Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet

by Regina Jeffers

  “And you, Bran?” As she did their entire life, Eleanor challenged him to speak the truth.

  Despite any lingering qualms over their earlier conflict, Bran smiled when his sister’s chin rose in defiance. “I recall so fondly that same look right before you dared to jump from the ledge overlooking the west orchard.”

  “I should never have permitted you to provoke me into doing so.”

  He taunted, “Father caned me proper for not supervising my little sister.”

  “I broke my arm,” she accused.

  Bran took real pleasure in the remembrance of a young Eleanor. “You were so adventurous, Ella. No one could break your spirit.”

  “I would not say no one.” Bran watched as Ella’s countenance displayed a moment of pure pain. Automatically though, she withdrew. She had said too much, and, instinctively, her hand had come to her cheek to secret away her emotions.

  Surprised by the shift in her tone, Bran’s attention became uneasy. “What is it, Ella? Did someone hurt you? An unrequited love? Tell me who offered you an offense, and I will see to him. Even as Brantley Fowler, I am not without influence.”

  “No...no, Bran, nothing of the sort. My pain is at my own hands. I suppose I am only feeling the necessity of seeing Thorn Hall settled.”

  “What if I bought a house for you and Velvet?” He blurted out suddenly. “Not as grand as Thorn Hall, but large enough to meet your needs. It would be yours, Ella; I would deed it to you. Or better, yet, you two come and stay with Sonali and me. I would love that, and you know it would make my daughter very happy.”

  Ella reached for his hand, a lingering offense still evident. “I cannot, Bran. You know that. If Velvet and I were to leave, the news of your return would be evident, and the courts would thrust the dukedom on you. As you wish to protect me, I would see you protected also. Even if you refused the title, it would by law still be yours; then Thornhill would crumble into oblivion. I cannot bear to see that happen if there is any way to stop it.”

  Warily, Bran squeezed her hand. “I am not certain I can return to Thorn Hall; the remorse–the insufferable tyranny–is all I recall. I doubt the nightmares can be so easily assuaged.”

  “Thorn Hall knew its greatness too, Bran. Our father can no longer touch it. His hand cannot reach us from the grave.”

  “Can it not, Ella?” Bran looked scornful. “Every act–everything I have ever done–everything I do is to spite the former Duke of Thornhill.”

  “Then do one more–come home, Bran,” she whispered.

  The next morning, Bran handed her into the carriage displaying the ducal seal. They spoke no more of what she had asked. Ella realized her brother must return home to fight his own ghosts. God only knew she had battled invisible demons every day at Thorn Hall, but Eleanor disavowed everything else in her life besides saving the home her mother had created. If Bran did not claim the title, she would find another way. She had sold her soul to the devil once; she could do it again.

  Bran prompted, “Say your farewells to Aunt Ella.”

  “But why must she go, Papa?” Sonali’s little hand twisted in his.

  Bran swallowed hard, fighting back his own misgivings. “Aunt Ella has responsibilities of her own, Sweetheart.” As he said the words, his fingers caressed his sister’s cheek, trying to memorize Ella’s features.

  She turned her head to kiss his palm. Then Ella knelt to hug her niece. “You must take care of your father, Darling. He is the most remarkable of men; you are blessed to call him Papa.” She kissed the top of the girl’s head.

  “You will come to play with me again?” Sonali pleaded.

  “I will not promise, but I shall do everything possible to make it so.”

  Tears misted Eleanor’s eyes when she stood again. “I expect to be kept informed of my niece’s progress,” the reprimand implied in her tone.

  “I will find a way.” Bitter resolve colored his words.

  A long silence separated them. “Then you will not come to Thorn Hall? Your decision is final?” To his infinite regret, Ella withdrew into her aristocratic bearing, a rush of emotions playing across her face.

  Silence. Knowing he had disappointed her, Bran took a deep breath to steady his composure. “I resent what happened at Thorn Hall too much. My returning would mean I offered Father absolution for his sins. I cannot forgive or forget.”

  “I understand,” she murmured. “We all must do what is best for us.” Ella kissed his cheek. “You are adored as always, Brantley.” She turned, and he assisted her into the coach.

