Page 40 of Bewitching Benedict (The Lovelorn Lads #1)

It would have reassured him greatly, of course, had Ackerman said Benedict intended to leave, but Ackerman, on his walk from the Fairburn residence to the Dalton house, had considered that explanation and rejected it.

With half a bottle of whiskey in him, the last thing Fairburn needed was Charles playing the agony aunt over him.

Besides, Ackerman was convinced that Fairburn fully intended to leave once he had regained consciousness.

It was not his place to thwart that, no matter how much Charles might have preferred him to.

"Look at it this way, Dalton. A man who runs away to the country isn't one who's getting married soon, so your Lads will remain intact a while longer yet. "

"He has to get married," Charles snapped. "His inheritance depends on it."

"And yet he's left Town. Something to do with your cousin, I believe, if you want to know the whole of it."

"For heaven's sake, Ackerman, my cousin and Fairburn have nothing to do with one another, especially after that disagreement at his house the other night. Don't be absurd."

"My apologies, Dalton. Come on, let's go out and I'll buy a round so we can forget about it."

"I'll need more than a single round," Charles warned, but the invitation sounded promising, and soon they were out the door, neither of them having noticed Claire pressed into a hall alcove outside it.

Mr Fairburn had left Town. Ackerman's pronouncement echoed in Claire's ears and somehow pierced holes in her heart.

She had spent the afternoon enclosed in her room, fingertips all too often brushing her lips in warm memory of Benedict's kiss.

Again and again she had convinced herself that she couldn't dwell on that one mistaken moment.

Again and again she had come back to it, until finally she had decided that he could not have kissed her so beautifully if he did not in some way care for her, and that she would not have responded if she did not herself in some way return that affection.

Which meant that she was shortly to marry the man that Priscilla Hurst loved, and Miss Hurst to marry the man that she, Claire Dalton, loved.

Fortunes or not, practicalities or not, business or not, such marriages could only be considered foolishness.

Having come to this conclusion, it became apparent to Claire that she must speak to Benedict again, perhaps to explore the depths of their passion for one another, though even the thought itself caused her to blush.

So, with her courage gathered, she had come downstairs with the intent of going to visit Amelia and the hope of encountering Benedict there.

Instead, she had learned through the half-open smoking room door that Mr Fairburn cared so little for their encounter that he had left Town.

Claire remained where she was, pressed into an alcove she had hidden in when Charles and Mr Ackerman had left. She had feared encountering them or being accused of eavesdropping. Now she could not force herself to move.

How could he be so callous as to leave? How could she have been so foolish as to imagine that kiss meant something to him?

Thank heavens she had not gone at once to Mr Graham to confess her sin.

That kiss would now have to be her darkest and best-kept secret, the one she would take to her grave as Mrs Graham.

Mrs Graham was an idea that filled her with neither delight nor horror.

It was simply a practical, if not precisely prudent, decision to positively affect the greatest number of people she could.

She enjoyed Graham's company and imagined the children, once certain their new-found country lives would not be snatched away from them, would be anywhere from intolerable to delightful, as children tended to be regardless.

And if it was to be done, best she shake herself loose from the alcove and tell her aunt and uncle as soon as possible.

Still, she thought, deep within, as she made herself move, how could he have left Town?

At the door of the sitting room Claire hesitated and looked at her aunt and uncle almost as if for the first time.

Aunt Elizabeth, in magnificent maroon silk as she sat with a book under a good light, was the image of a gentlewoman, powerful in her own way.

Uncle Charles, reading his papers, was a slight man whose hair appeared to have migrated into his sideburns.

His gaze was like his son's, mild and lazy, though his smile was readier than Charles Edward's.

He dressed fashionably, probably due to Aunt Elizabeth's influence rather than his own inclination.

They had been good to her, more generous than even family had to be.

Claire smoothed a hand over her skirt, feeling the grain of silk and thinking of Madame Babineaux's care in costuming her.

