Emerald Garden (12 page)

And equally determined.

She’d meant every word she’d said to Quentin. She
would
find the animal who had killed their parents; she wouldn’t rest until she did.

Quentin.

He’d laced through her nighttime reflections like a ribbon of warm honey, lingering through her morning hours in a sensual spell more potent than the gardens of Emerald Manor. Sweet, savory, the memory of being in his arms soothed her tortured senses in its healing balm.

And awakened something inside her she’d never known existed.

Quentin.

Like a summer storm, the enchantment had struck yesterday without warning, whirling her into its core, leaving her breathless and shivering. Why hadn’t she seen it, when it had always been there—even when Quentin himself was away?

Pushing herself to a sitting position, Brandi absently brushed clinging grains of dirt from her gown, then wrapped her arms about her knees.

So this was what ladies whispered about behind closed doors; why Pamela had glowed whenever Kenton was near. She, too, must have felt this dizziness, this swooping sensation in the pit of her belly, this liquid warmth that turned her limbs to jelly. She must have known what Brandi had only just discovered.

And now?

Brandi stiffened, recalling the aftermath as clearly as she did the embrace. Quentin had pulled away, not only physically, but emotionally. How much of that had been spawned by the need to protect her, and how much by his own unaffected response to their kiss?

Oh, but he had responded. She’d felt his urgency, his almost desperate need to absorb her into himself. Had it merely been comfort he sought? Dear God, it had felt like so much more.

Brandi slammed her fist down in frustration. For the first time, she found herself wishing she had more experience, that she’d encouraged the advances of all the foppish, arrogant men she’d met these three Seasons past. Maybe then she’d be able to distinguish passion from tenderness, desire from friendship. Perhaps then she’d better understand what had transpired between them.

Of one thing Brandi was certain. For her, there was no turning back. She cared not what Quentin claimed. To return to who she’d been before yesterday? To pretend the wondrous transition inside her had never occurred? To deem meaningless those breathless moments in Quentin’s arms?

Impossible.

“Miss Brandi?”

Brandi started, her head whipping around in response to the tentative greeting.

“Hello, my lady.” Bentley’s smile was genuine, and he waited patiently as Brandi collected herself and scrambled awkwardly to her feet.

“Bentley.” She brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt in its wake. “I never heard you approach.”

“You were lost in thought. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Hands clasped behind him, he studied her face intently. “Are you all right?”

“Quentin sent you.” It was not a question, but a statement.

“Yes. His lordship rode to London at daybreak, and shan’t return before nightfall. He was concerned about you and asked that I drop by for a visit. I hope you don’t mind.”

“You know I’m always delighted to see you.” Brandi inclined her head. “Quentin never mentioned any plans to travel to London today.”

“His decision was sudden.”

“Why has he gone, Bentley?”

“I believe he intends to meet with Mr. Hendrick, my lady.”

“You know, don’t you.” Again, a statement. “Quentin told you.”

“About the carriage accident being intentional? Yes, Miss Brandi, he told me.” Bentley made no attempt to disguise his compassion. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” Brandi’s lips trembled. “As am I.” She swallowed, regaining her composure. “I promised Herbert I’d assist him in the rock garden later today, after he’d finished restoring the geraniums. I’m to meet him at the gazebo; doubtless, I’m late already. Why don’t you join me there? I’ll fetch a pitcher of something cool and we can talk.”

“I’ll
collect the refreshments, my lady. I’m certain you’ve eaten nothing today. I’m equally certain, knowing Mrs. Collins, that she has prepared a full tray, laden with foods meant to revive you—if you are strong enough to carry the ponderous weight in one trip.” Bentley’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll fetch the feast and bring it to the gazebo straightaway.”

Emotion formed a tight knot in Brandi’s throat. “You’re a wonderful friend, Bentley,” she whispered tremulously. “I’m so glad Quentin has you.”

The slightest of smiles. “I believe he has both of us, has he not, my lady?”

“Yes.” Brandi nodded, her eyes damp. “He has.”

Bentley’s perceptive gaze seemed to delve deep inside her. “Be patient with him, Miss Brandi,” he counseled. “He has much to understand, and more to reconcile. As for you, be strong, be discerning. And most of all, be yourself. ’Tis the greatest gift you can offer Master Quentin.”

Brandi blinked away her tears. “Sometimes I think you understand us better than we understand ourselves.”

