A Daughter's Destiny (28 page)

“But he is your father!”

“I am aware of that to my eternal regret.” He drew her hand off his sleeve and folded it between his. “Do not interfere in what you so obviously cannot understand. I have no need for a family.” He gave another terse laugh. “Nor do I have a use for one. I have made my own life, and it has no place for them in it.”

“That is absurd. You may need your family someday. What will you do then?”

“I don't know, but is it worth the cost of denying everything I hold within my soul?” With a scowl, he tapped the top of her fan. “Haven't you learned the truth, Brienne? Your grandmother has made it clear to me since our return to Grosvenor Square that I am not, in her opinion, the proper suitor for her granddaughter, the
duchesse
of Château Tonnere du Grêlon.” His laugh was still strained. “Do you think she will change her mind when she learns that I am an earl's heir, or is an English heir still an improper suitor for her granddaughter?”

“You are his heir?” She had been certain she could not be more shocked, but she was. How many more secrets had he kept from her?

“Why so startled, Brienne? You have chided me often for being overly familiar with the ways of the
ton
. That is because I was once a part of the Polite World before I decided I would rather live my life as I saw fit instead of letting someone else dictate it for me. As you are allowing your grandmother and all your dead ancestors to dictate yours.”

“Please do not be hateful. I want to help you and your father.” She hesitated before asking, “What of your mother, Evan?”

“She offered the ultimatum that persuaded me to leave Sommerton Hall.”

Brienne sank to the settee behind her. “I do not understand. To have both a mother and a father is something I used to wish for every night.”

“This is not about fairy tales. We are not in a play where everything works out in the end.”

Taking his hand, she said, “It could. If you wish, I would speak to your father and—”

“And I am telling you that there is nothing you can do. This is not one of your sauces, Brienne, where a pinch of some spice can save it.” He opened the door and turned on his heel, firing over his shoulder, “I pity you that you are so caught up in your desire to fulfill your grandmother's dream of you claiming that dashed château that you fail to see that you are trading everything that is Brienne LeClerc for it.”

Brienne stared after him as he stormed back to the ballroom. How could she argue with him when she had asked herself the same question?

Slowly she rose. She could not go to Lord Sommerton, for Evan would view that as a betrayal. That would only exacerbate the anger between father and son. Mayhap Grand-mère could help. Or mayhap she would not, for Grand-mère wanted Evan out of her granddaughter's life.

Waiting here would gain no one anything. Going to the door, Brienne blinked back tears as she heard a light-hearted melody from the orchestra. It was similar to the quadrille she had begun with Lord Sommerton.

She wiped a vagrant tear away and went to the closest arch opening into the ballroom. Many more people were now dancing, but the crowd had lessened. Few men remained, save for those who were dancing. She suspected the men had sought privacy in another room to enjoy brandy, cigars, and cards.

“Brienne, are you all right?” Armistead stepped around the arch. “You look distressed.”

“Yes, thank you, I am fine.” She told the lie easily as she looked toward the chairs the dowagers had made their own. “Where is Grand-mère?”

“I believe she was seeking Lady Jacington to discuss something with her. She looked in quite a pelter, so I did not get in her way.”

Brienne suspected Grand-mère intended to ring their hostess a regular peal for putting Brienne into such a scandalous situation on her first night among the
ton
. How she wished Evan stood here now to point out what was amusing about the whole of this! How she wished she was in his arms!

“Did you see Evan in the ballroom?” she asked, although she guessed he had left the house to avoid encountering his father again.

“I have not seen him.” He lowered his voice. “Brienne, I heard talk of an incident—”

She held up her hands. “Please say no more.”

“You
are
distressed, Brienne. Would you like me to take you out on the terrace until you can compose yourself?”

“That might not be a bad idea.” She glanced again into the ballroom. “But what of the lady you want to impress? Evan told me that you had a
tendre
for a young woman among the Polite World.”

“She will wait.” He offered his arm and drew her fingers within it. “No doubt, someone else will gladly keep her company when I cannot be by her side.”

“Her heart is that fickle?”

“No, her heart is constant.”

Brienne was baffled by his easy smile. He was not speaking of Louisa. These ways of the
ton
were something she never would understand.
Bourgeoisie
, her grandmother had called her in a scolding tone. Mayhap, but it had less to do with the ways of her class than the longings of her heart.

She wanted Evan to remain in her heart, but she feared his had no room for anything but hatred. In addition, she knew he had that unfinished business with Lagrille. Although he had not said anything since their arrival back in London about going into hiding, she knew it was only because he was not sure that she was safe from Lagrille's men.

Or did he linger because he shared her craving for what they experienced when they were alone and eager kisses swept away all thoughts of anything but pleasure? She wanted to believe that, but she could never be certain with Evan.

“Talking often lessens one's burdens,” Armistead said, as he put his hand over hers on his arm.

“I have nothing to say.” She glanced at him when she heard the strain in his voice. No sign of it was visible on his face.

“Then, you are a rare woman. Louisa is never without something to say. My ears suffer from her prattling.”

“Then, why—It is none of my business.”

“To speak of why I have not put Louisa out of my life?” He smiled. “You are right, but not because I mind you inquiring into such a private matter. Speaking of such things is not appropriate for me to do with a lady like you.” He opened a door and ushered her out onto the small terrace that was edged by potted shrubs.

She was sure she saw someone moving over by the bushes. She wished Armistead would walk in the other direction. Being set upon by some vagrant would make this whole evening a complete disaster.

Before she could suggest returning to the ballroom, she heard, “Ah, here you are, child.”

Grand-mère bustled out of the door and over to them. “Come back into the ballroom before you catch your death of cold. Spring has been battered back by this wintry chill tonight.”

Brienne had not noticed if the night was warm or cold, but she nodded. “Mayhap we should bid our hostess a good evening.”

