Brandywine

PART ONE

Brandy

CHAPTER ONE

The plan was stupid, it was wicked, and it was absolutely perfect.

Brandy held her tongue as the two women argued, but she kept her eye on the burly man they’d brought with them. Laws, but her neck ached. A little movement to one side would help. But she knew without being told, what would happen if she so much as flinched, so she kept her eyes glazed over and concentrated while Helen and her maidservant gestured.

It will not work, Madelaine! Look at her! She’s nothing! Worse! God, but I need a stiff drink even to look at her. She looks like...like a banshee!

Brandy smiled inwardly at Helen’s compliment - she’d worked long and hard to achieve that effect.

It’s your only hope, Mistress.

You French. So stubborn. I should....

Brandy moved her eye a fraction to see how the maidservant named Madelaine took the words and saw the woman’s lips tighten. French servants were all alike - way above their station. Her cousin shouldn’t employ one if she had no idea how to treat them.

You payin’ attention?

Their brute shoved her, and she stumbled clumsily into the wall, swallowing a groan as her shoulder hit.

So, Helene? What do you say? Isn’t it the best idea you ever heard? Helen came into Brandy’s line of vision to ask it.

Ever heard? Brandy mimicked her exactly, and she received the brute’s hands on her again for her trouble.

See Madelaine? Helen tossed a hand into the air. She’s crazy, and I was even crazier to come here.

Calm yourself, Mistress. Of course she’s crazy. Isn’t this the place for it? She’ll do it. You’ll see. Really, you have no other choice, for the ceremony begins in two hours. We’ll have our hands full accommodating your schedule as it is.

Madelaine’s cool words, spoken with a touch of insolence, were said just the way Brandy remembered. Then, the maid came near her and began speaking. You see how it is, Miss? Your cousin, Helen? She needs you desperately right now, and, after all, you’ll be away from this dreadful place and married to a handsome man...a very handsome man.

Brandy shuddered and instantly regretted it as her shoulder stabbed at her neck. She felt the familiar pulling on her face again as it fell. She’d give anything to have her face work again.

Good God, Madelaine! Helen exclaimed. What’s happened to her now?

Brandy faced them evenly, focusing on nothing in particular. Helen’s face told her everything a mirror couldn’t.

It’s nothing. She’ll wear a veil, Helen. Besides, she’s about your height. Bring her, Gaston.

They could’ve asked her. She would’ve joined them at the door. They didn’t have to ask the man to shove her, making her chin throb as her collarbone hit it.

She’s too thin! Helen wailed. What shall I do?

Too thin! Brandy wailed with her in exactly the same tone and inflection. Much too thin! She didn’t see Gaston’s fist coming, and, if he really wanted to hurt her, he had to hit the unparalyzed side of her face - the idiot.

And they called her mad!

Jesus, Gaston! You split open her cheek. I have enough to do to keep from losing my breakfast as it is. Ugh. She drools!

Brandy ignored Helen’s gagging. She knew without looking what the moisture on her shirt front was. Although it was bloody now, it would mingle just as well with the other stains.

"And she’s filthy. Ouí, Helen, I begin to think we have wasted our time. Gaston?" Madelaine gestured for him to follow.

Wait for me.

His words turned Brandy’s blood to ice, and she watched the women turn at the door.

You can’t possibly want her, Gaston. She’s disgusting! Revolting! Why, she isn’t even human, any longer.

Aye. He grinned, and Brandy’s throat choked with bile. But she’s available, she’s cheap, and she can’t fight me.

He lifted the front of her straitjacket, moving her arms forward. The pain that enveloped her made dots dance before her eyes. Quick breath, Brandy, she thought. She couldn’t stop him if she became unconscious. As soon as her vision cleared, she let out her banshee call, ending on a howl punctuated with dog-like barking. It rarely failed her before, and it didn’t then.

He dropped her arms, almost a worse fate, and stepped back as if she were truly insane.

I’ll do it, Helen.

They froze in shock at Brandy’s whisper, but she couldn’t have known why for certain, because blood came from her mouth with the words. That could have been it, just as easily. Brandy didn’t care. Whatever Helen wanted, it had to be better than this hell-hole.

Madelaine’s eyes narrowed. Brandy knew instantly that the maidservant was more cagey than her mistress. Helene? You’ve come back to us?

Back to us? she mimicked instantly.

