Chapter Eight #2
The man was assuredly Titan, and, like it or not, Benjamin recognized the woman, as well.
He stood perfectly still and swallowed his loss before he had truly known success.
“It all makes sense now,” his mind announced.
“The reason she was outside of the Lyon’s Den the last time you encountered her was Titan.
And that is why she denied your overtures. ”
For the briefest of seconds, he thought to turn and leave without either Titan or Miss Whitchurch knowing of his presence, but he had come to the Lyon’s Den to search for clues to lead him to Duncan’s attacker, and he would not abandon his task. He could greet the woman and move on with his search.
“My thoughts are customarily more organized,” she said.
Benjamin had not heard the rest of her comment for there was a loud burst of laughter coming from the kitchen followed by an equally noisy crash of several pieces of cookware.
Nevertheless, he stepped into the opening of the pathway.
He attempted to disguise the bit of hurt closing his throat, but he doubted he was successful.
“Pardon. Theseus said I might search the area around the Den. I am still looking for clues to Lord Duncan’s shooting. Am I interrupting?”
Titan smiled and stood to bow. “You are always welcome at the Lyon’s Den, Lord Thompson.”
The lady had not risen, and then the reason for her not presenting him a curtsey became crystal clear. There was a child napping in her lap. Benjamin could not quite swallow this new reality. Did the child belong to Titan? Had he interrupted a “family” moment?
“May I present…” Titan continued without notice of how pale the lady had turned, though Benjamin had.
“Miss Whitchurch and I are already speaking acquaintances,” Benjamin had explained. His eyes never left the woman’s face, and he noted the slight flinch of her shoulders at his tone.
“I was not aware,” Titan said, but his tone, too, had changed. A large question lurked beneath the words.
Miss Whitchurch ignored Benjamin’s posturing. She said with all the authority of a duchess, “I shan’t keep either of you longer than necessary. If you could tell me, sir, if you were the one who recommended an inn to my sister, I would be much obliged to know the name of the establishment.”
The lady had ignored Benjamin completely; therefore, he looked on as Titan addressed Miss Whitchurch’s request. “If it is the same girl as I believe her to be, I sent her to The Red Rooster, near the docks along the Thames. I am not one who can permit a woman to suffer when a man of supposed quality has turned a blind eye to her suffering.”
Miss Whitchurch prepared to stand. “Thank you kindly, sir. I apologize for imposing on you.” She lifted the child and placed it in a sling to carry it close to her body, just as Benjamin had viewed other women upon his estate do often.
He had never considered how heavy a child might be when held thusly, but he again knew respect for the woman he had once desired.
The child fussed a bit, but it settled against her and quieted.
As he studied her, in Benjamin’s opinion, she did not appear to be a woman who had recently given birth to a child.
His “medical” eyes said the child was a month or so old, and Miss Whitchurch’s bust line was still too small to have given birth.
Something about this scene was not what he had initially suspected.
Titan must have observed Benjamin’s interest in the woman. He quickly said, “I am glad to be of service, miss. I will offer a prayer that your search is successful.” To Benjamin, he said, “Should I ask several of my men to assist you, my lord?”
“No, thank you. Just another of my whims. I despise when I do not tie all the strings in a knot,” Benjamin replied.
“Just as it should be, my lord,” Titan remarked as he walked away, leaving Benjamin alone with the woman who haunted his dreams.
“Are you well, Miss Whitchurch?” he asked into the awkward silence surrounding them.
“Do I not look well, my lord?” she countered as she picked up the small basket she carried and started around him.
Benjamin caught her arm and was about to present her a set-down, but when she turned, he noted how tears had formed in her eyes.
Instead, he said, “Permit me to assist you, Miss Whitchurch. Whatever it is that plagues you, I am willing to extend a hand of support, just as would my father, and as likely would your own father.”
Her bottom lip quivered, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I do not know… where to turn,” she murmured. “I am so…” She broke off as her tears claimed a path towards her chin.
“You and the child will come with me,” he said. “You are obviously near exhaustion, and I shan’t have you suffer. Should I take the child?” he asked as it began to stir and fuss.
“Just the basket,” she instructed.
He slid his arm about her waist so he might support her steps while claiming the basket from her grip. “My coach is along the street, where it was the last time we met.”
“But you had… something… for which… you searched,” she protested.
Benjamin suspected he had found for what he had been searching, but he said, “I will return again to finish my careful inspection of the Lyon’s Den’s grounds. If what I was searching for is actually here, it has been so since early March. It will remain in its hiding place until I return.”
“Thank you,” she murmured as she sagged against him.
Benjamin had tightened his hold about her.
The lady reminded him of how his mother had clung to her brother after her husband’s funeral.
Mrs. Helen Thompson had been strong until she could no longer take another step.
“I have you,” he told her, directing Miss Whitchurch along the brick path circling the right side of the building.
When they reached the street, his footman spotted them and came running to assist him.
“Take the basket,” he told Brunswick, “and go ahead to set down the steps.” With his hands free, Benjamin swept her up into his arms, taking special care not to harm the child.
His was an awkward grasp, but all he had to do was keep his balance until he reached the coach.
Somehow, he managed the coach’s steps with her still in his arms and only losing his hat, which Brunswick quickly recovered. He sat awkwardly on the bench seat. “Home, Brunswick,” he instructed, and within seconds, his coach pulled into the limited traffic in Whitehall at this time of day.
Her head rested against his shoulder. She was asleep.
“Likely completely exhausted,” his mind announced.
He looked down to the child, expecting it also to be asleep, but the babe was staring up at Benjamin with what could only be described as “curious” eyes.
The child must have approved, for it closed its eyes again.
The woman and child both slept in Benjamin’s arms, and he knew satisfaction in its truest form.
A half hour or more later, they arrived behind his house. Thankfully, his coachman had anticipated his needs. With Brunswick’s assistance, Benjamin managed to disembark with the woman still in his arms.
“The entrance to my study,” he told Brunswick, as he strode towards the double glass door, leading to the small garden at the side of the house. Brunswick scrambled ahead to open the doors for his master.
Once inside, he kept Brunswick a few steps ahead of him, opening doors and motioning people from his way as Benjamin carried her upstairs to the first guest chamber along the hall.
He laid her, with the child still strapped to her, on the bed before claiming a nearby blanket to spread over the pair. The fact she had not awakened, no matter how much he had juggled her, spoke to her complete exhaustion. He claimed a chair where he might watch over her.
“My lord?” his butler said in question.
“I do not yet know, Mr. Patterson. I will present my instructions when I do.”