“Your Grace,” a footman stepped forward, “your carriage awaits, Sir.”
Bran nodded to the servant. “Thank you.”
Lucinda’s smile fell to disconcerted embarrassment. “Your Grace?” She looked around, as if ready to flee.
Bran reached for her hand, holding her in place. “I assumed my father’s title several months prior, but to you, my Dear, I am simply Brantley Fowler.”
“I feel such a fool,” Lucinda blushed. “How could I have forgotten? As Matthew was a second son, I sometimes do not recall that his friends were titled gentlemen–another adjustment I must make in London.”
“I have a suggestion...something to make your transition easier.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Bran’s eyebrow shot up in amusement. “I will overlook that one,” he cautioned. “Would you be my special guest at my sister’s ball tomorrow evening? It is her Come Out.”
“Oh, Bran, I would love to, but on such short notice, I would not presume to upset your sister’s plans.”
“First, Lucinda, it is I who assumes the bill for this grand entrance into Society. I should be extended permission to add one name to the guest list. Secondly, my sister would be pleased to have your acquaintance. Although only briefly, she knew Mr. Warren also.” Bran stood to take his leave. “Tell me your directions, and I will send my carriage for you.”
Lucinda followed him to her feet and dutifully provided the address.
“My carriage will call at eight.”
*
The smell of an English garden comforting and enticing, the ballroom swelled with floral arrangements. Yellow roses and daises and lavish greenery filled every vase and urn in the room. Two crystal chandeliers and wall sconces every three feet lighted the room with hundreds of candles. French doors and windows stood open to the late spring night, where outside colorful lanterns and ribbons adorned the garden walkways and balustrades. The orchestra, on the raised dais, tuned their instruments and arranged sheet music upon stands.
Bran, all in black, except his white linen, stood aristocratically at the head of the receiving line, followed by Aunt Agatha, who wore a dark green, nearly black, gown with matching hair plumes and who looked remarkably handsome for a woman of her age. Ella wore a creamy satin gown, with short puffy sleeves and a low décolletage, draped with a golden mesh that made her look very royal. Golden picks and yellow petals were woven into piled-high hair–a double gold chain and locket draped about her neck. Velvet had chosen a shimmering gown of the palest lavender, accessorized with silver about her neck and woven within her dark curls. When Bran had seen her descend the Briar House stairs, he saw “home”–the way it should be. “You are exquisite,” he whispered close to her ear. “Each day, I think that you could not be lovelier, and each evening, you prove me wrong.”
The evening progressed splendidly. The music–the food–the accommodations–combined to create a major “crush.” Bran escorted Eleanor to the floor for the opening set. “I am so proud to be known as your brother,” he told her as they passed each other in the form.
“Thank you for giving me this moment, Bran.” Ella’s eyes teared with happiness for a change.
For the second set, Bran claimed Velvet’s hand. She had spent the first one on Crowden’s arm, which still bothered him, but not as much as before. Bran realized his former cohort might truly hold an interest in Velvet, but, if she went to such extremes to make him jealous, then Bran still held her interest. “You are beautiful,” he told her as he led Velvet down the dance’s line. “You actually take my breath away.”
Velvet’s smile grew, and he noted a slight flush of her cheeks. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Bran,” he corrected.
They separated to acknowledge the other couple in their quad, but when they came together, she lowered her eyes before saying, “I cannot.”
He circled her, although they did not touch. “Cannot what? Use my name?” he demanded.
Locked in desire, Velvet’s eyes came to his. “It is too intimate–too private.” She stepped toward the other couple and then returned to him for another circle. “In public, I must think of you as a duke–my guardian.”
“And in private?” Bran’s smile reached his eyes.
“I cannot say, Your Grace. We are never in private.” She left him alone in the form, perfectly timing it so he was left wondering. Never in private, Bran mused. Well, I can change that. Unable to respond–to tell her he would arrange time alone if that was what she desired, Bran, in frustration, returned Velvet to Aunt Agatha’s side as the dance ended.
