Chapter Fifteen
Amelia had just come from the kitchens after discussing the week’s menu with Cook when she heard the creak of the heavy main door off the great hall. Curious, she made the detour through the large, open room and heard a male voice with an English inflection speaking to Grahame.
“Please, at least tell her that I’ve come. Let Lady Coylton decide for herself whether she will see me.”
Grahame sniffed disdainfully. “Seeing as how the last time your visit ended rather abruptly under uncomfortable circumstances, I do not feel that would be wise.”
“Lord Brinley?” Amelia frowned and peered around her butler to find the man looking harried and exhausted, but sober and well-dressed. The tall man deflated a little in relief at seeing her.
“You have quite the formidable butler here,” he remarked, attempting some levity. Amelia made him stew in the unknown for another minute before she told Grahame to allow him to enter.
“We may speak in my study,” she said, turning on her heel even before Brinley had finished crossing the threshold.
Even before that, she’d already decided not to inform Clara that Brinley had arrived—she was unsure if Clara should be subjected to him just yet when her emotions remained quite frazzled and confused.
Given their conversations, Amelia suspected the girl had quite liked the kiss, but wasn’t sure if he should have. Ah, to have the difficulties of youth.
“I never had the opportunity to tell you what a grand home you had the last time I was here,” Brinley commented politely. Though his tone was light, Amelia could tell he was very uncertain about his reception.
“Did Kempton send you on his behalf?” she asked flatly.
“He does not know I am here; I have not seen him in several weeks now.”
“Then why have you come?”
“You are blunter than I remember,” he chuckled.
When she did not smile, he cleared his throat and moved on.
“I am here to apologize for the situation and how I’d revealed Kempton’s intentions in such a callous fashion; however, you must believe that his intentions had evolved.
I was unaware of that fact when I was speaking to Lady Clara. ”
Amelia stiffened. “How am I supposed to trust what you are saying?”
“I may be an irreverent rake, a bit of a scoundrel, debauched by most people’s standards, but I am no rogue. I do have some honor. Vengeful seduction is not in my repertoire.”
“So, you have come here to disparage Kempton?”
Judging from the swiftness of his answer, he appeared to have contemplated his reply ahead of time. “I do not condone what Kempton did, but a man in grief is irrational. You broke him.” The brusque words nearly made Amelia cringe.
“And, because of this, your loyalties have shifted?”
“Despite this, they have not. My loyalties have and always will lie with him. Believe it or not, I’m actually here to advocate for him.
” She waited expectantly for him to continue.
“Despite the years, Kempton has never stopped loving you. He went to you with less than purely noble intentions, but his love for you overcame them. He was so very wrong, but you must believe me; Kempton still loves you, and what happened has destroyed him all over again. This time, it will likely kill him. If you ever held love or true fondness for him, then for God’s sake, please know that I am now telling you the truth. ”
Amelia waited several heartbeats before replying, “I know.”
This almost seemed to catch Brinley off guard. “Do you?”
“What Kempton did was cruel, but the fact remained that he changed. I’ve taken the time since his departure to think on everything he did while he was here.
He took the time to know my son and bond with him.
He used his own two hands to bury my dog—” Her voice broke, but she quickly regained her composure and continued.
“He held me while I cried. He allowed his sister to stay behind here with me…something he never would have allowed if he did not trust me or believe in me. None of these are things a single-minded, evil man does, and that is why I am planning on leaving Scotland within the fortnight.”
“Brilliant!” Brinley slapped his thigh, a broad smile splitting his objectively beautiful features. “I will arrange a way for the two of you to meet, then.”
Before he could bid her farewell, Amelia asked, “Might there be anything else you wish to mention before you take your leave?” When he looked perplexed, she simply whispered, “Something to do with Lady Clara?” Immediately, Amelia narrowed her eyes, able to tell Brinley was keeping his expression carefully blank.
The tapping of his long fingers on the arm of his chair told her he wasn’t as calm as he appeared.
“That…” he began and had to start again. “That should not have happened.”
“No,” Amelia agreed. “But it did. So, what will you do about it?”
“Nothing,” he said harshly. “Despite my intentions here, I am not an inherently good man. I am not an admirable man. Were I, then that would not have happened in the first place. I enjoy my lifestyle and pursuits far too much, and I am far too old to change now.” He politely inclined his head to her and stood.
“I will contact you soon, Lady Coylton.”
As Amelia watched Brinley climb back into his carriage, she suspected—if only by his coming to her and his obvious need to make her believe in Dorian—that Brinley wasn’t as content with his life or as bad a man as he’d have everyone else believe.
Miserably surveying the crush at the Aldborough ball, Dorian felt like a wooden doll performing predetermined motions.
As he interacted with the other guests, partook in small talk, and feigned smiles, it all felt like an act.
Though the Earl and Countess of Aldborough were kind and generous people, this would not have been his first choice of events to attend since leaving Scotland.
There were too many familiar faces, too many people inquiring after his absence.
The effort drained him enormously, but he knew he must return to Society sooner rather than later.
Suddenly, Brinley appeared at his elbow, looking as impeccably turned-out as always. Dorian was briefly overcome with anger, but it dissipated when he reminded himself that bloodshed in this sort of setting wasn’t the done thing.
