Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
S ebastian Fairmont, the Duke of Ravenscroft, adjusted the pin in his cravat as he stared down the modest facade of the Bennett household. Beside him, the stick of a solicitor he’d brought to accompany him sniffed.
“You cannot delay the inevitable forever, Your Grace,” Mr. Pratt intoned.
Sebastian sighed. “And you are certain I must choose a bride from among these girls?”
“If you wish to access the portion of your inheritance your father locked behind this clause, yes . It must be a daughter from the former Mr. Thomas Bennett. You know your father was particularly close to the man and wished, above all, to someday bind the families.”
Sebastian knew, and it did not improve his mood one jot. If he could have his way, he would have chosen to remain a bachelor forever. Marriage sounded disagreeable, a lifelong contract he could not escape, and its only advantage was granting him access to the fortune he very much needed. Still, he had a plan, despite his father’s and Pratt’s meddling: nothing in the agreement stated he had to remain married to his wife.
“Well then,” he muttered, biting his tongue at all the unpleasant things he could have said. Much as he disliked this beanpole of a man, whose very voice reminded him of dusty schoolbooks he’d spent his education avoiding, this predicament was not entirely his fault. “Ring the bell, and let’s get this over with.”
Mr. Pratt sniffed again, but did as he was bid, and the butler immediately opened the door, welcoming the pair into the house with a jocund smile that made Sebastian feel somewhat queasy. Nothing else about the place eased that initial feeling; the décor could only be described as fussy , and as Mrs. Bennett descended on him doused in headache-inducing perfume, he had an early sense of how the visit would go.
“Your Grace,” she said, sinking into a deep curtsy. “Please, do come this way.” She led the way to the drawing room—also decorated with an inordinate number of frills—and waved a hand at the three young ladies gathered there. “These are my three darling daughters. Miss Isabel, Annabel and Mirabel Bennett.”
All three curtsied. They were, at first glance, not displeasing to the eye, but there was also nothing particularly taking about them. Certainly, he’d had far prettier girls vying for his attention before now.
“Oh, Your Grace,” the eldest said in a nasal voice that grated across his ears. Isabel, he presumed. Any thoughts of her attractiveness went out of his head immediately. “It’s such an honor to welcome you to our household. We do hope you’ll enjoy your time here. My, how handsome you are.” She giggled, whipping out a fan with more aggression than grace, and fanning herself.
“Izzy!” the darker-haired sister beside her said sharply. “Lawks, you cannot tell a gentleman to his face that he is handsome.”
“I hardly see why not, Anna, when it is perfectly true.”
The youngest gave him a toothy smile. Of the three, she seemed the least offensive, but even for London, she seemed a trifle young. Barely out of the schoolroom. “Your Grace,” she lilted, and perhaps he was imagining the youthful lisp, but the sound of it made him perilously close to running from the room. “Please excuse my sisters.”
“Youthful exuberance, I assure you,” Mrs. Bennett laughed nervously, casting the girls a look of such fierce rebuke that all three stilled. The eldest flushed like a tomato.
The fire, lit despite the fact it was May and far too hot for such things, began to smoke.
Heavens. He could not endure this a moment longer.
“This… is Mr. Pratt,” he said slowly, gesturing at his solicitor who loomed over them all like a giant spider. “Allow him to keep you company for a few moments, ladies. I require the washroom.” He glanced at a footman who detached himself from the wall with surprising alacrity.
“Of course, Your Grace. This way.”
Patting Pratt on the shoulder with a grim smile, Sebastian left him to deal with the girls’ crass behavior and ill-timed flirtatiousness. To think that his father wished him to shackle himself to one of those girls. Could this have been a punishment from beyond the grave?
No. At the time of his death, his father had not known what kind of man Sebastian had become. His father could have not known enough to be disappointed.
After spending a moment too long in washing his face in the small washroom, as if an extra splash of water might rinse away his predicament— it did not —he raked a hand through his damp hair and stepped back into the corridor, setting his course for the drawing room.
He never made it.
