Benedict reeled back with shock. Surely it was just a coincidence that the boy’s name was Anthony, was it not? “How old are you Anthony?”
“I just turned eight this summer.”
Benedict felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. It was nearly eight years ago that he had learned of his father’s bastard child. It was just an uncanny coincidence he kept telling himself over and over again, unwilling to believe that he could be staring at his half-brother.
“Are you well, sir?” Anthony asked when Benedict continued to stare at him in shock, refusing to take his outstretched hand.
“Truthfully, I am not sure,” he finally managed to say. “You best hurry along and get inside. Your family is frantically looking for you and will be happy to know that you are well.”
“They are overreacting again. I told my Aunt that I was in need of some fresh air. What could that have meant besides going outside for a spell?” Anthony scratched his head as if he were honestly putting a lot of thought into the matter.
“Be a good boy and run along,” Benedict urged, “and I promise to bring you a sweet the next time I see you.”
Anthony’s face lit up, revealing once more the dimple on his cheek. Benedict sucked in a sharp breath as he suddenly remembered—his father had had the exact same dimple.
***
“Oh Anthony, where have you been?” Gillian asked as she rounded the corner and saw her little brother standing in the entryway.
“I was outside getting some fresh air, just like I told Aunt Miranda I was doing.”
Gillian knelt before her brother and gathered him into her arms. “Anthony, you gave us all such a fright. You simply cannot leave this house without a guardian. London is very different from the country, you know.”
Anthony struggled out of her grasp. “I don’t need no guardian. I am eight years old now,” he exclaimed defiantly.
“Oh yes you do, young man,” Aunt Miranda admonished as she came down the hall and saw that Anthony had been found.
“I told you I needed some fresh air.”
“And I told you not to go traipsing off without me, didn’t I?”
“I don’t remember,” he said with false remorse.
Aunt Miranda rolled her eyes and sighed. “How convenient. Now take my hand and let’s go ready you for bed before you cause any more mischief. Your antics have thoroughly exhausted me; I think I might retire as well.”
Gillian bade them both good night, and as they began ascending the stairs, it dawned on her that Lord Danford had not returned. “Anthony,” she called out, “did Lord Danford find you?”
Anthony shrugged. “I do not recall if that was the man’s name I spoke to, but I do remember that his coat sleeve was torn.”
Gillian chuckled, “That would have been him. Where is he?”
“He left.”
“Are you certain? He did not even say goodbye.”
“I saw him getting into his carriage myself, honest I did. When will he return, Gillian?”
“I do not know,” Gillian answered honestly. She was feeling rather confused by his sudden departure.
“Well, I hope it is soon, for he promised to bring me a sweet.”
“Then I am sure it will be soon, for Lord Danford is a man of his word.” Doubts began swirling through her mind as Aunt Miranda and Anthony disappeared up the stairs. Was he truly a man of his word? She was starting to wonder.
Chapter 19
Benedict had left the Bourne’s townhouse without a single word to Lady Gillian. He hadn’t meant to leave so rudely, but he had been in an utter state of shock, and if truth be told, he still was. He had surprised Jonathan by refusing his services outright and sending him away the moment he returned from dinner. He needed time alone, to think through the nights startling revelations.
Could it truly be possible that the Duchess of Chesley had been his father’s lover? He thought back to his youth and tried to remember if he ever met the Duke or Duchess or could recall his parents ever speaking of them. He honestly could not remember a single instance. He had never even known them to be acquainted, but obviously that was not the case, for his father, at least, had been far more intimate with the Duchess of Chesley than any of them had ever known. His gut tightened at the reminder of his father’s unfaithfulness—why did his father have to submit to temptation in a moment of weakness? His father’s indiscretion was complicating his life needlessly.
After his moment of self-pity passed, his mind went directly to his mother and the sorrow he had so feverishly been trying to prevent her from feeling. Anguish filled him on her behalf. There was no way he could comprehend the pain of betrayal a spouse’s infidelities could cause. His mind instantly conjured up a vision of Lady Gillian, and he groaned. The thought of either one of them ever betraying the other made him physically ill. Removing his damaged dress coat, Benedict walked to his bed and slid beneath the covers, still fully dressed in his shirtsleeves, waist coat, and breeches. He curled into a ball, clutching at his aching stomach. What was he going to do?
His mind was in a state of dangerous turmoil which prevented him from falling asleep, though he wanted nothing more than to drift into a state of blissful oblivion. Thinking back on the duchess’s extreme dislike for him and her willingness to leave London instead of seeing her daughter associate with him, it all began to make sense. The duchess was scared of him learning the truth.
He decided that he would speak with his man of affairs first thing in the morning and instruct him to find out just exactly where Penwitch House was located, for he felt compelled to speak with the duchess in person and hear the truth from her own lips. She needed to know that he had discovered her little secret and that regardless, he still planned to wed Lady Gillian. Still clutching at his midsection, he groaned once more. How was he going to wed Lady Gillian and keep the secret of her brother’s parentage from her?