  Taking Sonali’s hand, he stepped back into the early morning shadows. The coach rolled away, taking his only family out of his life again.

  *

  Five days later a small package arrived with no directions written on the paper, but Bran knew instinctively it came from Ella. When Mr. Horace brought it to him on the silver salver with the rest of the posts, Bran placed it to the side, unable to share what his sister thought he might require. It was something from his past–something she had hoped would give him freedom from his decision. Instead of discovering Ella’s secret, Bran had opened the ledger to record the expenses associated with Miss Daisy’s rescue. Yet, he could not concentrate on the numbers. Sighing deeply, he picked up the small box, turning the small package over and over in his palm, using his fingers to roll it along the desk’s edge.

  “Papa.” His head snapped up to see his daughter standing in the open doorway. “May I show you my drawing?”

  “Certainly.” Only this precocious mix of mayhem and goodness brought him any true peace. He lifted Sonali to his lap and cradled her in his arms. “What do we have here?” Bran spread the crayon drawing on the desktop, smoothing out the edges with his fingers.

  “This is me with Luxman and Mrs. Carruthers with her books and you, Papa, with a horse.” The child pointed to each of them, taking time to describe the scribblings on the paper.

  “And this is?” Bran pointed to a black and blue splotch in the corner of the paper.

  “That is Mama in Heaven.” Sonali sounded as if Bran should have recognized the obvious.

  Bran tightened his embrace. “I wish Ashmita could have stayed with us; she would be very proud of you, my Love.” The girl’s arms snaked around his neck, and he kissed her tenderly. “May I keep this and put your drawing in my safe?”

  “Truly, Papa.”

  “Absolutely! I will count it among my most valuable belongings.”

  Sonali’s face lit with happiness. She turned in his arms to inspect the drawing once more, but the package caught her eye. “You have a present, Papa?”

  “I suspect it is from your Aunt Ella.” Bran shifted her weight and took the wrappings into his free hand.

  “May I open it, Papa?”

  “As I seem to lack the courage to do so, I would be indebted for your assistance, Child.”

  Sonali’s little fingers began to peel away tiny strips of the brown paper. Normally, Bran would rush to assist her, but today, the wait satisfied him. She pulled at the thin muslin cloth wrapped around two ovals. “Look, Papa,” she cried. “It is Aunt Ella.”

  Bran took the miniature, his fingers lovingly tracing the familiar features. “No, Sweetling, it is my mother when she was about Ella’s age. She was so beautiful.” Sonali followed her father’s example and let her little fingers lightly touch the small picture. “What is the other one?” he asked although Bran was reluctant to look away from this rendering.

  “Who is this, Papa?” Sonali handed him a second picture.

  Bran’s eyes fell on the girl he had left behind. He had forever wondered how her looks would change. When Eleanor was with him, he had wanted to ask, but he did not feel he had the right to such musings: He had chosen to take Ashmita as his wife; he had no right to think on anyone else. As he fought his way across the European continent, thoughts of this face’s sweet innocence–that of an elfin twelve-year-old girl–had kept him alive in tight situations. Many times he had chastised hi
mself: No one finds his soul mate at the age of eleven, but Brantley Fowler always believed he had. Velvet Aldridge was but six when a carriage accident took her parents, his mother’s cousin and his wife, and the girl had come to live with them at Thorn Hall. She had annoyed Bran by following him everywhere, even more so than did Ella; but he would often take to task anyone who tried to hurt her. Next to his mother and Ella, he cherished her most dearly.

  Now, in the miniature, he saw it–that same dreamy-eyed stare he had remembered, coal black hair arranged about her face and pulled sleek to expose the long curvature of her neck, and creamy shoulders exposed with the drop of the royal blue gown. Dark brows and lashes crowned the blue-violet eyes he once had loved to see laughing at the absurd things he did to make her happy. The sweet curve of her lips admitting she had found innocence and sensuality both amusing prospects. Bran realized his throat felt parched and his breathing had shallowed. Foolishly, he was feeling passion for the woman in the picture while holding his daughter on his knee. How ridiculous! But the blood continued to rush through his veins, and his heart pounded in his ears. Velvet! Dark and smooth like her name. Staring at the artist’s portrayal of the woman he once knew as a young girl, Bran suddenly realized why he thought Ashmita so beautiful on first sight. Ashmita was what he thought Velvet, as she aged, might resemble–onyx hair and petite figure, but as beautiful as his Ashmita was, her light flickered in the flame known as Velvet.

