Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (2 page)

Bran flinched from the memories. “Tell me how he died.” His words sounded far away, even to him.

Ella assumed a practiced control. “Our father, according to the official story, suffered from pneumonia and never fully recovered.”

Bran’s eyes searched her face. “What is the truth?”

“Frankly, his lust–his licentious lifestyle brought him the diseases, which killed his desire while eating away his mind. He spent the last two years in a bed, often restrained or on laudanum to prevent him from hurting himself or others. Ironic, is it not? I mean, that he ended up confined to his bed.” A rueful chuckle escaped her lips. “When he had a lucid moment, I convinced him to sign his name to page after page of paper. Then I ordered what the estate needed, with his signature to verify it to be our father’s wish.”

“You were very resourceful, Ella.” Bran meant it as a compliment, but her body language told him that she heard his words differently.

Before he could explain, his sister interrupted. “Do you realize, Bran, that I no longer have any friends? Do you remember how many young ladies used to stay with us for weeks on end?”

“Of course,” he added quickly. “Sometimes the number of bonnets and ribbons floating up and down the grand staircase overwhelmed me.”

“Father put an end to those friendships. He began by intruding on my time with our visitors. He would feign being interested in what my friends discussed or what they did. Then he would try to lure the girls alone–in a hallway–in a private room. Once I saw him touch Jane Breckington’s breast. He simply reached over her shoulder and caressed it. I was outside the room. Jane ran from him, nearly knocking me over; her terrified countenance still haunts me. Father simply laughed when he espied me standing in the doorway. Jane and my other friends departed that day. They never returned; they never spoke to me again. They knew what type of man our father was.”

Bran heard the sadness and the loneliness. “I am so sorry, Ella. When I left, I should have taken you and Velvet with me.”

The insensibility of his words did not change his sentiment. He could not, in reality, have taken the girls with him; his fortune had yet to be made. However, his sister’s hoarse reply sent a shiver down his spine. “If you think, Bran, I pardon you for leaving me at Thorn Hall–to care for myself and to protect Velvet–you would be in error. You have stolen my childhood as much as father stole yours. That is something for which I will never forgive you.”

Her charges put him on the defensive. “I did what I had to do. If I stayed at Thorn Hall, I would have killed him with my own hands. I wanted him dead. God forgive me, but I wanted him dead!”

“And you think I did not wish him the same fate?” The sarcasm dripped from her mouth. “Yet, unlike you, circumstances forced me to stay and make something out of nothing, and I will not see everything for which I have sacrificed turned over to the likes of Horton Leighton. I do not deserve it; Velvet does not deserve it; the people who depend upon Thornhill for their existence do not deserve it.”

Bran walked to the fireplace, stirring the embers and rekindling the fire. Artificial warmth radiated into the room. “From what you said earlier, Ella, you do not seem to believe my return would benefit Thornhill either. What did you call me? A rake? How would my lifestyle be different from our father’s or Horton’s?”

Eleanor finally allowed her eyes to meet her brother’s gaze. “You do not want the title, but it is yours. You may claim it and leave Thornhill to my care. As I did with father, I could act in your stead when it comes to the estate. You would be free to continue your lifestyle in London as a member of the
ton
. Town life surely holds more appeal for a young man than Cornwall. You would have a house and access to all the pleasures you desire. The title would open doors currently closed to you, and I could remain at Thorn Hall.”

“You thought this through,” he added with a renewed admiration for his sister’s intelligence. “Horton has no idea how persuasive you can be.”

“Then you will agree?” Eleanor’s voice jumped in anticipation.

“I will agree to think on it. I suggest we retire for the evening. After a good night’s rest, we will speak more of this. I never make such a momentous decision on such short notice. You will stay with me a few days, Ella, and then I will decide what is best for us. Come, I will show you to your rooms.”

For a few fleeting seconds, Eleanor started to object to his delay, but she knew the Fowlers never permitted anyone–friend or foe–to force them into making a decision. Instead, she lowered her eyes and allowed him to lead her to her private quarters. “Thank you, Bran,” she murmured.

