Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

I’d never presume to disturb your lordship—”
    “Get on with it, Man!”
    Gil watched the butler stiffen. He hadn’t meant to be so rough with the fellow, but he was still reeling from the aftermath of his wedding and knowing that creature shared his name. No amount of brandy snifters seemed to cure the situation, either.
    “It isn’t Mr. Witherspoon that wishes a word, My Lord, it’s me,” a woman said.
    “Why, Mrs. Wright. I should’ve known.” Gil lifted his feet down from the footstool and prepared to stand. “I suppose I’ve no choice but to attend her. And here I thought I had her cowed enough.”
    “Cowed? Oh, no, Your Lordship! Begging Your Lordship’s pardon, but the poor puss has—. She has—. Oh, Lord, but I’ve never seen the like!”
    Gil and the butler watched in amazement as Mrs. Wright dabbed her eyes with her apron and took a deep breath. “That poor child hasn’t a speck of flesh that hasn’t been whipped, beaten, or burned, Your Lordship, and I—. The good Lord help me, but I couldn’t even stay and help the poor mite bathe. I’ll need more help, My Lord. I’m sorry.”
    Mrs. Wright ended her speech by breaking into sobs. Gil, who’d never seen such abandonment by the housekeeper, looked to Witherspoon for assistance. He got a surprised expression that probably matched his. It was probably his fault. He should’ve prepared Mrs. Wright for what she was about to see. Of course the chit had marks on her. She probably deserved them. Sanatoriums weren’t known for being luxurious, soft environments. What Mrs. Wright had observed was probably a combination of Brandy’s acting ability, combined with an inherent talent for gathering smells and filth about her.
    “Handle Mrs. Wright, will you, Witherspoon?”
    Gil’s mouth tipped a bit as Witherspoon looked at him as if he’d just been asked to manage Buckingham Palace. Gil forced down emotion as he walked toward the servant’s quarters. He told himself he wasn’t angry,
    Yet.
    ***
    “Mama, give me strength. Please, give me strength.”
    Brandy managed to push the dress from her by using her working arm, cursing out the rest of her body. While she was at it, she damned that Madelaine, too, for fastening so many damn nightgowns about her. Brandy hadn’t cared that they were Madelaine’s . They might not be fine lawn, but the cotton was far softer than her rags and that horrible straitjacket.
    There weren’t any witnesses as she got the first nightgown off, howling in pain the entire time. The remaining ones came off the same way, and she found that, once she began, it wasn’t all that difficult. She was getting soft. That wasn’t good. One day away from that hellhole and she was going soft? Of course, Lord Tremayne’s bouncing carriage ride hadn’t helped, but she was still alive and unmolested, and she meant to remain that way.
    The water was hot. Brandy stiffened as her feet touched it, torturing the bites on her toes. And just look. Lord Tremayne had left her a fancy bar of soap. Wasn’t that wonderful of him? How could she force soap onto skin that was already in agony over a little hot water?
    She decided to wash her hair first. Brandy gasped several times before submerging, even though short breaths made the fire in her shoulder start up again. She cursed Regis and his tantrum again, but it didn’t help. That stupid guard. Any of his other charges could have slapped him, and he would’ve let it go with an answering slap, but not Brandy. He made certain she’d never even look up when he came around, let alone fight him.
    “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”
    Each word filled her breast with as much fire as the one that was eating her back, and she howled again at her failure to banish the pain.
    “I won’t cry. You hear me, God? Nothing on this earth will make me do so! Ever!”
    The vow cost her. She couldn’t even suck in air to finish. It was better to bathe as quickly as possible, and dress. Mrs. Wright would