Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
ONE WEEK LATER
P icking up that day’s mail from the tray in the front room, Alice carried the stack into her aunt’s drawing room and rested it on the table to sort. There was a very thick one addressed to Eliza from Baron Portman, the very same Baron Benedict had arranged for her.
“She is corresponding with him?” Alice asked herself. “I thought she was done with him.”
There was an invitation from the Valhaven estate; one Alice hesitantly opened as it was addressed to her.
“The Duke of Valhaven and the Marquess Brampton jointly invite Misses Alice and Penelope Winslow, and the Thorpe family to a ball at the ducal estate…” She read the date, a week from then, and the time, six in the evening. She dropped the card, unsure of what to make of it.
Why would Edward invite her to his home knowing how spectacularly their last conversation had imploded?
Bold of me to assume it was him inviting me. It is more for Penelope than for me, and they had to include all of us.
“Is that the mail?” Eliza stepped into the morning room without any greeting whatsoever. She snatched the letter from her fingers, then glared at Alice. “Were you trying to read my private correspondence?”
Lifting the card in her hand, Alice flatly asked, “How can I read two things at the same time, one of which is still sealed?”
“Knowing you, you would find a way,” Eliza sniffed before marching away.
“I’ll become the Queen of England before that girl marries,” Alice muttered while wrapping her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “I shouldn’t say that. At least she will marry, while the man I love has forgotten me….”
The conversation with Diana came back to her mind.
“Love is not a feeling that stays stagnant, Alice dear. Saying you love him is one thing, but love requires effort—and you must show it too.”
“But—but he is a Duke… What in heavens can I do that every other lady in his vicinity has not already tried?”
“Together, we earned the highest marks in our school,” Diana chirped with a grin. “And men are far simpler than French literature. Now, thinking caps on! Let’s think like a woman. Perhaps there is some man he envies or dislikes being around?”
“You mean being courted by someone else? It did not faze him when I was with his brother, I doubt it would happen with anyone else.”
“Hmm…” Diana looked contemplative. “The only thing that comes to mind is Scheherazade—amusing and entrapping him with a riveting tale that lasts a thousand and one nights.”
This time, Alice did eke out a smile. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, how about something a lot less… fantastical? Besides, as I said, I need to know how to move on, not try and seduce him. He made it abundantly clear that marriage and love are not what he is willing to give, and I will not settle for any less.
“He’s…” Alice let out a breath, “…not a man that changes his mind when it is made up.”
“He is a stubborn one, then.”
“He is at that, and I do not subscribe to the belief that you can out-stubborn a mulish man,” Alice said, resigned. “I think I have to let him go.”
Gazing at the card in her hand, she whispered, “This shall be the final farewell.”
Studying the note just delivered from Benedict’s footmen, she went to Penelope’s room and knocked. “Elly? Are you awake?”
“Yes,” her sister sounded languid. “You can come in.”
Stepping into the room, Alice found her sister still in bed, looking worse for wear, and a thick stream of compassion wound its way through Alice’s heart. “Are you not feeling well this morning?”
“I am fine,” Penelope exhaled while she made to sit up. “I did not sleep much last night, that’s why I must look a fright.”
Perching on the edge of her bed, Alice asked, “Why were you up?”
Absently plucking the sheets on her lap, Penelope admitted, “I worry, Alice, and stitching does not help. I am fearful Aunt will find out, I am afraid of being shunned, I am terrified of being shipped off to a convent to have the child and be imprisoned. I am afraid, Alice. There is this tight ball of fear resting just beneath my breastbone, and it doesn’t ever go away.”
“I know you are afraid,” Alice soothed. “But I need you to trust me for a little while longer. We need to get dressed. Here, let me help you.” She stretched out her hand.
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” Alice replied. “It’s a surprise.”
All through washing and getting dressed, Alice could feel that Penelope had questions, but she would not answer them. Penelope chose a yellow-striped frock that clung sweetly to her bosom and swirled around her petite frame.
