by Jane Ashford
Benjamin waited for him to continue. He didn’t. “Er, bad feelings about what?”
“Oh.” Teddy grimaced. “I didn’t say. It’s rather difficult.” He took a breath to fortify himself. “The thing is, Mama’s got this notion that you’re Anna’s rightful property.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Teddy nodded. “You see? Beyond the line.”
You couldn’t expect clarity from a sheep, Benjamin thought. “I don’t understand what you mean by property.”
“Oh, right.” Teddy nodded like a man who often didn’t understand conversations and could sympathize. “The way Mama sees it, you’re a widowed neighbor in need of a wife. And Anna looks rather like the dead…previous one. So it only makes sense that you’ll offer for Anna. Eventually. Or that’s what she thinks, at any rate.”
Nonplussed, Benjamin glanced at the fellow’s sister. Anna Wandrell was blond like Alice, slender and delicate, but otherwise nothing like her.
“Only now she’s angry that you’ve a young lady staying at Furness Hall,” his companion continued. His words spilled out faster. “Seems to see it as poaching on Anna’s territory. Mama says she has to put an end to that, however she can. She took against your chaperone, too. Mrs. Thorpe, isn’t it? Mama’s asking questions about her, making a great mystery out of nothing. As she tends to do.” He frowned. “Mama ought to go on up to London. All those theaters, there, plenty of dramas without creating your own.”
Perhaps Teddy Wandrell wasn’t stupid, Benjamin thought, feeling a breath of concern waft over him. Perhaps the lad was careful. “You might tell your mother—” he began.
“I can’t tell her anything,” Teddy interrupted. “She won’t listen to me, and anyhow, I don’t want to rouse a fuss. Telling you instead.” He gave a half shrug. “You aren’t likely to rail at me.”
“You think not?” A bit of shouting might have relieved Benjamin’s feelings. Just when his wooing was going well, this complication had to arise.
“Ride away if you did,” Teddy said. “Can’t ride away from Mama.”
“No.”
The younger man let out a long breath. “Said my piece. That’s it.” He kicked his horse’s flanks and moved off to join the ladies.
Benjamin let him go, striving to be grateful for the warning. Teddy had nothing to do with this problem, and Benjamin had far more important things to consider. How to watch over his household, for example. And how to preserve the future he hoped, trusted, was unfolding.
• • •
Sitting in the drawing room with Mrs. Thorpe later that day, Jean held a book from the library—a biography that Lord Macklin had recommended. But rather than the words on the page, her mind’s eye was full of Benjamin. Most particularly the image of him walking across his bedchamber with a handkerchief, clothed only in flickering candlelight. She hugged the memory to her, a secret joy.
She could go to his room again tonight, Jean thought. There was nothing to stop her. He’d welcome her with open arms. And then all she could think of was his arms around her again, his kisses, the feel of his body as they came together. Words like propriety and scandal were puny in comparison.
“Whatever you’re considering, I hope you will weigh the consequences carefully,” said Mrs. Thorpe, as if reading Jean’s mind.
“What?” Was her face so transparent? Her new chaperone couldn’t know what she’d done. Unless Geoffrey had let something slip? But she didn’t think he had. That boy was good with secrets.
“I’m happy to look out for you this little while,” said the older woman. “But we’ve scarcely met and don’t really know each other at all. So you must look out for yourself, too.”
“I do look out for myself.” She’d been doing that since the moment she was able. She would never stop, whatever her future held.
“The thing of it is, it’s difficult to see clearly when you’re in love.”
“I’m not in love!”
“My dear.” The older woman looked at her with skeptical kindness.
“I don’t even know what that silly phrase means.” Her mother had despised it more than any other.
“Are you asking me to define love? I’m not sure even the great poets have managed to do that.”
“I’m not asking you anything.” The strident inner voice that haunted Jean rose up in fury. Jean pushed it back, but she couldn’t resist trying some of its phrases on Mrs. Thorpe. “‘In love’ is what seducers say, and then forget about as soon as they’ve gotten what they wanted.”
