No, this woman was not the petite, curvy blond that Eleanor had expected. This woman was something more, and Eleanor didn't like it.
"Lady Eleanor," she began in a voice low and husky. "Thank you for seeing me."
Coming around the desk, Eleanor gestured to the sitting area. "I must admit to being curious as to the nature of your call, Mrs. Carson. Please have a seat. Tea?"
Mrs. Carson seated herself on one of the chairs with embroidered cushions and began removing her gloves. "Thank you. Tea would be lovely, but only if you will join me. The nature of my visit is twofold."
This was interesting. Eleanor rang the bell, and when the maid came, requested a pot of tea and a plate of sweets. Then she seated herself in the chair directly across from her guest— another with embroidered cushions. They were not as comfortable as they looked.
"Twofold?"
Mrs. Carson placed her hands over the gloves in her lap. "Lady Eleanor, forgive my impertinence, but do you know who I am?"
The question was asked with genuine feeling, no false hauteur or defiance. Mrs. Carson, whatever else she might be, was no game player. Eleanor would have to be careful or she just might wind up feeling sympathetic toward this woman, and that wouldn't do at all.
"You are Fanny Carson, author of
Memoirs of a Well-Loved Lady
."
Fanny actually seemed surprised. "Why, yes. Have you actually read my book?"
No one else would dare ask such a question of an unmarried lady— not anyone proper. Of course, Fanny Carson was far from proper. For that matter, Eleanor herself had lost much of the right to call herself such as well. She had engaged in fornication with a man who was not her husband, and now she was living in his house. What, besides birth, made her and Fanny Carson all that different?
Eleanor smiled. "Just the parts about Brahm."
The older woman— and Eleanor could see that she was indeed older— laughed. Like the rest of her, her laugh was unrestrained and voluptuous. "I was right about him, was I not?"
"Perhaps in some respects."
Fanny leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam in her green eyes. "In
all
respects?"
Eleanor couldn't help but chuckle as well. If the woman thought she was going to comment on Brahm's "massive maleness," she was mad. "Now you are being impertinent, Mrs. Carson."
The redhead sobered, but a smile remained. "Call me Fanny."
Normally she wouldn't dream of such an intimacy with such a woman, but it felt right to agree. "All right."
"And might I call you Eleanor?"
She supposed there was no harm in it. It wasn't as though they would ever meet again socially. If Brahm rejected Eleanor, she would return to the country and no doubt never set foot in London again. But that was the future and not worth the anxiety it caused at the moment. "Of course."
The maid arrived with the tea, and Eleanor poured for both of them. Fanny drank her tea black. Eleanor had never known anyone who didn't at least take milk in her tea. The redhead helped herself to a small, heavily iced cake and balanced it on the edge of her saucer.
"Now that we have that business about names out of the way, how is dear Brahm?"
So Fanny knew, then. No doubt all of London knew that Brahm had had a relapse. He wasn't exactly what one might term a discreet drinker. When deep in his cups Brahm had a tendency to flaunt himself in the face of all things proper.
"He is recovering," Eleanor replied honestly, after taking a sip of hot tea. "He is much better. Would you care to see him?" The invitation surprised even her. She must be mad to invite Brahm's former mistress to his room!
Not that she had any reason for concern, she realized somewhat dazedly. Brahm would not engage in any kind of romance while she was under his roof. Besides, he didn't want anyone but her, unless his feelings had changed suddenly.
Odd that she could see that now and not when he had proposed. Time must have cleared her mind.
Fanny dismissed the invite with a wave of her hand. "Thank you, but no. I would imagine I am not someone he wishes to see just yet, given my recent publication. Give him my best, will you? I will inquire after him in a few days when he is back on his feet."
She spoke as though she knew exactly what Brahm was going through. Everyone seemed to know but Eleanor. This was all so new and awful and strange to her. And everyone else treated it as commonplace. It angered her. How could they be so nonchalant about his health? How could they treat something so frightening as though it were nothing at all? She had been afraid for his very life, and no one else seemed to care!
"Have I said something to anger you, Eleanor?"
Fanny looked truly concerned, bringing a rush of guilt to Eleanor's conscience. "Not you alone, per se. I simply find it so very hard to comprehend how everyone around him can treat Brahm's condition as normal."
The other woman's expression turned to one of bewilderment. "Because we have all seen it before, my dear. Many times." Fanny spoke as though it was something she might have experienced herself, but Eleanor wasn't going to pry into the other woman's life. And she certainly wasn't going to inquire after the times Fanny had watched Brahm go through it. She was jealous enough of this woman as it was— not because she thought her a threat now, but because she had known Brahm so very well in the past.
"I haven't. Not this aspect of it." She would never forget the night at Pennington's soiree when Brahm relieved himself in the punch bowl. Never. Although now the incident almost made her want to smile. What the devil was wrong with her?
"You say it as though you regret never having seen it before." Fanny shook her head. "Perhaps it is for the best that you have not."
"Why do you say that?"
The other woman licked a spot of icing off her finger. "Because he will know that it has affected you, and that will make him less eager to repeat the process. When they know that you have seen it and accepted it, they stop caring if you see it again."
How right she hoped Fanny was. She never planned to "accept" Brahm's drinking. She would help him fight it and she would support him, but she would do everything in her power to keep from becoming complacent.
But she didn't want to discuss that now, not with a woman who was still very much a stranger, no matter how much she might want to open up. She wasn't going to discuss Brahm with a woman who had no qualms about revealing her own personal life to the public.
