Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet

by Regina Jeffers

  “December 5, Your Highness.”

  “Please read to us the entry dated December 5.” Prinny leaned on his walking stick, looking casually amused by the scene.

  “At once, Your Highness.” The guardsman turned to the required page and cleared his throat before reading in a voice, which reverberated off the walls’ gold inlay. Bran fought the urge to smile. He had written this entry to replace the one Lord Lexford had related.

  December 5

  Robert took too much to drink again tonight. Between the port and his love of the black powder, he is often incapacitated, although from the beginning, he was never much good that way. This evening, I found him passed out in his bed, dressed in my favorite nightgown. Sometimes I believe he looks better in it than do I.

  Bran relaxed as Sir Louis blustered with denial. “Stop it!” Levering ordered, before charging forward to grab at the book. “That is not what it says. It must not be the correct diary.”

  “It is your proof,” Bran’s could no longer hide his hatred for the baronet. He turned to the Prince, “Your Highness, I believe we have tolerated Sir Louis’s tirades long enough. He has slandered my father, my sister, my friends, and me. Everything he has said was false. I am a loyal Englishman and do not wish to break English law, but I demand satisfaction. I will not permit Lord Worthing to do this; he has a family: an ailing father, a mother, a son, a sister and brother, a new niece, and a new wife, my sister. I have only my daughter, and I am willing to put aside my title and return to the Continent for the gratification of running Sir Louis through with a sword.”

  Levering began to edge to the side, but Crowden and Swenton immediately blocked his retreat.

  “If you do not mind, Your Grace, I find this all so amusing, and I would like to hear more of Lady Levering’s words.” Prinny motioned the guardsman to continue before placing a good-natured pat on Bran’s shoulder. It was not his first choice, but Bran knew the diary could no longer hurt them so he reluctantly acquiesced.

  Louis recently lost more money at gambling. I wish that he spent as much time in his university studies as he does in the gaming hells and houses of ill repute. Of course, what should I expect? The boy is exactly like his father, and I do not mean Robert. If he were Robert’s son, I would need to dress him as my daughter.

  Again, people began to laugh, including the Prince’s cortege, and everywhere Levering looked smiling faces and pointing fingers greeted him. “Cease!” he demanded, rushing at one group and then another. “Stop it this moment!”

  “He would look fine as a female; he has attractive eyes,” Lord Witherspoon taunted. “Maybe he is Levering’s son, after all.”

  “If he is not Levering’s son, then he is not the baronet.” Marcus Wellston’s voice silenced the growing turmoil.

  Bran had not considered this possibility when he had written the degrading entry; all he had hoped to accomplish at the time was to bring disdain down on Levering’s head. However, he thanked the Fates for directing him to these men, who had sworn an allegiance not only to England, but also to each other. Wellston’s declaration opened new options for revenge.

  He listened carefully as Prinny laughed, and all the Prince’s cronies laughed, and then the rest of the guests and servants followed suit. “You are correct, Berwick, and if Sir Louis is not the baronet, Huntingborne Abbey is not his.”

  “Your Highness, you cannot mean to take away my home.” Levering now stood alone; a semi-circle of the cream of the ton surrounded him.

  “By your mother’s own words,” the Prince began, “you are not Robert Levering’s son. If so, you are not a baronet, and by your mother’s own words, you were born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

  “I am not a bastard!” Levering bellowed. “I am a baronet!”

  Bran heard Velvet stifle a laugh and Ella’s quick intake of air. Levering had made a major social blunder by arguing with the Prince. Bran could not have asked for a better scenario.

  Prinny bristled with Levering’s tone, his amusement with the scene dwindling. No one spoke to the Prince that way. “You are a baronet, Sir, only if I say you are.” Prince George’s tone warned of an atmospheric change. “And I, Sir, say you are no longer a baronet. England owns Huntingborne Abbey. In fact, I have a better idea. Mr. Lowery?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Lowery bowed properly.

  “You, Sir, are a second son, are you not?”

  “That is correct, Your Highness. My elder brother Lawrence is my father’s heir.”

