Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet

by Regina Jeffers

  “Is it obvious that you shoot daggers with your eyes at one of your best friends?” she teased. “Of course, not.”

  “Point taken, Eleanor.” His gaze drifted to where Velvet conversed with Crowden and a group of young ladies. “What does she see in him?” he grumbled.

  To assure their privacy, Eleanor edged closer. “Your jealousy,” she shared.

  Bran’s head snapped around in surprise. “My what?” he whispered.

  “You heard me.” Ella touched his arm with her fan. “Why do you two not stop with the games? State your intentions, Bran, and then woo our cousin.”

  “So, Velvet tries to make me jealous with Crowden? Why?” He could not let the fact go.

  “Who knows with Velvet?” Ella opened the fan where she might speak behind it. “Our cousin is so mature in some ways–handling the tenants, for example–but so childlike in other ways. Velvet speaks of your being her ‘knight.’ She cannot seem to separate her dreams from reality. I had thought that once she found out more about your prior life that it would jar her into a state of urgency, but she will not desert her games.”

  “What if I gave her a taste of her own medicine? Might it shock Velvet if she saw me with someone else? Shock her enough to end this façade?”

  “Are you ready for the possibility that Velvet might give up on any chance and turn away completely?”

  Bran frowned; he did not like that scenario. “At least, I would have my answer. I would not fluctuate from complete happiness to total despair all within any given day.”

  “I am not of the persuasion for anything but honesty, Bran. Tell Velvet how you feel and work things out.”

  “I will consider it, Eleanor.” The sound of instruments being tuned drew their attention away.

  Bran placed Eleanor on his arm for a country-dance and led her to the floor. “By the way, might I say that you look lovely, my Dear,” he whispered close to her ear. “I hope you no longer regret making this trip to London.”

  “It has been more pleasant than what I anticipated. Of course, having your friends always near gives me a familiarity others may not have. I know if you are not available, one of them will step up and offer us his protection. It is quite extraordinary.”

  “Saving two dance sets for Lord Worthing did not amuse Aunt Agatha, and both were waltzes,” he cautioned. “Is that wise, Ella? I do not wish familiarity to soil your good name, nor do I wish it to be too comfortable, where you will let no others into your life.”

  Ella edged closer as they took the few steps to the floor’s center. “Although I know the steps, I cannot imagine the intimacy of the dance. How could I trust such closeness to a complete stranger? And dancing as such with my brother would seem sorted.”

  “Do not forget that Worthing is still a man, Ella. He is not immune to your charms.”

  Ella stopped suddenly and looked beseechingly in her brother’s eyes. “Do you think it possible, Bran?”

  “I think it more than possible, Eleanor.” He set her in the line across from him.

  *

  Bran stood among a group of young “bucks,” each of them eyeing the women on the floor. Although he should be surveying the possible choices he might make to enflame Velvet’s own jealous tendencies, he could not remove his eyes from his sister. She had danced with Sir Louis, and it did not take an astute observer to see her cringe each time the dance had required her to take Levering’s hand. Kerrington, after he had calmed down, had shared how Levering had insinuated to Eleanor that the Realm denied their duty to country. Their reputations as “private” soldiers had rubbed some people the wrong way, but Bran did not consider Levering as the type who felt strongly one way or the other about the war. In fact, if Levering took such a patriotic stance, why did he not take up the service himself? Bran watched Ella bristle at something Levering said and then saw Sir Louis feign innocence again. Bran had observed that it was Levering’s manner to say something offensive and then beg forgiveness for the umbrage, pretending to have the other person’s interest at heart.

  Ella’s face flushed with anger. Bran knew not what she said to Sir Louis, but he realized the man received an ear full. His sister was no wilting violet. “Thorns” and “briars” were part of their identity, after all. At the set’s end, Ella excused herself and strode towards the ladies’ withdrawing rooms. Bran considered following her, but he noted Kerrington on the move as soon as Ella’s retreat became obvious. Worthing would comfort her, maybe better than Bran.