"You said your visit was twofold?" Perhaps it was time to get this conversation back onto its original course.
Fanny smiled and took another cake. "You are very direct, Eleanor. I like that."
Most people would have found her curt or rude. Fanny liked it. Eleanor might have known the courtesan would go against convention.
With more patience than she knew she possessed, Eleanor waited as Fanny finished her second cake.
The redhead wiped her mouth on her napkin, leaving a faint carmine stain behind. She was wearing cosmetics. "I am here because I wanted to get a glimpse of you."
"Of me?" Why in the world would this painted, exotic creative give a flying fig about her?
"Yes. I wanted to see the woman who rejected my dear Brahm."
Not just once but twice, but then Fanny didn't know that. Did she? Oh Lord, had Brahm revealed their relationship while in a drunken stupor? It would be humiliating, but at least it might do something to save her reputation if people thought she was there to renew their engagement.
Her
dear Brahm? The other woman's words finally sank in. Brahm was not Fanny's. He hadn't been for some time. He was Eleanor's; did the woman not see that?
"I had to see for myself the woman so incredible that she had Brahm Ryland obsessed with her for more than a decade." Fanny leaned back in her chair, giving her a frank but unthreatening appraisal. Eleanor wondered what she thought of her. "He spoke often of you, you know."
Eleanor shook her head. Obviously Fanny realized just whom Brahm belonged to after all. No, not belonged to. Belonged
with
. "I did not know that."
Dark green eyes narrowed. "Rumor has it that his recent sojourn to your father's estate might be the cause behind this latest escapade."
If Brahm had said anything, he had said it to someone thankfully close-lipped. There would be no speculating at all if society knew she had refused his proposal.
"And now that you've seen me?" Eleanor asked, lifting her chin. She would not acknowledge the remark about Brahm's trip to her house and his drinking.
Fanny smiled once more. "Such spirit. You make me feel quite old. Now that I have seen you, I begin to realize why he never got you out of his system. You intrigue me, Eleanor."
"I do?" This call was becoming increasingly surreal.
Setting her cup and saucer on the tray, Fanny rose to her feet. "Yes, you do. And now I must go."
Dazed, Eleanor stood as well, leaving her own cup on the table. "Thank you for stopping by." It seemed bizarre to thank her when the visit had been so odd— and unasked for.
The redhead tugged on her gloves. "Take care of my boy. He is more delicate than he looks."
The idea of Brahm as delicate made Eleanor want to laugh. "I will try."
Fanny paused, fixing her with a look that was void of any humor or warmth. It was such a contrast to her earlier behavior that Eleanor's heart stopped at the sight of it.
"Do more than try, my lady. You are obviously here because you care for Brahm, and that does you credit. But I can see that you are also here because of guilt, which makes me believe that you very well might have had something to do with Brahm's latest debacle. He swore on his father's grave he would do everything in his power never to drink again. If he broke that vow because of you, then you have real power over him, and if you abuse it, I will personally see you pay. Good day."
Eleanor watched the statuesque courtesan stride from the room with her mouth gaping and her heart pounding. What had just happened? Had Fanny Carson threatened her? She had. But she had also made it sound like a compliment, saying that Eleanor had real power over Brahm. Why, Fanny had sounded almost envious of that! How could anyone envy the fact that she had been the one to drive Brahm to break a vow made on the memory of his father?
She felt awful about the whole thing. It was more than just guilt. She truly felt horrible. She had let her fears guide her. She had allowed her own insecurities to make her hurt Brahm. She had behaved in a most cowardly manner. She could only hope it wasn't too late to make things right. She was there for so many reasons other than a promise— and too afraid to admit them, even to herself.
A knock on the door drew her attention. Mrs. Stubbins stood there. "Begging you pardon, my lady, but Lord Creed needs you."
Yes he did. Setting her mouth grimly as she left to answer his summons, Eleanor vowed she would find a way to make him realize it.
* * *
While Eleanor had been downstairs, plotting his demise or crying, whichever his jackass behavior had driven her to do, Brahm had been visited by North and Wynthrope, who informed him that Devlin and Blythe were traveling up from Devonshire.
Normally such news would have been welcome, especially since Brahm would be able to see his nephew, but the knowledge that they were coming because he had been stupid enough to drink himself senseless, and they were worried for him, robbed him of any joy their imminent arrival might afford.
Wynthrope and North also informed him that gossip was not being kind to Eleanor— or him for that matter, but he didn't give a rat's arse about that. Gossip about him had never been good— and it was usually truth, not speculation.
"It does not help that she followed you here from the country," North had remarked, folding his arms across his broad chest, pulling the shoulders of his gray coat taut. "It looks as though she was chasing you— and that she caught you, which of course paints her as a fallen women in society's eyes."
"Society needs spectacles," Wynthrope retorted. "Everyone knows that when she arrived here he was so drunk, he couldn't even lift his eyelids let alone his pecker."
Wynthrope certainly had a way with words. He was also— unfortunately— right in this case. Brahm would be damned if he'd admit that publicly though. All it would do was add to his own humiliation. Society already had Eleanor ruined. He could not change that unless he married her.
North turned clear eyes on him, pinning him with a gaze that had made him very intimidating as a former Bow Street Runner. "Do you plan to marry her?
"I want to, yes." There was no point in lying to his brothers.
Those unnerving eyes narrowed. "Then why have you not proposed?"
"Because she's already refused me twice." Was that not reason enough?
