The old man smiled and leaned back against his pillows. "I suppose you're wondering why I invited you here after what happened last time."
There was nothing like getting straight to the heart of the matter; Brahm appreciated that. "The question has crossed my mind."
Burrough guffawed, as if he knew just what an understatement that was, but his expression quickly grew thoughtful. "I invited you here because of Eleanor."
Brahm's heart gave a little leap at the mention of her. Had she told her father what happened?
"I do not know what happened between the two of you back then"— that answered that question— "but I do know that my daughter has never been the same since her disappointment."
Disappointment.
That was an interesting way to put it. "And so you invited me here to do what exactly?"
"You have been an obsession with my daughter for years, and since you responded to my invitation, I can only assume that you share her affliction. I want you and Ellie to do whatever it is you need to do to set things right between you. I want her to get on with her life."
Brahm laughed and shook his head. "I do not think that is possible."
"Why?"
"Because Lady Eleanor does not want to set things right between us." Had she really been as obsessed with him as he was with her? That was a long time to carry so much hatred.
Burrough's eyes narrowed, but Brahm didn't feel threatened. "What did you do to my daughter, boy?"
Rubbing his hand over his face, Brahm sighed in resignation and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the black wool of his trousers. He forced himself to meet the older man's gaze. "Eleanor refused my offer of marriage because she caught me…in a very compromising situation with another woman."
The earl didn't even blink. "Lydia."
Damnation.
Brahm's jaw dropped in a blatant display of surprise that was unlike anything he had experienced for quite some time. "How did you know?"
Burrough sighed. "Lydia married young, to a man I knew was no match for her, but she would not be dissuaded. It did not take long for her to start looking outside her marriage for a little joy."
If the old man wanted to call his daughter's affairs "joy," then Brahm wasn't going to correct him. "It is no excuse, but I was foxed. I do not remember it."
"I believe you." The old man's smile was kind, sympathetic even. "You were a hopeless drunk, but you were not dishonorable."
Brahm wasn't so sure of that, but he didn't have the inclination to argue if the old man wanted to believe it.
"If it is worth anything, I haven't had a drink in almost two years." Those months following his accident had been difficult and laudanum had proved to have its own appeal, but Brahm refused to hide in a stupor for the rest of his life, not when he had been given a fresh start. Now he was able to take laudanum for his leg and not worry that he might end up in one of the Oriental dens with a pipe in his hand.
The earl nodded. "It is worth a lot. Your father had similar demons, but that did not mean he wasn't a good man at heart. I have a strong suspicion that you are a good man as well."
Brahm swallowed. He didn't know what to say.
"I do not know if Ellie can forgive you for what you did, boy, but I do know this: if Eleanor does not make her peace with you, if she does not get what happened between the two of you out of her head, then she will never be able to find happiness, and above all else I want my daughter to be happy."
Brahm wanted that too. The realization came as a bit of a surprise, but if he was responsible for Eleanor's unhappiness, then he wanted to fix it.
"The two of you will end up either married or hating each other," the earl predicted. "To be honest, I don't much care which one, so long as Eleanor is happy."
Fair enough. "Why did you wait so long to force this confrontation?" So many years had passed. If the old man had been so concerned with Eleanor's well-being, why hadn't he done something long before this?
Burrough smiled, but there was more compassion in it than humor. "I had to wait till you sobered up."
* * *
True to his dictate, Eleanor's father refused to fling Brahm Ryland from their house. True to her own word, Eleanor gave Brahm little chance to prove his so-called change to her. She avoided him as often as possible over the course of the next two days. It wasn't easy. As hostess she was expected to chat with all the guests during meals and other activities. Somehow, though, she managed to make certain that Brahm wasn't one of those guests she spoke to.
Now as she sat underneath an airy canopy on the back lawn of her father's estate, waiting for lunch to be served alfresco, she began to wonder if perhaps her snub hadn't begun to work to her advantage. All but a few of the guests had already come outside for the meal, and Brahm Ryland was not among them. Perhaps he had decided to take refreshment in his chamber. Or perhaps he had finally come to his senses and decided to depart from the party.
Hmpf. That was unlikely. She ignored the disappointment that came with the thought of his leaving. Why would he leave when so many others seemed pleased by his company? Many of the guests treated him like some kind of delightful confection. His disgustingly scandalous past had made him something of a legend, it seemed, and that made him popular. Add that to the fact that there were several respected society matrons who went out of their way to support him, and the Viscount Creed was well on his way to being society's darling once more.
But his popularity aside, why would he leave when he knew his being there was bound to drive her to distraction? He took enjoyment from her discomfort, of that she was certain. And he had to know she was uncomfortable— even if their initial meeting hadn't gone as it had, her avoidance of him was a clear indication of what she thought of him.
No. Brahm Ryland had a reason to remain under her father's roof. What that reason was, Eleanor didn't know, and she wasn't particularly certain that she cared to, either.
Yet there was a part of her— that same part that made sure she wore a most flattering gown in a becoming shade of blue— that wanted to see him and have him see her. She wanted him to notice that she was in her best looks, and that though many years had passed, they had been kind to her. She knew she was aging well. In fact, she was more pleased by her own appearance now than she had been ten years ago. Of course, Brahm was weathering time well himself, but that was beside the point. She wanted him to see that her marriageless state was of her choosing, not because no one would have her. She wanted him to admire her, perhaps even try to renew his addresses just so she could have the pleasure of grinding his hopes beneath her heel.
