by Kelly Boyce
“My choices are none of your concern, my lord.”
He continued as if she had not spoken. “Of course, I suppose it isn’t that much of a fall, is it? It isn’t as if you are truly one of us, born to this world, as it were.” He made a small motion with his hand, his fingers spreading to indicate the others sitting at the table around them. “Your grandfather was merely handed a knighthood after crawling out of the furrows of battle. Not a true aristocrat.”
Her jaw ached from where she clenched her teeth. She set her spoon down and clasped her hands in her lap until the fine bones ached from the pressure. How much longer must she suffer this man’s company?
“My grandfather was worth a hundred aristocrats and my father a hundred more on top of that. They were good men. Honorable men. Such character you know nothing about.”
“My, my, such a barbed tongue. I do not recall tasting that upon you during our previous encounter.” The words slid out of him like oil, clinging to her skin.
Bile burned in her throat and her heart battered the inside of her chest like a hummingbird stuck in a cage, desperate to escape. The same such need overwhelmed her. She could not do this. She could not sit here and suffer through this man’s inference of their past for anyone to overhear. She needed to flee. Her feet pressed against the floor, but before she could push away from the table, a warm hand covered hers.
She froze. For a fleeting moment, she feared the touch was Lord Pengrin, but her body’s swift reaction tempered just as quickly. Something in the touch soothed her, lifting the haze in her brain enough for her to realize she was safe. It was not Lord Pengrin.
Lord Glenmor’s hand released hers. She missed his touch instantly, but forced herself not blindly grope to find it again.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Sutherland?” His voice whispered near her ear, though a sideways glance indicated he had barely turned his head in her direction. She wasn’t even sure she saw his lips move. Had she imagined his inquiry? No, she couldn’t have. The ghost of his touch remained upon her skin where it seeped through the thin material of her gloves.
“I am fine, my lord.”
“Has he said something to upset you?”
His very existence upsets me. But no, it wasn’t his existence that caused her such upset. It was the reminder of her foolishness to have fallen for his lies. To have let her guard down so far that she nearly ruined herself for him. Would be ruined, if he spoke aloud to anyone about it. But she held her tongue. What would Lord Glenmor think if he knew how far she had fallen? The idea he would look at her with derision, or worse—pity… She could not bear it.
She stared at her plate. “No, my lord. He did not.”
“I hope you do not take offense when I tell you that I do not believe your claim.”
She turned in time to see a warm smile crease the corners of his eyes, though not enough to remove the concern that lived in their blue depths. How strange to see such a thing directed toward her, from him of all people. She had been convinced he did not care for her, and yet since her arrival in London he had been nothing but kind. Her instincts told her she could trust him, but past mistakes counseled caution.
Lord Pengrin leaned forward to speak around her. His voice lifted enough for others within close proximity to hear. “Glenmor, I hear you have returned to London in search of a well heeled bride.”
The muscle in Lord Glenmor’s jaw jumped, but it remained the only hint the viscount’s words had any effect. “As you will be too, I assume, given your lack of luck at the gaming tables.”
The words slid out, quiet and deadly. Judith had not seen this side of Lord Glenmor before. In her interactions with him, he had been distant and polite, then warm and engaging. But this was something different altogether. This was a man who would brook no disrespect. Lord Glenmor was a man who stood up to the likes of Lord Pengrin without hesitation, effectively shutting him down until the dandy was left with no other choice but to offer a stiff smile and return to his own business.
“Forgive me, Miss Sutherland. That was likely not well done.”
“On the contrary, my lord.” She longed to reach out and touch his hand, to feel its warmth and strength. To lean into him and the sense of safety he had effectively cocooned her in. Wanted to, but didn’t. Trust was a hard thing to come by in her world. “I believe it was quite well done, indeed.”
He smiled at her again and a warm tingling spread through her. She trod on thin ice. Ice that, experience had taught her, could crack and plunge her into the frigid waters below without warning.
