If Love Were Enough (16 page)

“I know not but it will have to be done. If you will accept my choice and decision then Estella will have to do likewise. After all, it is to you I owe my first duty.”

“Then I will go to my grave, Brandon, hoping and praying your plan will work out as you desire. May Estella let you off with little temper and may Lady Rutherford accept you and bear you the sons and daughters our estates require and you deserve.”

Brandon squeezed his father’s hand then laid it on the counterpane. “I hope that is what my future will hold.”

Brandon was pacing the library when Estella answered his summons leaving the door ajar after she entered.

“My lord, you have need of me?”

She was always so distant with him, never rude, never unkind but never warm or friendly either. How could he ever countenance a marriage to Estella after his time spent with Cilla? Beyond their lovemaking there had been discussions and laughter. He could never remember laughing with Estella, even as children.

“Estella, I think my father is near his end and I feel we must come to terms at this juncture. Please, come sit down.” He waved toward a chair by the hearth as he leaned an elbow on the mantle.

Taking a seat in one of the green brocade bergère chairs Brandon indicated, Estella settled her skirts then looked up to him in expectation.

Brandon stifled a groan. He could tell from her solemn demeanor and expectant look she was anticipating the confirmation of their betrothal and the setting of the wedding date.

He was on the edge of the abyss and about to fall in. What if Cilla turned him down after he released Estella? What would he do then?

He girded his loins, took a deep breath and began.

“Estella, I know our families have had a certain understanding over these many years. And, until recently, it was my expectation this understanding would be solidified before my father’s passing. . . .”

Brandon could see the glimmer of doubt pass over Estella’s face, a wrinkle furrowed between her brows, her lips turned slightly downward.

He continued, “However, there have been . . . I mean to say . . . You must know I feel . . .”

“Brandon, what is it you are trying to say? Is there some change of which I need be made aware?”

“Estella, I cannot marry you and wish to release you so you may choose someone else to make you happier than I ever could.”

“No!” Marie burst through the door and ran into the room. “Brandon, you cannot do this! You must marry Estella. You are betrothed to her. You promised. I need you to marry her.”

Brandon swung around to see his sister in a high state of agitation. Her face red, her eyes glaring, Marie held her hands in tight fists at her sides.

Estella rose from her chair then went to Marie to wrap her arms around her. Holding her close she rubbed her back then crooned, “Marie, wait just a moment. Do not react as yet. We need to hear more of what Brandon has to say.”

“I know what he has to say. I heard him speaking with father. He’s not going to marry you. He wants to marry some widow he met at Asher’s. He’s going to beg off and ruin all of our plans.”

Estella turned on Brandon, her face taut. “Is this true, my lord? Is this what you are trying to tell me? We are not to be wed? You are throwing me over for someone you just met and barely know?”

Brandon’s hands rose in front of him, outstretched and beseeching. “Estella, be honest. You have never been in love with me. In fact, you show almost no feelings for me whatsoever. You occupy yourself with Marie and spare hardly a glance for me. Why, if someone didn’t know better they would think . . .”

Brandon looked first at Estella, whose face was still tight, then to Marie who was now clinging to her friend, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The thought hit him like a brick, but the way the two young women were clinging to each other, the height of passion they were sharing, there could be no doubt.

His hands dropped to his sides as he tightened his fists and fought the anger and bile rising within him.

“Let me see if I understand. The two of you are in love and I’m guessing, have been lovers for any number of years. Estella was going to marry me so she could live in this house under my roof and continue to be your lover. Is that right, Marie?”

Marie straightened, wiped the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands before she answered. “And why not, Brandon? You need your damned heir. Estella would give you that. She might even give you a second son if need be. Then, like every other rake of the
ton
, you would be out flipping up the skirts of any woman you could have. You’d spend most of your time in London, like you’ve done for the last ten years. Estella would be left here to raise your children, your heirs. And I would be here with her. We would have each other and you could go about and do whatever you wished to do just as you always have. Who would lose in that circumstance? Why should Estella be left alone? For that matter, why should I when it is Estella I love?”

Brandon made every effort to control his outward bearing and astonishment. “Marie, does Father know what you are about?”