  *

  Velvet, too, watched the interplay between Ella and Sir Louis. She did not know what their neighbor had said to her cousin, but something had caused Ella to literally cringe with disgust. Velvet knew little of the Leverings, other than the few times she remembered Robert and Lillian Levering enjoying the late duke’s hospitality. She was only thirteen or fourteen years of age at the time so she had taken little note of the new baronet and his wife. After all, she had directed her energies to news of Bran’s whereabouts. Sir Louis had treated her with respect when they had met; but, in reality, she had thought him a complete cad–a scoundrel. She had heard rumors of his rakish lifestyle, and she had avoided him.

  When Kerrington surreptitiously followed Ella from the ballroom, Velvet smiled. The viscount, obviously, recognized Ella’s discontent and would offer her cousin comfort. She had wondered if His Lordship might steal another kiss from Ella. Velvet wished Bran took such notice of her reactions. The only time he had seemed to notice her was when she openly flirted with the marquis or when she had given his daughter attention. A deep sigh escaped before she could stifle it. I will double my supposed interest in Lord Godown. Maybe that will force Bran into action.

  *

  Velvet waited patiently for James Kerrington to claim his dance. She knew he would not risk Ella’s reputation by permitting everyone to know they were together. When he appeared beside her, Velvet gave him an amused smile before saying, “Is my cousin well?” The viscount escorted her to a place in the form.

  Worthing chuckled but did not deny her assertion. “Do you suppose others noticed?”

  “I doubt it.” Velvet politely acknowledged recent acquaintances with a nod of her head. “Sir Louis has upset Ella.” It was more of a question than a statement.

  “The baronet seems intent on separating Lady Eleanor from my company.”

  “As if anyone could,” she whispered.

  Velvet found she really enjoyed this new intimacy with Lord Worthing. How he felt about Eleanor flustered him, but he did not deny it. It was a refreshing honesty. “From your lips to God’s will.”

  “Why do you not simply declare your intentions, Your Lordship? I cannot imagine my cousin would refuse,” she assured him. Velvet had recognized Ella’s growing affection for Worthing.

  His Lordship moved closer, securing the privacy of his words. “Continue to smile at the crowd, and do not react to my question,” he cautioned. “How much do you know of Eleanor’s relationship with her father?”

  Velvet schooled her expression, but her heart skipped a beat. “The former duke, generally, ignored Ella. I always thought she reminded him too much of her mother.” They spoke in hushed tones, barely looking at each other.

  “Are you aware of Ella’s sleepwalking episodes?”

  “Still?” Velvet hid her surprise. “My cousin had such fits when she was younger. Have they returned?”

  “They have.”

  Velvet bit her lower lip, a habit when something bothered her. “What might I do?”

  “Allowing Lady Eleanor to speak of her feelings is the best medicine. Encourage her to confide in you. Ella is experiencing many changes. That is why I will not complicate her life with one more. The newness of having Bran home, having her first Season, and having to find her place in the world and Society are stressful enough without my complicating it with my plight, although Lady Eleanor is well aware of my interest.”

  “You really love my cousin?” Velvet blurted out before she considered he
r embarrassing assertion.

  Worthing hesitated as she expected. She watched his emotions as they played across his face. Ironically, Ella reentered the ballroom at that moment, and Kerrington’s eyes found her. Velvet saw it–the love–the passion so evident between His Lordship and Ella. “Yes, Miss Aldridge, I do.”

  Velvet envied that moment. She wanted it for herself. She whispered, “Then I shall do what I can, Lord Worthing, to assist you. Eleanor deserves someone to love her unconditionally.”

  *

  “I believe this is my dance, Cousin.” Bran bowed before her, as several of Velvet’s new admirers stepped away.

  “It is, Your Grace.” Velvet slipped her hand onto his arm and allowed Bran to escort her to the floor. A shock of pure energy radiated through her. She had waited a bit impatiently for this moment.

