Eleanor searched Velvet’s face for approval. Nothing in Velvet’s nature accepted Lady Norfield’s suggestion, but what could she do. The Fowlers’ preferences ruled her own so she nodded her head in agreement. Eleanor responded for them. “We bow to your opinion, Aunt Agatha.”
Velvet turned her back on them in frustration. “So much for using my Presentation dress for my wedding.”
Several hours later, having suffered through numerous fittings and measurements, Velvet still steamed from some of today’s transactions. “It is not fair,” she grumbled. Totally dependent on the Fowlers, she had felt neglected again. Although they had treated her better than her own immediate family, over the past few years, she had often found herself smarting with the differences in their stations. She was the daughter of a viscount, but Ella was the daughter of a duke. They were not equal in consequence. Since the former duke had taken ill, Velvet had become painfully more aware of the differences. She loved Ella–really loved her more than she did Cashémere or Satiné, but she wanted more: She wanted to feel her own position’s power. Marrying Bran would give her that, or, at least, she hoped it would.
Unfortunately, everything had changed over the past few months. Her grand plan had crumbling edges, and Velvet did not know how to save it. “Once upon a time,” she mumbled as she dressed after her fitting. At one time, Bran was her “knight in shining armor,” and she was Rapunzel, only with coal black hair. She dreamed of how he would save her–come for her and claim her as his own. Now, that dream vanished in the reality of Bran’s marriage; he held no compunction about releasing her, and she had no true idea how to change his mind. She grasped at straws; she knew nothing of love except what she had read in books. She did not even know how to kiss a man. True. Bran had kissed her cheek and kissed her hand, but she had never been truly kissed–not the way Lord Worthing had kissed Ella. That kiss had changed Ella; her cousin became a woman overnight, and Velvet desired the same type of kiss from Bran. If she could just convince him to take her seriously, she might realize her dreams.
*
Velvet trailed behind Aunt Agatha and Eleanor along a very busy Bond Street. They planned to meet Lord Worthing and Gabriel Crowden, the Marquis of Godown. The gentlemen, at Bran’s request, would escort his family home. Yesterday evening, she had concocted a scheme where she might make Bran jealous by enlisting the assistance of his friends. Now, she wondered about the sanity of her plan. Could she even draw Bran’s notice with such manipulations? Besides, she did not know whether the marquis would agree to her idea. “Probably looks more like a frog than a prince,” she grumbled under her breath.
“You are a sight for these old eyes, Lord Worthing.” Velvet heard Aunt Agatha exclaim as Kerrington advanced to offer the Dowager Duchess his arm.
“I am happy to be of service, Your Grace.” He led them all towards his waiting carriage. Velvet noted a blonde “god” stepping from the crowd, pushing off from a support post where he leaned casually–his arms folded across his chest. The “god” offered them a proper bow and a most seductive smile while waiting for Kerrington to draw near.
“Your Grace,” Kerrington began when they reached the man, “may I present my friend and colleague the Marquis of Godown. Crowden, this beautiful lady is the Dowager Duchess of Norfield.”
The marquis gave an abbreviated bow to the Duchess. “It is my honor, Your Grace.” He kissed the back of Agatha’s gloved hand.
“And these are Fowler’s family,” Kerrington continued. “This is Lady Eleanor Fowler, His Grace’s sister, and Miss Velvet Aldridge, their cousin.”
“Fowler spoke so fondly of you; you will excuse me if I claim a prior acquaintance.”
Ella’s whole demeanor shifted as soon as Kerrington stepped forward to greet them. Velvet had noted their interactions–how they leaned ever so slightly towards each other–as if magnetically drawn. If only she could capture the same magic with Bran. “It is always pleasant to greet one of my brother’s dear friends.” Ella responded to the marquis’s greeting.
“Let us escort you ladies home.” Kerrington reached to steady Aunt Agatha’s entrance into his carriage; then he turned to Velvet, offering his hand to her. “Miss Aldridge.”
Velvet hesitated, realizing by rank, Ella should precede her into the coach, but she noted how Ella held back and chuckled with Kerrington’s manipulations. She raised her eyebrow in amusement. “Certainly, Your Lordship.”