“I am pleased that you are here, Ella.” He caressed her cheek. “I have missed you terribly.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Besides I have someone to whom I wish to introduce you.” They were standing outside her suite. “Good night, Ella.” Bran turned the handle and waited for her to enter the room. “I will see you at breakfast.” With that, he was gone.

*

When Eleanor entered the morning room, she found Bran already seated at the table. Several newspapers lay folded and pressed beside his plate. He stood upon her entrance. “Good morning, Eleanor. I hope you slept well.” The footman held her chair.

“I did, Bran. Thank you for such an exquisite room.” She accepted the tea the server had placed before her.

“You deserve the best, Ella. What may I bring you from the sidebar?”

She smiled brightly at him. “You may choose. I wish to see if you remember some of my favorites.”

“I am pleased to see you smile at me,” he added, glancing over his shoulder at her. “After last night’s conversation, I feared you would be disputatious.”

“I was simply exhausted,” Eleanor added quickly. “Although you have given me no real answer, I trust you to make a fair decision; I will wait for you to do so.”

Bran’s eyebrow shot up with interest. “I have not decided to agree, Ella,” he cautioned.

“I know, Bran, even with your faults, you could not be a Fowler without a sense of honor.”

“How can you say such things? Obviously, our father, a Fowler, possessed no honor.” Bran filled her plate with coddled eggs and slices of ham.

“Our father was, generally, the exception to the rule. But even William Fowler had his moments. Besides, look at our grandfather and our great-grandfather,” she assured him.

Bran gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Then I shall strive, dear Ella, to do the
honorable
thing.” He placed the plate before her.

“That is all I ask, Bran.” She turned her attention to the food. “You did remember.”

“You are my favorite sister. Of course, I remember your eccentricities,” he teased.

She laughed lightly. “I might point out that I am your only sister.” Yet, she did not argue; she found it comforting to know Bran still recalled some things about her. When he had departed, and she had heard nothing from him, Eleanor often considered how much it hurt that he had not loved her enough to stay–that she was expendable to him. But hope flickered, and images of contentment crept into her thoughts as she watched with interest while he picked up the paper again, thinking if she could convince him, this could be her life: sitting with her brother and enjoying the conversation. “May I ask what you are reading?”

Bran reluctantly put the paper down. “I have business interests stretching from London to Scotland. I hope to gleam some hint as to which investments to push first.”

“What sort of investments? I understood you made your wealth as a soldier of fortune?” She held the fork suspended in the air.

Bran’s eyes frowned although the rest of his face stayed the same. “It is true that when I left Thornhill with no fortune to purchase a commission of my own, I sold my services to the highest bidder; yet, I have not participated in such activities for many years. I prefer to earn my money by investing in schemes others see as fantastical. I see the future. I invested in mining advancements, for example, which the Welsh implemented, and it brought me a fine return.”

“Interesting,” she murmured. “Mayhap you will have some suggestions to make Thornhill run more efficiently.”

“Perhaps I will.” His voice took on a teasing tone, but before he could say anything else, a noise from the hallway interrupted them.

“Papa.” A petite, dark-haired child came scrambling through the open door and crawled onto his lap.

He clasped the child to him in a tight embrace as the girl planted a wet kiss on his waiting cheek. “Hellion, what am I to do with you?” he feigned displeasure as he placed her on her feet. “How many times must I remind you that a lady waits to be announced before entering a room?”

“I am sorry, Papa.” The child’s chin dropped, and her bottom lip came out in a pout.

“Do not pretend innocence with me, Child,” he half-heartedly cautioned. “I am on to your ways of twisting me around your finger.”

“I do not do it on purpose, Papa.” The child’s lip began to quiver.

