Read Online Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) by Jackie Ivie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jackie Ivie
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to refill her glass.
“What way?”
“It’s obvious you’ve been had, and your mother’s fit to be tied, she is. So, confess. Whatever the girl is like, it can’t be worse than the real Helen, can it?”
“Undoubtedly.” He tipped his glass to her.
“Come now, Gil. You’ll have to produce her sooner or later.”
“I’d prefer later.”
She laughed again, and Gil almost gave in, but it wasn’t Bridget he was worried about. If anything could’ve intrigued her, it would be Brandy’s antics. It was Brandy he felt concerned with. She’d just shown him Helene. Even if he had to threaten her with his touch, the sight almost took his breath away.
“Sorry, Bridget. Not this time. You’ll just have to be thwarted. I’ve pressed her enough just to get her to stand still and be measured for clothing. Christ, you’d think I was torturing her. She’s my wife, for God’s sake! Legal. And locked. And sealed. I had Reginald check, and there’s no doubt, although her family was a bit surprised to find out where little Helene was.”
“They expected her to still be in the asylum?”
“I gather they never bothered to check.”
“Disgusting.” She heaved her considerable bulk from the chair. “Well, Boy. My bones ache from travel and I could use a rest. Point me in the general direction, and I’ll find a chamber for the night.”
He waved her out and stared thoughtfully at the chair she’d vacated.
***
“Could we start again in the morning, Mistress Vale?” Brandy asked. “I’m afraid this is too strenuous an exercise just now.”
“Of course, My Lady.”
“I suppose you’ll have your days filled now, won’t you, what with the enormous wardrobe that man is bent on buying me?”
She probably deserved the look Mistress Vale gave her.
“It’s not that burdensom e, My Lady. I’ve done far worse for my coin. I didn’t have your luck, finding a rich, handsome husband like you did.”
Brandy bit back an instant retort . The woman’s jealousy was fogging her mind, it was. Wedding Gillian Tremayne wasn’t luck. It was life or death. An enormous woman peeked into the chamber, before entering, shutting the door furtively behind her. Brandy’s eyes widened. The woman wore every imaginable color in her attire, from her purple-tipped hat to her yellow-and-green checked skirts.
And Brandy wasn’t the only one staring — Mistress Vale almost choked. She wouldn’t have lasted one day at the sanatorium.
“You’re Helene, aren’t you?” the woman asked.
Brandy glazed her eyes over as the woman approached, ignoring the seamstress. It was as good a time as any to start counting.
“Helene, is it? Cor! Yer under the same illusions that dream man is. Helene?” She guffawed as much for the effect as for the seamstress spilling a roll of velvet in her haste to stand.
“Take care now, Lovie,” she said. “I’m certain there’s men a-plenty out there fer ye. And mind now…Brandy will find ’em fer ye. I promise.”
Another guffaw and Mistress Vale put her hand to her cheeks and fled. The large woman at the door pivoted to let her pass.
“I’ m sorry. I must’ve mistaken the room. Silly of me, isn’t it?”
“Silly of me, isn’t it?” Brandy watched the woman’s jaw drop as she parroted her words and exact vocal scale.
“You’ll need to pardon my silks, M’Lady. I’m havin’ a wardrobe fitted.” Brandy curtsied, holding out the skirt of her nightgown. “That woman’s crazed, she is. Just look at the mess she left. Why…if that handsome Tremayne fella saw it, he’d beat her for certain, he would.”
“Gillian wouldn’t harm a soul.”
The woman placed her hand on her ample bosom as she spoke, and Brandy narrowed her eyes. Her count had hit twenty-seven, and the woman’s defense of Gil made her stumble.
“Oh no? Well, he’d harm little Brandy, he would.”
She took particular pleasure in shoving down her nightgown and listening to the woman’s shocked gasp
“What way?”
“It’s obvious you’ve been had, and your mother’s fit to be tied, she is. So, confess. Whatever the girl is like, it can’t be worse than the real Helen, can it?”
“Undoubtedly.” He tipped his glass to her.
“Come now, Gil. You’ll have to produce her sooner or later.”
“I’d prefer later.”
She laughed again, and Gil almost gave in, but it wasn’t Bridget he was worried about. If anything could’ve intrigued her, it would be Brandy’s antics. It was Brandy he felt concerned with. She’d just shown him Helene. Even if he had to threaten her with his touch, the sight almost took his breath away.
“Sorry, Bridget. Not this time. You’ll just have to be thwarted. I’ve pressed her enough just to get her to stand still and be measured for clothing. Christ, you’d think I was torturing her. She’s my wife, for God’s sake! Legal. And locked. And sealed. I had Reginald check, and there’s no doubt, although her family was a bit surprised to find out where little Helene was.”
“They expected her to still be in the asylum?”
“I gather they never bothered to check.”
“Disgusting.” She heaved her considerable bulk from the chair. “Well, Boy. My bones ache from travel and I could use a rest. Point me in the general direction, and I’ll find a chamber for the night.”
He waved her out and stared thoughtfully at the chair she’d vacated.
***
“Could we start again in the morning, Mistress Vale?” Brandy asked. “I’m afraid this is too strenuous an exercise just now.”
“Of course, My Lady.”
“I suppose you’ll have your days filled now, won’t you, what with the enormous wardrobe that man is bent on buying me?”
She probably deserved the look Mistress Vale gave her.
“It’s not that burdensom e, My Lady. I’ve done far worse for my coin. I didn’t have your luck, finding a rich, handsome husband like you did.”
Brandy bit back an instant retort . The woman’s jealousy was fogging her mind, it was. Wedding Gillian Tremayne wasn’t luck. It was life or death. An enormous woman peeked into the chamber, before entering, shutting the door furtively behind her. Brandy’s eyes widened. The woman wore every imaginable color in her attire, from her purple-tipped hat to her yellow-and-green checked skirts.
And Brandy wasn’t the only one staring — Mistress Vale almost choked. She wouldn’t have lasted one day at the sanatorium.
“You’re Helene, aren’t you?” the woman asked.
Brandy glazed her eyes over as the woman approached, ignoring the seamstress. It was as good a time as any to start counting.
“Helene, is it? Cor! Yer under the same illusions that dream man is. Helene?” She guffawed as much for the effect as for the seamstress spilling a roll of velvet in her haste to stand.
“Take care now, Lovie,” she said. “I’m certain there’s men a-plenty out there fer ye. And mind now…Brandy will find ’em fer ye. I promise.”
Another guffaw and Mistress Vale put her hand to her cheeks and fled. The large woman at the door pivoted to let her pass.
“I’ m sorry. I must’ve mistaken the room. Silly of me, isn’t it?”
“Silly of me, isn’t it?” Brandy watched the woman’s jaw drop as she parroted her words and exact vocal scale.
“You’ll need to pardon my silks, M’Lady. I’m havin’ a wardrobe fitted.” Brandy curtsied, holding out the skirt of her nightgown. “That woman’s crazed, she is. Just look at the mess she left. Why…if that handsome Tremayne fella saw it, he’d beat her for certain, he would.”
“Gillian wouldn’t harm a soul.”
The woman placed her hand on her ample bosom as she spoke, and Brandy narrowed her eyes. Her count had hit twenty-seven, and the woman’s defense of Gil made her stumble.
“Oh no? Well, he’d harm little Brandy, he would.”
She took particular pleasure in shoving down her nightgown and listening to the woman’s shocked gasp
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