Madelaine slapped her, opening a cut in her cheek. Brandy barely it, because her neck had rocked at the woman’s action, and that pain was excruciating.

Gore! She’s mad, Miss Helen. Gaston crossed himself uneasily. If she could’ve gotten away with it, Brandy would’ve smiled. As it was, she could only focus hazily on the wall beside them.

Wouldn’t you be after a year in this place? Ugh. It’s a wonder it didn’t kill her, but look at her hair, Madelaine! What a disaster. The veil has been in the Tremayne family for generations, and it can’t hide such a sight. Honestly, Helene, what have you been doing to your hair?

I wash and oil it daily, M’Lady, but my comb’s a-missing today. Could be I mistook it for bread and ate it. She answered in Helen’s strident voice, the one reserved for servants, not her many beaux.

Curse her stupidity in answering flippantly! Gaston made her moan as he yanked on her tied arms again. He’d better guard his back for that - no one was allowed to make her show weakness.

I’ll make her pay, Mistress?

Brandy heard the hope in his voice and started carefully blanking her mind. She’d done it so often in the past, it came easily.

No, Gaston. You’ll mark her so she’ll bleed through the entire ceremony, and we’ve already lost half an hour. She’ll never be clean enough.

Only her hands have to show, Helen. Calm yourself and slip out of your finery, the maid replied.

Brandy ignored Helen’s movement as she shed the expensive-looking wedding gown in which she’d arrived, but she knew Gaston watched, because his hands started trembling, and Brandy knew Helen enjoyed that. It showed in her eyes and in her face as she gave him the harlot’s smile.

She’s a bit thinner than you are, but I brought extra nightgowns to make up the difference.

Whose nightgowns? Helen stood in her chemise and stockings, and Gaston’s hands on Brandy’s arms made the pain worse as he shuddered.

My own, of course. I’d never use yours, Mistress. It’d be a waste of such finery. Now turn, Miss Helene, and we’ll see how your own beautiful...uh...gown unfastens.

Brandy waited passively enough as Madelaine’s fingers slipped through the lacing behind her, hoping she could handle the pain the restored circulation in her arms would cause. She had never been more thankful to Helen in her life—because of her cousin’s near-naked state, the brute, Gaston, never again looked at Brandy.

CHAPTER TWO

She’d done it! Brandy had survived as she’d known she would, and the absolutely gorgeous man sitting opposite her didn’t even know how grateful she was. Of course, she couldn’t speak with the side of her face falling as it was and through not one, but three layers of chiffon veiling her face. Still, she thanked him all the same.

It didn’t surprise her to watch him drinking straight from the bottle without asking his new bride why she hadn’t spoken since the wedding vows nor attended her own reception. She knew he drank, because he thought he’d just married Helen.

She almost snickered at the thought.

Merci, ma Mere. She whispered the prayer softly and knew that, wherever Mama was, she was still watching out for Brandy, as she always had.

She watched as Gillian Tremayne shifted one long leg over the other, looking as uncomfortable on his side of the coach as Brandy was. It was easy to tell why - a worse-sprung vehicle would’ve been hard to find. Why if she weren’t a-wash in thankfulness, she would have let reality intrude enough to scream her agony at how the bench’s movement rocked her shoulder. It was better to be thankful. At least rats weren’t nibbling at the toes of her socks.

You think you won easily, don’t you, my fine wife?

He slurred the words, but even besotted, he was absolutely gorgeous. He was well over six feet of strength and masculine beauty, and Helen had run from him? Brandy thought her cousin had better sense.

Christ, but my head hurts. And did I give you permission to sit there?

She glazed over her eyes as he lifted his tawny head to ask it. She couldn’t think of a suitable reply. She didn’t have permission to lean against the corner? Lord, that was the only way she could survive the jouncing.

She struggled to sit upright in the center again, and he smiled.

That’s better. I want to make certain you give it your best shot, My Lady.

When he said the title, it wasn’t with affection. It wasn’t a surprise. Brandy had noticed how cold he was earlier when she’d put her cleaned hand in his to be pronounced his lawfully wedded wife.

My best shot...at what? Brandy mimicked Helen perfectly, but she almost forgot to finish the sentence, and then he might have looked closer at her than he’d done all day.

Losing that bastard you supposedly carry. What else?

If she could have perished from the venom in his eyes, she would have. She’d never seen such ugliness as he had in his blood-shot, light-blue eyes, but she could understand his hatred. And since it was directed at Helen, and not at her, she actually longed to salute it.

