He had considered that possibility a hundred times over the last few days. It was possible she would hate him forever if she knew. For God’s sake, he had killed her father! He hoped the remorse he felt, the penance he’d paid for his sins in the form of gut-wrenching guilt, would be enough to convince her he’d never actually meant to kill the baron. He’d simply wanted to teach him a lesson about honor.
God, that sounded pompous even to his own self. But that was what he’d thought at the time, and he couldn’t change what had already happened. He could only try to fix his mistakes.
And wouldn’t his marrying her count for something? He could pay off all their debts, set her mother up for life in a lovely manor home near their own estate in Kent, even provide security for her little maid, who, he noticed, seemed to be more than just a maid to Phoebe. He could give her the security she’d had with her father times ten.
“I suppose I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get to it, my friend.” He stood and placed the snifter on the desk. “So will you come with me or not?”
William rolled his eyes, but proceeded to stand and place his own snifter beside Ben’s.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Lord knows you should have someone with a relic of taste to help you pick out the ring.”
A couple hours later Benjamin returned to Ashbury Manor to collect Phoebe and take her home. He wasn’t sure what he expected when it came to her relationship with his sister, but he certainly did not expect to find them sprawled in the middle of the drawing room floor, giggling their heads off.
It was obvious, as much from their behavior as the empty bottle of apple brandy next to them, that they had been drinking.
“Having fun, ladies?”
“Oh! Benjamin, I’m so glad you brought Miss Blake—Phoebe—to play with me today. She isn’t nearly as stuffy or pretentious as those other women I’m forced to spend time with.”
“I see you’ve introduced her to your favorite beverage,” he commented, coming down to his haunches before them. “Kat, are you sure you should be overindulging in spirits in your . . . condition.” He whispered the last part, though he had a feeling his sister had already told Phoebe of her pregnancy.
“Oh, it’s all right, she knows,” Kat confirmed. “And don’t worry, I haven’t had nearly as much as Miss Blake. You should probably take her home, though I’m reluctant to let her go. Phoebe! Phoebe!” she called to a bleary-eyed Miss Blake. “Will you come to see me again?”
Phoebe nodded, though the action seemed like it may have been too much for her, if her suddenly green pallor was any indication. He might have found it humorous if Miss Blake were simply tipsy, but his blasted sister had gotten the woman so foxed, he wasn’t sure he could take her home right away.
But now what was he to do with her? A carriage ride was out of the question, unless he wanted repurposed lemon cake all over the fine leather seats of his barouche. He wasn’t sure she could stay upright long enough to take a walk, though. The only real option was to have her sleep it off in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs.
“Katherine, I’m taking her upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” his sister exclaimed, seeming scandalized.
“Not for that!” he replied as he scooped Phoebe into his arms. She immediately nuzzled against his neck and groaned. “She needs to sober up before I can take her home, thank you very much. Which room is likely to have a clean chamberpot in it?”
Katherine scrambled to her feet and followed after Ben. She seemed far less drunk than she had a minute earlier. “The fern room on the second floor.”
“The fern room?”
“Yes. I’ve renamed all the rooms after plants. What do you think?”
“I think you’re mad, and I think you’re even madder for doing this to my future fiancée.”
A little gasp of excitement came from his sister. “Oh, Ben, really? You’re going to marry her?”
“Shhh! If she’ll have me, yes. Now, I’m going to go put her down, and then I’ll be back. You and I need to have a talk.”
“About the wedding? Oh, yes, I’ve already so many ideas!”
“No. About what you’ve done to her!”
Katherine didn’t flinch at the anger in his whisper. She merely smiled sweetly at him and said, “I did it for you. I thought if I got her a little tipsy, she might be willing to tell me more about what she knows of her father’s death.”
Ben stared back at his sister, who continued to smile at him, clearly waiting for him to clap her on the back and say “Well done, sis!” That was not going to happen.
