*
Mr. Colenfield, the estate’s steward, squirmed under Bran’s close scrutiny. Brantley Fowler wanted information on his father. “It appears, Colenfield, that you understand how to competently run an estate. However, I do not comprehend how we have ignored some vital repairs and improvements. Do you have an explanation, Sir?” Actually, Bran already held his own opinions as to what had gone on within the Thorn Hall’s confines.
“I...I have...I have no idea of what you speak, Your Grace.”
Bran’s impetuous nature snapped. Velvet’s accident and her resistance to the idea of a Season both bothered him in a way he could not define; therefore, his temper rested on a short fuse. “I might suggest you conjure some sort of idea, Colenfield, unless you seek new employment. I do not relish half truths.”
Colenfield looked furtively about the room, considering methods of escape. “May I...may I be completely honest, Your Grace?”
Bran fought a sigh of exasperation. “Did I not just say so?”
“Of course...of course.” Colenfield swallowed his fears. “I cannot speak of problems without belying your esteemed father.” The man bent and unbent the brim of his hat.
The idea of anyone considering the late duke as esteemed was comical. Bran long ago had lost his respect for the man. “Even if you must speak ill of the dead, I insist; I wish the truth.”
“Very well, Your Grace. Although the former duke made a point of maintaining the house and lands as a symbol of his dukedom, in the last decade, but specifically in the last six or seven years, instead of reinvesting the profits, your father converted much of his immediate wealth into his new found interests.”
“I am afraid, Sir, I still do not understand. What type of new found interests?”
Colenfield nervously loosened his collar. “I cannot say for certain, Your Grace, but as the late duke made purchases often costing thousands of pounds, I assumed they were expensive antiques or artwork.”
“Yet, I see no evidence of such purchases within the household. Other than a few tapestries and two ornamental rugs, I observe nothing that was not present when I departed seven years prior,” Bran charged.
Again, Colenfield’s eyes spanned the room. “Your Grace is correct. I have no other explanation. Possibly, the duke’s man of business would have a more complete explanation. All I know is when I sought your father’s permission to repair the mill or to improve the cottagers’ dwellings, my requests were denied. It has been more than five years since any major repairs were completed. Lady Eleanor convinced His Grace to allow some of the smaller requests to go forward; I am thankful the estate was not plagued with problems before now.”
“Well, we will have no such tomfoolery any longer. You are to provide me with a list of what needs addressed. As we will not be able to handle everything at once, please prioritize the items in order of importance.” Bran brought the conference to a close.
Breathing more freely again, Colenfield scrambled to his feet. “I will see to it immediately, Your Grace. Thank you for expressing your confidence in me, Sir.”
“Just do want I ask: Do you job, and do it well.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The man bowed out.
*
A similar discussion with his father’s solicitor provided few new insights. Mr. Sutliffe saw nothing unusual in William Fowler’s will. Even with their riff, the late duke had never changed his will: Bran remained the sole beneficiary. In his last statement, his father charged Bran with overseeing both Ella’s and Velvet’s futures, even defining what he considered to be appropriate dowries for each girl. Drafted less than a year before his wife’s passing, the former duke left no hints as to what might have interested him before his own death. Bran knew only one activity in which his father had actively participated; yet, the former duke kept no mistress–a woman for whom his father might have expended large amounts of money. William Fowler preferred a maid or a village widow. When he enjoyed a professional, his father patronized the exotic clubs–those specializing in meeting a man’s personal tastes. Mr. Sutliffe knew of no debts–gambling or business losses, which needed addressed. Where the profits from the estate had gone, Bran possessed no idea.
The estate was not in financial straits. However, as Colenfield expressed, fortune had shone on them because the lack of attention had not interrupted Thornhill’s status. Yet, the mystery of how his father conducted business in his later years seemed so uncharacteristic. As much as Bran objected to his father’s personal lifestyle, William Fowler’s ability to secure his holdings was never in question. To where had the money gone?
