Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“This feels wrong, Benedict,” Ellen said, her tone hoarse from all of her crying. She lowered the new, bright blue extravagant dress her cousin had just gifted her and looked at him with pleading, red-rimmed eyes.
“I should be in mourning blacks,” she insisted. “And we should not be hosting this ball! It is too soon after the funeral!”
Benedict’s blue eyes were full of pity as his dark blonde brows pinched and he pouted his lips.
“Your father would want you feeling beautiful and happy, not ugly and sad,” he replied, picking up the gown and placing it back in her hands.
Ellen’s shoulders drooped as she bowed her head.
“Please do not make me go,” she whispered. “Even if Father were still with us, I despise parties. I always have.”
“Oh, really?” Benedict mused, crossing his arms. “Yet it was a party that kept you from your father the night he died, was it not?”
Ellen glared at him.
“I told you what that was,” she bit out. “Told you how I did not wish to go in the first place.”
“Yet you went all the same, just as you will attend this party all the same,” Benedict retorted. He shoved away from her bedroom wall and moved toward her door.
“Get ready,” he commanded, his pleasant tone suddenly sharp and cruel as he threw a warning gaze at her. “Our guests will be arriving in two hours, and you will be a proper lady and help me to receive them.”
“And if I do not?” Ellen countered defiantly.
Benedict’s expression hardened as he leaned toward her.
“I have always been kind to you, cousin,” he said gravely as he locked his eyes on hers. “Do not force me to show you how quickly that kindness can turn into something else.”
Ellen jolted, alarmed by his words and how they reminded her of her late father’s opinion of Benedict. He had always disliked something about her cousin, and Ellen had always pestered her father about his judgment. Now though, she wondered if her father’s opinions had been valid.
As the door closed, Ellen’s handmaid, Sarah, rushed toward her.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Sarah asked worriedly, her kind brown eyes searching Ellen’s face. “You look most pale.”
“No,” Ellen whispered, a tear escaping down her cheek as she turned to her handmaid. “But it would seem that my cousin does not concern himself with my well-being.”
She flicked away her tears, wishing it were easy to rid herself of her sorrow and apprehension, and then drew herself up straight.
“We should hurry along,” Ellen said, laying the gown in Sarah’s arms. “I suspect that my cousin will force me downstairs at his convenience whether I am ready or not.”
An hour and a half later, freshly bathed, adorned in the overly bright gown, and with her dark locks pulled halfway up, Ellen stood by her door and waited.
But as she heard her cousin’s approaching footsteps, she faltered, and freed one long curl from the pins so that she could cover the mole on her cheek.
Benedict’s cold blue eyes widened as he stepped inside; he made no show of hiding his apparent approval as he slowly drew his gaze down her body.
“Very good,” he purred, putting a hand at her hip.
Ellen’s lips tugged toward a sneer as he touched her.
She felt his palm caress her there as it guided and turned her in a slow circle.
His touch did not warm her, nor comfort her as the stranger’s had during the night of the masquerade—the stranger who had kissed her so passionately that she had used the memory to comfort her through the last dreadful week.
“Very good indeed,” he praised when they faced one another again.
“I do not want to do this,” she stated with finality, uncaring of the satisfied look in his gaze.
“We all must do things we do not wish to do, sweet Ellie,” Benedict stated, his tone and gaze growing cold. “But you will do them. Do not forget. It is under my grace that you live now. Unless you would prefer life as a street urchin? They do not need pretty gowns like the one I have given you.”
Fear trembled down Ellen’s spine as she once more wished she had trusted her father’s opinion of her cousin.
“No,” she rasped out. “I am grateful for your generosity, cousin. I just am not comfortable with parties, is all.”
Benedict’s eyes warmed again, and he moved his hand around to her lower back. Her flesh instantly rebelled against his adventurous touch, but she curled her fists and withstood it.
“That is one of the many mistakes your father made,” Benedict stated patronizingly as he began to lead her out of her room.
“He spoiled you by allowing you to have choices. If he’d had a firmer hand in socializing you, you would be far more accustomed to parties than you are now.
Fear not, though, I shall teach you, dear cousin. ”
As they walked side by side, Benedict looked down at her, and Ellen’s stomach twisted painfully as she saw his strangely lupine smile.