Benedict finally managed to fall into a fitful slumber but it didn’t last for long. As soon as morning broke, he arose and dressed himself in some of his new clothing. He had business to see to in Town.
***
Benedict was exhausted by the time he returned to his townhouse, but he had been successful in procuring the information he needed. It had taken a few hours, but his man of affairs had been able to find out where Penwitch House was located—it was only half a day’s ride from London was all, and Benedict was most anxious to begin the journey.
“You have company waiting for you in the drawing room,” his butler informed him the minute he entered the house.
For a minute, Benedict’s heart soared thinking that perhaps Lady Gillian had come to see him, but that was not the case. As he entered the drawing room, he saw Griffin standing by the fireplace, staring mindlessly off into the distance. “What are you doing here?” Benedict bit out, angry to behold his friends face.
Griffin took a step forward, an irksome grin marring his face. “Your churlish attitude leads me to believe that you have had a rough day.”
“A fact which you appear all too pleased about.”
“That could possibly be true,” Griffin remarked smugly as he folded his arms across his chest.
“If you are just here to vex me, then you have achieved your goal and I suggest you leave before I truly get angry. I am not in the mood today, Griffin.”
Griffin took a step forward, sizing up his appearance. “I like your new clothing. Is this your way of admitting defeat?” Benedict ignored him. “Truth be told, I came this morning to inquire as to the status of the bet. I had it on good authority that Lord Evander was seeking the Duke of Chesley’s permission to wed Lady Gillian.”
“I had a feeling that you were the one who contrived that plan.”
“Oh no, do not blame that entirely on me, for I can assure you that Lord Evander was a very willing participant. Let’s just say that perhaps I aided in pushing him along in a more timely manner.”
“Well than it is with great pleasure that I inform you th
at there will be no wedding between Lady Gillian and Lord Evander, for her father denied his pursuit and gave me his permission instead.”
Griffin reeled back, his smug face looking crestfallen. “Surely you jest.”
“Not in the least.”
Griffin began to look panicked. “Has Lady Gillian professed her love to you? You know that being engaged to her is not the only demand that needs to be satisfied.”
“Fiend seize it, Griffin. I am completely and thoroughly aware of every last stipulation of this ridiculous bet. But I have news for you—I am finished. I’m going to tell my mother about Anthony myself.”
Griffin ran to him. “You cannot be serious. It will break your mother’s heart.”
Benedict gave his friend an odd look. “That did not seem to concern you when issuing the bet. Why all of a sudden do you care about my mother’s feelings now?”
“Don’t tell her, Benedict,” he urged in a manner that was completely opposite of his character.
“Why?” Benedict asked bitterly. “Because I would be robbing you of the perverse satisfaction of getting to tell her yourself?”
“I think you have misjudged me.”
“No Griffin, I am certain that I have not.”
“Please just hear me out; let me explain. I never truly planned on telling your mother about Anthony. I used the information as leverage in the bet because I knew that it was the only thing that would force you to seriously consider accepting the challenge. I thought it would be highly amusing to see you traipse around London as a fool, and it was very entertaining at times. But I never truly would have divulged such a horrendous secret to your mother, ever. Not even if you had lost the bet.”
“Then why exhaust your best efforts to see me fail?” Benedict asked, feeling his heart soften slightly at his friend’s honest admission.
“Because I did not want you choosing my wife,” Griffin admitted with a huff, as if it were obvious.
“Well now you do not have to worry yourself on that front. I’m leaving to the country as soon as the servants ready my things.” Benedict shouldered his way past Griffin as he made to leave.
“Benedict, let us call the bet off and proclaim neither party the winner or loser,” Griffin suggested with a desperate urgency. “Do not go to your mother. I will go instead. I will tell her of our bet and take the entire blame for your humiliation and hers. I will urge her to come back and promise her that you will not scandalize the family further.”
Benedict couldn’t even gloat in the fact that Griffin was groveling. His head was starting to ache. “Why would you do that, Griffin?”
“Because despite what it appears, I care about your mother. I truly never planned on causing her distress.”
“No, perhaps you didn’t, but you were certainly successful nonetheless.”
Benedict searched Griffin’s fallen face, noting that it was one of the rare times during their nearly lifelong acquaintance that he had seen it full of remorse. He was tempted to make Griffin suffer further, to prolong his anguish and make him continue to beg for a time, but he had more important things occupying his mind, things like finding out the truth about Anthony.
“Very well,” he finally conceded, if only to be on his way. “I hope you are more successful than I have been in dealing with her. She can be stubborn when she wants to be.”
Griffin smiled, a look of relief replacing the earlier remorse. “I happen to know a thing or two about stubborn individuals.”
Benedict cocked one brow, “Yes, I suppose you do.” Then he turned and left without so much as a backward glance, anxious to leave for Penwitch House as soon as possible.
He went to his room and instructed Jonathan to begin packing at once as he sat down at his writing desk and pulled a piece of parchment from the drawer. He stared at the blank page for several minutes, unsure of what to write but knowing that it wasn’t fair to dash off without any explanation to Lady Gillian.
