Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Benedict slept fitfully and rose early—unwilling to allow his fruitless musings to continue. He arrived at the flower shop before the proprietor and followed the man inside.
“Fight with the missus?” he asked with a cheeky grin.
“Ah, no. I’m… courting a young lady.” The word tasted foreign. He’d never considered that aspect of his plan. Benedict had been intimate with more women than he’d have liked, but he had never courted one. Was that the difference he now sensed with Eliza?
Surely that was it. Courting was meant to encourage affection, after all.
The peace, the ease he felt when his arm brushed against her rib cage the day before—the way those feelings twisted incongruously with the strange fluttering in his chest. Paired with a summer illness, brought on by too many flowers.
Those were the causes for such discomfiting sensations.
“Ah, I see. And what sentiment do you wish to express to the young lady?”
“I’ve recently learned she has a preference for violets, so might we start there?”
“A lovely choice,” he said, turning behind him to the many buckets that lined the wall, each filled with a different bloom. He located the violets and turned around with a few stems. “Innocence, faithfulness, loyalty, and, of course, everlasting love. Are those the feelings you’d like to express?”
Benedict’s chest tightened at the words, though which specific word was causing the sweat to collect beneath his cravat was impossible to determine.
“They’re her favorites,” he repeated, clearing his throat. “What else might you suggest?”
“Tell me about her.”
“She has dark hair, a little wild, but she tames it well. And her eyes are golden brown—”
“Tell me about her.”
“I was—”
“No, you were telling me of her appearance. Tell me of her essence.”
Benedict pinched his brow, wondering if it might be more efficient to patronize another florist, before deciding to humor the man.
“She is quick of wit. I often bite my tongue to keep from laughing in her presence, usually at my expense. Her intelligence— She tries to hide it but cannot help herself and it slips out. She was overlooked, and I am fortunate she wasn’t snatched up before I found her. Is that—”
“It’ll do,” the man said. He pondered the wall for a moment before spinning around to Benedict. He held a white flower, a stem dotted with other white blooms, and some greenery.
“Camellia,” he said, lifting the large white bloom. “For admiration. Honeysuckle for the bond you are forming. And ivy—a steadfast attachment.” With every new addition, Benedict’s discomfort grew. He bit it back.
“I’d like it delivered to this address,” Benedict said as he reached for the pen and parchment atop the counter. “Please include a note requesting the first two sets at the ball.”
“No,” the man said, still fussing with the bouquet as he wrapped the vine between blossoms.
“I beg your pardon?”
“First and last set. To begin the evening basking in her presence and to carry the memory of her off to sleep.”
Benedict’s desire to protest gave way to recognition that the man was entirely correct.
“Fine.”
“Very good, sir.”
Benedict spent the next few hours in the boxing saloon. The following morning also saw him there, until he had to dress.
Repeatedly, Benedict assured himself that Eliza had received the bouquet with delight. Still, he could not help but ruminate on how she received his message and if she would agree to the sets.
It was truly absurd. Never had Benedict worried over his reception with a woman—let alone for something so frivolous as dance.
He shook off the self-doubt as he fussed with his cravat in the large, cracked mirror.
“You look very handsome,” Bella said as she stepped into the room. She brushed her hands along his shoulders, whisking away imaginary fluff. “You have been busy.”
“I have a match in two days. Have you forgotten?”
“No, of course not. Were you training with West?”
“Not today, no,” he said, unwilling to reveal his argument.
Bella and West got on like oil and water, and the litany of complaints she would set at his friend’s feet were unlikely to improve his mood.
He turned toward her. “What do you think?”
She looked him up and down. “I suppose you’ll do.”
“Is Mrs. Frances acting as chaperone this evening? Or am I?” he asked, referring to the widow Bella occasionally employed. The woman was all too willing to accompany Bella, providing the appearance of propriety while also allowing Bella the freedom she desired.
Benedict knew he ought to care more for his sister’s reputation.
But she’d never expressed a desire for marriage; quite the opposite.
She claimed to be on the shelf. The shelf and whether ladies were on it wasn’t something Benedict concerned himself with either.
Regardless, Bella could more than manage any situation she found herself in, but he would play the part of protective brother if needed.
