Page 32 of Bewitching Benedict (The Lovelorn Lads #1)
The words were a stone around Benedict's heart, dragging it inexplicably downward.
What Miss Dalton hoped was of no importance to him.
He had seen her with Jack Graham—to whom she was engaged to be married!
—and he had no reason or desire to care what she wanted.
Under those circumstances, it was positively incomprehensible that each heartbeat should now be shooting regret through him, as if he had somehow made an irrevocable error.
Trying to shake the feeling, Benedict scowled at Vincent, who shrugged his broad shoulders and looked elsewhere.
To Charles, of course, the leader of their little group.
Charles's awakened gaze had not yet left Amelia; indeed, he seemed in danger of devouring her with his attention.
"She cannot possibly intend to marry Jack Graham.
Not after that horrific public display a few nights ago.
At best he can be no better than a ne'er-do-well, and—what was that you said about nieces and nephews, Miss Fairburn? "
When Charles left his sleepy demeanor behind, Benedict reflected, his intensity was frightening.
He focused now on Amy as if nothing in the world save her existed, and Amelia, who was well able to stand her ground, faltered beneath Charles's eyes.
He took two steps toward her, closing to an intimate distance, though he held her with nothing more than his gaze.
Even so, Benedict felt as though he should look elsewhere to grant them privacy, and in doing so, discovered every other Lad save Ackerman had done the same.
Ackerman looked on the pair of them with his usual serenity, as if an angel approving of a union.
Charles Dalton, Benedict thought in horror, could not possibly make a match with his sister, and thus spurred, looked back at them.
Amelia didn't look like a woman enthralled by a lover's gaze.
Neither did she—quite—look daunted, her voice gathering strength as she spoke.
"It would have been a scandal had they not covered it so well.
Mr Graham's sister bore twins out of wedlock, and died birthing them.
Mr Graham has taken their care upon himself, but has told no one.
" She swallowed, a hard lump moving slowly down her long throat.
"It's possible, Charles, that Mr Graham is a fine match. He seems very noble."
"Nobility of spirit is nothing in the face of family ruin," Charles said flatly.
"He'll ruin Claire and besides, I can't believe she loves him, not after his set-to with Miss Hurst the other night.
That was ill-mannered of him, and Claire," he said with a sidelong glance at Benedict, "dislikes poor manners. "
"She forgave me," Benedict said, offended all over again. Amelia, released from Dalton's gaze, stepped well away from him and frowned at the fire. Her shadow, Benedict saw, was momentarily cast against Vincent, and danced there with the flame's motion.
O'Brien drew Benedict's attention by snorting in a most ungentlemanly fashion.
"For insulting her, maybe, but never for this, Fairburn.
Of course, that doesn't matter, does it?
You're engaged to Miss Hurst," O'Brien said bluntly enough to make Benedict's cheeks heat up.
"If it was me," O'Brien went on, "I'd have proposed to Miss Dalton.
Your Miss Hurst is a beauty, but Miss Dalton's got fire.
" He seemed to forget Benedict and spread his hands expansively toward the other Lads, forgetting his fine Society tones for the passion of his own accent.
"Have you ever seen a lass go after a lad like that?
I've only ever seen it when me ma went after me da for scaring the life out of her when he was after coming out of helping to fight a coal fire.
The rage in her eyes was a sign of true love so. "
"You have a peculiar idea of love, O'Brien," Ackerman said, almost as unlooked-for a commentary as Vincent's contribution had been.
Equally unexpectedly, he cut a brief bow toward Benedict and said, "I'm afraid I must offer my congratulations once more and take my leave, Fairburn.
I have other matters to attend to tonight. "
"Speaking of true love?" Hewitt asked with a leer, and to everyone's surprise, received such a flat look from Ackerman that even his quick tongue was stifled.
Ackerman, Benedict thought, was never anything other than pleasant.
Presumably a man of his physical beauty simply had to smile or wink to resolve conflict.
The idea that he could rise to displeasure was startling.
And curious, but Hewitt's crudity had already made it clear that the topic was not to be pursued.
They all said a brief good-bye and Ackerman left behind a brief silence into which Benedict said, thoughtlessly, "She has no intention of marrying him anyway, Dalton. She only said it to?—"
"Distress you ?" Cringlewood finished as Benedict bit his tongue on where that sentence would lead him. "Did it work?" the young lord asked. Charles blinked once and looked hard at Benedict, who, having had some time to think, had found somewhere else to take his conclusions.
