Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“Ihave it,” pronounced Benedict triumphantly, striding into the hallway at Rosemere and brandishing the carefully folded document which he had carried back in his saddlebag from Carlisle.
“Very good,” responded Lady Esher, beaming with unmitigated pleasure, almost as though relieved that he had not ridden off into the sunset to escape his responsibilities.
“I was afraid that the bishop might have gone to the seaside for his summer holiday and you would have to chase him there, or go even further afield.”
“I would have rode all the way to Canterbury for a special license if needs be,” Benedict assured her, his gaze searching the hallway behind his hostess for the other person for whom this news mattered so deeply. “When I set out to do something, I do it properly.”
Louisa was there beside the bannisters, her honey-gold curls only partly pinned up today and falling loosely about her shoulders and the sweet curve of her bosom.
She wore that new green dress that he had glimpsed that day at the seamstress, although presently she stood in shadow rather than brilliant sunlight.
As his eyes found her, Louisa smiled shyly and all of Benedict’s thoughts were temporarily diverted into noticing her loveliness… But that appreciation was what had got them into trouble in the first place and he must be careful around her.
It was likely as well that he had been absent from Rosemere for the best part of two days, having ridden with Thompson to get a common license from the Bishop of Carlisle. God only knew how he was going to restrain himself until the wedding.
“I hope your journey was not too arduous,” Louisa ventured, coming forward to join her aunt.
“No, the inn we stayed at was comfortable enough and the roads were good,” he replied. “I trust all has been well at Rosemere?”
“I have spoken to the rector this morning,” Lady Esher said. “He will be expecting you to call and confirm the wedding date at your convenience, Your Grace.”
Benedict nodded and looked to Louisa again, perhaps for some indication of her will in this regard, but she only smiled that same sad little smile he had seen in the rose garden.
If Lady Esher had not come along when she did that morning, he would have kissed that expression from Louisa’s pretty face.
He might not be able to give Louisa the fantasy of love she dreamed of, but there were other things a man could give to a woman, and there were certainly adult pleasures whose intensity ought to burn away childish dreams.
“I shall call on him this afternoon,” confirmed Benedict. “Shall you come with me?”
“We both shall,” declared Lady Esher, although his question had been addressed to Louisa.
Benedict nodded, conscious of the dowager’s shrewd eyes upon him and simultaneously frustrated and grateful at her intervention. Lady Esher would know the power of desire far better than Louisa and evidently did not intend to give them too many opportunities for indiscretion before the wedding.
“Oh, this letter arrived for you yesterday, Your Grace,” added Lady Esher, picking up an envelope from the sideboard in the hallway. “Have you written to the Duke and Duchess of Wexford yet? I shall write to Seraphine directly as soon as I know you’ve both given them the news.”
“Not yet,” Benedict told her as he looked at the unfamiliar handwriting and then broke the seal on the unexpected letter which included no sender details on its envelope. “I shall write to Damien shortly, now that we have the license in hand…Hmmm.”
He scanned the missive quickly, restraining an urge to curse and making an effort to keep his face straight as he took in its rather peculiar contents.
There was no point in upsetting the ladies over what was likely only an impulsive and ill-thought out note, perhaps even written by a man in his cups…
“Nothing of any importance,” Benedict told the ladies nonchalantly, folding it back up and sticking it in his pocket, even as his blood boiled…
Dear Damien
I write with important news and hope that it will not come as too great a shock…
No, that wasn’t right. With a sigh, Benedict crossed this out and then tore off the top part of the page where he had now written and rejected three successive openings.
Dear Damien
Lady Louisa and I are engaged to be married. This will come as a shock but it is for the best under the circumstances, which I shall explain to you in full when we are together again.
Yes, that would do for an opening. It was an uncomfortable declaration to make, regardless of wording.
It didn’t help that Benedict’s mind kept returning to the bizarre letter from Lord Ashbourne that had been waiting for him when he returned from Carlisle.
Judging from the date and addressing, the man must have written as soon as he heard the news from Lady Huxley.