*
She had fumed from the moment Bran had announced that he had arranged for Aunt Agatha to meet her and Ella in London for the upcoming Season. Although she should be thrilled with the prospects of her first Season, Velvet had never desired it. She had wanted Bran; from the time she was a child, Velvet had planned to marry Brantley Fowler. Now, it appeared he envisioned a different future for her. All night she had tossed and turned, trying to concoct a plan to dissuade him, but without knowing what he truly expected she could not conceive her next move. So, this morning, Velvet found herself standing outside of Bran’s study. “Just be honest,” she whispered as she knocked. She eased the door open.
“May we speak, Your Grace?”
Bran rose to greet her. Having her appear unexpectedly at his door caused Bran’s heart to beat faster. “I always have time for you.” Unable not to touch her, Bran brought the back of Velvet’s hand to his lips. “I hope you continue to improve after your injury.”
“I do, Your Grace.” Velvet slowly withdrew her hand.
“You know I would take no offense with your calling me Bran. We were never so formal before.”
“You were never my guardian before.” She crossed to a settee and like a lemming to the sea, Bran followed, taking up a position where he might enjoy her scent. If he were to be distracted from his account books, this was a perfect scenario. “Might we speak of your plans for your sister’s and my London Season?”
Aware of Velvet’s disbelief when he had suggested the Season, Bran hesitated before answering. “I feel a responsibility. Your lives were put on hold with my father’s illness and my absence, and now I must execute my charge.”
“Then you expect Ella and me to engage in the process with genuine interest?” Her voice remained calm, but Bran’s instincts warned him that things were not what they appeared. “We shall be presented to the Queen and have a ball in our honor?”
“Aunt Agatha will make those arrangements, but that is the normal sequence during a young lady’s first Season.” Bran had thought himself quite smart in recruiting Aunt Agatha as their chaperone. His elderly aunt was known for her censure and would not allow either Ella or Velvet too much freedom. “Do you not wish to participate?” In some ways Bran had hoped that she might adamantly refuse, and then he would have no choice but to make his own application sooner.
For a moment, Velvet had wanted to stand up to him and refuse Bran’s scheme. She knew in her heart that he belonged to her, and despite his need to treat her with respect, as her guardian, Bran could not possibly want her to seriously consider someone else. Well, if that is what he wants, she thought. That is what I will give him. “In reality, I considered the suggestion overnight, and I am more agreeable to the idea. Dancing with one gentleman after another...riding in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour...what woman would not want that?” To emphasize her words, Velvet sighed deeply. “Do you suppose the ladies at Almack’s will approve?” she gushed. “I always wanted to waltz. It must be the most romantic dance ever! Being held so closely by a man...oh, my, I should not be speaking to you about such intimacies, should I?”
Bran’s body reacted to her words. It must be the most romantic dance ever! Being held so closely by a man.... Visions of holding Velvet rose from the edges of his desire. Then it hit him! Velvet spoke of dancing with other men. He sputtered, “You want to go to London?”
&
nbsp; “Of course, why should I not?” She loved his reaction; he had not anticipated this tactic. “Having a gaggle of callers each day, choosing with whom to ride out, a full dance card; it sounds heavenly.” Velvet sighed deeper this time and attempted to look wistful.
“How many is a gaggle?” he demanded. “I am not certain I want Briar House overrun with suitors while I am conducting estate business,” he declared.
Velvet giggled–actually giggled–anticipating her next taunt. “Do not be foolish, Your Grace; Ella and I would never allow the gentlemen to overrun the premises. My goodness, just think as the new duke and our guardian, you will have to approve our choices. Will that not be something? Men older than you, perhaps, asking your permission to marry either Ella or me.”
Nobody, his mind screamed. I will let nobody else have you! “That is assuming you find a suitable match, Velvet. Who knows? It may take more than one season,” he cautioned.
“Oh, no, I am determined,” she said in all seriousness. “The Fowler family needs a reprieve from my care. Nearly fifteen years is enough; I will find a suitable match, and you will be free of me forever.”
