Page 61 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

While the circumstances of Marston’s death were in no way similar to Freddie’s, Brandon admitted that something had changed him, that whatever had caused him to seek this dangerous work no longer drove him, and he’d come to accept that Willard was right. He should change his life. But not to set up a nursery with the colonel’s daughter.

Willard and his wife, Veronica, greeted him in their drawing room. “Welcome back, Brandon. Your time in Paris has been well served!” Willard said with unusual insouciance. “London has failed to turn on its best summer weather for you.”

Still strangely out of sorts, Brandon glanced at the rain lashing the windows. “No, but it is reliably unreliable.”

“You must enjoy the rest of the Season, before everyone retires to the country to escape the heat,” Mrs. Willard said. “My niece, Angela, has been asking where you’d got to. She is to perform again tonight.”

“I look forward to hearing her lovely voice again.” Brandon’s smile hid dismay. He enjoyed Miss Willard’s superb performance last time, and would again, but he wearied of society, after endless Paris soirees filled with clever repartee and flirtations which hadn’t captivated him like they once had. He had met several charming, beautiful women, but resisted any involvement. Perhaps he did need a change of scene. Cumbria must be nice this time of year. The thought of seeing Letty brought him alive.

“Shall we adjourn to the library?” Willard led the way to the door. “You can fill me in on the details. One learns so little from dispatches.

“The comtesse was in good health despite spending time in that wretched prison?” Willard asked as he poured the drinks.

“I encountered few difficulties. Nothing, should it be discovered, that would cause a diplomatic upset. The comtesse appeared to have been treated well by the guards who greatly respected her. She is soon to join her husband in Vienna.”

“What are your plans?” Willard rose to replenish their glasses after they’d covered the events on the Continent. He settled back in his chair.

“Sleep, ride, read some books, drink the best claret from my father’s cellars, and try to avoid my mother’s endless parade of young debutantes.”

“And then?”

“Not entirely sure, Fraser. I’ve given it some thought over the last few weeks. Buy a country property and become a farmer, perhaps.”

Willard’s eyes widened. “Sounds…bucolic.”

Brandon laughed. “Well, for part of the year, perhaps. But don’t ask me about the rest.”

Willard rose and picked up The Gazette on the desk. He folded the newspaper and handed it to Brandon. “I wonder if you’re aware of this?”

A small article circled in the Births, Deaths, and Weddings: Mr. Geoffrey John Verney, son of Squire Verney of Hawkshead Village, Cumbria, and Miss Letitia Eliza Lydia Bromley, daughter of Mr. Aubrey Charles Bromley, deceased, and Eliza Mary Bromley, deceased, and niece of Sylvester, Baron Bromley, have announced their engagement.

The force of his reaction shocked him. It almost brought him up from his chair. Aware that Willard watched him, he shrugged and drank more of the fine burgundy, its superior qualities failing to register. “I wish them happy. Letitia is a wonderful young woman.” He managed to sound casual, while his mind was in turmoil. He had feared this would happen, that a lovely girl like Letty would meet a man she wished to marry. But not so soon! To see the evidence stark and vivid in black and white newsprint caused his stomach to tighten.

“Yes, we thought so,” Willard said. “An exceptional young lady.” He brushed lint from his sleeve. “So, shall you be living alone in this country idyll? Or do you seek to find a wife to share this rustic life of yours?”

“No idea,” Brandon said, narrowing his eyes. Willard was going too far. “What makes you ask?”

“Miss Bromley’s uncle came to London a few weeks ago. It was necessary for him to be briefed about what occurred, although nothing more was revealed to him beyond Lady Arietta’s involvement. Decent fellow, a bit straight-laced as country parsons are, but he dropped a couple of things in conversation, which alerted me to Miss Bromley’s state of mind.”

“Oh?”

“Said she was depressed and unsettled. Both he and her aunt were concerned about her. The uncle doesn’t believe in modern ideas of marriage. He expressed the wish that she marry the squire’s son—and as you can see, she is about to. As the vicar pointed out, friendship forms the best basis for marriage. And they have been close friends since she came to Hawkeshead Village as a child. Although he did admit to being a little uneasy about her going off to London and showing no obvious signs of reluctance to leave Geoffrey.”

Brandon made no reply. He knew in his heart that Letty didn’t love this man. He remembered how dismissive she’d been when he’d asked her if she might marry Geoffrey. Nor had he forgotten their passionate farewell kiss. Was he clutching at straws to believe she was about to make a mistake? To settle for something she had not wanted.

There was no need to inquire the reason Willard revealed this to him. He suspected Mrs. Willard to be the driving force. Women loved a romance. “Perhaps the uncle is right, friendship is better than love, which can tread a rocky path,” Brandon said, preparing himself for the inevitable heartbreak.

“Dash it all, he isn’t right,” Willard protested. “For either of you. I don’t profess to know what went on between you two during that time you spent together unchaperoned, but I have eyes in my head. As does Veronica. Are you going to let the chance of love pass you by?”

Surprised, Brandon stared at his impassioned spymaster. He was usually so cool whilst dealing with matters of life and death. “My father is urging me to marry our neighbor, Colonel Smythe-Jones’s daughter.”

“I shouldn’t worry about Sir Richard. He will be content with Miss Bromley. A baron’s niece trumps a colonel’s daughter.”

“I can see you intend to press your argument. You won’t be happy until you see me settled. If it arises from some misplaced guilt, I beg you to give it up. Don’t think I’ve regretted the life I’ve lived since meeting you, Fraser. Have I not come out of it relatively unscathed?” At Willard’s scowl, Brandon shook his head with a smile. “Don’t look doubtful! To prove it to you, and prevent any further nudges from you or your charming wife, I shall visit Cumbria and discover for myself how Miss Bromley goes on.”

“Don’t leave it too long.” Willard ran a hand through his grey-streaked fair hair. “That announcement is two days old.”

“I shall go and wish her happy. Straight after the award ceremony, I’ll head north.”

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