“Sometimes it is,” agreed her chaperone, unshaken.
“‘In love’ is just another way of saying ‘insane.’” Her mother had been fond of that pronouncement, as if it was a clever bon mot. She’d repeated it over and over, especially when she’d a glass of wine, or three.
“I can’t agree with you there.”
“It’s a fairy tale,” Jean interrupted, carried along by the past. Her mother had been so eloquent on this subject, and the memories were beginning to shake her as a terrier does a rat. “You might as well talk of unicorns. ‘In love’ is a delusion.”
“No.”
The contrast between Mrs. Thorpe’s brief serene reply and the chaos inside her head brought Jean up short.
“The state is quite real,” continued the older woman. “I know this myself. I fell in love with my husband in only a week, and I’m still in love with him after fifteen years.”
Words popped out before Jean could think. “You’re here without him. He’s in London doing whatever he likes. You don’t know what he might be getting up to.”
“Missing me,” answered Mrs. Thorpe.
Jean struggled with the scorn that tried to well up in her. “Is that what he says?” Mrs. Thorpe received letters nearly every day. “And you believe it?”
“He does say it. My friends remark upon it. And years of experience and observation assure me it’s true.” Mrs. Thorpe gazed at Jean, seeming puzzled rather than offended by the barrage of questions. “I know how he feels since I am missing him just as much.”
Her mother hadn’t missed her father, Jean thought. Her flights of fancy about a different sort of life had never included being with him. He was the obstacle, the enemy to be vanquished. As for Papa, he’d been too busy with his mistresses to miss anyone.
“When you fall in love, the other person fills your mind and your senses,” Mrs. Thorpe went on. “You think of them all the time. You enjoy their company and see yourself enjoyed in turn. That’s important. You respect and, of course, desire them.” She pursed her lips. “You do not conclude that this person is perfect in every way. That would be infatuation, not love. I’m very clear on that. Quite a different thing and not to be wished for. Heavens, how philosophical I’m growing.”
Although Jean scarcely moved, the book slid from her lap to the floor. She sat there stunned and faced the fact that every point Mrs. Thorpe had made applied to her. She was—was she?—in love with Benjamin.
Her hateful inner voice went mad. This was disaster, catastrophe, it shrilled. She’d done the precise thing that her mother had warned against. She’d been a stupid, heedless chit and wrecked her life. Now, she was doomed. Misery was her only prospect.
As a tempest of despair threatened to crush Jean, something rose up against it. A strong support that had been established in the last five years, when she’d had charge of her own life and grown more solid during this time at Furness Hall. A bulwark of new confidence reared up to sustain her. What had her mother known about anything? Jean asked herself. Mama had never loved anyone in her life.
This painful truth pierced her through and through. It was rather like lancing a boil, Jean thought. A distasteful comparison but apt. The process hurt. The results were unpleasant. But it had to be done if one was ever to heal.
Her mother had claimed boundless love for Jean w
hen she was in alt, fawning and cooing over her. And her every action had shown this was a lie. She’d been cruel and selfish. Anything Mama had said about love was simply nonsense.
“Jean?” asked Mrs. Thorpe. “Are you all right? I’m very sorry if I’ve upset you.”
“I’m all right.” There was more pain than relief so far, Jean thought. But she understood that this was the final step. She’d begun to actively oppose her mother at ten, rebelling against the dreadful cupboard. She’d taken the reins when her mother died and carved out a kind of life. Satisfying, but limited. She’d come to Furness Hall to save a child, and she’d rescued two—Geoffrey and her browbeaten younger self.
Jean half rose on a wave of elation. She had to go and find Benjamin. He deserved to know she loved him, and she wanted to tell him.
“Jean?” said Mrs. Thorpe again. She sounded worried.