  “She is my cousin.” His voice sounded constricted even to him. “Her name is Velvet.”

  Sonali had never heard his voice so strained. “Are you well, Papa?”

  “Yes, Sweetheart,” he assured her with a kiss to her cheek. “It has been many years since I last saw my cousin. I did not realize until this moment how much I missed her.”

  *

  Eleanor watched in disgust as her cousin Horton Leighton stuffed another small cake into his mouth. It was, at least, his tenth one. He was in residence at Thorn Hall when she had returned from Cornwall, establishing himself in the neighborhood as the rightful heir in Bran’s absence. Watching him lick his fingers and hearing him smack his lips made her want to scream at the injustice, but she had promised Bran not to betray his whereabouts, and she would never put her brother nor her niece in a position to flee England.

  At age five and forty, Horton Leighton lived the life of the English aristocracy. More than a bit overweight, Leighton rarely walked away from food or drink, and he suffered from gout because of his gluttony and lack of exercise. His jowls jiggled as he spoke, giving the impression of an English bulldog lapping at his water bowl. She watched Leighton’s beady eyes dart about the room as if mentally assessing each item’s value.

  “Really, Eleanor, I will see to your care once I am named the duke. I could never turn away a cousin of your merit. You may choose. I will finance a Season so you might make an appropriate match. Mr. Overly, my solicitor, informs me your dear mother, may she rest in peace, left money not entailed in the estate as a dowry for you. Or, you may stay at Thorn Hall if you wish. It is my intention to claim our cousin Miss Aldridge as the mistress of this household. As we are first cousins, no such offer may be extended to you, but Miss Aldridge has lived on the estate long enough to hold an affinity for it, and she must see the sensibility of becoming my duchess.”

  Eleanor fought the urge to shiver in revolt. Her demeanor, schooled by many years under her father’s absolute power, relayed nothing of her loathing. “It is possible, Cousin, that Velvet may choose to become an independent woman.” She and Velvet had spent many hours weighing their options since the former duke’s passing.

  “Nonsense,” Leighton declined her warning. “Miss Aldridge is too sensible to place herself outside of my protection. Why would any woman refuse the title and this estate for a life as a governess or a schoolteacher? If Miss Aldridge walks away from Thorn Hall, her best possibility would be a union with a wealthy merchant or man of no merit. Her father’s family has offered no support in her name.”

  “I would not wish to stay at Thorn Hall without Velvet,” Eleanor added.

  Leighton reached for the last of the cakes. “Of course, not.” He popped it into his mouth, chewed only twice and then swallowed the petite square whole. “Yet, you may also choose to remain as a companion to my dear mother. She adores you, Eleanor.”

  Over my dead body, she thought, but she said, “That is most kind.”

  “You are a respectable young lady, Eleanor, and I am proud to call you my cousin.” Leighton lowered his gout-infected leg from the footstool. “Plus, I would welcome your insights, at least, initially. I am well aware you have overseen the household in your father’s last years. It is an aberration that a woman was placed in such a position. Brantley’s defection affects us all. The transition could have been smoother if we had not spent the last half-year in an attempt to find your rogue brother. The duke should have disowned him the day Brantley walked away from his family.”

  Eleanor nearly laughed out loud. The irony of how easily she had found Bran when paid detectives could not was hard to conceal. “Then you have received no word of Brantley?”

  “We know he was on the Peninsula during the wars, but my reports show nothing after that time. Your brother’s trail disappeared. We suspect he is buried in one of the many unmarked graves left after the conflict. An appropriate ending for a man who forgot his family responsibilities so easily.”

