Kenneth was taken aback by her inquiry. No one had ever asked him if he enjoyed his position. He had assumed, like everyone else, it was an unspoken duty to the crown. Of course, he was aware of his privileges, but he did not mind too much to go without them. It never occurred to him that he could be anything different or if he would want to be anything else.
“I suppose, like everything else in life.” He handled his palm and thought about it. “There are good sides and bad sides to what I do –
“Am,” she interrupted him. “It's more of an 'am' than 'do' sort of life, isn't it?” Her eyes shone with bravery and the fearless young woman before him leveled her stare with his. Kenneth shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her gaze, but he maintained the eye contact she had established.
“I suppose you are correct.” he uttered, idly stroking the ruffles at the sleeves of his shirt. He gave no indication of his thoughts. She rose to the challenge and asked, “What are the good sides?”
“I would like to think that what I do matters, that I am part of something larger. It is good to feel important, valued, and to know that I have some power, what little there is, in making things better.”
“What things?”
Kenneth knew that making big changes was complicated. There were always two sides to change: the ones who wanted it and the ones who didn’t. It’s much easier to talk about change than it is to go about making it happen. His father had spoken about change many times, but the only ones who’d benefited were those who didn’t need it. The wealthy often flourished at the expense of the poor, but this had been a repeating cycle for thousands and thousands of years; it was not likely to be uprooted.
“Life, I suppose. Crime, for one thing.” His eyes looked pointedly at her bruises and cracked lips.
“Good luck to you.” she snorted, but it brought her great pain from her middle and she winced.
“What about you, Miss Benson? I'm sorry, Leah. What is it you want most in the world?” Kenneth asked, having sensed her thoughts turning dark once more. He would have to be careful and tread lightly. Her trust would not be won in the space of a single carriage ride.
She sucked in her breath a bit, contemplating, and puffed out her cheeks in thought. Then after a time she delivered a manicured reply.
“I want to live in a cottage somewhere out in the French country, so I can finish my paintings and garden. A village would do, I suppose, but I would prefer my own farm. Chickens and cows, most likely, though I do love a good goat. They'll eat anything. I want to visit the sea in the winter, and watch the sea slam the sand, eat iced cream, laugh about whatever I please, and never think about the boroughs again.” She thought for a second longer and added, “And I'd like to never need money again. Not as if I were rich, but as if people didn't need money. They all just sorted themselves out nice and like.”
Kenneth was struck by the wistfulness in her voice, as if she believed those things could only be accomplished in dreams. He was saddened to think that she was without redemption. Surely no burden she carried could kill her spirit so easily, for he’d seen passion within her as she fought for her life.
No woman, who held such bravery in her heart, would let the cruelty of the world best her. She is a true survivor. I remember what they look like.
Kenneth unbuttoned and shrugged out of his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was startled by the gesture but did not deny him. “I hope you are rewarded with such fortune, Miss Benson.”
“I wish you the same, Excellency.” She cocked her head a bit and adjusted to the coat. “Whatever fortunes you desire lest they be undesirable.”
“Ha!” Kenneth laughed out at her wit. “It's Your Grace, by the way, you had it right before.”
“What?”
“I am a Duke, so you refer to me as Your Grace, not Excellency.”
“Oh.” She stared at him through her one good eye.
“No, no, come, it is no matter.” Kenneth felt ashamed for correcting her despite how she had corrected him multiple times.
Suddenly her eyes seemed to grow wide, and she looked to him worriedly. “You have been to France?” she asked him urgently after sheltering beneath the greatcoat.
“I have, twice in fact.”
“So, it's real?”
“Beg pardon?”
“France. It's a real place, isn't it? I mean you can go there, you can go to Paris. It's real isn't it?” she was pressing, working herself up into some sort of minor panic attack.
“Yes.” Kenneth said, startled. “It is real. Why ever wouldn't it be?”
Perhaps it is her injury. I have seen worse hallucinations.
“Sometimes…” Leah began to calm down, and after a few breaths she shrugged, slinking further into the folds of the coat. “Sometimes I look out at the water and think that's where the world ends, and that they just made everything else up to keep people from killing one another, and there isn’t even a real place to get away from here.” Leah rested her head on the window and looked distantly outwards.
“I – ” but Kenneth had no words to respond.
How full she must be of despair. It wracked at him, slicing inwards. She was wounded, deeply, both outside and in. Eventually he mustered up, “The world does not end there.”
“Where are we?” she asked, turning her head back from the window. “It is pitch black out there.”
“Somewhere between London and my estate.” Kenneth answered honestly. “I had thought that you might recover there, as before you woke, I had no inclination of when that would occur. Please, forgive me if I have overstepped. Will my estate be suitable grounds for your recovery? I believe several of your ribs to be broken, that requires rest, and much of it. I swear you will be accommodated with privacy and whatever you require.”