“Of course not. You know he would not approve. Why should I distress him when he is so near to his end?”

“So it is only me who would be compromised. You and Estella would live happily ever after and I would be left with no one.”

“Father survived with mother in town. He took what comfort he wished from enough of the local wenches and whores. Why should you be any different?”

“Have you ever thought, Marie, just maybe, I would want to love, to be loved as well?”

Simultaneously, Marie and Estella’s jaws dropped to the floor, Brandon stormed from the room slamming the door behind him.

Cilla calmly removed her hat and gloves as Mrs. Seeman, the housekeeper who’d greeted her and befriended her so many years ago, hustled from behind the green baize door. With eyes alight, with a smile and hands outstretched, she came to her.

“My lady, you have returned. It’s so good to see you home safely. You are well?”

Cilla turned to face Mrs. Seeman and grasped both hands offered. “Tired but well. How goes things here?”

The housekeeper’s face turned sour. “His lecherous lordship arrived the day after you left. He was in quite a state when he found you had gone without his leave. As if you needed his permission. Since then he has lorded over all of us with little restraint, no less courtesy. At the moment, I believe he’s trying to murder one of our finest stallions by racing it over the estate with no regard for what or whom he tramples. At best, he’ll return the horse foaming at the mouth and nearly dropping. At worst, he will break the poor thing’s legs and we’ll have to put it out of its misery. Lord bless us if his lordship would be thrown off during his ride and break his own good-for-nothing neck.”

Cilla tensed at this terse description of the current circumstances. “I should not have left, Mrs. Seeman. It was inconsiderate and selfish for me to have done so. Maybe I could have had some restraining effect on Damon.”

“Nonsense, how does one tame the devil’s own spawn. But we must get you to your rooms for a soothing cup of tea, some rest, and a nice hot bath. I would suggest you take dinner in your rooms as well. Tomorrow will be soon enough to deal with his lordship. Furston, please bring a tea tray to her ladyship’s rooms as soon as possible.”

The butler nodded his ascent as Cilla and the housekeeper took the stairs.

Cilla entered her rooms with relief. There was no place like home. It would be good to sleep in her own bed once again.

Mrs. Seeman’s voice shattered her reverie. “I must tell you, my lady, he has moved right into his lordship Robert’s rooms. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. And who were we to stop him?

“He had us clean out Lord Robert’s things immediately, change the linens, air the room out and move his belongings in before the sun set on the day he arrived.”

Cilla turned to face her in astonishment. “You’re telling me he is sleeping right on the other side of that door?” Pointing to the portal that joined her room to Robert’s, Cilla felt her stomach twist into a tight, nauseous knot.

The housekeeper nodded, “I’m sorry, my lady, but it’s the truth. As I said, he would not be put off. We tried to delay and say we had to pack Lord Robert’s effects but he said he cared not if we threw them out the window and let them rot on the grounds. So the lot of us trundled everything to one of the spare upper rooms as quickly as we could so they could be sorted later rather than to suffer his wrath which seems considerable and easily stirred.”

Mrs. Seeman continued, “Then he demanded to know where you were and when you would return. He has been very agitated about your absence and suffered us all to hear him rant about your lack of rights to leave without his permission.”

Cilla started to pace to the window and back to the hearth. “This will not do, Ethel.” The housekeeper had become her friend and confident over the last ten years. When alone, they relaxed society’s restrictions and used Christian names. “Damon had no compunction at making advances while Robert was alive. Now he’s gone, I fear what his perception will be about my status and availability.

“In what condition is the dowager house? We had discussed having it prepared for my removal there.”

“As you requested, Lady Priscilla, I sent the maids down to prepare it for you. When Lord Damon arrived he brought them back to the manse and met the overseer there. The very next day five or six laborers were making a mess of the place. It’s not now fit for you to move in with the dust and destruction they are wreaking. And they’re taking their time about it too.” Indignation rose in the housekeeper’s voice. Things were not going as she would wish.

Cilla collapsed into the settee before the hearth. “This will not do. This is near impossible.”

Following a rap on the door and Mrs. Seeman’s call to enter, Furston walked in carrying the tea tray. “Just put it over there,” the housekeeper said, as she pointed to the tea table by the settee.

