Once Upon a Dreamy Match: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Her heels clacked on the tiles as she strode over to her son. “Benedict, what are you planning now?”

  He took her under his arm, snagging the passing butler. “Have some tea prepared for us.”

  Lady Vivian kept her gaze on her son, her brow furrowing more and more with each step they took towards the drawing room. “You had better have a frightfully good explanation for all of this, my son.”

  “I do, mother. But first you and I need to have an honest conversation.”

  Chapter 14

  A Merchant’s House in Essex

  At long last, Hedingham Estate swept into view. The sun was beginning to sink over the forest and was casting long shadows down the hill. Basking under its final, glowing rays, the Manor appeared to glow, looking magical and familiar. A great flood of relief poured over him as the sunlight did when Benedict stepped out of the carriage and stretched his legs. He drew in a lungful of the crisp, evening air.

  Oh, the sweet smells of the country. Having spent so long in the city, with its littered streets and muddy gutters and peoples who reeked of taverns and only wore perfumes to hide the smells that stained them, this was such a welcome change. All he could scent were the flowers in the gardens, grass damp from rain, and the freshness of freedom.

  A mist was rolling in at the cusp of the forest, too. He would see it swirling at the fringes as he crossed the road and headed up the pathway. How fitting for his mood, which was split equally between trepidation and excitement – so close in nature were these feelings that Benedict found himself flipping between the two from one second to the next. He knocked at the door, but there was no answer right away. As another moment ticked by, Benedict knocked again, this time louder and with more force.

  Had Daphne already left? Had she been home at all? Perhaps she had penned that letter whilst she was on the road? What if he had missed her entirely?

  Just as he was beginning to panic, the door was pulled away from him and out of reach of a third knock. A familiar woman answered it.

  “Matilda!”

  Her eyes grew from narrowed slits to wide ovals as recognition struck.

  “Lord Gildon!” she exclaimed with an abrupt and clumsy bow. “Heavens, if we had known you were coming –“

  “It appears I have caught you by surprise. May I come in?”

  Matilda opened the door wider without hesitation. Benedict crossed the dim threshold and was instantly hit with more familiar smells. The Blanton residence, before it had fallen into depravity during Walter’s month-long depressive episode, had always smelled of fresh-cut flowers, hearth smoke and baked bread. These aromas filled the air now, and Benedict drank them deep. This little house was as much a home to him as Hedingham Manor was – perhaps even more so, for it was filled with far more comforts than just the furnishings and accessories.

  “I thought you would have moved on by now, Matilda. Your residence with the Blanton’s was only temporary, after all.”

  She took his coat for him. “Yes, you are correct. I have been called away to attend another household, but I had a mind to stay until you could source a replacement housekeeper.”

  “Well, after tonight I think you should consider taking your leave. You have served the Blantons well during our stay in London.” He smiled at the woman. “Thank you for answering my call for help.”

  “It is always a pleasure to be of service to you, Lord Gildon,” she replied with a curtsy. “What has troubled you to return here from London so late in the day?”

  “Please, Matilda,” was Benedict’s only reply, turning to the staircase. “Have I missed her?”

  The woman frowned. “Missed whom, your Lordship?”

  Benedict’s heart stuttered. Who else could he possibly be referring to?

  Incredulously, Matilda’s face broke into a wicked smile. “Just a jest, Lord Gildon. No, you have not missed her; Miss Daphne is upstairs. Shall I fetch her?”

  His fear quashed, Benedict allowed himself to laugh. “You almost killed the Lord of Hedingham on the spot, Matilda.”

  “Apologies, my Lord,” she replied, but with a smirking. Oh, how he liked this woman. She had always had a quick sense of humour. It was part of the reason he had selected her to join the Blanton household all those weeks past – the home was so in need of laughter. She was a transient housekeeper whose speciality was tending to houses and families who were in the midst of crises. With her help, and that of the Blanton’s new and permanent cook, she had restored the house to its former glory. He was sure that she would be missed when she moved on come daybreak.

  “I will go myself,” Benedict said in response to her question. Matilda nodded, excusing herself to have some tea prepared.

  The house was dark, lit only by a solitary lamp in the corner and whatever natural light managed to creep inside. Benedict started up the stairs where the final rays of the sun were streaming in through the single window in the hall. When he reached the landing, one of the doors cracked open and the twins stuck their heads out.

