Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (23 page)

“I haven’t told any tales!”

“And how do you suggest I find that out? You willing to undergo a…physical-type examination, are you?”

Her mouth opened. Shut.   She probably reddened. The blush felt hot enough. This was terrible! The padded material blurred. And then cleared. Blurred.

“
You know, Helen even warned m
e it would be difficult
to ferret the truth from you.”

“Helen?”  Her voice shook.

“Must you repeat everything I say? Of course, Helen! Who else have I been discussing? It’s your cousin
who married Chaffìn! She’s now a merry widow and for some reason believes if I set my marriage to you aside, she’d actually be able to step into your shoes. As my wife. B
last the bitch! If I’d any
sense, I’d have run this morning when I saw her.”

“Why didn’t you?” 
She focused. The padding was crystal clear at the moment
.

“Because she had a wench called Sherry with her, and I recognized the name.
”

Helene gasped and looked right at him. “She brought Sherry with her? Truly? How’d she find her? Oh,
Gillian, you have no idea how much that means to me! You must
take me to her at once!”

“Haven’t you listened to a bloody thing I said?”

Her excitement dissipated as quickly as it came. Helene forced herself to sit calmly and straight and attentive.

“I...I haven’t been paying much attention, Gillian, and for
that I’m truly sorry. But you must realize how much Sherry means to
me. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d have perished years ago in
France.”

“Sherry wasn’t with you in France, Helene. And, as far as her
vouching for you, I’d say that would be as advantageous as
flogging a dead cow.”

“Sherry wouldn’t lie!”  She stuck out her chin and glared at
him. “No matter what else you’d have me believe, i
t was due to her that I survived, I keep telling
you.”

“Helene, hasn’t it occurred to you yet that you might be a
touch mad? I’m beginning to think so.”

“You may call me what you like, my Lord Tremayne, but
mad? No. I’m saner than the lot of you!”

“Then, tell me – why does everyone lie? I sent Reg for some
answers and get summoned myself. And the first person I meet is the newly
bereaved widow. You’ve no idea how that sets a body back, let me
tell you.”

“How is my cousin?”  She spoke sweetly, her eyes blank.

“You don’t give a damn about her any more than I do, but
she had quite a story for me. One, that’s collaborated by enough
witnesses to call a tribunal, by-the-by.”

“They’re all lying, My Lord, every last one.”

“Prove it, Helene. Prove that you’ve told the truth about
even one thing you’ve told me, and I’ll let it go. I swear it.
I’ll even forget the little detail you so conveniently forgot in all this
.”

Her heart thudded so hard, she had to
admit its continued existence. “What...detail?” she
whispered.

“I told you. Helen’s a font of information now that she’s
returned to the family fold. You’re not even Helene Marguerite. You’re Helene
Montriart
. And that might mean this conversation is moot, since we’re not even wed in the first place
!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Of course you are. You’re always sorry.”

“I signed the register as Helene M. Bingham, My Lord. Will that be enough?”

“For what?”

“An annulment.”

“I don’t want a bloody annulment! They do!”

“But you said…uh? What did you say?”

“Helene. Darling.
I don’t give a damn what everyone says. I only care about—oh. Forget it. Another time, perhaps. After I’ve figured this out. The Binghams certainly
want our marriage annulled. I can’t quite believe
it’s to regain my hand for Helen, although they did quite a bit of posturing and acting as if it did. And that means I have to find out the real reason. Perhaps you’d be willing to give it to me?” 

“What?”

“The truth, Helene. Start with that.” 

She somehow smiled. She couldn’t tell his expression. He was too blurred.

“You wouldn’t spot it if it jumped into your lap, My Lord.”

PART THREE

Lady Tremayne

CHAPTER ONE

Paris had changed, and Helene looked around carefully,
averting her eyes the moment anyone hinted they were turning
toward her. She shouldn’t worry. She wasn’t too familiar with the sights, since the only
times she’d roamed the streets she’d had to scale a drain pipe
and keep in the shadows.

Beside her, Lord Tremayne looked unruffled, elegant, and
every inch a visiting dignitary to the new regime.

“Well, My Lady, have you decided which sights you’ve a
mind to see first?”

She ignored him. He knew what she felt, and
besides, he was immune to anything she said. If she hinted
anything, he’d probably decide she’d need to visit the guillotine
at the
Place de la Revolution
in case it sparked a lie he could seize.

“And just look. We aren’t the only nobility to be visiting. See?
Your fears were absolutely groundless. There’s Countess Tilbury
and her latest lover — if I’m not mistaken.”

