"They were a magnificent sight. And I had the best of all of it. I had the most beautiful gowns and the most costly jewels. Your grandfather, Brienne, was a generous man. I know he would have loved you dearly."
"Mama, who is the man? Who is the one in your miniature?" Brienne leaned nearer to her mother, wanting so badly to hear the words, the words that would finally free her of a terrible past.
But before she had her answer, her mother's serenely beautiful face grimaced in helpless acceptance as a shadow fell from behind. Brienne hardly dared to look around, but when she summoned the courage, she turned and saw Oliver Morrow towering over them.'
"She is too young. Take me," her mother had pleaded.
"Where is my comb, my jewels?" Oliver Morrow had merely laughed, showing yellow teeth and lips that were much too large for his face.
"No! No!" Brienne had cried to her mother. "We will run again, Mama. We will run, and this time I will protect you!" Brienne got off the ground where they sat and took her mother by the hand. Together they both ran up the hill to the free-standing tower, where she had planned to hide. She saw that the earl was running after them. Quickly she shoved her mother into the tower.
A scream tore through the serenity of the Welsh seascape as she saw the earl magically appear on the bottom step inside the tower. Before the petrified wooden door slammed shut in front of her, she saw the earl pull her mother's jet black hair violently away from her beautiful face, saying the words, "Someday I will have you both."
"Mama, I will protect you, Mama!" Brienne tore at the rock-hard door with her fingernails until they bled. Mournful sounds came from the top of the tower, and she had to put her bloody hands to her ears to shut out the horrible sound. "I will protect you!" she sobbed helplessly.
But soon heavy footsteps were heard descending the tower stairs, and she pulled away from the door to run. She stumbled down the hill, panicked and sobbing, searching desperately for a place to hide. To her amazement, the cabinet from the Tudor house appeared, sitting starkly on the hill. She slid into the cabinet and hid in its darkness, praying that he would not be able to find her there.
She whimpered softly as footsteps approached. Her nerves twitched and whined in fear, but then thankfully she heard him walk away from the cabinet. In the ensuing quiet, she thought it safe to leave her hiding place and go to her mother. Opening the doors a tiny crack, she saw nothing but the sea, the sky, and the Castle tower on the hill. She opened wide the doors, but then with a terrifying jolt the earl's gray-bearded face loomed down from a great height above the cabinet. She let out a scream of pure terror as he grabbed her.
"Brienna love."
"I heard you walk away! I heard you walk away!" she screamed almost incoherently.
"You must wake up. Wake up, little one." Her shoulders were being shaken and her eyes flew open to see Avenel bending over her, wearing the same waistcoat and breeches he had worn at the ball. She was panting and perspiring, and when she looked down at herself, she saw that her night smock was soaked right through. Trembling, she looked out the windows of her room and saw the first dim light of a gloomy dawn.
"Oh," she moaned, "I've got to get out of here."
" Twas only a nightmare, my love." She looked up and found herself clutching at his white waistcoat. She dropped her shaking fists back down to the bed and accepted his hand as he softly stroked back her dark hair from her damp forehead.
"He's going to kill me, Avenel. He's going to kill me for being here. I have got to leave."
"And where would you go, wildflower? Your dinbych, your fortress, is in ruins and not fit for your return. I've had my men check and recheck for a long-lost aunt or cousin that might come to find you, but you seem to have none. In short, my love, no one has come to claim you, and you have nowhere to go."
"How can I stay? There is only torment for me here. You seem to know more and more about me every day, but still I know nothing about you. Nothing! How can I trust you if I know nothing about you? How can I trust that my father won't be able to—"
"Oliver Morrow is a dead man, Brienne. Believe me. Though he may still walk this earth, I have seen to it." His voice was as cold and unfeeling as she had ever heard it.
"I want to trust you. I don't know why, but I feel I must. Yet how can I when I know I'm the enemy?" she whispered to him. He was quiet for a long time and did not seem to be able to refute what she said. As his face became clearer in the early morning light, she saw how tired he appeared and how disheveled his clothes were.