“Try to eat some soup,” he suggested, returning his attention to his own meal, though the aftereffect of his gaze lingered. “I would hate to see you waste away due to the likes of Lord Pengrin. He is hardly worth a ruined appetite.”
She lifted her spoon and complied, though her appetite was no longer affected by Lord Pengrin, but rather by the nest of butterflies flitting about in her stomach. She pressed a hand against her belly, but the little creatures refused to settle.
Once the gentlemen had finished their brandy and cigars, they rejoined the ladies, much to Benedict’s relief. He found he had little in common with the other lords present, whose gravest concerns revolved around recently purchased horseflesh, the difficulty in keeping good help, and the current state of politics. They blustered on for the most part on the first two and came to no real consensus on the last one. Was it any wonder nothing seemed to get done in the House of Lords?
No matter how long Benedict spent apart from the world he’d grown up in, he had yet to acclimate to the point where he placed the same level of importance on matters of frivolity. After all, did it really matter who had what tailored where and by whom? In the end, a jacket was just a jacket. If it kept you warm, was that not the most important thing?
Not that rejoining the ladies altered the conversation much. Many of them partook in the most recent gossip. Who had been seen with whom and which young lady was rumored to be considering which fortunate, or unfortunate, gentleman. Who wore what and whether they approved of it or considered it ghastly.
But at least in mixed company he could rest his gaze upon Miss Sutherland and remind himself there was at least one sensible person in the room who understood that the important things had little to do with gowns and jackets and tailors and pompous politicians, and everything to do with more immediate concerns. Putting food on a table, a roof over your head. Family.
“Would you sing for us, Lady Henrietta?” Lady Susan asked, clapping her hands to garner everyone’s attention. “I’m certain a lady of your skill and disposition sings like an angel.”
Lord Pengrin stepped forward and placed a hand upon his heart. Or where his heart would be. Benedict remained on the fence as to whether the man actually possessed one. There was something rather cold lingering about his roguish demeanor. “What a splendid idea. Certainly a lady with such external beauty has a voice to match.”
Benedict cringed at the over-the-top compliment and the slithering way it was delivered. He had never quite mastered the skill, if one could call it such. He preferred a more straightforward approach. What his method lacked in romanticism it made up for in truth.
Lady Henrietta, for her part, appeared like a deer caught in the sights of a huntsman’s rifle. Miss Sutherland, who remained at the young woman’s side, reached over and took her hand. Sympathy filled him. What were they thinking, drawing such direct attention to her? Had they not caught on yet that she did not care for it? The fact that she spent most of the meal with her head bowed, speaking little, and most of the time before that sitting in the shadows, should have been indication enough.
Miss Sutherland caught his gaze and shot him a pleading look. Fix this!
Unable to resist her, he offered the first thing that came to mind. “Miss Sutherland, I hear, has a very clear voice that is a joy to behold. Would you join me at the pianoforte? I play a little and should not make too much of a mash of it.”
In truth, he had no idea if Miss S
utherland could carry a tune in a bucket and likely she had no wish to be made the center of attention any more than Lady Henrietta did, but his choices on helpmates in this regard was limited.
“You flatter me, my lord,” Miss Sutherland said and he was quite certain she gritted her teeth. This did not bode well, but she stood regardless, giving Lady Henrietta’s hand a squeeze before she let go. “My skills are middling at best, but perhaps your abilities on the pianoforte will make up for where I’m lacking.”
Benedict offered her his arm to escort her to the splendid instrument that took up a corner of the room. He leaned down, breathing in the scent of daisies and loveliness that he had come to associate with Miss Sutherland and no other.
“Do you sing then?”
“Somewhat.” Hardly encouraging. “Do you play?”
“Somewhat less.”
She set her shoulders back and slid him a glance as they reached the instrument of their doom. “Well this should be quite the spectacle then, shouldn’t it?”