Claire was grateful to her aunt and uncle, and found that she hoped she would not disappoint them.

Both of them looked up as she entered the room, Uncle Charles flicking his papers down and offering one of those ready smiles. "Claire. You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you." Claire inhaled deeply. “I have an announcement to make."

Aunt Elizabeth's spine, always straight, straightened further, and her expression went wary. Claire felt mildly offended, and yet feared her aunt had reason to be cautious. Uncle Charles, however, only looked curious, which lent Claire some confidence.

"It has not been done entirely properly," she said in a rather small voice, "as Mr Graham has not spoken to you, Uncle Charles, much less my own parents, but I should like to tell you that we have agreed upon an engagement, and hope for your blessings."

A silence met this announcement. A silence and a distinct lack, Claire felt, of looks exchanged.

Either her aunt and uncle knew each other's thoughts intimately or Uncle Charles fully intended to leave all the marrying business to the women, as it was Aunt Elizabeth who slowly closed her book and did not otherwise change expression.

"Mr Jack Graham, you mean? Of whom I have heard less than flattering tales these past weeks? "

"Not from me," Claire said, suddenly stout in defense of both herself and Graham. "Most of it—all of it—is misunderstandings, which I myself have been allowed to understand. I do not regard them as impediments to marriage."

If she had not known better she might have thought she saw humor spark in Aunt Elizabeth's eyes. "Ah," her aunt said. "Well then. Surely any objections we might have are irrelevant, then."

As quickly as it had come, Claire's defensiveness fled. "Of course not, but at the same time, my mind is entirely made up."

"Well, come in and sit down, Claire, and let us hear all about it. How did he propose? Was it gentlemanly? What are his prospects? Who are his friends? How does he know Miss Hurst? And do you love him?"

Claire sat obediently, then gazed at Aunt Elizabeth with increasing horror.

There had been gossip a-plenty regarding Jack Graham and Miss Hurst, but to find Aunt Elizabeth knew Miss Hurst by name still came as a shock.

And Claire could certainly not admit that she had actually made the proposal, which left her stymied for answers on more than half of Mrs Dalton's questions.

"I like him," she said to the last, and to her surprise heard Uncle Charles grunt in disapproval.

Blushing with astonishment, she turned to find him looking as startled at the sound as she was. "Forgive me, my dear. That was intolerably rude."

"And yet," Aunt Elizabeth said in the tone of one who expected to hear the reasons for intolerable rudeness.

Uncle Charles squinted, making him once more very like his son, although Claire couldn't imagine Charles Edward giving Aunt Elizabeth a skunk-eye, which was what Uncle Charles's expression slid toward, as if he suspected he had been played like a fish on a line and that Aunt Elizabeth was the expert angler.

However, in for a penny, he went in for a pound, addressing Claire directly: "It's good that you like him, my dear, as liking someone often lasts longer than the first flush of love.

But you are young and—forgive me—wealthy enough to choose without being so wealthy as to be fortune-hunted.

You have some degree of luxury in that you might be permitted to pursue love.

I do not like you abandoning that opportunity so soon. "

Claire thought of Benedict Fairburn and crushed the thought all at once, not knowing she betrayed herself with a blush.

Her aunt and uncle did exchange glances then, but she imagined they were only in agreement, and cried out, "I am abandoning nothing!

This is my decision, and if I am so perfectly balanced between independence and fate, then let me choose liking that will last rather than the heartbreak of failing love! "

A second glance was exchanged before Aunt Elizabeth said, "Well, your Mr Graham must at least speak to your uncle, and better yet, to your own father.

I will write immediately. I am sure your parents can be here within the week.

We shall host an engagement party ten days hence and have it published in the papers the following day, but in the meantime I believe we should have a small and private celebration ourselves.

After all, it isn't every day that my niece finds herself engaged, and I, for one, am most eager to meet your young man.