Emerald Garden (4 page)

“Ardsley! Why?”

A brief hesitation. “Because I asked him to. This matter concerns him as well.”

Pamela came to her feet. “Then why wasn’t he present during your meeting with Ellard?”

“Because Ardsley didn’t know of his own involvement. He still doesn’t. In fact, he knows fewer details than you.” Kenton’s jaw set. “ ’Tis up to me to disclose them—for his own protection. After all, he is my oldest and closest friend.”

“Enough.” Pamela’s chin lifted in an uncustomary display of willfulness. “I’m coming with you.”

Even as she spoke, Kenton was shaking his head. “No.”

“Please, Kenton, don’t refuse me,” she appealed quietly. “Whatever this is about, I’d be a fool not to realize it’s serious. I have no intentions of prying. But I want to be with you, to offer whatever support I can.”

“My meeting with Garrety must remain private—at least for now.”

“Fine. I’ll shop while you and Ardsley convene with Mr. Garrety. But at least I can be with you on the carriage ride to London and back. And, should your business run late, we can stay at an inn in Town.”

Kenton’s jaw unclenched a fraction. “Wouldn’t you prefer spending the days at Emerald Manor with Brandi?”

“No.” Pamela shook her head. “Brandi is relegating the entire week to assisting Herbert with the rock garden. She’ll never notice my absence. Besides, I’d
prefer
to be with my husband.”

A smile. “I’m flattered. I thought you cherished your garden above all else.”

She returned his smile. “Almost all else.”

Kenton could feel himself relenting. “How long would you need to collect your things?”

“A half hour at the most.” She waited, a loving plea in her eyes.

“Very well.” He sighed, pressing her palm to his lips. “You’ve convinced me.” A new flicker of uncertainty flashed through his mind. “What about Brandi? Do you think she’ll be all right alone?”

“She won’t be alone; she’ll have three sets of servants doting on her, at Townsbourne, at Emerald Manor, and here. Further …” A prophetic glint lit Pamela’s eyes. “Brandi is going through a most significant awakening. I think the time alone will do her good.”

Kenton’s brows knit in question. “What is our Brandi awakening to?”

“Herself. Her future. What it will be like when Quentin returns.”

“When Quentin returns?” Kenton looked blank.

“She misses him, darling. Surely you recall that the only time Brandi comes alive is with our son.”

“They’ve always had a very special rapport,” he conceded. “But I don’t see what that has to do with …”

“Everything, Kenton. You must have noticed how her exuberance has dimmed during his absence—not to mention how she’s loathed every aspect of her first three Seasons.”

“And you think Quentin’s homecoming would lift her spirits?”

“Don’t you? If anyone can reach her, he can.”

“They haven’t seen each other for four years, Pamela. Brandi was a child when Quentin went to war.”

“Was she?” Pamela mused aloud. “I wonder.” Lovingly, she squeezed her husband’s forearm. “I’d best pack.”

Kenton glanced at his timepiece and nodded. “Ardsley should be here any minute.”

“Have Bentley fix him a drink. I’ll be ready straightaway.”

An odd sense of trepidation pierced Kenton’s consciousness. “Pamela …” He put out an instinctive hand as if to protect her—from what, he wasn’t certain. “Maybe it would be best if you remained at Colverton.”

“No.” Pamela caught his hand between both of hers. “ ’Twould be best if I accompanied you. You see, darling, as I recently explained to Brandi, I love you. Our destinies are entwined. And whatever the future holds in store, we’ll confront it together.”

The trepidation vanished as quickly as it had come, annihilated by fate’s iron will.

Forty minutes later, the imposing carriage bearing the Steel family crest rounded Colverton’s winding drive and disappeared through the dense woods surrounding the estate.

Only the lone figure watching from a shadowed grove of trees by the roadside knew that the Duke and Duchess of Colverton and the Viscount Denerley would never arrive in London.

Chapter 2

Q
UENTIN PAUSED AT THE
grassy threshold of Colverton’s peaceful, deserted burial site. Rain pelted him relentlessly, but he scarcely noticed. He was too consumed by the finality he would momentarily be forced to confront; a finality he hadn’t yet accepted.

His parents were dead.

Slowly, he moved forward, his boots sinking into the soggy ground, guiding him, of their own accord, to his destination.

