“That’s right.”
“And you don’t mind in the least,” Cody noted, somewhat astonished.
Brandon paused in shuffling his papers. His smile vanished as he stared darkly at his younger half brother. “Clara is hardly in the same category with other women,” he said, his tone hardening. One eyebrow arched significantly to make certain Cody took his meaning.
“Oh, Cody,” Clara interrupted, much dismayed as an unpleasant current swept the room. “You’ve spoiled Papa’s mood.”
Brandon and Cody simply gaped at the child, amazed that she was so sensitive to the swift change in her father’s emotions. Brandon slipped the packet under his arm and scooped Clara off her stool. She squealed delightedly until she got a firm hold around Brandon’s neck. Brandon gave her an affectionate kiss on the brow. “You mustn’t fret, poppet. Nothing’s been spoiled. Are you ready to go?”
Clara shook her head vigorously and gestured to Cody to follow them as Brandon carried her out of the study. They did not have to walk far to reach the folly’s private wharf. The square three-story redbrick house sat only fifty yards from the river, separated from the water by a terraced garden. Its spacious portico, spreading the entire breadth of the house, provided an elegant and breezy resting place on humid summer evenings. The oaks surrounding the house had finally grown taller than the twin chimneys, but the folly held its own among nature’s greenery. The outbuildings, modeled after the main house and using the same red brick, included a large stable, the household servants’ quarters, a summer kitchen, and sheds for drying and curing the tobacco. They were set behind the house, facing the open road, and from the river it was only the folly that could be seen. As a child Brandon often thought she fairly glowed with self-importance. His opinion of his stately home had not changed overmuch in the intervening years. Her windows still caught the sunlight, slanting rainbows in every direction. The sight of her after even a brief absence never failed to stir him.
Cody took responsibility for guiding the skiff down the James. Like all planters along the river, Brandon rarely used a carriage for transportation. The road system had nothing but dust and ruts to recommend it. The river provided a smoother and infinitely more refreshing route.
Clara sat comfortably on Brandon’s lap until the folly disappeared behind a bend in the river, then she moved to the side of the skiff and dragged her fingers in the water, oblivious to the adults who kept a watchful eye on her.
Brandon maintained a brooding silence as his thoughts drifted to what Cody had said earlier. Did Cody really think he would allow his wife’s unseemly behavior to come between him and his daughter? He scowled, not liking it one bit that Cody could believe so ill of him.
Cody saw Brandon’s contemplative glowering but made no comment. Instead, he ran his fingers through his black hair to sweep back an errant lock. The warm breeze merely ruffled it again, and he shrugged good-naturedly to himself. Squinting in the bright sunlight, he tacked the skiff to avoid an outcropping of rocks.
Cody’s own nature was easygoing, at odds with his dark good looks. He had a quick smile that he used carelessly and often to charm the opposite sex. It was widely held among the gossip-mongers that of all William Fleming’s bastard children, and there were five of them known to the community, Cody Allen was most nearly like him in appearance and character. Cody had heard it more times than he cared to remember, and each time he grinned roguishly to hide the hurt, giving people precisely what they expected. Actually, he shared Brandon’s less than favorable opinion of their common sire. When the old man finally died of the French pox, Cody felt no sense of loss, only a sense of relief that perhaps, at last, people would stop comparing him to his reprobate sire.
If there had to be a comparison, Cody wished it would be made with Brandon. He had admired his half brother from a distance long before he understood they shared a blood tie. Cody could think of no other man who would have invited his bastard brothers to live at the folly after the old rake’s death. And not simply live there, but share in the profits and the responsibility. Cody was the only one still living at the folly, but because of Brandon, most of the others were doing what they wanted. It was Brandon’s charm Cody tried to emulate when he flashed his grin, Brandon’s easy grace he attempted to model when he was thrust into new surroundings. Eight years his senior, Brandon was everything to Cody, or he had been until he returned from school in England by way of Philadelphia. Not that Philadelphia should have made a difference. It was what Brandon had brought with him from the city of brotherly love that had had a profound effect on everything and everyone at the folly.
“You’re scowling,” Brandon said.
Cody blinked, coming out of his reverie. The frown faded from his face, and his bright blue eyes danced. “Merely aping my elders,” he mocked.
“I wasnotscowling.”
“Yes, you were,” Clara interrupted. She imitated his expression and then calmly went back to playing in the water.
Cody laughed at Brandon’s amazement. “She is too smart by half, and a heartbreaker on top of it.”
Brandon nodded. “Do you still doubt my decision to find a governess for the minx? She’ll be a wild thing ’ere long. You and I can hardly be counted on to provide discipline. As you pointed out, she has me twisted about her finger.” He paused a beat. “And you don’t even put up token resistance to her schemes.”
“Can’t help myself. How goes your search?”
“I’ve made inquiries here and abroad. I have yet to hear anything of interest. Wait. Are we speaking of the same thing?”
“I was asking about the governess, Bran, not your wife,” Cody pointed out with a wry smile.
“Then I answered your question correctly.”
Cody shifted the rudder, and the skiff veered sharply toward the wharf. “Take Clara up, Bran; we’re almost there.”
Brandon hauled his daughter away from the side and put her on his lap. When Cody had maneuvered the skiff into docking position, Brandon allowed Clara to help him secure the boat. Her tiny hands were hardly up to the task, but Brandon encouraged her efforts. “Very good, darling,” he announced, pulling her out of the skiff to join him on the dock.
Clara hardly noticed the praise. The large ships farther down the wharf intrigued her. Tugging on her father’s hand, she urged him to come away from the skiff. She glanced over her shoulder to make certain Cody was right behind them. “Hurry! Mama may be here!”
Brandon stopped in his tracks, dropping his packet, and held Clara back. “What is this, Clara?” he asked, hunkering down so he could talk to her face-to-face. His pale hair shone whitely in the sunlight and his black eyes were hooded, partially concealing his shock. “Why do you think your mother might be here?”
“Boat,” Clara said stubbornly as if it explained everything.
“Yes, there are many boats.” He looked up at Cody for help and grimaced when Cody raised his palms upward, confessing he understood nothing. “What is it about the boats?”
“Mama is on a boat.” Clara was perilously close to tears, and her face screwed up as she tried to keep from crying. She remembered the sweet and bonnet she had been promised, but they paled in comparison to having her mother back. Tears dripped past her gold-tipped lashes and onto her pink cheeks. “She went on a boat.”
“Yes, darling, but she is not coming back. She is not here today.” Brandon swept Clara into his arms, hugging her as he stood. Over her shoulder his face was bleak. “I shall never forgive Rory for this.”
