Page 38 of An Innocent Bride for the Duke

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.

“I find it rather rude, considering that Lady Huxley knows that you and the children are here, Your Grace,” put in Lady Esher. “It is possible that she wishes to apologize for the scene she made when she called here earlier this week, but I also wondered whether it was sent more to offend rather than to invite.”

“You should not go,” Benedict pronounced very certainly to Louisa after reading the card and placing it back on the table. “It would not be a good idea…on several levels.”