Chapter Seven
Benedict studied himself carefully in the mirror as he tied his cravat. It wasn’t right, just like the discarded last two. He felt a fool now for not bringing a proper valet on this voyage, as any duke should do. He hadn’t known before he might be quite so eager to impress someone. To impress her.
He laughed at himself as he tangled the folds yet again; as if he could impress Jane.
With everyone else, it seemed so very easy.
So easy he couldn’t value it. His title, one word that was his only because of the time he’d been born, was all it took.
That one word, a word that weighed on him like a stone holding him in place, made everyone treat him not quite as a person.
He was always under observation, always carrying the weight of imagined eyes.
He had become completely cautious, plagued by a self-awareness that never went away.
Except with Jane. Her laughter, her words, weren’t measured. It wasn’t some sort of act, some sort of manipulation. He was on the receiving end of such things often enough to know how it looked. It was just who she was. And he wanted to know more and more; to know everything about her.
That was truly frightening. Dangerous.
He had spent his life always striving to be a better man than his father.
To be a moral man, a man who was sure of things, sure of himself.
To live up to his responsibilities. He had learned that from places other than his own cursed family; he had learned it mostly from books, learned how a person could be.
He knew how to act that part, to fool people into thinking he knew how to be a good duke.
No one ever looked too deeply with a duke, no one wondered what lay beneath.
But Jane did. She looked at him deeply, steadily, as if she was discovering something precious that not everyone could see. She looked past the surface, beyond the mask of dukedom, with such clarity. It was amazing, intoxicating.
He wouldn’t be able to bear it if she, of all people, saw the raw truth of who he was: his doubts, his anger towards his father, his fears.
He’d seen the way she looked at him when she’d pulled him from the fountain, as his clothes had clung to him.
He knew he wasn’t terrible to look at; he had inherited the Trent looks, which were an asset, even if nothing else about his family was.
He’d hidden behind them, and let out his frustrations and anger in a boxing salon, in riding and walking.
It had never mattered until he’d seen Jane’s expression in that moment.
He thought of how her pearls rested against her creamy skin, so close to the pulse of life that beat in her throat.
He wanted so much to kiss her, to taste her lips; he was filled with anticipation, nervousness, excitement.
He was so achingly aware of everything about her—the curve of pink lips, the warmth of her skin, the way her eyes met his.
That longing mixed with the thrill of possibility.
He’d also seen how she’d looked at him when he’d given her the lost dog.
She was attracted to him, as well. He wasn’t alone in feeling attraction.
There was something so intimate in the way she watched him, as if seeing something beautiful not just on the surface, but beneath it.
He could become quite addicted to being watched like that by her. At being a hero for her.
How would she look at him if she really knew the truth?
If she knew about the dark reality of his family.
His own mother couldn’t bear to stay at Rollston with its dark shadows.
Her loss made him fear trust and attachment, making it harder to believe in anything at all. He didn’t want Jane to see that.
No. He had to protect her as well as himself.
Wasn’t that what a good man, the man he wanted to be, would do?
With Jane, it was so hard to see himself, to hold his mask in place.
She was so special: kind and smart, unknowingly sensual.
He thought of the way she moved and laughed.
The way she seemed to see beneath careful surfaces.
She put him off his careful stride, threw him off-balance.
He should forget her, marry one of the other Newport heiresses who flocked around—Regina Van Joort, maybe, or Florence Livingston. They would surely make good enough duchesses; they would look lovely at court and maintain the roof of Rollston. And they would prove no danger to his heart at all.
He’d been reconciled to such a marriage, such a life.
So many depended on him and on Rollston.
He had to think of them, to forget that one flash of something more he’d once had with a girl in a bookshop.
Remembering that day, that young man, was like stepping back into a world painted in brighter colours and endless possibility.
He’d let her see the real him, or at least a version of himself he’d wanted to believe in.
Remembering that hope was like feeling the sun on his skin after a long winter.
That young man could no longer be. He had to be the duke now. But he feared that, no matter what, that young man still lurked deep inside—the one who wanted more.
Benedict reached for his coat. He had resolved long ago to do his duty, not to let down anyone who relied on him, no matter the cost. He had promised himself and others that he would carry the load, protect what had to be protected. And he would do it.
