Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (11 page)

Uncomfortably, Worthing asked. “What does your family know of Ashmita?”

“Not the truth, if that is what you ask.” Bran refused to say more.

Worthing paused for a long time. “And Shepherd’s contacts found out what exactly?”

“Mir claims one of us walked out of that confrontation with an emerald the size of a man’s fist. The Baloch wants it back.”

“An emerald?” Worthing found this amusing. “Who had time to look for an emerald?”

Tapping them to his lips, Bran steepled his fingers before him. “I cannot see any of our men taking something of that value without the rest of us knowing.”

“I assume as you confide in me, you do not suspect I am culpable?”

“As we fought back-to-back through much of the hostilities, I cannot imagine your having the opportunity to rummage through Mir’s tents, but even if that were not true, I would never suspect you of such thievery.”

“Then what do we do next? I cringe with the knowledge that our families are in danger.”

Bran became all business like. “Although Shepherd feels, initially, that we should not mention the emerald. obviously, we need to inform the others. If one of us has it, that person would know the Realm would not look on it in a positive manner. We must ascertain whether anyone else suffered attacks similar to mine.” Worthing simply nodded his agreement, mentally putting the puzzle pieces together. Noting his friend engrossed in his thoughts, Bran took advantage and shifted his line of speech. “Now, Worthing, do you want to tell me what you know of my sister’s sleepwalking episodes?”

Kerrington shifted, unease evident. “I suppose the proper thing would be to respond in the negative, denying any knowledge of what you speak.”

“But you will not offer me such prevarications,” Bran’s tone spoke of a silent threat.

“I will not.” Bran’s noted that his close inspection obviously made Lord Worthing anxious. “I...I came upon Lady Eleanor my first night at Thorn Hall. I...I said nothing because I chose not to embarrass the lady. On two other occasions, when I found her wandering alone, I returned Lady Eleanor to her room.” Bran waited in silence to see what else Kerrington might divulge, but the viscount remained silent. “When did you discover your sister’s meanderings?” he said finally.

“Actually, I have not encountered them first hand. Eleanor’s maid sought me out before we departed Thorn Hall. As my sister’s sleepwalking incidents increased, and as no one here was aware of them, Hannah thought I should know. She let it slip about your involvement. I am not certain, Worthing, that I relish the idea of your intimacy with Ella.”

“I assure you, Your Grace, any interest I have in Lady Eleanor is purely honorable.”

“Really?” Bran set forward in his chair, resting his arms on the desk. “You affect Ella?”

Worthing swallowed hard. “If I thought Lady Eleanor would accept my plight, I would make it known immediately. As it is, I plan to be somewhat of a nuisance during her Season and pray Lady Eleanor chooses me by the end. So, Fowler, you should prepare your objections if you have any; otherwise, I will expect your permission when the time comes.”

Bran simply smiled at his friend. “I wish you success, Worthing.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” The viscount prepared to stand but stalled. “Fowler...” he paused again, “find out what happened to Lady Eleanor while you were away. Something is driving your sister from her bed.”

Bran’s head snapped up in attention. “Do you know something else about Eleanor that you are not sharing?”

“I cannot say for sure, but it seems odd to me that your sister’s somnambulant sessions stopped with your father’s passing and began again when you announced this upcoming Season. Remember her words when you told her and Miss Aldridge your plans. Your sister expects censure because of your father. There must be a connection.”

Bran let out a long sigh before following his friend to his feet. “You have given me much of which to consider, Worthing.”

“I want Lady Eleanor free of her demons, and I will do what is necessary to protect her from her past, and if required, from you.”

“Is that a threat, Worthing?”

Kerrington’s smile met his eyes. “It is a guarantee, Thornhill.”

*

“Velvet.” Bran found her in the gallery. He had said his “good nights” to Sonali, but then he found it necessary to seek out Velvet. Unexpectedly, she had made a point of connecting with his daughter. “I wanted to thank you for seeing Sonali to bed this evening. She spoke only of the bedtime story you shared.”

“It was nothing, Bran. Sonali is a delightful child. You did well by her.”

Bran paused before adding, “I do understand your hesitation in accepting Sonali. My marriage had to come as a shock.”

“I meant what I said: You did not deserve my anger. You married because it was what was necessary for you at the time. I have no right to judge.”

“However, it means the world to me that you are making efforts with Sonali. She needs a sense of family.”

