His relief was apparent and it made her wonder whether he regretted issuing such a drastic ultimatum to her in the first place. He might be stuffy and pompous, but he was not a cruel man. Unlike his father. Harriet did not believe he would take pleasure in either cutting her off from the family or in casting her into penury.
‘Very well, madam. I am pleased you have come to your senses.’
‘There is one difficulty I must draw to your attention, however,’ Harriet continued.
‘Difficulty?’
‘Indeed, sir. You decreed yesterday that I must have nothing more to do with Sir Benedict Poole, that I must not even speak to him.’
‘I did.’
‘It occurs to me that it is inevitable our paths will cross from time to time. We have friends in common and—’
‘Which friends?’
‘Lord and Lady Stanton, for a start.’ Harriet carefully hid her satisfaction. She knew Edward would never risk upsetting the Earl of Stanton. He was a member of a powerful clique of the aristocracy.
‘Hmph! Continue,’ Edward said.
‘It would be rude if, on those occasions, I failed to even acknowledge Sir Benedict,’ Harriet went on. ‘And it would surely start people wondering why I never speak to him. That would not meet with your approval—it would surely cause that speculation you are so keen to avoid.’
‘Hmm. Indeed. Very well. I shall concede that you may treat Poole as you might any casual acquaintance, for the sake of good manners.’ He heaved himself to his feet. ‘But be under no illusion, madam. If I hear of any further indiscretions on your part, it will be the worst for you.’
‘And I may still visit Fanny and the children? And come to Kitty’s ball?’
Edward hesitated, frowning at her.
‘Come now, Edward. How shall you explain my absence to Fanny?’
‘Very well. But make sure you heed my warning.’
Edward marched from the room, leaving Harriet unsure whether to laugh or to cry. At least she had wrung the concession from him that she might at least speak to Benedict without the risk of Edward’s harsh penalties. That should at least make life less fraught.
A casual acquaintance. That should prove no problem at all.
Chapter Twelve
Benedict felt the stares burning into him as he followed the footman through the hall and into the morning room at White’s. Speculative whispers faded into silence as he came within earshot. He ignored the blatant curiosity as he walked past several members—sitting in small groups or alone with their rustling newspapers or simply dozing, a glass of brandy by their side—to join Matthew, seated by one of the windows that overlooked the street, a glass of red wine in hand.
‘Another glass for Sir Benedict,’ Matthew said, half rising and reaching across to shake Benedict’s hand. ‘How is Lady Brierley?’
‘She is fine,’ Benedict said tersely. The speculative gleam in Matthew’s blue eyes did nothing to placate Benedict’s exasperation with Harriet and her secrets, and neither did the fresh wave of muttering from the other members when they heard his name mentioned. He sat down, saying, ‘I seem to be attracting some interest.’
Matthew glanced round. ‘Indeed,’ he said with a quirk of his lips. ‘For some, you will be the highlight of their day—a titbit to take home to their wives. Although, seeing who has just followed you in, I doubt you will remain the highlight for long.’
Benedict looked up to see a tall man with dark brown hair framed in the open doorway. He skimmed the occupants of the room, then turned and disappeared. The low murmur of conversation swept away the silence that had greeted the newcomer’s appearance at the door.
‘Who was that?’
‘Stanton,’ Matthew replied. ‘Lady Stanton’s husband.’
‘Why would he cause such attention?’ Benedict could understand a stranger such as himself causing ripples, but not someone like Stanton.
‘A rumour is going the rounds,’ Matthew said. ‘There were whispers last summer that he was seeing someone—a widow—but no one could ascertain the truth of it. Then he married in September and the rumours died down. But someone has started them up again, and there is a rush to discover who she is and whether she is still under his protection. There’s all kinds of gossip, including—you might be interested to hear—speculation that it was your friend, Lady Brierley.’
Matthew’s words hit as effectively as a physical blow, but Benedict quelled the anger that surged through him, determined to give his friend no cause to question his reaction. Was Stanton the reason Harriet had been so quick to forestall his suggestion they become lovers?
‘Hmph,’ he grunted. ‘Have these people nothing better to do with their time?’
Matthew grinned. ‘No. That is the point. For many, their interest is solely in what their friends and neighbours are up to, and if they can embellish the tale, so much the better. Plus, according to Ellie, there is a certain amount of jealousy amongst some ladies that a woman such as Felicity succeeded in snaring Stanton where all their efforts had failed. They, no doubt, are relishing their chance to stir the coals. Still—’ his piercing eyes lingered on the empty doorway ‘—I find it hard to believe Stanton has a mistress. I’ve never seen a man more besotted with his wife.’
Benedict choked on his wine. He eyed Matthew, who was staring at him, clearly perplexed by his reaction. ‘Have you taken a look in the mirror lately, Matt?’ Benedict shook his head slowly at his friend. ‘I’d wager that you’d see one there.’
As Matthew continued to stare blankly at him, he clarified. ‘The only husband more besotted with his wife than Stanton happens to be you, you numbskull.’
