Once Upon a Dreamy Match: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

Chapter 11

  At The Gildons’ London Home

  There was no hiding the disgrace Benedict felt at that very moment, looking on as his mother giggled like a schoolgirl at one of none other than Walter Blanton’s tepid jokes. His feelings were written plain on his face in the hard set of his jaw, the thin lines of his lips and the furrow of his dark brow. He could not even manufacture a happiness for them, especially not after the way Daphne had fled from the room last night.

  The picture of that scene was clear in his mind and it replayed in his memory on a vicious loop. Her devastated expression had haunted his dreams the previous night, and he could have sworn that he heard her gentle sobs through the walls long into the night. The dismay they both felt was entirely at odds with the infatuation their parents displayed for one another, deaf and blind to the world around them.

  “Oh, Benedict,” Lady Vivian exclaimed, turning to the door as if she had only noticed her son for the first time. “Do excuse our rudeness. Please, come in.”

  After a considerable pause, Benedict did as he was told, crossing the room to take a seat opposite them. They sat close by one another, their knees almost touching and their chests angled towards each other.

  Walter smiled at him. “How do you do this morning, young Benedict? Was the ball not a splendid affair?” He turned back to Lady Vivian with a low chuckle, as if the two were sharing a private joke. His mother raised a dainty hand to her mouth to hide the smile that such a meagre question seemed worthy of evoking from her.

  Benedict, on the other hand, did not offer either person a smile. “There were certainly some unexpected occurrences. I cannot say I particularly enjoyed myself, in the end.”

  “Well now,” Lady Vivian declared, reaching over to pour out a cup of tea for their third, unwelcome guest, “That just won’t do.”

  “It seems as though a second ball must be arranged,” Walter said. “Since the first one did not meet your expectations.”

  Benedict did not touch the tea that was offered to him. Instead, he looked both traitors in the eyes and asked, “What are you both doing?”

  His mother had the audacity to feign confusion. “Whatever do you mean, my son?”

  “You know precisely what I mean, mother.”

  “This comes as a surprise to you, Benedict?” Walter asked, seemingly earnest. He took a measured sip from his cup while he waited for Benedict to formulate an answer. It took some time, for the young Lord was so completely baffled as to why Walter or his mother believed their newfound attachment to be a thing of natural progression. How could they think this announcement so normal a thing, an expected thing, at that? Neither had ever showed the other any kind of attraction before. Granted, they had between them an extensive friendship, but their relationship had always been that of neighbours, not of – and he inwardly shuddered at the term – courting.

  “Yes,” Benedict managed to say at last. “Yes, I must admit that we – myself and Daphne – were quite taken aback.”

  Lady Vivian let out a tinkling laugh at this, as if it were the funniest thing in the world. “Oh, Benedict. And I thought you knew me. This arrangement between Walter and I is purely strategic.”

  Benedict stared at them.

  “Mutually beneficial is how I prefer to think on it,” Walter added, placing his hand upon his Lady companion’s.

  Benedict, wishing the tea in his cup was whisky instead, took a sip. “What in heavens are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Blanton is a wealthy man now, and someone with whom our family have long-since had a connection with.”

  Walter nodded. “My family has always held the deepest of respects for yours. And think on it now, Benedict: who would discount the word of a man attached to so esteemed a Lady as your darling mother?”

  “Damage control,” Benedict muttered, resetting his cup upon the table. Though he hated to admit it, things were beginning to make far more sense. In total honesty, this union was one of dual purpose, for his mother would have at her side a wealthy man upon whom she could impress and influence, and Walter would have a measured wife, and a Lady at that.

  The drama surrounding his daring and clumsy pursuit of his ex-wife and his encounter with Baron Townsend would be so easily swept under the rug and dismissed as some kind of gross misunderstanding on the part of one Roberta Blanton. Oh, how he hated the logic behind such a scheme, if not for the vulgarity of it, then for the way that the two of them had entirely neglected to let their offspring in on it.

  “I do not think,” Benedict began, “that this is the best outcome for all parties.”

  “Oh, Benedict, you would think that.” His mother waved a dismissive hand at him, settling back into the lounge. “For there is nothing of satisfaction in our union for you.”

  “I was not thinking on myself, mother.”

  “You were thinking of my daughter?” Walter said, more of a statement than a question. He already knew, then, what kind of state he had put his daughter in as a result of all the drama that had unfolded last night? How abhorrent of him to put his own daughter through such hell when she was so dedicated to ensuring his happiness. Benedict had never before been so struck by the urge to physically reprimand another person as he was right in that moment.

  “You both strike me as incredibly selfish,” he snapped, folding his arms so as not to lash out.