Velvet edged closer, trying Ella had executed with Lord Worthing. “We all need family, Bran. I have two sisters I barely know; Ella is so much closer than either Cashémere or Satiné; Eleanor is the one to whom I turn for support. I cannot remember a time when the two of you were not my family.”

Automatically, Bran encircled her with his arms, and Velvet planted herself along his body, snuggling into his chest. He had meant to comfort her, to chase away the loneliness he had heard in her voice; but when her body touched his, he became lost to the sensation. His hands slowly moved up and down her back, his eyes clenching shut in the ecstasy of the encounter.

Neither of them spoke. It was an exquisite moment, and Velvet gloried in the knowledge that her presence disturbed him. She had wanted to offer her lips for a kiss, but she reminded herself it was too soon. She needed to find ways to recreate this embrace–this connection–daily, until it drove Bran crazy, and he claimed her for his own.

Finally, they moved apart, unable to justify their closeness any longer. “I believe I will bid the others a good night.” Her voice sounded raspy and dry.

“Good evening, my Dear.” Bran cupped her cheek with his palm.

Velvet turned her head slowly and brushed her lips across his palm. “Until the morning, Your Grace.” And then she made her grand exit.

Bran remained staring after her for several extended moments–his hand still in the air as if disengaged from the rest of his body.
What just happened?
he wondered.

Chapter 6

“Who do you suspect?” Bran paced Shepherd’s office, trailing along the groove others had worn in the wood over the years.

Shepherd, the only name he had ever given anyone, looked out the filthy window. “No man who ever served the Realm would place those within his unit in danger by stealing a jewel.”

“Then what happened to it? As evil as Shaheed Mir might be, the man still possesses a sense of honesty. He truly believes one of us has it, or he would not move against us. My taking Ashmita might be a blow to his pride, but he would not concoct a story simply to revenge the taking of a woman-child, whom he deemed not worth even a rupee.” Frustrated, Bran flopped into the nearest chair, ignoring what his valet would say later.

“I cannot speak to the jewel, but we do know Mir is not in the country. However, two of his agents are. We believe Rahmat Talpur arranged the attacks on your estate, while Murhad Jamot saw to the searches at Lexford’s and Swenton’s.”

“Do we know where these agents reside?” Bran went through a mental checklist of facts.

Shepherd shuffled through some papers on his desk. “The last sightings were in Hampshire. I have a slew of agents working exclusively on this.” He handed Bran a double-paged report. “This is what we know so far.”

“May I take this with me and show it to Worthing and Godown? They escort my family today.”

“Really?” Shepherd looked surprised.

“Kerrington seems to affect my sister; I am allowing him sole access to her for the moment. It would please me to call him
brother
in truth.”

Shepherd offered an amused smile. “You would not be the first to form an alliance beyond the Realm’s influence. In fact, Kerrington’s sister chose Thomas Amsteadt. One must select those who truly understand what we do here.”

Bran found what Shepherd said ambiguous; none of them knew the scope of Shepherd’s influence. Fowler recognized the need to maintain a certain amount of ambiguity, but he had often wished he knew more of Shepherd’s real title and role in the government. Sensing an end of their meeting, Bran rose slowly to his feet. “You will keep me informed?”

“Need you ask?” Shepherd closed the file lying open on his desk.

Bran simply inclined his head, realizing a rhetorical question required no response. “I will see you soon.”

*

“Black?” Velvet and Eleanor exclaimed in unison.

Aunt Agatha, in her element, orchestrated the fittings for their Presentation gowns. “William Fowler passed but months ago, and Thornhill was no simple nobleman. A duke ranks just below a prince, and Queen Charlotte is a stickler about decorum. Black should be the color to show respect.”

Eleanor searched Velvet’s face for approval. Nothing in Velvet’s nature accepted Lady Norfield’s suggestion, but what could she do. The Fowlers’ preferences ruled her own so she nodded her head in agreement. Eleanor responded for them. “We bow to your opinion, Aunt Agatha.”

Velvet turned her back on them in frustration. “So much for using my Presentation dress for my wedding.”

Several hours later, having suffered through numerous fittings and measurements, Velvet still steamed from some of today’s transactions. “It is not fair,” she grumbled. Totally dependent on the Fowlers, she had felt neglected again. Although they had treated her better than her own immediate family, over the past few years, she had often found herself smarting with the differences in their stations. She was the daughter of a viscount, but Ella was the daughter of a duke. They were not equal in consequence. Since the former duke had taken ill, Velvet had become painfully more aware of the differences. She loved Ella–really loved her more than she did Cashémere or Satiné, but she wanted more: She wanted to feel her own position’s power. Marrying Bran would give her that, or, at least, she hoped it would.

