Chapter Twenty-Two
Remember—when you marry, you do not simply gain a wife. You gain a family as well. Look carefully into their backgrounds before you align yourself with them...
A melia felt a wave of unexpected calm settle over her as she faced her father for the first time in four years. She supposed all of her anger and hatred for the man would surge forward soon enough, but right now those emotions were absent and she was grateful for that. What she had to say was best done coldly and dispassionately. With dignity. The very last thing she wanted was to give her horrid father the impression that he still mattered.
People were already falling over themselves to pour into the grand hallway and witness the unfolding drama. As she scanned the faces, she saw Lady Worsted looking horrified, Sir George bewildered and Lady Cecily practically rubbing her hands together with glee. Amelia supposed the girl was well within her rights. There was an air of finality about what she was about to do that was too inevitable at this stage in the proceedings to be prevented.
Her father’s head appeared about to explode. At his side she noticed his fists were clenched and she wondered if he would succumb to his temper and physically lash out, or if he would try to blag his way out of the situation because he was surrounded by his peers. He glared at her menacingly, the warning quite apparent, but she saw the raw panic in his eyes.
Next to him, the Dowager was wringing her hands together nervously while Bennett stood stock-still like a glorious Roman statue, his handsome face devoid of any expression that would let her know what his clever mind was thinking. At least, once this was done, he would give up any thought of continuing their association. That would spare her from ever having to see him again and wondering what it would have been like if things had been different. She did not want to live with that sort of hope. It would destroy her.
But for now she would draw strength from him as he stood loyally by her side. Amelia settled her eyes on her father and said the words she had waited to say, realising as she said them that she had needed to do this to lay the ghosts of her past to rest.
‘You robbed my mother of her soul and her fortune and then you cast her out with nothing. Her blood is on your hands.’
Her father’s eyes burned back, filled with hatred. Amelia saw his mouth begin to open, ready to rail against her charge with his customary vitriol and lies, but his words were halted by the sudden appearance of a large fist. It slammed into his face with such force that she heard the snap as his nose shattered. Blood sprayed in the air like a fountain and, as if in slow motion, her father flew backwards, his arms and legs flailing pathetically. Then everything seemed to suddenly speed up again and he landed flat on his back with a resounding thud on the unforgiving stone floor.
Everyone sucked in a collective gasp of shock before an ominous brittle silence settled over the room. All eyes darted between the Duke, Amelia and the Viscount, splayed on the marble. Sir George was the first to rush forward to kneel before the prostrate, static body.
‘Is he dead?’ The Duke’s voice sounded flat and emotionless, but his fist was still raised.
Sir George felt for a pulse and looked relieved. ‘No! He’s just unconscious’
‘That is a pity.’ Bennett lowered his fist and turned to his butler calmly. ‘Lovett, see that this mess is returned to its carriage, if you please.’
Then, without another word, he walked casually down the hallway away from the melee, his hands clasped behind his back and his posture erect, almost as if knocking out peers of the realm was something not at all extraordinary and something he did every day as a matter of course.
Amelia and the assembled guests stood gaping as Lovett clicked his fingers and two footmen appeared. She tried to stand proudly as she watched them manhandle her semi-conscious father off the floor and then carry him smartly away, grateful that she was flanked on either side by the Dowager and Sir George. Her knees were suddenly weak and there was a definite lightness in her head, so she tried to breathe deeply in case she swooned and joined her sire on the floor. Nobody spoke. Nobody quite knew the correct etiquette for such a bizarre turn of events. It was all Amelia could do just to blink.
‘Well, I think you would all agree that was a splendid show. I hope you will all understand that this afternoon’s entertainments are now concluded. Allow me to see you to your carriages.’ Sir George took charge and managed to usher everyone towards the main entrance swiftly, ably assisted by Lady Worsted, leaving a stunned Amelia standing next to an equally stunned Dowager. Fragments of their casual conversation filtered back towards the spot where Amelia was currently frozen and she marvelled at how the pair of them could sound so nonchalant when she was still floored by what had happened.