  Lady Vivian shrugged. “At least we are honest in our selfish intent.”

  “Not enough,” was Benedict’s terse reply. Did he believe this intent to be misguided? He could not say, for even he had to admit that this arrangement of theirs had some merit: it would work to quash the rumours surrounding Mr. Blanton, and it would see his mother with a familiar companion. Though he could not deny the discomfort nestled in his chest, it was too stubborn to budge. He could only imagine the grief that Daphne was experiencing right now, for she had no knowledge of this scheme beyond the mortification it earned her last night.

  “Well, it seems we have reached a stalemate,” Lady Vivian proclaimed, rising from her seat. As if he is her new shadow, Walter rose with her.

  “I believe a walk is in order.” He extended his arm. “Shall we?”

  Lady Vivian took it. “We shall.” She met her son’s gaze, her eyes still and level on his. She did not blink nor make an expression of any kind. Her face smooth as stone, she gave him a single nod. “Good day, Benedict.”

  “Good day, mother,” he replied just as coolly. He looked to Walter. “Mr. Blanton.”

  Walter just nodded with a clueless smile, escorting Lady Vivian from the room with chatter about an upcoming hunt he had planned with a few of his new-found gentlemen friends. Benedict snagged a passing maid and asked for a new serve of refreshments. Whatever plans he might have had for that day were dashed, for there was nothing that could have entertained his mind beyond the theatrics that occupied his life.

  Regardless of the questionable actions of his mother and Mr. Blanton, Benedict still had to consider the state of affairs that was left prior to their arrival last night – that being his rather upsetting conversation with Daphne. It was the first time in his living memory that he had engaged in such a callous conversation with his long-time friend. That was the other half of the vicious loop that had toyed with him since the previous night had ended.

  The disdain and disgust that had been written upon her face, the words she had selected to describe to him her true feelings regarding Lady Parker, and his own uncouth depiction of her partner, that narcissist Captain Fairbank – all of it had culminated with each of them storming off the dance floor. He could never have conjured a fictional scenario like it! So out of character was it for each of them, it only left him wondering what was to become of their friendship. A plague upon his heart.

  “Benedict?”

  He stood at once, spooked by the sound of her frail voice. Daphne was in the doorway, dressed but dishevelled, looking very much a girl who cried herself to sleep. She appeared to have a fresh gleam to her eye, and it
took Benedict only a second to realise that her eyes were still brimmed with tears. Wordlessly, and without a second thought or even a moment of consideration, he crossed the floor and reached for her. Pulling her small and fragile body into his arms, he held her against his chest. Her arms came up to his own and she remained like that, curled against his chest as they stood together, damaged but united against the cruelty of others.

  Daphne took a shuddering breath at last, seeming to pull herself together enough to finally speak words to him. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

  “Heavens Daphne, whatever for?”

  Despite the pain on her face, she offered him a weak smile. “For so much, I must confess. But on this occasion, for speaking to you as ill as I did last night.”

  “If you are apologising for that, then it is only right that I apologise, too.”

  Daphne drew in another wavering breath. Sobs had racked her body and her grief was so raw that it sent something cold and hard straight into Benedict’s chest. He kept his hands on her shoulders, rubbing small circles on her back the way his mother did for him as a child.

  “These days,” she said, “it seems that all I bring you is trouble.”

  “Daphne –“

  “I have so often asked for your help, far more than I deserved to, and each time it has brought us a new misery.”

  Benedict reached up to brush a stray lock of dark hair from her cheek. He curled it round his finger like a tendril of ivy before tucking it gently behind her ear. She closed her eyes against his hand. Her skin was hot and flushed from the grief she had experienced over the past few hours.

  “I know that I should not rely on you so much,” she went on, opening those startling green eyes and at once captivating his gaze. “But it appears that I simply cannot do without you. For one, you are the only person on this earth who would not judge my father, nor I. That feat alone earns you all my worldly gratitude.”

  He held her tight again, bringing a hand to the back of her neck and holding her steady in his arms. “It is not feat, dear Daphne. What kind of man would I be if I were anything but supportive of you?”

  “You have done so much for me.”

  “I have never minded helping you. If there is ever an opportunity to put a smile on your face, or bring comfort to your life in any way, I will always take. Knowing that I can help you is worth more to me than any amount of money or any level of influence.”

  Daphne looked up at him again. “You could not possibly mean that.”

  “I mean every word. I wish that you were always able to come to me in your time of need, whatever the current crisis may be. I want you to trust me, always, for I will always be here to help you.”