So...Helen was expecting a child, and she’d gone and trapped this man with it, only to run at the last moment? Cor, but her cousin was the most stupid woman Brandy had ever met. If she didn’t have that Madelaine to guide her, she’d have sunk long ago. She was nothing like Gerard, her brother. Despite her own injury, Brandy trembled before she could help it, and suffered the ache it caused. No, Helen was nothing like Gerard. Well...maybe a little.

Well? No surprised gasp of shock? No fancy words of rebuttal? You’re a bigger whore than Reginald said, and now I’m a laughingstock.

Gil took another long draught of spirits and Brandy cursed the weakness that made his image dance before her eyes. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’d faced worse than a bumpy carriage ride, but that was before—

She wouldn’t think of it.

You’d best lose that child. And soon. He was snarling as he said it. For we arrive at my Grandmama’s little hunting cottage in no time, and I mean it when I say I’ll see your throat slit before I’ll let a bastard inherit from me. Do you understand what I’m saying?

Little dots filtered through her vision of him, and it was a shame how his image blurred. Brandy decided Helen was stupid. That was it. She could have used any number of potions and items to prevent a pregnancy. She didn’t have to get herself into such a predicament. Then again, Helen had definitely managed to trap a very impressive, wealthy-looking, stunning fellow into marriage...and then she’d gone in search of her long-lost, supposedly insane, cousin to replace her in the ceremony.

And they called Brandy mad.

I told you already, you’re not to lean there!

Hard hands gripped her wrist, hauling her back to the center of the seat. Brandy barely kept from crying out. His hold threatened the blood supply to her hand, but, since her unhealed collarbone made her shoulder feel like fire was eating at it, it was doubtful her hand got any blood, anyway.

Your hands are like ice, Helen, my love. Do I frighten you so much, then? You should have thought of that before you threatened me. You should have thought of a lot before—

He reached to rip off her veil, surprising her with his swiftness, and the look on his face was comical once he got it off.

Bloody hell!

He fell back to his side of the carriage, his hand trembling on the liquor bottle. Brandy smiled with the working side of her face as he crossed himself. Her action made him pale.

Who...? What the hell are you? And where...is my wife?

Ah, Gil, darling, she said in Helen’s false, soft-throated voice. "I am your wife."

But...but....

Allow me to introduce myself, properly. I’m Helene Marguerite, the new lady of Tremayne. She winked as his healthy complexion whitened. You’ve got yourself a prize, Your Lordship. You have. You’ve up and wed with the insane Bingham, the one from...Bedlam. She whispered the last word conspiratorially and watched him gulp, wide-eyed. It was a shame, truly it was. He was such a big, strong, powerful man, but he was frightened of a mere slip of a girl like herself? Shameful.

Are...are...?

At the rate he was stammering, he’d never ask the question. Brandy decided to help him.

Am I insane, you ask? She lifted both eyebrows several times. But, of course. Then, she gave her banshee scream.

The coach stopped swiftly, as if the coachman had orders to drive as roughly as possible. The move slammed her new husband’s head into the wall with a resounding thump. She watched him crumple forward, before sliding unceremoniously to land in a heap at her feet. Odd. She’d never seen a grown man in a swoon before, but it wasn’t near as amusing as she’d thought it should be.

Brandy wished she had the same unconscious freedom. The abrupt halt hadn’t done her shoulder any favors. She bounced off the padded backrest while tears of agony flooded her eyes. She sucked in breath to send them back, ignoring pain. Agony. Hellish fire. She wouldn’t cry! Not over such a small thing as a shoulder injury. Hell had fury a-plenty for anyone so weak.

What have you done to His Lordship?

The door opened, and Brandy barely had time to hide behind the torn veil before the servant glared at her. She watched him lean over His Lordship.

He’s out cold, he said. And I heard a demon cry.

He looked at her hard, trying to pierce the secret of her veil, but she’d had enough reaction for the moment. She would let Gil decide who to favor with her beauty, or lack thereof, next.

He stirred, and the coachman released her from his glare to attend him.

I saw...! I saw...! Thompson? Tell me I’m dreaming,

You’re dreaming, My Lord, the man dutifully replied.

Brandy almost rolled her eyes, but that would have caused even more pain in her body than she could handle.

