He shook his head and sighed. “Thought I might go and sit in the rose garden for a bit. Always cheers me up when they’re in bloom. Reminds me of the late duchesse you see. She planted them all ... seems like yesterday,” he added with a wistful edge to his voice.
They paused as one of the stable lads appeared from the back of the house with Goliath and Delilah, and Phoebe was forced to make a fuss of them for a moment as the big animals danced around her with unrestrained joy. Once they were settled she turned back to Sylvester.
“Shall I come and sit with you in the garden?” she offered, not wanting to abandon him.
“No, no,” he said, his voice gruff and a little of his more teasing manner back in place. “You go after Benedict,” he added with a wink.
Phoebe flushed and shook her head. “Oh but ... I was only ...”
Sylvester snorted with amusement as the footman opened the front door and was silent until it closed again behind them.
“Don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes, young lady,” he rumbled with a wicked glint flashing in the green. “I know exactly what you were only ...” He laughed then and patted her hand. “But don’t go thinking I don’t approve because I do,” he whispered, though his voice was surprisingly fierce. “That Pinchbeck creature ...” He gave a visible shudder and shook his head. “She don’t like me you know. Tried a time or two to come between me and Ben she has.” His eyes took on a furious look that reminded her forcibly of his nephew.
“Thank God he’s too loyal for that kind of behaviour. She can’t wait for me to turn up my toes though. But I shan’t a while yet, to spite her if nothing else. She’ll make him miserable as sin, only the foolish boy can’t see it. I’ve tried to tell him,” he added, stamping his walking stick against the pathway in frustration. “She’ll suck every ounce of happiness from his life and turn his children into joyless prigs too, you mark my words. But you can’t tell Benedict anything; he has to come to it by himself.” He stopped then and turned to Phoebe, raising her hand to his lips and giving it a gentle kiss.
“But you, my dear, with your spirit and vivacity, you are exactly what that foolish fellow needs to stop him turning into a dull and boring old man too consumed with propriety to remember to live, if only you could make him see it.”
Phoebe smiled at him, feeling something of a lump in her throat at such praise. “I promise to do everything I can,” she said, feeling suddenly rather emotional.
“You love him,” Sylvester said, looking at her with approval and nodding, though Phoebe didn’t feel quite up to answering that yet. “No you don’t need to tell me yay or nay. I can see it in your eyes. It’s new perhaps, but it’s there and God willing he doesn’t do anything to kill it before it has the chance to grow.” They had reached the rose garden now and Sylvester chose a sunny bench with a lovely view over the best of the blooms. “Run along with you now, my dear,” he said with a smile. “I’ll just sit here for a bit on my own if you don’t mind.”
Phoebe bent down and gave the old man a fond kiss on his bristly cheek and then set off in pursuit of her quarry, happy in the knowledge that she at least had the duke’s blessing to do so.
***
Benedict threw another stone, watching it bounce across the surface of the great lake. He had done this more times than he could count as a boy and he experienced a dreadful longing to return to the innocence of those days. He and Oliver had spent many happy days building camps and exploring, fishing for their own supper and sleeping under the stars. It was only looking back at it now. However, that he realised how gilded and unspoiled his childhood had been. Sylvester had played a great part in achieving that too.
The poor old man had looked so worn and fragile last night that it had hurt Benedict’s heart to see it. This affair must be sorted out as quickly and quietly as possible. The scandal that could cling to their names after this would be dreadful if it couldn’t be kept quiet.
And he must do nothing to add to that scandal. Like being found in a compromising situation with Phoebe. He swallowed as he remembered waking and finding her beside him last night. For a moment he’d believed he was dreaming, seeing her swathed in that lovely nightgown. She’d looked like a wood nymph all dressed in green and with her golden hair tumbling about her shoulders. Desire, so fierce he could taste it, rushed through his blood and he put his head in his hands with a groan of misery. Damn her. Why did she have to come and ... and turn his life upside down. It just wasn’t fair.
He’d tried so hard to bury that side of himself, the reckless, careless creature that had gloried in the pleasures of life. His father had initiated him into his world when he was a very young man and Benedict, full of idol worship for his fun loving, charismatic father had leapt in feet first. Gambling, carousing and women, everything had been at his fingertips and Benedict had been quick to glory in every and any aspect of it he could find. Until his father had died and the thoughtlessness of that behaviour was brought home to him in stark clarity.
He had sworn then that all of that was behind him. He had cut himself off from that decadent world and remodelled himself into the solid and dependable kind of man that his family would always be able to rely on. Never would they have the shame of being dunned by their creditors, of the gossips tittering about the fact they were within days of the bank foreclosing on them. Never again would he let any of his family down with such feckless behaviour.
Never would he fall for some beautiful, bird witted female like his mother either. He adored her it was true and she was the most loving and wonderful mother any child could wish for. But she had as much sense of economy as a child with a sovereign and was just as adept at bringing scandal down on their heads as his father had ever been.
That was why Theodora had appealed so strongly. The model of repressed English femininity, she had never stirred passionate thoughts in him, and would never countenance anything that could cause the merest lift of an eyebrow from society. She had seemed like the perfect wife and he had been quick to propose. There was no love there, no romance, but at the time that had seemed a blessing. Now though ...