“As you wish.” Setting down the tray, Furston bowed and turned to leave.

“Wait. Furston I need you to move something for me. That mahogany chest next to the adjoining door. Please move it. I need it to block entry.”

With a nod and a knowing look, the butler did as he was bid. Once finished, he asked, “Will there be anything else, my lady? Mayhap I should find the key and lock it as well?”

“Yes. Yes, that would be most helpful. Thank you, Furston. You may go now. Come back when you’ve found the key.”

The retreating butler closed the door behind him as Cilla reached to pour tea. As she expected, there were two cups. She poured one for Mrs. Seeman as well.

“Come, Ethel, sit a moment so we can make plans.”

The rich scent of Earl Grey did nothing to soothe her nerves as she handed the housekeeper the filled cup.

“In over ten years of marriage that door has never needed a key,” Cilla said. “I expect Robert’s first wife never needed it either. I fear my poor Robert is turning over in his grave.”

“My lady, I don’t think we can count on these precautions deterring the reprobate for long. He’s not the kind to be denied.”

Mrs. Seeman prepared her cup of tea.

After Cilla added cream and sugar to her own cup, she blew across the surface to cool it then took a sip. Finally, she turned her attention back to Mrs. Seeman. “Which room is farthest from this one and least likely for Damon to find?”

It was not until the next afternoon that Damon found her at Robert’s desk, reviewing the notes left by the overseer.

“Well, Pris, I see you decided to return home. What was so very important you had to leave the day after dear old Robert cocked up his toes?”

Cilla looked up as Damon walked across the room and around the desk. He was dressed in the highest degree of fashion, for a fop. His trousers were lime green, and though perfectly tailored, belied the padding beneath the fabric. His jacket was bright yellow as were the shirt and cravat beneath. His waistcoat was a fine brocade but the garish yellow and green did nothing to accentuate its quality.

As was his preference, Damon’s jet-black hair was slicked back accentuating his widow’s peak and his black beady eyes. When he came around the desk and stood next to her, she could smell the unpleasant odors of sweat, horse, and liquor.

He must have returned from riding once again. She wondered how the horse fared today. Yesterday’s stud was in a poor state. The ostler had shared with Mrs. Seeman how he had to wash, brush, feed, and soothe the horse since it could do little more than pant and foam at the mouth when it was returned to the stable.

One would think the man would have more muscle considering how he rode.

She turned her eyes back to her work saying only, “Damon,” in acknowledgment.

She felt a finger tracing the nape of her neck. Her stomach roiled, her distaste stiffened her spine.

She looked up. “Molly, would you please make sure to dust the books by removing each one. I doubt that has been done in the recent past.”

“Yes, my lady.” The hefty, downstairs maid of all work who worked at the manor long before Cilla had arrived, turned to make a pert curtsy before removing the next book from the shelf, wiping a rag over its binding and then replacing it back in its space.

Damon’s hand dropped from the back of her neck.

Cilla nearly sighed in relief.

He stared over her shoulder. “So what have you here?”

“I’m reviewing the accounts,” she said tersely.

“Very good. How much money do I have anyway?” Cilla could hear the gloating in his voice. Her disgust returned.

“Not enough to keep up a life of gambling and debauching for very long.”

“I would beg to differ.” He came around to the front of the desk to negligently drop into a burgundy leather chair. “I’ve ridden over the estate just about every day. The crops look good even to someone as uneducated in farming as I am. I would wager we will have a fine harvest and I will be richer than ever.”

“I’m sure you would. However, just in the few days you have been here I see more funds have been disbursed than for the entire previous month. If such actions continue, I would expect to run out of any and all liquid monies in two years or less.”

“Nonsense,” he retorted, as he rose from his chair and headed toward the door. “We’ll cut back on the expenditures for the tenants. Who cares for their needs when mine are so much more pressing? They have food, a roof, what more should they need?” He placed his hand on the doorknob.

“It is those people who are responsible for the crops and harvest you are relying upon for your income.”

He opened the door as he threw back, “There are more estates than just this one. I doubt if I will lose much by spending more for my needs than theirs.”