  Eleanor bristled with her cousin’s words. She might not approve of Bran’s actions, but she could not fault him for wanting to escape the madness once found behind these walls. However, before she could respond the sound of carriages arriving in the curve of the graveled drive broke into their conversation. “Who might that be?” Immediately, she stood and moved where she might observe the visitor’s arrival.

  Leighton moved up behind her to peer over her shoulder. “No livery,” he mumbled. “Someone of no consequence.”

  Eleanor’s heart leapt with hope. Her prayer answered, she moved past her cousin, needing to prove herself correct. “Let us see just the same.” Rushing from the room, she turned to the main door. “Hurry, Mr. Jordan,” she ushered everyone into place as a footman opened the door for her, with Leighton trailing well behind. Reaching the main steps, Eleanor paused about halfway down and waited for another footman to let down the coaches’ steps. From the first, Brantley Fowler unfolded his large frame from the carriage’s constraints. From the second, Eleanor saw Mrs. Carruthers assist Sonali to debark.

  As soon as the child’s feet touched the ground, her head turned to where Eleanor stood. Immediately, she was at a run, arms spread, and Eleanor scampered to greet her. “Aunt Ella,” she laughed, “we came to find you.”

  Lifting the child to her, Eleanor spun her in complete abandon. “I never was so happy to see anyone.”

  Bran joined the two of them at the bottom of the main steps. “You do not play fair, Ella,” he teased as he lifted her hand to his lips.

  “That would be your fault, Bran. You taught me everything I know.” Their eyes met and held–a new understanding flashing between them. “Thank you,” she mouthed as she took his proffered arm.

  “Welcome home, Your Grace,” Mr. Jordan executed a proper bow. “The staff will be elated.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jordan.” He handed his hat and cane to the man. “I apologize for no notice of my return. Hopefully, I will not strain your resources.”

  Mr. Jordan blustered, “I assure you, Your Grace, any inconvenience is secondary to the joy of seeing you with Lady Eleanor.”

  “Obviously, I need the nursery opened and the school room. This is my daughter Miss Sonali and her caretaker Mrs. Carruthers.” Used to commanding his own staff, Bran did not falter.

  “Instantly, Sir.” Jordan snapped his fingers and two maids rushed away to do Bran’s bidding. “I will have your luggage placed in the Master’s room.”

  “No!” Bran’s emphatic denial rang through the hall; yet, he forced a smile to his face and
calmed his tone. “If I might, I wish to establish myself in the other wing.”

  “Of course, Sir. Please join Lady Eleanor in the drawing room. I will send in refreshments while we prepare your rooms.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jordan.” The man bowed, whispering urgent orders to various staff members before making his exit.

  “Are there cakes, Aunt Ella?” Sonali still rested against her shoulder.

  Eleanor shot a quick glance at her cousin standing red-faced and confused. All his plans had suddenly vanished. “I believe we need to send for fresh cakes, Darling, but Cook will be happy to have a child in the house. Your papa often snuck off to the kitchen for Cook’s chocolate tarts.” She placed the girl on her feet. “Let me show you your papa’s new home, Sonali.”

  Chapter 3

  At the drawing room door, Bran purposely turned to his flustering cousin. “Cousin Horton,” he called. “Forgive me. With all the excitement of seeing Eleanor and being at Thorn Hall, I did not notice you there. Are you staying with us, Horton?” Bran knew exactly why Horton Leighton was in residence. Even if it were not already obvious from what Ella had told him, Bran would know. In Cornwall a week ago as he had sat staring at the likenesses of his mother and of the woman he had once thought to be his destiny, he made the impetuous decision to return to his past. At that moment, he had sent out inquiries on the true status of what would now be his title. “Well, come in, Leighton,” he ordered. “It has been a decade since I have seen you. Tell me how goes everything in Hampshire?” He ushered the man into the room ahead of him.

  Away from the staff’s ears, Bran closed the door behind them. Mrs. Carruthers took Sonali to the far corner to entertain the child while the cousins spoke. “Please, everyone, have a seat.” Eleanor gestured to a cluster of chairs.

  Finally seated in close proximity to one another, Leighton turned immediately on Eleanor. “You knew,” he hissed.