He raised his hand in salute, and Helene looked to where he
gestured. The woman was another blond, although her hair was close enough to white to merit that for a description. She wore a
fabulous gown that didn’t look to have one stitch devoted to modesty. Helene almost gasped and caught herself. She was determined to avoid
any display of any kind for Lord Tremayne. That was the only way
she could play his game.

And live through this journey.

She hadn’t realized they were destined for Paris until he stopped at the inn and she recognized it. They were in Dover. In two years, not much had changed.
It was also the same inn Sir Bingham stayed
at.

Helene followed Gil inside and tried to hide her complete
panic as she realized what he was about. He was taking her back
to Paris? No. She’d do anything. Say anything. Admit to whatever he wanted, even if it was a lie

Anything.

The innkeeper hadn’t found a decent cook. The boiled fare set before them wouldn’t tempt a pig, let alone someone swallowing around a knot of nervousness like she was. The man
hadn’t spent any gains on redecorating, either. The
same red drapes covered the windows, the same material covered
the chairs, but at least the fire cheerfully warming the private
sitting parlor looked hospitable.

Helene quickly went to it and tried to ignore the spot she’d
stood in two years earlier. Sir Bingham had been lecturing her on
the qualities of cleanliness, proper table manners, and her new
status in his household, and she watched him eat the same fare
while her mouth watered.

He hadn’t even asked if she wished to partake with him. He
simply considered she’d know her new station – that of poor relation. Only hers was beneath that. She was a continual reminder of his brother’s folly and the ‘French rabble’s ignorance
for executing an English nobleman when they were supposed to
be cleaning out their own blue-bloods’. Or so, he’d continually reminded her.

Boiled beef and stewed vegetables that hadn’t retained their shape, texture, or color after their water bath weren’t tempting, but the freshly baked
bread made her nose twitch. She’d have to change her opinion of
the kitchen if they were capable of producing such baked goods. The
thought brought a smile to her face.

“I’d appreciate a bit of your good humor, Helene.”

Gil stood beside her, helping her from her cloak. Everything shivered at his closeness
even as she willed it to cease
. She had to send every emotion away and do the best acting of her life. She had to.

Because he was taking her
to France!

She’d sworn, when Calais was lost in the early morning fog
the last time, she’d never return.

“I’ve a bit of a confession, My...Lord.”

She spoke through
stiff lips and gave her voice a touch of shyness. She was rather
proud of that.

“I’ve no use for heart-rending speeches on an empty
stomach, Helene. Come, join me, although I must say our host could use a bit more imagination with his menu. What
do you say?”

She smiled slightly.

“I must beg your apology yet again, mustn’t I?” he continued. “
I was so startled by Helen’s revelations that I didn’t consider how
to approach you. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“For…what?”

“Oh…I don’t now. Ranting at you. Wasting an entire day arguing. A
ccusing you. Have I left anything out?”

Blanking out the most glorious experience of my life!

She
looked away before he saw her eyes. “No,” she whispered, before sitting in the chair opposite him.

“I believe our host is holding out on us, Helene. This cognac
is decidedly inferior to what an establishment on the coast should
serve.”

He rose to correct the innkeeper’s error. Only an idiot would
serve common-room swill to the gentry. Helene heard him say as
much outside the door before returning to her.

“It seems the French are having a bit of trouble deciding if they
wish to trade with us again,” Gil said. “I must say, if good liquor is at stake, I’d probably find a way to make that happen. I might even change my name. Join the army.”

He smiled at her as if sharing a private joke. It made her
heart do such antics, she had to look away.

“According to our good host, there have been several
shipments delayed or spoiled by bad corks and rough crossings. I don’t fancy sea water does much good to aged brandy, does it?”

Helene put her fork on the tabletop and tried to keep her
hand from shaking. It was starting, and he was too blind to
notice. They wouldn’t be safe in France. None of the aristocracy
would ever be safe there.

“Eat up, darling. You’ll need the sustenance. I have no
idea what sort of food we’ll be facing in Paris. Word is that
the new regime’s skills run to culinary pleasures as well as old
ones, but I’ll reserve judgment.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Why not, pray tell? We can say it’s just an extended
honeymoon. Paris is for lovers…or so they say.”

Helene glanced at him, stalled at the look in his eyes, and
glanced quickly toward the fire. Such warmth in those blue eyes could
only be from lack of light. A log fell, consuming the silence for a
bit, and she moved her gaze to her hands in her lap. Someone else had
control of her body, because the real Helene would be screaming,
clenching her fists, sobbing wretchedly. Not simply sitting there.

“Please?” she whispered when it looked like he would stay
absorbed in his boiled brisket.

