Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (37 page)

“I can’t bear it! At night, when I’m alone, I cry until there are no tears left. I can’t help it. I love him, and my parents won’t listen to me. I love him!”

“Who?”  Averill’s voice croaked
. She held her breath.

“Percy
! He’s handsome, charming, and wonderful. I don’t care that he has no fortune, or that he’s a third son of a minor baron. Oh, Averill, what am I going to do?”

“You don’t love Captain Tennison?”  Her voice was faint.

“Of course not. I haven’t even seen him since I was a girl. I probably won’t even recognize him. And nobody understands!” 

She
gave Averill a watery smile that should be put to canvas, while Averill reeled with surprise. Shock. And most of all, hope.  

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“I was afraid this wouldn’t work!”

Petunia’s whisper
was filled with anguish. It matched her expression, as well as how she’d twisted the lace ties just below her bodice into a knot.

“Don’t give up yet
. I feel certain your Percy won’t fail you.”

“You really think so?”

Averill longed to reassure her on the path to true love, but that was laughable. How could she give advice?

The ball gown Petunia
had loaned Averill scratched her skin where tulle decorated the neckline. The hemline was almost too short for polite company, but it was beautiful. Averill couldn’t believe her eyes when she’d looked in the mirror earlier. She didn’t recognize herself.

The front of her dress was scoop-necked, as was the style
. It had fit almost perfectly. The décolletage had been fashioned for Petunia’s small bosom. It was very tight on Averill. Blush-inducing, if she thought of it. She hadn’t wanted to wear white, either. It would be too theatrical against her coloring. But Petunia’s entire wardrobe seemed to be fashioned of it. The only other choice Averill had was accepting the earl’s offer. That she’d refused had probably galled him.
No
. She was beneath consideration. She doubted he’d even heard that she’d dismissed the seamstress.

Her stubbornness
meant she was wearing one of Petunia’s dresses, regardless of color or how it fit. Or what it revealed. The skirt even seemed designed for showing off a womanly form. It had been crafted from an immense amount of material, forming a bell shape. She had an immense amount of petticoats beneath it to give it the correct width. It made her hips appear lush and womanly, while her waist looked impossibly tiny. Petunia had helped arrange her hair, too. It was in a simple upsweep, far different from the style Petunia’s was in. The girl had spent most of the morning with a hairdresser. It wasn’t an improvement. Curls had been laboriously crafted and then arranged all about her face. While it might be the current style, to Averill’s eye, it overwhelmed the girl’s sweet face.

Petunia had added the finishing touch
to Averill’s attire. She’d laced a cameo onto a vivid blue ribbon and tied it about Averill’s throat. And then she’d proclaimed Averill a complete vision, as well as voiced a bit of worry about what Percy might think when he saw how beautiful Averill was.

Averill
had looked at her reflection with a bit of worry. She wanted to be beautiful…but for Tenny. Not anyone else. She was dressing like this because she was being forced. But what if the earl really had invited eligible, young men? And what if he’d intimated that she’d be available to them? The only thing she could think to do was cling to Petunia’s side. And the night was just starting.

“Are you certain he accepted?”

“Fairly sure.”

“But not certain?”

Nothing alleviated the anxiety in Petunia’s eyes, but Averill couldn’t lie. He had been sent an engraved Tennison invitation sealed with wax that carried the family crest, despite how far away he lived. The countess left out her guest list, and Averill could now add expert forger to her portfolio if she wished. Nobody had even noticed the addition. But she didn’t know if he’d accepted.

“
Oh, Averill! Look! He’s here! Oh! Isn’t he handsome?”

Averill looked
to where Petunia pointed. She had to admit the man approaching through the throng had a certain
élan
, although his foppish clothing nearly hid it. Tenny had never looked like that. Averill wondered then what he’d look like in evening dress. For a moment she quivered with the thought. She had to shut her eyes and fan herself before reopening them to the couple. Petunia hadn’t noticed. She had eyes only for her beau, and he for her.

“Percy,” Petunia
gripped the hands he held out with both of hers.