Secretly, she had observed how the viscount rested his left hand gently on Ella’s back as he supported her step while holding her right hand in his. Their fingertips clung to one another for a few extra seconds, and she saw how the man’s eyes lit with fire when he looked at Ella, and how he murmured something in Ella’s ear when he stepped closer to her. Velvet did not know much about love, but she knew what she observed between Eleanor and Kerrington smacked of it. Surely, love could exist, as such, between her and Brantley Fowler. They could find their way to a similar place. How hard could it be if Ella found it; her cousin always professed to shun the idea of love and marriage? If Ella could do it, she could also. After all, Velvet wanted love; she welcomed it.
As Kerrington’s town carriage rolled towards Briar House, Velvet straightened her shoulders, a new resolve taking hold. She turned her head to take a closer look at Gabriel Crowden as he rode beside the coach. He certainly could make even a king jealous, she thought. He was as handsome as his reputation had declared. He was young, probably Bran’s age–not as mature looking as Kerrington–with dark blonde hair–wavy and a bit long–looking every bit a rogue. He had an aristocratic jaw line and nose, which balanced out his deep-set, muddy brown eyes. His well-manicured fingers loosely held the reins of the coal black stallion he rode. As she watched, Velvet wondered which looked more dangerous: the man or the horse? She thought he might do quite well in making Bran jealous. No frog, she chuckled–definitely, not a frog.
*
When Bran arrived home from his appointment with Shepherd, he found a drawing room full of mirth. Lord Godown entertained all three ladies, as well as Bran’s daughter, with tales of unusual adventures. Laughter emanated from the room. Bran hesitated, lingering in the shadows of the darkened hallway–watching his family and friends bond. He felt suddenly very vulnerable–vulnerable to the desire he still held for Velvet Aldridge–vulnerable to the inadequacy he felt when he thought of how he had failed Eleanor by leaving her to deal with their father–and vulnerable to the threat Shaheed Mir offered the Realm members. He brought Mir’s wrath on his family the day he stormed from Thorn Hall–putting distance between him and his father, and he brought Mir’s wrath on his friends the day he kidnapped Ashmita from that desert tent. His impulsive nature had placed them all in danger, and he hated himself for it.
“I swear,” Godown gestured with fingers barely apart, “they are no larger than this.”
“But they are snails!” Eleanor wiped at her eyes, laughing joyously.
“Oh, yes, escargot are truly snails,” Worthing assured her.
Godown, standing before the mantel at center stage, pulled himself up to his full height. “Be exact, Worthing,” he warned good-humoredly. “Not every snail is used. Only the petit-gris or the Helix pomatia make good escargot. Every Frenchman knows that,” he mocked. “Did you realize, Miss Aldridge, they actually have snail farms in France?”
“You tease me, Lord Godown, do you not? Maybe we should speak to Brantley, Ella, about converting some of the cottagers to snail farming. After all, if a Frenchman can do it, an Englishman must do it better.” Velvet actually giggled at the absurdity of what she said. It was forever since she and Ella had enjoyed the company of gentlemen.
From the doorway behind them, Bran joined the conversation. “The British farmer prefers his crops above ground,” he observed as he strode forward to join the group. He extended his hand to the marquis but did not interrupt the flow. Instead, he lifted Sonali and took the seat she occupied, placing the child on his lap.
“Between the escargot and the roe, we were quite surprised, even those of us who made a Grand Tour and thought we knew everything,” Worthing added.
The Dowager Duchess turned to him. “Roe? You mean venison?”
“Roe in French cuisine are fish eggs, usually in a salty sauce,” Bran informed them.
“What else?” Velvet demanded, focusing all her attention on the marquis, a fact of which Bran had quickly taken notice and of which she delighted.
Godown did not hesitate in his response. “For me, I was taken aback by the food in Persia; I had expected something spicy, along the lines of what I found in India, but it was different–more herbs than spices: saffron, cinnamon, and diced limes. His Grace was very fond of sesanjan, were you not?”
“Sesanjan?” Ella tried the word. “What is that?”
Bran laughed lightly. “Nothing bizarre. Sesanjan is chicken in a pomegranate sauce with walnuts.”
