After a while.
Lady Wilmot reached for a crumpet. "Have you been to see the king?"
He nodded, keeping his eyes fixated on his letters. How many more were they, and how many allowances had he permitted? "Yesternight."
"They remain in good health?"
"They do, and it is the last I would say on the topic." He uttered firmly. She did not care for their health. In fact, it was the farthest from her mind. She was fishing for gossip and he would be blasted if he entertained her leisure.
"Very well," she murmured, transferring the crumpet to her left hand. Then, "How are you finding your stay so far?" she gestured to the room.
Brand folded the parchment, and unfolded another. "It remains the same as always, Mother. It is my estate and my home." He returned, although the last word was thoroughly imponderous in meaning.
"There is not denying that." she said, replacing the crumpet untouched. Then, "Your Highness, I would be the very last person to impose on your choice of lifestyle," Brand merely nodded, almost delirious at her choice of words, "but I have become greatly curious. What is your source of entertainment?"
About to sign his name on a return letter, Brand paused. What was his source of entertainment? What could he give as an answer? Diving into the cold waters? Listening to the men brag? Irritating his brother? Some things held his fleeting attention, but they held no true meaning.
"I cannot be certain, but I am thoroughly certain of what isn't. Women, and the pleasures you think they would provide." He said matter-of-factly knowing the source of her question?
Lady Wilmot coughed lightly. It was false. "As I would hope against. It is very improper for a man of your status to dilly-dally in such shamefulness."
His eyebrows rose and he consciously blinked, "Really? I find that very hard to believe, seeing as you have about turned Mainecroft Hall to a brothel." Her gaze widened. "Did you think I was ignorant of them? The maids you have continuously sent here?"
"Your Highness…"
"Have you tired of noble ladies and women of proper birth that you send the very ones you would never agree upon?"
Carefully she added tea into her cup. "I would admit it is very shameful of me to champion the thought, having maids at you, but the thought bore nothing but my worries for you."
A small smirk graced the corner of his lips. "I assure you, Mother, there is absolutely no reason to be worried." He signed his name and waved the parchment so the ink could dry. "And while we are at it, cease your hiring of maids in the hope that they might entice me, and have your current batch removed from these grounds." He paused, blinking purposefully. "Else, I indeed make one my mistress."
Lady Wilmot feared that he would never have a family, but what she feared the most was him having one with an untitled woman. She had told him long ago, long before he was abducted, that his marriage should help him form an alliance, a stronghold, that would uphold him. He had been too young to understand then.
After a long pause, Lady Wilmot ventured, "Do you have one? A mistress?"
Incredulous, Brand smiled. When did it become a crime to be without a woman? Why must she incessantly barrage him, needing to know of the activities—or lack thereof—of his bedroom life? He would no longer entertain her talks.
"A smile." She continued when he provided no answer. "I suppose there is one."
"Mother." He breathed out. She was unbelievable.
Replacing her saucer, she ran to sit beside him. "Who is she? The daughter of a duke? Viscount? Or an earl?" Brand chuckled. She frowned, fixing the skirt of her dress. "I do not like this. You smile at the mere mention of her. Whoever she is, Your Highness, she has to be a woman of class."
His smile died. "Mother."
Her blue eyes widened. "You are a prince," she chided, "and you ought to be mindful of your attention. Associating with plebeian companies tarnishes your birthright."
Associating with plebeian companies? Had she not that very morning sent a maid to his bedchambers? Now she would concern herself with the status of his mistress, after deciding by herself that he had one.
"The woman who is to someday stand by your side must be of noble birth and possess high dignity." She dusted down her skirt. "If she is undignified in any manner, I will refuse. No one unworthy of you will carry your name, nor the title of the princess."
"Mother, please." Brand called firmly, deciding he had had enough of her pomposity. He dropped his quill and made a steeple with his fingers, watching her as she gaped at him, her hand paused midair. "I care nothing for these women, and if I did, I would, as my father, not care for dignity." He blinked consciously.
Lady Wilmot blanched. Her hand dropped limply on her lap. "How dare you? I am a woman of class and proper breeding," she declared, her eyes hardening with anger. "My father, your grandfather, was one of Thomas's trusted ministers. He served well and was very much loved."
"And did Queen Elodie love him too?"
"Your Highness!"
"Enough! Spare me your sermon. I am too occupied to concern myself with them at the moment." He scoffed, his former anger resurrecting. "Dignity? What would you know about it? Were your deeds while I was abducted, dignified?" He set his hands on the low table. "I am a royal by-blow for goodness' sake! It is solely by my brother's benevolence and the honour of our father's wish that I am acknowledged!"
In older times, he would have been cast from the kingdom—or worse, his existence completely disregarded. Alexander respected him enough to have made him his heir even when he continued to refuse it. That was dignity.
Brand thought of how his very existence was the fruit of indignity and dishonour. How dare Lady Wilmot demand for dignity?
Suddenly, cruel images danced in his head.
The many months onboard the pirate's ship, months which stretched into years of uncertainty in the company of the most undignified people.
His hand on Balfour's neck, when he had taken his life on the sandy beach, that had not been dignified.
The wenches in the many taverns he had occasionally visited for drinks. They were not dignified either.
He was the most undignified of all!
"If I had only become queen, this conversation would not stand." Lady Wilmot said into the silence.
Brand's bad eye twitched. "What?"
"Listen, Your Highness, you are every much as dignified as the king. You are Thomas's son, too."
"In that, there is no argument, but while you sit here, preaching about dignity, you send women of loose character to live in my home under the pretense of employment."
She flushed indignantly. "They are only for your entertainment."
His gaze turned cold. "Do not insult me, Lady Wilmot," he warned. Her eyes bulged in surprise. "I will not bed maids."
If he was desperate for entertainment, he would seek out his brother to spar, or sail out to the sea and dive off the side of his ship into the icy waters below. There was nothing entertaining about bedding a maid, or worse, fathering bastards by them. He would never allow sons—legitimate or otherwise—to rival Alexander's children. And he would not condemn any child to suffer his fate for his own selfish gain?
As a boy, when he first came to the knowledge of his birth, he had been too terrified to approach Alexander, dreading that his brother would despise him and send him away. He had been right; Alexander had completely ignored him, speaking only to him when absolutely necessary, never giving more than was required. It was not until the death of their father did he truly become a brother to the current king.
After his abduction and eventual rescue, he spent many months fearing that his brother's concern for his safety was driven solely by guilt. Only over time did he come to realise that Alexander's love for him was as honest as was declared.
He would repay that love with his life.