Chapter Four #2
Finally, Bear found his voice. “Delighted to meet you, Lady Brewood.”
She dropped into a small curtsy. “Lord Benedict.”
For a fleeting moment her eyes met his and Bear felt an unaccustomed warmth spread over his body. He desperately tried to recall what he had been saying before. Something about dusty building work and wild gardens. He shook his head with disgust.
It was the wrong thing to do. Lady Brewood’s eyes widened and her cheeks pinkened. To cover his distress, Bear motioned to the chair behind him.
“Won’t you take a seat, Lady Brewood?”
Had she been standing the whole time behind the curtains, he wondered.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon held up her hand. “I have a much better idea. The two of you can take tea in a private room I have set aside for you. Helena will show you the way.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon rang a bell on her desk and a tall, broad-shouldered woman dressed in Lyon’s Den livery opened the office door and looked imperiously at Bear.
“As we discussed, Helena,” said Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
Almost glad to be dismissed, Bear motioned for Lady Brewood to walk ahead of him and followed the two women along the landing to another wooden door.
Lady Brewood was tall and slender, with feminine curves that called out for his attention.
His eyes lingered longer than was proper on her pert derriere, so that he once again felt wrong-footed when they were shown to a round table set with tea for two.
He pulled out a chair for the lady, then sat awkwardly opposite her, hardly managing to fit his long legs beneath the low table.
Beside them was a tall window looking out onto a cobbled side street.
Due to the angle of the sun, everything was in shadow, including the profile of Lady Brewood who now appeared desperately unhappy.
Moved to pity, Bear blurted out, “Please do not feel you have to proceed with this arrangement. I assure you, it came as a great surprise to me.”
Lady Brewood kept her eyes lowered as she poured tea for them both. Her movements were graceful, and Bear felt more of a lumbering idiot than ever.
She settled the delicately patterned teapot back onto the table and folded her hands atop the cream tablecloth.
“I fear something has displeased you, Lord Benedict?”
“No.” He sat back in surprise. “Well, yes, it isn’t every day that a chap is told he has to wed a stranger.” He closed his eyes, regretting his bluntness. “But you seem very nice,” he added, lamely.
She wasn’t just nice, but also beautiful. And inexplicably distressed.
“I must ask, do you recognize my name?” she whispered, her expression still cast down.
“Should I?” Bewildered, he took a sip of tea.
“You will have to forgive me. I have not long been back in England. And I do not involve myself in Society.” It was better she knew sooner rather than later that he had no interest in balls and soirees.
In fact, he should emphasize the point while he had the opportunity.
“Truth be told, Lady Brewood, I prefer to have nothing to do with it.” He wondered how to best explain himself.
“I do not recognize your title. Pray, do not see this as a slight. It is a reflection of how little store I set by such things.”
Her pink lips parted in surprise. “But you are the son of a duke.”
“The second son of a duke.” He put down his teacup and looked outside at the shadowed cobbles, gathering his scattered thoughts.
“It is best you know now that my father has little interest in me. He never has. If you wish to wed into a well-connected family, to be part of the ton, I am afraid I am not the man for you.”
The widow slowly shook her head, her russet curls bouncing, but Bear had hit his stride.
“Perhaps you yourself are of excellent family, and fool that I am, I have failed to recognize it.” He frowned. Upon consideration, there was something familiar about the set of Lady Brewood’s delicate features and the captivating shade of her hair.
Her eyes rose to his. “My title is a courtesy one. Inherited from my father. My first husband was an industrialist.”
Bear’s mouth inched into a smile. Lady Brewood grew more intriguing with every minute that passed. Her blue eyes were the brightest things in the room. He could gaze into those pools of azure for days and forget everything bar the loveliness of her face.
“I am relieved to learn this about you,” he murmured. “I cannot help but see Society connections as a curse.”
Fleetingly, Lady Brewood appeared distressed, but then the sweetest of smiles came over her bowed lips. It was a joy to see that much of the earlier anguish had vanished.
“I am also relieved.” Her slender hands fluttered to her cheeks. “When I heard that you were the son of a duke, I thought that—” She paused. “Never mind.”
She had looked youthful and carefree for a moment there. Bear wanted to bring that moment back.
“You would prefer it if I were not the son of a duke?” He raised his eyebrows incredulously.
“Honestly, yes.” She fixed her gaze on the pale-blue swirls painted around the teapot. “If we are being truthful, Lord Benedict, I had hoped Mrs. Dove-Lyon might match me with a soldier.” Two spots of high color appeared in her porcelain cheeks.
Bear hid his amusement behind a serious look. “You admire the uniform, Lady Brewood.”
“Oh, no, not because of that.” She put her hand to her mouth, looking as anguished as ever.
“I am teasing.” He leaned forward, longing to put his hand over hers.
Lady Brewood folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin. “In truth, Lord Benedict, I have little interest in romance. More than anything, I want a home.”
Bear ignored the potential slight. Her wish seemed wholly heartfelt, and he found himself moved. “For you and your son,” he suggested quietly.
Her expression brightened. “Yes, for Toby.” She shrugged a little. “Tobias. He is everything to me.”
Bear nodded. “That is as it should be. My mother was everything to me.” He offered this up simply.