He rubbed his unshaven jaw and distractedly ran a hand through his hair. " 'Tis been a long night, wildflower. I cannot answer so difficult a question for you now." On impulse she reached out to feel the scratchy stubble darkening his handsome face, and soon she found she had moved over enough in the bed to allow him to stretch out beside her. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and then she felt him hold her quietly, almost sadly in his arms, until they both fell asleep at dawn.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The first thing that met her eyes when Brienne awoke was the soft, dove-gray drizzle that hung on the Park outside her window. She had no idea what time of day it was, but she did feel rested, and her head, which had ached all night even in sleep, had ceased pounding. Turning away from the windows, she snuggled deeper into the bed linens, wondering how she could feel so happy and refreshed after such an awful evening. But when her eyes met the empty place beside her, the realization hit her. There was a distinct round impression in the other pillow, and Avenel's scent lingered on the fine, silken linens.
"So you are awake now, ma demoiselle." Brienne sat up in her bed at the sound of Vivie's voice. She watched as the little woman put down her sewing and got up from the settee, which was pulled up to a roaring, brisk fire. "You have slept well this day, n'est-cepas?" Vivie went to the Pembroke table and got the tray she had prepared for her.
"What time is it?" Brienne asked guiltily. She pushed her tangled mass of auburn hair away from her face and tried to get out of bed. But at the sudden movement the room started to sway; her head still felt the effects of the laudanum.
"Ah! You must stay where you are!" Vivie brought the tray to her bedside night table. She then scurried to get a comb for her hair. "Here, ma demoiselle. Let me take this out of your way." The maid untangled the burgundy knots, and soon Vivie had tamed the voluminous strands by putting Brienne's hair into a long plait. That task accomplished, she put the tray on the bed and poured out a steaming cup of chocolate for her mistress.
The hot liquid seemed to clear her head, and Brienne repeated her question. "What time is it? I know it must be late."
"It is past noon, but—"
"Past noon!" she exclaimed fretfully. "I cannot believe it!"
"You were in need of rest. You had a troubled night." Vivie shook her head ferociously and spewed out, "How dare that pig treat you so brutally! I hope the Monsieur has taught him to behave with more respect."
"Have you spoken to Avenel this morning?" Brienne asked, shying away from the answer.
"Briefly." Vivie lowered her eyes, and Brienne guessed that the little woman had come upon them when she had arrived for her duties.
"Yet you have heard what happened last night?" At the little maid's nod, she continued helplessly, "I never should have gone to the ball. I should have known the evening would come to no good. I was so ungainly there among all those wealthy people. I should have seen that it was only a matter of time before someone would take advantage of my lack of knowledge about social situations."
"Why should you speak like that, ma demoiselle? Avenel told me you've had a most noble upbringing. You have nothing but to look down your petite nose at those others."
"I may have a title, but I certainly lack the other accoutrements associated with the ton. Last night more than proved that. I was a dismal failure. I should have retired to my room after dinner. Then perhaps none of this would have happened."
"It was not a failure! For now you ca
n see that the Monsieur has feelings for you." Vivie looked over as two young girls entered the room and set up a bath by the fire. One was busy setting down a pile of white boiled linens, and the other poured hot water into the tub from a polished copper kettle.
"I will not allow myself to believe that, Vivie." Brienne rose from the bed and stood, holding on to the back of an armchair for balance.
"You must believe it, for he was with you all night long, refusing to leave your bedside until he saw that you slept comfortably. We heard the terrible nightmares, but it was he who comforted you, for he would allow no one else to do so. It is also rumored that he and the Lady Venetia are no longer speaking after her father's display. He cares for you very much." Vivie shooed the little girls out of the room when the tub was ready and started to help Brienne out of her night smock.
