The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide

Chapter Nine

The sensible gentleman does not select his bride with haste. Take your time, compare the lady with many others, and the superior attributes of the most suitable candidate will quickly make themselves apparent...

B ennett stared up at the stars and sighed. This was not how he had expected things to be. For over a year he had stalwartly taken his father’s advice and done his best to find himself the perfect wife—and he was apparently no closer to finding her than he had been at the start. Only then he had been hopeful. He had followed every sensible edict to the letter, so keen to honour the memory of his father by marrying a woman whom he would have chosen to be his daughter-in-law, yet now it was his own lack of enthusiasm that appeared likely to sabotage all of that hard work. A lack of enthusiasm for the seemingly perfect women he had found and, if he was completely honest with himself, a selfish refusal to settle for something that did not feel intrinsically right for him. Priscilla, Cecily and the other Potentials met every one of his father’s criteria—but he did not feel a single drop of passion for any one of them. If he never saw any of them ever again, he doubted he would even notice their absence. Surely that was not right?

Yet Miss Mansfield, with her sharp tongue and common connections, already occupied his thoughts far more than those other women had collectively managed in over a year. She also reminded him that he was just a man. So often nowadays he was so busy trying to be the perfect politician that he had forgotten that he was a man first and, as such, prone to the basic urges that all of God’s creatures had in common. The most obvious manifestation of this realisation was lust. He experienced it every single time he saw her and almost every time he thought of her. Which, he conceded, was rather a lot. Bennett could not recall any other woman who ever had that effect on him. But lust was only part of his problem.

For some inexplicable reason, the arrival of Miss Mansfield in his life made him feel somehow dissatisfied with it. He felt lonely. An odd emotion that he had never, ever considered before, yet he recognised it for what it was. It was so overpowering that it threatened to swamp him. Worse, Bennett had realised that he had been achingly lonely for years. Suddenly, he desperately wished that he had somebody to share his life with—not just an adjunct that he called his wife. The future Duchess of Aveley had to be more than that. He wanted someone whom he could share the daily trials and tribulations with, someone to laugh with and argue with. Wake up with. Talk to. He could not imagine that person ever being one of the women he had thus far considered as his potential bride.

It might well have been foolhardy and ill-considered, but the thing he had enjoyed most about the ride home with his aunt’s companion had been the enforced intimacy. If he ignored the surge of desire he had experienced, the conversation had been a revelation. Already he knew that Miss Mansfield had a keen sense of right and wrong, had made the best of her life after the tragic death of her mother and was fiercely independent. The woman had strong opinions and was not afraid to voice them. It was so refreshing not to be agreed with all of the time. Miss Mansfield certainly made no attempts to court his good opinion and he quite admired her for that too. He found sparring with her hugely entertaining—which meant that already she was far more intriguing and interesting than any of the Potentials. Totally unsuitable, of course, because there were just too many things about Miss Mansfield that clashed with everything he fundamentally needed his future wife to be. But definitely intriguing.

However, his reaction to her had provided him with food for thought. His perfect wife needed attributes he had not previously considered and his father had not foreseen. Her own opinions, within reason, some sort of uniquely defining aspect of personality that set her apart from all other women and a fondness for sarcasm. And he wanted to desire her. That attribute now had to be top of his list because his hunger for Miss Mansfield would not go away unless he could find another woman that he wanted in his bed as much as he did her.

Which left him, frustratingly, right back where he’d started and no closer to finding a suitable wife now than he was when he had foolishly written that blasted book. Miss Mansfield had even managed to sully his father’s sensible advice. From the moment he had been born, Bennett had relied on those knowledgeable words to steer him. Once she had pointed out that single contradiction, he had found more. The book was most descriptive on the importance of manners, good breeding and the role of a dutiful wife but made no mention of qualities that he now personally wished for in his marriage. Like mutual interests, a shared sense of humour and desire. If he did not find any of the Potentials even remotely interesting, what would they spend a lifetime talking about? Or would they coexist under the same roof in polite indifference? In which case, was he doomed to feel lonely for ever? Surely a marriage should be more than that? Surely his parents’ marriage had been more than that?

But his father had always stated that emotions were a woman’s indulgence and that Bennett should not waste any time on them. But, no matter how hard he had tried to suppress that aspect of his character, to his eternal shame he experienced them nevertheless.

He always had.