  Benedict pressed his finger to his lips before Jasper could cry out to him. Catching their Lord neighbour’s expression, Lionel turned and put a hand over his brother’s mouth, hauling him back into their bedroom and shutting the door with a scuffle. Benedict muffled his laughter as he continued down the hall. When he reached her bedroom door, he saw light spilling in from beneath it. Good, she was here, though likely packing for her adventure across the sea.

  Benedict gave a light rap at the door.

  “One moment,” came the call from beyond. Through the wood, Benedict heard a rustling, and then a great thump followed by a cry of pain. Unthinking, he pushed the door open without invitation.

  “Daphne?”

  She whirled on him. “Benedict?”

  All they could do for a moment was stare at one another, her in shock and he in concern. Her suitcase had toppled off the bed and the clothes that had likely been so neatly packed away were now strewn across the floor. Reading about her planned departure in her letter was one thing; seeing her belongings prepared for shipment to the West Indies did something different to him altogether.

  Daphne managed to collect herself. “Benedict, what are you –”

  He crossed the floor and threw his arms around her, pulling her into his chest just as he had the other day when she was in need of his comfort. Though this time, it was him who needed the comfort, who was so wrapped in grief that only her presence, her touch, could calm his aching soul.

  And it did, as he held her, it felt right; having her in his arms was akin to feeling whole. For so many years, for their entire lives, they had had each other. Best friends, confidants, allies. They were everything to one another. How could she believe that he would let her walk away from him?

  “Daphne,” he said into her hair, so soft and lovely and dark. He ran his fingers through it as he finally relaxed his hold enough to lean back and look into her the eyes. He beheld her beauty unabashedly, an unconscious hand rising to brush her cheek. He kept his gaze steady on her eyes, watching as they began to water right in front him, perfect emerald pools.

  He wiped a falling tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Tell me, Daphne, for I must know. That letter you wrote me: does it truly represent your heart?”

  She did not blink away the second tear that fell. “No, Benedict, it does not.”

  “Please, tell me your truth.”

  She raised her hand to touch the back of his, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. She took a deep breath, as if hoping to relish this moment, and remember it forever. Benedict wanted to remember it forever, too.

  “The truth is that my feelings for you are deeper than anything I could ever express to you in a letter. What you read…what I wrote…it is just a single tree in the forest of what you mean to me.”

  Benedict had never before been struck by an urge as strong as the one that passed through him then. He leaned forward, bringing her face into his. Just as their lips were about to meet at long
last, Daphne pulled away. His heart shattered as her watched her falter. She looked at the ground, her dark curls falling into her face and shielding those eyes from him.

  “But it is impossible, Benedict.”

  He wanted to reach out to her again but she turned away, crossing the room to stand at the window by her desk. Watching her, he grew wary, afraid she might break right in front of his eyes.

  “What is impossible?” he asked her from across the room, his own voice frail in his ears.

  She did not look away from the window. “Any chance of us being together…it is impossible. Because of everything that has happened, because of who we are as people – there is no chance now, if there ever was one at all.”

  “What are you talking about, Daphne?” Unable to help himself, he crossed to her again, taking her shoulder under his gentle grasp and turning her towards him.

  Tears were streaming down her face. “I will not be the other woman, Benedict! Not in courtship, and certainly not in marriage. God, you must know. You must have figured it out by now. Please, Benedict, do not make me say it. I will not say the words to you aloud.”

  He knew, of course he did. Though she may not believe herself to have told him everything in her brief letter, it spoke more than she had ever realised. She was not leaving for the sake of self-preservation, for Daphne was the most selfless person he had ever known. They both knew she would spend a lifetime making sacrifices if it meant that the people she loved would achieve happiness. She had been doing it all her life.

  She had been running from this, from him, from them, from finally facing her feelings and all of the consequences that would come along with it. But it was too late now; they were here, and it was time to be honest for the first time in their lives. If she would not start, then he would.

  “Daphne, you were never the other woman.”

  She paused. Something in the set of her shoulders changed at his words. Her posture shifted and she moved to look up at him once more. “But Lady Parker –“

  “Was nothing more than a mistake. I had hoped…I had hoped that by showing affection for someone else, I would draw you towards me.” He could not stifle the pitiful laugh that erupted from his throat. “Oh, how wrong I was. Had I known that all you required of me was honesty, I highly doubt any of this would have happened at all.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair again, winding the locks through his hands and savouring the feel of her. “I am saying, Daphne Blanton, that I am in love with you.”

  She gasped, eyes wide and sparkling.

