Page 46 of Bewitching Benedict (The Lovelorn Lads #1)

Graham had drawn Miss Hurst to her feet and they now stood locked in a desperate embrace, kissing more passionately than Claire had even imagined possible, never mind witnessed.

Appalled, she looked elsewhere, then, like everyone else, found her gaze drawn back to the entangled couple.

The Lads—everyone, in fact—had shifted positions to watch them more clearly.

The better, Claire supposed, to spread gossip, although she would not be sharing in that particular vice ever again.

"Miss Dalton," Evander Hewitt murmured at her side, "I realize that the circumstances are somewhat extraordinary, but I should not like to see this confusion blown so far out of control that you find yourself bereft.

" His tone was so unlike that which she was accustomed to that Claire looked at him, astonished to find his angular face and blue eyes sincere.

Far more sincere, she thought, than she had ever seen him before; it reminded her that she had thought him handsome at first, even if he was a terrible cad.

Cad or not, it was Evander Hewitt who offered her the thread of hope she had not even imagined existed. "I hope you will not find me too bold, Miss Dalton, if I ask now if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Benedict Fairburn seized Evander Hewitt's shoulder, spun him around, and punched him in the jaw as hard as he possibly could.

Hewitt's eyes crossed and he fell soundlessly.

Soundlessly indeed, as it seemed to Benedict that there had been a great and terrible roar in the room, a noise so large it had quieted everything else.

Hewitt was merely one more quiet thing in the aftermath of that sound.

Benedict's throat was suddenly sore, and he had the dreadful suspicion that the roar had been his own voice, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

"Here now," Ackerman said in some surprise, "that's twice today he's taken a hit like that.

Perhaps someone should call for a doct—" His last word was cut off as Vincent clapped a large hand over his mouth and in so doing, dragged him a critical step or two away as Benedict, panting with choler, whirled toward Ackerman as well.

Deprived of a second interference, Benedict turned to Hewitt, beside whom Claire Dalton had knelt. She looked between the two of them in astonishment, though, as fire flared in her green eyes, it was clear that emotion was about to give way to another. "What?—!?"

"He doesn't love you the way I do, Claire," Benedict said desperately. "He doesn't love you at all. For God's sake, say you'll marry me, not that louse. You must say you'll marry me!"

For a few seconds Claire remained where she was, lips parted in amazement, though not, Benedict feared, delight.

He had rendered her dumbstruck, which was not exactly as he had imagined this going.

But then, neither was blurting out a proposal in front of dozens, all of whom were now holding their breath as if afraid a single inhalation would draw attention and have them then sent from the room.

Benedict was vaguely aware of this, but could no more have dismissed them than turned his back on Claire Dalton, who now rose with the slow, deliberate grace of a dancer.

"I do not require rescue," she said in a voice so controlled and smooth that although all evidence lay to the contrary, Benedict found himself inclined to believe her.

Her jaw did tremble, though, as she continued, "I believe I have made it clear, Mr Fairburn, that we are of sufficiently different minds on topics of importance that I could not possibly consider you as a partner in marriage.

I am sorry for the break betwixt you and Miss Hurst—" and here Claire couldn't stop herself from glancing at Hurst and Graham, who, although still locked in a kneeling embrace on the floor, had noticed the activities going on around them, and were staring wide-eyed between Claire and Benedict just as everyone else was, "—but I am quite certain," Claire continued with determination, "that you will find a bride of sufficient—practicality—to wed you and ensure your aunt's fortune will be yours and yours alone. I, however, will not be that bride."

"Oh, hang the money!" Benedict howled. "Where do you think I've been, Miss Dalton? I have been to see my aunt, and have told her that I must refuse the inheritance!"

" What ?" Mrs Fairburn's voice proved a fine contralto capable of shaking the chandeliers.

Almost every gaze in the room snapped to her, including Benedict's, although he saw that, beside their mother, Amelia stood with her fingers pressed to her lips and her eyes bright with encouragement.