“My precious
! It’s been ages since you left. Years! You haven’t forgotten me?”

“As if I could.”

They spent a few moments just gazing at each other. Averill smiled. This was a look she’d love to paint on Petunia’s face. Her entire visage was aglow with love and adoration.

“I could hardly believe my eyes when the invite arrived
. How did you manage it?”

“
Oh, Percy, before I forget all else, I must introduce you. This is Averill Ben-Masiz, the portrait painter…and the reason you’re here. Oh, Averill…isn’t he divine?”

“Divine?” Percy
stood a bit taller. “Men aren’t divine.”  He pulled Petunia a bit closer to him. His voice lowered. “But you are. Oh darling…I’ve been driven mad. You didn’t even leave me a note! How can I tell you of my grief and my longing?”

“Oh…Percy.”

Averill’s brows rose. A moment later she stepped away from the wall, hoping to shield the couple. Perhaps nobody else would notice their complete engrossment with each other. While it looked like heaven to her eyes, Averill knew the earl wouldn’t have the same definition. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, locating the earl instantly since he was standing, watching over the festivities. She’d already noted his perfect posture. His bearing. He looked regal. Unapproachable. And then a manservant did just that. Averill watched as the earl tilted his head slightly and listened. And then he nodded. And then he turned and followed the man, walking with a dignified gait through the crowd and beneath an arch.

Averill’s
heart instantly ticked upward, blocking her throat. She didn’t know how, but she was certain, as if it was announced aloud to the room, that Tenny had arrived. Everything in the world brightened, starting with the chandeliers far above them.

“Percy,”
she heard Petunia whisper. “I’ve been so frightened. How can I tell you how wonderful it is to see you?”

Averill didn’t hear Percy’s reply
. She was moving. Skirting the edge of the room, avoiding contact with dancing couples, those milling about, chatting. She took extra care with the myriad of servants, easily identified in their Tennison livery. She’d thought the ballroom enormous when she’d first seen it. Now, it was unbelievably stuffy and crowded.

The halls beyond the entrance w
ere almost as crowded. Averill dodged a manservant bearing a tray. Then another one. There seemed to be a steady stream of them, all carrying trays laden with champagne flutes. Some with cordial glasses. Some with colorful arrays of foodstuffs. There seemed to be a lot of couples about, some viewing the paintings along the halls. Some appeared to be simply strolling. Some found more interest in shadowy alcoves. Averill rushed by all of it, barely seeing anything, while strains of music finally faded. She knew where to go, as if someone had whispered directions in her ear. Tenny’s study.

She
’d just turned into that hall when Harvey stepped out, saying something to the occupants. Averill froze. She went cold. Scared. That’s when she was sure Tenny was here. But Harvey wasn’t to see her! She could imagine the words he’d say, the expression on his face. She didn’t want anyone knowing she was here…except Tenny.

And then Harvey turned in the opposite direction,
rounded a corner, and disappeared. Not once had he looked back. She’d never been more grateful. There wasn’t a light source near her, but the white dress was like a beacon. She’d have been impossible to miss. She didn’t hesitate another moment. There was a shadowed recess just to this side of the doorframe. Averill pushed into the space, crushing her skirt and mass of petticoats. She didn’t care. Tenny was inside! So close!

The earl was speaking
. It didn’t carry fully. She got only snippets of words. He was using his grand-fatherly stern voice.

“
…always a pleasure…you, Andrew. It’s about time… you answered…summons.”

Tenny answered something in a low rumble, changing time
. The temperature. The world. Averill’s heart swelled. She put a hand to her bosom and leaned a bit closer, breathing shallowly in order to better hear.

“I expected you in
evening dress. I specifically instructed—”

“I know what you
instructed, sir. I don’t care. I’m not here for you or your summons. I have a ship in Dover to catch. I wouldn’t have stopped if my horse hadn’t thrown a shoe.” 

“
Now, see here—”

“Look
. Uncle Theamus. I’m not staying. I got word of a new arrival in Paris. A true beauty. Unequaled. Exotic. Talented. I’m wasting no time.”