He saw the burnished head from fifty feet away, lowered as it had been the day he’d left her. Shoulders shaking, she knelt before Kenton and Pamela’s gravesides, raindrops drenching her as she buried her face in her hands.

She must have heard him approach, for her back stiffened and her head whipped around to see who was intruding on her pain.

“Quentin …” She came to her feet, taking an instinctive step in his direction, then halting. Conflicting emotions warred on her beautiful, transparent face—joy at seeing him, anguish at the reason for his return, uncertainty as to how she should behave. Quentin could read her indecision clearly: After four years, did she greet him with the utmost propriety or with the impulsive abandon of the past?

Reaching out his hand, he took the decision away from her. “Hello, Sunbeam.”

“Thank God you’re home.” She closed the remaining distance between them, seizing his hand and gazing up at him with a lost, haunted look in her dark eyes. “They’re gone, Quentin.”

Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Quentin enfolded Brandi against him, as comforted by the act as she. “I know, sweetheart.” He felt her delicate body begin to shudder with long-suppressed sobs.

“Their carriage went off the road … that sharp turn near Oxford … the family who found them said they died instantly …” Brandi gasped fragmented details against Quentin’s military coat.

“My message said only that it was a carriage accident,” he replied, determinedly reserving his myriad questions for later. “And that there were no survivors.”

“Papa’s body was dashed on the rocks,” Brandi was continuing, desperately trying to bring herself under control. “And Pamela and Kenton were crushed beneath the weight of the carriage. Desmond tried to keep the specifics from me. But I didn’t want to be protected. I needed to understand. Yet I can’t accept the fact that I’ll never see them again. Oh, Quentin, I know it’s a sin to think of myself, but I feel so utterly, totally alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Jaw clenched, Quentin sought the strength to soothe her. “I’m here.”

“Thank God,” she whispered again, her voice muffled against his coat.

“When the news reached me, I caught the first ship leaving for England.” He swallowed. “But I’m too late for the funerals.”

Hearing the anguish in his voice, Brandi raised her head. “It doesn’t matter. The church was so crowded, you wouldn’t have been able to say a proper goodbye. Here you can.” She gestured inanely behind her. “I just placed fresh flowers on their graves—geraniums; Pamela’s favorite. I picked them yesterday at Emerald Manor. They’re beautiful—so beautiful, in fact, that before I left Townsbourne this morning I placed a few on Papa’s grave.” Her lips trembled. “And Mama’s, as well. Do you know what I was thinking?”

“No,” Quentin answered gently. “What were you thinking?”

“That Papa can finally be happy now. That after twenty years he and Mama are together again.”

Reflexively, Quentin smoothed damp wisps of hair from Brandi’s forehead. “That’s a lovely thought. Also an accurate one. Ardsley never cared for anyone after your mother died. Except you.” His knuckles caressed her cheek. “I don’t have to tell you how much your father adored you. He loathed seeing you unhappy.” A small nostalgic smile played about Quentin’s lips. “I can still recall how devastated he was the first time Poseidon threw you.”

“He was terribly upset,” Brandi agreed in a choked whisper.

“Upset? I was fortunate he didn’t shoot my horse on the spot. And to think you weren’t even injured.”

“My pride was in shambles,” Brandi returned, the haunted look fading a bit. “Papa knew how much I hated defeat.”

“And how badly you took it, even at eight years old.”

A half-smile curved her lips. “True.”

“Sunbeam.” Quentin sobered, tilting Brandi’s face up to his. “Ardsley wouldn’t want you grieving like this.”

She nodded. “I know.” Inhaling sharply, she studied Quentin’s face as if truly seeing him for the first time since he’d appeared. “These lines weren’t here before,” she murmured, brushing her fingers over the corners of his compelling hazel eyes. “Nor was this.” Her fingers glided upward, through the damp strands of his dark hair, pausing at those spots now tinged with gray.

An odd expression crossed his face before he gave her a rueful smile. “In case you’ve forgotten, four years have passed. My thirtieth birthday came and went.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Age has nothing to do with it. Experience does.” She lowered her arms, twisting her hands in the folds of her cape. “How did you endure it? Facing death every day, watching others die? I can’t even withstand three losses.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Sunbeam. These three losses were not mere acquaintances; they were your family.”

“Yes.” Her eyes welled up again. “They were.”

“You’ve changed, too, you know,” he added hastily, speaking his thoughts aloud, uncensored, in order to distract her.

His ploy was successful.