A blur of movement shot past him—no, into him—knocking against his shoulder with enough force to send him stumbling back. Instinct overrode surprise. His hands found purchase, gripping slim shoulders, steadying the wayward figure before him.
Dark curls framed a face—soft, heart-shaped, with a chin lifted in defiance or determination. The dim light obscured details, but it hardly mattered. His gaze caught on the blue-gray eyes, wide with something between surprise and terror. Then his attention dipped to her mouth.
Soft lips. He knew the shape of them.
After all, he’d had them pressed against his, not all that long ago.
She stared up at him, dawning horror in her face as she, too, came to the same conclusion. In a quick, nervous movement, she clamped a hand against her mouth and stepped back, angling her body from his as though attempting to hide something from him. Perhaps her entire identity.
“So, little shepherdess,” he smirked wolfishly, releasing her shoulders. “We meet again.”
That full mouth of hers fell open with a pop . “Y-your Grace?”
“The very same. But the question is… who are you?”
“I—” She glanced in the direction of the drawing room. “What are you doing here?”
“In this house?” He raised a brow. “Were you not informed of my call?”
“Yes, I—” She flushed and looked away again. She appeared different here, with her face fully revealed. Shyer. The freckles across her nose and cheeks made her appear younger than he suspected she was. “I had expected you to be in the drawing room,” she finished stiffly.
“Ah. As it happens, I was just returning.” He nodded to the door, which was now opening. Mrs. Bennett appeared in the doorway, her face pinched and sour. Once, perhaps, she might have been pretty, but that had long gone now. “Mrs. Bennett!” he said with a pleasant grin. “I’ve just had the fortune of encountering your fourth daughter.”
Mrs. Bennett gave a false smile. “You are mistaken, Your Grace. She is the daughter of my late husband, Miss Eleanor Bennett.”
Miss Eleanor Bennett curtsied, her head bowed low. He wondered briefly if she was worried he would reveal all about their kiss, and he smirked. If she thought he was in the habit of revealing his rendezvous, she was very much mistaken. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
“I believe Miss Eleanor is feeling a little under the weather,” Mrs. Bennett said. “Is that not right, Eleanor?”
“I—” the girl stuttered.
Sebastian looked at her again, the way her hands were clasped in front of her, and the way her shoulders hunched. “ Miss Eleanor …” he mused. The name didn’t sound familiar to him, and he thought he knew all the notable young ladies of the ton . “Are you often ill, Miss Bennett? I don’t recall seeing you before.”
She sent him a speaking, blushing glance before looking at her feet once more. “No, Your Grace,” she mumbled.
“Come back inside, Your Grace.” Mrs. Bennett beckoned to the drawing room. “Isabel—my oldest, if you recall—would so like to play something for you on the pianoforte. She is thought to be a rare talent.”
Isabel simpered, and Sebastian knew for certain that a life with this woman would be intolerable. She would constantly be vying for his attention, and she would no doubt irritate him until he provided it.
Unless…
He glanced again at Miss Eleanor, who appeared to be trying to merge with the wallpaper.
An invisible lady.
One who appeared entirely uncomfortable with any attention, and who had escaped a ballroom so she might be alone instead of dancing.
If he had to marry, he would prefer his wife to be someone silent and docile, who would allow him to live his separate life with little interference.
Following Mrs. Bennett’s directions for now, he stepped back inside the drawing room, taking a seat and enduring the mediocre performance offered to him. Miss Eleanor Bennett made no other appearance, and he wondered at that, too. Why she had not been involved, and why she had not been invited to join them even after their introduction.
All the more intriguing.
“Well, Your Grace?” Mrs. Bennett said as her three daughters preened behind her. “Have you made up your mind which of my three daughters you wish to marry?”
Sebastian didn’t so much as blink at the veiled suggestion behind her words, and the less-than-subtle emphasis she placed on three . “You flatter me,” he said, giving her a winning smile. “I hardly know how I could make a choice such as this so soon. Would you be amenable to a promenade tomorrow so I might better acquaint myself with the Bennett girls?” He paused, letting his words settle before adding, “All four of them.”
