Page 68 of Honor Requires

“I am told you have something of importance to share,” she replied.

“Importance, perhaps not,” he said, taking a seat, “but interest—certainly.”

Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. “Then pray, do not keep us in suspense.”

Bramley smiled. “I have called upon the Count of Vendicarsi.”

Jane leaned forward. “And?”

“He received me at once,” Bramley said. “No unnecessary delay, no affectation of difficulty. His household is well ordered—newly established, but already functioning with admirable efficiency.”

Elizabeth listened closely.

“And the count himself?” she asked.

Bramley considered. “He is…not easily described.”

“That is not encouraging,” Elizabeth said lightly.

“On the contrary,” he replied. “It is entirely so. He is a man of presence—sober, but unmistakable. There is nothing in him of the eager self-display one sometimes encounters in those newly come to town.”

Elizabeth’s mind returned, unbidden, to the gentleman in the park.

Sober…unmistakable…

“And the count’s manner?” she asked.

“Reserved,” Bramley said. “But not cold. He speaks well—his English is excellent, though touched with something I cannot entirely place. His conversation is intelligent, his opinions thoughtful. He does not flatter, nor does he seek to impress—one is impressed all the same.”

Elizabeth felt a curious stirring of interest.

“And his appearance?” Jane asked, with gentle curiosity.

Bramley smiled faintly. “I wondered how long it would take for that question to arise.”

Jane laughed. “You must forgive me.”

“He is handsome,” Bramley said simply. “Though not in a way that invites easy admiration. There is something…severe in his countenance, perhaps, though it is tempered by expression. He wears a beard—well kept, but unusual enough to distinguish him.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught, almost imperceptibly.

A beard… “How very foreign,” she said, striving for lightness.

“Perhaps,” Bramley agreed. “It suits him.”

Elizabeth said nothing.

“And his brother?” Jane prompted.

“Also present,” Bramley replied. “Mr. Lucien Dantès, I believe he is called. More openly engaging, though no less observant. He is more gregarious—he reminds me of Richard. The two appear closely attached.”

Elizabeth inclined her head. “And you found them agreeable?”

“I did,” Bramley said. “More than agreeable, in fact. There is a steadiness in the count that I find…reassuring.”

Elizabeth glanced at him. “That is not a quality you often remark upon.”

“No,” he admitted. “Which is why I remark upon it now.”