Taking it from his pocket, Benedict turned it over again in his hands, and considered the best course of action. He was minded to ignore it entirely, in the hope that Lord Ashbourne would have thought better of it the moment he had posted the letter or sobered up.
You have trespassed upon my goodwill and my honor…
You cannot expect me to ignore another man seizing what is rightfully mine…
You cannot imagine I will allow such a flower of virtue to fall into the hands of a notorious rake without challenge…
Surely, no man could seriously express such sentiments unless he was thoroughly drunk? Even then, Benedict found it incomprehensible, although he had known men given to such irrational passions before. His father had been such a man, perhaps.
It seemed to Benedict that the previous Duke of Northwick had married a beautiful, accomplished and popular young woman and then spent the rest of their lives punishing her for all the virtues that had attracted him to her in the first place.
Rage and beatings were meted out to Benedict’s mother for being too beautiful, too accomplished and too well-liked.
His father’s attitude had terrified and appalled Benedict as a child and he still revolted at it now. Christ, that final row had been over how his mother smiled at a neighbor, hadn’t it? Benedict had not let himself think about that in years, taking his godfather’s advice not to dwell on the past.
“Your parents are both dead now, God rest their souls, but you still live, Benedict. Believe me, none of it was your fault. Do not make their struggles your own…”
Old Wilberforce’s words sounded in Benedict’s ears as though his aged godfather were standing in the room with him, rather than living out his old age in Bath.
His godfather had not been there that day, though, had he? Benedict was the only one still alive who could say what had really happened, although the servants at Northwick had all heard and seen enough to make for a very lurid inquest.
Lord Wilberforce had taken great pains to keep Benedict’s name out of the public record as much as possible at the time, while accepting that some degree of rumor was inevitable. Nor had he allowed Benedict to give evidence to the investigating magistrate or make any legal statement whatsoever.
As an adult, Benedict appreciated this wisdom. At ten years of age, he would likely have stated that he had killed his father and was only sorry that he hadn’t done it soon enough to save his mother…
But was that true?
“It is all in the past,” Benedict told himself firmly, folding Lord Ashbourne’s bizarre letter and secreting it in a drawer while performing a similar mental effort with his recall of his own early history.
Picking up the quill once more, Benedict returned to his letter to Damien.
With something more like his usual efficiency, he quickly drafted a few further lines insisting that the Duke and Duchess of Wexford should continue to enjoy their childfree time in Scotland and not rush to meet them any sooner than planned.
He promised to write again once the wedding date was set.
Once his letter was signed and sealed, Benedict sat back his chair and folded his arms. One way or another, he would be a married man within a month.
The ladies were already in the drawing room when Benedict came downstairs for tea, apparently in deep conversation on the larger sofa with what looked like an invitation card on the table between them.
“Good afternoon, Lady Esher, Lady Louisa,” he said with a small bow, allowing himself an obvious glance of curiosity towards the card but not approaching so closely that anyone would feel bound to share it if they did not wish.
“I have put my letter to Damien on the sideboard to be taken out with the next round of mail.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” responded Lady Esher. “Harper will see that it goes out tonight. I have almost finished my own letter to Seraphine and will despatch that with tomorrow’s post, to follow yours. Now, I shall ring for the tea tray.”
Nodding, Benedict took a seat on an armchair near the sofa, his eyes inexorably drawn to the fair young woman in green who was to be his wife.
Lady Louisa seemed pensive, glancing alternately at him and at the invitation card as though she found it too hard to look directly at either of them.
Next time they were alone, he thought he might persuade her to look into his eyes until she was no longer shy of doing so, then until she laughed, and then until he could not help kissing her…
“Lady Huxley has invited us to tea at Huxley Manor tomorrow, Your Grace,” Louisa told Benedict, her words pulling him out of his slide into fantasy. “I am not sure I wish to accept.”
“All of us?” he asked. “Your aunt, yourself, the children, me?”
Louisa shook her head and passed him the card from the table.
“It mentions only my aunt and me,” she stated with a frown.