Finally, he put his quill to the parchment and began—
Gillian,
I beg your forgiveness for my quick and hasty departure last night. Something quite startling came up and I needed some time alone to think. I will be leaving Town immediately to see to some pressing business, but I promise that I will return as soon as possible and explain my strange behavior to you. I wish to reveal everything to you, for I no longer want there to be any secrets between us.
I deeply regret not being able to talk with you last night, seeing as your father has given me permission to wed you, and I was so looking forward to sharing in our happiness together before my attention was pulled in a conflicting direction. I will return to you shortly; this I promise. In the meantime, know that every minute I am away I will be thinking about you and dreaming of the day you become my wife.
All my love,
Benedict
The ride to West Sussex where Penwitch house was located went by faster than Benedict had expected. His nerves were fraught at the idea of confronting the duchess about her relationship with his father. Though he was nearly positive that Anthony was his half-brother, he needed to hear the truth confirmed directly from her.
As his carriage pulled up the drive, Benedict slid the curtain aside and looked out the window at the stately red brick house, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. There were no servants lined up to greet him as his carriage approached the house, for certainly the duchess had not been expecting his visit. He waited patiently for his footman to open the door before alighting from his carriage and strolling anxiously up to the front door.
A stone-faced butler greeted him. “I do not believe that the Duchess is expecting any visitors today, my lord.”
“No, it would be impossible for her to be expecting me since my visit was quite spontaneous. However, I do have an urgent matter of business to discuss with her grace.” Handing his calling card to the butler he continued, “If you could inform her of my presence and tell her that it is urgent, I would be undoubtedly grateful.”
The butler inspected his card through his lowered eyelids before saying, “I will let her grace know of your presence at once. Let me show you to the parlor.”
Benedict followed the butler into a parlor that was decorated in a cheerful yellow hue. The room’s sunny décor was in direct opposition to his stormy mood. Every second that seemed to tick by on the large grandfather clock in the corner seemed to put his nerves on edge even more. Benedict’s stomach growled as he waited in the silence of the room reminding him that dinner time was fast approaching and he had failed to partake of lunch in his hurry to get to Penwitch House.
“Lord Danford,” a trembling voice said, causing him to snap out of his thoughts and forget about his hunger.
He watched with shrewd eyes as the duchess took slow, tentative steps into the parlor. He waited without saying a single word, hoping his silence would make her as uncomfortable as the startling revelation had made him. He wondered if she had any idea as to why he was there.
The duchess paused several feet away from him, her eyes wandering over his person. When she finally spoke, she surprised him by saying, “I am impressed by your sudden change in appearance. Is that the reason for your visit? To show off your new, fashionable wardrobe, to show that you have come up to snuff?”
Benedict scoffed. “Unbelievable. Do you truly believe I would make a visit to West Sussex just to parade my new wardrobe before you?”
The duchess sat on the edge of the settee, wringing her hands in her lap. “If you believed it would aide your pursuit of my daughter, than yes, I would expect it of you.”
Benedict looked down at the duchess, “Can you think of no other reason for me to pay you a surprise visit, your grace?”
The duchess quickly averted her eyes as she mumbled, “No, I cannot.”
Benedict could tell by the way her hands began to shake that she was lying. “With all due respect, your grace, I think you are lying. It didn’t take me long to deduce the real reason why you left Lond
on in such a hurry, the truth of why you objected to me courting your daughter.”
The duchess’s eyes snapped to his face, “I objected to your pursuit of Gillian because her association with you was a threat to her reputation.”
Benedict scooted a wing-backed chair directly in front of the duchess and sat in it so he could look her in the eye while he spoke. “I beg to disagree, your grace, for I have come to believe that it was your own reputation you feared would be damaged far more than you did your daughter’s.”
“What are you implying?” she asked with great irritation, her back stiffening with contempt.
Benedict studied her face, a face that looked so much like her daughter’s, yet so different. Gillian’s face was open and expressive, while the duchess’s face was pinched tight as if she were trying to hide any emotion she may be feeling. “I think you know exactly what I am alluding too, but just to make sure that we are both very clear, I will tell you the precise reason behind my visit today. I had the great privilege to meet your son Anthony last night.” He gave a dramatic pause, waiting for her reaction. The duchess sucked in a shocked breath, but otherwise did not react to his revelation, her face remaining expressionless, so he continued. “He has my father’s dimple,” he said as he pointed to the spot on his face where Anthony’s dimple was located.
Finally the duchess’s stony facade crumbled along with her emotions. Her eyes filled with tears as she sobbed, “How did you know?”
Benedict was surprised at the compassion he felt well up in his chest at the sight of her tears. She was a woman who had cuckolded her husband and mothered his own father’s illegitimate child, a woman who had treated him with disdain and disfavor and not just because he was unfashionable, but because she was fearful of her own dark secrets being revealed. But regardless of all of that, he still felt pity for her, for the pain she had to be carrying around along with the fear of discovery all these many years.
Unconventional Suitors 01 - Her Unconventional Suitor Page 15