  “Would you care to be a baronet, Sir? You may take possession of Huntingborne Abbey tomorrow if you accept. At least, I know you have served England faithfully.”

  “It is a great honor, Your Highness. I am speechless.”

  “I hope you have the ability to agree to my offer.”

  “Yes...” Lowery stammered. “Yes, I gratefully accept your offer, Your Highness.”

  “No!” Levering threw himself at the Prince, half in anger and half in disbelief. “It is my home!” He took the Prince by the shoulders and shook him violently. Guards immediately grabbed the man and bent Levering over a nearby chair, but he fought until they had subdued him completely.

  Bran looked with amusement at Lord Worthing. Never could they have imagined Levering’s complete mollification. Not only had the baronet welcomed ostracization, he opened himself up to criminal charges as well. The viscount told Bran with just a nod and a twinkle in his eye to follow his lead. The room exploded with calls for Levering’s immediate incarceration. Outraged reigned among the ton. “Levering attacked the Prince!” reverberated from the walls. They had orchestrated a charade, never expecting that Sir Louis might grab the Prince. They had hoped for a turn of the Royal head while either he or Worthing had faced Levering on a dueling field. Now, some other type of revenge materialized.

  Worthing spoke at last. “I suggest transportation. Australia’s penal colony for life would satisfy me. What of you, Thornhill?”

  “I would accept transport,” Bran respectfully bowed to Prince George. “If you deem it appropriate punishment, Your Highness.”

  “Immediate transportation seems reasonable.” Prinny motioned the guards to remove his attacker. They carried a screaming and combative Louis Levering from the room. When the fracas died away, the Prince acknowledged Bran again. “You shall have to attend my parties more often, Thornhill. I cannot remember the last time I was so entertained. Lord Worthing, I offer you and your viscountess my apologies for allowing Sir Louis’s mad ramblings to smudge your reputation, but then how else might we prove him insane? Imagine a woman of your quality even looking at a man such as Louis Levering out of more than pity. You are too benevolent, Lady Worthing.”

  They all took on the appropriate contriteness as Prince George changed the tempo of the last few minutes, essentially dismissing Sir Louis Levering as an amusing interlude. He “requested” Eleanor’s company as he made his way about the room, and Kerrington reluctantly released his wife to the Prince’s care.

  Bran motioned for those in his party to return to their seats. The other Realm members joined them, increasing his number to fourteen. With a warning look, he told them to stifle any thoughts of discussion on the events of the past few minutes. They would treat Levering’s ravings as an afterthought. He would hold no sway over them, thus teaching the rest of the room to ignore Sir Louis’s insane charges.

  “Are you not a lucky man,” Marcus Wellston slapped Carter Lowery on the back. “Talk about being in the right place at the right time.”

  Lowery searched the faces of the others at the table. “Is this bestowment from the Prince really a good thing? I have seen the main house; it is lacking in many ways.”

  Worthing watched his wife and the Prince move from table to table, but he addressed Lowery’s concerns. “The house is solid, and the estate has potential. It needs some interior renovations, but those can come one room at a time. To your advantage Fowler and I bought up all of Levering’s blunt, so you have friends as
your benefactors.”

  “Lord! I forgot about those debts!” Lowery looked askance.

  Swenton observed, “At least you will have a title to pass on to your children, and you have the opportunity to turn Huntingborne Abbey into your dream.”

  “I will be your nearest neighbor,” Bran reminded his friend.

  Crowden started to laugh. “That should convince you to think twice about the Prince’s generosity.” He handed Lowery a glass of wine.

  Lowery took up the jest. “That is a disadvantage I will tolerate.”

  Laughter finally returned to the table. By silent consent, they changed the subject; Velvet judiciously asked Lexford and the others about their time in the East. “We have heard the tales from His Grace, Lord Worthing, and Lord Godown. Tell us some of your favorite memories. All of us are anxious to know more of those years Bran was away from us.”

  Under the table, Bran squeezed Velvet’s hand in appreciation of her taking control of their discourse. For the next hour, the four men entertained Thornhill’s party with unique and unusual stories. By the time Prince George returned Eleanor to Worthing’s side, they were a relaxed and merry bunch.