"You must not say such things. You must not even think such things," Brienne answered blackly. "Avenel must have had great hopes for Lady Venetia and what she could offer in a marriage—things I could never give. He may have been angered by her father's behavior last night, but should Avenel want Lady Venetia back, he shall blame me for his dissatisfaction." Brienne slipped into the silky water and felt its warmth take away the stiffness in her tense muscles. Leaning her head on the rim, she let her long braid hang down the back of the tub, looking like a red-haired Rapunzel. Brienne refused to take what Vivie said to heart. Even if her words were not wishful daydreams, it was unthinkable that she and Avenel could fall in love. It would be an impossibility, considering the circumstances.
"As you wish, my lady. I will speak of it no longer. But just because things are not identified by the tongue does not mean they do not exist." Vivie handed her a huge yellow bar of soap and went to the dressing room to get her a gown.
"Ouch!" Brienne sucked in her breath. She was looking at the angry red mark on her cheek from her ordeal the night before. It was still very tender to the touch. She-had tried to conceal it with some powder, but it contrasted too sharply with the unblemished, creamy skin of the rest of her face.
"The mark still shows. You cannot hide what happened." Vivie shook her head as Brienne powdered the mark. "Besides, the Monsieur does not forget. He will be angry all over again when he sees this." The French maid pointed to the welt.
"I don't want him angry. I don't want to think of the incident anymore." Brienne looked into her mirror with a frown. She looked at herself for a long while, concocting all sorts of schemes for hiding the ugly red bruise. A swift knock on her door made her abandon these thoughts temporarily, however, and she rose to answer it.
Standing penitently on the threshold of her door was Rose. Her red-rimmed blue eyes spoke of little sleep and many tears.
"Rose!" Brienne cried in surprise. She gathered her wits about her and bade her enter the room. Looking up, she saw Vivie quickly depart; she assumed the maid would reappear shortly with a tray of tea and cakes. Brienne asked Rose to be seated on the taffeta settee near the fire; she took one of the satinwood elbow chairs for herself.
"Won't you please sit on the settee with me, Lady Brienne?" Rose patted the empty seat next to her.
Brienne looked at her for several moments but then gladly did as Rose suggested, despite her new-found shyness with Avenel's cousin.
"Can I do anything for you, Rose? I am sure Vivie will be here soon with refreshments, but—"
"No, no, I have no need for that. What I am in need of is your forgiveness."
"My forgiveness?" Brienne asked in bewilderment. "Please don't concern yourself—"
"I must. I've become a heartless woman, one who has taken out her own hardships on an innocent girl."
"You have had your very life shattered in widowhood. And it's natural that you should blame me." Brienne looked guiltily down at her hands.
"He did that to you?" Rose asked tearfully, noticing the mark on Brienne's cheek. When Brienne nodded, Rose wept into the linen handkerchief stuffed into her fist.
"Please don't cry, Rose. It looks worse than it is. Truly, I hardly feel it at all. You were not to blame for last night. Why, anyone at all—"
"My husband, Christopher," Rose interrupted her. "He was the finest man alive. I know we must have seemed like children when we married. I was only sixteen, and he barely twenty. But I had known them all their lives, you see?"
"Them?" Brienne asked, feeling confused.
"He and Avenel. Christopher was Avenel's brother."
Hiding the shock of this revelation, Brienne allowed Rose to continue.
"What I am trying to tell you is that, although Christopher has been dead for so long and although our marriage was brief and done in the haste of youth, I will always remember him for his great kindness. He had a brutal and early death. Now I've shamed him by the way I've behaved toward you, especially last night." Rose sobbed her contrition.
"Please, you must not say such things. Your husband must have been very proud of you. He must have loved you very much, for I know both Cumberland and Avenel do. You're a goddess in their eyes, and they would not look upon you that way if you were not truly so wonderful." Brienne reached out and put her hand on the woman's shoulders, but then, remembering her place, she withdrew it. Starting on her own confession, she said, "I, in fact, am the one who should be seeking forgiveness. The man you loved was taken from you too early in this life. If it were not for the grievous wounds inflicted upon you by my father, then perhaps you would not be so unhappy, and I would not be here as a terrible reminder of what you have lost." Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced them back, not wanting to add to Rose's feelings of blame.