“Have I?” She looked more curious than pleased. “How?”

“You’ve grown up.” Even as he spoke the words, he realized how very true they were. When he’d left, she’d been a vibrant, clever little imp, rife with the promise of beauty and allure, yet just shy of grasping it. In four years, she’d come into her own. The fine-boned features—no longer streaked with dirt—were accentuated by bottomless dark eyes and a luxuriant cloud of cinnamon hair. “You’ve become a beautiful young woman,” he concluded aloud.

“Maybe.” She sighed. “But I’ve hated every minute of it, just as I promised you I would.”

An unexpected chuckle rumbled in Quentin’s throat. “Oh, Sunbeam, I’ve missed you.” He shook his head in amazement. “No one but you could make me smile at a time like this.”

“I feel the same way.” Her gaze fell to his coat, now thoroughly soaked by the rain. “You’re drenched,” she murmured, wiping droplets of water from his sleeve. “If you remain out here much longer, you’ll become ill.”

“As will you.” Solemnly, he peered beyond Brandi’s shoulder. “I need some time alone with them.”

She nodded. “Shall I leave for Townsbourne?”

“No.” Roughly, he cleared his throat. “That is …”

“I’ll wait for you in the sitting room,” she replied with gentle understanding. “We can have tea and talk. Besides, I’m sure Desmond is eager to see you.”

“Is he all right?”

“Under the circumstances, he’s remarkable. In fact, I don’t think I could have survived this past week without him. He’s been a pillar of strength, while I’ve hovered on the verge of collapse. I feel terribly guilty—not only about placing the entire emotional burden on him, but about taking so much of his time nursing my heartache. He has much to see to, and the details will only multiply after tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“The wills are being read in Mr. Hendrick’s office at two o’clock. I understand it’s a mere formality, but once Desmond is officially declared the Duke of Colverton, I imagine his responsibilities will be staggering.”

“Yes,” Quentin concurred quietly, studying Brandi’s face. “They will.”

The rain intensified, fierce droplets transforming to a hard, steady stream.

“Go,” Brandi advised, wrapping her cape around her. “Visit Pamela and Kenton. I’ll tell Desmond you’re home.” She captured Quentin’s hand in a hard, comforting squeeze. Then she gathered up her skirts and sprinted toward the manor.

With a reminiscent smile, Quentin watched her unladylike departure, strangely comforted that some things, at least, remained unchanged.

Then his smile faded and he turned to face the ordeal that awaited him.

“You look well, Quentin,” Desmond pronounced from the sofa. He put down his coffee cup and leaned back, carefully assessing his half brother. “A bit thinner, but well.”

“As do you.” Quentin returned Desmond’s scrutiny. His brother looked as young and fit at seven and thirty as he had at twenty—tall and well-muscled, his dark brown hair untinged by gray, his probing black eyes unmarred by lines. Time had indeed been kind to him.

Shifting his weight on the straight-backed chair, Quentin took a gulp of black coffee, wishing he didn’t feel such a stranger in his own home.

A prolonged silence permeated the sitting room.

“Learning about Father and Pamela’s deaths must have been a tremendous shock for you,” Desmond commented at last.

“For all of us,” Quentin amended. “And, yes, it was. In truth, I don’t believe the full reality has yet sunk in.”

“I awaken each day and expect to see Papa at breakfast,” Brandi murmured from the armchair in which she was draped.

“But you’re improving, little one,” Desmond soothed instantly. He leaned forward, covered Brandi’s hand with his. “Every day you come back to yourself a bit more.”

“I suppose so. Still …” Her voice and gaze drifted off.

“Yesterday, we took that lovely carriage ride through the Cotswolds, and I distinctly recall your smiling at least twice.”

“Hmm? Oh, the carriage ride. Yes, Desmond, it was splendid.”

Desmond’s teeth gleamed. “Indeed it was.”

“Master Quentin, I just heard you’d returned to Colverton.” Bentley awaited no invitation, striding through the sitting room to where Quentin sat. “Welcome home, sir—despite the tragic circumstances of your homecoming.” A flicker of emotion crossed the butler’s face, then dissipated as he regained his unfaltering dignity. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve arranged for your bags to be unpacked.”

“Thank you, Bentley.” Quentin came to his feet, smiling fondly at the man who’d been at Colverton forever, and who was more family member than servant. “ ‘Tis good to be back. I only wish …”