“She wished for an evening out. She is downstairs.”
Benedict glanced at the clock. “Has Norton hailed a hack?”
“So eager,” she teased.
“I’ve requested the first set with Eliza. Missing it would hardly encourage affection.”
“It is good to see you keen to assume your duties tonight.”
“Shall we?” he asked as he offered her his hand. Duty hadn’t come into his mind. No, the only thing in his head had been Eliza, waiting by the wall as couples danced before her—him nowhere to be seen; her eyes down-turned and expression closed off.
Bella was content to chat with Mrs. Frances, leaving Benedict to his thoughts while the carriage trundled down the road. The trio slipped from hack halfway down the block to avoid notice.
Benedict left his sister in the receiving line and sneaked passed into the ballroom. He scanned the walls, left to right, leaning around oblivious members of the beau monde. There, framed by a high, arched window, he found Eliza.
Draped in gold silk, she shone, lustrous, even against the waning moonlight streaming through the window beside her. From his vantage point, he saw only her profile, but he noticed a hint of purple in her hair. A violet.
A strolling couple broke his reverie. His feet moved before he’d made a conscious decision. Benedict hugged the wall, ducking around mingling mamas.
With every breath he drew nearer. Until finally he was in her orbit.
He approached her from behind, watching in fascination as her hands danced.
She was speaking with the same friend from the first night.
Presumably, that friend was hard of hearing.
Benedict observed from over her shoulder as her fingers formed the words of some sort of story, wondering desperately what it might be.
He’d heard of such communication methods at university. An opportunity to observe them had never presented itself. Eliza moved with confidence, while her friend followed—until she caught sight of Benedict.
He recognized the precise moment she interrupted Eliza because her spine straightened. When she spun to face him, Eliza blinded him with the force of her smile.
“My lord, it is very good to see you.” There was a breathy, effervescent note in her voice.
“Miss Eliza,” he said with a respectful bow. Benedict turned to her companion. “Miss… Grayson, was it?”
“Yes,” the lady in question answered. “Good to see you again.”
“Thank you for the flowers,” Eliza said. “They are beautiful.”
“So I see,” he said, dipping his gaze to the violets tucked into her wild curls.
She had employed a simpler style than some of the other ladies.
The flowers and her own strands stole the attention.
The sight of purple blooms on her person left him off-kilter.
A primal, possessive part of his mind overtook him and he could focus on little else.
Mine. His filthy mind readily supplied more and more perverted musings.
How would Eliza look wrapped in frocks and jewels he provided or, better still, in nothing at all save those little flowers?
“There you are, Ben,” his sister called from behind him. “Honestly, it is as though you were raised in a barn. Miss Eliza was hardly likely to vanish entirely if you took the few minutes necessary to greet our hosts properly.”
Bella’s words were an icy wave crashed over his lascivious thoughts.
His singular purpose upon entering the lavish house was to find Eliza, to…
see her. He’d wanted to see her. That was all.
There’d been no consideration of his planned seduction, no thought of how his actions would further their cause.
He just… wanted her, smiling sweetly at him as she did now.
Bella, whether by accident or design, had shaped his excitement into something tawdry. She ensured that he appeared the charmingly overeager suitor to Eliza and her cousin.
Benedict’s teeth met, milling against one another. For one brief, beautiful moment he had been that overeager suitor, delighted merely by the presence of a beautiful woman. Now that moment was gone, a rapidly fading dream.
“Bella, I hope you made my apologies,” he said, not trusting himself to face her without giving away his thoughts.
“Obviously. Miss Eliza, Miss Grayson. It is wonderful to see you again.”
Benedict finally managed to wrench his gaze from Eliza’s frame with a barely concealed sigh as her sister appeared by her side.
“Lizzie?”
Though he’d been introduced, he’d not paid particular attention to Sophie Wayland. He offered her a respectful bow. The girl was pretty—though he rather thought Eliza the lovelier of the two—with darker hair than her sister and her mother’s blue eyes. “Miss Wayland.”
“My lord,” she replied, shrewd gaze darting between Eliza and him, assessing.
After an introduction between his sister and their newcomer, propriety forced Benedict to make an offer he had no interest in.