“That sounds delicious,” Ella observed.
Worthing rejoined the discourse. “I preferred the ghormeh sabzi. It is lamb with herbs and lemon–quite a subtle concoction.”
“I would like to try in sometime.” Velvet noted the intimacy of their exchange. Even in a room full of people, her cousin and Lord Worthing remained truly isolated emotionally.
“Do you recall how much wine Behrouz could drink?” Godown began another tale.
Bran explained, “Behrouz was our guide.”
Godown continued, “Behrouz loved to quote the Qurán about wine. Some of his fellow tribesmen thought it to be a decadent activity, but Behrouz claimed the Qurán encouraged wine drinking when it says something about giving the fruit of the palm and wine. I cannot remember the exact words, but Behrouz quoted the passage often.”
“Who was the prince from Gurgan he quoted?” Bran looked from one friend to another.
Worthing answered, “Kaikakavos.”
“Behrouz extolled Prince Kaikakavos. Like before, I cannot remember his exact words, but they dealt with the ancient belief that drinking wine was a contravention. The prince supposedly said if one was to commit a transgression, it should not be a flavorless one.”
Worthing chuckled as he expanded on his friend’s story. “And if you drink wine, make it the best. If you are to end up in purgatory in the next world for your sins, at least in this one, you will not be branded a fool.”
Everyone laughed at the ease with which the stories flowed. Velvet felt more relaxed about the upcoming Season. She thought, with the assistance of Ella and of Bran’s friends, she might succeed in “trapping” Bran, after all. This could be her life–surrounded by friends and family. James Kerrington’s request for her and Ella to go riding with him in Hyde Park in the morning interrupted her daydreams. Ella’s eyes pleaded for her assent so Velvet agreed. Maybe I can use it to my advantage, she thought, and immediately she turned to the marquis. “May we prevail upon you to join us also, Your Lordship?” Pointedly, Velvet did not ask Bran to be a part of the group. She wanted him to notice her interest in Godown.
Crowden gave her his best smile. “I can think of nothing more delightful, Miss Aldridge.’
*
James Kerrington called promptly at eight, and along with a groomsman, he led Ella and Velvet through the London streets. “Those who want to have full freedom during their ride come even earlier. I have several friends who miss the openness of the country. They come to the park at the crack of dawn to ride break neck across Rotten Row and around the Serpentine, trying to capture the excitement of a full gallop.”
“I imagine you to be among their number, Lord Worthing,” Velvet teased.
“I am, Miss Aldridge, upon occasion.”
They entered Hyde Park off Grosvenor, where they met the marquis. “Ah, Ladies, it is rare to see two such beautiful gems so early in the day.” He touched his hat with his riding crop in an acknowledgment.
“Lord Godown, you appear in good spirits today,” Eleanor remarked as she brought her horse along side of Worthing’s.
“What man would not be as such in your company, Lady Eleanor?”
Worthing forced his horse to turn Ella’s toward a far off tree line. “Shall we race, Lady Eleanor?”
“Absolutely, Lord Worthing.” And she kicked the horse’s side and flicked the reins. Worthing handed his hat to the waiting groom before giving chase.
“Do you wish to ride as dangerously, Miss Aldridge?” Crowden looked after the two.
“If you do not mind, something a bit more sedate fits my disposition. A steady pace is more to my liking.” She smiled at him, enjoying the flirtation, even though she still preferred Bran to the handsome marquis.
“Then let us ride to Rotten Row and back.” He motioned to the groomsman to follow, and they set off to discover the park’s trails.
From a vantage point some distance away, Bran watched Worthing and Eleanor race off one way and his friend and Velvet ride off another. For a split second, he debated over following his sister, but he knew Kerrington’s intentions, and he trusted the man to treat Ella honorably. Gabriel Crowden was a different story. He and the marquis had a “friendly” competition from the beginning of their days with the Realm, actually dating back to their university days. They were the only ones of Kerrington’s unit who had any history prior to joining the secret organization. More than a year older than Bran, even at university, Crowden held a reputation as a ladies’ man, and Bran was always a bit jealous. Compounding Crowden’s obvious allure to the female set was the man’s quick wit, athletic ability, and brooding nature. Gabriel Crowden displayed every quality to which Bran aspired, and now he rode with the woman Bran affected. “It is uncanny how quickly the marquis moved on Velvet and how quickly she accepted his attentions,” he grumbled. “Well, it is time to do something about it.”