“Indeed. For example, I understand that Herbert is expecting you and will never forgive your failure to appear. I also understand that you’d best eat, else you’ll never have the strength to assist him, much less solve a crime or win a heart. Hence, I’m off to fetch our sustenance.”

Impulsively, Brandi leaned up and kissed Bentley’s weathered cheek. “Thank you,” she acknowledged softly. Then she turned, scooting off toward the gazebo.

Hearing her racing footsteps, Herbert looked up from where he knelt alongside the geraniums and tossed her a disgruntled look. “Well! It’s about time you got here,” he muttered. “I was beginnin’ to think you’d fallen into the stream.”

“I apologize for my tardiness,” Brandi returned, undaunted by Herbert’s intentionally—and misleadingly—brusque facade. “As for my falling into the stream, I swim like a fish—and you know it. Further, the water there is ankle-high, hardly a formidable depth.” She paused, frowning as she peered over Herbert’s shoulder. “Pamela’s geraniums are wilting! Why?”

Herbert snorted, shaking his head at the crumpled flower he’d been tending to. “Damned if I know. I’ve tried everything I can think of. It’s only these two rows closest to the gazebo. The rest of ’em look fine.” He scowled, scratching his chin. “But not these.”

“What could be causing them to—ouch!”

Brandi’s question was interrupted by a sharp whack on the head. Her hand flew to her injury just as a hard acorn shell rolled to her feet. “Lancelot, that hurt!” Her chin jerked upward, but she knew precisely what she’d find.

Her scrutiny yielded no surprises.

The red squirrel stared serenely back at her from his comfortable perch in the oak tree. Nibbling on the succulent remains of his acorn, he paused only to scratch the white quizzing-glass patch about his left eye before returning to his midday snack.

“One day I’m going to empty every tree in Emerald Manor of its goodies,” she warned him. “Acorns, berries—everything. Then you’ll have nothing with which to attack.”

“He’ll find something, Miss Brandi,” Bentley advised calmly, climbing the gazebo steps and placing a heaping tray atop the table. “The last time I was here, your rodent friend pelted me with berries, tossed an annoyingly painful stone at my shoulder, and toppled a sharp branch to my brow. Not only was I injured, my uniform was torn in three places and hopelessly stained with berry juice. I considered finding a pistol and ending his wretched life then and there. I most likely would have, were it not for the fact that I know how fond you are of the scoundrel. Although heaven knows why.” With a scathing look at the overhead branch, Bentley turned away from the oak. “Good day, Herbert,” he greeted the gardener.

“Hello, Bentley.” Herbert rose, mopping his face with a handkerchief. “And, by the way, I agree with every word you just said. That miserable troublemaker torments me all the time. Only in my case, he doesn’t throw things, he steals ’em. So far this week I’ve lost a handkerchief, two shillings, and nearly half my food. I’ve half a mind to …”

“But you won’t, will you, Herbert?” Brandi asked anxiously. “I know Lancelot is a bit of a mischief-maker, but he means no harm. Do you, Lancelot?” She gazed hopefully upward.

The squirrel continued eating.

“That was convincin’,” Herbert grumbled. His eyes narrowed. “I wonder if that squirrel is doin’ something to ruin my geraniums.”

“Herbert, how could he do that?” Brandi reasoned. “He is, after all, only a squirrel.”

“Humph.”

“We’ve wasted enough time pondering the actions of your rodent friend, Miss Brandi,” Bentley announced. “ ’Tis time for you to eat.”

“Good thing you brought her a meal, Bentley,” Herbert commended with an approving nod. “I can’t get her to eat a thing. If she’s not gardenin’, she’s worryin’. Pretty soon, she’s gonna waste away.” Roughly, he cleared his throat, averting a gaze filled with concern. “And then who’d help me with that blasted rock garden? No one else knows how to keep it up but Miss Brandi.”

“I understand. And I quite agree.” Bentley indicated the array of food with a grand sweep of his arm. “Sit, Miss Brandi. You and Herbert can discuss your afternoon project—
while you eat.”

A trace of the old Brandi emerged as she erupted into spontaneous laughter. “And men claim women are the ones who nag.” Dutifully, she sank down on the garden bench, her laughter fading into tenderness as she looked from Bentley to Herbert. “You’re two of the most relentless and tyrannical men imaginable. And I don’t know what I’d do without either of you.”