“Hello there.”
A jolt shot through his heart at the sound of Phoebe’s voice and he couldn’t for the life of him decide if the feeling was ecstatic or furious. To add to his turmoil she was clearly alone, with only the blasted dogs for company.
“I thought we agreed it was both inappropriate and dangerous for you to be out walking alone.”
Phoebe’s blonde brows drew together and she shook her head. “No, Ben dear, we didn’t. You said it was inappropriate and dangerous but I didn’t take any notice you see.”
He gave a snort of despair and shook his head. “You do surprise me.”
Phoebe grinned at him and sat beside him on the bench, far too close for his nerves which all flared to life at her proximity. She wore a charming walking dress of pale lilac muslin with a darker, lilac silk spencer. Her chip straw bonnet had a wide brim and was trimmed with the same lilac silk as the spencer and he found himself staring into the bluest of blue eyes and wondering how he would ever look away.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice rough as he reluctantly forced himself to glare at the gardens instead.
“Why ever not?” she demanded, sounding quite cross. He huffed at her in annoyance and her voice was full of mischief when she next spoke. “Oh, I see,” she said her voice soft as she slipped her hand through his arm. “Everyone will think it’s another tryst.”
He turned to glare at her and disengaged her arm from his. “It cannot be another tryst as there has never been one to begin with,” he said with such hauteur that he just sounded like a pompous fool even to his own ears.
Phoebe pursed her lips for a moment before asking, “Hasn’t there?”
He caught his breath at the implication and remembered those moments pressed tightly together in the darkness of the priest’s hole. “No,” he replied, though his voice sounded a lot less steady than he was comfortable with
.
“Well,” she said sighing. “There very nearly was.”
Benedict shot to his feet. The temptation to take her into his arms and show her what a tryst with him would really be like was almost too much to bear. There would certainly be no argument about whether it had or hadn’t been ...
“Was there something you wanted, Miss Skeffington-Fox?” he demanded.
She looked up at him and sighed, clearly just as frustrated by his behaviour as he was himself. But it wouldn’t do. He was engaged to be married and there was no escaping that fact.
“Well several things really,” she said with a huff. “But if you insist on being so dull, then I wanted to speak to you about last night. Don’t you think that conversation was rather incriminating for Lord Rutland?”
Benedict frowned and knew her thoughts were only echoing his own. “It does look bad,” he admitted.
“What else do you know about him?” Phoebe asked, her blue eyes alight with determination.
Benedict paced for a moment, unsure of whether or not to speak to Phoebe about his suspicions. But he needed to speak to someone and, her reckless behaviour notwithstanding, he felt she was trustworthy.
“Neither Sylvester nor I believed Tony’s death, that’s his older brother, was an accident. Which means that it would appear, on the surface at least, that someone is after the title. I believe John is in debt,” he said, glancing up at her. “I knew things were bad for him but ... I’m beginning to think they could be more than bad. Sylvester won’t lend him any more money because he was against the investments that John made in the first place. He warned him ... we both warned him, but he’s so damned pig-headed and arrogant.”
“A family trait it appears,” Phoebe murmured.
Benedict paused to give her a dark look before carrying on. “It is possible that John could have killed Harold. You heard him when Harold threatened his dogs; there was no love lost there.”
“But how would that help him now?” Phoebe queried, her brow wrinkled in the most adorable fashion as she frowned at him. “I mean he still wouldn’t inherit until Sylvester ... Oh!” she exclaimed, putting her hand to her mouth. “You don’t think ...”
Benedict shook his head. “I can’t believe he’d hurt Sylvester. I don’t like John it’s true and the two of them are always at logger heads but ... there is loyalty there, even if there isn’t affection. Besides, it could help him now,” he added. “The Denholm fortune is vast and if he’s to be the next duke it would give him breathing space. Everyone knows Sylvester is getting old, and anyone who doesn’t know him might believe he’ll fall off his perch at any time now. It would certainly make it worth any creditors hanging on.”
“So you do think it was John then?” she pressed.
Benedict shrugged. “I don’t know. That devil Spalding had some hold over Harold. I know he was blackmailing him but then why kill the golden goose ... unless ...”
He felt suddenly sick and looked down a moment later as Phoebe’s small hand slipped into his. “What is it, Ben? You’ve gone positively white.”
“I’ve bailed Harold out twice now,” he said, hearing the guilt in his own voice. “But I took Spalding aside and told him there wouldn’t be a third time. If there was no one else that Harold could turn to ...”
“Oh, Ben,” she chided, though her voice was gentle. “You can’t be held responsible for everyone’s shortcomings you know. You paid his debts twice over and there was no obligation on your part. Why didn’t his father help him?”
“His father refused, said he was a frivolous good for nothing and wouldn’t give him a penny. He would inherit from his father’s death of course, but the man’s affairs seem to be in such a tangle. And he was too afraid of Sylvester to ask him,” he added, curling his fingers around Phoebe’s hand and wishing he had the strength to let it go.