“Ah, Helene, you know what? The entire time I spent preparing for this journey, I aske
d myself why it was necessary –aside from my curiosity over this Corsican peasant who’s running
the country. I came to one conclusion. Do you know what that
could be?”

“I lie, and you’re determined to prove it.”

“Not exactly…but I do like your train of thought.”

Helene toyed with answering flippantly, but held her tongue. It wouldn’t do to ann
oy him if she wanted to go to
Tremayne Hall.

“I’ve
said some things I...regret, My Lord.” She crushed the
urge to make fists.

“Ah, the cognac! Thank you, my good man.”

Gil looked away at the knock, and the innkeeper entered
with the promised bottle in his hands. Helene watched Gil tip him
while she wanted to throw her plate at the man. It wouldn’t be
any easier to force lies through her lips if each time she felt brave
enough someone interrupted her.

‘Would you care for a glass, Helene? I find it was a passing
desire.”

He set the bottle on the table and folded his arms. She
couldn’t force her eyes away fast enough. Two nights earlier, she’d been made love to. She’d
known her first man. Him. The memory
heated her cheeks worse than any fire.

“Blushes, Helene? If I didn’t know better, I’d be flattered.”

“Please, Gillian. Don’t go,” she whispered, looking up.

“I wasn’t aware it was up for discussion, Helene.”

He
looked as stern as he sounded, and she looked away.

“Please, Gillian?” she asked the fire.

“I’m sorry if you’re not up to a little jaunt to France, darling,
truly I am, but I’ve a notion not only to visit the gay city, which I’ve
heard eclipses the splendor it held before, but I intend to see your
ancestral estates, too.’’

“Chateau Montriart?” She choked. “There’s
nothing left, Gil, nothing! Just an empty, blackened shell.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“I can’t go there, Gillian, I can’t! Please? You must understand.”

“I’d like to, Helene. Tell me something I’ll enjoy listening to.
Tell me the truth about...anything. Tell me about, oh, I don’t know...perhaps we should start at the beginning. Maybe you
could enlighten me about the other night.”

He’d gone from sarcastic to serious, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’ll do anything, Gillian.”

“I’ve heard that before. More than once.”

She took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and looked him right in the eye. Without one bit of blinking.

“I’ve…
lied to you, Gillian. I’m ashamed. I’ve told so many stories, it’s almost impossible to sort through the truth, even for
me. It’s how I kept myself occupied in the…sanatorium.”

She
forced herself to keep contact with his eyes and concentrated on
not flinching. It was easier than examining what she said. But he didn’t understand! She’d admit to anything to prevent the journey.

Instead of smiling at her confession, he glared at her and
cursed.

“I’ll need more than a line like that, Helene. What do you
take me for, the world’s simplest idiot?”

“What part would ye like to hear about, then?” she quipped,
shoving her chair away from her unfinished meal so she could
stand. It was easier to be inventive if she had freedom of
movement, but he wouldn’t know that.

“I don’t want to talk to Brandy, Helene. I want the truth. T
he
real
truth. Not some fantasy that’ll prevent us from sailing in
the morning.”

She cursed herself for the slip to Brandy. As well as recognized how astute he was to catch it. It was easier to lie if she became Brandy. But he didn’t want that. He wanted the truth from Helene. Very well. It was time to somehow mesh the two. And be believable at it.

“I...I didn’t have it easy at the Binghams, Gil. In fact,
nothing I did was good enough. Uncle Bingham took an instant
dislike to me, because my mother was French.  He felt…
she was responsible for his brother’s death.”

“Go on.”

He folded his arms and leaned back to watch her.

“I was lonely, and nobody cared, so I invented Brandy as a
diversion. Unfortunately, my uncle
heard my performance. And thought me mad. He...he put me in the sanatorium.”

She almost didn’t get it out and was thankful Gil didn’t understand why she wasn’t looking him in the eye. She’d rather
watch the cobwebs on the window valance than look at him.

“What about the other thing, Helene?”

“What other thing?”

“The little episode with your cousin, Gerard. I believe you
mentioned a scar the gentleman has on his person. You claimed responsibility for it. I’d like to hear about that.”

She kept him waiting for several seconds, and Gil felt sweat
dampen his forehead as he held his breath. All he needed now was just one
mention of the gazebo, the ballroom, or that she’d said she loved him. Anything would give him the opening he needed. He’d cancel the trip. He had little desire to visit France, anyway.

He’d heard more than enough already. All that was left was
for his confession. And he didn’t blame her, actually. Helene had received a horrid upbringing at the
Binghams. It was over. Their misunderstanding was over. As far as he was
concerned, the entire family could go to the devil.