“Then, how fortunate for you that we’re going nowhere.” Piling mounds of chicken, potatoes, asparagus, and biscuits on a plate, Bentley poured a glass of punch and gathered some utensils before descending the gazebo steps to place both glass and dish firmly before Brandi. “Isn’t that right, Herbert?”

“Right indeed, Bentley.”

Bentley’s lips curved a fraction as he handed Brandi her fork. “Now, partake, my lady. As Herbert has just confirmed, he and I will remain to relentlessly tyrannize you. Therefore, you have one less dilemma to resolve.”

Touched beyond words, Brandi studied her friends, silently vowing to ease their distress as they were so diligently trying to ease hers. Later, when she was alone, she’d plan her course of action—with regard to the murder
and
to Quentin. But for now, seeing Bentley’s furrowed brow and Herbert’s troubled frown, she resolved to conceal her anguish, even if it killed her.

“Do you know,” she stated brightly, spearing a slice of chicken with great enthusiasm, “I hate to admit it, but you’re quite right. I suddenly find myself ravenously hungry.”

“Excellent, Miss Brandi,” Bentley commended.

“It sure is,” Herbert concurred.

Silently congratulating herself for a successful deception, Brandi proceeded to devour her meal.

Herbert resumed his digging.

Bentley returned to the gazebo to pour himself some punch.

Neither man was fooled.

“I’ve been awaiting your return, sir.”

Bentley stood directly inside Colverton’s entranceway doors, a regal bloodhound poised for the hunt.

The frustrating outcome of Quentin’s unproductive meeting with Hendrick vanished in one lightning worry. “Is it Brandi?” he demanded. “Is something amiss?”

“No, my lord. I was merely eager to hear the results of your trip to London. Miss Brandi is fine. Pale, a bit more subdued than usual, but well.” Scrutinizing Quentin’s rigid stance, Bentley astutely elaborated. “Or, to be more precise, she is holding up, given the circumstances. She’s upset and confused—by the murders, of course—and, if I’m to be honest, a tad disappointed that it was I who called upon her rather than you.” Bentley cleared his throat. “In any case, I rode to Emerald Manor at three o’clock, where Miss Brandi and I spent the better part of an hour together. Herbert and I badgered her until she agreed to eat—a great relief to us both. She’s lost a noticeable amount of weight over the past fortnight—for obvious reasons.”

Tersely, Quentin nodded. “Did you explain to her where I’d gone? Why I wasn’t able to visit?”

“I said only that you’d ridden to London to see Mr. Hendrick and would return by nightfall. She understood at once what that meant, just as I’d intended. Hopefully, it will keep her from racing off on her own impulsive quest to resolve the crime … at least until she hears from you.”

Quentin blanched. “You don’t believe she’d do something foolish, do you?”

A sigh. “You know, Miss Brandi, my lord. She will not remain passive while you rush about investigating the tragedy alone.”

“Lord, I never even considered …” Quentin took an inadvertent step toward the door.

“I don’t think you need worry tonight,” Bentley assured him swiftly. “I made certain not to take my leave until Miss Brandi was immersed in helping Herbert arrange the rock garden. Herbert understands her quite well, sir, and knows just what he must do. He’ll keep her occupied until dusk, when she’s worn out and ready to retire. Mrs. Collins will take it from there. I spoke to her myself. She will oversee Miss Brandi until she is safely abed. So, rest assured, Miss Brandi is going nowhere tonight.”

“Thank you, Bentley.” Quentin’s shoulders sagged with relief. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“My pleasure, sir. However, might I suggest you plan an early morning visit to Emerald Manor?”

“I’ll go there at dawn. Although I don’t have one blasted thing to tell Brandi, reassuring or otherwise.”

“Your visit with Mr. Hendrick yielded no results?”

Quentin hesitated, glancing toward the study.

“Master Desmond is abed, sir.” Bentley gave a pointed cough. “He was a trifle out of sorts today. As I recall, he mentioned something about a pounding headache and a persistent bout of nausea. He skipped dinner and retired directly. But, to ensure our privacy, shall we talk in the library?”

“A wise idea.” Quentin led the way, closing the heavy door firmly behind them. “Bentley, I looked through every bloody document in Father’s file. There is nothing even remotely suspicious there.”

“What about the late duke’s will, sir? Did you learn anything about the existence of a codicil?”

“There is no codicil. Oh, Hendrick confirmed precisely what you’d already told me: that Father summoned him to Colverton for the express purpose of amending his will. But ultimately he convinced Father to reconsider, and the will was left intact.”