“An excellent idea.” She turned to Armistead. “Lady Jacington has offered us a carriage to return to Grosvenor Square, so you need not curtail your evening.”

“I would gladly escort you home,” he replied, the underlying tension still laced through his voice.

“That is not necessary.” Grand-mère's tone suggested that she would have preferred to have used the word “desirable” instead of “necessary.” “Let us go, Brienne.”

Evan's voice whispered through Brienne's mind, chiding her for heeding her grandmother's orders instead of thinking on her own. Just now, she was grateful for Grand-mère's intrusion. Armistead's nervousness was disquieting, or mayhap 'twas no more than her own despair at Evan's cold words about his father.

“You are right, Grand-mère,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Armistead, for being so kind.”

“Brienne, I wished to show you—”

“It will have to wait.” Grand-mère took Brienne's arm. “I do not want her sickening.”

Going with her grandmother into the house to collect their cloaks, Brienne did not glance toward the ballroom. The fairy tale had died here tonight.

Hitchcock paused in the doorway of the small parlor where Brienne had tried to lose herself in a novel. She would rather think of the silly troubles of the hero in the story than recall that Evan had not come back to the house on Grosvenor Square last night. She had chosen this room, with its view of the front of the house, in hopes of seeing him. The afternoon was nearly gone, and still there was no sign of him.

“Miss LeClerc, a gentleman is here to see you.” The butler did not hide his incredulity that someone might call on her.

Although she knew he must know the name of the caller, she would not ask. She set herself on her feet. “Please show him in.”

He mumbled something that she suspected she should not ask him to repeat.

Brienne checked her appearance quickly in the glass by the hearth. It was impossible to hide the signs of her sleepless night, for shadows clung beneath her eyes.

At the sound of footfalls, she turned, preparing to smile. It never reached her lips as she gasped, “Lord Sommerton! I did not expect—” She knew she was blushing when her face grew hot.

The earl gave her a sympathetic smile. “Do not apologize, Miss LeClerc. I am sure that I am the last one you expected to call on you while you are living under the same roof as my son.”

“Evan is not here.”

“I did not call to speak with him, but with you.” He gestured toward a chair. “May I?”

“Of course. I shall ring for tea.”

Brienne went to the bellpull. As she waited for a maid to answer it, she knew she should offer the earl some light conversation, but nothing came to mind.

Every moment became more strained with silence. When she gave the maid the request for tea, she wished she could ask as well for someone to help her. Grand-mère would know what to say and do. Armistead had gracious manners. Evan …
Mon Dieu
, she did not want Evan here now when she would be between the icy daggers in the men's eyes.

As she sat again, the earl said, “I am sorry that you were a witness to what happened last evening. I should have held my tongue, but I was amazed to see my son at Lady Jacington's party.”

“Evan said he has not been among the
ton
as one of them in a while.”

“You are very discreet to choose such words, Miss LeClerc. I know well how my son has spent the past decade.” He sighed. “You find the whole of this chasm between my son and his family incomprehensible, don't you?”

She nodded, but waited until the maid had set a tray on a table beside her before she said, “My family has always been very close, my lord. I thought that is how all families are.” She poured a cup of tea and handed it to him.

“How they are
supposed
to be.” Lord Sommerton set the cup on another table and rubbed his hands together. “I fear it is too late for anything to change.”

“Do you?” She knew she was being bold, but she might never have this chance again. As she prepared another cup for herself, she asked, “Would you have called here, my lord, if you were not willing to reach a compromise?”

“Do not think your kind and generous heart beats in the chests of the Somerset family.” He smiled sadly when she looked up at him. “I came here solely to apologize for my unspeakable behavior last night with abandoning you in the middle of a dance. I trust you will forgive me.”

Although she wanted to tell him that she would gladly forgive him if he offered the same apology to his son, she knew it would be just a waste of her breath. Both father and son had elected to hate each other.

“Yes, my lord. I accept your apology.” She hesitated. “May I ask what caused this rift?”

“Evan never told you?”

She shook her head. “He speaks so seldom of his past.”

“Then, I shall respect his wishes and remain as reticent.”

“You will?” She put her fingers to her lips. “Forgive me, my lord. I should not have said such a thing.”

“Nonsense. You have every right to assume that I care nothing about my son.” He stood. “It appears Evan has learned something if he has been wise enough to welcome a warm-hearted woman like you into his life.” Taking her hand, he bowed over it. “I appreciate you receiving me, Miss LeClerc.”

“My lord?”

“Yes?” he asked, pausing as he was walking to the door.

Rising, Brienne clasped her hands in front of her. “Please know that you are welcome to call whenever you wish, my lord.”

“As you are at the family's townhouse on Berkeley Square.”

“Thank you.”

She sat when he took his leave. The question she had not asked as well as the answer he had not given still hung in the air to taunt her. Did the earl know where his son was? She had not known how to ask or how he might answer. Or if she truly wanted to know the answer.

Evan climbed the stairs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. He had avoided meeting anyone since he had entered the house through the laundry, an easy task when the hour must be the second past midnight. A single light burned in the upper hallway, but his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness hours ago.

Opening the door to his room, he was amazed to see a single candle burning. He closed the door and drew off his coat. As he turned to toss it onto a chair, he froze, noticing the shadows move.

He said nothing when Brienne stepped into the small pool of light. He was uncertain if he could even think of something to say when she looked so luscious in her silken nightdress that accented her enchanting curves.

She took his coat. Folding it over the arm of the chair, she loosened his cravat.

His arm was around her waist and his mouth on hers before she could draw away his cravat. Her sweet breath pulsed into his mouth, seeking to warm every inch of him. “Were you acting, princess, when you told me on the stage that you would be mine?” he whispered against her soft cheek.