Early in the evening, Velvet’s taunt had given Bran hope, but from that moment on, she had flirted with each of her dance partners. Bran knew that to be so because he had watched her every move on the floor and had watched how she always returned to Crowden–how she had touched the Marquis’s arm with her fan–how Velvet had laughed at what Godown had said–how she had glanced up at him regularly–and how she had joined him on the balcony for fresh air between sets. Angry, because of the mixed messages, she had sent him, Bran considered demanding that she join him–the way he had done in the park the day of Ella’s attack, but then he realized he had another way to “retaliate.”
“Mrs. Warren,” he approached the woman he had nearly forgotten inviting, “may I claim the supper set?”
Lucinda Warren blushed, having been singled out by the Duke of Thornhill. “It would be my honor, Your Grace.”
Instead of walking away from her, Bran purposely remained by Lucinda’s side. Why not? Within moments, they had fallen into a familiarity–a comfortable exchange. They had talked through one set and had danced the waltz before going into supper together. Bran felt guilty for using Lucinda Warren, but he pushed those self-accusations away and simply enjoyed the woman’s companionship. It had been a long time since he had kept company with anyone.
“Who is the woman with Bran?” Velvet caught Ella’s arm as they prepared to enter the room set for supper.
Ella glanced at her brother before accepting Kerrington’s arm. “Mrs. Warren,” Ella said absently. “She is Matthew Warren’s widow. He was at school with Bran. You remember?”
Velvet mumbled, “Not really.”
“She followed the drum...has been a widow a little over a year.” Ella walked beside Worthing, but finished her conversation with Velvet. “Mr. Warren was killed in the Peninsular Campaign. Bran met her recently at the Royal Academy.” Ella followed Kerrington’s lead and said no more. Had she looked back, Ella would have seen a frown easily displayed on Velvet’s face.
Velvet’s bafflement continued throughout the meal. Totally consumed by Mrs. Warren, Bran had not look at her even once, and she knew that because Velvet watched him to distraction. No matter what she did–no matter how openly she had flaunted her time with Gabriel Crowden, Bran maintained his complete withdrawal.
“And the colonel disapproved of Warren’s overstepping his orders?” she heard Bran say to the lady.
Mrs. Warren giggled. A silly schoolgirl giggle, in Velvet’s opinion. Then she did something quite remarkable. The widow slid her hand up Bran’s arm before leaning in and whispering something in his ear. Velvet strained to hear what the woman said, but the supper room was too loud for such intimacies. Bran barked out a laugh. “No!” he protested. “He did not?”
The woman looked coyly at Bran. “I assure you, Your Grace, that he did.”
As Velvet listened to the easy exchange between Bran and Mrs. Warren, much to her chagrin, Velvet heard a mature woman, while the widow reportedly was but three and twenty, the lady was, obviously, a woman who felt comfortable surrounded by men, an advantage the war had provided her. Bran and Mrs. Warren spoke of politics and of business. Velvet hated to admit that the lady far outshone her own best efforts to engage Bran’s attentions. The woman was honest and well educated; she spoke with ease, and she understood how men who faced war and battles thought. Although a bit plain, Mrs. Warren had mesmerizing
eyes, into which Bran often stared. Even worse, the lady had asked of Bran’s family, and he regaled her with tales of Sonali. Unsurprisingly, the woman seemed to accept Sonali’s Indian heritage without even a blink of her hazel eyes. Of all this, Velvet took note.
“You should return your eyes to me,” Lord Godown murmured in Velvet’s ear. “You give His Grace too much sway over your emotions.”
Velvet bit her bottom lip in decision. “I apologize, Your Lordship.” She purposely moved closer to him.
*
The room filled in the afternoon with a plethora of gentlemen vying for their attentions, but neither Velvet nor Eleanor cared. Velvet’s mind remained only on the fact that Brantley Fowler called on Mrs. Warren at her lodgings. In fact, she was so vexed by Bran’s sudden interest in this particular military widow; she was very nearly rude to her potential suitors. Eleanor cared only for her dreams of last night. Both women feigned exhaustion from the stress of their Come Out ball, and they sent the men on their ways earlier than usual.