  “You have been quite successful this evening, My Dear.” Bran placed his hand on her small waist and moved Velvet as close, as propriety would permit and then brought her a bit closer. He had watched her dance the supper waltz with Gabriel Crowden, and jealousy had loomed. Now, he would hold her in his arms for the first time. He would name her as his with just a shift of his body. “You should have many suitors with the morning light.”

  Velvet dutifully said, “Do you believe as such, Your Grace? I had hoped to bring honor to Thornhill by being a worthy choice. I wonder how many callers there might be.”

  Bran nearly growled that he would send them all away. It was not the answer he had hoped to receive. Then the music took flight, and he maneuvered her into the beginning steps. His thigh brushed against her leg, and visions of that leg wrapped around his waist flashed before his eyes. He glanced down at her countenance–the dark lashes resting on her cheek’s rise, and he felt himself harden in response. “I suppose you will be happy to find a true suitor among your callers.” Memories of a seventeen-year-old boy and an eleven-year-old girl promising to love each other forever filled his mind. Bran’s hand caressed her waist, and she glanced up to stare deeply into his eyes. Bran swallowed hard. “As I am certain many others have said this evening,” he murmured, “you are excitingly beautiful. You are a Greek goddess come to life.”

  For a moment, it was her fairy tale come true. She was the Cinder Maid, and he was her prince. As Bran twirled her through the turns, Velvet smiled welcomingly at him. Her gown brushed about her legs, and she laughed at the joy of being together.

  Bran felt it also: the idea of finally holding Velvet in his arms–the heat of her body so close to his. He too bought into the magic of the moment. Only he and Velvet existed in this time and place. The other bodies on the floor filled in the shadowy background–a swirl of color, and they danced with pure abandon. Yet, then the final notes of the set invaded his mind, and he reluctantly slowed their pace to one of sedate propriety.

  “The waltz is the most elegant of dances,” Velvet whispered as they walked toward where Aunt Agatha waited.

  “I never thought much about it,” he said, “until this evening. You are quite correct, my Dear. I cannot imagine a more perfect dance.” He kissed her hand and left her beside his aunt to wait for her next partner. Bran walked casually to the card room, unable to look back and see the expression of joy on Velvet’s face. He supposed something very similar rested on his.

  *

  Bran hated it–the way every Society gentleman filled the Briar House sitting room, vying for either Ella’s or Velvet’s attention. As a duke’s daughter, only those of a certain rank considered approaching Eleanor, but Velvet, on the other hand, was another issue, and much to his chagrin, a multitude surrounded her. The room had filled quickly with bouquets of all sizes and colors, and during the appropriate hours, the men had fawned and fidgeted, declaring their devotion to both women. The Dowager Duchess, in her element, had orchestrated the proceedings with a gypsy ringmaster’s grace. She let no man monopolize either of the women’s time, purposely redirecting conversations to permit each caller to play to his strengths. She knew the men’s families–each title–the man’s financial needs. Ella’s dowry of thirty thousand pounds made some men desire her for that purpose alone. Velvet’s thirteen thousand pounds was more than respectable, and many saw her as a more desirable match–beauty and vitality and wealth–mixed together in the perfect package.

  “Like a bunch of vultures,” he growled. Bran surveyed the room, coming on the pretense of confirming his aunt’s social calendar, but, in reality, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had to know who paid homage to Velvet–who might be his true competition. Now that he was aware that she used Lord Godown to make him jealous, Bran had placed the marquis in a different category of suitors. Gabriel Crowden might still be taken with Velvet, but he did not control her heart, a comforting thought. Today, he would make eye contact with every man who even held a flicker of an interest in Velvet Aldridge. He would use his position as a duke to intimidate those barely hanging on and let those with some measure of their own consequence know that they would need his permission to marry Velvet–meaning they would have to go through him to get to her.

  Bowing to Velvet, he cleared a path with just a raised eyebrow. “Good Morning, my Dear.” He took her hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips. Velvet physically leaned towards him despite the onlookers, a fact in which he relished. “I see you have an audience. We will speak later. Enjoy your morning.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Velvet’s voice quivered as she sank into a curtsy.