Unfortunately, everything had changed over the past few months. Her grand plan had crumbling edges, and Velvet did not know how to save it. “Once upon a time,” she mumbled as she dressed after her fitting. At one time, Bran was her “knight in shining armor,” and she was Rapunzel, only with coal black hair. She dreamed of how he would save her–come for her and claim her as his own. Now, that dream vanished in the reality of Bran’s marriage; he held no compunction about releasing her, and she had no true idea how to change his mind. She grasped at straws; she knew nothing of love except what she had read in books. She did not even know how to kiss a man. True. Bran had kissed her cheek and kissed her hand, but she had never been truly kissed–not the way Lord Worthing had kissed Ella. That kiss had changed Ella; her cousin became a woman overnight, and Velvet desired the same type of kiss from Bran. If she could just convince him to take her seriously, she might realize her dreams.

*

Velvet trailed behind Aunt Agatha and Eleanor along a very busy Bond Street. They planned to meet Lord Worthing and Gabriel Crowden, the Marquis of Godown. The gentlemen, at Bran’s request, would escort his family home. Yesterday evening, she had concocted a scheme where she might make Bran jealous by enlisting the assistance of his friends. Now, she wondered about the sanity of her plan. Could she even draw Bran’s notice with such manipulations? Besides, she did not know whether the marquis would agree to her idea. “Probably looks more like a frog than a prince,” she grumbled under her breath.

“You are a sight for these old eyes, Lord Worthing.” Velvet heard Aunt Agatha exclaim as Kerrington advanced to offer the Dowager Duchess his arm.

“I am happy to be of service, Your Grace.” He led them all towards his waiting carriage. Velvet noted a blonde “god” stepping from the crowd, pushing off from a support post where he leaned casually–his arms folded across his chest. The “god” offered them a proper bow and a most seductive smile while waiting for Kerrington to draw near.

“Your Grace,” Kerrington began when they reached the man, “may I present my friend and colleague the Marquis of Godown. Crowden, this beautiful lady is the Dowager Duchess of Norfield.”

The marquis gave an abbreviated bow to the Duchess. “It is my honor, Your Grace.” He kissed the back of Agatha’s gloved hand.

“And these are Fowler’s family,” Kerrington continued. “This is Lady Eleanor Fowler, His Grace’s sister, and Miss Velvet Aldridge, their cousin.”

“Fowler spoke so fondly of you; you will excuse me if I claim a prior acquaintance.”

Ella’s whole demeanor shifted as soon as Kerrington stepped forward to greet them. Velvet had noted their interactions–how they leaned ever so slightly towards each other–as if magnetically drawn. If only she could capture the same magic with Bran. “It is always pleasant to greet one of my brother’s dear friends.” Ella responded to the marquis’s greeting.

“Let us escort you ladies home.” Kerrington reached to steady Aunt Agatha’s entrance into his carriage; then he turned to Velvet, offering his hand to her. “Miss Aldridge.”

Velvet hesitated, realizing by rank, Ella should precede her into the coach, but she noted how Ella held back and chuckled with Kerrington’s manipulations. She raised her eyebrow in amusement. “Certainly, Your Lordship.”

Secretly, she had observed how the viscount rested his left hand gently on Ella’s back as he supported her step while holding her right hand in his. Their fingertips clung to one another for a few extra seconds, and she saw how the man’s eyes lit with fire when he looked at Ella, and how he murmured something in Ella’s ear when he stepped closer to her. Velvet did not know much about love, but she knew what she observed between Eleanor and Kerrington smacked of it. Surely, love could exist, as such, between her and Brantley Fowler. They could find their way to a similar place. How hard could it be if Ella found it; her cousin always professed to shun the idea of love and marriage? If Ella could do it, she could also. After all, Velvet wanted love; she welcomed it.

As Kerrington’s town carriage rolled towards Briar House, Velvet straightened her shoulders, a new resolve taking hold. She turned her head to take a closer look at Gabriel Crowden as he rode beside the coach.
He certainly could make even a king jealous,
she thought. He was as handsome as his reputation had declared. He was young, probably Bran’s age–not as mature looking as Kerrington–with dark blonde hair–wavy and a bit long–looking every bit a rogue. He had an aristocratic jaw line and
nose
, which balanced out his deep-set, muddy brown eyes. His well-manicured fingers loosely held the reins of the coal black stallion he rode. As she watched, Velvet wondered which looked more dangerous: the man or the horse? She thought he might do quite well in making Bran jealous.
No frog,
she chuckled–
definitely, not a frog.

