Page 31 of Bewitching Benedict (The Lovelorn Lads #1)

At her side, Amelia Fairburn was equally commanding.

She had the height and the slim figure that were currently so fashionable, and her gown of deep orange brought her auburn hair and brown eyes to life.

She did wear a tiara, a glittering thing that Charles recognized from a portrait of Mrs Fairburn in her youth.

They made a breathtaking pair, and by the faint smiles playing at their mouths, knew it.

There was little as attractive as a woman confident of her beauty, Charles decided suddenly, and found himself as one of a rush all trying to pay homage at once.

Claire had been afraid that the Lads in all their finery would cut her courage to bits. She found instead that she was emboldened by it, as much because of the brief, appreciative silence on their arrival as the sheer contrast it provided to the poor children still branded in her mind.

She had been thoroughly distracted throughout Amelia's dressing, providing much poorer company than she ought to have.

It was just as well. She was afraid she would earn Amelia's enmity forever in the next few minutes, and perhaps set the Fairburns against the Daltons for all time, but the injustice she had seen seemed to her to require a reckoning.

Nathaniel Cringlewood, as the ranking member of the Lads, took advantage to greet both herself and Amelia with a believable level of flattery.

Claire liked him, she decided. She liked most of the Lads, and wished nearly any of them except Fairburn and Hewitt had come visiting to the country four months ago.

She wondered if any of them would speak to her later, and said, in a voice that didn't shake at all, "Thank you, sir.

You're looking rather handsome yourself. "

He was, too, for all that she'd judged him one of the plainest of the Lads.

He wore a flawlessly cut coat that looked unexciting beside Mr Ackerman's pink and cream display, but the deep russet of which brought out subtle and pleasing depths of color in his brown eyes.

He had gained a little height, too, Claire thought, and cast a glance at his shoes to see a cunning extra bit of heel and sole built in. She needed some of those.

So did Charles, although her cousin's lazy smile and half-lidded eyes suggested he could never be bothered with making himself appear taller.

His Hessians were sufficient, it appeared, and the smart military cut of his coat distracted the eye from his unprepossessing size.

He bowed over Claire's hand as the other Lads had done, but when he straightened she was surprised to notice an unusual alertness in his hazel gaze, as if his perpetual lackadaisical look was inconvenient just now and he needed to see more clearly.

Benedict Fairburn was the last of the Lads to greet the girls, and when he bowed over Claire's hand, she caught his fingers with a more steely grip than he expected.

He raised startled blue eyes to her, and for a terrible moment Claire was struck again by the fineness of his cheekbones and the excellent shape of his mouth.

He was less extravagantly attired than Mr Ackerman, but in red so deep it was nearly black, and cream beneath, he could be considered the best-dressed of the Lads this evening, as was appropriate for his own celebrations.

All in all, he made a perfect picture of wealth, health and comfort.

That, in the end, was what allowed Claire to speak. "A word, Mr Fairburn?"

She might have struck him with lightning, such a flash showed in his eyes.

He stood, very tall and handsome, and offered his arm.

"Of course, Miss Dalton." Leaving the room would be too much, but he escorted her to beside the hearth, where its impressive mantel permitted them to imagine some degree of privacy.

Mr Fairburn looked at Claire attentively and they both put some effort into ignoring a room full of Lads who were—mostly—pretending to ignore them as well.

Claire was not tall, and dearly wished Benedict would sit so she could have some advantage of height.

But there were no chairs beside the hearth, and she wouldn't be put off on saying what she wanted to due to imperfect staging.

"I've heard a troublesome rumor on a somewhat indelicate topic, Mr Fairburn.

I was hoping you might tell me the truth of it. "

Benedict's eyebrows drew down. "I'll do my best, Miss Dalton. What concerns you?"

"I've heard that the fortune you're set to inherit upon your marriage would otherwise go to St Sophia's, an institute for orphaned and unwanted children."

"Yes, that's right."

Cold filled Claire's belly, and if her chin quivered, it was from indignation, not pending tears. "Have you visited this institute, Mr Fairburn? Have you seen the need that this fortune would serve?"