Their mother, however, was nearly as white-faced with shock as Miss Hurst was by nature, and her eyes bulged with horror.

"You will go to her at once and tell her you are a young, impetuous fool and beg her forgiveness! "

A feeling of faintness passed over Benedict as he considered the unforeseen possibility that he had not only refused Great-Aunt Nancy's fortune but that he might well have also gotten himself disinherited from the Fairburn money.

And yet it was entirely too late, not only because he had been politely decisive with his aunt, but for reasons of far more importance to him now.

"Forgive me, Mother, but I will not. There are, it seems, those who need the money far more than we do. "

He turned to Claire, who had not, after all, looked toward his mother; she was gazing at Benedict in something he almost dared hope might be considered adoration, and it was to that rising emotion he spoke.

"I am blunderingly slow," he said, wretched with apology.

"A better man might have understood at once that your argument was full of merit.

I, however, had to hear it twice, from two women of greater heart and worth than I myself am, and then had to recognize my own true feelings for one of those women before I began to truly understand.

"Miss Hurst," he said suddenly. Both she and Claire jolted, and Benedict realized in dismay how this would seem if he didn't speak quickly.

"I must thank you for breaking with me," he said swiftly.

"Had you not I would never have come to understand what I now do.

I wish you and Mr Graham all the happiness in the world and I beg you, Miss Dalton, to hear me out. "

Breath rushed from between Claire's lips as she gave a diminutive nod.

Benedict nearly sank to the floor in relief; that could have gone badly.

He was not, it appeared, at all skilled at romancing the fairer sex.

"I was very angry with you," he said in embarrassment.

"You made me see myself as a lout, only interested in bettering myself, and I feared your vision of me was the true one.

It is uncomfortable to look in the mirror and see the man looking back at you as shallow and unworthy.

I apologize without reservation for the way I treated you, and for leaving Town so abruptly.

Speaking to Great-Aunt Nancy was the only way I could think to prove myself a better man than you had come to view me as.

The only way," he confessed, "to prove to myself that I was a better man than you believed.

"And in truth, Miss Dalton, without the burden and duty of her inheritance weighing on me, I am more certain of myself than I have been in months, perhaps years.

I know now that I do not want to marry for money, but for love.

I know the inheritance never meant anything to you, but for a time it meant something to me, so I can only hope that you might see this as some measure of my love for you, Miss Dalton.

It no longer means anything to me. All that matters is the hope that you will give me the chance, now that my fortune is not wedded to my, er, wedding… ."

He was hopeless. He ought to have asked O'Brien, as silver-tongued an Irish devil as ever there was, to speak for him, or at least write out what he ought to say so that he could study it and not sound like such a fool.

It was too late now, though. He had bungled his way through it all, and finished up, in his estimation, equally as poorly.

"It may well be that I have nothing to offer but myself, as Mother may well disinherit me after this, but if you think I could make you happy in any measure, I beg you again, Miss Dalton, to consider me for your husband. "

There could be little more miserable than standing before one's entire family, all of one's friends, several passing acquaintances and most of one's hopeful's family whilst waiting for that hopeful to make an answer to a proposal.

The room was dreadfully hot and Benedict's heart pulsed at an unnatural rate, so that his hands were inclined to tremble at his sides.

He didn't dare clench them, afraid Claire might take the gesture as a threat, and so instead he stood and shook like leaves in the wind and tried not to feel the weight of three dozen interested gazes upon himself and Claire Dalton.

The Lads were not even wagering on the outcome.

Benedict tried to tell himself that this was due to real concern for his well-being, though he suspected it was more the imposing silence: they couldn't whisper bets to one another without being overheard, and that would be beyond the pale.

It was more astonishing that his mother said nothing, though he didn't dare look her way to find out what was causing her to be so discreet.

Perhaps she approved of Miss Dalton. Perhaps, more likely, the desire to preserve her friendship with Mrs Dalton was causing her to hold her tongue.

Benedict became aware he was holding on to these fleeting, distracting thoughts in an attempt to ward off his own fears as Claire's silence grew more protracted.