Unlike his father, Bennett had always felt things keenly. Anger, injustice, compassion, frustration, happiness, lust and now loneliness. Feelings that bubbled under the surface despite his very best efforts not to acknowledge them. At times the effort of holding them back was almost too much and Bennett feared that, like a volcano, those silly emotions might one day all erupt simultaneously, leaving him looking foolish, completely exposed and vulnerable. What would his pragmatic, sensible father have made of that? He would have been horrified. Ashamed. Disappointed. And his legacy would crumble like dust.

Yet the more he considered it all, how exactly were those feelings wrong? They were basic, essential human emotions that shaped the character of the nation. Life would be dull and bland indeed if everybody ruthlessly masked them and did everything quietly and politely. In which case, his father had either neglected to tell his son how to best deal with his own emotional responses—or, worse, might not have considered that such things were, in fact, very important. Surely a good politician, a good servant of the people, should feel deeply about things that mattered—or else why bother?

And if his father’s advice was not entirely trustworthy, what else had the man got wrong? Had he sent Bennett down the wrong path? All of these doubts and questions about his own personality and fundamental beliefs left him feeling guilty. What sort of a son was he to question a man so respected by his peers that his words were still quoted by the great and the good in Parliament almost fifteen years after his death?

Not a worthy one.

Frustrated, he sat heavily on a bench; the marble was freezing and instantly chilled him. Bennett welcomed the uncomfortable sensation. At least it gave him something physical to take his mind off his emotional turmoil. A refreshing chill might be just what he needed to help clear his mind.

* * *

Amelia reached the end of the ornamental garden and decided that she was being ridiculous. Not only was it freezing, but she was delaying the practical. The quicker she found Lady Worsted, the quicker she could escape this ball and ensure that she continued to avoid her father and the misery that thinking about him created. Meeting him again would serve no purpose. It was too late for revenge—not that she would not wish to see the man suffer, but because it would not change the past. And it was in the past.

Her father was consigned to her past; he had no part in her future. Amelia had a new life, one she had built for herself and that she enjoyed. So what if she had missed out on balls and finery? She had filled that gap with education and good deeds. Her life was filled with purpose, unlike her mother’s had been. Her mother had gone to the grave hoping that her husband would want her back. Amelia would never allow herself to appear pathetically desperate for a man’s affection or be a victim of his scorn.

If she had been sensible, she should have realised that there was bound to be the possibility of colliding with the Viscount now that she was mixing with the ton again. Her father rarely left London and he did like to socialise. The prospect had not really occurred to her because Amelia had seen the hateful man only a handful of times since her twelfth birthday, and had not actually set eyes on him in four years. Or heard from him. Even after her mother had died in the workhouse, he had not made any attempt to check on his daughter. As far as he knew, she might also be dead and buried in that sorry excuse for a graveyard in Seven Dials. He probably wished that she was. All of those nasty loose ends from his regrettable marriage to an unsuitable woman would be neatly tied up. All chance of scandal and gossip would be gone. The fact that she had thwarted him in something cheered her.

Amelia wound her way around some ruthlessly clipped bushes and stopped dead. Sitting on a bench on the path back to the house was the Duke. After a moment of dithering, she darted back behind the cover of the shrubbery. She could hardly go breezing past him as if it were perfectly normal to go strolling around a strange garden wrapped in a blanket. He would want to know why she was out here and Amelia had no desire to tell him another lie.

Except there was something about his posture that bothered her. Those gloriously broad shoulders were definitely slumped and he had a faraway look on his handsome face that appeared, from this distance, to be sad. Much as she wanted to avoid him, his lost expression called to the Good Samaritan inside her. She had always hated seeing anyone upset; it was in her nature to try to make things better. He had come to her aid in Piccadilly; her conscience reminded her that it was only right that she returned the kindness.

‘I see that you are hiding too.’

Her voice startled him and his head snapped up sharply.

‘I was merely taking some air. The ballroom is unnecessarily stuffy.’ He appeared to be embarrassed to have been caught and stood up. His military posture returned instantly. Those impressive shoulders were pulled back and he clasped his hands stiffly behind his back. The man was so wooden and formal sometimes that it made him quite difficult to talk to. Had she not seen another side of him in Piccadilly, she might have simply bid him a good evening and continued towards the house. But she now knew him to be occasionally kind and quite thoughtful underneath all of that stiffness, and she had definitely just caught him hiding. She would persevere and extend the hand of friendship, and in doing so would avoid going back into that awful ballroom just a little while longer.

‘Well, I am hiding. I feel a little out of my depth in that grand ballroom.’