"You're a good woman, Brienne. From everything I have seen these past weeks, you've been without fault. Despite your heritage, I've wronged you by my behavior. I must admit that it has been hard to be cold when all you have offered is genuine friendship. And now if it is not too late, I would like to offer you my genuine friendship. That is, if you would be so generous to accept it." Rose looked at her with teary eyes. There was nothing but sincere feeling on her fair face, and when she stretched out her hand, Brienne found herself taking it; her own eyes brimmed with tears of unspeakable relief.
The two women spent the entire afternoon drinking tea and talking. There was so much Brienne wanted to know about Rose's husband, Avenel's brother, that she fairly burst with questions concerning the two men.
"So you are not only Avenel's cousin but his sister-in-law as well?"
Rose nodded. "We all three grew up together.-"
"In Maryland?"
"Yes. My parents both died of a fever before I was even two years old. So my aunt and uncle adopted me as their own. We three grew up together and were very close. It seems now that I always loved Christopher." Rose smiled at the memory. "Even as a child. He was so handsome and so brave. So much like Avenel is. But of course, there is a difference." Rose's eyes became shadowed. "Avenel has a hardness about him that Christopher never had. But he is still a charming rogue when he wants to be. I must warn you to watch out for him. Avenel has broken many a heart in his day, and I am afraid he could find yours pretty fine game."
"We can hardly hold a civil conversation as it is. I think my heart is pretty safe." Moving to pour another cup of tea from the silver pot, Brienne lowered her eyes from Rose's view. "How did you come about being here in England?"
"I was sent here after Christopher died. Avenel thought it best." Rose stopped talking and sipped her tea thoughtfully.
"I . . ." Brienne swallowed. Finally she was ready to ask what she had wanted to know since the very first day Avenel came to Osterley. "I know this may be painful for you. But could you tell me why all this has come about? Why does Avenel hate the earl so?"
"Do not ask me that, Brienne."
"Please tell me. I must know," Brienne persisted gently.
"I cannot tell you. Not because it is too painful to bring up; for despite the pain, it is on my mind constantly. It colors every activity of my day, as it does Aven
el's and Cumberland's. The reason I cannot tell you is that I have promised Avenel I would not. I cannot break my word to him."
"I see," Brienne said lamely.
"He has protected me and provided for me for twenty years now. His wishes must be my wishes. I cannot be so ungrateful. Do you understand?" Rose lifted benevolent, pleading eyes.
"Yes, I understand," Brienne answered wryly. "It seems that everyone here is in debt to him in some way or another." Her voice began to tremble.
"Do not despair! He has been kind to you, has he not?"
"He has been generous." Brienne smoothed out the rich plum-colored silk of her dress and relished its dusky softness. She looked up with a frown, however, and exclaimed, "But not knowing what is in store for me is hard to bear. What I have imagined must be far worse than the truth could ever be. Avenel has all but told me he will have his revenge." She searched Rose's face to see if she could trust her. Only when she was satisfied that she could did she say, "He is an angry man, Rose, as I'm sure you know. I'm afraid he will make me pay for what the earl has done to you both. Somehow I'm tied to his plan to humiliate Lord Oliver. I fear Avenel for this, but perhaps what is worse, I find I am drawn to him, and that will be my damnation." She laughed sadly and after a rather pregnant silence, she said, "It's like trying to gaze at the sun, is it not?"
Rose put a warm hand over her own trembling one. "He is not as fearsome as you believe. I know he has his moments, but his hatred is for the earl. You must try to forget all else.
His hatred is for the earl, Brienne," she repeated, "not for you."
"I hope above all else that that is so." Brienne looked up, and Rose patted her hand comfortingly.
"Leave the past behind you. I am trying to." Rose blushed. "Cumberland has provided ample diversion, I must say."
"I'm happy for you, Rose. I've wanted to tell you. I have a great fondness for Cumberland, and it's been heartening to see how happy you have made him."
Rose gave a youthful laugh. "He is a darling! I almost hope . . . no, I cannot say it, for then I shall be cursed!"
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