“Kat, what the devil does it matter what she knows? Please, stop meddling in my affairs—”
“You’re the one who brought her here!” she shot back.
“Yes, for a nice afternoon visit, not a drunken party where you try to squeeze useless information from her.”
“How was I to know she would take so to the brandy?”
“Now you’re calling her a glutton—”
“No!”
“Katherine Wetherby Hart, I don’t care that you’re a duchess, you’re still my little sister, and I wouldn’t have a single apprehension about taking you over my knee. You will apologize to Miss Blake as soon as she’s coherent enough to understand you.”
Ben stalked off then, leaving his sister in the middle of the hallway, her mouth hanging open in dismay. What had she been thinking, anyway? And what good would it have done to know what Phoebe knew? He already knew that, didn’t he?
He found the “fern room” a few minutes later. True to its name, the chamber was done entirely in green of varying shades. Good Lord. If she didn’t throw up from the brandy, she would surely throw up from the color. But it would have to do, since Ben’s arms were growing tired.
He laid her on the bed and flipped the counterpane from the other side to cover her up. She looked so innocent lying there with her pale eyelashes resting on her cheeks, and all her little freckles sprinkling her nose. She was adorable and beautiful, and Ben wanted nothing more than to curl up with her in that bed.
However, he knew better, and so he kissed her on the forehead, intending to leave the room. But before he could get very far—he had barely lifted his head from her forehead—she reached a limp hand out to grab onto the fabric of his coat, the coat that hid a stunning emerald ring inside.
“Shhh,” he cajoled. “Get some rest, love. I’ll be back for you in a bit. You just need to sleep off some of the brandy you drank.”
“What time . . . is it?”
Ben pulled out his watch fob to check the time, though he wasn’t sure she’d be coherent enough to understand him.
“Just past five o’clock.”
“My mother. She’ll be worried.”
He hadn’t even considered that Lady Grimsby might wonder where her daughter had gone off to. “I’ll send Becky back in my carriage. Now go to sleep.”
Phoebe closed her eyes obediently, and Benjamin slipped from the room. He started to make his way to the kitchen, where he was sure Becky would be keeping company with the other servants, but then an idea struck him.
Perhaps he should go to Blakeny House himself. This could be his opportunity to come clean with Lady Grimsby and, depending on how well that went, perhaps ask for Phoebe’s hand. Surely, if her mother was able to get past what had happened, Phoebe would be able to do so, as well.
He changed the course of his direction and made his way to the mews to collect his carriage, and then set out in the direction of Blakeny House.
When he arrived, though, it didn’t seem as if anyone was home. Curious, he approached the door and knocked. Would Lady Grimsby answer her own door in the absence of Becky? They really needed another servant or two. Or ten.
After a few minutes, there was no answer, but Benjamin wasn’t quite willing to give up. If Lady Grimsby was home, he wanted to speak with her.
He turned the handle on the door, which someone had left carelessly unlocked, and moved into the foyer.
>
“Lady Grimsby?” he called to no answer. Perhaps she truly was not at home.
He was about to walk back through the front doorway when he heard a thump from the floor above him. It could have simply been one of those old-house noises, but Ben didn’t think so. Someone was home, and if it was Lady Grimsby, he needed to assure the woman of her daughter’s safety.
He climbed the stairs and followed the thumping to a closed door on the left side of the small hallway. He raised his fist to knock, but the door came flying open before he had the chance. There was an awkward pause during which Benjamin tried to come to terms with what he saw.
“Afternoon, Lord Glastonbury,” said Colonel Wallace. “Didn’t expect to see you here, too.”
Chapter 8
“Colonel Wallace?” Ben stared at the man, dumbfounded to find him, not just in Phoebe’s home but in Lady Grimsby’s bedchamber.
He looked past him to see a frightened and dejected-looking woman sitting on the bed. Her dark hair was mussed and matted, and tears streaked her cheeks. Thankfully, and much to his surprise, she was fully covered in a modest robe.