*

When Bran arrived home from his appointment with Shepherd, he found a drawing room full of mirth. Lord Godown entertained all three ladies, as well as Bran’s daughter, with tales of unusual adventures. Laughter emanated from the room. Bran hesitated, lingering in the shadows of the darkened hallway–watching his family and friends bond. He felt suddenly very vulnerable–vulnerable to the desire he still held for Velvet Aldridge–vulnerable to the inadequacy he felt when he thought of how he had failed Eleanor by leaving her to deal with their father–and vulnerable to the threat Shaheed Mir offered the Realm members. He brought Mir’s wrath on his family the day he stormed from Thorn Hall–putting distance between him and his father, and he brought Mir’s wrath on his friends the day he kidnapped Ashmita from that desert tent. His impulsive nature had placed them all in danger, and he hated himself for it.

“I swear,” Godown gestured with fingers barely apart, “they are no larger than this.”

“But they are snails!” Eleanor wiped at her eyes, laughing joyously.

“Oh, yes, escargot are truly snails,” Worthing assured her.

Godown, standing before the mantel at center stage, pulled himself up to his full height. “Be exact, Worthing,” he warned good-humoredly. “Not every snail is used. Only the
petit-gris
or the
Helix pomatia
make good escargot. Every Frenchman knows that,” he mocked. “Did you realize, Miss Aldridge, they actually have snail farms in France?”

“You tease me, Lord Godown, do you not? Maybe we should speak to Brantley, Ella, about converting some of the cottagers to snail farming. After all, if a Frenchman can do it, an Englishman must do it better.” Velvet actually giggled at the absurdity of what she said. It was forever since she and Ella had enjoyed the company of gentlemen.

From the doorway behind them, Bran joined the conversation. “The British farmer prefers his crops above ground,” he observed as he strode forward to join the group. He extended his hand to the marquis but did not interrupt the flow. Instead, he lifted Sonali and took the seat she occupied, placing the child on his lap.

“Between the escargot and the roe, we were quite surprised, even those of us who made a Grand Tour and thought we knew everything,” Worthing added.

The Dowager Duchess turned to him. “Roe? You mean venison?”

“
Roe
in French cuisine are fish eggs, usually in a salty sauce,” Bran informed them.

“What else?” Velvet demanded, focusing all her attention on the marquis, a fact of which Bran had quickly taken notice and of which she delighted.

Godown did not hesitate in his response. “For me, I was taken aback by the food in Persia; I had expected something spicy, along the lines of what I found in India, but it was different–more herbs than spices: saffron, cinnamon, and diced limes. His Grace was very fond of
sesanjan,
were you not?”

“
Sesanjan
?” Ella tried the word. “What is that?”

Bran laughed lightly. “Nothing bizarre. Sesanjan is chicken in a pomegranate sauce with walnuts.”

“That sounds delicious,” Ella observed.

Worthing rejoined the discourse. “I preferred the
ghormeh sabzi
. It is lamb with herbs and lemon–quite a subtle concoction.”

“I would like to try in sometime.” Velvet noted the intimacy of their exchange. Even in a room full of people, her cousin and Lord Worthing remained truly isolated emotionally.

“Do you recall how much wine Behrouz could drink?” Godown began another tale.

Bran explained, “Behrouz was our guide.”

Godown continued, “Behrouz loved to quote the Qurán about wine. Some of his fellow tribesmen thought it to be a decadent activity, but Behrouz claimed the Qurán encouraged wine drinking when it says something about giving the fruit of the palm and wine. I cannot remember the exact words, but Behrouz quoted the passage often.”

“Who was the prince from Gurgan he quoted?” Bran looked from one friend to another.

Worthing answered, “Kaikakavos.”

“Behrouz extolled Prince Kaikakavos. Like before, I cannot remember his exact words, but they dealt with the ancient belief that drinking wine was a contravention. The prince supposedly said if one was to commit a transgression, it should not be a flavorless one.”

Worthing chuckled as he expanded on his friend’s story. “And if you drink wine, make it the best. If you are to end up in purgatory in the next world for your sins, at least in this one, you will not be branded a fool.”