Bennett had punched her father in the face.
Without a word of explanation.
For her.
Oh! How she loved him for that.
She was sure he had broken Venomous’s nose and felt an overwhelming sense of guilt creep over her that she had caused such a distasteful scene.
‘Please accept my apologies, Your Grace. I have ruined your afternoon.’ To her own ears her apology was trite and she sounded emotionless, but really it had all been so wholly unexpected and surreal. How exactly did one correctly apologise for such an incident?
‘No need.’ Amelia turned her eyes towards the Dowager and saw that the woman’s gaze was transfixed on the spot on the floor where her father had lain. There was a note of wonder in her tone. ‘I have never seen Bennett ever do anything like that. He is usually such a reserved individual.’
The very fact that Amelia had witnessed that renowned ducal reserve crack on more than one occasion made her feel both privileged and slightly ashamed. She knew that such displays bothered him and there was little doubt that she had been the root cause of all of them. ‘It is all my fault. I should have told you about my background. If I had, this never would have happened.’
‘Perhaps.’
The Dowager lapsed back into silence and remained that way until the others returned.
They all gathered in the drawing room and Sir George pressed brandy in her hand until, bit by bit, Amelia told them all the truth. Even the parts that she had kept conveniently hidden from Lady Worsted. There seemed to be little point in lying. These people had taken her into their home and now they had been dragged into a scandal. The only omissions she made to the dreadful tale were the parts that were personal to her and Bennett; not only were they too private, but Amelia had no desire to cause the Duke further embarrassment by suggesting that there might have been something between them.
When the sorry tale was done, they all just stared at her. Taking pity on them, she said what needed to be said. ‘I shall pack my things and leave today.’
Amelia went to stand when the Dowager unceremoniously pulled her back down onto the sofa. ‘There will be no packing or leaving, Amelia. Whilst your story is shocking, it is not you who should be punished for what happened. That responsibility lies solely with your dreadful father. Now I understand why Bennett hit him. If I were a man, I would be tempted to punch the bounder myself. As far as we are all concerned, you now live under our protection and that is that.’
Amelia had no idea what Bennett would think, but she was more worried about where he was. Lovett had been sent to fetch him, only to return and tell them that His Grace had gone riding. Hell for leather, by all accounts, and with a face like thunder. As the afternoon ticked by and there was no sign of him, that worry only intensified.
* * *
He needed air.
And distance.
Or he would go back and kill that man for what he had done to her.
Bennett headed straight to the stables and saddled his horse swiftly, allowing the roiling, burning fury to consume him and enjoying the way it felt, hoping the rage would be cathartic. The horse was barely warmed up when he set them galloping across the parkland while his mind ran over every new piece of information it had been assaulted with.
Bray was Amelia’s father.
He had no idea if she was his legitimate daughter or born on the wrong side of the blanket and he did not care. All that mattered was that the odious man had abandoned her to suffer poverty and destitution when she had barely left the schoolroom. He had blithely stood by while she had nursed her sick mother, had refused to give help and protection when she had gone to him and sought it. He had allowed her to suffer the indignity of the workhouse and the slums all alone, when he had the means and power to have protected her from all that. That one of his peers could do that disgusted him. That he had done it to Amelia made Bennett want to seek retribution.
Bray would pay. How? Bennett did not yet know. There were gaps in his knowledge that needed to be filled before he decided if he would murder the man with his own hands, tearing him limb from limb slowly to maximise the agony the monster would suffer, or use his own influence and fortune to simply ruin him and leave him destitute and pathetic in the gutters of Seven Dials, as he had his own daughter. Whichever fate he assigned to the man, one thing was for certain—Bennett would enjoy it.