Irritation flitted across Mrs. Bennett’s face before she replaced the expression with another smile, this one a good deal faker than the last. “Why, of course, Your Grace. Though I don’t see the need for Eleanor to be there. You saw the poor girl yourself. She hardly has any social skills to speak of, and we are not expecting that you will favor her with your hand in marriage when she would be so unsuitable as a wife.”
How ironic that you consider your unfavorable brats as better prospects , he thought grimly, and rose to leave. “I insist . It would hardly be fair of me to exclude any one of the Bennett girls when my father asked me to select a bride from amongst them.” He inclined his head. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Mrs. Bennett dropped into a curtsy. “Until tomorrow, Your Grace.”
Sebastian knew how to make himself agreeable—in fact, it was one of the things he had spent the past decade doing—and as he promenaded through Hyde Park with a Bennett girl on either side of him, he went out of his way to charm them.
Each, particularly the two eldest, proved themselves delighted with his attentions, talking over one another in an attempt to secure his praises. The third sister walked beside the second—he could not, for the life of him, remember their names, though it hardly mattered—and Miss Eleanor Bennett followed a few paces behind. That was the position her stepmother had commanded she take, and she hadn’t demurred even for a moment.
Although he outwardly appeared to be flirting heartily with the elder Miss Bennetts, he had his attention fixed on the oldest. Just as he had suspected at the house, she appeared shy, not venturing forth so much as a word, and accepting the muttered criticisms of her stepmother with an air of resignation.
Fascinating.
It was precisely what he had been looking for: a lady who would bow to his every command. One who would inevitably fold and agree to end a marriage between them. Not one of these social climbers by his elbow, seeking to be the wife of a Duke, irrespective of whether they felt desired or accepted.
“What do you think, Your Grace?” Annabel asked, fluttering her eyelashes and glancing up at him with such a cloying expression of adoration that he briefly contemplated throwing himself into the Serpentine to see whether she might show a hint of any true emotion.
“I think whatever you think must be right,” he instead smiled, and she giggled, accepting his compliment at face value without considering that he had not been listening to a word she had been saying for the past five minutes.
“I don’t know why His Grace required you to be here, but you are not to speak with him unless spoken to,” Mrs. Bennett scolded Miss Eleanor under her breath. “And do not so much as look at him unless absolutely necessary. You must do nothing to put him off marrying one of your half-sisters.”
“Yes, Stepmother.”
“And stop fidgeting. For heaven’s sake, girl, did no one ever teach you any manners?”
Given he’d had his solicitor give her the family’s history, Sebastian knew for a fact that if anyone had been responsible for teaching the girl manners, it would have been the current Mrs. Bennett, who had married Mr. Bennett when Miss Eleanor was just two years of age.
The girl, however, did not mention this fact, and remained mute.
She truly was perfect for his grand plan. So effortlessly cowed, she would be easy to intimidate, and very little trouble. After all, he had more than enough experience in pushing people away. His bride would not be the first; nor would she be the last.
“I believe we’ve promenaded enough for one afternoon,” he said, guiding the two sisters on his arm in a circle, back toward his waiting carriage.
Mrs. Bennett hurried forward, leaving Miss Eleanor behind to follow at a more measured pace. “Have you decided, Your Grace?”
He smiled to himself. It was often said that he delighted in causing mischief and mayhem. Perhaps that was not always true, but today it most certainly was. “I have indeed,” he said. “But I wish to declare myself properly, and not in public, if you please.”
Mrs. Bennett flushed with pleasure, exchanging a speaking look with her eldest daughter. “Of course. Let us hurry and return. Come, Eleanor. Don’t hold us up.”
Sebastian kept up his flow of easy conversation, made harder because of his companions, until they finally reached the Bennetts’ household. Once in the drawing room, he removed his hat and gave them all a benevolent smile.
Now to set the cat among the pigeons.
“As you know,” he began, “my father asked me to find a bride from amongst Mr. Bennett’s daughters, and after some consideration, I believe I know whom it is I would like to marry.” He glanced across their faces until he found Miss Eleanor attempting to sneak from the room. “Miss Eleanor Bennett, there you are. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”