Chapter Eleven
Connor had promised Benedict a look at his club, which he thought Benedict might enjoy, a place where a man could go for exercise, boxing and swordplay. ‘Not many know about it,’ he’d said. ‘Very private; a man can just be himself there.’
Benedict had to admit he was intrigued. Connor O’Neill seemed like a man who would need a place to hide away for a moment or two.
Connor seemed to be a man who was hard in business, walking through the world with a spine of steel, all resolve.
But beneath that was something rather like his sister, an intuitive gentleness.
Much as Benedict was loath to admit it, even to himself, he very much wanted Jane’s family to like him. Accept him not as a duke, but as himself. Surely that meant he wanted Jane to like him? But he didn’t know exactly why that felt so desperately necessary to him.
It seemed he had little to fear from Connor, though, as they made their way down Bellevue Avenue in the early-morning haze.
The man chatted easily, swinging his walking stick as he indicated points of interest along their way.
He looked the very image of a leisured Newport gentleman in his pale suit and straw hat, a fine pearl pin in his cravat, though Benedict knew the O’Neills had had a less than easy start of it all.
Connor had made his own way in the world, made his own choices, and Benedict envied him that.
And Connor seemed to harbour not a speck of resentment towards Benedict for his own background, his English dukedom, his path smoothed since birth.
He spoke of his current business interests, asked Benedict about the yields on his estate, his plans for the future and offered a bit of shrewd advice.
Benedict had never had straight talk with a man his own age, never had a real friend.
Whatever lucky man married Jane would have not only a beautiful wife, but a canny business advisor and a close-knit family at his back, as well as warmth and laughter.
He had never dared hope for a real family like the O’Neills, never seen such a thing in his own life.
On the outside, his life seemed composed.
He worked, he did his duty. But now he watched a different kind of life unfold at Shore’s Edge: a couple sharing tender glances; a child with sticky fingers pulling at his parents’ fingers; a dog barking; music.
It felt more like a home than a mere house, like some place to belong.
Those things were visible but untouchable for him.
Connor turned a corner and led Benedict through narrower lanes. ‘And what did you think of my Eos?’ Connor asked with a swing of his walking stick.
‘It was glorious,’ Benedict answered honestly. He thought of Jane leaning into the sea breeze, sunlight gleaming on her face, her laughter ringing out like music. ‘Nature’s raw rhythm; it’s a rare beauty.’
Connor beamed. ‘I’d like to sail her to Europe next year, maybe even to Egypt or India, but May isn’t sure yet. I told her travel would be the best education for Eddie!’
‘I think it would be. I would have loved it when I was a child.’ Young Edward was a fortunate little boy indeed. ‘What about Jane?’ Would she travel to those places, see the new lands? How he would love to glimpse it all in her eyes.
‘Oh, you saw Jane onboard! She’s a veritable goddess Taillte.
She’s never happier than when she’s in the sun and wind, with a tennis racket or bow in her hand.
Unless she’s got her nose in a book or is off on some charity mission.
She’d love to see the world, to find more people to help.
’ Connor paused, his walking stick tapping thoughtfully on the pavement.
‘My family had little enough when we were young, Trent, and I want to give them everything. They deserve it.’
‘Indeed they do. Your mother, your wife and sister—they seem extraordinary. I’ve never met anyone quite like them.
’ Maybe he couldn’t hold Connor’s friendship for ever, but he knew he had to be honest with him, honest with himself, even if only for a moment.
Jane was extraordinary: the way she laughed, how her eyes lit up when she talked about what she loved, how her presence changed every room just by being in it.
She made him want to be better, because her goodness made him believe in goodness as he never had before.
Connor shot him a speculative glance, hard at the edges. Benedict realised he must be so protective of his treasures. ‘I can see that you know that. You must have had a close family of your own?’
Benedict laughed wryly. ‘Not at all. That is why I know what a rare, wonderful thing it must be.’
Connor nodded and led onward down a quieter, shadowed street. ‘I fear what they really want the most is my time, my presence. Business makes so many demands; so many people depend on me. I’ve been lucky to spend so many days here in Newport with them right now.’
‘It’s the same for me. A duke is never alone.
So many people only see the privilege of the title, not the work.
Not the—the lack of choice.’ He paused and studied a window display without seeing the boxes of cigars arrayed there.