Once Miss Sutherland was seated, Benedict flipped the tails of his dinner jacket out and sat down on the bench next to her, grinning like a fool. He really shouldn’t be so thrilled about the prospect of what they were about to do, but he couldn’t help himself. It felt like a bit of mischief and he could not recall the last time his life allowed for such a thing. “Indeed.”
They leafed through the music sheets available to choose a simple tune they could pull off without massacring it completely. Though it proved dreadfully difficult to concentrate on choices when Miss Sutherland sat so close he could feel the warmth of her. She had a way of leaving him in a rather impassioned state.
He pulled out a sheet from the middle of the pack. “Will this do?”
“As well as any other.” And then she stiffened. Benedict glanced up sharply, just in time to see Lord Pengrin sit next to Lady Henrietta. What was it between Pengrin and Miss Sutherland that agitated her so? He wanted desperately to ask, but did not imagine she would divulge the answer. Their relationship had improved to the point where she had looked to him for assistance, but he doubted it had reached such capacity that she would reveal her secrets to him.
Just as well. Such closeness would only serve to increase this strange need he had for her. A need that would never be fulfilled. No point in taunting himself with something he could never have.
Benedict plunked out a few notes and soon enough Miss Sutherland joined in. Her voice surprised him, filling the room with its smooth, clear tone. Much like her, it was strong and without unnecessary embellishment. His playing, unfortunately, was far less so. It was a sad and true fact that none of the Laytham children had inherited their father’s musical ability. Only Roddy had shown signs of promise, but he had not lived long enough for it to come to fruition.
His fingers slipped onto the wrong keys, his concentration subjugated by memories of Roddy, as often happened when his little brother infiltrated his thoughts, bringing with him the burden of guilt and failure. Miss Sutherland’s voice grew stronger, drowning out his errors until he could get himself back on track. A pang of regret filled him once it ended. The chances of such an event reoccurring were slim to none.
“Brava!” Lord Pengrin said, standing up and cheering over the sound of the other guests’ polite clapping. “Another, please!”
As much as he would have preferred to spend the rest of the evening sitting next to her, the cost of making herself the center of attention was written across Miss Sutherland’s lovely face, pulling her mouth into a tight smile. Yet she had willingly done so to protect Lady Henrietta from the same fate. His opinion of her rose another notch, as did his interest. She was an intriguing and complicated woman. Full of goodness and hidden depths he only wished he had the opportunity to plumb further.
But he would not. His reality robbed him of the joy he’d experienced only a moment ago.
“I think you have all been subjected to my lack of skill on the pianoforte long enough,” he suggested with a smile, stepping away from the instrument and offering Miss Sutherland a hand. He walked her back to Lady Henrietta, forcing Lord Pengrin to give up the seat to her and effectively ending his bid to win over the affections of Ridgemont’s sister.
At least he hoped it ended his efforts. Something about Pengrin rubbed him the wrong way. It would be a shame if Ridgemont considered Pengrin as a suitable match for Lady Henrietta’s hand in marriage. Benedict did not doubt that was the viscount’s ultimate goal. If his gambling debts were as rumored, likely he could use the dowry Ridgemont offered.
Benedict let out a slow breath. Perhaps he should consider Lady Henrietta after all, as Mother suggested. She was a pretty thing, though a bit more shy than he would have liked. But perhaps if they grew comfortable with one another that would ease. And certainly a little timidity would be a vast improvement over Lady Susan’s penchant for narcissism and spiteful cruelty.
He offered Ridgemont’s sister a warm smile. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening, Lady Henrietta?”
She looked up at him—only briefly—but returned his smile as she pulled her blonde hair closer to her neck. He could see the burn scars where a few threaded over the edge of her jawline, a soft pink and white. “More than I had expected to, my lord. And you?”
Benedict nodded. “I find I share your feelings in that regard.”
But as he said the words, his gaze slid to her companion and once again, the wish for a different kind of life pulled at him. What would happen if he followed this desire? If he allowed such a dream to lead him where it wished? He looked away.