Matthew smiled, his hard features softening, and Benedict felt again the solitude of his own life. He had not known love since his parents had died. He had watched Eleanor and Matthew together, and he was envious. He yearned to be the centre of someone else’s universe, and to feel the same way about her. Harriet’s face materialised in his mind’s eye. Once he had believed that was what they shared. He had been wrong. That had not been love. Infatuation, lust, call it what you would, it was not love. He would be more careful this time.
‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘your blissful contentment with married life has persuaded me it is time to take the plunge myself and find a wife. As soon as possible.’
Matthew frowned. ‘Not every marriage is as happy as mine, Ben. It can take time to adjust to it. You’d be wise to get settled into your new life before marrying. Or have you already met someone?’ He paused, then said, ‘A certain widow, perhaps?’
Benedict clamped his lips against an angry retort and carefully kept his tone unconcerned.
‘Not a widow, no,’ he said. ‘I have every intention of restoring the name of Poole to a place of pride. I am aware my trade connections will count against me, but marriage to a suitable well-bred girl will surely help. You saw the reaction when I came in here—I have the disadvantage of resembling my cousin, so my identity was guessed at the minute I set foot inside the door. I thought I might ask Eleanor for some introductions.’
Matthew’s lips firmed in disapproval. ‘I still think you should not rush into it, but if you are determined to go ahead, I am sure she will be pleased to help.’
* * *
‘I did not expect to see you out and about this evening.’
The quietly spoken words prompted a lurch in Harriet’s stomach, followed by a skip of her heart. Had she suspected Benedict would be here, she would not have come to the Barringtons’ rout, not so soon after Edward’s ultimatum. There was no point in going looking for trouble. She swallowed her regretful sigh at the sight of him, so tall and handsome in his beautifully tailored evening coat, his auburn hair burnished in the candlelight, and then chided herself for her inconsistency. It was no good deciding at one minute that she was h
appy to play by Edward’s rules and treat Benedict as a mere acquaintance and the next minute hanker after him purely because she could not have him.
‘I was overcome by the stuffiness of the solicitor’s office today, that was all,’ she said. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I—’
Benedict grasped her arm above the elbow, his fingers warm against her bare skin. Everything inside her clenched tight at his touch, and her heart beat faster.
‘Not so fast,’ he hissed. Then he raised his voice. ‘Allow me to escort you to a chair and to procure you a glass of wine.’
He tugged her to his side, then crooked his elbow. A few nearby guests had turned to stare. Harriet raised her chin and placed her hand on Benedict’s arm.
‘Why?’ Her voice shook despite her best efforts to control it. ‘You will make things worse.’
‘Worse? How so?’
They left the salon, which had been stripped of virtually every stick of furniture in order to accommodate the Barringtons’ guests. As they passed through the hall, Benedict asked a footman where they might sit and they followed him to a smaller room where chairs were clustered in random groups. There were a few other guests in here, taking the opportunity to rest, but it was quiet compared to the babble of conversation in the salon.
Harriet sank onto a chair as Benedict asked the footman to bring them some wine. He pulled another chair round so he faced her. His intense scrutiny unnerved her but she was careful to show no sign, concentrating on breathing steadily and reciting a poem in her head. She had learned the trick in the early days of her marriage, in order to prevent reactions that might provoke her husband.
‘How will I make things worse?’
‘This!’ Harriet gestured to the room. ‘It is so particular. It is not how casual acquaintances behave.’
‘I saw Brierley come to your house after I left. Is he still threatening you? I take it from what you said earlier that he is able to stop your allowance if he sees fit?’
‘That is not your concern—my life is nothing to do with you.’
‘We used to be friends. If you are in trouble... If there is anything I can do...’
‘Trouble?’ She laughed, battening down the anger and bitterness that roiled her stomach. She had been in trouble since the minute he had decided she was only good for sowing his wild oats. It was a little late for him to develop a conscience now. She eyed him, envying the simplicity of his life. He could marry, secure in the knowledge that he would be the one in control. If she was forced to marry again, if Edward carried out his threats, she would be completely at the whim of her husband. ‘My only trouble will arise from being seen with you.’
The footman brought two glasses of wine and Harriet sipped gratefully, grasping at this distraction from her negative thoughts and emotions.
‘Why has your stepson taken me in such dislike?’
‘I do not know. I suggest you ask him.’
His hand—large and warm—enclosed hers, where she had been fiddling with a tendril of hair, left to curl loose by her ear. She snatched her hand free.
‘Stop it! What if someone should see?’
‘What are you hiding?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Do you already have a lover? Is that the reason for your stepson’s threats?’
She stiffened, aghast. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Oh, don’t look at me with such innocent indignation.’ He leaned towards her, lowering his voice. ‘After all, you did not scruple to sleep with me when you were still a virgin. Why should you quibble over the suggestion of a lover here and there now you are a widow?’
Harriet shot to her feet. As quickly as she moved, however, Benedict’s fingers encircled her wrist. Twist as she might, she could not break free of his grip.
