Chapter 11 #4
“Yes,” Hetty said with a sigh, unable to fault her sister’s observation. “I never realised Mr Bramwell was so… so muscular. He needs a more skilful tailor to show his figure to better advantage. But I suppose he can’t afford it.”
He could, if he married her, she thought, a wry smile at her lips, but Hetty kept such ideas to herself.
“Oh, no. Not him. I… I meant Viscount Rivington.”
Hetty turned to stare at Cilly, who bristled.
“I know you have feelings for Mr Bramwell, Hetty, and no, don’t deny it. I’m not blind. But that being the case, I would not ogle him. Viscount Rivington, however, is nothing to you… or to me either, of course, and… well, he did not appear to mind us looking, did he?”
Hetty snorted, deciding not to comment upon Cilly’s observations of her feelings for Mr Bramwell. “Indeed, not. Which says a good deal about the man. The great preening peacock,” she said with a laugh.
Cilly pursed her lips, her expression thoughtful. “Well, Hetty, one must be fair. He has a good deal to preen about.”
“Cilly!” Hetty exclaimed, so shocked by her demure sister’s interest in the man she hardly knew what to say.
Cilly just shrugged. “I speak as I find, and I found him very handsome.”
“Girls!” They looked around as the dowager duchess hailed them. “Have you been waiting long. My, this is the downside to such an experience. What a bother it is. Still, I shan’t complain, but now I want a cup of tea. Come along.”
As it was not possible to continue the conversation with Gee-Gee next to them, for she would certainly be interested, Hetty kept any further concerns about Cilly’s interest in the viscount to herself.
But she determined to keep an eye on her sister, just in case she allowed her curiosity to lead her into trouble.
In the meantime, she would have to do her very best to forget the sight of Mr Bramwell, for what was the point in longing for someone you could never have. Yet as the carriage drew them back towards Hatherley House, it was the only thing on her mind.
Despite everything, despite his determination to deny any possibility of a future for them, Hetty knew one thing. She would seek Mr Bramwell out again, if for no other reason than to see if she could make him blush.
“Hell and the devil! Damn you, Damian, what the bloody hell were you thinking?” Gideon demanded once they were back on dry land.
He grabbed his towel, drying himself with brisk motions as he tried not to remember the glinting look of admiration in Hetty’s eyes as she spied him in his birthday suit.
Damian sprawled himself indolently on the blanket, his wet hair dripping, perfectly unconcerned by his own nakedness as he let the sun dry him.
“Why are you taking such a pet? They looked delighted, if you ask me, and I didn’t wish to be rude by running away like a scalded cat.
Manners are everything, Deon. Did no one ever tell you that? ”
“Not when you’re stark, bloody naked, you pillock,” Gideon exclaimed. “Christ, if I lose my job thanks to that little display, I shall murder you.”
“Oh, relax. The dowager is pluck to the backbone. She’s a woman of the last century and has no patience for today’s namby-pamby manners.
If only I’d been born back then, I’d be in a deal less trouble.
People were far less concerned with propriety and what other people thought of them. Today it’s all a great bore.”
“I wish you had been too,” Gideon groused, but he felt a little less anxious all the same.
Damian was right. The dowager had been laughing fit to bust, and the young ladies had hardly looked mortified.
No one had swooned. So long as they did not go around telling everyone about it, no one else need know.
That was less of a certainty, he feared, but after all, they had not done it on purpose.
Well, Damian’s bow had definitely been purposeful, but that was hardly his fault.
“If you are concerned, we shall simply have to call upon the ladies at the hall and offer our apologies,” Damian said carelessly as he laid his head on the blanket and closed his eyes.
Gideon stared at him in horror. “Call upon them? Are you mad? I’m hoping I never have to face them again in my life.”
This was a lie of quite startling proportions, but there was no reason Damian need know that.
Yes, the idea of facing the dowager and Lady Cecilia was appalling.
Hetty, however… that was different. Damian had implied she would dream of him before now and the notion had stirred his blood.
What would her dreams look like after today, he wondered and felt a surge of heat sweep from his toes to the top of his head.
Stop it.
She’s not for you.
Not ever.
“Don’t be such a white feather. I never thought you spineless before now.”
Gideon glared at his brother, which was pointless as Damian had closed his eyes. “I’m nothing of the sort. I just have enough amour-propre not to wish to humiliate myself any further.”
“Humiliate?” Damian’s eyes flicked open, devilry glinting there. “Brother dear, the water was very cold. I’m sure Hetty will understand if—”
Gideon threw his sodden towel at Damian’s face. “That is not the problem, you unspeakable arse. Are you getting dressed, or shall I leave you here?”
Damian tugged the wet towel off his head and sighed heavily. “And just when I was hoping I had taught you a thing or two about living your life. Carpe Diem, eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die,” he intoned, and then gave it up with a shrug. “Fine, fine. Give me a moment.”
Gideon waited as Damian dried himself off, watching the light play over the waves as the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon. He thought about Damian’s words and wondered if that was really what his brother was doing?
“Are you happy, then, Damian? Has all your seizing the day brought you that rare commodity?”
Damian, who had reached for his shirt, hesitated, slanting a look at Gideon, who waited, expecting a glib comment.
But for once, Damian looked utterly sincere.
“Happy? I don’t think I would recognise happiness if I had it, but to my knowledge I never have.
I have fleeting moments when I am not unhappy, though, pictures I keep in my mind, of people and places, the sound of laughter, of music, and it's better than the emptiness that fills me if I don’t keep those moments coming.
That’s what I have. It’s not much, perhaps, but I fear it’s more than you have, Deon. ”
With that, Damian pulled the shirt over his head and hastily tucked it into his breeches.
Silently, they gathered the last of their things and made their way back to the town as the sun painted the sky in garish sweeps of orange and pink, and Gideon wondered if his brother was right.
Was there such a thing as happiness for them? Or were there only fleeting moments of pleasure that one must grab at, as Damian did?
Hetty’s beautiful face filled his mind again, and an ache of regret for something that might have been close to happiness tightened his chest.
An illusion, he assured himself. But for the first time in his life, he wondered if that was true.