  Bran ambled towards where Ella stood, surrounded by a cadre of suitors, whose false attentions obviously discomposed her. Since the day Worthing had suggested that Bran become more aware of what happened to Eleanor under William Fowler’s roof, he had attempted to read her. With Worthing, Ella was vibrant, the kind of woman any man would desire, but when left to her own devices, Eleanor faltered. She required Kerrington in her life. It would be an excellent match as Kerrington would soon be an earl, but more importantly, Bran would see Ella happy; of late, she warmed only in Worthing’s company–only then did Bran see the sweet, trusting girl he had left behind. Bran hated himself for deserting his sister; it had never occurred to him that his father would involve his own daughter somehow in his perversion; but like Worthing, he now suspected otherwise. Less than a week ago, alerted by Hannah, Bran had found Eleanor in his study in the night’s middle and on her knees. She rocked herself back and forth, seeking the comfort of her own arms, while crying real tears. When he touched her, Ella initially had thought him to be the late duke. Despite feeling the disgust of any link to the man, Bran listened to her pleas for love from their father. Had Ella’s uncanny resemblance to their mother turned the Duke against her? It was the only logical explanation for why the duke would reject Eleanor’s need, the kind of love a young girl seeks from the only parent she has.

  Over the last few days, Bran had resolved to speak directly to his sister regarding her obvious preference for his friend. If Ella appeared so disposed, Bran would give James Kerrington permission to approach Eleanor. Then, maybe she would find peace.

  “Eleanor, might we speak when your guests depart?” he asked impulsively after accepting the gentlemen’s bows.

  “Certainly, Your Grace.” She hid her disquiet behind her smile.

  “I shall be in the library.”

  Bran’s unplanned perusal of the first set of callers at Briar House had signaled an earlier than usual departure. In less than an hour, Eleanor entered the library, taking a chair across from him. No formality necessary between brother and sister, she removed her slippers and curled her toes into the thick carpeting.

  “How did you perceive your first day for callers?” Bran half teased; but, in reality, he wanted to evaluate how Eleanor handled the stress of meeting so many strangers in one sitting.

  “I had never thought such poppycock could exist without exploding. The conversation, at best, lacked merit. Most in that room would feign listening to my opinion on the best place to purchase ribbons or the most fas
hionable bonnet, but Heaven forbid, I might wish to discuss politics or agriculture.”

  “I have little experience with the majority of the gentlemen from today, except for Lawrence and Whitmore, who were mates at Cambridge, but, in general, men of Society do not expect their wives to be as well versed in current information as are you, my Dear.”

  Ella frowned deeply. “Then I am to pretend disinterest in everything but frimp and frills if I seek a matrimonial match?”

  “You have no need of pretense, Ella. A man, who wishes more than your dowry, will accept your mind’s sharpness.” Bran set his teacup on the small table “I did not see Worthing among your callers,” he ventured.

  Ella relaxed into the cushions. “I am to ride out with His Lordship this afternoon. Lord Worthing calls daily; he has no need of morning calls.”

  “Perhaps Kerrington made his presence known at another fashionable address.” Bran did not believe what he said; he had merely wished to gauge Ella’s emotional attachment to the viscount.

  Ella sat forward, such a thought, evidently, frightening her. “Do you believe His Lordship might be engaged elsewhere? If you knew of such an attachment, you would tell me, would you not?”

  Bran’s lips twitched in amusement. “It was a jest, Ella. James Kerrington is an honorable man; he will not play with your affections.”

  Ella appeared relieved. “Would you tell me what you know of His Lordship’s former wife?”

  “I did not meet Kerrington until a year after the lady’s passing, but, he spoke of her often in those early years, and afterwards, I became acquainted with others who knew Lady Worthing well–His Lordship’s cousin Alma, whom you met last evening, for example. Most, who speak of Elizabeth Kerrington, speak of her beauty, and from the renderings I have seen of her, she was attractive.” Bran saw Ella’s frown return. “Elizabeth Kerrington was pretty, Ella, but no more so than you. She was dark–more along the lines of Velvet’s coloring. A person could not compare the two of you.”