Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) by Jackie Ivie Page A

he sent her to us. She was about six at the time.
    “I remember how small she looked, and not a bit like our Helen. That was a strange thing my uncle did, wasn’t it, naming his daughter after his brother’s. I suppose it’s not that amusing now, given the circumstances, is it, My Lord?”
    Gil didn’t know what to answer or how to phrase it. He’d never felt so out-of-sorts and confused. And angry. He glanced toward Reg for assistance. His friend stepped in.
    “Do tell… why should we believe your story over hers, Bingham?” Reg asked. “After all, your family placed her in that dreadful place.”
    “Dreadful? Only because she must’ve made it so. My father wouldn’t put his niece anywhere but the finest place — good beds, staff, and food. I should know. I chose the location.”
    Gil swiveled back to the window, glaring at his reflection rather than Gerard. The stupid fop hadn’t even checked once Helene was sent there? And for what? Lies? If that was the punishment for lying, half the town should suffer for it.
    “You don’t have to believe me, My Lord.”
    Bingham chuckled and stood, holding out his hand for his cloak. Gil watched the reflection of Riggs handing it over, holding it by thumb and forefinger as if it stank. Gil appreciated his staff’s loyalty.
    “Any member of the family will tell you the same, or my mother can vouch for me. She wasn’t particularly fond of Helene — with her tongue, who would be? But she’ll tell you the truth.”
    “Thank you for the visit, Bingham,” Reg said. “I’m sure Lord Tremayne will have more questions for you when he’s had time to digest this.”
    “Very good. Very good. I’ll take my leave then. You know where to find me. Good eve, gentlemen.”
    He dipped his head toward Gil, who ignored him, and left.
    It took exactly seven seconds to react, and Reg was there blocking him, although it looked to take all his weight to do so.
    “Curse the witch!” Gil was enraged and barely holding to it. It helped to clench his teeth. But then, every word was barely intelligible. Clipped. Short. “Riggs? Ready my phaeton, and be quick about it!”
    “You can’t leave now, Gil,” Reg protested. “Think, man. The road’s dark, there are highwaymen about, and you’ll ruin your chestnuts with the speed.”
    “You wanted to meet my bride, didn’t you?” Gil shoved his friend’s hands aside, reached the door, and slammed it into the wall with opening it. “Now’s your chance. You have exactly ten minutes to make up your mind.”
    ***
    There was something to be said for a stroll through the grounds. Even in early spring. Helene sniffed the brisk air appreciatively. Bridget had said she needed time to compose a letter and asked if Helene could find something to occupy her. Of course she could. She was so grateful to Lady Bridget she’d do anything the woman asked.
    The commotion behind her made her start. She had just enough time to turn before the best-looking man she’d ever seen grabbed her arms.
    “You little whore!” Gil snapped. “Damned if I shouldn’t put you over my knee, and—. What in blazes have you been doing to yourself?”
    Helene went limp. If it hadn’t been for his hands holding, her, she would’ve dropped. Perhaps he saw it in her eyes, because his hands on her arms tightened until she winced.
    “My Lord? Please? You’re hurting me,” she whispered.
    “I’ll do a damn sight more than hurt you, you little guttersnipe!”
    “Such a loving reunion, Gillian. And I really hate to interrupt, but would you be so kind as to introduce us…properly?”
    The man holding her turned, and Helene found her back against him, facing a slight man with a receding hairline, soft chin, and the sweetest eyes she ever saw. Of course, after looking into the almond-shaped, blue hatred of the man holding her, anyone’s eyes would look sweet.
    “Helene, meet Reginald Dunston, the marquis of Dunsberry.”
    “I think I’m charmed.”
    She smiled