  “And I am saying that you will never be the other woman. You cannot be, for you are the only woman. The only one I have ever loved, and the only one I will ever love.”

  She threw her arms around him. “I wish we had never gone to London.”

  “You speak my own thoughts,” he agreed, holding her tight. “Please, Daphne. Do not leave me. You cannot possibly be serious about immigrating to the West Indies.”

  “I was when I penned that letter,” she admitted when she released him. With that taunting smile he adored so much, she added, “But after what you have just confessed to me, I suppose I could trouble myself to stay in Essex with you.”

  “We are not city people, Daphne. Essex is our home, Hedingham Estate is our home. You are my home.”

  Her expression softened. “And you are mine. My heart has always been yours, Benedict.”

  “So why, my Daphne, did you make such drastic plans to leave the country? What could have possibly brought you to that conclusion?”

  She sighed. “I think this conversation would travel better with tea.”

  Naturally, she was right, and moments later the two were seated in the privacy of the drawing room, where fresh tea and a light refreshment had been prepared for them. Matilda had swept in and out without a word or comment, but Benedict did not miss the glint in her eye. She had stolen a smile at him, flitting her all-knowing eyes between the pair before excusing herself to retire for the evening. Once the tea was poured, Daphne began her explanation.

  “I must admit, the decision came to me suddenly. After my father announced that he was to marry your mother, I knew that there would be no place for me in England. For all these theatrics to occur in the relative secrecy of Essex is one thing, but so many scandals followed my father throughout his time in London that I believed the whole country was against me. You must understand Benedict: I felt so isolated, and yet the centre of everyone’s attention. Even when I could see no eyes on me or hear no words spoken about me, I felt as though the entirety of town were judging me.”

  Benedict nursed his tea and nodded. “I can only imagine the undue stress that you were feeling. I wish you had come to me and expressed this, Daphne.”

  “I wanted to,” she said. “But I tell you so much, and I rely on you so often that this just could not be another thing that I would burden you with. It would have been improper.”

  He reached across the table and placed his hand upon hers. “Being of help you, in whatever way you need, is never improper. You are not a burden, Daphne.”

  She offered him a sad smile. “I know that now, but at the time, all I thought to do was run. Originally, I had planned to set sail elsewhere on the continent. I could work as a governess, earn a living, carve out a new life for myself. It would be a fresh start. Nobody would know me, or my father, or any scandal attached to the Blanton name. It would have been lonely and difficult, but I could have done it. And since I believed you, my only reason for staying –“ she paused to give him a wistful look then, her eyes so filled with love “- to be with another woman, my last resolve was gone. There was no hope for me in England, not without you.”

  “And what did Walter have to say about all of this?”

  She scoffed. “It was his suggestion that I choose the West Indies. He said that at least in that part of the world, I could not bring shame to him by being an independent woman who makes her own fortune.” Taking a breath, she sipped her tea. Frustration lined her pale face and worried her lower lip. Her opinion of her father was written all over her face. “He said that he would not force me to marry if it was not what I wanted. I suppose he was too infatuated with his own daydreams to recognise the pain I was feeling.”

  Benedict chastised himself. He should have known that it was Walter. The West Indies was so far, and so obscure a location, yet it was one he was intimately familiar with due to his time spent aboard in the foreign land. How could he be so willing to allow his only daughter to leave him?

  Especially after everything she had done for him! The injustice of it rocked Benedict to his core. The anger at what it had done to Daphne, how it had nearly taken her from him, from her family and her home, coursed through him. All he could do was sip his tea and try to calm down. He was of a mind to storm upstairs and burst through her father’s bedroom door right now.

  The suggestion lingered; perhaps the man was currently available? If he were, it would only make sense for Benedict to take advantage of this moment. He just wanted some additional clarity, another perspective. Surely his intent was never to hurt his daughter, but the old man was as callous with the feelings of others as he was gentle to his own.

  “Where are you going?”

  It appeared that his body had betrayed his mind, for Benedict found himself no longer sitting at the table, but standing in the doorway.

  “I’m going to speak to your father.”

  “Benedict, no,” Daphne replied, rising quickly to follow him. “It’s not –“

  “Please, Daphne, no more of this. No more defending him. He is not a child; he is a grown man.” Benedict placed a hand on her arm as she reached out to halt him. “I will no longer stand by and excuse your father’s insensitivity. He was going to send you away, for goodness sake. Now, imagine if he had succeeded: where would the two of us be then?”