  After another hour, the Fowlers and the Kerringtons made their excuses, taking their leave of the hall. Of course, various “friends” stopped them as they traversed the main hall, lending their support and capturing the moment, while adding their own slants to Levering’s bizarre display. Realizing the constant bombardment affected Eleanor, Bran worked hard to curtail the conversations, by insisting they “must leave despite being among such fine company.” Finally, they achieved their goal: the privacy of their coaches.

  “The rest of the Realm will be to supper tomorrow,” Bran declared as he assisted the Dowager Duchess into his largest coach. “You will join us, Worthing.”

  Kerrington nodded, knowing they would need time to debrief. “Ella wishes to take tea with the ladies. We will come early.”

  “That would be entertaining.” Bran laughed audibly before touching his hat in a salute to his sister. “Rest well, Eleanor.” He bowed before following Velvet and Cashé into the carriage.

  Chapter 14

  He and Velvet spent more than a few minutes with Aunt Agatha explaining some of the truths of what had transpired before their eyes. They all knew of the late duke’s perversions, but none of them had fully understood what all happened to Eleanor with her father and with Sir Louis. Until recently, Bran had never thought it possible for him to hate William Fowler more than he already did, but the depths of hatred and of his regrets knew no bottom.

  “Oh, my poor child,” Aunt Agatha moaned. “Ella has known such devastation. I am thankful she now has Lord Worthing to show her true love.”

  “His Lordship will protect Eleanor. She will know happiness at last.” Bran shifted his weight in the chair. “Both of you understand no one else can know of Eleanor’s shame. Lord Worthing and Eleanor burned the diaries in their “impromptu” bonfire. Levering has no proof, and tonight has turned his accusations into a madman’s ramblings. If anyone asks, you know how to respond.”

  Velvet barely whispered–her sobs choking the words. “We will protect Eleanor also.”

  “Of course, we will,” Agatha declared.

  *

  “And Ella has finally accepted the outcome being worth the anguish?” Bran poured Kerrington a glass of port. They met in Bran’s study while Ella visited with her aunt, Lady Averette, Cashé, and Velvet.

  Kerrington sat back in the chair. “I would not go so far as to say that. In fact, Ella was quite upset with both of us for not telling her what we planned, but she finally saw the reason for our secrecy.”

  “We should involve Shepherd. He can speed up Levering’s proceedings,” Bran observed.

  “Has Shepherd discovered any more of Mir’s movements?”

  Bran sat down the glass. “I do not understand how two men so different from the average Englishman can simply disappear with no traces of them.”

  “I am certain Mir has not recalled them.”

  “As am I.” Bran looked worried.

  Kerrington paused for several minutes before responding. “We cannot let down our guard until either Mir retreats or until he finds his missing emerald.”

  “I wonder if there is such a gem,” Bran mused.

  “It would be something to behold.”

  *

  Kerrington and Eleanor withdrew after another week. Crowden departed for his country estate, but Aidan Kimbolt replaced him as a regular at Briar Hall. The only difference came in the viscount’s attentions being paid to Cashémere Aldridge instead of Velvet.

  Although she did so with a highly critical eye, Cashé Aldridge enjoyed her new freedoms–her taste of Society. Though they preferred to stereotype each of their relationships, the Averettes enjoyed renewing acquaintances. Aunt Agatha enjoyed sharing her chaperoning duties with the couple, as well as having another charge to champion among the ton. Sonali enjoyed having Gwendolyn Averette as her playmate. Velvet enjoyed having Cashé to replace Eleanor as her confidante. In fact, everyone seemed to be enjoying himself except for Bran. He and Velvet had not shared another night together since they had left Linton Park. With her aunt and uncle in the house, Velvet had ceased her constant flirtations. Except for the occasional kiss on the cheek, they experienced no intimacies, and frustration ruled many of his days, so when the opportunity presented itself for an evening at Vauxhall Gardens, followed by fireworks, Bran jumped at the opportunity. He hoped to corner Velvet alone along one of the darkened walkways. Therefore, he booked a box large enough for the entire party.