“Estate…” She chuckled a bit. “Don't hear that every day, do you?” Her pursuant sense of humor amazed him, and even forced him to smile.
“No, I suppose you don't.” Kenneth laughed. “Will that be acceptable to you, Miss Benson?”
“My name is Leah.” she retorted, and pulled the great coat further about her. She nodded her thanks to his offer and curled up on the bench shamelessly. Kenneth couldn’t imagine the physical pain she was experiencing. She had been struck many times, and if he knew anything about bruises, he knew she would feel each of the blows on the morrow. Kenneth had been there before, and so, he sympathized with her wounds. How strong she must be to endure such brutality. I should have been quicker! I could have had those brigands in custody.
Kenneth watched as she folded in on herself as if that were all the protection she needed. As if she were an alpine fox, tucking itself in for a storm. Her lashes trembled. She fought the sleep that threatened to consume her, but curiosity won the battle in the end and she passed into a deep slumber, letting loose a healthy snore that caused Kenneth to sit back, chuckling.
“What will become of all this?” he wondered aloud, resting his head back on the jostling window. The mystery had taken hold of him, and he had no way of knowing how far it would take him.
Chapter 4
The manor which Kenneth called home was a grand building by all accounts. The ceilings were high, the floors three, and the windows works of art. The furnishings were elegant, yet tasteful, having been identified over the years by Juliet's watchful eyes.
All the walls were adorned with fine paintings of value, and in spaces absent art, the wallpaper shone through with exquisite rarity.
Juliet was Kenneth's mother, a Duchess, and an avid collector of antiques. She had worked tirelessly to perfect the house, combing through the furniture and draperies until everything was just right. She took great pride in her home and had finally reached a point at which she was satisfied with its interior.
She had instructed the house staff with a strict regimen for the dusting and cleaning of furniture, and often she joined in to ensure everything was done properly. The house she kept in place of her husband, who had pa
ssed away just two years before. For Juliet, the house was something she could control, manipulate, mold, and ensure never diminished. It was her jewel, her hobby, and her sanctuary.
On that particular evening, Juliet had taken her supper alone. When she ate alone, she always made short work of the food, as to be done with the task as fast as possible. Once finished, she would take down one glass of brandy in a swift salute to her late husband, and then retire by the fire to read. That was precisely where she found herself when her housekeeper entered, causing her to look up from the pages of her novel.
“Your Grace, I am sorry to disturb you.”
“What is it, Mrs. Redford?” she asked over the top of the binding.
“There's a coach that can be seen coming up the drive.” the housekeeper replied, wiping her palms on her apron to be sure they were clean in case she had to touch anything.
“A coach?” Juliet inquired, closed the book. “What is the hour?” She turned her head to look at the clock behind her. “Five past ten, good heavens, a coach you say. It is fortunate I am still awake.” She set the book down and lifted her graceful frame out of the comfortable sofa.
“It must be Kenneth back from London, but at such an odd hour? I did not expect him until Tuesday.” Juliet pondered, draping her shawl about her. Then a seed of worry took hold of her. “Oh dear, I do hope nothing has happened to him.”
“I am sure he is fine, Your Grace.” Mrs. Redford offered.
“Go and find Beatrice, have her ready in case he requires food.” Juliet dismissed her and left the cozy study, making her way through the massive hallways of the mansion. She came finally to the parlor, and from its grand passageway she went into the ever-clean mud room. “Open it up.” she waved at the footman, who hurried to swing the heavy mahogany doors apart.
Juliet could see the coach coming into view, rattling towards the house. From there she could see the moonlit outline of Daniel, Kenneth's manservant, who sat beside the driver. She held her hand aloft and waved and saw him wave back.
If it were bad news, he would not have waved to me. The coach rolled to a stop before the grand entryway of the manor beneath the tiled overhang. “Is everything alright, Daniel?” she called from the stairs as the manservant hopped down from his bench.
“It is a woman, Your Grace.” he answered, removing his rain-soaked gloves and opening the carriage door.
“A woman?” Juliet repeated to herself, unsure of what to expect. What was he talking about? What could he mean by that?
Her son climbed down from the coach and landed his heavy leather boots on the one bit of dry cobblestone within miles.
“Good evening, Μother.” he remarked, tipping his hat.
“Kenneth, what is this about a woman?” Juliet asked, but her question was answered the moment Kenneth helped the woman down from the coach. She was bruised, her eye black and swollen, her clothing torn and bloody.
Juliet was taken aback by the sight, overwhelmed and unsure how to proceed. Juliet hated not knowing the proper thing to do.
“Mother, this is Miss Leah Benson.” Kenneth grunted while shifting the woman's weight onto his shoulders, holding her arm around his. “We must get her inside.”