“Will you tell me now?” Penelope asked while fixing her hair.
“No,” Alice pulled a white pin from a drawer and slid it into her sister’s locks. “Now, come with me. Aunt, Uncle, and Eliza are all out today, which is good because I do not want to deal with the fuss.”
“In here,” Alice opened the door to the scantily used solarium and pushed the door in.
Benedict spun away from the window and the bouquet of roses in his hand drew her eye; the mix of white and red roses was utterly beautiful. His silk cravat was a study in perfection while his forest green waistcoat, which had a subtle paisley design, looked like the bush the roses were plucked from.
Confused, Penelope glanced at Alice, then back to Benedict. “What’s—what is this, my lord? Alice, you did not tell me the two of you were court—”
Swiftly, Benedict pushed the flowers against her chest. “I realize this might come as a shock, but I am here to ask for the honor of courting you.”
Penelope’s lips slipped open, then closed, then opened again. “M-my lord… I—I have no words. Aren’t you… isn’t this a bit—”
“Scandalous?” Benedict’s lips twitched. “It is, but scandals come and go. If you are concerned about myself and Miss Alice, you needn’t worry. There is no bad blood between us, and she has encouraged my proposal behind the scenes.”
“He is right, Elly,” Alice told her. “I have no ill will here. I want you to imagine that I was never even involved, because, for a truth, it never truly was. Go on, Penelope, you deserve to be happy.”
Facing Benedict, she reached for the bouquet but paused an inch from taking them. “My lord, I think you should know that…”
“The situation with Rutledge?” Benedict whispered discreetly. “I was informed of the after-effects and I simply do not care. Because I have a plan for that too.”
“You do?” Penelope’s voice was also a mere whisper now. “I—I cannot ask that of you, my lord.”
He cupped her chin and smoothed a thumb over her cheekbone, “That’s the thing; you are not asking. I only request that you trust me.”
A fragile smile curved Penelope’s lips, “I do. But I fear I may need some tea to digest this news with as well.”
“Good,” Benedict all but beamed. “We are off to Almacks. May I compliment your gown? You look as fresh and vital as spring itself.”
It was dusk when they returned to the townhome, and she spotted their aunt’s carriage turning the corner; it told her that her family had just returned.
“I think this is the best time to speak with my uncle, my lord,” Alice told him. “It might save you the time of returning.”
Drawing the window curtain aside a touch, Benedict looked out and nodded. “I… I reckon so.” He huffed in nervousness, “I never did have the confidence of my brother,” he finished with a small smile.
When the vehicle canted to the carriage gate, he descended first and assisted Alice and Penelope in alighting, and Alice clutched onto her leghorn hat as a swift breeze nearly overtook it. She cast a long look at the sky, fearing it would start raining soon, before hurrying inside.
Aunt Agatha was halfway up the stairs with Eliza a step behind her but stopped short at the commotion and turned to face the three.
“Alice—oh, my lord. I did not know you would be coming around. Shall we put some tea on and have some cake?”
“No thank you, Aunt,” she replied while gently holding the invitation Benedict had just given her. “We had enough of both at Almacks.”
Fanning her words away, Aunt Agatha tutted, “Don’t be rude now, Alice, or speak out of turn. Please, your lordship?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Thorpe, though I do appreciate your hospitality,” Benedict replied, charming as ever, before angling his head to Penelope. “I must take my leave. I do hope the two of you enjoyed the evening.”
“Without question,” Penelope smiled, her cheeks flushed. “And thank you for having us, my lord.”
A strange sound came from his throat, “For yourself and in private, I would much prefer Benedict . ‘My lord’ is too… stuffed-shirt for me.”
At that, a sharp scoff emanated from the stairwell. “And why would you encourage such misbehavior, my lord?” Eliza asked snidely.
“Not to Penelope,” he said, kindly. “We are courting, and I have an invitation to extend to you all.”