Library

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

“ Y ou have a caller, my lady.”

Lottie started at the unexpected pronouncement of her butler. For a moment, her heart seized. Had Brandon come? They had not spoken since they had parted in silence at dawn days ago. He hadn’t sent her a missive, nor had he appeared at her house. She had supposed, at first, that he was angry with her for refusing his proposal of marriage yet again. As time continued to pass, however, she had begun to fear that he had decided to sever their association. That he was indeed courting Lady Lavinia as she had told him he ought.

The butler approached her with a silver salver bearing a calling card, which was decidedly not Brandon’s ordinary mode of announcing himself. She retrieved the card, and no, it was not Brandon who was awaiting her. Rather, it was his august grandmother. She knew of the widowed Mrs. Carrington-Smythe, but they had never spoken.

Lottie frowned, wondering what the woman could possibly want from her. “See her in, if you please,” she directed her butler, deciding it would be too impolite to refuse Mrs. Carrington-Smythe, even if Lottie harbored some misgivings about the reason for that lady’s call. “And send in a tray of tea as well.”

Brandon’s grandmother crossed the threshold with the grace of any queen, though she relied heavily upon a gilt-handled cane, thanks to her arthritic gait. She was dressed primly in black silk trimmed with navy lace, quite as if she were in mourning. She greeted Lottie with cool civility and a shrewd gaze that was the same emerald green as her grandson’s.

They exchanged pleasantries and seated themselves as the tray of tea arrived. The maid had scarcely taken her leave of the room when Mrs. Carrington-Smythe spoke.

“I hope you can forgive me for paying you an unexpected call, Lady Grenfell.”

Her forthrightness was unexpected, but Lottie appreciated it, nonetheless. “You need not ask forgiveness from me, Mrs. Carrington-Smythe.”

Briefly, she wondered if somehow Brandon’s grandmother had learned of their affair and had come to take her to task. Heavens, she hoped not. How mortifying.

Brandon’s grandmother gave her a small, unreadable smile. “You needn’t look so ill at ease, my dear. I haven’t come here to browbeat you, but to speak with you, privately and without the potential for curious ears to overhear our discourse.”

Had her worries been so easily read on her face? Apparently so.

She took a sip of her tea, fortifying herself for the unknowns that lay ahead. “I am relieved to hear it, madam. Though I do hope you might enlighten me as to what you would like to speak about.”

Mrs. Carrington-Smythe inclined her silver head. “Fair enough. I’ve come to speak with you about Brandon.”

Everything inside her seized at his name, her body tensing. “Is something amiss with His Grace?” she asked quickly, tea sloshing over the rim of her cup as she jolted, fear lacing through her.

“Brandon is well.”

“Pandy?” she asked next, belatedly realizing the familiarity she displayed in referring to his daughter by her pet name.

“As far as I know, Pandora is well, as is the dreadful mongrel she insists upon calling Cat.” Mrs. Carrington-Smythe shuddered.

Relief washed over her. Lottie rolled her lips inward to suppress a chuckle at the other woman’s clear dislike of poor, misunderstood Cat. She was sure the rotten pig trotter experience was the source of Mrs. Carrington-Smythe’s displeasure.

“That is a relief to hear,” Lottie said mildly, keeping her opinion on the matter to herself.

“Do you care for Brandon?” the elder woman blurted abruptly.

Did she care for him? Of course she did. And despite her every intention to keep their relationship limited to mere physical alone. But she didn’t know how to answer Mrs. Carrington-Smythe’s query. It felt dangerous.

“He is a kind man,” she said, evading the question as she forced a bright smile.

The other woman’s green eyes narrowed upon her. “May I speak plainly, Lady Grenfell?”

Lottie clutched her tea in a tight grip. “Please, Mrs. Carrington-Smythe. I do so appreciate candor.”

Brandon’s grandmother nodded. “I know your husband was a rotter.”

Her blunt statement took Lottie by surprise. “You’ll not hear argument from me on the matter.”

“Grenfell was a selfish, arrogant oaf, not unlike the last Duke of Brandon. I watched the duke break my daughter’s heart and crush her spirit, and I was powerless to stop it. Even worse, he raised his hand to her. I’ve only just learned for certain from my grandson, though I had suspected, being no fool. I noticed a bruise on her cheek once that she’d failed to conceal properly with pearl powder, and on another occasion, I saw what looked like fingerprints beneath her sleeve.”