  It struck him in that moment that he had never before felt as close to her as he did right then. Not only in their physicality, for they were locked in the warmest of embraces, but also in spirit. What came then was an overwhelming sensation that flooded through him and filled him from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet with calm. If he could hold onto her forever, just like this, he would. She was so good, so incredibly good down to her core. She loved so deeply and was so loyal, only ever wishing the best for people.

  As he looked on at her face and into those emerald eyes, he saw a woman who put others before herself without thinking, but whose happiness was so dependent on that of the people around her. The world could be a dark and cruel place, especially for someone like Daphne, who was filled with such light and compassion that she became a beacon for those around her. He wanted with all his heart to protect that, for there would never be enough of it in the world. Benedict knew then that he was so incredibly lucky not just to know her, but to have her as his closest friend. What he felt for her was so powerful that he knew it would be everlasting.

  He was entirely swept off his feet by her. Even with fresh tears in her eyes and grief shattering her composure, she was beautiful; beautiful right down to her soul.

  Daphne leaned further into his chest, her eyes bright and lips parted ever so slightly. “Benedict…”

  At that very moment, the butler rounded the corner.

  “Pardon me, Lord Gildon, Miss Blanton,” he said with a bow to Benedict, who did not meet his eye, instead keeping his own on Daphne, who looked rightfully startled. He still held her close to him, for the time being entirely uncaring as to the nature of the image that was no longer private.

  “A Captain Robert Fairbank has arrived.”

  It was only then that Benedict looked up. Before they had time to collect themselves, the Captain rounded the corner and swept into the room as if he himself were a resident of the halls. The moment was broken. Benedict felt Daphne loosen herself from his grip. Unwilling but understanding, he allowed her to step away from him. She kept her head to the floor and her loose curls obscured her pretty face. Benedict set his jaw, turning to face the interruption, but kept Daphne in his peripherals.

  “Thank you,” he said to the butler, who departed in an instant. Benedict looked upon the Captain’s face. The boy he had used to know from when their mothers were friends was entirely grown, as he himself was. An admittedly handsome man, at least in the conventional sense, it was easy enough to comprehend why Daphne had been so taken by him.

  If he were anything like he used to be, as Benedict suspected he was, he was all shallow smiles and cutting charm. He had donned his uniform, likely in a bid to establish some kind of authority here. As Benedict looked on without speaking, he decided that he would not give this intrusion the satisfaction.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure, Captain Fairbank?” Benedict kept his tone deliberately dry. Even though they were no longer entangled, he remained close to Daphne’s side. She was in no position to receive guests and though this was admittedly no fault of the Captain’s, Benedict was resigned to do his best to keep her from feeling embarrassed. She had been through enough as it was.

  The Captain bowed to the pair, a hand across his chest. “I was hoping to speak with Miss Blanton, actually.”

  Benedict saw Daphne stiffen beside him. She finally looked up to face the Captain, keeping her hair around her shoulders like some kind of protective shawl.

  Watching his friend’s reactions carefully, Benedict made to step forward. “We’ve had quite the day, Captain Fairbank. I’m sure you’ll understand if Miss Blanton is not equipped to entertain company as of right now.”

  The Captain frowned, glancing between the pair of them. “Is everything alright?”

  Daphne roused at last, though Benedict wished that she had not; in his mind, it would have helped her cause if she had remained silent. But ever one to spare the feelings of those around her, she steeled herself with a breath.

  “I must apologise, Captain Fairbank, for my rudeness last night. My abrupt departure was not planned.” Her voice was soft but steady. God, even in this she was strong. She owed the Captain nothing, did she not realise that? Sure, they were dance partners, but it was Benedict she was with during the crescendo of the drama, not Captain Fairbank. So technically it was Benedict whom she abandoned, albeit during their heated conversation.

  Why was it that she was always the one who had to apologise for things? It felt as though she has been apologising to others for her entire life – for her father, for her requests for help, for her actions (which were often entirely circumstantial and due to no fault of her own), for just generally existing on this mortal plane. Did she feel as though she was living on borrowed time, as though everyone was, and she was prone to wasting it? Benedict truly hoped this was not the case, for if that was her reality, it was incredibly depressing.

  “I am afraid,” she went on, “that I am no longer in a position to be courting you, Captain Fairbank. I hope you can understand – there are a great many things I am currently preoccupied with, and I feel that it would be a disservice to you if I were to continue leading you down this path.”

  Benedict stared at her. Up until that point, he had never had the pleasure of witnessing
her be so bold. To right here and now end a courtship, and quite bluntly at that…she was a woman transformed. He was equal parts impressed and horrified to have been privy to something that would usually be so private an ordeal. Why had she gone ahead and said this now, in front of him? Was it because of what he said last night, the way in which he had spoken of the Captain? Had he swayed her opinion?