His lordship looked shaky as he reseated himself, then found his decanter to gulp some more liquid. Thompson eyed her again. Gil could spare his health - spirits weren’t going to make her disappear.

Start up again, my good man. And Thompson?

Yes, My Lord?

Ever the obsequious English servant, this Thompson awaited orders like a lap dog.

You can slow the pace. It was a mistake.

Brandy could have kissed him for that, if it wouldn’t cause another faint. After one more, long, considering look at her, Thompson shut the door, and she waited. At least, her new husband would probably let her lean against the wall now. She did so, easing slowly into the corner and waiting for the infernal throbbing in her neck to calm into a manageable ache.

All right. You’ve had your fun, Miss.

He probably fortified himself with another swallow for another look at her face. She waited until he was finished before pushing the veil aside and turning to him again.

I’m sorry, Lord Tremayne, but I’m no miss. I’m your wife, you lucky man, you.

He flinched at hearing her use Helen’s voice.

Stop saying that and stop using her voice! I hate it when she uses it, damn it!

She uses it, damn it! Brandy parroted him perfectly and almost enjoyed the flush that rose up his neck.

You’re not my wife, and I’ve tired of looking at you. You’re getting off at the nearest posting house.

For shame, Lord Tremayne. Tsk. Tsk. Sending your wife straight to the gossips in less than twelve hours. Helen may never live it down.

You admit you’re not Helen! He pointed an accusing finger at her, and she pointed right back.

Not Helen! She used his voice that time, making him blanch.

What in God’s name are you?

She almost giggled, but that would cause her ribs to join the agony parading within her. As it was, she was taking small breaths to save herself more pain. Damn that mutton-chopped fool of a guard at the sanatorium! He didn’t have to hurt her so badly. He could have repaid her in kind for the slap she’d given him, but no, he’d had to fling her against the wall hard enough to break fragile bones.

Brandy sighed softly. What was she still lamenting for? The guard, Regis, had done his filthy deed three weeks earlier. She’d had plenty of time to live with, and accept, the pain. I already told you, she said. I’m...your wife.

Blast it all, I heard the vows! I married Helen Margaret Bingham in front of three hundred bloody witnesses! You, Madame, are a complete loon!

A complete loon, she agreed.

Well...obviously Helen can get you to do something other than repeat everything. If anything, you’ve met the girl.

Met the girl. She nodded.

He leaned toward her, and she froze, sending numbness to every part of her he could reach. That was the only way she could withstand a blow from one like him. She could do it, although she was already in pain, and he was one of the largest men she ever saw. She’d done it for years, for the same reason. She owed Sherry that much.

When he parted the veil and pushed it from her head, Brandy looked away. She didn’t know what it meant, but she didn’t want any kindness, and she didn’t want to see his reaction, either.

Good God. I really do believe you’re from the sanatorium.

The sanatorium, she mimicked.

You’re very good at that, you know, he replied.

Brandy glanced at him. He was smiling! If she detested anything, it was that. The act slipped and with it the numbness.

What...do you...want to know? she whispered, spacing her words through the agony.

His smile widened and she had to look away, catching a glimpse of herself in the carriage window. The sight almost made her cry out. Hair stuck up and out everywhere, and it looked to be a filthy gray color and matted in clumps. She looked worse than a banshee - more like a nightmare come to life.

Did you escape? he asked, in a gentle tone.

Yes.

That was brave of you.

Rivulets of shivers raced her limbs, unpleasantly reminding her of emotions that didn’t belong to her. Brandy swallowed to make them back down.

Brave? No. It...was cowardly, she replied, finally.

Why do you insist you’re my wife? he asked. You must know it’s not legal.

Oh, but it is, My Lord. I’m Helen’s cousin, Helene Marguerite Bingham, which...as you know...is the French form of—

Helen Margaret.

He finished it for her. She tried to nod but all that happened was the creature in the window shuddered with it.

"How did...? Why did Helen get you? And why in the blazes did you agree?"

The pitiful creature reflected in the window tried to lift its shoulders to shrug in reply, but Brandy’s eyes narrowed at the attempt. The pain was so bad, there wasn’t much time left before she might toss up what dinner Helen had given her.

Why did I...agree? I don’t rightly know. I—I was having such a wonderful time at the sanatorium. I was...truly. She wheezed the words, and the creature dribbled down its face as she did. Then, what do you know, but I’m visited by my dearest, beloved...long-lost...cousin....

