Chapter Twenty
A marriage binds two good families together so that they can assist each other on matters of importance. And if those matters also assist in serving the nation, then only a fool would overlook such an opportunity...
B ennett tried not to become frustrated with his uncle’s meandering reminiscences about growing up in the Castle.
‘Do you remember the day that I taught you to fish, Bennett? What fun we had that day!’
‘If that is the same day that you also decided to teach me to row, I recall we caught nothing because you capsized the boat and we ended up swimming in the moat.’ Exactly how long did it take one old man to drink one tiny glass of port, anyway?
‘It was a jolly good thing that I had taught you to swim the summer before, else your mother would have had my guts for garters.’
‘As I remember it, she did.’
His uncle chuckled. ‘That was hardly a telling-off, Bennett. It was nothing like the tongue-lashing she gave me when I taught you how to slide down the banisters at Aveley House. It was hardly my fault that you lost your balance and fell off.’
‘She thought I had broken my arm.’ Bennett watched in frustration as his uncle slowly swirled the dregs of his port in his glass as if he had all the time in the world to drink it. Which he didn’t. Bennett really needed to speak to Miss Mansfield before bedtime. When he could stand it no more he stood. ‘I think it is long past time we rejoined the ladies.’ For emphasis he pulled out his pocket watch and stared at the dial.
Uncle George gave him a slow, thoughtful perusal and then chuckled. ‘You always were a dreadful liar, boy, but I shall play along.’
‘I am not sure I know what you mean.’ Bennett did his best impression of a bored aristocrat, which only served to make his uncle’s shoulders bounce in time to his rumbling laughter.
‘Do you not? Then I suppose your haste has nothing to do with the lovely dark-haired damsel that you have been staring wistfully at all evening? Have I misconstrued your heart-wrenching mooning at the delectable Miss Mansfield? Perhaps it was the tapestry behind her that held you so transfixed. And perhaps her pretty blushes and furtive glances in your direction were merely a trick of the light.’
Had she been furtively glancing in his direction? And, if she had, was that a good sign? His uncle would know. He had a talent for understanding the ladies. But Uncle George’s advice was always so contrary to everything his father had drilled into him that Bennett felt disloyal to seek his counsel now, no matter how much he desperately wanted to. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. Where do you get such fanciful ideas, anyway?’
‘Ha ha! The best form of defence is attack. What did you do to her, lad? Have you stolen a kiss yet or are the pair of you lamenting the fact that you haven’t?’
‘We are not having this conversation, uncle.’ Bennett mimicked his father’s disapproving glare before walking towards the door.
‘On the contrary, dear boy, you might not be having this conversation, but I am.’ For an older gentleman, Uncle George was surprisingly spritely and was at his elbow in a flash. ‘I heartily recommend you lure her into some dark corner this weekend and get the job done smartly. You will both be the better for it.’
Bennett ignored him and strode into the drawing room, only to find Miss Mansfield not there. He sat and made small talk with his mother and aunt while he waited impatiently for her to return. After what seemed like an eternity, Uncle George put him out of his misery.
‘Where has the lovely Amelia got to?’
‘She was feeling unwell and retired for the evening.’
Bennett felt his spirits plummet at this unfortunate piece of news. She was avoiding him again. Now he would have to wait until the morning to speak to her, although heaven knew what he would say. Why had she kissed him? It was hard to remain indifferent to a woman who kissed with so much passion and made his heart ache when she avoided him. Was she as miserable and confused by her feelings as he was? Should they talk about what had happened or should he pretend that it hadn’t happened at all? And why had his father never given him any instruction on how to deal with these powerful, insistent emotions when he had so much to say about everything else?
‘I might turn in for the night myself. It has been a busy week and I am very tired.’ And miserable and so blasted aroused every time he thought about that kiss that he feared his breeches might split. Or burst into flames.
Out in the hallway, he collided with Lovett. He should tear the man off a strip but did not have the energy. The best he could muster was a polite inclination of his head as he trudged towards the staircase.
‘If I might be so bold as to offer an observation, Your Grace? But you appear a little out of sorts.’
Out of sorts? That was a very delicate way of saying it. ‘I am just tired, Lovett. I am off to bed.’
‘That appears to be a common affliction this evening, Your Grace. Miss Mansfield claimed much the same, but she has decided to take some air on the battlements before retiring for the evening.’
* * *
Amelia made a sacred vow never to drink port again. Whilst she had always had a tendency to be a bit impulsive, this afternoon she had surpassed herself. She had kissed him. Kissed. Him! And that had made everything excruciatingly awkward. Who knew what the man must be thinking? She had survived the interminable dinner and had escaped, pleading a headache, the moment the men had left to drink the same dreadful port that had caused her current predicament.
Instead of retiring to her room, she had found her way up to the battlements to breathe in the crisp winter air and unscramble her wits. Fortunately, if she could avoid him tomorrow, she would not have to see him for another week. By then, with any luck, she would have thought up a viable excuse for attaching her mouth to his quite so fervently and worked out why she had gone and done it in the first place. And what a kiss it had been! Her lips still tingled at the thought of it, but at least the other parts of her had stopped tingling. A few more seconds of that glorious onslaught and she might well have tugged him into the nearest bush and begged him to have his way with her.
