Page 37 of Bewitching Benedict (The Lovelorn Lads #1)
Amelia, who knew more than she dared tell, stood and offered her hands to Benedict. He took them and she pulled him to his feet, brushed his tears of disbelief away, and murmured, "Perhaps you should ask one of them, Benedict. Perhaps you should ask one of them."
"A note for you, Miss," Worthington announced, and offered Claire a silver tray upon which rested a single envelope with her name written upon it in a strong masculine hand.
Excitement and dread thrilled through Claire all at once, though she said, "Thank you, Worthington," in a nearly steady voice, and accepted the envelope with hands that hardly trembled.
It had to be from Mr Graham, but missives took on greater portent when their contents could relate to the most titillating of scandals, a secret engagement.
Claire broke the seal—simple wax, unmarked by anyone's sigil, and unfolded the letter, her gaze flying instantly to the signature.
A frown pulled her mouth down and she looked to the top of the letter, making certain it was addressed to her.
It was indeed: Dear Miss Dalton, it read, and below that, I hope that you will do me the favor of a drive in the park with me this afternoon.
I will call at 2 p.m. if that suits. I await your response, and then, bewilderingly, below that lay the dark and certain signature of one Benedict Fairburn.
Claire looked at his name for some time without comprehension, only realizing how long she had studied it when Worthington finally said, "Miss?
" in a tone connoting only a reminder that he was there, and no curiosity at all.
Claire wondered how he could possibly do that so well, when he certainly had to be as curious a creature as any other human. Eyebrows lifted, a stupor shaken off, she said, "Please call for my maid, Worthington. I shall dress for a drive in the park this afternoon. Wait: has it been raining?"
“No, miss. The weather is unseasonably pleasant, although it is rather cold."
“Excellent. Then ask Lucy to set out my clothes, and return to me. I shall have a letter for you to have delivered."
"Miss," Worthington said agreeably, and went away while Claire penned an acceptance to Mr Fairburn's invitation.
She could not imagine what he could possibly want.
She had insulted him thoroughly, and expected no overtures of reconciliation.
Were he not a friend of Charles's, she doubted she would ever see or speak to him again, which was certainly for the best.
Oh, but Charles. He was a friend of Charles's, and it was likely her cousin had intervened, not wanting trouble between his family and his friends. Well, for Charles's sake she could be civil, even if she thought Benedict Fairburn to be among the lowest of the low.
He arrived promptly at two and, although he was unquestionably the lowest of the low, Claire, clad in a lightweight, softly yellow dress and a fetching blue overcoat, was pleased to see that Mr Fairburn was dressed as finely, and indeed nearly matched her in his buckskins and powder blue tailcoat.
They murmured polite greetings as he helped her into the gig, and settled himself before clucking to the horse, a fine bay mare whose coat shone and who swished her short tail proudly.
Claire uttered a compliment about the beast, which Fairburn accepted before falling into a polite silence the entire distance to the park.
Claire, increasingly astonished by his unwillingness to speak, kept her complete attention on the passers-by, the newspaper-sellers, and the businessmen moving purposefully through the streets.
After half a turn around the park, the polite quiet had begun to border on absurd; after a full circuit, Claire broke the silence with a mix of incredulity and insult. "You drive nicely, Mr Fairburn, but I am beginning to have a care for your wits. Does a cat have your tongue?"
Fairburn flinched so guiltily Claire wondered if he had indeed planned an entire drive in unbroken silence.
He spoke with the rough voice of one who had not been prepared to use it.
"No, Miss Dalton. Please forgive me. I have been thinking about our altercation a few nights ago and have been unable to find a delicate way to broach the topic. "
"I see. Well, if you expect me to apologize I believe you should instead return me to my home at once. I stand by my statements."
"No," Fairburn said hastily, "no. Much the opposite, in fact.
I had hoped you might clarify them somewhat.
Please, Miss Dalton, might we walk a while?
