Chapter 13
Blood and Water
Damian answered the knock on his hotel room door and could not hide his surprise at seeing Gideon standing on the threshold. Unless it was to berate him for some dreadful story in the scandal sheets, he could not remember the last time his little brother had sought him out.
“Deon,” he said, trying to rearrange his face into something less startled. He had spent many years learning how to disguise his emotions, but Gideon undermined his well-earned insouciance with too much ease.
“Do you want a drink?”
Damian blinked. “Certainly. Do you want to come in?”
“No. Get your coat.”
Damian tugged down his shirt sleeves and checked the looking glass to ensure his cravat was fit to be seen in public.
It was only Little Valentine, not London, but he’d been surprised by how many of the upper ten thousand were here.
Only the respectable ones from what he’d seen so far, more’s the pity, but one lived in hope.
“Hold up then,” he called as he shut his door, as Gideon was already at the end of the corridor.
“I’m thirsty,” was the techy reply.
Well, someone was in a fine mood. Damian only hoped it wasn’t his head in the basket for once.
Hurrying outside, he found his brother standing on the cobbles, waiting.
“Where to then, if you don’t want to drink here? The Dog and Duck?”
Gideon shook his head. “Too many of the men from site there after work. Is there anywhere else?”
“Are you looking for a convivial drink, or to get blind drunk?” Damian enquired politely.
“Blind drunk.”
“Ah. In that case, might I suggest we buy a couple of bottles and head for a quiet spot on the beach?”
“As quiet as last time?” Gideon remarked, quirking an eyebrow.
“It’s colder today. There won’t be anyone swimming, certainly not at this hour.”
“Fine.”
Damian nodded, regarding his brother with a niggle of concern. He was always uptight and worrying himself over something or other, but this felt different. “Stay there then, I’ll buy us some provisions.”
Gideon agreed to this without a murmur, which was the most alarming thing of all. The two of them rarely interacted without some degree of antagonism. Something was definitely amiss.
Damian returned twenty minutes later. “Hail the conquering hero. I bring the spoils of my endeavours, two bottles of excellent brandy. Also, two meat pies and a bag of iced buns that might soak up the worst of it and save our stomachs from ruin.”
Gideon reached for one of the bottles and uncorked it as he strode off.
“Oh, this is going to be pretty,” Damian murmured under his breath as he followed his brother down to the beach.
Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 2nd August 1816
Cilly peeled back the raw steak that adorned Hetty’s cheek with a disgusted expression.
“Well?” Hetty asked anxiously.
“It’s… not that bad.”
“You are the worst liar, Cilly,” Hetty grumbled.
Cilly poured some water from the jug into the washbasin and rinsed her fingers. “Well, it’s swollen and will likely be purple by morning. There, feel better now?”
“No.”
Cilly laughed softly as she dried her hands and came to sit on the bed beside her.
“What’s wrong, Hetty? I know you said Mr Bramwell was angry at you for putting yourself in danger, and rightly so, but I would have thought such a show of protectiveness would have pleased you.
Because you do like him, don’t you, love? ”
Hetty’s lip quivered, her eyes burning with unshed tears at the concern in her sister’s voice.
“Oh, Hetty. You little goose. You’ve not gone and fallen in love with the wretched men, have you?” Cilly asked in concern, shifting closer so she could put her arm around her.
Hetty sniffed. “No. Not… not quite that, but oh, Cilly. I could. I could so very easily if only he would let me. He’s so different from anyone else I’ve ever met, so… real. He doesn’t talk to me like Lady Henrietta, doesn’t flatter—good grief, he doesn’t flatter!”
She gave a snort of laughter and Cilly reached out, taking her hand, understanding why this was so important.
“Mr Bramwell treats me like I’m a person, even if I’m driving him mad. He sees me, not the title, not the dowry, not the connection to the Duke of Langley. He simply doesn’t care about those things. I think he likes me too, Cilly, only… I’ve messed it all up. Shocking, I know,” she added ruefully.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Hetty returned a tremulous smile, grateful to her sister who had always been there for her.
Their mother had died when they were very young, and their father was…
well, appalling. But they had Grandmama Langley, and their brother Hart, and each other.
It had been enough. More than enough. But suddenly Hetty wanted more. She wanted Gideon.
“He’s furious with me,” Hetty admitted. She could not tell Cilly precisely why, but she could explain a little.