Don’t bother finishing. I see you find my predicament amusing. I’d ask you to keep it to yourself, but that appears to be too much to ask a creature from the bowels of hell, at present.

Thank you, kind sir, for the compliment.

Her attempt at sarcasm ended in a wheeze as a spasm hit her neck, sending agony worse than any fire through her entire left side. She curled her fist against it, and pushed her feet into the bottom of Helen’s borrowed boots to be able to live through it without giving a clue. She cursed Regis once again for not just back-handing her, like all the other times.

How much do you want? Gil asked without one inflection in his voice.

Why—why would I want...anything? She watched the disgusting reflection dribble more bloody spittle onto the lace confection that was Helen’s wedding gown.

How much? He was speaking through clenched teeth if the tone was any indication.

A...guinea would be nice. Her voice shook, causing her to lose her light tone. Damn him, she thought. Damn all men with their ceaseless tormenting.

A guinea? Jesus, Woman! I’m not talking the time of day here. I’m asking how much you want to get the hell out of my life!

Oh, he’s a fine one, he is, she thought, full of his own pomp and circumstance. She longed to laugh in his face, if her body would cooperate long enough. It would serve him right to be saddled with a banshee for life. If he was stupid enough to fall for Helen Bingham’s lies, it would be Brandy’s pleasure to make him miserable in her stead.

She gathered a shallow breath, so she could get all the words out. Why, Gil, you naughty, naughty boy. I’d never even consider such a thing.

He probably didn’t understand all the words, because they were filled with the shuddering she couldn’t control, but he caught the main part of them.

Cease your laughter, and face me, you devil-spawned woman! I’ve had a horrendous day, and I’m not taking any more of your God-forsaken company!

She let his words settle around her as if she had a say in the matter, but she felt faintness closing in, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Dots claimed the ugly image still staring from vacant eyes at her through the glass. She hadn’t had a mirror or even window glass to see for herself in her cell, and damn, but it had been cold in the winter. Actually, it had felt cold every day she’d been there.

...I’ll take you right back to the Bingham’s. That’s what I’m going to do. That will certainly solve—

Ten pounds! Brandy ignored the pain wracking every pore of her body to turn and face him, pulling the lazy side of her body with her right one. She watched him flinch at the motion. She didn’t care that he saw. He was threatening her with going back to Gerard, and it was because of Gerard that she’d just spent thirteen months in that hell-hole. Ten pounds, Guv! You set me anywhere...with ten pounds, and I swear you’ll never see Brandy....

Why does he have to look so blasted handsome? she wondered. Even with an expression of mixed disgust and disbelief on those features, he’s stunning. She longed to curse God for making that her last conscious thought.

Ready a bed in the servant’s hall, Thompson, Gil said, and be quick about it.

He picked Helene from the floor of the carriage, knowing now he’d need to have everything she touched cleaned and bleached. The chit weighed exactly six stone, if he was any judge, and Gil liked to think he was.

Eighty pounds, give or take, and yet she filled out Helen’s wedding gown as if it were made for her.

And call for Mrs. Wright and her maids, he added. I’m going to need their help. Damn it, anyway. I’ve been cursed more than any man alive.

Helene whimpered as he lay her on one of the iron-edged beds in the third story wing. Although everyone always referred to this as Grandmama’s hunting cottage, it was a misnomer. The place was nearly the size of Tremayne Hall. The stupid girl had used him to gain her freedom, and while he couldn’t entirely fault her for that, he would certainly make her pay - then, maybe, he’d give her the ten pounds.

CHAPTER THREE

Oh,God!

Brandy tried to roll onto her back, immediately aware of the danger, but found her limbs pinned again. That cursed Regis had his revenge already, hadn’t he? What further torment might the bastard be planning for her? Throbs of returning feeling made her long to moan, and she bit her tongue until it bled to silence the cries. She wasn’t giving away one thing that would alert anyone to anything.

Awake finally? Lord, what a heavy sleeper you are.

She couldn’t turn her head to see him, not from the position in which she was tied, so she sighed into the pillow. Very heavy, she whispered.

That can be changed, too, can’t it, my dear?

Where the blazes is he? And why must he talk in such an iron-hard whisper? Brandy thought she’d heard every male whisper in the world, but this man’s sent chills down her spine.

Speaking of changes...I, for one, am tired of that ridiculous wedding gown, and all it stands for. Perhaps you’ll agree, my love, when I mention a peculiar odor about that dress?