“How could Bran?” Velvet whined once they were alone.
“I am certain my brother is simply looking for a suitable companion. He assumes you do the same,” Ella reminded her.
Velvet slammed the pillow she clutched into the chair and then followed it down. “But we both know I am only attempting to make him jealous.”
“Evidently, you succeeded in convincing Bran that you have taken Lord Godown’s attentions seriously.”
Velvet bit her lower lip in frustration. “I do not know how to make Bran notice me.”
“Maybe you should just tell him the truth–stop playing games.”
“Oh, yes, I can imagine the conversation: ‘Bran, I want you to love me as I love you.’ He would laugh me out of his study and marry me off to the first interested caller.” Velvet punched the pillow again. “Yet, how do I compete with Mrs. Warren? She knows how to interest men. To speak of things other than hats and parties. She knows how to kiss a man and to make him desire her.”
“You know about things other than fashion,” Ella protested. “Did not Bran seek your assistance with the cottagers?”
“But I do not know how to kiss a man and make him want me.”
Ella laughed lightly. “I should hope not, Cousin.”
“How do you kiss Lord Worthing?”
Ella flushed with color. “I beg your pardon.”
“Come, Ella; it is important. How did you know what to do? Lord Worthing is definitely besotted with you.”
Ella looked about uncomfortably. “I have no secrets to share, Cousin. I simply permitted His Lordship some freedoms, and he showed me what he wants from his partner.”
Velvet considered this tidbit carefully. “Maybe I should petition Bran to teach me how to kiss,” she thought out loud.
“I do not believe I want to hear this. The less I know of your schemes to win my brother’s heart, the better.”
Suddenly, Velvet was on her feet. “I laid awake all night devising a new plan–some way to make Bran realize that he loves me. Now I see it is so simple: I must convince Bran to teach me about love. It is sure fired to succeed; I am positive of it. How can your brother resist me once we kiss repeatedly?”
Ella stammered, “I...I still believe telling Bran the truth would be best.”
“Nothing personal, Ella, but you just admitted you know nothing about making a man love you? Certainly, His Lordship adores you, but you did naught to earn his regard. He pursued you; you did not have to even lift a little finger.” Velvet was already moving towards the door. “With Bran, I have to do it all, but one day he will thank me for showing him what he most requires in his life.”
*
Bran assisted his ladies from the carriage. When he had gone to bed last evening, everything seemed well, but now, his instincts told him the winds had shifted. Velvet appeared nervous and withdrawn. He had thought maybe she objected to his making a call on Lucinda Warren this afternoon. He had felt compelled to visit Matthew Warren’s widow and to confess his perfidy.
“I beg your forgiveness, Lucinda,” he had said.
“I am thankful to know of your true interest, Your Grace. Without wishing to make an enemy of a duke, as much as I enjoyed speaking of my late husband with someone who knew him well, I was a bit uncomfortable with your overtures last evening. I require time to find my place. I was too long following the drum to begin a new relationship.”
“I hope we might still be friends,” he told her.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Bran had taken the widow’s hand in his. “And you are to come to me if you require anything. Matthew Warren was my friend. I owe him my allegiance.”
Of course, Velvet knew nothing of this conversation. It was possible that Velvet’s agitation came from his “supposed” flirtation with the widow, but somehow this felt different.
In addition, Eleanor walked on pins and needles–a complete mix of nerves. Bran wondered if Lord Worthing had overstepped the lines of good manners with Ella after everyone else claimed their beds, but Velvet swore she had seen Kerrington leave; therefore, it could be nothing of the sort. However, Eleanor acted strangely, and Bran could not pinpoint the difficulty.
Stepping into the main hall at the Donne’s soiree, they immediately met Gabriel Crowden. He bowed nicely over the ladies’ hands before delivering his message. “I fear I bring ill news,” he told the group. “Lord Worthing sends his regrets. The Earl has taken a turn for the worst, and Kerrington has been summoned home. He sent word he will return to London as soon as possible.”
“Oh, poor Martin Kerrington!” Aunt Agatha exclaimed. “I do so hope this is not as serious as it sounds.”