Her eye caught his. “Was?” she asked softly.
“She passed away when I was a child.”
Lady Brewood glanced down at her teacup. “I also lost my mother at a young age.”
“That is another thing we have in common.”
She stilled for a moment. “Yes.”
Bear was captivated. How could it be that this beautiful creature was the means of his wildest dreams coming true? To think, he had viewed himself as a condemned man, just hours earlier.
He eyed the cakes delicately arranged on the silver stand. Bear did not have a sweet tooth, but he had not partaken of breakfast and now found himself uncommonly hungry. The black despair that had gripped him for so long had somehow slackened its grip.
I have the chance of a future.
But even as his heart soared, a little voice spoke in his ear that there was much about Lady Brewood he didn’t know.
Not least, why she needed to marry so quickly, whom she was trying to prevent from claiming her inheritance, and why she was so desirous of leaving Society to live in the country?
Bear drained his tea. Would it be improper to ask for more information? Dash it all, he would be marrying the woman in less than a week.
But Lady Brewood got there before him.
“Lord Benedict, there is something I must say to you.” Her voice was strained.
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“When Mrs. Dove-Lyon was listing out my conditions for marriage, she left out one important point.”
Bear braced himself for what was coming next while Lady Brewood clasped her trembling hands together.
“She told you that I wish to live in the country. But she did not say that I wish to live there alone.”
“Alone?” Bear felt his eyebrows climb up his forehead.
“With Toby,” she qualified. “And enough staff to keep us safe.”
Bear’s mind raced. She wished to live at The Towers without him?
That changed everything.
It was easier for him to focus on the second part of her statement.
“I am a man of limited funds, Lady Brewood. I apologize if that has not been made clear. To put it simply, I cannot afford to hire an excess of staff.” He smiled to take the heat from his words.
“No, no, you misunderstand me.” She wrung her hands and a sapphire ring flashed. “I mean only the minimum of staff. A cook. A nurse for Toby. A gard—” She ground to a halt, her cheeks redder than her hair.
“A gardener?” he suggested curiously. “Is that what you were about to say?”
Lady Brewood’s expression grew anguished all over again. “I do not insist upon a gardener,” she said shakily.
“But the gardens are quite wild, as I already mentioned.” Bear attempted to cross his legs but became entangled in the tablecloth. He looked curiously as his companion. “I do not consider a gardener excessive, Lady Brewood. In fact, we already have an excellent gardener working at The Towers.”
She breathed deeply, as if to take control of her emotions. “The Towers. Is that the name of your house.”
“It is.” He toyed with his teacup. “It belonged to my grandmother. I have many happy memories there.”
“What kind of memories?” Her blue eyes gazed hopefully into his.
He smiled, embarrassed. “My sister Clara and I would play out in the fields, climbing trees, splashing in the river. She is a good few years younger than I, but there was something about The Towers that enabled me to put my youthful inhibitions to one side and just enjoy being a child.”
Lady Brewood bit down on her lip. “Did you eat apples straight from the tree?”
“We did. Even the sour cooking apples meant for the kitchen.”
She gave a little laugh. “I remember doing the same.”
Bear found himself smiling along with her. Strangely, it was not hard to imagine this beauteous creature running across a field or splashing in a stream on a hot summer’s day. She had the look of someone who would embrace adventure.
The look of someone who would embrace life at The Towers.
But she could not live there alone, without him. It was his house.
His dream.
Damnation. He had come so close to realizing it.
He dragged a hand through his tousled hair. “Why is it that you wish to live there alone, Lady Brewood? It is an unusual request.”
She nodded humbly. “Even an impertinent request.”
Bear relaxed into the wooden chair. “Perhaps so.”
She took a deep breath. “My former husband was not an easy man to live with.” Her eyes hinted at a deeper truth and Bear felt a knot form in his belly.
He had mistreated her.
“I find myself desirous of a simpler life, Lord Benedict. One in which I can put my son first.” She straightened her slender shoulders. “On the one hand, it is not much to ask.”
“No, indeed,” he interjected.
She flashed him a small grateful smile. “On the other hand, it is a great deal. That is why I sought the services of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, because I understand that only a certain type of man would countenance these requests.” She hesitated.
“I thought that perhaps a soldier, in need of funds to boost his rank, may find my conditions palatable.”
Bear felt almost as if he was drowning. A loud noise sounded in his ears and his chest had grown tight. So many conflicting thoughts raced around his head that he couldn’t hope to count them.
“I am a soldier,” he said at last, settling for an easy truth.
Lady Brewood seemed to hold her breath. “I did not know that.”
“I was injured in Paris.” He briefly skimmed a hand along his chest and hip. “Burns.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It is nothing,” he said brusquely, remembering William.
Lady Brewood fixed her gaze on the cream tablecloth. “Will you go back?”
Would he?
Bear knew his next words were important. “Napoleon is in exile. But he’s a wily old dog. If my regiment calls me back, I will return.”
She smiled, like sunshine appearing from behind a cloud.
“And I am in need of funds,” he added, for good measure, smiling back. “Do we have an agreement, Lady Brewood.”
“Yes.” She nodded slowly. “I think we do.”