Chapter 2
Chapter Two
On Matchmaking.
Benjamin Alexander Wentworth, the seventh Earl of Highbury, sat fiddling with his pancakes, pushing them about his plate.
It was perfectly inconceivable how lonely a busy household could feel.
It had been years since their breakfast table was so well laden, and now Claire hadn’t two seconds to spare to stop and fill her belly.
She woke in a tizzy, ran about like a maelstrom, and so much as Ben loved how happy Claire was, he was beginning to dread the indubitable fact that she would very soon be departing London.
If, indeed, he thought the house felt lonely now, he knew it would feel lonelier then, though at least their fortunes were much improved.
Months ago, mired in the gaming hells, he might not have imagined things going so well.
Now, his house was in order, his sister was marrying royalty, and, no thanks to his own poor choices, his debts were fully paid.
Not since his youth had he had so much hope for their futures, and, for the first time since their father’s untimely death, he wasn’t at all concerned over Claire’s future or welfare.
Moreover, it would be a cold day in hell before he endangered their prosperity again.
And nevertheless, despite the rosy color of their futures, there was a certain melancholy plaguing him of late—nothing he could put a finger to, not precisely, though it was there just the same.
Something was missing; what it was, he daren’t say.
On the surface, there could be nothing at all to inform his mood. He was, in truth, the man of his own household now. The future was his alone to shape.
Pancakes. Juice. Bacon. Biscuits…
What could he possibly find to complain about?
For Chrissakes, his future brother by law was a finer man than any man he could have ever hoped for. And to boot, Ben had made himself a new associate besides. Wes Cameron was an interesting bloke, with stories enough to entertain him for a lifetime, so then… why did he feel so… utterly…
Bored?
Glum?
Restless?
Perhaps it wasn’t possible to endure what he’d endured and come out of the ordeal unscathed.
But there it was, he supposed. He wasn’t the same bloke he was this time last year, and no matter that he was pleased enough for Claire, he could not abide the glitter and gold—nor the influx of servants, or the eternal and cloying scent of flowers wafting in and out from every corner of the house.
Highbury’s halls were brightly lit, with Chocolate Limes, Brandy Balls, Clove Rocks and Wine Gums filling nearly every porcelain dish on every table in every common room, and there was enough sweetness and light to curdle the buttermilk cakes settling in his belly.
Bloody Norah!
A servant brought in a bit of rich plum pudding to set it on the buffet—not so much a breakfast choice, but since it was made weeks ago, and they would be gone for Christmas, it must be eaten.
He detected the tangy scent of citron, orange and lemon peel, and it triggered a memory he preferred not to remember.
Frowning, he pushed back his chair, rising up from the table, his appetite effectively quashed.
He no longer had any stomach for extravagances—and perhaps this, too, was natural, considering that he spent so many weeks in debtor’s prison, wallowing like a pig in his own filth.
After worrying so long about keeping his neck out of a gibbet, or whether he’d ever again feel the warmth of the sun on his shoulders, he couldn’t care one whit about bon bons, or company, or idle chatter—though he did enjoy the scent of pine drifting through the air.
Christmas.
Bah, humbug!
It gave him visions, though not of sugar plums, but of fresh country air, and made him long for simpler days when he and his sister had spent holidays in Shropshire.
Unfortunately, Ben could no longer think of that particular estate, without thinking of the man who’d tried so hard—and very nearly succeeded—in destroying everything he ever held dear.
And Lexie… sweet though she might be, she was only a bitter reminder of her father’s treachery.
It wasn’t Alexandra he missed, he told himself.
And neither was Lexie the sort of lady he enjoyed—not any longer.
While he’d once found her whimsy endearing, she was too done up.
Already, his sister had made several intimations that he should call upon her, but no, indeed.
There was no way in damnation he would saddle himself with an empty-headed miss, who cared more about ballgowns than she did her own best friend.
It had been months now since Claire had been wrenched from the clutches of that fiend, and Alexandra had yet to so much as inquire.
No, the Huntingtons could rot in hell for all he cared—that included Alexandra.
Sighing wearily, he made his way back up the stairs, passing a seamstress as she rushed down, avoiding his gaze.
Today, his sister was being fitted for her royal wedding gown.
Her fiancé was due to arrive soon, and minute by minute the house was filling to the rafters.
Thanks to bloody hell, the servants had all returned, or the management of this estate would drive him to distraction.
And moreover, they would be leaving later for a nice, quiet retreat in Surrey before the insanity of the wedding celebration.
That thought put a new skip in his step as he ascended the stairs, but the joy didn’t quite soften his glower.
“Good day,” said another woman as he passed.
“G’day,” said Ben, scarcely aware that it sounded more like a growl, and the young woman hurried by, flying fast for the door.
* * *
Fresh from an appointment with his father and associates, Ian discovered Claire seated in the dining room, wolfing down a bite of breakfast.
“There you are,” he said, and her answering smile brightened the room more efficiently than did her chandelier filled with a hundred twinkling candles. She never failed to steal his breath away.
“Oh, yes! Here I am,” she declared happily as he came to sit beside her, pecking her gently upon the lips, but not so briefly that he didn’t glean the taste of bacon upon her lips.
He smiled then, for who didn’t love the taste of bacon, and particularly when served upon lips that were so delectably sweet.
“How is your father?” she asked.
“Off again to Glen Abbey, I suppose.”
“Oh?” She tilted him a curious look. “Did Fiona invite him for the holidays?”
“No,” said Ian, mulling it over. “I don’t believe she did. Rather, I believe he has taken it upon himself to make certain a certain constable has no opportunity to come between them.”
Claire laughed, the sound entirely musical, warming Ian’s heart and stirring the greedy beast living in his trousers. After their glorious lovemaking, before their engagement became official, the abstinence was murdering him.
“It’s amazing what motivation jealousy holds.”
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “Though I hope ’tis more than jealousy that drives him. Rather, I hope my father comports himself as he should, because my mother will have none of his shenanigans any longer.”
“I dare say.”
Ian took the seat right beside his lovely bride, preferring it to the one across the table. It wasn’t entirely polite to sit directly beside her, but he’d rather sniff the lavender infusion in her tresses than smell eggs and bacon any day of the year.
“And Merrick?”
“He and Chloe are already there. My brother didn’t wish to travel so near to the babe’s birthing.”
“First of January?”
“Thereabouts.”
“And the house has been prepared?”
A special bed had to be installed in the couple’s private quarters. Additionally, there was to be a midwife in residence—a sister to one of the kitchen maids.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Thankfully, Victoria has also made arrangements for an attending physician. But since Chloe’s not due until the New Year, he won’t be in residence—not precisely, though he’ll be just a stone’s throw away.”
Most people preferred to travel to London for deliveries, but since there were no better doctors anywhere than at Hampton Court Palace, this was yet another reason the Duchess had facilitated the use of her late husband’s former estate.
As it so happened, Glen Abbey’s only doctor also happened to be the lady presently in expecting.
“It will be easier after the child arrives not to have to travel so far for the wedding,” suggested Ian.
Naturally, though Prince Merrick had repudiated the crown, he was still expected to be present for the nuptials and coronation. His presence would go far to reassure the people of Meridian that his wishes were being met. After all, it wasn’t as though his father disowned him.
“It’s such a complicated matter.”
“Indeed,” said Ian. “But then again, even had they wished to remain in Scotland, that wasn’t an option—damn Edward to hell.”
“Well,” said Claire, wincing. “I do believe that poor man may be accommodating your wishes.”