“I discovered something about him, something personal, quite by accident, I assure you, I wasn’t prying.
But now he… Oh, I don’t know. He seems to believe I’ve been spying on him, and he’s clearly using the information I discovered to keep himself from ever forming an attachment. ”
Cilly’s brow furrowed. “It’s not a dark secret, is it, Hetty? Something that could ruin him, or you?”
Hetty hesitated. People viewed madness with utter horror.
It was something to be hushed up, to be hidden behind locked doors and never spoken of.
The fear that it ran in families, that it tainted the blood, was so terrible that people would go to extremes to keep such rumours quiet.
She had heard such stories attached to Viscount Rivington, who was considered something of a loose screw, but somehow Gideon had escaped it, or at least to her knowledge he had.
In a small town like Little Valentine, rumours moved with incredible speed, but nothing of the sort had reached her ears.
“Not precisely. At least, it’s not the sort of thing you are worrying about. Not an illegitimate child, or a ruined debutante, or a scandalous affair. But it could be damaging to him, to his career, through no fault of his own.”
She plucked at the bedcover with restless fingers, wishing she could tell Cilly everything, but she had promised and she was not about to break that promise. He already thought the worst of her, though that was completely unfair. The wretched man.
“You will be careful, won’t you?”
Hetty glanced up to see Cilly watching her with concern and nodded. “He won’t speak to me. It’s hard to get a fellow to ruin you when you’re not on speaking terms.”
Cilly tsked. “Don’t make light of it. I can see how upset you are, and we all know what happens when you get yourself worked up. Don’t do anything foolish, love. Promise me.”
Hetty sighed. “I promise. I’m too tired and bruised and sad to do a thing but sit around and mope for the time being.”
“You’ll not come down to dinner then?”
Hetty snorted and pointed at the steak she was holding to her cheek. “How appetising does this look? And as appealing as being interrogated by both Gee-Gee and the Duke of Hawkney is, I think I’ll pass.”
“Very well. I’ll have yours sent up on a tray and look in on you before I go to bed.”
“Thanks, Cilly. For everything.”
Her sister turned and smiled at her before she reached the door. “Of course. Always.”
The Beach, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 2nd August 1816
Damian shifted on the sand, trying to find a comfortable spot. He wished now that he’d gone back for a blanket, he’d be finding sand everywhere when he got back to the hotel, the bloody stuff got into everything.
He glanced at his brother, who was doggedly making his way down the bottle of brandy.
Damian had hardly touched his own, too concerned by Gideon’s strange behaviour.
It simply wasn’t like him to go out and drink himself into a stupor.
Damian took care of that kind of stupid behaviour quite admirably all by himself.
“Are you going to tell me what has put you in such a sunny temper?” Damian asked mildly.
He’d held his tongue until now, hoping that Gideon would unwind enough to speak, but the sun was going down, and he’d done nothing but swallow the brandy with a determined air that was becoming a little worrisome.
“Nope.”
“You know, if you expect me to partake in your desolation, you might at least explain what it is we are drinking to forget.”
“You are at liberty to piss off whenever you feel like it.”
Damian sighed. “Charming, I’m sure. Very well, Deon, if you will not share your misery, I shall guess. Is it, perchance, anything to do with Lady Henrietta?”
Gideon shot him an incinerating look. “Nevermind, Lady Henrietta. Besides, it’s not. Well, not entirely.”
“Well, that’s cleared things up wonderfully,” Damian muttered. “Well, if it is not entirely Hetty, it must be… Hetty and Mama?”
Gideon snorted. “It’s bloody everything if you want to know. It’s Hetty, our mother, a bloody thief screwing up my site and my chances of making a success of myself.”
“A thief?”
Gideon nodded. “Bastard is stealing stuff from under my nose. Not much, nothing too obvious, but the men have noticed, and it’s put everyone on edge.
They’ll walk out if things get any worse and won’t that look good for prospective clients.
Ah, yes, Mr Bramwell, you are the architect who let some light-fingered tosser filch goods from the site and had all your men walk out on strike, yes, of course we will invest thousands of pounds in building a fantastic new property with you. ”
A loud belch punctuated this unhappy diatribe.
Damian winced and reached into the bag of buns. “For Christ’s sake, eat something. I’ve nothing against you getting drunk but you’d better be able to make it home on your own two feet or you’ll be sleeping on the beach.”
Gideon took it, staring at it morosely for a moment before taking a large bite.