Juliet stifled a giggle.
“Really, Eleanor,” Benjamin said his voice heavy with sardonicism. “Your levity is trifling.”
“You needn’t be rude. I was only commenting on truth. You and that hound are inseparable.”
Mr. Meadowcroft entered the room. He stood behind his wife and settled her onto a velvet-covered chaise lounge. “As he should be. Unlike Mrs. Meadowcroft, I am informed in the bloodlines of hounds and know the enormous value attached to Artemis and her future litter. That you, Lady Colwyn, should be the daughter of Lord Roughton, why, I must say I am honored to be in your acquaintance. Your father provides invaluable companions and the finest hunters I have had the pleasure of utilizing.”
Juliet smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. “You are familiar with his kennel, Mr. Meadowcroft?”
“I am. Anyone with any interest in hounds knows of his superior line of pointers. That Benjamin here has had his bitch bred with the pride of Roughton’s kennel has made me green with envy.”
“Speaking of hounds, we need to see to their comfort.” Benjamin wrapped an arm around Juliet’s waist, pulling her away from an inviting burgundy-colored settee and into the hard planes of his chest.
Mr. Meadowcroft’s brow’s furrowed. “Their? I was under the assumption you had only Artemis. Did you acquire more?”
“My father’s kennel was part of my dowry,” Juliet said, ignoring her husband’s ever-tightening grip. “Along with me, Lord Colwyn has acquired my father’s hounds.”
Mr. Meadowcroft burst into a smile. “Your father’s hounds? I must say, that is quite a spectacular and generous dowry. Why, he must have at least a dozen of the most sought-after pointers in the country.”
“Four, or rather five with Cleoe, the first of my line. My father and I have extraordinarily high standards and only keep those pups whom we feel meet our exacting requirements.”
Eyes gleaming, Mr. Meadowcroft nodded. “Yes, of course, that explains why your hunters are so sought after. The demand far outweighs the limited supply—a supply that will become even more valuable now with your father’s retirement.”
“Yes, well, the hounds.” Benjamin ran his hand up and down her arm. “With Artemis in her state of increasing, we really ought—”
“While it is true my father has quit his hobby, he has long entrusted me with the care of his kennel. Rest assured, his line will continue to supply the aristocracy with their favorite gun dogs.”
“How delightful,” Eleanor exclaimed. “Half the ton will be banging down your door demanding pups from your kennel, Benjamin.”
“Not his kennel, precisely, but rather mine,” Juliet corrected.
Mr. Meadowcroft lifted his brows. “Yours? Are you suggesting you will be involved in the selection of hounds for breeding, my lady?”
“Yes,” Juliet said shortly, Mr. Meadowcroft’s light mocking tone putting her on alert. “I have started my own line, one with a superior sense of smell that even my father’s champion cannot match. Of course I have plans to breed more, specifically one of Artemis’s litter with—ow—” she yelped, glancing up at her husband, whose finger had jabbed into the soft flesh of her side.
Benjamin’s gaze darted to the door and back to her. “It has been lovely, Eleanor, Meadowcroft, but we really ought—”
“Your own line?” Mr. Meadowcroft asked. “How spectacular. Are these superior hounds here? At Darlington?”
Juliet gave an emphatic nod. “They are, indeed. Cleo is my first. She continually outperforms Horatio, my father’s prize stud, although his skills are extraordinary. Her dam was part foxhound and I believe that has given her an advantage—”
“The dust. It has been so dry,” Benjamin said, letting out a horrible, dry, and utterly forced cough.
Eleanor peered at him with something akin to disbelief. “It snowed yesterday. The roads were so muddied and we were not able to traverse over them.”
“Well, the staff must have dusted this room, stirring up whatever motes were present.” He waved his hands in front of his face.
“I would like to take a look at this bitch of yours, Lady Colwyn,” Mr. Meadowcroft said, excitement filling his voice. “I confess I am intrigued by your unusual talent.”
“Yes, of course. Cleo is usually at my side, but is currently being tended to by Lord Colwyn’s staff. I will arrange for you to meet her as soon as she is fed.”
“Benjamin’s staff. Has he told you how he took in most of them from the least fortunate families of his tenants? Enabling them to better themselves and feed their families with monies earned from their work?” Eleanor asked. She lifted a fan off the table and flicked the silk tassel dangling from its end.
Benjamin’s grip lessened. “Yes, a story for another time, perhaps. I fear you look pale, Eleanor. Some rest is undoubtedly required for your complexion.”
Juliet wrested free from Benjamin’s grasp and strode toward the empty seat beside his sister, eager to learn more about his past and perhaps something about the animosity directed toward his fair sibling. “Why, she has a beautiful glow about her, likely due in part to her condition.”
“Oh, I don’t know about any glow.” Eleanor gave a sheepish grin. “But I do confess to feeling a little more tired than I first believed. Perhaps you are right, Benjamin. I may benefit from some rest. I am not quite as spry as I once was, am I, dear brother? Do you recall when we used to torment our elder siblings, pursuing them relentlessly through the woods, until they had to allow us to join them on their fishing trips because we had already ventured so far? Oh, to have that sort of vigor again…”
“Elder siblings?” Juliet had assumed Benjamin was the eldest, as he stood in possession of the title. But Eleanor had said fishing…and while Juliet enjoyed the sport, it was not a popular pastime for women to openly enjoy.