‘Why were you afraid of me, in the folly? Were you scared your lover would find out?’
‘I do not have a lover,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘I hear differently.’ His rage was palpable. ‘Why did you not tell me you already had a protector when you rejected me?’
She froze. What has he heard? But it was nonsense; she had only ever had the one lover, and that had ended months since.
‘It is nonsense,’ she said, out loud for his benefit. ‘How could I tell you about something that does not exist?’
‘But something terrified you, that day at the folly,’ he went on relentlessly.
Why will you not just let it be? ‘You are wrong. Your memory is wrong. I changed my mind.’
‘What about the evening before? You ran up those stairs as if the devil himself was on your heels.’
He was...in the past. And, just like that, all of her fight drained away. Times like that were hard to forget. Her knees trembled and she sank once again onto the chair. Benedict released her wrist.
‘I was upset about my father, and also that you thought I would be so readily available, just because I am a widow.’
He cast a look of scepticism at her. ‘And yet you kissed me at the folly.’
‘I was confused.’
‘Hmph.’
Benedict said no more, but his anger dissipated before her eyes, and she hoped that would be an end to his questions. She wished it was an end to her worries, but it seemed as though they might still be amassing. Fears gnawed away inside her until she felt near overwhelmed.
What had Benedict heard about her? Lately, her life appeared to consist of disaster after disaster, and now— Had news of her affaire with Stanton somehow got out? What if Edward were to hear of it?
Her vision swam. She would not give way to tears. She reached inside her reticule and found her fan. She opened and plied it in front of her glowing face and then picked up her glass to sip at her wine. Resentment simmered inside her, both at Benedict’s unjustified interrogation of her—what business of his was any of her life?—and at the unfairness that dictated that she should suffer all the penalties of their young love and that he had emerged scot-free. The most wretched and terrifying time of her life had been a mere bump on his road to success and riches.
By the time she was composed enough to glance at Benedict, he had ceased studying her and was gazing around the room. No doubt selecting the prettiest young ladies to make up to. She followed his gaze and choked back a sarcastic laugh. He would not find any matrimonial candidates in here. There was not one person present under the age of at least fifty.
It serves him right for bullying me into coming in here with him.
He looked round then, as if she had spoken her words aloud.
‘I am sorry you feel unable to confide in me, Harry,’ he said. ‘Whatever happened between us, you do know I would always protect you, don’t you?’
A painful lump swelled in her throat. Why was he making this so hard? All she ever wanted was to feel safe and secure. She conjured up again the memory of Benedict standing up to Edward. He had made her feel safe then, protected and cared for. Except it was not real. It was an illusion. Besides, she didn’t want him to be nice. She wanted to hate him. Her entire predicament was his fault. Deep breaths. Take care. She forced a careless shrug.
‘You are imagining dramas where there are none. I am not hiding anything.’
‘Yet you will not tell me why your stepson is prepared to resort to blackmail to keep you from associating with me.’
‘Blackmail? I should hardly call it that.’
Although it was blackmail, wasn’t it? And Edward had the power over her to force her to obey his wishes. Nausea clogged her throat. Power. All men used it, to keep women compliant. And Benedict—perhaps unconsciously—was using his power as a man to persuade her to confide in him. Well, she wouldn’t do it.
‘Edward is worried about my reputation, in case it harms his daughter’s come-out,’ she said. ‘Any father would do
the same and I do not blame him. He wishes to ensure that no scandal attaches to any member of his family. He was upset to find me at a place such as Tenterfield Court.’
‘Scandal?’ Benedict’s growl was menacing. ‘There is no scandal attached to my name. I’d better have a few words with that stepson of yours.’
Harriet swallowed. An argument between Edward and Benedict could only exacerbate matters. She drew on all her years of learning how to calm a fraught situation. At least with Benedict she need not fear raised fists or forced, unwanted intimacies.
‘It will take time for people to forget the link between the Poole name and Sir Malcolm’s behaviour,’ she said soothingly. ‘Edward is conservative. He doesn’t like change. Give him time. Once Kitty is out, he will relax. He is in the throes of negotiating an advantageous match for her, one that is very important for both the family and for him politically.’
She raised her gaze to Benedict’s, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. ‘You have formed an entirely mistaken impression of my relationship with my stepson. That is no doubt my fault. When you saw me this morning I was upset with myself and my failure to ever ascertain my legal right to the allowance Edward pays me. Realising my own naivety was not pleasant, but it makes no difference whatsoever to my position and I most certainly have no need of protection from my own stepson.’
‘Then, why say I will make things worse?’
‘I have no wish for my name to be linked to yours for the reasons I have stated. It is acceptable for us to converse in the company of others, but you must understand that a tête-à-tête such as this will only raise speculation and, possibly, expectations. That will help neither of our causes. You wish to find a bride, do you not? Having our names bandied about together will not help.
‘We were friends once, long ago, but we are different people now. I no longer know you, and you no longer know me or the person I have become. I fully understand you might gravitate towards me, as a familiar face in a sea of strangers—’
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