“You’re still chasing skirts?”

“No, Uncle. Just one.”

Averill’s heart dropped
. It felt like a stone at the bottom of her belly, sitting there, pounding away, sending steady beats that twisted and pained. And then it got worse.    

“It’s a remarkable likeness,
dear boy. She’s a very talented girl.”

“Can we talk of something else?” Tenny asked coldly.

“I’ve invited Petunia Abbington-Withers for a stay.”

“
Abbington-Withers? Why? Surely, she isn’t still available. Even in the backside of beyond, we heard tales of her dowry.”

“Actually, Andrew, I....”  The earl cleared his throat
. Averill had never heard him sound so hesitant and uncertain. “I intimated that she can expect an offer from you.”

“
What? You had no right, sir!”  Tenny’s voice rose.

“I have every right
. You’re my heir. I’ve tired of your wanderings. I am deciding your future, as well as the future of the Tennison line. Petunia will make an admirable wife. Marry her and have several sons. You’d have my blessing.”

Averill
didn’t feel capable of breathing…but she must be, for the next one was a gasp. And it got held, making the echo of her heartbeat even louder. But not loud enough.

“I can’t do that, sir.”

“You can, and you will. I am not allowing one more word of argument. Do you understand what I am saying?”

The earl was using his supercilious voice
. The same one he’d used on Averill. It didn’t work with Tenny.

“You’ll have to accept this
. I’m already married.”

The earl cursed
, covering Averill’s cry. She slapped both hands to her mouth to keep any more sound from escaping. The entire hall began rotating, slowly at first, and then picking up speed. The blur of colors was accompanied by the longest, heart-rending cry. It wasn’t audible. It was her heart breaking.

Averill slid down the wall, land
ing with a thump that would’ve made sound if she hadn’t had the mass of material beneath her. Then even the cry stopped, leaving a vacuum of sound. She heard men’s voices. They were still talking? How was that possible? And why was she still here, listening? Every word cut. Sliced. Injured. She should be bleeding. Sobbing. Anything, other than staring wide-eyed at wooden walls that slowly settled back into normalcy.

“...gotten married without my permission
? I won’t allow it, do you hear me?”

The earl
might be shouting. Averill barely heard him. Perhaps Tenny answered, perhaps not. She couldn’t tell, and she couldn’t seem to stop listening.

“I won’t listen, do you hear
? You can’t wed any trollop that takes your fancy! The Tennison line is too important.”

Tenny laughed
. “What makes you think the Tennison line matters? It’s nothing compared to true love. Go ahead. Think what you like, shout what you will, but you can’t undo it. You can’t.”

“I can, and I will
. I’ll have it annulled.”

“You may be able to have everything else you want in life,
my lord, but you can’t have this. You can’t annul something that took place years ago, sir. You can’t.”

“Years
? How could you have done something so stupid? Who is she? Why haven’t I heard of her? Where did you wed?”

“We eloped,” Tenny said quietly
. “That’s all you need to know.”

He eloped
? Years ago?

How could she have been so blind
? All this time she’d feared social boundaries, not that he was already wed.
How was it possible? And why did it still pain? Wasn’t shock supposed to have some value?

With every word
, Tenny tarred himself with the same brush as every other man she’d met. And that meant her interlude with him in Venice....

Averill forced the memory
down, but it came right back. She’d rather take the pain from her burns than handle the agony of knowing the night in Venice had been just another night for him. Just another woman. In another city. Atop another bed…

She couldn’t stand to hear more
. It was killing her, sapping her will to live and tossing it aside. That couldn’t happen. Not now. She had little Andrew. He was all hers. She’d take the knowledge of Andrew’s parentage to her grave. Tenny didn’t deserve to know. He didn’t deserve his son. And he didn’t deserve her.

The two men kept arguing
. Averill ignored it. She had to use every bit of willpower to force her legs to support her enough to stand. And then, she had to compel them to walk to the staircase, climb the stairs. Somehow reach her state bedroom…the one right beside Petunia.