“You are either very brave or very foolish,” Dorian said without looking at his friend.
“I prefer to think of myself as rather forward thinking,” Brinley replied jovially. “You wouldn’t kill a man with all these witnesses, so I am saved from a violent confrontation.”
Dorian was forced to incline his head in grudging agreement.
Several minutes of strained silence passed between them before Dorian spoke again. “I want to apologize. I have not always been a good friend—I have not been the person I should have been.”
A short, stunned pause followed before Brinley clapped him on his back and said, “Just do not kill me over Clara, and we will call ourselves even.”
“Do not ever touch my sister again, and I will consider it.”
“Fair enough.” Brinley’s eyes skimmed the crush, and he sighed. “Might I interest you in a breath of air and a cheroot?”
“God, yes,” Dorian muttered, relieved by both the prospect of being free from the crowd and that his friendship seemed to be on better footing than it had been in weeks.
He might never forget that Brinley had kissed his sister, but it had been more than slightly disconcerting not having him to lean on.
He knew he needed to be better in so many ways; he could start by being more forgiving and by being a more constant friend.
Once they were able to extricate themselves from the crowd, the men stood on the balcony at the back of the house overlooking the dark gardens.
The moon was only a small sliver in the sky, providing little light for them, but they easily settled into the quiet comfort of their decades of friendship.
“Damn,” Brinley suddenly spat.
“What?” The word came out on a fragrant burst of smoke.
“I’ve just seen Swanleigh, and he owes me my winnings from the races last week. Excuse me.” Brinley was gone before Dorian could even form a protest.
Looking at the cheroot in his hand, Dorian decided to take his time and would return to the party when he was good and ready. For now, it was peaceful on that darkened balcony.
Just as he was about to be done, the doors opened behind him and cast a swath of golden light onto the balcony. “Did you catch Swanleigh?” Dorian asked without turning around, initially believing Brinley had returned to finish his cheroot.
There was no answer.
Confused, Dorian turned and found Amelia standing patiently and silently behind him.
She wore a honey-gold gown that was fitted to her bosom and skimmed the slim line of her hips.
The crimson beading at the neckline and on her sleeves mimicked the rubies wrapped around her throat and dangling from her ears.
To say he was stunned in more ways than one was an understatement of grand proportions.
He opened his mouth, but Amelia put her satin-covered fingers over his lips.
“Let me speak first.” Her voice was like an angel’s song to his ears—a sound he’d never thought to hear until he graced the steps of Heaven.
“Your actions were deplorable.” His stomach sank.
“Your deception was vile, and I should toss you away and never think of you again…but I cannot. It would seem my heart is far less rational than my head. You are a special man and a remarkable role model for Archie. You chipped away at our hearts and, ever since you left, we have all missed you terribly.”
Dorian felt like he was dreaming. Any minute, he was going to wake up broken and in a pool of icy sweat as reality struck him full force.
But he did not wake up, and it all felt so real.
Could it be…?
Amelia cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes as he turned his face into the caress.
“Forgive me,” he groaned.
“I already have,” she whispered a moment before she gently touched her lips to his. He pulled her against him, but she broke the kiss. “On one condition,” she said breathily.
“Anything,” he swore adamantly.
She wove her arms around his neck. “Make sure I am the only woman with whom you’re ever caught in a compromising situation.”
Dorian hauled her against him, cupping her bottom with a wicked smile and stealing her breath. “Then let us get caught.”
“You should see the loch!” Clara gushed to her good friend, Lady Foxton. “The land is so green, and the loch is unlike anything I’ve seen before. It is nothing like our ponds here in England.”
“There you are, Lady Clara. I thought I’d lost you when I went to fetch your drink.”
Her every nerve fired at once, making her tense and highly uncomfortable, but also keenly aware of everything about the man who had approached them, drinks in hand.
“Brinley,” she greeted him, stiff and standoffish. “I did not—”
“I know how you adore the punch served by the Aldboroughs, and I made sure to procure some for you before it ran out.” His tone was a touch too cheery, but it was likely no one who knew him less well would realize it.
Clara nearly grasped her friend’s hand and refused to relinquish it, but she had to let her go when her husband appeared and politely apologized for needing to steal her away.
Brinley took Clara’s hand and set one of the glasses of punch into it.
It was a wonder it did not slip through her fingers when she felt as if his touch was like lightning to her flesh.
“Do not fear; I will not accost you,” he murmured just loudly enough for her to hear.
He seemed very sober and serious, but she remained unsure.
“Might we speak somewhere where we will not be interrupted?”
Against her better judgment, Clara agreed—if only because she could think of nothing else appropriate to say. Brinley skillfully maneuvered them to an alcove where Lady Sandford, her temporary chaperone, could see them, but not overhear their conversation.
“I am here because I must apologize for the way I behaved at Coylton Castle; it was far from honorable, and you should not have been treated that way. You deserve more respect than that—not only as my friend’s sister, but as a woman.
I cannot make any promises, but I will strive to improve my behavior from here on out.
” He bowed low over her hand, placing a warm, lingering kiss upon her knuckles before disappearing into the crowd.
Clara watched him leave and held her hand in the other, wondering at the curious expression she’d seen in his eyes.