The trees on the horizon signalled the furthest edge of his land and only then did Bennett slow his frenetic pace. Before he could deal with Bray, he needed to speak to Amelia. But, before he spoke to Amelia, he simply needed to hold her. When she had warned him that she was a scandal waiting to happen, he had assumed that she had been alluding to her years of slum dwelling and all of the depravity that entailed. Now he realised that there was a bigger scandal buried in her past. One so large that she had hidden it from everyone. How could she have been the daughter to a viscount and still live virtually destitute for so long? No wonder the girl had appeared upset at his mother’s ill-conceived tea party. She had had to face that monster unexpectedly and probably felt dreadful for the scene she had inadvertently caused.
And no wonder she had been so vehemently opposed to marrying any man with a title. Her lack of respect for the aristocracy and her reluctance to submit herself to the bonds of matrimony all made perfect sense now. She probably assumed that all men in possession of a title were as selfish and heartless as her father. Bennett needed to reassure her that he put no blame at her door. It was hardly Amelia’s fault that her father was so vile, nor had she requested that Bennett should react so violently on her behalf.
It was regrettable that he had done the deed in such a public forum, but he could not regret the act itself. It had been a pleasure to knock the man out. If the Viscount was stupid enough to still be there when he returned home, Bennett had every intention of punching him again. Only this time he would not stop until all that was left of the odious Viscount Bray was a sticky pile of unrecognisable entrails on the ancient castle floor.
Feeling the anger bubble again, and knowing that he was in no fit state to talk to anyone just yet, Bennett plunged onward. His emotions were running wildly out of control. Not just anger at Bray; that was merely the tip of the iceberg. Before that had happened Bennett had still felt on the very cusp of losing control. Aside from being blindsided by his uncle’s charges about his father and his suspicions about the relationship he had with his mother, amongst all of that angst was the anger that had been created by his visit to Seven Dials.
Yet none of that came close to being the root cause of his current turmoil. The root cause was Amelia. His heart literally ached with the grief he felt at not being able to have her. And grief was the right word. It was like a death, but it was one that he was yet to accept. A tragedy.
A travesty.
He had lain awake all night, replaying all of their conversation, trying to convince himself that she had been right. Several times, he had been so infuriated by her sensible refusal that he had almost gone to her bedchamber to tell her why she was wrong. Once, he had even made it to her door before he had turned around and frustratedly paced his way back to his own room. He knew that he had been born to shape the future. He could not do that outside of the government, his father’s voice cautioned, married to a nobody. But...
At the precise moment he had discovered that Bray was her father, Bennett had realised two things simultaneously. Firstly, the need to punch Bray had been visceral and inevitable because the man had caused Amelia pain. And secondly, and perhaps more importantly, he loved that woman with every fibre of his being and always would. She challenged him, excited him, irritated and amused him. Every time he laid eyes on her, his heart warmed and the sun came out. When he was not with her the world was a little greyer. As his uncle George had suggested, the idea of marrying another woman was now inconceivable when it was only her he wanted. Unfortunately, the obstinate woman was dead against it and that broke his heart.
All in all, his mind was in a mess. Every emotion he had tried for thirty years to ignore was demanding release. Anger, passion, pity, fear, indignation, blinding love and hopelessness all jostled violently for space in the vortex, on the verge of spilling out of him, and he was becoming powerless to stop them. Once those feelings found a breach in his defences, they were relentless and just kept on coming. Bennett felt like a rumbling volcano, like Vesuvius before it obliterated Pompeii. If he did not get a firm hold on his feelings soon, he was doomed to explode and that prospect terrified him more than anything.
Dukes did not explode. It simply wasn’t done.
He could hear his father’s voice inside his head, except this time it did not help to calm him. It fed the rage, mocking him for everything that he could not have. Bennett had to do something to shut all of these emotions out, so he tipped his head back and howled at the heavens in frustration, roaring like a savage going into battle in the hope that it might help. When it did not, he urged his horse forward towards the horizon and galloped like the wind.