What the hell was going on here?
“You might want to give her a few minutes,” Wallace said. “We had a raucous time, didn’t we, Lucy?”
Benjamin thought he might be sick to his stomach. Whatever was going on here, the lady didn’t like it, and neither did he.
“Get out,” Ben growled, knowing that if Wallace said one more word, he might not be able to keep his fist from connecting with the man’s jaw.
Mercifully, the man did as he was told, mumbling nonsense as he left. Ben waited until he heard the front door close before he moved to Lady Grimsby. She wasn’t looking at him; he wasn’t even sure she realized he was there, so she jumped a little when he put his hand on her shoulder.
“Lady Grimsby,” he said carefully.
She looked up at him, a haunted expression on her face. Good Lord, did Phoebe know what was happening under her own roof? Surely, she wouldn’t allow her mother to carry on in such a way. He could only thank God he hadn’t brought her home with him.
“My name is Benjamin Wetherby,” he told her. “I’m a . . . friend of your daughter Phoebe’s.”
At Phoebe’s name, Lady Grimsby turned panicky. “She’s not here, is she?” she asked, her eyes wide and frightened.
Ben shook his head. “No, she’s with my sister. I came to tell you she is safe, and also to ask you something very important. But I can come back another time if—”
“No!” She grabbed on to his coat sleeve.
“Please . . . ”
She stood then and gestured to the small settee on the far wall. He accompanied her there and sat down beside her, knowing he could never reveal the reason he was really there. At least not today, not now. Not after whatever Colonel Wallace had done to her.
But should he pry? Did he want to pry? For Phoebe’s sake, he should. If he could do something to help her mother and keep Wallace away from them, well, he needed to do it.
“I know you don’t know me, ma’am, but I am courting your daughter.”
“Oh.” The woman’s hand flew to her chest. “I had no idea.”
“Your daughter’s been hiding us from one another.” He understood why now. All of her excuses about her mother being out whenever he came to call . . . he should have seen through it, but he never could have guessed the woman was up here wasting away, among other things. He had to get to the bottom of this, and there wasn’t time to beat about the bush. “Is Colonel Wallace a friend of yours?”
Lady Grimsby dropped her eyes, which were identical to Phoebe’s, to her lap, where she fidgeted with the fabric of her dressing gown. There was such a long pause; Benjamin thought she wasn’t going to answer. But then she opened her mouth to speak, and her voice shook as she tried to control her emotion.
“When my husband died a year ago, it was all we could do to keep the debt collectors from banging down our door. I had no idea my husband had been so . . . loose with our funds. We had always had nice things, a house full of servants. I have no idea how he maintained our lifestyle with so much debt hanging above his head.”
“I would wager he was robbing Peter to pay Paul, and round and round he went. It’s not uncommon.”
The baroness nodded. “I suppose you’re right, but he left us in quite a dire situation. That’s where Colonel Wallace comes into play.”
Benjamin took a deep breath. He had a feeling this was not going to be an easy story to hear, and even worse for her to tell.
“My husband lost a significant amount of money to Wallace in a bet. The first time he came to visit, I was
. . . well, better off than I am now. This wretched state of melancholy began once I’d made my deal with him.”
“Deal?” Benjamin prodded, eager to get to the heart of the matter.
She nodded her head once, and a single tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away before continuing. “Phoebe has no idea how close we were to being carted away to debtors’ prison. It could have been a matter of weeks, maybe even days. Either way, ‘A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy,’ does it not, Mr. Wetherby?”
Ben didn’t bother to correct her on his name. There would be plenty of time for her to learn he was more than a mere mister. He gave her an infinitesimal nod so she would keep going, though he wasn’t sure, in this case, that he agreed with Fawkes’s quote.
Her gaze turned away from him, toward the window, as she began the next part of her confession. “Wallace offered to help us with our debts, but of course everything comes at a price.”
“Right. So he insisted you—”
“No, not me. Not at first. The colonel wanted Phoebe.”
