Page 56 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

“Hold up then,” he called as he shut his door, as Gideon was already at the end of the corridor.

“I’m thirsty,” was the techy reply.

Well, someone was in a fine mood. Damian only hoped it wasn’t his head in the basket for once.

Hurrying outside, he found his brother standing on the cobbles, waiting.

“Where to then, if you don’t want to drink here? The Dog and Duck?”

Gideon shook his head. “Too many of the men from site there after work. Is there anywhere else?”

“Are you looking for a convivial drink, or to get blind drunk?” Damian enquired politely.

“Blind drunk.”

“Ah. In that case, might I suggest we buy a couple of bottles and head for a quiet spot on the beach?”

“As quiet as last time?” Gideon remarked, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s colder today. There won’t be anyone swimming, certainly not at this hour.”

“Fine.”

Damian nodded, regarding his brother with a niggle of concern. He was always uptight and worrying himself over something or other, but this felt different. “Stay there then, I’ll buy us some provisions.”

Gideon agreed to this without a murmur, which was the most alarming thing of all. The two of them rarely interacted without some degree of antagonism. Something was definitely amiss.

Damian returned twenty minutes later. “Hail the conquering hero. I bring the spoils of my endeavours, two bottles of excellent brandy. Also, two meat pies and a bag of iced buns that might soak up the worst of it and save our stomachs from ruin.”

Gideon reached for one of the bottles and uncorked it as he strode off.

“Oh, this is going to be pretty,” Damian murmured under his breath as he followed his brother down to the beach.

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 2nd August 1816

Cilly peeled back the raw steak that adorned Hetty’s cheek with a disgusted expression.

“Well?” Hetty asked anxiously.

“It’s… not that bad.”

“You are the worst liar, Cilly,” Hetty grumbled.

Cilly poured some water from the jug into the washbasin and rinsed her fingers. “Well, it’s swollen and will likely be purple by morning. There, feel better now?”

“No.”

Cilly laughed softly as she dried her hands and came to sit on the bed beside her. “What’s wrong, Hetty? I know you said Mr Bramwell was angry at you for putting yourself in danger, and rightly so, but I would have thought such a show of protectiveness would have pleased you. Because you do like him, don’t you, love?”

Hetty’s lip quivered, her eyes burning with unshed tears at the concern in her sister’s voice.

“Oh, Hetty. You little goose. You’ve not gone and fallen in love with the wretched men, have you?” Cilly asked in concern, shifting closer so she could put her arm around her.

Hetty sniffed. “No. Not… not quite that, but oh, Cilly. I could. I could so very easily if only he would let me. He’s so different from anyone else I’ve ever met, so… real. He doesn’t talk to me like Lady Henrietta, doesn’t flatter—good grief, he doesn’t flatter!”

She gave a snort of laughter and Cilly reached out, taking her hand, understanding why this was so important.

“Mr Bramwell treats me like I’m a person, even if I’m driving him mad. He sees me, not the title, not the dowry, not the connection to the Duke of Langley. He simply doesn’t care about those things. I think he likes me too, Cilly, only… I’ve messed it all up. Shocking, I know,” she added ruefully.