herself. As long as she was being forced to stay at the park, she rationalized, she should have a respectable occupation to fill her time.
With her new hobby of keeping "springtime" astride at the Park, Brienne found that the days passed with wondrous speed. Her evenings, if not spent with Cumberland in the large, well-stocked library near the eating room, were whiled away quietly with Vivie in her room. The anxiety that had plagued her since her first encounter with Osterley's new master was less immediate now that Avenel was away in London. And this made her much more companionable. She and Vivie spent many an evening sharing reminiscences of their homes and their families, now so far away from them both. During their time together, they became more than servant and mistress; they became friends.
The memory of Avenel Slane and his dominating presence was becoming a dim specter in her mind. There were times when she forgot about him completely and failed to realize that his return was more likely with every passing day. Even now, as she walked through the frostbitten kitchen gardens to the neoclassical outbuildings, she was unaware of a procession that moved along the pebbled carriage drive at a dignified pace.
Her thoughts far from the goings-on at the front of the house, she walked over to the small Doric Temple of Pan and entered it through the unlocked door. There was a soft smile on her face as she peeked into the shabby, interior; her mind flooded with happy memories as she pictured her mother near her in the tiny, beautiful building. Brienne herself must have been only four years old at the time, and her memories of that day were just precious fragments in her mind. Unlike now, it had been a spring day, and the Doric building had been flooded with brilliant sunshine. The light had poured through the large eight-paned windows, and she and her mother had sat on brocade cushions as her mother read to her from a book.
Portraits of Sir Isaac Newton and Colen Campbell, the great architect, faced her as Brienne entered the doorway. She saw her mother pointing them out and telling her things about the studies of science and art. But now, more vivid than that image in her mind were the feelings that it aroused. Security, peacefulness, and the feeling of being loved were very strong in this little room. Brienne adored being there as her eyes feasted on the stuccoed elemental scroll frames of air, fire, earth, and water, and the medallion heads that represented spring, summer, autumn, and winter respectively.
She was drawn into the room. The servants, who had noted her penchant for the temple, kept it as warm as they could by attending to the small fireplace. Still, the floor was cold and dusty. But she piled the sadly faded brocade cushions upon it and sat as if it were once again springtime and not the gray middle of winter. With her body at ease, Brienne lifted her sweet, rose-colored lips, softly revealing a smile of remembrance. She had intended to read, but instead she pulled her loosely bound hair over her shoulder, took a thick plait into her hands, and untwisted it until it was undone. Feeling almost sleepy, she dropped her tresses from her hands and lay back on the cushions to gaze at the geometries on the ceiling; her deep burgundy hair cascaded around her face like the most expensive and rare of furs. Coaxed and caressed by the remembrance of better times, her eyelids soon grew too heavy to keep open. Though she knew the room was no place for a nap, she let out a soft, inaudible sigh and fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep.
Two tender, warm lips made their way across her bare throat, taking an excruciating amount of time to find their mark. Brienne felt the full force of them on her mouth. Not daring even to breathe lest she wake up from the sensations burning within her, she allowed her lips to part so that the magical beast before her could seek his pleasure further, thus increasing hers to an intoxicating level. In the fog between sleep and reality, she imagined she was being kissed by Pan himself, who had wandered in from the woodlands and was playing upon her as if she were his flute, made from the reeds that grew along the lake.
Much too soon the kiss was Over, and the warm mouth left her. She cried out to have it back, finding it as dear to her as the bread and wine that offered sustenance. But when her eyes opened, her cry quickly became one of alarm as she gazed up into Avenel's darkly lashed, cold, blue eyes. He laughed, in a slow, relaxed manner, showing strong, even teeth and a cleanshaven jaw. Moving down on her once again, he leaned on his elbows and took her head in both his hands.
"I have found a wood nymph, it would seem. Are you from the forest, or did you arise from one of the far meadows?" He bent to kiss her once more, but this time she refused to comply and pulled her head from his grasp.
"Must you steal upon me like this?"
Undaunted by her rejection, he once again took her head into his palms and gazed into her eyes.
"Tell me you have missed me, wildflower. I have missed you." He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her slightly retrousse nose.<
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"I find that hard to believe—and harder still to believe that you have not sated your desires in London."
"Desire is a strange thing." He rolled from her and also lay on his back, gazing toward the ceiling. "Sometimes 'tis a very difficult thing to appease."
"As long as it is with someone else." Brienne sat up and pulled her hair to one shoulder so that it would be more manageable. She started to stand when one strong arm grabbed her by the waist, and she was pulled on top of him with her hair nearly covering his starkly white linen shirt. There was a distinct hardening of flesh between his thighs as she lay on top of him, and even his doeskin breeches, her petticoats, and the front of her bum roll could not sufficiently hide his maleness.
"Is that your wish, little one? Was there not one night among these many that you did not long for a man's attention? Is your lovely body so untried that you are blind to the pleasures before you?"
"Please, I don't want you to hurt me," she said softly, hoping he would not be induced to go further. "It's shameful what you speak of." She looked at him with heavy-lidded, watchful eyes.
"Always the lady, despite your rags." He pushed his hips even more intimately against her and said, "There will be no forceful gestures, my lady. But if you desire a liaison, I can promise you pleasure beyond your wildest imaginings. And there will be no pain except that which must be sacrificed in order to begin."
"You speak like a fool! I know it to be different. It's a horrible, painful ordeal that must be suffered through. My mother ran from it, and she taught me to run from it. I will not succumb to your lovemaking." She gazed defiantly into his steely eyes, pursing her shapely lips as if to keep them from him.
" Tis understandable what your mother tried to avoid. But I do not believe she always ran away. There was one time when she wanted to be caught." As if in a trance, he palmed the long, auburn tresses hanging down from her shoulder, admiring their unusually rich color.
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