He saw only Rollston, the life that waited there.
‘Even my own father just wanted the privilege. He squeezed the estate, the land our family has stewarded for centuries, quite bare, and when it was dry he cared no more about it. So many have been left in a terrible position because of it, and I’m the one who must pull us all out of it. ’
‘He sounds just like the sort of Englishman my da used to scorn,’ Connor said with a laugh. ‘A spailpeach. A man arrogant, conceited, thinking only of himself.’
Benedict had to laugh too. It sounded so exactly like his father. ‘Your father wasn’t far off, I’m afraid. My father was entirely conceited.’
‘You, though—you seem different, Trent.’
‘I try to be. Sometimes I think it would be so much easier if I did not care. If I could just barge through life as my father did.’ Connor was easy to talk to, and Benedict had a startling realisation.
His usual caution, his qualms about opening up to anyone and letting them see his true self, had quite vanished in this moment.
It felt…good, light. The O’Neill family must hold some kind of magic to them.
‘But you do care. I can tell. Men like us, we can’t help it, even if we sometimes have to be ruthless.
We want to leave the world better and not worse than we found it.
Even more so when there’s a family to worry about, a future.
’ He stopped and studied Benedict for a moment, his green eyes disarmingly frank, just as his sister’s did.
‘Having a partner, the right partner, does make the load of life lighter. I never wanted to marry until I met my May, and I’m ashamed to say I didn’t go about wooing her in the best way at first.’
Benedict was surprised to hear it. He remembered the tenderness between them in every glance, every touch, the happy home they’d made. ‘But you seem so perfectly suited to each other.’
‘Aye, now, thanks to her. I fooled myself that I only wanted her name, her Knickerbocker ways, her connections. Somehow, she took me anyway, and I could never be without her. It was the same for my parents, though my da died too young. They knew what the other was thinking without even speaking.’
His gaze hardened as he studied Benedict—a cold flash of warning. ‘I won’t let Janey ever settle for less, no matter how old a fine title or castle. She has a heart filled with unbounded love and giving, and I’ll make sure she has no less in return.’
Nor would Benedict. Jane deserved every fine thing in life. ‘I understand,’ he said simply.
‘I knew you would!’ Connor said, lightly now, and turned toward a squat red-brick building with barred windows. ‘Now, come inside.’
The club was not quite what Benedict expected, but this was just what he’d hoped for.
Instead of leather chairs and billiards tables, there were padded rings.
It was dimly lit, heavy with the scent of leather, pipe smoke and something metallic like blood that hung thick in the air.
The ring was a simple roped-off square, holding the scuffs of countless brawls.
A trainer called out sharp instructions to men who circled each other with their fists raised, their eyes focused, sweat glistening on their brows.
It was a place where strength and endurance mattered more than a name.
‘It really is a boxing club,’ Benedict said happily.
‘Exactly!’ Connor said and clapped his hands in satisfaction.
‘Very small, not many members. Not many rules or expectations. It’s a branch of a place I belong to in New York.
Wonderful for getting rid of worries and tension, I find, bloodying a punching bag and all that.
’ He lowered his voice. ‘Just don’t tell May. ’
‘I belong to a similar place in London,’ Benedict said. Connor was quite right: it was a good place to release energy, find cleansing, prove himself.
A man hurried towards them, his face battered, his nose flattened, but his eyes filled with welcome. ‘Mr O’Neill!’
‘Harry!’ Connor called, reaching out for a hearty handshake. ‘How are you?’
‘It’s been a while since we’ve seen you, Mr O’Neill,’ Harry said in a thick Irish brogue. He gave Benedict a curious glance.
‘I’ve been busy with May’s party coming soon, I’m afraid,’ Connor said with a grimace. ‘I’ll be glad when it’s over and we have our lives back! Harry, this is my friend Benedict, he’s eager to try out your facility while he’s visiting here in Newport.’
‘How do you do, Mr… Harry,’ Benedict said.
Harry’s eyes narrowed at the sound of his accent. ‘Been to club like this before, have you, then, sir?’
‘Yes, in London. It looks like a marvel.’
‘Hmph. We’ll see,’ Harry said grudgingly. ‘Changing rooms over there, then we’ll see what you can do in the ring.’