The door shut behind him as Cilla vowed to do everything in her power to keep Damon under control.

Two weeks later Cilla was in the drawing room with her needlework. She was pleased the staff had been very successful in keeping her company at all hours of the day. At night she retreated to a room in the farthest wing from Damon’s. She knew he had been looking for it but no one had given the location of her sanctuary away. Even there, Abigail, her maid, slept in a trundle at the foot of her bed.

When the door opened she looked up, apprehensive to see her nemesis enter.

Damon looked about the room in expectation. When his search came up empty, a smug smile spread across his face.

Mrs. Seeman had gone for the tea tray.

It was one of the few moments she had been left alone.

The wretch closed and locked the door behind him.

Cilla stood up pulling the embroidery needle from its thread and palming it in her hand. She moved toward the windows. “Good afternoon, Damon.”

“So I have you alone at last.” He sneered at her as he stalked toward her.

“I spend much of my time alone since Robert’s death.” Cilla did her best to slow her breathing, relax her body.

She must not be alarmed. He wanted her to be fearful. He thrived on being the bully and making people quake in their boots.

“Hardly. The bloody staff follow you around as if they are puppies. There’s not been a moment when you were not chaperoned.

“And where the bloody hell did you move to? You are not in your rooms adjoining mine where I want you.”

“I am waiting for the dowager house to be repaired and available. When might you think that will be done?”

“Not in the near future. I like you in the manse with me.” Damon stood next to her now. She felt his nearness, smelled the alcohol on his breath. Did he never stop drinking? Last night at dinner he went through two bottles of Robert’s finest wine to her single glass.

He savored nothing. He used up and tossed the remnants aside. Even his clothes belied his misuse. Today’s exercise in fop attire was a perfect example. The puce leggings sagged. The jacket, chartreuse with a puce motif woven in, and his waistcoat of chartreuse, were stained. The former at the armpits. The latter on its front. He wore them untended until they were too stained, rumpled or odiferous then threw them away. His valet was worthless.

He grabbed her roughly and spun her into his arms. Holding her so close, she could barely breathe and her ribs hurt from his tight grasp around her.

“I imagine you have been missing the pleasures of the marriage bed by now, Pris.” Damon lowered his head to nuzzle her neck.

Cilla stiffened with repulsion.

Damon’s hands slid down her back then grabbed her buttocks roughly, pulling her hips to his. She felt his arousal and her stomach churned in revulsion.

It had not been like this with Brandon. When he had held her, she melted.

Damon put a hand under her chin and turned her face up to his. “You are a pretty thing. Robert chose well. Alas, I’ll need a virgin bride to bear my heirs but that won’t stop me from satisfying myself with you in the meantime.”

He pressed his mouth to hers then forced his tongue between her teeth.

She could stand no more. She refused to be raped and mistreated by this dissipated imposter. She bit down hard on his tongue, tasted the metal, felt the warmth of his blood in her mouth. Her free hand, the needle now between her fingertips, came up to stick him in the hand holding her head in a vice grip.

He screamed in irate pain then released her. She spat his blood at his face then pushed away and made for the door. Unlocking it and throwing it wide, Damon came up beside her just as Mrs. Seeman came down the hall with the tea tray.

He stopped dead in his tracks as Cilla was outside the door in the hallway. Mrs. Seeman had him in a dead glare and Furston was walking toward them down the hall, the sound of his heels sharp on the marble floor.

“May I be of help, my lady?” asked the butler as he quickened his step toward her.

Cilla looked into Damon’s enraged face. “No. I am quite all right. I have decided to take tea up in my rooms though. Furston, would you be so kind as to bring the tray. Mrs. Seeman, I believe the overseer was telling you about the dowager house earlier today. Could you please give that information to Lord Damon so he is aware of the progress being made there.”

Cilla turned back to Robert’s nephew who was wiping his face with a rumpled and stained handkerchief. “Lord Damon,” she said coldly as she nodded, then hurried toward the stairs followed by Furston who had taken the tea tray from the housekeeper.

It was not until she was in her rooms, alone, with a hot cup of tea between her palms, that she took a deep breath.

Her hands were still shaking.

It had been a near thing.