Brandon’s father had done his mother violence. Lottie’s heart ached at the revelation. He hadn’t spoken of his parents with her. But then, she supposed she hadn’t spoken of her parents either. Her relationship with her mother and father had been cordial, but they had been more concerned with her making a good match than her happiness. She missed them, but she had never been close to them. Her relationship with her elder sister Caro was little different—their paths rarely crossed, Caro having been happily married for years, seemingly always with child, sending the odd letter here or there when it suited her.

Still, none of her family members had ever physically hurt her.

“I am so very sorry to hear that, Mrs. Carrington-Smythe,” she said earnestly.

“As am I.” The older woman blinked, her eyes glittering for a moment with what may have been tears before she sternly overcame them. “However, I did not relay the sordid secrets of my family’s past to garner your sympathy.”

“Why did you then, madam?” Lottie asked.

“Because my grandson paid me a visit this morning, and Brandon never makes morning calls. Heavens, I cannot even remember the last time he visited me of his own volition. I am always the one who must unceremoniously arrive at his town house, demanding an audience, oftentimes refused. I have become quite adept over the years at coercing his butler, Shilling, into doing my bidding, however.”

Lottie wasn’t at all shocked to hear that Mrs. Carrington-Smythe had managed to circumvent Brandon. The woman was formidable.

“I’m glad to hear Brandon did his familial duty in calling upon you,” she offered, still perplexed.

Mrs. Carrington-Smythe’s conversation was meandering along a confounding path.

“I love all my grandchildren, Lady Grenfell, but Brandon has always been especially beloved to me.” Mrs. Carrington-Smythe’s voice was undeniably tender now, fondness evident in the softened lines of her haughty face. “He may have been born the future Duke of Brandon, but in many ways, his life was far more difficult than the lives of his cousins. I suspect it is my affection for him that caused me to ignore the fact that he was using my family’s estate to host some manner of illicit society engaged in heaven knows what sort of wickedness.”

Lottie stared.

“You didn’t think I knew, my dear?” Brandon’s grandmother shook her head. “He didn’t either until recently. But of course, I did. Though, for years, I did my best to pretend as if I hadn’t an inkling that Brandon has been collecting exorbitant sums from the members of polite society to attend his house parties at my estate. I may be old, but I’m not a fool.”

“Of course not, Mrs. Carrington-Smythe,” she agreed.

“Has he told you what he has been doing with his portion of the Society’s earnings?” the older woman asked.

Yet again, Lottie found herself perplexed. “It is hardly my business, madam.”

“As I thought.” Brandon’s grandmother nodded. “I shall tell you myself, then, my dear. Brandon has been sending his allotment of the funds to an orphanage that was important to my daughter. Quietly, anonymously, he has gifted them with nothing short of a small fortune that has provided hearty meals and new clothing and shoes—and even instruments for the children to learn to play.”

The revelation warmed her heart. “How generous of him.”

“He is a good man.”

Emotion made Lottie’s throat go tight. “Yes, he is.”

“Do you love my grandson, Lady Grenfell?”

The question shocked her. She gawped at Mrs. Carrington-Smythe, uncertain of what to say.

Because the answer terrified her.

“I… Mrs. Carrington-Smythe…” she stumbled. “I don’t know how to respond to such a query.”

A silvery brow winged upward as shrewd emerald eyes met hers. “I think you do, Lady Grenfell. And if there is one thing that I have learned in the many years of my life, it is that love is stronger and more powerful than anything else. Be brave enough to listen to your heart, my dear.” She thumped her cane and then rose from her seat slowly. “I bid you good day.”

Lottie watched Brandon’s grandmother leave the room in a swish of black and navy skirts, the gold head of her cane glinting in the lamplight.

And as the door to her drawing room closed, leaving Lottie alone with a cup of cooling tea, the truth that she had been stubbornly refusing to acknowledge fell upon her like an avalanche of snow sliding down a mountain slope.

Somehow, she had fallen in love with the Duke of Brandon.

What in heaven’s name was she going to do about it?

