Realm 02 - A Touch of Velvet (6 page)

“Will we be able to keep everything in tact?” Ella asked as she leaned over the desk to see what Bran recorded.

Bran’s frown lines grew deeper as he concentrated on the information from several sources scattered across the desk. “I may sell some of the smaller pieces if I can find an appropriate buyer. That will loosen our cash outlays. In a few other instances, I want to expand what we already own. For example, the ironworks cut back after the war because of dwindling profits, but there are other factories changing from war-related to industry-related products. We could make a tidy profit with a few shifting priorities, as well as offering jobs to the surrounding neighborhood. I have some well-placed connections with the canal system, but most true developers believe the rail system will soon put the canals out of business. If we play our cards correctly, we might get in from the beginning and make an exorbitant profit. I will send my man to the North to examine the place. We should have a report by the beginning of next week.”

“It is as if you were born to this,” Ella remarked without thinking.

Bran chuckled lightly. “I suppose in some ways I was. I assume, however, Sister Dear, you meant I have a grasp of what it takes to run the estate.”

Eleanor blushed at her verbal faux pas. “I meant...you understand how all these pieces tie together–how they connect–how changing one thing affects so many others. Without having our father as a mentor, you have managed to somehow become familiar with the inner working of Thornhill.”

“I am simply an excellent pretender, my Dear.” Bran shuffled the papers from one stack to another. “At the university, one professor said I learned through what he called synthesis–I take many unrelated facts and combine then in a new way. When I traveled across the Continent, I found it to be a useful skill.”

“What about Thorn Hall itself?” Ella sat in a nearby chair. The fact Bran did not relegate her to a mere woman’s status made her happy that she had gone looking for him.

“I want to speak to Velvet. From what I have deduced, you assumed the duties of the household while Velvet made connections to the cottagers. She and I should approach our tenants together; her knowing each family is valuable. We must teach the tenants to farm smarter. Right now, they burn up the land by overworking the soil. We need a crop rotation.” During this recitation, Bran never once raised his eyes from the paper on which he wrote, attempting to hide his concern for his relationship with his cousin.

“Velvet avoids your company, Bran,” Ella pointed out the obvious.

He responded only with a grunted “Humph.” Continuing not to look up, Bran used the hot wax to seal the letter addressed to his solicitor. “How do I fix it, Ella?” he asked cautiously.

“I am not certain you do.” Ella looked off towards the late winter sun pouring through the window. “I love Velvet as a sister, but she is too naïve. It is our fault–you and I–we protected her as if she was a princess, but we live in the real world where we make choices and pay the consequences. I had hoped that she would mature, but she reads too many Minerva Press books. Velvet cannot accept that you knew other women because a knight loves only one woman. You promised a young girl you would come return to marry her, and Velvet has spent the past seven years reading her stories of knights, romances, and Camelot.”

Regret danced through his veins; he had chosen to give up his dream of returning to Velvet the day he found Ashmita restrained in Shaheed Mir’s tent. “I fear I am more the dragon than a knight,” Bran mused. “Besides, Velvet and I do not even know each other. We cannot base a relationship on childhood dreams.”

“Exactly,” Ella warned. “The thing is, Bran, Velvet resembles the princess we all knew she should be, but she is still an innocent, immature school girl, believing in a Cinder Maid fairy tale where the man and woman live happily ever after. Unfortunately, she is not a cinder girl, I am not the wicked step sister, and you, certainly, are not Prince Charming.”

Bran watched his sister carefully; he realized that she had suffered in ways other young ladies her age had never experienced. “In my defense, I never asked Velvet to marry me. My, God, she was but twelve when I left Thornhill! We simply dreamed of a life unlike what we experienced in these halls. We said things such as, ‘When I marry, I will love only one woman’ or ‘I will refuse to argue with my wife.’ I am not my father, but I am not a saint.”

“Velvet dealt with this household’s madness by cherishing that dream, Bran. As illogical as it appears for a woman to believe in happily ever after, our cousin does. She has convinced herself that you would be her ideal husband. Little does she know, no man comes close to perfection.”

Bran smirked, “That tastes of sour grapes, my Dear. Do you not hold your own delusions?”

Ella’s bitterness became obvious. “I do not put men on a pedestal. Their natures are too base to live up to a code of chivalry.” Eleanor looked away again, obviously, needing to voice her opinion without his censure. “I have no intention of marrying and subjugating myself to any man.”

“In Cornwall and during this past week, I have observed you with Sonali. Your not having children of your own would be an aberration in nature.” Bran meant it as a compliment, but Eleanor flinched, while tears misted her eyes. “I offer no insult, Ella. Few men could do what you did with Thorn Hall, but you deserve happiness. Should you not see if there is a man who would accept you as the strong, but caring, woman you are?”

“Who is to say I may only be happy if I marry?” She turned to look him directly in the eyes. “I would like to travel and be an independent woman. I do not wish to place myself in our mother’s position of losing my life because I succumbed to the very British idea of marrying for convenience.”

Bran challenged, “Then marry for love, Ella.”

“There is no such thing, Bran. Love lives only in imagination and dreams.”

*

The next morning Bran purposely waited for Velvet’s appearance at breakfast. He had noted that she rose early, took a light repast, and went riding for several hours each morning. A few discreet comments to the staff told him although she often rode, this early morning retreat was a new
habit
for his cousin. He purposely seated himself at the table’s far end, where she could not observe him until she was well in the room, and then he bided his time.