Brandy’s lips twisted. He must be referring to Madelaine’s perfume. It must’ve worn off, and she wasn’t tied down. Her fingers found no rope. So, instead of answering, she gritted her teeth and flung herself over.

Cor, but he seemed to have every lamp at his disposal lit around her bed. The light hurt almost as much as her shoulder. No, that was a stupid comparison. Nothing could hurt this badly and not be the death of someone. She didn’t let any of her thoughts show on her face. Brandy never let anyone see her suffering. When she and Sherry had nothing more than a one-bed room called a crib in Paris, the only thing that kept all the others from falling on one of them like a pack of wolves, was the ability to hide weakness.

How well she must have learned it! She watched the Lord of Tremayne’s face grimace as he looked at her, but there was no pity on that handsome face.

I’m having a bath prepared, Helene, he informed her.

Helene—

I’m not listening to any more of your stupid acting, my dear. Pray don’t strain my patience with it.

My...name is Brandy. She choked out the words, wishing she could choke him instead. Of all the people she had fooled over the years, why did it have to be Helen Bingham’s intended that saw through her?

Brandy? Helene.... Yes, l believe l see the connection. It’s obvious. They rhyme.

She giggled and instantly regretted it. Pain coursed her entire body. She found breathing was available only in gasps. Tears filled her eyes, and she banished them, concentrating on one of the lamps as the tears slowly abated, unshed.

How do you do that? It’s truly an interesting feat.

She didn’t like the sly tone behind his question and would have stiffened, except it felt as if every part of her was already in that state. How do I do what? she whispered.

Mrs. Wright has seen to having a big bath prepared. I’d very much like it if you’d avail yourself of the opportunity.

Never, she hissed. Cleanliness meant—. She wouldn’t think about it.

I don’t like forcing recalcitrant females to bathe. Let me rephrase that. I don’t like forcing females to do anything, Brandy. Brandy...hmm...I rather like the name.

Despite her best efforts, she flinched, showing she listened.

However, I will force you to bathe the fleas, lice, and assorted vermin from yourself before we spend another moment together. You may appreciate the company, but I won’t have my home overrun by such. And if you think I’m an ogre, wait until I introduce you to Mrs. Wright.

She choked on her reply, and even that hurt.

No crass words of reply? No acting? No mimicking? Thank the fates. I wouldn’t have hesitated turning you over to the Bingham Manor and the lap of your loving family if that were the case.

She tried to gather breath for her banshee wail, but her shoulder, neck, and damn it, even her face hurt too much for the effort. It was just as well. He had the upper hand. And she’d given it to him. She’d been stupid, naive, and foolish to reveal her fear of Gerard, but she couldn’t fault him for using it. She would have, too.

No fight? This is much easier than I expected, but you don’t fight fair, do you, Brandy, love?

Tears filled her eyes again, brought on by the pain. They certainly didn’t come from the way he leaned toward her, then pulled away as if repelled. She was grateful for his reaction. She wanted it that way. She calmly watched the wall and silently counted, as her tears dried again. She’d learned how to do it so long in the past, it was reflex. No tears. Ever.

Mrs. Wright will help you with your bath.

No help, she croaked, wheezing with stifling the moan.

If our wedding is legal, you’re the lady of the manor now, Brandy. As such, Mrs. Wright’s place is to serve. Besides, you couldn’t possibly get that dress off by yourself, anyway, now could you?

No...help!

She whistled the words through the working side of her jaw, but knew she was losing. She didn’t have the strength to fight off Mrs. Wright or any other henchmen Gil might use.

I look forward to your company, my dear. That is, when my eyes don’t water by being in it.

He chuckled at his joke. Brandy didn’t bother to bristle. She wanted it that way, because it kept her safe, alone, and unmolested. Now, he intended to change it?

She was going to have to pay him back for that, too.

See here, Madame, well have you up and about in— A new female voice broke off suddenly. Good Lord! What’s that stench?

Mrs. Wright had a goodly face, probably the kindest one Brandy had seen in years. It made her eyes sting with unshed tears again as the woman held her nose and leaned over her.

Just...get the damned dress undone...and get out!

Brandy put every ounce of anger she had in her command. She still sounded like an alley kitten. The effort of talking caused sweat droplets at her hairline. She had to let the emotion go. She was going to have to conserve what little strength she had.