Page 73 of An Innocent Bride for the Duke

A gentle hand reached up to stroke Benedict’s hair as he gasped for breath. Perhaps Louisa thought the story was over, when it was not. There was worse to come.

“My father laughed at me, kneeling there on the floor with my dead mother in my arms, crying for her not to leave me. He just got up on a chair at the edge of the balcony and gestured out over the Northwick Park estate. He said…"

There’s no point in crying over a woman, boy, dead or alive. I can always marry a new duchess. Northwick is the only thing that should count in your life and you will be its duke someday…

While they were burned in his memory, these particular words could not pass Benedict’s gritted teeth, despite his resolution.

“My father said something spectacularly wicked and unforgivable,” he summarized for Louisa as best he could. “He made it clear that my mother was nothing to him, just as she had been everything to me. After that, my mind is hazy but I know I ran straight at him and that he fell over the edge of the balcony. No one could survive that fall.”

Two stories down onto the flagstones below, a sprawled and suddenly diminished figure surrounded by rapidly spreading bloodstains, a monster vanquished too late…

“That is why some people believe I am a murderer,” Benedict concluded. “I cannot say I entirely blame them, although I do not dwell on the past. My father died due to my actions and I regret only that I didn’t act earlier. I can offer no defense.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The tale was done and Benedict was conscious and thankful that Louisa still stood in his arms, her hands upon his chest and one resting over his rapidly beating heart.

This wholesome, principled young woman knew Benedict now, for better or worse, and what she thought of him suddenly meant far, far more than any formal vows they would soon make in a church. What would she make of these horrors? What would she make of him?

“You are not a murderer,” Louisa stated vehemently. “You were a very frightened and very brave little boy whose mother had been killed in front of his eyes. Did no one ever tell you that either?”

No, no one ever had. In the aftermath of that terrible day, the servants had whispered over Benedict in hushed tones and made sure he had a new black suit for the funerals. Family lawyers had formally notified him that they had contacted his Godfather. His mother’s old friends were strangers who wept over him at the mausoleum where the Duchess of Northwick was laid to rest.

When Lord Wilberforce arrived back in England, he had certainly talked to Benedict, but seriously as though he were another adult, man to man. At the time, Benedict had been glad of it, preferring this kindly, practical brusqueness to useless tears and sympathies.

“My Godfather advised me never to speak of the day my parents died, and for a long time, I followed his advice. I went to school, to university and on into adult life. My good friends know enough of my past not to ask me questions. I have always found sufficient distractions that I have rarely needed to think of my parents’ deaths, never mind talk of that time.”

“Then I am honored by all you have shared with me tonight, Benedict,” Louisa told him. “I want to know all of you, past and present.”

“You deserve a man so much better than me,” Benedict thought aloud, his heart aching strangely. “I am flawed and broken and don’t know how to be a husband or a father, and yet I must try to be both for your sake. You know now the disaster of my own childhood. I hope it at least explains why I cannot be more than I am.”

Louisa was smiling and shaking her head as she spoke.

“You are brave and kind and good, Benedict. Don’t you see? You are everything that your father wasn’t, and all that your mother likely hoped you would become. I see it in your friendships, in your care for little Ezra and in all you have done for me. I was upset about our marriage at first, but I was wrong. You make everything wonderful.”

Her trust in him was naive but inspiring. Brave and kind and good? How his sophisticated London acquaintance would laugh at such a description! Still, what did he care for their opinions? Louisa’s was worth more. She herself was worth more. He had found a treasure here at Rosemere and only gradually understood her full worth.

Remembering the gold ring in his pocket, Benedict suddenly grinned at at her and then sank to his knees before her in a shaft of moonlight.

“What are you doing, Benedict?” she laughed as he took one of his hands.

“Something I should have done weeks ago,” he returned, producing the gold ring from his pocket. “Lady Louisa Ascot, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

By the light of the moon, he saw happy tears run down Louisa’s face as she smiled and nodded, allowing him also to slide the golden ring onto her finger.

If it brings Louisa this much joy, I shall propose to her every day…

“It is a wedding band, but I see no reason why I cannot give it to you now,” Benedict said. “It is yours, in any case. I had it made in Cumbria, because that is your home. Given the history, I would not burden you with any of my family jewelry.”

“It is just what I would have wanted,” Louisa responded, marveling at the sight of the gleaming gold on her finger as he rose back to his feet. “You are just what I wanted too, Benedict. I only didn’t know it at the start.”

“Isn’t it lucky that I should be so good at guessing what you want?” he teased her. “I hope it works so well in other areas of our marriage too, my beautiful wife.”

As Benedict bent his head and kissed Louisa’s lips, he felt a new lightness in his heart. She was beautiful, she was desirable and she was his. Louisa was giving herself into their marriage now of her own free will, and with full knowledge of Benedict’s past. It somehow made all the difference in the world and seeing the ring on Louisa’s finger incited his desire further.

“I don’t want to go back to the party yet, do you?” he put to her and she shook her head.

“I want to be with you tonight, Benedict,” she said simply.