Brandon was at his desk in his study, perusing a letter from the director of the orphanage thanking him for the latest funds he had sent and cataloging what they would be used for, including training for apprenticeships and education efforts for the children. The muffled barks of Cat, followed by Pandy’s delighted laughter and the telltale thump of her feet down the hall, punctuated the silence, making him smile. Grandmother’s unexpected change of heart meant that the Society could continue hosting revelries at Wingfield Hall, and in turn, he would continue diverting funds to the orphanage. His friends would receive their portions. And all was right in his world.

All except for the glaring absence of the woman he loved.

How would he persuade her to marry him?

A knock sounded at the study door, startling him from his musings.

“Enter,” he called.

Shilling opened the door. A blur of fur raced past him in the hallway behind, but to his credit, the butler didn’t even flinch.

“Cat!” Pandy cried, enthusiastically racing after the spaniel. “Come back here!”

“Is Miss Pandora playing chase-chase again?” he asked Shilling, unable to keep from grinning.

“Yes, Your Grace. Miss Bennington gave Miss Pandora a break from the nursery for one quarter hour.”

And his Pandy girl was using her freedom wisely.

“I see. Was there something you required of me, Shilling?”

“There is a caller to see you, Your Grace,” Shilling said. “Lady Grenfell.”

Lottie.

Lottie was here?

Lottie was here.

He shot from his seat as if it were fashioned of hot coals. “Send her in, if you please.”

Brandon glanced down at his clothes. No stains on his shirt. His waistcoat was a staid shade of gray rather than the purple King had despaired over. His trousers were a bit wrinkled. No hope for it. He hadn’t time to change. He raked a hand through his hair, hoping he was presentable. Ink smudged his fingers. Blast.

He extracted a handkerchief and hastily wiped them before recalling that he’d given the handkerchief to Pandy earlier, and she’d used it to wipe the white mucus from Cat’s eyes when she had awoken that morning. Now he had sticky dog eye mucus and ink on his fingers.

“Fuck,” he muttered, frantically trying to find a square of linen that was unsullied.

“I hope you don’t curse like that around Pandy.”

He looked up, and there she was, crossing the threshold of his study, wearing a blue afternoon dress that hugged her figure and brought out the brilliance of her eyes and hair. Blonde lace lined her decolletage and peeked from her sleeves, and she was so bloody beautiful that it was all he could do to keep from rushing to her and taking her in his arms.

Belatedly, it occurred to him that she had chastised him and that he was still holding the besmirched handkerchief like an idiot. He stuffed it into his pocket again.

“Of course I don’t curse around Pandy,” he said, offering her a bow. “At least, not often. To what do I owe the unexpected honor of your presence this afternoon?”

She crossed the chamber to him, not stopping until she was close enough to touch, her sweet perfume tempting him as surely as her presence did. “I’ve decided to call in the favor you owe me.”

Brandon blinked. “The favor?”

“Yes.” A hesitant, small smile curved her kissable pink lips. “The favor you owe me for the day I entertained Pandy for you. You do remember it, do you not?”

“Of course.” He curled his fingers into fists at his sides to keep from touching her.

They had last parted in silence and hurt disappointment, and he didn’t know where he stood with her.

“It took me a long time to settle upon the favor I most wanted to ask of you,” she said softly, her dulcet voice making his cock twitch to attention.

“Is it wrong of me to hope that the favor is a lewd one?” he asked, half serious, half in jest.

She chuckled, the sound husky. “Not wrong, perhaps, but I’m afraid if you have your hopes set upon a lewd favor, you are doomed to disappointment.”

Well, blast. He hoped she hadn’t come armed with more lists of prospective brides.

“If you want me to consider any additional listings of debutantes I might court, I’m afraid it’s a favor I cannot honor,” he warned. “I’ll pitch them into the fire first.”

Her smile fled, and she took a deep breath, looking suddenly nervous. “It isn’t that either.”

“Well, what is it, then?” He didn’t mean to sound impatient, but the suspense was as painful as standing before her and keeping himself from taking her into his arms.

“Your grandmother paid a call upon me earlier today.”

At the mention of his grandmother, Brandon’s rampant prick wilted a bit. “I cannot think why she would have done so.”