His aunt peeked into the dressing room, already dressed in a pale muslin gown with a fashionable beribboned bustle, a straw cartwheel hat perched on her hair. She smiled and hurried over to brush at the fine wool of his sleeve.
‘Very smart, my dear. Just right for Newport. You are learning,’ she said.
He thought of Jane’s offer to advise him on American life and ladies. ‘When in Rome…’
‘You will enjoy today, I’m sure. Mrs Astor is going to be there! And Miss Livingston, who they say is so pretty. There are a few people who have just opened up their cottages for the season you must meet. So many possibilities!’
‘People with daughters?’ he said wryly.
‘Some of them, yes. That is the purpose of this campaign, after all.’ Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. ‘I heard you visited Shore’s Edge.’
‘And where did you hear that?’
‘There are no secrets here, just as there are none in England. Surely you’re used to that by now?’ She turned away to rearrange her hat in the mirror. ‘Was it very splendid there? I can’t wait to see it at the ball.’
Benedict thought of that house. It was so grand, yes, but so welcoming, like an embrace, as soon as he stepped into that sitting room.
The warm light had spilled from the tall windows, along with the scent of flowers.
Signs of life had been everywhere, workboxes and music on the piano stand, newspapers and books, laughter.
‘Most elegant, yes. Though I didn’t notice the decorations much.’
Louisa laughed. ‘Too distracted by the pretty Miss O’Neill? That sounds like a good sign. They say she has a vast dowry.’
A protective feeling instinctively rose in him at the threat that Jane might be demeaned. It was sudden, fierce. ‘It isn’t like that.’
‘Maybe it should be.’ She frowned in thought.
‘The family is not perhaps all I could wish, but the fortune is large indeed. And she is a well-mannered enough young lady—very involved in some sort of charity work, I hear. Rollston could do with some of that.’ She clasped his hand, staring up at him solemnly.
‘We are only here in Newport for a few weeks, Benedict. Very little time to accomplish our goal. Don’t forget. ’
‘How could I ever forget?’ It was why he was there, after all. Duty had to be done.
‘Oh, Jane, you are quite sure to win that diamond arrow,’ Amy said with a laugh.
The archery course was set up on the lawn of Mrs Schuyler’s cottage.
The gathered ladies were like a flock of summer birds in their whites, pale blues, soft lilacs and their flowered and feathered hats.
The atmosphere was most elegant, but there was subtle rivalry beneath the lace and smiles, an ever-present tension.
‘No one else has a chance!’ Amy added, testing her bowstring.
Jane shook her head. Regina Van Joort, laughing with her friends, exuded confidence. Winning the diamond arrow could elevate a young lady’s social reputation, and Regina was good at everything.
‘I doubt it. I’m quite out of practice.’ Practising archery always helped her focus, helped her quiet her mind, but with the housewarming ball coming up she’d had little time to give her bow a try.
‘You are a veritable Diana, and you know it,’ Amy said with a sly smile. ‘I hear the duke is going to be here. That he will present the prizes.’
Jane took a deep breath, trying to keep her cheeks from turning ridiculously red with a telltale blush. ‘Will he?’
‘Didn’t he call at Shore’s Edge? Everyone is wild with jealousy about it!’
‘They shouldn’t be. It was all just painfully polite.’ Jane carefully maintained her disinterested expression, trying not to think of the moment she’d been sure Benedict might kiss her. ‘He was very nice. He talked to Connor about yachts…’
And gave her a puppy, a puppy he’d saved from drowning.
As Kate had slept peacefully on her bed last night, Jane had watched her and thought of Benedict bringing her to the house—the way he’d held the frightened little thing, his voice low, kind and patient.
She’d had a glimpse of him as he was when no one watched, when he wasn’t the duke.
He’d made such space for something small, lost and afraid.
There’d been a gentleness in him she’d longed for herself.
Amy touched her hand. ‘Be careful, Jane.’ She looked suddenly serious, as if she saw some of Jane’s longing.
Jane was startled into a laugh. ‘I thought you encouraged me to throw myself at the duke’s feet!’