I wish to understand something, and although this horse is capable of walking for miles unattended, I should hate to somehow be the cause of difficulties due to my lack of attention. "
"Certainly," Claire agreed, and, remembering her intentions of being civil for Charles's sake, kept the opinion that Fairburn preferred to cause difficulties deliberately, rather than through inattention, to herself.
They alighted from the carriage and Fairburn handed its care over to a smartly dressed youth who led the ensemble to a post as Benedict offered his arm to Claire.
She smiled a decline. "I think I am safe enough if we keep to the paths, Mr Fairburn.
Now, you wanted me to…?" Because while she remembered what he had asked, it seemed unlikely that he was eager for another tongue lashing, and that he would not have chosen such a public space if that was his expectation.
"I want to understand why this institute for orphans is so important to you. I do not wish to discuss my part in it, only to try to grasp why any young woman of means would feel so passionately about a passel of unfortunates."
Surprised, Claire walked quietly for a while, searching out the answers she could give without betraying Jack Graham's secrets.
Not that they would need to remain secrets much longer, but for his sake—and her own—it was better that the question of the twins not be revealed until after they were married and settled.
"I do not know how you pass your time, Mr Fairburn," she finally said.
"I do not suppose young gentlemen are expected to do good works with and for the poor in the way that young women are.
You have different expectations placed upon you: politics, soldiering, hunting. "
Fairburn gave her a quick smile. "A pastime some young ladies share, I hear."
"Yes," Claire said rather seriously, "but not to half the degree that gentlemen do.
I have too many other duties to attend to, and among those has always been to help the poor.
Many of the families in our township feed themselves with a small garden, but they must still bargain for bread and meat if and when they can.
I have brought many a leg of mutton or shoulder of pork to a family who has not had meat in months, or soups and breads to a widower whose pride will not allow him to seek help.
These are not bad people, Mr Fairburn, they are only poor, and the only reason that they are poor is because they have no money. "
"If they were worthier, they would be wealthier. That is the nature of wealth."
Benedict sounded so sanctimonious that a fire lit in Claire's breast. "That, Mr Fairburn, is preposterous. How can you possibly say an infant or a child is unworthy? It is not the fault of a child that it is born to poor parents, or to parents who are ruined, or even if it is born out of wedlock!"
"But those children grow up to be criminals, Miss Dalton," Benedict said patiently.
Exasperated, Claire whirled toward him and stamped a foot.
"Often, yes! But that is because they lack food, warmth, clothing, shelter and must do whatever is necessary to obtain those things!
Have you ever seen an infant steal a loaf of bread, Mr Fairburn?
No! A father steal one for his starving child, yes, but the child is innocent of anything but hunger!
How many loaves of bread do you require on your table before you are willing to give one to a hungry child?
Answer me, Mr Fairburn! This question demands an answer! "
Fairburn shifted uncomfortably. "None at all, I suppose. I won't starve if I give a child some bread."
Satisfied, Claire relented a little. "You wouldn't starve if you gave up your bread every day to a hungry child, which is what I mean to say to you about the institute.
You have bread already, Mr Fairburn. You have an entire table full of food.
That is what your wealth, the wealth you already have, gives you.
But you insist that your aunt's wealth must be yours as well.
More bread for your table, when you already have enough.
And yet you say to me that you have earned your aunt's bread too, and that you will not give it to a hungry child. "
"That is not at all what I said."
"It is precisely what you said," Claire said gently, "and it is why I am so very angry with you.
Even if I had not seen this institute myself I would think of the families at home who have lost a father to accident or a mother to illness and who have been reduced to nothing because of it, and I would disdain you for your greed.
You could be better than that, Mr Fairburn. You should be better than that."
Claire Dalton twisted his words with a politician's skill.
Benedict tried not to scowl at her and felt he nearly succeeded, but she took one thing he said and made it into something else entirely, and he couldn't entirely shake the suspicion that she was right.
"Do all women feel so strongly about these matters, Miss Dalton? "