“Can you not?” She tilted her head, gazing at him shrewdly with her storm-tossed-sea eyes. “I do believe she came to plead your case.”

“Fucking hell,” he muttered.

“Brandon, there is that dreadful language again,” she chastised with mock solemnity.

“Forgive me. Thinking about Grandmother pleading anything on my behalf makes me bilious.”

“Ah, your sensitive disposition,” she teased.

“What did she say to you?” he blurted, needing to know.

By God , if Grandmother had done anything to ruin his chances with Lottie…

“She told me that you’ve been sending the funds you earn from the Society to an orphanage that was a favored cause of your mother’s.”

“Oh.” His ears went hot at her persistent regard.

“She also told me that Grenfell was a rotter.”

He inclined his head. “She’s not wrong, though I would describe the bastard in far less complimentary terms.”

“And she said that I should be brave enough to trust my heart,” Lottie said.

Longing he was too afraid to feel licked up his spine. “She did?”

Bless his grandmother. Her advice thus far had been sound.

“She did.” Lottie nodded, her dimpled chin tipping up. “I decided that she was right. For too long, I’ve been a coward, too afraid that I will be hurt again instead of being brave. That is why I decided upon the favor you owe me.”

His breath felt as if it had seized in his chest. The tenderness in her countenance was raw and unguarded in a way he had yet to see. He couldn’t help himself then. He reached for her hands, lacing their fingers together.

“What’s the favor, Lottie?”

Her fingers tightened over his, her eyes searing him with twin blue flames. “I was wondering if you might ask me to marry you again.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Will you marry me?”

“Nothing has changed since the last time you asked me,” she said. “I’m still terrified of what you make me feel. I may not be able to have your children. I can’t compare to young and beautiful debutantes?—”

“The devil you can’t,” he interrupted.

Lottie smiled. “I’m grateful you think so, but I’m well aware that I’m all too flawed and imperfect.”

He brought her hands to his lips for a reverent kiss, one on each. “Have you met me? I’m the definition of flawed and imperfect.”

“Then perhaps we might be flawed and imperfect together. Two jagged halves that together become one.”

“Say it,” he begged hoarsely. “Tell me.”

“I love you,” she said. “I love you, and it frightens me how much I do.”

“Thank God.” He tugged her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “I love you too, Venus.”

“Brandon, I’m not a goddess.” She was smiling up at him, quite disproving herself.

Because she was beautiful. Entrancing. Nothing short of magnificent. And she was his .

“Yes, you are,” he told her, surrendering to the need to feel her lips beneath his and taking her mouth in a swift, fierce, all-too-brief kiss. “You’re my goddess, damn it. And I won’t hear a word otherwise. Now, give me your answer, if you please. I cannot exist another moment more without hearing it.”

“I’ll marry you.” She cupped his cheek in one hand. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“You’ll be my wife?” He was grinning at her stupidly, almost afraid to believe what he was hearing.

Because after fighting to win her for so long, her capitulation was almost painfully easy. He refused to give Grandmother all the credit for it, however. The curmudgeon would never let him hear the end of it.

“I’ll be your wife,” Lottie affirmed.

He lifted her from the floor and spun her in a circle, her silk skirts floating behind her like a bell. They were both breathless and laughing when he returned her to her feet, and then he covered her mouth with his and kissed this woman he loved, kissed her with all the longing and gratitude and raw emotion coursing through him. Kissed her until the door to the study burst open, and he reluctantly tore his lips from hers to find Cat and Pandy racing across the room in a cacophony of barks and girlish giggles.

“Papa! What are you doing with Missus Lady Grenspell?” Pandy demanded, out of breath from her relentless game of chase-chase.

“I’m marrying her,” Brandon told his daughter, smiling down at her and ruffling her dark curls.

“Huzzah!” Pandy launched herself at them, throwing one arm around Lottie’s skirts and the other around his leg.

Not to be left out, Cat joined her, bounding on her hind legs, tongue lolling as she gave an excited bark.

“Welcome to the family,” Brandon told Lottie wryly above the din.

And his beautiful goddess just laughed, her eyes dancing with merriment and love. “Thank you. I do believe I’ve finally found the place where I belong.”

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.