Bran reached out his hand to caress her chin, cupping it in his palm and raising the girl’s face to meet his. “You are too beautiful, my Little One–just like your mother.” He tapped her on the chin with his index finger. “Now, turn, My Love, and make a proper curtsy to our guest.”

The child’s eyes grew in size as she turned towards Eleanor, who sat mesmerized by the scene playing before her. “Lady Eleanor,” Bran began, “may I present my daughter Miss Sonali Fowler.” The child made a quick curtsy before returning her attention to her father. Obviously, Bran had never permitted a woman to enter into his private realm. Although she was too young to express her concern, the girl’s eyes questioned him. He caught her hand and pulled the child to stand close to his chair, and then Bran lowered his head to speak to her and her alone. “My Sweet, Lady Eleanor is my sister; she is your aunt. There is nothing to fear.”

Again, the child’s eyes expanded. “Truly, Papa?” she gasped.

“Truly, Little One.” His face was at her level. “Lady Eleanor arrived very late last evening. That is why we waited until this morning to greet you.”

“What may I call her?” she whispered in his ear, cupping her small hands so Eleanor could not hear.

Bran smiled first at his sister and then at his child. He whispered loudly, pretending to speak only to his daughter, but permitting Eleanor to hear on his response. “I call Lady Eleanor ‘Ella’; I suppose with her permission you, my Sweetness, might call her Aunt Ella.”

The girl shot a quick glance at Eleanor and watched as the woman nodded her head in agreement. The child’s face lit up with excitement. “I am pleased for your acquaintance, Aunt Ella.” She curtsied again.

“Come here, Child,” Eleanor’s voice cracked with surprise. As bidden, Sonali came closer. “Let me look at you,” she said as she lifted the girl’s chin to take in her full countenance. “You do not favor the Fowlers,” Eleanor finally said without thinking.

“No, Aunt Ella.” Sonali gave Eleanor a full smile. “Papa says I am a small version of my mother. He says I keep her alive with my looks.” The girl turned her head towards Bran. “Is that not right, Papa?”

Bran’s smile did not fade, but his eyes told of the pain in the memory. “You are as beautiful as was your mother.” He swallowed hard, forcing the hurt away. “Now, Little One, you must return to the nursery. You may visit with Lady Eleanor later. She will be spending several days with us. Go at once, and mind Mrs. Carruthers.”

“Yes, Papa.” She skipped to the door before she froze, half in and half out of the room. “Papa, may I take the strawberries with me to the nursery?”

Bran could see her mind working. She looked like Ashmita, but the girl possessed his quirky mind. “Yes, my Little One,” he said at last. “Mrs. Carruthers will carry the bowl to the nursery. Enough delay, be off with you,” he warned.

She bestowed a huge smile on him. “Thank you, Papa.” This time, her step relayed her success.

The girl was barely to the hallway before Eleanor exclaimed, “You married?” She could not grasp the concept.

“Ashmita and I met in the East.” Defensively, he chose to share the story he had told every one of his wife and his daughter. For now, Bran would not share how his and Ashmita’s lives were thrown together. “She was exquisitely lovely, and I fell under Ashmita’s spell immediately. I could not believe she agreed to come with me, but she did. We were together less than a year. Ashmita died bringing Sonali into the world. My daughter was so vulnerable, and I could not keep my child safe and maintain the military connections, so I left my mercenary ways behind and brought my daughter first to Brittany and now here.”

Eleanor appeared stunned. “Your wife was not British. She had no connections.” The statements came out as questions.

Before he answered, Bran motioned the servants from the room. His incredulity rang through his words. “Ours was a love match.”

Eleanor stammered an apology; yet, the situation obviously bothered her. “You are the son of a duke,” her voice barely audible. “I never expected you or any of us to marry for love.”

“I quit being a duke’s son the day our mother died. I became Brantley Fowler, a man without a title.”

His determination left his sister no response at first, but he realized the instant that Eleanor chose to push her plight. “Bran, you may choose not to accept your title, but what of your child? Do you have no wish for her to be accepted in Society?”