God help her, after all these years she wanted at least some retribution for what he had done.
Thank God she hadn't been in love with him. What a mess that would have been! Her heart might never have recovered. As it was it took her pride— and yes, her heart— longer than it should have to repair the damage done. She had liked Brahm— liked him very much— and her disappointment had been keenly felt.
Much like the lurch of her heart when he stepped out into the afternoon sunshine and joined the rest of their party.
Even as Eleanor cursed her own body's reaction to the blasted man, her gaze fastened on him greedily, drinking in every detail of his appearance. How easy and composed he seemed— how uncaring. People stared at him, and he didn't seem the least bit bothered, but then he was probably used to stares by now, given some of his past exploits.
The sun brought out warm shades of gold and red in the waves of his too-long hair. Did the man not have a valet to tend to such things? Most men would have looked shabby with such locks, but not Brahm. He looked boyish and tousled, and more than a little rakish. The lines around his eyes and mouth should have made an old man of him, but they only added to his carefree appearance. He had the look of a man who laughed often.
Laughter. What amusement could life have possibly afforded Brahm Ryland? He had been disowned by society. He had earned a lame leg from the same accident that killed his father. Surely he found no laughter in such things?
She
had more reason to smile than he did, and yet she knew her own face to be as smooth as a porcelain doll's. She could be just as cool and expressionless as a doll as well, though there was no explaining it. Despite the fullness of her life, she sometimes felt utterly empty inside. Somewhere along the way she had become so amazingly adept at concealing her emotions that she hid them even from herself.
Brahm smiled at someone who spoke to him, crinkling the skin around his russet eyes and revealing straight white teeth. With his impeccable buff trousers and chocolate jacket, polished boots and snowy cravat, he looked every inch the gentleman. The gold top of his cane flashed in the sun, adding to his elegant aspect. He had obviously taken pains with his appearance as well. But for whose benefit? Hers? Impossible.
"He is a fine-looking man, is he not?"
Despite the heat, a chill passed over Eleanor as she gazed upward. Lydia stood beside her, her gaze lingering on Brahm in what Eleanor suspected might be a hungry manner.
"Who?" How difficult it was to feign ignorance.
It seemed to take great effort for the younger woman to tear her gaze away from the man across the lawn, but when she did, she directed those pale blue eyes at her sister. "You know who. Take care not to stare, dearest. The gossips will say you still have feelings for him."
The words were said without a hint of malice or poison, and yet Eleanor flushed at them. It was on the tip of her tongue to give Lydia a similar warning, but she held her silence. Her sister was only thinking of her best interests and did not deserve such vitriol in return.
"The gossips will say whatever they wish regardless," she responded coolly. "Do not concern yourself, Lydia. I am in no danger where Brahm Ryland is concerned."
The look her sister flashed her was hard to read, but there was an unmistakable air of amusement in it, as though Lydia thought her horribly naive.
"Any woman he sets his sights on is in danger from him, Eleanor. He is just that kind of man."
Eleanor looked away, swallowing hard. Did Lydia consider herself in danger as well? And why should that idea put such a sour taste in Eleanor's mouth? She didn't agree with dishonoring one's wedding vows, but a woman had a right to seize whatever happiness she could in this world dominated by men. Who was she to judge anyone's actions? Who was she to say she would not do the same in such a situation?
Or was she simply jealous because her younger sister had experienced what should have by rights been hers?
"I will take that under consideration." She kept her tone deliberately bland. "I believe Muriel is trying to capture your attention, dear."
Lydia sighed. "No doubt she wants me to rescue her from Lady Edwards. Excuse me."
In truth Eleanor was glad to see the back of her sister, even if her departure left her alone once more. How she wanted this luncheon over so she could escape to her room for some peace.
Feeling a gaze upon her, she looked up to find herself staring into Brahm's eyes. Even from a distance his gaze affected her, making her heart jump in response. Had he seen her talking to Lydia? Did he wonder if perhaps they had been discussing him? Did he care?
Eleanor jerked her gaze away. It was foolish, but she didn't want to risk his reading anything in her eyes, and she didn't want him to think that she wanted anything to do with him, because she didn't.
The butler rang the bell that the meal was about to be served, signaling that guests not yet seated should do so. Luncheon was to be an informal affair, with several smaller tables rather than one large one set out underneath the canopy. Snow white lacy tablecloths swayed in the breeze, their tops decorated with simple displays of brightly colored flowers and glittering silverware. All had been done under Eleanor's supervision, and she took pride in seeing how lovely everything looked.
Her father joined her at the table, along with Arabella and her husband, Henry; one of her father's chosen bachelors; a respected society matron; and an older couple who were old friends of her father's. The chair next to Eleanor was empty until Brahm claimed it for himself.
How dare he! Eleanor's face flamed with indignation, but she fought to keep her reaction from showing. Other guests were watching their table with open interest, and she wasn't about to give them something to talk about over their pheasant and salmon.
Her father saved her from having to react at all.
"Creed, good of you to join us, boy!" he boomed, his voice stronger than Eleanor had heard it in weeks. "I trust you know everyone?"
Grinding her teeth, Eleanor snuck a glance out of the corner of her eye as Brahm nodded. "Thank you, Lord Burrough. I bid you all a good day."
Everyone greeted him cordially save for the other bachelor— a Lord Taylor. Taylor was decidedly cool toward Brahm, and Eleanor sighed inside. Wonderful, she was going to be treated as a bone held above hungry dogs— a prize and nothing more.