Benjamin’s stomach turned. That no-good, lascivious bastard had thought to use Phoebe in exchange for debt payment. Dear God, what happened to giving out of the kindness of one’s heart?
“I told him he couldn’t have her, but that he could have me instead. The offer wasn’t as appealing and his generous offering became a little less generous as a result, but if it meant staying in our home, staying out of debtors’ prison, that was all that mattered.”
“Does Phoebe know any of this?”
The woman’s lips began to quiver. “Nothing. She thinks the paltry coins she’s thrown at a few debtors here and there is what has saved us all this time. She knows nothing, and we must keep it that way. Please, Mr. Wetherby,” she begged. “I don’t know what I would do if she ever found out.”
“I’m still not sure I understand how you’ve kept it from her all this time.”
“It’s a matter of timing and discretion. Whenever Phoebe goes out, she takes Becky, and I’m all alone. It’s a lot of work on Colonel Wallace’s part. Several times a week, he stops by. If Phoebe is home, he treats it as a social call. If not, he sees himself here, to my room.”
Which explained the man’s odd behavior at the Stapleton Ball the other night. He had left as soon as he made sure Phoebe was fully ensconced in the festivities and wouldn’t be home for a while.
Benjamin had a great deal of trouble reconciling the fact that all this was his fault, even if indirectly. If he hadn’t ever called out that blasted baron at the table, the man would still be here today. He hadn’t been an honorable man and he’d been lousy with money, but he’d found ways to keep them afloat: to keep his wife and daughter in the life they were accustomed to, the life they deserved.
They certainly didn’t deserve this. Destitution. Prostitution. The guilt pressed in on Benjamin, threatening to suffocate him as he thought of all the horrors these women had been forced to go through over the last year.
He thought of his life in America, and the guilt grew even stronger. All the while they’d been suffering, thanks to his idiotic actions, he’d been frolicking with his mistress about New York, attending party after party, assimilating himself into the American way of life.
It was time to grow up now and take responsibility
for what he’d done. He couldn’t admit to his mistake, not now. He wanted to marry Phoebe, but he wanted to marry her because he cared for her. If she knew his secret, she would think he was marrying her out of guilt.
However, he could right all the wrongs that had been forced upon these unfortunate women, starting with Colonel Wallace. As soon as all that was taken care of, he would marry Phoebe.
“Lady Grimsby,” he said at last, turning to face her. “I would like to help, if I may. But, unlike Wallace, I want nothing in return . . . except, perhaps, your daughter’s hand in marriage. If she’ll have me, of course.”
Lady Grimsby’s eyes widened and then flooded with tears, which he accepted as her blessing. Having been big brother to Katherine, dealing with emotional women was fairly familiar territory to him. So he didn’t shy away when she started to sob, but rather pulled her into his embrace.
Once she had calmed down, Benjamin stood to leave, feeling better about himself and the situation. He hadn’t revealed the truth to her, but he was going to make it right. Hopefully, that counted for more than a mere apology in the long run.
“Mr. Wetherby,” the baroness said, stopping him before he walked out her bedchamber door, “is it possible to keep this visit between us?”
“You read my mind, my lady,” he replied. There were too many details of this meeting that would have to be omitted, and that might make it difficult to keep their stories straight. “I will see to your financial state post haste, and when all that is out of the way, I will talk to Phoebe.”
The baroness smiled, and Benjamin had the distinct feeling that was the first time she’d done so in a very long time. Then Benjamin tipped his hat and left Blakeny House to go and wake his future bride from her drunken stupor.
***
Phoebe woke up in a strange room with a terrible headache that was only worsened by the horrific shades of green that accosted her vision. Dear God, it was hideous!
What in the world had happened to her? It was dark out already, but the chamber was lit with candles and a roaring fire. She jogged her memory, trying to retrace her steps.
Gentleman Never Tells (Regency Historical Romance) Page 6
