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Authors: Escapades Four Regency Novellas
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gain a commitment from her—a promise that now that she had returned she would never leave again. Never leave him again. He listened to himself in some amazement. This sounded very much like a marriage proposal, and surely he could not be contemplating such a step on such a brief acquaintance.
But that was the most astonishing part of this strange reunion, wasn’t it? The sense that he had known this woman for a very long time. He had scarcely acknowledged the existence of Felicity when she had been his friend’s tiresome little sister. Now, it appeared that she had held a place in his heart for all the years of her absence.
Bran had by now traversed the short distance between the Grand Hotel and Canby House. As he alighted from the carriage, another vehicle drew up just behind him. From it stepped a cloaked figure who called softly to him.
“My lord? Lord Branford? It is I, Jonathan Bed-does.”
Beddoes! The man leading the investigation into the reappearance of Felicity Marshall.
“Ah, yes, Beddoes. I sent a message to you regarding the matter of Martha Finch. Itmust have missed you. I am happy to inform you your services are no longer required, sir. Mrs. Finch—that is Lady Felicity—was able to offer irrefutable proof of her identity. Thus—
“Proof?” The other man stood very still for a moment. “I am certainly pleased to hear that, my lord, but I think perhaps you would still like to hear my findings.”
Bran stood irresolute for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Come into the house. Lord Canby will have retired by now, and we can talk privately.”
Once in the library, over a gratefully accepted brandy, Mr. Beddoes began to speak.
“Once I arrived in Tenaby, my lord, I found some difficulty in finding anyone who so much as remembered Josiah and Margaret Sounder. However, eventually I was able to turn up one or two remarkable facts. It seems that . . .”
Beddoes continued with a narrative that soon captured Bran’s full attention.
* * * *
In her bedchamber at the Grand Hotel, Martha stared sightlessly at the canopy above her. Dear Lord, she must deal with the knowledge that she was in love with Bran. She had felt a strong, almost preordained attraction to him from their first meeting, but the realization that had struck her so stunningly while she sat with him at the piano must now be faced.
Did Bran love her? The thought was a trembling deep inside her. He had not told her in so many words, but she had been aware of a certain transference—as though he had given up part of his very essence to her—that must surely be an indication of something warmer than mere friendship.
If this was the case—if Bran had fallen as deeply into love as she had with him—and in a matter of a few days—this was a disaster in the making. When she had begun her charade, her plans had not included the Earl of Branford, let alone the spark that had ignited between them. Not that marriage with him was impossible. The Marquess of Canby would no doubt look with extreme benevolence on a union between his beloved granddaughter and a man who was as dear to him as a son. She imagined the earl’s family would feel the same. No, the problem was that try as she might to smother her conscience, she could not enter into a lifelong contract with a man she had shamelessly duped. She nearly gasped at the pain that shot through her at this thought.
Then there was the marquess. She thought she had won the struggle with her conscience in that matter, but she knew now with appalling clarity that it was no good. She could talk till her eyes bubbled about granting an old man his heartfelt wish, and soothing his declining years and all the rest, but the ugly fact remained. She was swindling him.
She simply could not go through with it.
Martha sat up in bed. She must abandon her shameful pretense. She could not, she decided further, face either Bran or the marquess. She knew she was being a coward, but she would leave the
But that was the most astonishing part of this strange reunion, wasn’t it? The sense that he had known this woman for a very long time. He had scarcely acknowledged the existence of Felicity when she had been his friend’s tiresome little sister. Now, it appeared that she had held a place in his heart for all the years of her absence.
Bran had by now traversed the short distance between the Grand Hotel and Canby House. As he alighted from the carriage, another vehicle drew up just behind him. From it stepped a cloaked figure who called softly to him.
“My lord? Lord Branford? It is I, Jonathan Bed-does.”
Beddoes! The man leading the investigation into the reappearance of Felicity Marshall.
“Ah, yes, Beddoes. I sent a message to you regarding the matter of Martha Finch. Itmust have missed you. I am happy to inform you your services are no longer required, sir. Mrs. Finch—that is Lady Felicity—was able to offer irrefutable proof of her identity. Thus—
“Proof?” The other man stood very still for a moment. “I am certainly pleased to hear that, my lord, but I think perhaps you would still like to hear my findings.”
Bran stood irresolute for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Come into the house. Lord Canby will have retired by now, and we can talk privately.”
Once in the library, over a gratefully accepted brandy, Mr. Beddoes began to speak.
“Once I arrived in Tenaby, my lord, I found some difficulty in finding anyone who so much as remembered Josiah and Margaret Sounder. However, eventually I was able to turn up one or two remarkable facts. It seems that . . .”
Beddoes continued with a narrative that soon captured Bran’s full attention.
* * * *
In her bedchamber at the Grand Hotel, Martha stared sightlessly at the canopy above her. Dear Lord, she must deal with the knowledge that she was in love with Bran. She had felt a strong, almost preordained attraction to him from their first meeting, but the realization that had struck her so stunningly while she sat with him at the piano must now be faced.
Did Bran love her? The thought was a trembling deep inside her. He had not told her in so many words, but she had been aware of a certain transference—as though he had given up part of his very essence to her—that must surely be an indication of something warmer than mere friendship.
If this was the case—if Bran had fallen as deeply into love as she had with him—and in a matter of a few days—this was a disaster in the making. When she had begun her charade, her plans had not included the Earl of Branford, let alone the spark that had ignited between them. Not that marriage with him was impossible. The Marquess of Canby would no doubt look with extreme benevolence on a union between his beloved granddaughter and a man who was as dear to him as a son. She imagined the earl’s family would feel the same. No, the problem was that try as she might to smother her conscience, she could not enter into a lifelong contract with a man she had shamelessly duped. She nearly gasped at the pain that shot through her at this thought.
Then there was the marquess. She thought she had won the struggle with her conscience in that matter, but she knew now with appalling clarity that it was no good. She could talk till her eyes bubbled about granting an old man his heartfelt wish, and soothing his declining years and all the rest, but the ugly fact remained. She was swindling him.
She simply could not go through with it.
Martha sat up in bed. She must abandon her shameful pretense. She could not, she decided further, face either Bran or the marquess. She knew she was being a coward, but she would leave the
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