Chapter Five #2
“I say take care that you can keep up, Lord Benedict,” she replied, with mock seriousness, before nudging her horse into a canter and then to a gallop.
Thrilled to have his head, the chestnut rose to the challenge admirably, his long legs eating up the smooth path of Rotten Row.
Marianne heard a whoop followed by the pounding of hooves, and she knew the dapple grey was in close pursuit.
She leaned forward in her stirrups, crouching low over her horse’s neck as her father had once taught her.
The chestnut was fleet of foot, but the dapple grey was bigger and stronger.
After no more than a minute, he caught up, and Marianne spied Lord Benedict’s dark curls bouncing beneath his top hat as he sped past. Not to be outdone so easily, her chestnut lengthened his stride so the riders once again grew level with one another.
Marianne risked a glance sideways to find Lord Benedict’s dancing eyes looking straight into hers.
A burst of unexpected laughter came from her, forcing her to knot her fingers into her horse’s mane to keep her balance.
Lord Benedict chuckled along with her, throwing back his head and smiling from ear to ear as the horses began to slow.
“I call that a draw, Lady Brewood.”
“Oh no,” she gasped. “I won’t have that. You beat me fair and square. But only just.”
“Only just.” He patted his horse’s neck and brought him back to a brisk walk. “I have not enjoyed such close competition in a long time.”
“I have not laughed so much in a long time,” she responded without thinking. Perhaps her admission was surprising, but it was honest.
“The same is true for me.” He inclined his head. “There has been little to laugh about, truth be told.”
She inwardly cursed her lack of tact. “I am sure there is little to laugh about on a battlefield.”
Lord Benedict lengthened his reins and relaxed in the saddle. “No indeed. There is no cause for merriment at the height of battle. But I have often found banter and camaraderie in the barracks.”
“You wish to return?” Her bright enquiry hid an unanticipated jolt of sorrow at the idea of him leaving the country.
How have I grown so attached so quickly?
Flummoxed by her own emotions, Marianne looked away. But Benedict also seemed to be grappling with something.
He sighed. “Lady Brewood, I must be honest with you about two things. Not only because we are about to marry. But because you are one of the most straight-talking and intelligent women I have ever met.”
She blushed a little at the compliment and kept her face turned to the side so he would not see.
“The first is this,” he continued. “My good friend William was killed in Paris shortly before Napoleon went into exile. His death was a violent and senseless one. It has changed the way I view almost everything.”
Marianne was momentarily silenced by the weight of his words and the gift of his candor. Benedict’s tale explained the sadness behind his eyes and hinted at a vulnerability that many men would be reluctant to reveal. A vulnerability that made him more courageous in her eyes. And more human.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she said at last.
They were riding around the Serpentine now, and both fell into silence as they passed the shimmering waters of the ornamental lake.
Marianne couldn’t help noticing the vivid colors of their reflection.
She and Benedict made a handsome couple on their high-stepping steeds.
One might never imagine that the lady in the pea-green riding habit was hiding so much sorrow.
Or that the striking man in immaculate tails was mourning the loss of a friend.
She shook herself out of her reverie, realizing that Benedict was talking again. His voice was low, as if he was sharing a confidence.
“Forgive me if I am being bold, Lady Brewood. Perhaps it is the early hour and the excitement of our gallop which has freed my tongue. But I feel as if I am able to share such stories with you. I believe you too may have suffered hardship in your life.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she rapidly blinked them away. Benedict’s query was soft and compassionate, stirring emotions which always ran close to the surface.
“I have,” she admitted. “I told you yesterday that my former husband was not easy to live with. In actual fact, he was not a kind man. He said—and did—some cruel things.” Her words dried up as tears once again blurred her vision.
Benedict’s hand rested briefly on hers. This time she was sure she felt the warmth of his touch through the riding gloves they both wore. It was a comforting, strengthening warmth and she sat taller for it.
“I suspected as much.”
“And even now he has passed away, his influence continues in the form of his brother who I worry intends harm to me and my son.” She sniffed, knowing she must not talk more in this vein. Her words were slander, and unfounded at that.