No. He mustn’t entertain such impossible ideas. It would only make what he must do all the harder.
Chapter Eleven
“Lord Pengrin seems quite the charming sort,” Lady Henrietta said as Judith entered her bedchamber the following morning with a tray of all her favorites for breakfast, having met Mrs. Pierce in the hallway and taken over the chore.
Lady Henrietta was still abed, though wide-awake and smiling in such a way Judith wished she could share her joy. Instead, her words stabbed into Judith’s chest like jagged shards of ice.
After her duet with Lord Glenmor—had she really done that?—Lady Dalridge had all but dragged her away from Lady Henrietta, claiming she hovered like a vulture over her great-niece, giving the appearance she would swoop down and peck the eyes out of anyone who approached. It wasn’t true of course, unless the person was either Lord Pengrin or Lady Susan.
Besides, Judith could tell from the way Lady Henrietta played with her hair, pulling it more tightly toward her neck, that the attention left her uncomfortable. She waited until Lady Dalridge became occupied in another conversation before rejoining Lady Henrietta, but by then a good hour had passed. An hour that gave Lord Pengrin free rein to work his charms upon the young woman with great success it appeared.
The very idea made Judith sick to her stomach.
“My lady, Lord Pengrin is—”
“Quite surprising,” she finished, though Lady Henrietta’s claim was a far sight different than the warning Judith had planned to issue. “Why, he did not comment on my scars even once, nor did he stare like some of the others, such as Lady Susan. Did you know she came right out and asked me if I was in pain while waving her fan at my neck? Imagine such forwardness! It was awful. I was very thankful when Lord Pengrin stepped in and redirected the conversation so I did not have to answer her.”
Judith swallowed. “How thoughtful of him.”
“Do you know much about him, Miss Sutherland? You have had one Season, after all. Likely you have met many of the people in attendance last night.” Lady Henrietta sat up in bed.
Judith set the tray across Lady Henrietta’s lap then concentrated on removing the coverings from the dishes. What did she say? To divulge the truth would mean revealing her own behavior and, as much as she wanted to protect the young woman, she could not say the words. They stuck in her throat and refused to come out.
“I have a
brief acquaintance with some of them, but nothing beyond that.”
Lady Henrietta glanced up, the forkful of scrambled eggs hovering in her hand. “Save for Lord Glenmor.”
She swallowed. “Yes, I suppose.”
“It was very gallant of him to rescue me from performing. I would have been mortified. You must thank him for me when you see him next.”
“Oh, I don’t expect to see him again any time soon.” He had a bride hunt to put in motion after all. And she had already instructed him that he did not need to check up on her, though his visits had been the highlight of her employment thus far. Not that she minded being companion to Lady Henrietta. The young woman was lovely and kind, but the restriction of not being able to come and go as she pleased, and to be at someone else’s disposal, still left her out of sorts. She longed for her freedom, something she had not expected when she’d sought out the position.
“Do you think Lord Pengrin will call on me?”
The question caught Judith off guard. She had only known Lady Henrietta for less than a fortnight, but in that time, her reticence at being seen by others outside her family, or attending public events had seemed well ingrained. Yet one evening in Lord Pengrin’s company and she was ready to cast her fears of being made a spectacle of aside for the hope of being in his company.
Her loathing of the man only increased. What was he planning to do? Humiliate Lady Henrietta the way he had her? Or worse, marry the young lady for her dowry and shackle her to a lifetime of unhappiness? Because that was what it would be. Once he had what he wanted, the true Lord Pengrin would show his face and it would not be charming or handsome. It would be ugly and riddled with deceit. Lady Henrietta deserved better than that.
She had deserved better than that.
But he had never intended to marry her, had he? He’d only made her think so to get what he wanted. To have a bit of fun. Then to blame any assumption he had created on Judith’s wishful thinking.