Hell, no, his body protested, but before he could respond, a sharp rap at the door and Mr. Jordan’s head peeking in stopped him short. “Your Grace, please come; Lady Eleanor and Lord Worthing, Sir, are riding in on one horse. Something must be amiss.”
“Ella?” The word escaped before he even knew he had said it, but Bran shoved his way past the servant and was at full speed by the time he burst through the side entrance. Even from the distance he could see their disheveled appearances and the strange horse trailing behind them. Had they met an accident also?
Bran’s heart beat like a drum as he ran towards the stables. He could see Kerrington pull up the horse’s reins. His sister’s arms encircled his friend’s waist, clinging to the man. A groomsman assisted Ella to dismount as Bran skidded through the enclosure’s open gate. Rushing forward, Bran captured Ella in his arms in an attempt to determine who might be the culprit. Her appearance told everyone that something unusual had happened. “Worthing, what the hell?”
“I brought you a present, Your Grace.” Kerrington gestured to the trailing horse. “When I go after a shooter, I get my man.”
Bran adjusted Ella in his arms where he could see her face. “He shot at you?”
Ella simply nodded. “Sampson went down.” Her bottom lip quivered. “His Lordship took care of my horse after capturing the man.”
“Are you hurt?” he demanded.
“Very sore and a bad headache...I was out for a few minutes.”
Velvet followed Bran to the stables, and as the others untied the captive, he released his sister to Velvet’s care. “Let me see you into the house, Ella,” he heard Velvet say.
“You men put Lord Worthing’s capture in the root cellar. Place guards outside the door. I will send for the physician and the magistrate.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Looking up at his friend, still sitting a horse, Bran demanded, “Would you care to join me in my study, Worthing?” Already on the move, Bran did not wait for an answer.
The viscount slid from the saddle and followed. “Wait. I thought I was the commanding officer,” Kerrington called as he caught up to Bran.
Bran’s anger boiled over. “Not this time. This is personal.”
Silent, they returned to Bran’s private room. Prior to Worthing taking a seat, Bran demanded, “Tell me exactly what happened.”
The viscount reached for a drink before he answered. “Your sister and I rode out. She showed me the old ruins and some of the outcroppings. I noted nothing unusual.” Worthing paused, and Bran was suddenly aware of a difference in his friend’s demeanor. Something monumental had happened, but he was not likely to learn it from Worthing just yet. “Lady Eleanor challenged me to a race. I gave her a brief head start, and then I addressed her dare, chasing her across an open field. That is when I heard the shot and saw her grey go down. Your sister went over Sampson’s body and struck the back of her head on a rock. I must tell you, Bran, it has been a long time since I was that frightened.” Kerrington took another swallow of the brandy. “Not afraid for my life, but for your sister.”
“Thank you.” Bran’s words slipped out naturally, barely audible even to him. On an unconscious level, he noted his friend new intimacy with Ella.
“I checked Lady Eleanor and could find no major injuries, and she breathed normally so I directed my attention to finding the shooter. He had hid in an overhanging rock crevice, and I caught him before he could escape. Once I had secured the perpetrator, I returned to your sister. Her horse had suffered too much to save. I put Sampson down before Lady Eleanor fully recovered. I did not wish her to see me do it.”
Bran’s thoughts took shape. “My mother gave her that horse.”
Worthing simply nodded. “So, Lady Eleanor confided.” Then cautiously, he added, “It just does not seem logical. A man does not just lay in wait, hoping a rider comes by. Someone must know of your movements. Yet, even with that, no one could determine exactly where Lady Eleanor and I would ride today. We had no destination in mind.”
“Ella was to show you the estate,” Bran reasoned. “Obviously, there are certain points of interest.”