But Benedict merely nodded. “He is the reason you need to marry before your thirtieth birthday?”
Stately and gleaming, a carriage rolled toward them, pulled by two identical bay mares. Marianne nodded quickly, not wanting their conversation to be overheard.
“That’s right.”
“And the man’s name?”
The carriage rolled past. Marianne dampened her lips with her tongue, worried that saying his name might somehow conjure him from the gorse bushes. “Edgar Chawton.”
There was a pause before Benedict said, “It seems you are putting sensible precautions in place.”
Relief wrapped warm arms around her. Benedict was not dismissing her fears as the product of a feverish imagination. He was listening to her, believing her.
But old habits died hard, and Marianne fervently wished to change the subject before Benedict began to think she was as delusional as Victor often claimed.
“What is the second thing, Lord Benedict?”
“The second thing?” He frowned down at her.
“You said you needed to be honest with me about two things.”
“Ah yes.” Benedict screwed up his face as if thinking hard. “This one is rather difficult to admit.”
Marianne’s attention was diverted by a man sitting on a bench and reading a newspaper.
She remembered Toby’s description of a similar figure, “a man with black eyes.” Gathering up her reins, she told herself not to be ridiculous.
But she couldn’t shift the notion that the man was watching their approach.
“I’m afraid I have allowed you to believe something that isn’t true,” Benedict continued.
Marianne swallowed hard. The man on the bench had now hidden his face behind his newspaper, but before he disappeared behind the pages, she was certain she saw a glimpse of black eyes.
“And the guilt kept me awake for most of last night.”
Marianne could hardly hear her companion. Her chest had grown tight with warning, and she had a great urge to dig her heels into her horse’s sides and flee.
“Lady Brewood, are you quite well? You have grown very pale?”
They were directly opposite the man on the bench, with Marianne passing closest to him. She saw him yawn widely before lazily tipping his hat to them.
Weak with relief, she exhaled. But her respite was short-lived for within seconds she felt a burning stare at her back. Unable to help herself, she turned in her saddle to find the black-eyed man leaning forward, clearly watching them.
A cold wave of nausea swept over her. Benedict’s voice came as if from a great distance away and she longed to move closer to the comfort it promised.
“Lady Brewood. Should we stop the horses?”
“No.” That was the last thing she wanted. “I shall be quite well in just a moment.” With every step they took away from the man on the bench, she felt safer and more settled, especially with Benedict at her side.
If the man intended her harm, Benedict would protect her.
Do not let your imagination run away with you.
She closed her eyes against the memory of Victor’s voice.
“Lady Brewood, I must insist—”
“Please, Lord Benedict, do not worry. I felt a little light-headed, but all is well now.” She smiled brightly to prove it. “Please continue with what you were saying and forgive my lack of attention.”
He had been on the cup of revealing something difficult, she recalled.
Whatever it was, it could be nothing bad. Benedict was a good man. She knew this in her bones.
Benedict cleared his throat. “There is no easy way of saying this.”
Shock came over her, like a drenching from a bucket of cold water. She plunged her hand into her horse’s mane for balance. “You do not wish to go ahead with our wedding?”
“Not at all. I assure you, Lady Brewood. I very much want to go ahead with our wedding.”
His eager rebuttal made her glow with an equal mix of relief and embarrassment. “I should not have interrupted you.” They were some distance from the bench now. Marianne was able to give her full attention to the handsome man by her side.
“It is my fault for hedging and prevaricating. I should just get on and say it.” As if sensing his rider’s distress, the dapple grey began to jog sideways.
“Yesterday at the Lyon’s Den, I allowed you to believe that I was willing to accept your stipulation that I live somewhere other than The Towers.
I’m afraid that is not true. Much as I understand your reasoning, much as I respect your views, I simply cannot do it.
” He shook his head so vigorously that he was obliged to grab his top hat before it toppled to the grassy ground.