Amelia stared up at the clear night sky and sighed. She really had made a dreadful mess of things and hiding up here wasn’t helping. If she had not been feeling quite so cowardly, she would go back downstairs and apologise. She could blame the port, but she would be lying and it would get Lovett into trouble when it really wasn’t his fault at all, or she could simply tell the Duke the truth. I find you ridiculously attractive, I have developed a silly girlish crush on you and, even though I know that there could never be anything more between us other than passion, I couldn’t help myself. Given those two choices, these cold battlements were more appealing.
She sensed him before he spoke. ‘So this is where you are hiding.’
His deep voice was a little breathless, almost as if he had been running, and when she turned towards him she saw him staring upwards while his hands were clasped, customarily, behind his back. Her heart clenched at the sight, but she had no idea what to say. Fortunately, he filled the gap.
‘It upsets me to think that you are avoiding me.’
‘Avoidance, under the circumstances, was the only thing that I could think of to avoid dying of embarrassment. I am sorry about earlier. I am not sure what came over me.’ A lie.
‘I really didn’t mind, you know. If you should feel the sudden urge to kiss me again, I will not make any attempt to stop you.’ He was flirting now, a little awkwardly, which she found utterly charming. Once again, her silly heart lurched even though she had intended to harden it.
‘Kissing you is dangerous. It makes me forget all reason.’
A completely male, totally arrogant smirk crept over his face. ‘That is excellent news.’ He began to prowl towards her, his intentions clear in his expression. Knowing that she would not have the wherewithal to stop him if he started to kiss her again, Amelia held up her hand before he got too close. ‘But kissing you was a mistake and one I am not in a hurry to repeat. I think it is probably best avoided, going forward.’
‘I see.’ He sounded disappointed. And a little churlish. ‘Why?’
‘There are so many reasons that I do not quite know where to start. But the most important one is you are a duke and I am a servant and we both know that there can be nothing between us.’
‘I hardly call what we have nothing . We have a mutual attraction for one another; we get on very well.’
If only that was all that mattered. ‘You want to be Prime Minister one day.’
‘That has nothing to do with this.’
‘Of course it does! You have spent the past year looking for the perfect woman to be a Prime Minister’s wife and, whilst I take a great deal of issue with your silly book, I do understand that a high-ranking politician must have a wife who is beyond reproach.’
‘We could still be together. Somehow.’ The ‘somehow’ highlighted the huge gulf between them.
‘Are you suggesting clandestine meetings? Am I to be your dirty little secret? The skeleton in your cupboard?’ She tried not to sound waspish and insulted, even though she was. It was better for them to face the harsh reality of any future relationship between them now, honestly, rather than pretend that they stood any chance.
‘When you put it like that, it makes me feel awful.’ He sat down on the bench next to her and stared into the darkness for several moments while the air around them hung heavy with things that neither knew quite how to say. Eventually, he took her hand and warmed it between his palms. ‘I need to know if you feel it too, or if this overwhelming attraction that I feel is completely one-sided.’
‘I feel it too.’ Lying was pointless when she had already admitted to the deadly effect of his kisses. ‘But I wish with all of my heart that I didn’t.’
‘Am I so terrible?’
It was difficult to keep a level head while the feel of his hands on hers was having such a profound effect on all of her nerve endings. It was so tempting to just give in to the sensations and consider the consequences later. ‘Not at all, which I suppose is the problem. You are exceedingly likeable once you get past all of that stodginess you wear like a uniform. But you are a duke, for goodness’ sake. A powerful and wealthy duke with a great deal of expectation resting on his shoulders.’
His brows came together as he tried to understand why such a thing was a problem. She saw the exact moment that he gave up trying. ‘I fail to understand what my being a duke has to do with anything. I have been led to believe that being a duke is considered quite a good thing amongst the ladies of the ton.’
‘And there you have it. I am not part of the ton. I am a companion. A servant. We come from different worlds that are best kept separate, Your Grace.’
The sound of his honorific on her lips appeared to anger him. ‘Please just call me Ben... I prefer that.’
‘I cannot, Your Grace, because you will always be a duke.’
‘A few weeks ago it was too much trouble for you to say Your Grace . Now you insist upon using it to purposefully create distance between us. And whilst I am prepared to concede that this attraction that we feel for each other is not ideal, I would still prefer to pursue it.’
He really was not getting it at all. Because he was a duke. ‘It is not ideal for you, you mean.’ And he had no idea how much he kept insulting her with his casual words. A familiar knot of anger began to form in the pit of her stomach, reminding her of her past experience with an aristocrat who had reluctantly compromised. Her father had done so for money and then had come to regret it bitterly and used his power to cast her mother aside. Would the Duke of Aveley lower himself just because of lust or would he slake that lust before he came to his ducal senses and severed their attachment? Amelia already knew the answer. She had lived it. ‘Tell me, how much of a sacrifice are you prepared to make for us, Your Grace?’
Amelia watched his throat bob nervously as he shifted in his seat. ‘I suppose I could consider marriage...’