  “I was thinking of taking in Vauxhall’s entertainment on Saturday evening,” he spoke to Viscount Averette. “I hope you and the viscountess are amenable to joining me. I have taken a supper box for the festivities. An orchestra and fireworks will highlight the evening.” Bran attempted nonchalance, as if he had thought only of their pleasure.

  “That is most generous of you, Your Grace.” Averette nodded his head in agreement.

  Bran allowed a smile to cross his lips. “It will be a new experience for all of us. I have never visited the Gardens. Have you, Aunt Agatha?”

  “Quite often, Bran.”

  “Well, I am certain if Her Grace has no objections, then the Gardens must be spectacular,” Viscountess Averette added with some obvious hidden objections.

  *

  Happily, Bran entered the turnstile on Bridge Street with Velvet on his arm. His chest puffed out with pride as more than one gentleman turned to look at her. She wore a gown of royal blue with a white satin sash and inset within the flowing skirt. Sapphires donned her neck and ears, and he thought her the equal to a Greek goddess come to life.

  Thousands of variegated lamps hung throughout the trees lighting the Grand Quadrangle, formed by four colonnades. She gasped before saying, “Bran, it is breath-taking.”

  “I was thinking the same thing about you,” he murmured close to her ear, unable to squash his errant thoughts.

  Even with the dying light, he saw a flush of color kiss her cheeks, which only increased his desire for her. “As you have noted previously, my uncle is very strict.”

  “We must find a middle point. I need you in my life,” he spoke softly as he directed her towards the supper box located at the base of one of the colonnades. “We agreed to learn more of each other, and we cannot do so if we are never together.”

  “My uncle, according to Cashé, holds very traditional values.” She glanced over her shoulder to make certain her family could not hear what she said. “He has only agreed to allow Cashé this brief taste of the Season after Eleanor assured him that Aunt Agatha would not expose Cashémere to inappropriate acquaintances. I believe Uncle Samuel uses this experience as a means to teach Cashémere about sin. He speaks of it often. He would expect a marriage proposal if he was aware of even one of our shared moments.”

  Bran had no problem considering a marriage offer. It had been his intention b
efore his return to Thornhill. He knew she reacted to his overtures, but what Shepherd said about Velvet still rang in his ears. The Realm had saved him when he had no other recourse. They had taught him diplomacy–had taught him when and how to fight. When he had read Lillian Levering’s diary, he, at first, pitied Eleanor, but then he realized how strong his sister was. Shepherd was correct: Ella would make James Kerrington an excellent wife. Could he say the same thing about Velvet? Besides Shepherd’s comments, other things had held him back. He kept finding excuses for not proposing: Velvet’s immaturity, her unrealistic desire for the perfect love, her refusal to accept Sonali, and now Velvet’s unsuitability. A fleeting thought had crossed his mind: Maybe he was not as certain of his love for her as he had thought. Maybe the problem was his insecurities. “Then we are to wait until the Averettes withdraw?”

  “We cannot flout our interest,” she whispered.

  “My goodness,” Viscountess Averette said as they followed Bran and Velvet into the supper box. “Would you look at that?” She pointed to the painted wall at the back of the box.

  The Duchess stepped into the area, having arrived on Viscount Averette’s other arm. “It is a mural by Francis Hayman,” she shared. “This is only one section of the painting.”

  “How creative,” Cashé added. Viscount Lexford escorted her through the crowd.

  “Please, everyone, find a seat,” Bran encouraged. Despite his wavering commitment, he had purposely placed Velvet beside him, staking a silent claim before the fashionable ton. In the back of his mind, he no longer wanted to be perceived only as her guardian. He wanted to learn whether Velvet could be the type of woman he needed. Bran would seek an answer to Shepherd’s question.

  Almost immediately, Vauxhall servers appeared with their supper baskets: sliced ham, chicken, biscuits, cheese, fresh strawberries, sweetmeat, assorted cakes, wine, tea, and arrack punch. For the next hour, they were a happy group, laughing and enjoying all the sights.