“The Towers means a great deal to me, and it has long been my greatest dream to take up residence there,” he added, his eyes seeking hers with a hint of desperation.
“Can you understand that, Lady Brewood?”
More than anything else, Marianne was humbled by the anxiety in his brown eyes. “Of course, Lord Benedict.”
“It was my grandmother’s home and the place of some of my most cherished childhood memories,” he continued, as if needing to explain himself further.
“Moreover, I recently promised my youngest sister that she could live there with me. Both of us have reasons for wishing to escape London Society, which I hope you will be able to sympathize with.”
Marianne’s cheeks were beginning to pink. “Please do not trouble yourself further about this.”
“But I must.” He threw her a disarming smile. “I am not in the practice of deception, Lady Brewood. It is a most unpleasant trait and a terrible way to start our relationship.”
Our relationship.
As the horses strode out together, Marianne realized that the idea of a relationship with Lord Benedict was as attractive to her as the man himself. Before she could contemplate this further, he began to speak again.
“I was just so pleased, and so surprised, to find someone like you at the Lyon’s Den.”
Marianne’s heart fluttered inside her riding habit. Someone like me!
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he added humbly.
Marianne tried to gather her scrambled thoughts. “I’m sure there was a lot for both of us to take in,” she managed. “There still is.”
“Of course. And if you wish to reconsider your stance, in light of my admission, I quite understand.”
It was Marianne’s turn to shake her head violently. One thing she knew with absolute certainty was that she did not wish to reconsider her stance. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she grew to like the idea of sharing The Towers with Benedict.
Especially if a man with black eyes was watching her in the park.
She gave an involuntary shiver at the memory.
“But I hope you won’t reconsider,” he said quickly and quietly, so she had to urge the chestnut closer to his dapple grey to hear better.
“We have so much in common, Lady Brewood. Not least our love of the countryside. I never thought I might find someone so charming and intelligent who was not plagued with family connections and affiliation with the ton.”
Marianne winced as she recalled she had not confessed her family connections. She was, after all, the niece of Clementine Sedgewick, one of the grand dames of the ton.
Would Benedict renounce their arrangement if he found out?
She closed her eyes with the confusion of it all. None of this was meant to be so complicated. She only wanted to provide a peaceful and happy home for Toby.
“We can live entirely separate lives,” Benedict went on, as if reading her mind.
“You and your son can have one wing of the house. My sister Clara and I will take another. Our paths need never cross. Our marriage will be in name only, just as you stipulated.” Did Marianne imagine it, or did his voice gain an edge at this point?
“I dare to believe it could all work out very well for us both.”
The park was slowly becoming busier. As well as birdsong, the air was now redolent with the sound of hooves, carriage wheels, and murmurings of genteel conversation. Marianne felt the warmth of the sun on her face and knew she would soon have to return to Fencham House.
The house that would never be her home.
“What do you say, Lady Brewood?” Benedict asked, his voice low with intensity.
She met his warm, chocolate gaze. “I say yes, Lord Benedict.” She smiled at his obvious pleasure. “I said yes before, and I still say yes,” she added for emphasis.
Benedict lifted his hand in a mock salute. “I am delighted.”
His gesture reminded her of the soldier she had once pictured marrying. It was all moving so quickly.
Am I doing the right thing?
Marianne put a hand to her heart, tightening the reins with her other hand to keep the chestnut at a brisk walk.
“You must meet my son,” she said quickly.
Benedict’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he answered readily enough. “If that is what you wish.”
“If we are to live in the same house, albeit in different wings, then Toby should know who you are.” Marianne nodded, her conviction growing.
It was also true that Toby, like many young children, had proven to be an excellent judge of character.
Marianne had already wedded one bad man. She couldn’t risk her heart—or Toby’s—a second time.
“I shall make arrangements and send word to you at the Lyon’s Den.”
Benedict smiled slightly. “I am endeavoring to stay away from the Lyon’s Den, Lady Brewood. Send word to Fairfield House. I will await your instructions.”
Marianne smiled back and the morning bustle of Hyde Park melted away. “Thank you.”