That admission appeared to confuse him. Amelia could tell that his human side felt compelled to sympathise, while the duke in him wanted to ignore it. He was still standing ramrod-straight, but his feet shifted from side to side indecisively while the two halves of his personality went to war. After a few moments the human won.

‘I needed to get some air.’ He unclasped his hands and exhaled deeply, then stared out into the darkness. ‘It seemed to me that you were enjoying yourself. Especially when you were waltzing with Uncle George.’

‘It was very kind of him to dance with me. But I do not belong in a ballroom and I am certain everybody in there knows that. Companions are not meant to dance.’ Perhaps telling him that would spare her from attending any other grand social functions while she remained in London, thereby eliminating any possible chance of colliding with her father.

‘You hid your discomfort well. I never would have guessed you felt out of place.’ His eyes turned to hers briefly before fixing back on whatever it was he was looking at so intently in the distance. Clearly, basic conversation was not something he felt particularly comfortable with, but perhaps it was simply that he was uncomfortable to be conversing with someone so socially inferior. Companions were not meant to befriend dukes—that he might also think so rankled.

‘Would it be impertinent for a mere companion to ask an illustrious duke why he has also escaped to the garden, or should we continue to pretend that it was the stuffiness that brought you so far from the house?’ Amelia stared at his profile and watched the ghost of a smile curve his lips at her bold question.

‘You are impertinent, Miss Mansfield, but I suspect you do not care that I might think that. If you want to know the truth, I find occasions like this tiresome.’

‘I would have thought you would find some entertainment in them. Surely you must call some of those people friends? You spend a great deal of time standing on your own.’

He was silent for such a long time that Amelia was certain that he had decided their brief conversation was at an end and that he was waiting for her to realise it and move along. But he surprised her.

‘I am afraid that it is no longer that simple, Miss Mansfield, and I find myself in an unusual predicament. It is common knowledge that I am part of the government, and thus almost everyone wants to ask me about some aspect of state business—I have to be very careful how I answer them. My discretion is essential, but I would rather not cause offence by telling people to mind their own business. Therefore, it is prudent to avoid extended conversation with anyone.’

He was still resolutely not looking at her and for some reason she knew that he was admitting to only part of the truth. ‘That does indeed sound tiresome. However, it must be even more tiresome to be the most eligible man in the ballroom.’ That had been obvious and quite something to witness. ‘I did notice how some of the mothers swarmed around you the very moment we arrived. Much like the young ladies did.’

He turned to her then and smiled properly, clearly amused at her observation, and Amelia realised that his real smiles were deadly. Not only did his eyes dance, he appeared boyish and charming. And so much younger than he seemed when he was all stern and pompous.

‘Is this another one of your conversational traps, Miss Mansfield? If I agree with you, I will sound conceited and you will have another reason to give me a set-down. Or should I pretend that I have no idea what you are talking about, when we are both painfully aware that your observations were correct. Either way, you will be condescending, and I am well aware of the fact that I do not deserve anyone’s pity.’

Perhaps she had been a smidgen hard on him since her arrival in his fine house, especially as he had shown her some kindness? And his smile was doing peculiar things to her; she felt a little guilty for making him feel like that. ‘I was merely making an observation about your unique situation. All of that blatant admiration, all of the time , must become cloying. I imagine that it also feels quite disingenuous. They have come to be seen to socialise with a duke—not you personally.’ Amelia was starting to believe that the Duke and Bennett Montague were sometimes very different people, and for some reason that realisation worried her.

He watched her for a long moment before he nodded reluctantly. ‘You are very astute, Miss Mansfield. After a while I feel as if the walls are closing in on me and I have to escape. Just for a little while. And I...’ He closed his eyes and sighed, and she knew that he was feeling awkward at confessing so much.

‘And you can breathe in the garden.’

‘Exactly.’ His eyes drifted upwards to contemplate the night sky. Despite the cold, it was perfectly clear and he seemed content to lapse into silence again.

‘I do understand. I also like to look at the stars when I am not feeling myself. They remind me how insignificant I am. It puts all of my woes and worries into perspective. When I look at all of those lights in the sky and realise that they are probably millions of miles away from me, I realise that, like them, I am just one speck in the entire universe and there is probably somebody out there who has worse problems than I have.’ Amelia had never told anybody that before and she was not sure why she had just told him. It had been hard to see the stars in Seven Dials. It was too built-up, too overcrowded and too polluted to see much beyond the rooftops, but occasionally she had caught glimpses and those glimpses had always soothed her.

He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Do you have a love of astronomy?’

‘I know nothing about it really. I can identify the moon and the North Star, but I do wish that I knew more.’