She sank back into her chair. Now was not the time. She’d speak to him later. Meeting her chaperone’s concerned gaze, Jean smiled. The world was full of all kinds of love, she thought, just waiting to be appreciated. In that moment she loved Mrs. Thorpe, who’d been more of a mother during this one conversation than she’d ever had in all the years before. “I was just thinking over what you said,” she replied. “It was very helpful. Thank you!”
“You will take care.”
“I will.” Jean nodded. “I will take care, and I will nurture and cherish it.”
The older woman looked quizzical. “If I hadn’t been sitting here with you this whole time, I’d wonder if you’d been into the brandy.”
Jean laughed.
• • •
He was in love, Benjamin thought at dinner that evening. He hadn’t put it that way before, but tonight the fact was clear. On his left, Jean Saunders sparkled brighter than the diamonds in her earlobes as she chatted with his uncle and Mrs. Thorpe.
How fortunate he was, Benjamin thought. He’d loved Alice, and he would always cherish her memory. And now he loved Jean—in the same way, and yet differently. Because he was different with the passage of years, and she was unique. Love was expansive, he thought. Jean had shown him that as she’d swept into his life like a whirlwind and thrown open his closed mind, his muffled spirit. Now how was he going to get her to himself so he could tell her this?
He had to plow through the meal first. And in fact, he was hungry. The pork was done just as he liked it. The roasted potatoes had a savory crunch, and there were slender spears of new asparagus from the garden. He’d spent the last few years hardly tasting his food. He could regret that, or he could plunge in and enjoy the bounty before him as much as he had the pickup meal with Jean in the library. An easy choice, Benjamin thought, digging in.
“The Roman emperor Augustus loved asparagus,” said his uncle, holding up half a spear on his fork. “He had a phrase for decisive action—velocius quam asparagi coquantur, quicker than cooking asparagus.” He popped the vegetable into his mouth and chewed.
“How in the world do you know that?” asked Mrs. Thorpe. “Have you made a study of culinary history?”
The earl shook his head. “I know a good deal about Augustus. I developed an interest in him when I was in school. All that Latin, you know.”
“Why?” asked Jean. “I mean, what interested you particularly?” Benjamin admired the intelligence in her expression as much as the lovely line of her figure. She glanced his way, and a shiver of desire ran through him. From the way her eyes darkened, he was sure she felt it, too, and he reveled in the knowledge.
“He was a rather benevolent autocrat,” replied his uncle. “I say ‘rather,’ because of course he had lapses. Absolute power, et cetera. But he led the Roman Empire into a long era of peace. Who among us, given such scope, would have the ability and use it in that way?”
“Wouldn’t most people want to bring peace?” Jean asked.
“A great many would be too busy getting revenge on their enemies and enriching their family and friends,” said Mrs. Thorpe.
“And Augustus did those things,” said the earl. “But not only those.”
The table fell into a game of what would you decree if you were emperor, which grew sillier as dinner progressed. It continued into the drawing room afterward, but Benjamin was beginning to have hopes of getting Jean away from the others when, to his vast frustration, he heard a carriage pulling up outside.
They all paused to listen. “Who could be arriving at this hour?” Mrs. Thorpe asked.
“The days are getting longer,” said Lord Macklin. “Some people drive out in the evening to look at the moon.”
They might, Benjamin thought. But they didn’t pay calls during such expeditions. No, something was up. He frowned when Mrs. Wandrell and her two offspring entered, trailed by an anxious servant.
“We are such good neighbors,” said Mrs. Wandrell. “I told your maid there was no need to stand on ceremony and announce us.” Her smile was steely.
Tomorrow, he would begin a search for a fearsome butler who could repel unwanted guests, Benjamin thought.
“We were passing by after a small party at the Hendricks’ and thought we simply must stop in,” added Mrs. Wandrell. She made an imperious gesture.
As if launched, Anna Wandrell made a beeline for Benjamin. She smiled and took his arm and more or less forced him to sit down beside her. Her evening dress was cut daringly low in front, and from the way she leaned forward to speak to him, Benjamin was certain she had instructions to make him notice this fact. She was practically offering herself on a platter. Yet the effort was curiously cool. Benjamin couldn’t tell how she felt about this assignment. Although she smiled and laughed, she showed as little real feeling as Teddy, who was carefully ignoring everyone.