"It doesn't distress me at all," he said coolly, "nor should it. But I believe she hoped it would. I'm afraid your cousin has perhaps developed an affection for me, Dalton, and seeks to wound where no arrow can pierce."
"You believe Claire has entered an engagement with Graham out of affection for you?" Dalton asked in slow incredulity.
"What else can she do, when I am now engaged to Miss Hurst?
" Benedict felt a momentary satisfaction at his interpretation of events, though it faded with his recollection of the disdain—no, the disgust —in Miss Dalton's emerald eyes.
Her arrival had lit the room, warmed it beyond that which the fire could do, and every Lad there had felt it.
With his indignation fading, he thought it seemed colder than ever before.
But his indignation had no reason to fade. He had been wronged. Graham's orphans were no business of his, and Miss Dalton had no right to thrust them at him as if they were.
"Yes," Dalton said thoughtfully, "what else can she do."
"Worthington," Master Dalton said only a moment or two into the carriage ride home, "did it strike you that Fairburn was perhaps more dismayed than he let on about my cousin's unexpected engagement?"
Worthington had anticipated the question, or one like it, because he was not usually invited to ride in the carriage, although Master Dalton would never object if Worthington had simply made a habit of it.
From time to time, in the worst of weather, Worthington had considered it, but the value of the invitation was too great.
Not only did it confer confidence, but an invitation generally served as warning that Master Dalton had something he wished to discuss.
There was no quibbling or dancing about the issue as there might have been if Worthington was a regular companion within the carriage's relative warmth, and that, to the valet, was worth more than its occasional comfort.
He did not, for now, judge that Master Dalton required a specific answer, and so simply replied, "Sir?"
"He has been quite possessed by her ever since we visited Uncle George's estate," Dalton went on in out-loud consideration.
"Coveting her forgiveness, insulted by her dismissal, enamored, if his gaze has anything to say, by her presence, and positively flummoxed by her bad opinion.
Worthington, I believe I've hit upon a capital idea. "
"Sir?"
"Well? Don't you want to hear it?"
"Sir."
Dalton gave him a look dour enough to be discernible in the dim light of the carriage, and Worthington allowed a smile to creep across the corner of his mouth.
"I can see you're bursting with curiosity, so I will spare you the indignity of having to ask and simply tell you," Dalton said drolly.
"I believe Benny should marry Claire , not Miss Hurst, and then not only will he be happy but the Lads will be unmarred.
Claire is practically a Lad anyway, with her talent for riding and hunting! "
Worthington coughed and Dalton peered at him in the darkness. "Oh, all right, well, don't tell her I said that. I suppose she would be offended. Women get offended at the strangest things. Isn't it a compliment to be thought like a man?"
"Sir," Worthington said, "would you feel it a compliment to be thought like a woman?"
"What? Of course not!"
"And why not, sir?"
"Because a woman is a woman, man! Sensitive and weak and always gossiping about clothes and who is to marry whom."
"Sir," Worthington said again, "is it not fashionable to be considered sensitive?
Is it not fashionable to eschew violence unless in an actual state of war, and is eschewing violence not in essence embracing weakness?
Is it not true that every gentleman in London can discuss fashion and upcoming marriages, and do? "
"Well, yes, but that's different! We do those things for the ladies!"
"And for which lady did you carefully assess each of the Lads' outfits tonight, sir, because I did not see you discuss them with anyone."
Dalton's eyes narrowed as if he might see through the darkness more clearly that way. "What are you trying to say, Worthington?"
"Only that if you do each of those things and do not consider them feminine, sir, then perhaps Miss Dalton might ride and hunt and shoot without considering them masculine, and that you do her a disservice by regarding her in that light yourself."
A long silence met this exceedingly bold opinion, followed, in time, by Dalton's dry statement. "I believe you are a revolutionary, Worthington. Where do you get these ideas?"
"From observing, sir, nothing more. Forgive me if I've overstepped my bounds."
"Hnh. I wonder if it would bother you at all if I refused forgiveness. Never mind, Worthington, just take yourself and those observational skills and find out for me if there's any good reason that Fairburn shouldn't marry Miss Hurst so that I can marry him to my cousin instead."