“But that does not guarantee that we would be crossing that particular meadow.” Worthing thought out loud. “And who is the target? Lady Eleanor and Miss Aldridge were the recipients, but were they the objective? Somehow, I cannot imagine either of them engendering such rancor. That leaves your father’s enemies, your enemies as a member of the Realm, or your enemies in Cornwall. Do you have any ideas?”
“I made a mental list the other evening–after Velvet’s encounter.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in his thoughts. “Then I suspect it is time for the Vicar to make a call on the prisoner.” Bran had earned the nickname in his time with the Realm. People often “confessed” their worst sins to Bran.
Bran stood slowly, wondering how to broach the subject. “Why is it that I have a feeling that you have ignored my warning about Ella? Is there anything I should know regarding my sister?”
“Other than the fact that I find Lady Eleanor quite remarkable?”
“Just remember–Ella seems perfectly in control and very independent, but she is very vulnerable.”
“I promise you, Your Grace, I would never purposely hurt, Lady Eleanor.”
Bran listened closely, hearing sincerity in his friend’s tone. “I am pleased you stay with us, Worthing? I am in need of your reason, and, I suspect, Ella would prefer it that way.”
“I am your servant, Your Grace.”
*
Bran learned very little from the prisoner. Even with the threat of hanging for attacking a member of the aristocracy, the man swore he did not know who had hired him. He gave Bran the name of the “friend” who paid him to send a message to the new duke, but for all intents and purposes, Harry Sparks’s partner likely knew as little as he did. Whoever had made Bran his target had hid his trail well.
With no real answer to his question, Bran sent what information he had received off to his friend, the Marquis of Godown, asking him to meet them in London. Kerrington also called in some favors for information. Bow Street Runners would seek connections to Sparks and his partner Lionel Stimpson, and, reluctantly Bran sent word to Shepherd. If this message came from one of the Realm’s former interests, Shepherd needed to know.
Eventually, Bran turned Sparks over to the local magistrate, who insisted on transporting the man immediately to London. Such a notorious attempt required the attention of the best prosecutors the law could provide. They would house Sparks at Old Bailey.
Within another three days, word came that a Bow Street Runner apprehended Lionel Stimpson in an abandoned building in Spitalfields. Shepherd took possession of both men and informed Bran that the government would follow any new leads.
Frustrated by the lack of action, Bra
n had spent a great deal of time alone in either his room or his study, leaving the ladies’ entertainment to James Kerrington. In those long solitary hours, he had bemoaned the irony of all this. His sister and Velvet had survived the self-imposed loneliness associated with living under William Fowler’s roof. They had survived the rumors about his father’s lustful nature, and they had survived running the estate in a world disinclined to value a woman’s worth.
Now, his presence brought a new danger to the women he loved. Bran rued the day he had returned to Thorn Hall. He managed to knock Velvet to the ground when their attack came, and Kerrington had pulled Ella out of danger and had captured their assailant; yet, Bran blamed himself for their peril. With the upcoming retreat to London, he needed to devise a means to protect his family.
When he had formulated the plan to take Ella and Velvet to London for the Season, he had thought himself quite sly. The Season, as he originally conceived it, was to serve two purposes. He would show his sister a true gentleman would accept her independent spirit and prize her ingenuity. Bran really did not expect Eleanor to take willingly to the Season’s strict standards, but, instinctively, he knew she could rule the ballroom if she so chose.
Secondly, for Velvet, he had planned to give her an opportunity to find someone else. Despite her best efforts, she still resented his alliance to Ashmita, and the only way he thought he might claim Velvet as his own was to release her from any preconceived ideas of his being her one choice. If Velvet found someone else, Bran would step aside, being satisfied with her happiness. Yet, until these incidents, he had prayed Velvet would not look favorably on anyone but him. Now, an urgency to find her a safe haven away from Thorn Hall took possession of his reason. Because he so cared about her, he could not place her in jeopardy. He decided that he must reel in his emotions and feign disinterest, literally, pushing her from his life. It was the only way to protect her from his former life.
*
“You idiot! You were to wait until I told you to act!”
Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet Page 8