There was a definite wince as he said it. Amelia laughed bitterly and tugged her hand out of his so that she could stand. It would be easier to put him in his place if she was not being distracted by his touch. ‘I suppose I could . Have you any idea how offensive those words just sounded?’ Her hands came to rest on her hips as she glared at him in bold accusation. How dare he? ‘I am sure that you think that I should be positively thrilled to receive such a generous offer from a man so socially superior to myself. What girl would not wish to marry a rich and powerful duke, after all? You are Bennett Montague. The perfect catch. Women fall over themselves to impress you. They grovel and simper and hang on your every word and read your stupid book out loud. You have five of them dangling on your hook as we speak, and they are grateful to be there. I suppose I should be eternally grateful that you have lowered yourself to make such a huge sacrifice on my behalf!’
She watched his silvery blue eyes narrow and harden into cold crystals. ‘Would you prefer it if I lied to you? Do you want me to pretend that marrying you would not have any effect on my political career? My reputation has always been beyond reproach and I have worked very hard to keep it that way. How do you think my peers will take it if I marry a...’ He stopped abruptly, the harsh words hanging ominously unsaid, so Amelia finished his sentence for him.
‘A guttersnipe, Ben? At least have the decency to say it.’
‘That is not what I meant at all.’ He stood angrily and edged towards her. ‘I did not intend to insult you. I was merely thinking through the ramifications of such a decision. I was born into this life. From the moment I could talk I have been moulded and shaped to serve this country. If you think I take that responsibility lightly, then you are sorely mistaken. I want to change things. I want reform. I want to end the harsh reality that many loyal subjects have to deal with and I cannot do that from the back benches. If I am going to have the greatest influence and instigate real reform, the best way that I can serve the people of England is as their Prime Minister. Therefore, there is an expectation on me to marry well. There always has been. You know that. Marrying my aunt’s companion would be a complication...but perhaps not an insurmountable one.’
He raked his hand through his thick hair in frustration and took several even, calming breaths. ‘I have a great many supporters in Parliament that might be sympathetic to our particular circumstances. Of course, it will have to be carefully orchestrated to ensure that it is received properly...and perhaps we will have to be very careful what we tell people about your background...’
The pompous Duke had returned again and he had not even realised it. ‘Ramifications! Complications!’ Amelia was sorely tempted to kick him. ‘ Our particular circumstances! Be still my beating heart!’ Amelia found herself prodding him in his magnificent and arrogant chest instead. ‘I rather think that you are entirely missing the point. Whilst I am sure that most ladies would be prepared to grovel and beg for your ducal affections, and that they would be delighted to suppress every part of their natural character in order to fit in with what society expects them to be, I can assure you that I am not one of them. I loathe aristocrats! It is the aristocrats of this country who continue to oppress the poor for their own gain. They toss away lives with the same lack of regard that other people throw away potato peelings! I suppose that I should happily accept that I am unworthy, lie about my background and pretend to be some vapid adornment who pours tea and embroiders. And, of course, it goes without saying that the future Duchess of Aveley would never be seen serving the poor in a soup kitchen, or setting foot in Seven Dials or marching towards Westminster demanding the vote for ordinary working men. Yet you, like all aristocrats, think that you have a divine right to be obeyed, although heaven knows why when you all gained those lofty titles by being either bullies or sycophants.’
‘ Bullies or sycophants? And which, pray tell, am I?’ His voice dripped sarcasm.
Illogically, she was becoming more offended by the second, though not at the sarcasm but because of that telling wince. That wince that told her, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to deign to tolerate her past, just as her father had tolerated the dreadful stigma of being married to an American. He would tolerate it until he decided that his low-born wife simply wasn’t worth all of the effort. She had practical experience of how disposable a wife could be. ‘I suppose that depends on how your illustrious family chanced on their title.’
‘We did not chance on it; the Montagues came over with William the Conqueror. I am the Sixteenth Duke of Aveley.’ He was prowling after her on the darkened battlements and his temper was definitely hovering dangerously close to the surface. A sensible woman would end the conversation here and now. Amelia was not in the mood to be sensible.
‘Would that be the same William the Conqueror who murdered all of the English nobles and replaced them with his cronies?’ She tapped her lips with her index finger as if in thought. ‘I would say that you fell in the bully category then, wouldn’t you? Had you toadied around a king to get your title, then you would be a sycophant—but, then again, you are one of the Regent’s most trusted advisers, are you not, Your Grace, so perhaps you now fall into both categories.’
He caught her angrily by the arm to face him. ‘You are on the cusp of unacceptable impertinence. This is not how I expected you to react when I have stated that I might be able to offer you marriage.’
She had to crane her neck upwards to look him squarely in the eye and stare into those stormy, swirling depths. ‘ Might? How romantic! Your arrogance is quite staggering! I do not want to marry a man who believes that I am not ideal , who has offered me the possibility of marriage as an act of charity on his sufferance . And as I would prefer to be completely impertinent rather than merely hovering on the cusp of it, Your Grace , I should add that the very last man that I would ever choose to marry is one in possession of a title!’