Jean, watching from across the room, wasn’t jealous. Anyone could see that Benjamin had no romantic interest in Anna. She’d been thrust upon him, just as Jean had been pulled as far from them as the chamber allowed by Mrs. Wandrell. Still, it was hard to look away from such a blatant flirtation.
“I’ve been hearing such mysterious things about you,” said Mrs. Wandrell to Mrs. Thorpe, who sat on her other side.
“You surprise me,” Jean’s chaperone replied in a tone that implied just the opposite.
“I won’t rest until I know absolutely everything.” Their visitor’s voice had an edge, even as she pretended to tease.
“Then I fear you will grow very tired,” said Mrs. Thorpe. Her expression was serene, but her eyes were acute.
“Oh, I spare no effort when it is a question of my daughter’s happiness.”
This might have caught Jean’s full attention, but just then Benjamin looked at her. And then she could think of nothing but being alone with him again. If only all these people would go away.
“We were talking about the Emperor Augustus earlier,” said Mrs. Thorpe.
Their visitor blinked at her, confused.
“The Roman emperor,” Mrs. Thorpe went on. “And the uses of power. Or misuses. Far more common, sadly.”
“Do you imagine you’re being witty?” asked Mrs. Wandrell. “Because you’re quite mistaken if you do. And pathetic. Wordplay won’t stop me.”
“Some clouds blowing up,” said Teddy Wandrell. Stationed by a window, he’d pulled the drapery back to look out.
“No they aren’t,” replied his mother without turning her head.
Lord Macklin went to stand beside Teddy, pulling back the other curtain. “Clouds,” he agreed, with a calm authority that couldn’t be ignored. “Not long before they cut off the moonlight.”
“Jed Coachman said the weather was changing,” Teddy added. He let go of the drapery and stepped forward. “We should be on our way home.”
Benjamin stood. “That sounds sensible. We wouldn’t want you caught in a storm.”
Mrs. Wandrell couldn’t argue with such a united masculine front.
She looked mad as fire, however, as Benjamin escorted them out.
“What a tedious woman,” their host said when he returned. “She seems to believe she will discover some shameful secret that will show me how mistaken I am. She would have stood in the darkness beside her coach and explained just how and why and what steps I am to take, if I had allowed her to do so. She belongs in a Cheltenham tragedy.”
“Melodrama can be quite effective,” said Mrs. Thorpe.
Benjamin resumed his seat on the sofa. He sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to make some calls in the neighborhood and receive more visitors to show everyone how ridiculous she’s being.” He knew it was past time for him to rejoin local society. He rather liked the idea of introducing Jean to his circle of acquaintances. He hoped to present her as his promised wife, of course.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Thorpe.
“It won’t be such a penance. My other neighbors aren’t at all like Mrs. Wandrell. You’ll like them.”
“It’s not that. I don’t know whether our scheme will hold up with a large number of people.” Mrs. Thorpe looked at his uncle. “I understood it was to be rather private.”
“Scheme?” Benjamin asked.
His two older guests turned to look at Jean. “I forgot to tell him,” she said.
“Tell me what?” Benjamin looked from face to face. Clearly all of them were in on a secret he’d been denied.
“You fit in so well,” said Jean to Mrs. Thorpe. “I just thought of you as my chaperone.”
“Rather than what?” asked Benjamin.
“And I had other things on my mind,” Jean said.
“Pleasant things, I hope,” said Lord Macklin, glancing at Benjamin.
“Tell me what?” asked Benjamin more emphatically.
Jean turned to him. “Mrs. Thorpe is an actress from London,” she said. “A renowned actress. And also a respectable married lady.”
The lady in question smiled at this quick addition.
“An actress?” Benjamin digested this surprising bit of information. He turned to his uncle.
