***
Brand adjusted the lapels of his jacket as he walked out of the Beauchamp mansion. The brougham pulled out of the estate, crunching gently against the gravel before turning onto the road. The finely matched grey horses shuttled the vehicle down the road at a reasonable pace, easing slowly, bringing its passengers to their destination.
He settled back against the leather seat, one hand tapping against his knee. Across from him, Madelyn sat as she had at dinner and in the salon after; quiet and watchful.
His palm was oddly warm. He continued tapping. What had he been holding? He scowled.
Damn it all!
Was this what his evening had been reduced to? Gossip and vulgar thinking? He had endured enough of it in ports and parlours alike, now the very words would come to him at dinner?
Of course he knew what they thought of him, of the words that travelled in his absence by men who mistook restraint for concealment and discipline for deviance.