"Of course not," Fairburn said in astonishment. "The inheritance is mine, Miss Dalton, not the provenance of some rag-tag group of unfortunates."

"Mr Fairburn," Claire said, her voice beginning to shake, "are you not a young man of some considerable means already?"

Fairburn's astonishment started to fade into insult. "That is a rude question, Miss Dalton."

"I established at the start that this was to be an indelicate topic! Are you not already a man of some means, Mr Fairburn?"

"Of course I am! Good heavens, Miss Dalton, what is this about?"

"And as a man of means already, are you so determined to have a fortune, a veritable fortune, that you would callously pluck it from the hands of those who need it most of all? Those who are desperately poor and without resources of their own at all?

" What ? I take nothing from anyone, Miss Dalton, save that which is my rightful due!"

"If you were so righteous you would refuse your aunt's fortune and show yourself to be a truly noble man!

" Claire cried. "I have seen those children, Mr Fairburn!

You want for nothing and they want for everything!

How could you! What manner of self-centered, arrogant creature can you be, to steal from the starving? "

"I steal nothing!" Benedict Fairburn roared.

"How dare you come into my house and accuse me of such things!

I am arrogant? I am self-centered? I am not the one who throws unfounded insults into a man's face when he chooses to do no more and no less than that which is his duty!

I am a gentleman, Miss Dalton, that is what manner of creature I am, and it is a higher station than I might grant to you! "

Each word struck Claire like a blow: she flinched and flinched and flinched again, her skin heating as if under the impact of a dozen slaps.

"Then thank heavens I have had the wit to accept Jack Graham's proposal of marriage!

" she burst out. "At least he has honor and integrity and a concern for those less fortunate than himself!

Good evening , Mr Fairburn! I wish you all the best with your filthy fortune! "

Claire Dalton swept from the drawing room as if she were a grand duchess, with her teal skirts aswirl and her head lifted righteously high.

Benedict, breathing hard with outrage, could only stare after her.

Everyone stared after her: Amelia stood with both hands pressed to her mouth, her brown eyes enormous; the Lads gaped at the door, at Benedict, and at the door again.

No one spoke for an improbably long time, until Benedict realized it was his place to break the silence.

"Well," he began, then could find little else to say.

"Well. I…apologize for subjecting you to such a…

" Why, he wondered in spent offense, was he apologizing?

It had been Claire Dalton who had subjected them all to unspeakable behavior, and Benedict, still reeling, had not yet even begun to understand what her complaint was. "…a display."

"Claire is marrying Jack Graham?" Dalton, alight with unusual vigor even if he had not yet taken his gaze from the door and Claire's departure, put the question to the room at large, as if any one of them might have more idea of what had just transpired than he did.

"She can't possibly be," Amelia said through a cage of fingers. "She said nothing this afternoon, and we spoke of Mr Graham extensively." She did not, however, sound certain.

Charles spun on his heel to examine Amelia with fervor, but it was Hewitt, sounding considerably less inebriated than he had been only minutes earlier, swung to Benedict with curiosity emblazoned across his features. "What was she on about, Fairburn? Orphans?"

"My aunt's fortune," Benedict replied, still staring at the doorway as if Miss Dalton might reappear in it. "My inheritance is contingent on my marrying soon, you know that. I'm sure I told you she's giving it to some lot of wretched orphans if I don't marry."

"Demme, man, if she's that desperate for someone to bequeath it to, I'll get married and she can give it to me!"

"Mr Graham's niece and nephew are dependent on that inheritance." Amelia's whispers remained caged, but every Lad in the room looked her way, Charles and Benedict most particularly.

"What are you talking about? That's nonsense, Amy, I have no responsibility toward Graham's relations what-so-ever. I didn't even know he had any."

"They were orphaned." Amelia slowly lowered her hands, clearly becoming aware she was the center of attention. "The institution which took them in is the one Great-Aunt Nancy intends to leave her fortune to if you don't marry soon."

"How could Claire Dalton, or indeed anyone, imagine that was of relevance to me?"

Ronald Vincent, who was not given to offering opinions in the presence of his betters, said, "I think Miss Dalton hoped it would be of relevance to you," unexpectedly.