“Yes, yes of course.” Juliet scrambled to ensure the door was open and called forward a few servants to assist in the process of loading the woman into the house.
“I'm fine, really.” the woman protested, but she was not fine, and the servants took her up in their arms.
“Take her to one of the guest rooms.” Juliet fussed. “Hurry now, come on.”
They all limped her down the hall to the nearest guest room, where the bed was hurriedly made up. Juliet had a moment of horror when she realized how filthy this woman was, and that she had brought so much dirt and dampness into her home. The Duchess managed to push this feeling aside after looking again upon the terrible bruises and realized that this woman was horribly hurt; it went far beyond what she had initially assumed. In truth, she was not certain what she had assumed when she had seen Miss Benson emerge from the carriage, but now she knew the extent of the situation.
Upon being certain that the problem was contained to a single room, and that the woman was in good tender hands, Juliet located her son to berate him. He was not hard to find. He was in his father's office, sipping contemplatively on a glass of expensive liquor as he was apt to do, imagining himself the slyest and brightest person in all the land.
“What have you done?” Juliet broke his stare out of the moonlit window, lighting one of the oil lamps to shatter Kenneth's ambiance.
“Nothing! I did not do that!” Kenneth was clearly surprised by her appearance and took to the defense immediately.
“Of course not.” Juliet scolded. “I mean, who is she and why have you brought her here? I assume you must have encountered her on the road, no? She had to be traveling to be so dirty. Was she alone? What of her traveling companions?”
“One question at a time, Mother.” Kenneth held his hands up openly. “As I have said, her name is Miss Leah Benson. She is of London.”
“But where did you find her?”
“Why, London.” Kenneth admitted, seemingly puzzled by her line of questioning.
“Why on God's green earth did you not leave her in London? There are hundreds of thousands of people in that city, a few of which must be related to her. If she is of London, then why did you remove her from London? I am sure her family is worried sick. I would be in a fuss, I will tell you that, should you not return a night you were meant to. I nearly had a panic attack when I saw you returning early!”
“Mother…” Kenneth took a deep breath. “I fear you misunderstand.”
“What am I misunderstanding?” Juliet challenged across the desk.
“I brought her here because she has no family in London. She is not of our class. She is of the lowest class. I saw her in trouble, and I had to do something, I could not just sit by. When I put her in the coach, I did not expect her to wake so soon; I thought she might recover peaceably here.”
“You saved her?” Juliet blinked, dumbstruck. “From what?”
“Street thugs, they were beating her.”
“You saved a street urchin from street thugs and escorted her back to our estate?”
“Well, I suppose that is the sum in shorthand,” Kenneth blundered. “But the term urchin is a foul one, and I think too strong – ”
“You are not Sir Lancelot, my son,” Juliet said sadly. “You cannot behave as if you were. You are the Duke of Worthington, a member of the House of Lords, an important business man, and you need to be married. You know this. Already, some of your other gallant actions have cost you two courtships in the past. Now this, I fear, will impede you even further. While the hero may attract the daughter, it shall push away the father, and that is the one you must enchant. We have spoken of this at length.”
“Yes, yes.” Kenneth sighed. “I know it. But I could not do nothing, Mother, they were beating her. They would have continued until her death, I fear, if I had not intervened. What else could I do?”
“My son.” Juliet went to him and put her hand on his arm. “You have done the right thing. I only chastise you for doing it so publicly.” Kenneth laughed out, seemingly relieved at his lecture. “Well, I can drink to that.” He poured another and put it down, letting out a crisp puff of air afterwards. “So, you have no objection to her recovering here?”
“I cannot with good conscience, can I?” Juliet said. “How long will it take?”
“I fear she has broken ribs. Perhaps two weeks, perhaps a month.”
“Very well,” Juliet accepted. “But if she is well before that, she should be off. It is not our place to take commoners into our home.”
“We have servants,” Kenneth protested.
“And I know each and every one of them.” Juliet countered. “This Leah Benson, I do not know.” She turned to leave the room, shaking her head at her son's spontaneity. It was always something ne
w with him, although this was by far the most ridiculous, interesting, and horrific thing he had ever brought home.
* * *
Kenneth watched his mother leave, and as soon as she was clear from sight, he poured another drink. What a day it has been!
He had begun the day with every intention of attending and loathing a late luncheon by invitation of the Marquess for drinks and discussion regarding the criminal element of London. He enjoyed actual, intelligent conversation on the subject of criminality, as it was an area of interest for him, but it seemed these events inevitably turned to ranting festivals against the lower classes, and not a true academic discussion at all.
But something truly out of the ordinary had happened. It seemed fate had stepped in, just before he was to enter that building. He remembered looking up at the Marquess before he felt the impact of Leah colliding with him. How that collision had altered everything.
The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 4