Just the thought of Velvet made Bran’s breeches tighten. Since the day his daughter revealed the miniature bearing his cousin’s likeness, Velvet Aldridge had haunted Bran’s every waking and most of his sleeping moments. It drove him crazy how she avoided him, and he desperately wanted to break through the wall she had effectively built to keep him at a distance. What Ella confided yesterday made sense, but Bran did not want to destroy Velvet’s dreams. The fact she once considered him her
hero
made him want to imitate Velvet’s dreams. When he had left Thornhill, he had thought he might return when he had reached his majority and claim her as his own, but by then, Bran had seen the battlefield’s horrors, had deliberately killed several men, and had sought solace in the arms of less than perfect women. Such a man could not be a hero.

Wearing a forest green riding habit, accenting each of her well-defined curves, Velvet slipped in the breakfast room door just as Bran raised his hand to his mouth to take a bit of the toast. As he did on that first day, he had held in suspension, taking in every inch of her, while forcing himself to breathe. Although not the womanizer many thought him to be, Bran had known his share of women, but he had never reacted physically to any the way he did to her. Maybe he still clung to the illusion of the ideal woman as she did to an ideal man. Whatever it might be, Bran now held an overwhelming desire to turn her around and take Velvet Aldridge back to his room to enjoy peeling her out of that too concealing costume.

“Good morning, Cousin,” he said nonchalantly.

Spinning on her heels, Velvet initially bestowed an undisguised smile on him, but quickly withdrew it, retreating to her restrained politeness. “It seems,
Cousin
, that every time I see you, you are lifting food in the air,” she snapped.

Bran flushed, realizing he still held the toast aloft. “It is the only exercise in which I partake of late, what with spending so many hours in the estate books’ company.”

“I pray everything is in order.” She poured herself a cup of chocolate and prepared a plate of fruit and toast. Coming to the table, Velvet chose a chair several places from where he sat. “Ella led me to believe you had found nothing unusual.”

“My sister speaks the truth, but that does not mean I have no concerns. In fact, I would appreciate your assistance.” Bran had thought he might lead her to volunteer to spend time with him, but with her obvious play for distance, he realized he needed a more direct course.

Velvet adjusted her seat and fingered the setting’s silverware, evidently, taking time to school her reaction. Bran realized she did not want to assist him–to be anywhere near him, in fact. But she would not refuse. The Fowlers had given her a home when her parents had passed, and her family holdings had gone to her father’s younger brother. The Aldridges had sent her and the twins to live with “welcoming” relatives. The Fowlers had agreed to Velvet’s coming to Thorn Hall because she and Eleanor were close in age, and they could provide each other company. Bran’s mother was ill, even then, and Eleanor, much younger than him, needed a friend. They never treated Velvet as a poor relative; instead, the Fowlers, especially Bran and Eleanor, had welcomed her as a sister. He knew that Velvet would accept her obligation. “How may I be of service, Your Grace?”

“I need to connect with the cottagers. They will accept me as the new duke because they have no choice, but it would be better if they could do so because they view me as a man they trust.” He spooned preserves on another slice of toast. “Ella tells me your church service and your goodwill among the tenants opens their doors readily to you. I need that identity transferred to me by association.”

Predisposed to objecting to everything he said, Velvet immediately questioned his motives. “What do you plan?” she blurted out.

“Nothing detrimental,” he assured her. “Yet, I do need to change how many tenants think about their crops and the animals we raise on the estate. There are more efficient practices that will more readily secure our futures.”

Velvet raised her chin in defiance. “I owe this family my life, Your Grace, but I will not be party to stealing these people’s hope.”

A bit vexed by his inability to break through her barrier, Bran countered, “Nor would I expect you to. I am well aware of your kind heart, my Dear; I remember it well. Yet, you seem to have forgotten my true nature.”

Velvet shot back, “I am not certain I ever truly knew it, Your Grace.”

At the moment, although physically attracted to her, Bran had no patience for her misplaced priorities. He would not spend all his time in proving himself to her. It seemed he did little else besides prove his worth in his short life time–with his father, with Ella, with Ashmita, with his service to the Realm–and he desperately wanted someone to just accept him with all his faults. “Then it is time you did,” he snapped. “You will ride out with me today and over the next few days. You will introduce me into our tenants’ homes and support this family to which you owe loyalty.” Bran stood, urgently needing to put his own distance between them. “I am normally a patient man, Velvet, but I will not coddle you. My sister has grown into a vibrant young woman. It is time you joined her. There is more to life than your image of good deeds and purity. Not everything is black and white; in fact, shades of gray dominate this world. Please be prepared to ride once you finish your meal.” He threw his napkin on the table and stormed from the room.

Finding himself in the main hallway Bran considered returning to the breakfast room to shake sense into her pretty head, but subconsciously the image of putting his hands on her quickly converted into second thoughts of kissing her senseless. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, jamming his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Bloody, bloody hell!”

*

Dutifully, Velvet rode with him to each of the tenant homes to the south of the main house. Although Bran properly lifted her from the saddle and to the saddle with every call, they did not speak or even acknowledge each other unless before the cottagers. Each time he did, Velvet stiffened with his touch, making it a battle for control of their interactions. However, by the third house they had entered, she had begun to attend to what Bran said to his renters, and despite her anger, Velvet began to relent and to listen for herself. Bran took the time to ask the tenants’ names, to assure each he wanted the man to be successful, and to listen to the man’s concerns. He had brought a small pad and a pencil where he scribbled notes as they spoke. With each household breadwinner, he explained how much of the land was to be left fallow this year. He also instructed the man on how part of the land was to be used for legumes.

“We will rotate the crops annually,” he told Henry Lowell. “Our current use is killing the soil by demanding it produce large crops every year. Leaving some fields fallow and adding different products will replenish what we lose. I realize it is a big risk, Mr. Lowell, but I have seen this method work in Scotland, and it is used in the Americas. You must trust me.”

“I be doin’ what ye say, yer Grace.” The man nervously wiped his hand on his pants. “As long as me family be takin’ care of.”