Page 35 of Bewitching Benedict (The Lovelorn Lads #1)

But Benedict has no fortune! Claire wanted to cry aloud.

It was untrue: he had money, or money enough, and would have a fortune indeed, if only he married Priscilla Hurst. Instead of speaking, though, she looked over the couch at Priscilla, who was, in the end, wrong: blushes might be unattractive to her coloring, but as she'd stood in the broken sunlight speaking of Jack Graham, her whole self glowed with a warmth Claire had never seen before.

Her milky skin had become delectable, not only flawless but inviting, and her pale eyes had shone with the fire of diamonds.

Benedict would never see that, Claire thought.

He would never elicit that passion in Miss Hurst, and it hurt Claire to know it.

And yet she couldn't bring herself to speak out, to tell Priscilla the truth of Benedict's fortune.

He thought he was marrying money, ensuring his own future; Priscilla thought the same.

Her family would be ruined if she didn't marry him, and her heart would never be whole if she did.

"I'm so sorry," Claire said helplessly.

"So am I. But there is nothing to be done. Mr Fairburn is pleasant, and it will be easy to become fond of him."

Echoes of her own words pierced Claire's breast. They sounded far more dreadful coming from another's lips.

Now she understood Mr Graham's concerns—but equally, she understood Priscilla's.

There was nothing romantic about the current arrangements, nor any point in belaboring them.

Claire had already agreed with Mr Graham that they would not make much of their engagement yet, but even if she had been prepared to, telling Miss Hurst now only emphasized that these were all business decisions, made in the name of improving the greatest number of lives.

Benedict's family, Priscilla's family, Jack's family.

There were not quite as many people helped here as orphans might be saved with that inheritance, but perhaps it weighted the balance somehow.

It had to, Claire told herself resolutely, and tried not to think of how even a small bequeathment could go much farther in the cold grey institute than it could in London's fine Mayfair quarter.

She rose and spoke, hardly hearing herself as she did so.

"He is pleasant," she agreed distantly. "I'm sure you and he will have a satisfactory marriage.

Miss Hurst—Priscilla—forgive me again for my bluntness, but I think I should say this.

I do not, of course, know the extent of Mr Fairburn's circumstances, but no inheritance is infinite.

For all your family's sake, and for Mr Fairburn's family's sake, you had better make it clear to your brother that any new debts he incurs after your marriage will be entirely his to deal with.

It is bad enough that he has brought your family to the brink of ruin.

He cannot be allowed to do the same with your married family as well. "

"He has never been without an income he could idle away as he pleased," Priscilla whispered.

"Perhaps a commission can be arranged for him, and he can be made to understand that that stipend will be all that is ever available to him.

Perhaps he is only young and rash and unconcerned, rather than unable to stop himself. "

"I hope so," Claire said with sincerity, and quietly excused herself from Priscilla's heartbroken presence.

"It is all a disaster, Worthington. Miss Hurst loves Mr Graham still and I had been sure that she and he might be reconciled, but it's much worse than that, for she has no fortune at all, her brother has gambled it away, so she must marry Mr Fairburn so her brother's debts can be paid off and her family's business saved, and I fear that without the great-aunt's money, doing all that would leave the Fairburns destitute!

There is no happy reconciliation here, Worthington, I simply cannot find it.

And the only way Mr Graham's family will be saved now is through me. "

Miss Dalton did not appear to wonder how Worthington had finished his missives to the Lads in time to return and walk home with her.

Nor did she notice that he carried two packages, one a hat box and the other a stack of fine linen tea clothes for embroidering, upon which a small box of chocolates was balanced: the shopping they were meant to have done.

Perhaps Mrs Dalton would have thought nothing of them returning empty-handed, but Mrs Dalton herself never returned from a shopping excursion without at least one purchase.

Safer, in the valet's opinion, to play into her expectations, and therefore wave aside any potential questions.

Besides, the shopping had been the work of a moment, although his small pool of personal funds was somewhat depleted after the week's efforts.

Still, young Master Charles tended to be generous with his coins, insisting Worthington keep a bob or two when an errand had been completed, and it would be little enough time before his savings were flush again.

He said nothing to Miss Dalton about any of this, or indeed about any of the topic upon which she spoke, understanding that she needed to pretend she poured her heart out to a wall, or some other unhearing, impassive object.

He did, however, hear, even if he tried not to judge.

Upon arriving home he sent Miss Dalton to show off her new hat and share the chocolates (she gasped gratifyingly at their presence, admiring both Worthington's taste and foresightfulness), and asked Master Charles for an hour of two of his own.

Charles, half awake and groggy after the celebration at Benedict's the night before, was only too glad for the opportunity to sleep longer yet, and granted Worthington his personal time with a happy groan.

The last the valet saw of him was one foot stuck out of the covers whilst the rest of him, from calf to crown, burrowed deep into duvets and pillows again.

It would not do, Worthington decided, to spread general rumor.

Each of the participants in Miss Dalton's disaster was inherently worthy and he had no desire at all to see any of them ruined.

But it was not terribly difficult to catch a Hurst footman—they were not so pinched that they had let all their servants go yet—and to congratulate the footman on the family's upcoming success in marriage.

The youth swelled with pride as if it was his own marriage, then held that swollen breath as Worthington agreed it was entirely splendid. "But," he murmured in a confidential aside, “I must admit I feel it's a bit of a shame about the orphans, though, don't you?"

The boy's eyes bugged at this hint of previously unbeknownst gossip, and his struggle to pretend as though it was common knowledge whilst also working the details out of Worthington was nearly laugh-worthy, save that laughter would have ruined the whole game.

"Oh yes," Worthington said very solemnly. "The inheritance all rides on Mr Fairburn's marrying, you know," which of course everyone did , and allowed the youth to press on with, "Oh, aye, but I've never got it straight about the orphans—?" without quite swallowing his own tongue with excitement.

"The aunt has a soft spot for them, you know. A kind and good-hearted woman, is Mrs Nancy Montgomery. If the young sir doesn't marry, her fortune will go to their support, and there's some thought that it might anyway. Ah, I shouldn't have said that. Don't pass it on now, do you hear me?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" blurted the breathless footman, and immediately remembered some errand that had to take him back home that instant.

Worthington smiled at the lad's retreating form, then returned home to get young Master Charles out of bed for the day.