“I will write Worthing in the morning to ascertain if we may be of assistance,” Bran declared.
By silent assent, they began a slow promenade about the room, greeting the others in attendance. In doing so, Bran observed how Crowden dropped back to walk with Ella, offering her his arm. He spoke softly to her, and Ella nodded her assent. Then, without releasing her arm, Crowden took a carefully folded piece of paper from his glove. Bringing her hand to his lips in a show of respect, he helped her palm it for safekeeping, and moments later, Ella slipped it into her reticule. Bran assumed it was a private message from Worthing, and although such a note was outside the realm of good manners, Bran pretended not to see. Hopefully, the note would calm Ella’s anxiety. When they paused to speak to the next of Aunt Agatha’s “friends,” much to Bran’s vexation, Godown returned to Velvet’s side.
Then, in Bran’s reasoning, the unthinkable happened. Sir Louis Levering approached with total confidence in his step. “Your Grace.” Levering bowed low to Bran. “Duchess.” He offered an equally low obeisance to Aunt Agatha. Then, he toadied to the group as a whole before turning to Ella. “Lady Eleanor, may I prevail upon you to stroll with me about the room?”
Unpredictably, Ella accepted Sir Louis’s proffered arm, gave the man a welcoming smile, and walked away with a man Bran knew meant nothing but trouble.
“What just occurred?” Bran grumbled where only Crowden could hear. Confusion stormed across their faces. “Bloody hell! I hold no idea.”
“What is happening with Ella?” Velvet too could not remove her eyes from the spectacle of Ella on Levering’s arm. Neither man, however, offered a response.
Bran, Velvet, and Crowden pretended to converse, but, in reality, they watched the circus Levering orchestrated with Ella as the central act. When Eleanor stepped onto the balcony with Levering, Bran became unglued. “I will kill him,” he growled. “If that popinjay thinks he is becoming a member of my family by placing my sister in a compromising situation, he has another thing coming!”
Bran started forward, but Velvet stepped quickly before him. “Let me,” she whispered. “If you go, the room sees the Duke of Thornhill chasing after his sister. If I go, it is less significant.”
Bran nodded his agreement. “Try to discover what is going on.”
Velvet nodded her understanding. She chose the doors that would leave her draped in darkness until she spotted her cousin. She discovered them immediately.
“You expect me to marry you?” Ella’s voice rose in disbelief as Velvet eavesdropped.
“I insist you marry me, my Dear.”
Velvet did not hear what else Sir Louis said, but when he dipped his finger into the cleavage of Ella’s low décolletage, Velvet stepped from the shadows to put a stop to his liberties. “Eleanor, Aunt Agatha requests that you join her.”
Thankfully, Ella preceded Velvet into the crowded room, but not before the refracted light showed Velvet Sir Louis’s satisfied smirk.
“Ella,” Velvet hissed, “what were you thinking?” She stayed her cousin’s retreat.
Ella was never a skilled liar, and it irritated Velvet how her “best friend” attempted a prevarication. “The baronet and I were simply speaking of Kent and our parents. I lost track of time is all.”
“Explain it to Bran,” Velvet warned.
Ella bristled. “I shall not answer to my brother or anyone else. If I choose to keep company with the baronet, it is my prerogative. Bran brought me to London against my wishes so that I might meet a variety of suitors. Sir Louis saved my life, and now he wishes to call on me. I should, at least, give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“What of Lord Worthing?” Velvet insisted, pointing to Eleanor’s unreasonableness.
“It is likely His Lordship will be in Derbyshire for some time–either nursing the earl back to health or dealing with his father’s passing. Am I to become a recluse just as the Season is becoming its most active simply because Lord Worthing deals with family responsibility? That hardly seems fair. Besides, it shall provide me an opportunity to determine if Lord Worthing is truly a proper choice or whether I look at him through rose-colored glasses.”
Velvet looked doubtful. “But you love Lord Worthing!”
“I love the idea of Lord Worthing,” Ella corrected. “His absence shall permit me to decide if I might find other men equally agreeable. I believe I am acting quite responsibly.”
Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet Page 17