Free Colonel Brandon's Diary by Amanda Grange Page B

looking well. Been in the Indies, have you? ’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, I have.’
    ‘Thought so by the colour of your skin. Shouldn’t like it myself, but they do say it’s an interesting place.’
    We exchanged news, and he assured me that he would tell his wife he had seen me, for she would be pleased to know I was keeping well, and then I mounted the horse — ‘the best the stable has to offer, Master James, a real beauty, with a soft mouth and a sweet temperament, but spirited with it’ — and was away.
    The day was cold but bright, with a weak sun shining from a slate-blue sky, and every moment brought with it a new memory as I travelled the familiar road, each one more painful than the last.
    I turned into the drive at last and halted for a moment, too overcome with emotion to go on, though whether the emotion was anger, fear or sorrow I could not say. And then I continued up the drive, with the parkland stretching away on either side of me; that same parkland where Eliza and I had played as children, chasing kites, throwing a ball, running, laughing. Always laughing.
    I saw the house rising up before me with feelings so painful I could hardly bear them. There was her window, with the vine beneath it; there the terrace where she had walked.
    I came to a halt in the turning circle and dismounted. No groom ran forward, as he would have done in my father’s time. With deep misgivings I climbed the steps to the house. The tall windows flanking the doors were dirty. I rang the bell, which clanged with a cracked note. And then the door was opened by a servant I did not know.
    He asked my name and then he stood aside to let me in, and I entered the house. As I stepped over the threshold, I saw the same signs of neglect that I had seen outside. There were no flowers in the vases. The mirrors were dull and the console tables were filmed with dust.
    I was shown into the drawing room, and I was overcome once again with memories as I saw the familiar wallpaper and the Aubusson carpet. I stood a moment looking round, and then my eyes came to rest on my brother. He was heavier than the last time I had seen him, with the signs of dissipation already on him. His skin was an unhealthy colour and his eyes were dull. His clothes had an unkempt look, and as he rose to his feet, he almost fell back again. I smelt his breath and knew that he was already drunk. He righted himself, smirking as he said, ‘Well, well. James. The prodigal son returns. Our father is dead — ’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Then what are you doing here?’ he asked.
    ‘You know why I have come.’
    ‘To ask after that harlot who was once my wife, I suppose,’ he said.
    I took a step towards him and he laughed, then poured himself a drink. He waved the decanter towards me in invitation.
    ‘Not at ten o’clock in the morning, I thank you, no,’ I said scathingly.
    ‘You are as self-righteous as ever,’ he said mockingly. ‘I see the Indies have done you no good. It seems that not even foreign climes could make a man of you. So, what do you want to know?’
    He sat down, lolling in his seat; I doubt if he could have sat upright.
    I had intended only to ask him where she was, but in the familiar surroundings where the memories of Eliza were all around me, from the vases that she had filled with flowers, to the carpet on which she had danced, all my feelings rose up inside me and my anger poured out of me in a torrent.
    ‘Why did you marry her? You were never in love with her. Why did you ruin her life? Why did you take her from me? ’
    ‘Because she was rich. Why else?’ he said. ‘The estate was encumbered and we needed her money. But you know all this.’
    ‘But why Eliza?’ I demanded. ‘Why not some other heiress? Some woman who would have sold herself happily in order to gain a respectable name and an old estate? Someone old enough to have given up on all idea of love, or someone too practical to look for it in the first place? Why Eliza, who would be