Bran had worshipped Velvet Aldridge from the first day she had come to live with them at Thorn Hall–a frightened fluff of a child with eyes that begged him to protect her–to not let anyone else hurt her. Her parents had died unexpectedly, and her grandmother had decided to send two of the three Aldridge daughters to live with relatives. The Aldridges kept Cashémere, but they had sent Satiné to live near Manchester with Baron Ashton, and Velvet had come to them. His late mother had wanted a partner for Eleanor–someone to whom Ella could turn for friendship and comfort, and Velvet was but a year younger than Ella; the fit seemed natural. From the beginning, he and Ella had recognized Velvet’s whimsical nature and had catered to it. They played games of make-believe, dressing themselves as courtiers and ladies to her princess’s clothes. As a child, she had followed him everywhere–had hung on his every word–had irritated him and had charmed him. He had fallen in love with Velvet–his princess. Bran had always wanted to marry her–to place her on a pedestal and to continue to worship her. “Some princess,” he remarked to a startled matron and her companion.
Now, he decisively had chosen to follow Crowden, but he kept to the London streets as much as possible. As he paralleled their movements, he took note of how often Crowden maneuvered his horse close to Velvet, even occasionally reaching out to touch her reins–how they conversed easily–how his Velvet blushed at something Crowden had said. The more Bran had watched, the more incensed he became. “Now,” he decided. “I will put a stop to this! I will be at Rotten Row when they reach their destination,” he announced to no one in particular.
*
“Bran,” Velvet gasped on seeing him enter from the direction of the south carriageway. “What are you doing here?” She and Crowden pulled up their horses.
“Simply getting some exercise.” He nodded to the marquis, but did not address him directly. “Where are Ella and Worthing?”
Velvet glanced over her shoulder as if expecting Eleanor’s appearance. “They wished to run their horses. His Lordship and I chose a different route.” Her chin rose in an act of defiance.
Bran pompously buried himself in his guardian’s role. “Although I commend the marquis for bringing a groo
msman, as you are my ward, I must object to your riding through Hyde Park together. You have not had your Presentation, Velvet. It is not appropriate.”
Suddenly angry at his reprimand, Velvet shot back. “I do not hear you censure your sister, Your Grace.”
Bran realized she had a point, but he did not want to acknowledge it. “Lord Worthing has a longer acquaintance, even saving my sister’s life. However, I will speak to Ella about her choices.”
“I apologize, Your Grace, if I offended your sensibilities,” Crowden interrupted.
“My cousin knows how susceptible the family name is to censure and should not have put herself in such a position.” He spoke to Crowden, but Bran watched Velvet’s expression.
“Please do not speak as if I am not sitting before you, Bran. If you held an objection to this early morning ride, then you should have said so last evening. Your aunt made no protestation, and she is to whom you have turned over my care. Now, if you will excuse us, the marquis and I will return to Ella and Lord Worthing.” She turned her horse to ride away.
“I forbid it, Miss Aldridge!” Bran knew he spoke irrationally–not what he wished to say, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.
Velvet pulled up on the reins. “You what!” she demanded. “Please tell me, Your Grace, that you did not just say what I think you did, and that you will not embarrass me further.”
“You will ride with me, Miss Aldridge,” he retorted. “His Lordship will find his own way.” Bran leveled a stare on Crowden.
Offering Bran a smirk, the marquis maneuvered his horse beside Velvet’s. Reaching out, he took her hand and bowed over it. “Miss Aldridge, thank you for an enjoyable excursion. I hope you will permit me to call upon you when His Grace deems it appropriate.”
“My Presentation is the beginning of next week.” She ignored Bran’s presence. “The Dowager Duchess has given permission for Lady Eleanor and me to attend a musicale tomorrow evening at the Haverton’s. It would please me to speak to you then if you have a mind to do so.”
Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet Page 11