“I shall teach you many things,” he whispered.
Ellen’s nostrils flared as she tried to move away from his touch and closeness, but his hand drew back to her hip and pulled her back into his side.
“Benedict,” she whispered harshly as they walked down the stairs.
“Lesson number one,” he snarled under his breath as his grip on her tightened. “You do as I say. Always.”
The front door opened before them, and their first guests arrived.
Ellen’s discomfort split in two. Not only was she forced into her least favorite pastime, but now she was being forced to ignore the longing to mourn her father’s death in peace.
It left her with a sense of helplessness she was not used to.
Meekly, she stopped trying to pull away from Benedict’s grip, and instead leaned on it as she was forced to greet their guests.
“Oh, you poor, sweet girl,” a lady cooed, coming forward to take Ellen’s hands. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
Ellen did not recognize her, but she forced her best smile as she felt Benedict’s subtle push for her to accept her condolences.
“Thank you,” she answered politely, letting the lady squeeze her hands and kiss her cheeks as if they were old friends.
“At least you have Benedict here to rely on,” her male companion stated, nodding toward Benedict in respect. “I am sure he has been a great comfort to you.”
“I have promised to take care of her now that her father is gone,” Benedict stated before Ellen could fathom her own reply. “And I intend to keep that promise.”
Despite the twisting in her gut, Ellen forced a small smile.
Such discomfort continued as they went on greeting their guests.
She did not recognize any of the guests’ faces, Benedict made no move to make introductions, and Ellen felt her spirits sinking lower with every interaction.
Finally, just when she felt as if she could not hold back her despair anymore, a gentleman called for Benedict’s attention.
“Stay right here,” Benedict commanded as he grabbed her shoulders and pressed her back against the wall. “I will return to you shortly.”
Ellen nodded, more than relieved that she would finally be free of his presence—even if it was just for a moment.
She let herself sink into the wall the moment he left her side, and in doing so, it seemed to render her as invisible as she had been long ago when she’d made her short attempt at being on the marriage mart.
Not that she minded. In fact, she preferred it to the teasing that often took place when someone took note of her.
“This is so inappropriate, do you not think?” Ellen heard a nearby lady whisper.
She pricked her ears to the conversation as she clasped her hands tightly in front of her.
“So very inappropriate,” another whispered back. “They should be in mourning, wearing mourning blacks. Or at least Ellen should. No respect at all.”
“Such a shame.”
“Yes, such a shame. Though she was always odd.”
“Was she?”
“Well, I assume so. She used to attend balls and such when she was younger, but she’d always find her way to the wall. Could not take our teasing. Such a serious girl.”
“Serious?” someone scoffed. “Yet she chooses now of all moments to host a party? No. She is not serious. She is a fool.”
Ellen’s eyes and throat burned as she willed her cries into silence.
She had been serious. When it came to caring for her father’s household, she was as formidable as any of the gentlemen gathered around her.
Now, though, pressed against a wall in her own home, hearing the whispers of the people she despised, she did indeed feel like the fool.
“He boasts of making riches on his own, but from my research, no one of note seems to hold investments or partnerships with him. So where would such riches come from?” Solomon whispered at Laurence’s side.
Laurence’s eyes were fixed on the man in question, distaste twisting in his gut.
He was far nicer looking than he’d predicted.
Tall. Blond. Blue-eyed, and with a build almost as firm as Laurence’s.
He had his own money and his looks, so why would he need women sold at auction to bolster his ego?
Even now, with their husbands at their sides, the other ladies were eyeing Benedict up like he was a treat they so desperately wanted.
It disgusted him.
Laurence’s eyes stayed on Benedict even as the man made his way out of the dining room, and it was only when he was out of sight that Laurence turned to Solomon.
“If he is one of the operators of the auction, that could explain his mystery riches,” Laurence murmured.
“That is what I suspect as well,” Solomon said in agreement. “And it is why we have to go to the auction to see for ourselves. If we can find him there, we will have more proof that he is involved. We can corner him, force him to speak with us and find out who else is responsible.”
“This house,” Laurence said, glancing around the dining room, “You said he moved here already?”
Solomon nodded.
“The very night the late Earl of Highcastle passed away, I had heard,” Solomon replied.