“Well then,” Phoebe said, looking up at him and giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re not his father, Benedict. You know a blackmailer wouldn’t just give up and walk away once he had his claws in him. He’d bleed him until he was dry. It would have to have stopped eventually.”
“Well it’s stopped now alright,” Benedict replied with a grim expression.
“Yes,” Phoebe said, sounding a little less sure of herself now. “And I can’t say why or who did it, Ben. But there is one thing I do know, that it was none of your doing. You have no reason to reproach yourself for Harold’s death. He was a nasty, selfish little toad and as much as I pity the way he ended, he made his own bed. You didn’t put him in it.”
She sounded really rather fierce and he found himself staring down at her again, feeling the warmth of her hand in his. He wasn’t used to having someone champion his cause. He had always had to stand alone and protect everyone else from debt and scandal. It was a rare and rather wonderful feeling to hear someone defending him, even if it was only from himself.
“You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” he murmured, touching a thick blond curl of her hair with his free hand.
“No, Ben,” she whispered. “I’m not. Truly.”
He felt his heart pick up, all too aware that the look in her eyes and the breathless quality of her voice was pure invitation. She wanted him to kiss her, she wanted him very badly. His throat was suddenly dry and he swallowed.
“How did we get to Ben suddenly?” he demanded, reminding himself severely that his fiancée was back at the house.
He felt her sigh and he dropped his hand. “I thought perhaps you might not mind me calling you that way,” she said, her voice dull as she turned away from him.
“Not even Theodora calls me Ben,” he added with some force. She was taking things too far, too fast.
“Well that hardly surprises me,” she retorted with equal annoyance.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, shaking his head and trying to hold onto his anger. She needed to leave now, she needed to stay away from him. Her behaviour was outrageous. “You shouldn’t seek me out, alone. It’s ... it’s ...”
“It’s what?” she demanded.
Benedict gritted his teeth and pushed at the desperate desire that wanted nothing more than to tumble her to the ground and kiss that furious look from her face. “I’m engaged to Miss Pinchbeck, Phoebe, and there is no changing that fact.”
“You could change it,” she said, her eyes flashing with challenge. “If you wanted to badly enough.”
“Then I suppose I don’t want to badly enough!” he flung back at her, though his skin was aching so badly to touch her he knew he had never spoken a greater lie aloud.
She started as though she’d been slapped and he was immediately contrite. He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice taut and full of things that must remain unsaid. “I made a promise, Phoebe. That means something, to me at least.”
She was quiet for a long time but when she spoke again her words surprised him.
“If it was John who killed Harold, why was he blackmailing the man in the library?”
He looked at her, feeling somehow hurt that she had said nothing about his words. Perhaps he had only wanted to be persuaded that something between them was possible? God, how he wished it was possible.
“I ... don’t know,” he replied at last, not wanting to think about Harold or John or any of the bloody mess they were plunging into. The investigative officer should be here in response to Sylvester’s letter soon, but in the light of Phoebe’s words about his own possible motivation that thought was less than comforting.
“Is John a talkative drunk?” she asked next, forcing him to raise his eyebrows at her. She shrugged at him in response. “I just wondered if he might let something slip given the right inducement.”
Benedict frowned and nodded. “He’s not what you’d call discreet that’s for sure.”
Phoebe pursed her lips as though considering this and got to her feet. “Very well, I shan’t bother you any further. I wouldn’t want to compromise you after all,” s
he added with a tight smile.
Benedict winced as she gave a shrill whistle and the two big wolf hounds bounded back towards her from wherever they’d been hunting. With a heavy sigh he watched her lovely figure retreat back along the path to the house and wondered what the bloody hell he was supposed to do now.
Chapter 11
Tho’ veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
Love is a sword that cuts its sheath,
And thro’ the clefts, itself has made,
We spy the flashes of the Blade !
But thro’ the clefts, itself has made,
We likewise see Love’s flashing blade,
By rust consumed or snapt in twain :
And only Hilt and Stump remain. - Coleridge
Phoebe dressed early for dinner and headed down stairs. It had not escaped her notice that John enjoyed a drink by himself before the ordeal of the family meal. She felt entirely in sympathy with him about that much at least. The idea of spending time with Miss Pinchbeck was not a soothing one and her last meeting with Benedict hadn’t been as hopeful as she may have wished.
She felt sure he was regretting his betrothal to the wretched woman but he was far too honourable to back out on his promise. Besides, knowing the Pinchbeck woman she’d probably sue him for breach of promise. In which case the only thing to do would be to make her cry off. That was going to be far more difficult. Benedict was a catch, especially for the Pinchbecks of the world. She was perilously close to being left on the shelf. She was attractive, Phoebe had to admit that much, but it was in such a cold and aloof manner. There was nothing soft or giving about her, and she strongly doubted there ever would be. Her heart squeezed in her chest at the idea of Benedict throwing his life away on a woman like that. Just thinking about what kind of mother she would be to his children made unwelcome tears spring to her eyes.
Giving herself a sound scolding she realised this way of thinking was getting her nowhere and would give her a fit of the dismals if she didn’t stop immediately. So taking a deep breath she gathered her nerves and searched out Lord Rutland.
Dying For A Duke Page 9