But then, neither was hound breeding.
“Yes, Henry and Philip. The two were dears, older than us by a decade. But illness ravaged them—a fever Philip brought home from one of his expeditions to the West Indies. Benjamin gained possession of the title quite unexpectedly. A third son. Who would have expected?”
“Who, indeed?” Benjamin asked, his voice strained. “I really ought to see Artemis.” He stared at Juliet, his sorrow-filled and conflicted eyes urging her departure…and demanding acquiescence.
If not her understanding. Clearly, something was amiss. Was it fear of an attachment, a friendship between her and his kin? One he did not want to develop due to Juliet’s departure and the fragility of Eleanor’s condition? Was his coldness nothing more than a tactic to prevent heartache upon her departure? Juliet stood and made her way to Benjamin’s side, settling her hand on his arm.
And her heart in his hand.
…
Few men enjoyed suffering, and Benjamin was no exception. He did not like the sharp pain pricking at his eyes, threatening, God forbid, watershed, at the mention of his lost siblings, his parents, or even Amelia. Nor did he fancy the way his breath lodged in his throat whenever he was reminded that, with their deaths, he had been bequeathed roles he did not want to fill, burdened with responsibilities he was not prepared to assume.
He was a third son. A recluse who invariably preferred mammals with four legs rather than two. He did not wish to be a viscount responsible for both his family seat and the people living on its land.
And yet he had assumed the roles forced upon him by fate. Duty compelled him. And so did Eleanor.
No one felt him more deserving of the title than his sister, his twin by birth if not personality. Her amiable and effervescent temperament had made her elated by his good fortune, insisting that with death came new life, and the viscountcy offered him opportunities he had otherwise been denied.
She had supported, encouraged, and inspired him with her enthusiasm and her insistence he would make an excellent example of a gentleman.
But he had never been prepared for such a role. His life was to be one of humility, of a clergyman in a distant p
arish with a few hounds and even fewer members. Never had he thought he would take on the running of Darlington and all the responsibility it entailed.
Eleanor’s presence was a reminder of loss. And of failure. He could never be the man she believed him to be. And he hated himself for it.
Due to the distraction and enigma that was Juliet, he had almost forgotten he was the lone son, the remaining Colwyn heir to whom all the expectations had fallen…had almost believed himself capable of feeling, of healing beyond the pain of his past with his new wife.
A wife who, with the delivery of Artemis’s litter, would be leaving him in a short time.
But perhaps, with some coaxing, he might convince her otherwise. That was, of course, if he dared to do what he once believed impossible, and trust her. Trust she would not let him down like everyone else. Like he had Eleanor.
He had to get those puppies. Had to make certain Artemis delivered well and healthy…
But he wasn’t entirely certain of Juliet’s abilities. While she appeared confident, he had playfully snatched a primer on the basics of canine breeding from her hands, had born witness to her admission to not being fully competent in the study of whelping. He did not know if Juliet was up to the task before her.
A task that would ease both the burden of having fallen short of the man his sister believed him to be, and those wrought by her lack of funds. Artemis’s litter would change everything, including his future. One that included his wife. Here. At Darlington.
“Benjamin.” Juliet wrapped her arms around him as soon as he entered into the library next door. “I had no idea you suffered such great loss.”
His body slackened in her embrace, reveling in her gentle touch. “It is not something I like to recall.”
“I can’t imagine you would.”
“Then let us think of it no longer. Shall we find the hounds and see how they are faring?”
Juliet’s mouth spread wide with a smile. “I believe it is time for them to be fed.”
He grabbed her hand and led her toward what appeared at first glance, to be a bookshelf. But upon closer inspection, and with a gentle push in the upper left corner, revealed itself to be a secret entrance to a flight of stairs.
“These lead to the kitchens, where the hounds should be awaiting their meal.”
Juliet stared down the darkened stairwell. “How innovative.”
“Yes, and convenient, too. Especially when one works up an appetite whilst reading the The Monk.” He gave her a wink. “Come, Udolpho. Shall we see what mysteries await? Perhaps we will hear the rattling of chains or see the misty shroud of a phantom on our way to visit the hounds.”
She giggled, the light and airy sound further easing the wounds of his past.
“I do believe you are mocking me, my lord,” she said, following him down the narrow stone steps.
“Never.” He squeezed her hand, reveling in the way it fit perfectly in his. “Simply stating the possibilities. Who knows what mysteries await us? Or what secrets of the macabre shall be revealed?”
Juliet’s grip tightened around his fingers. “I am much less interested in the macabre and much more curious to hear the soothing words of a hymn sung by a secretive viscount.”
Benjamin chuckled. “My sister grossly overestimates my talents. You should be thanking me for sparing your ear.” He had not sung a word since Amelia’s death. Had not even hummed a note. There had not seemed a point to engage in such a jovial pastime. At least not until now…
“Nonsense. You are obviously afflicted with false modesty. Besides, what else should bring comfort in a medieval stairwell but a hymn offering praise?”
“I can think of one or two things.” Like her soft pink lips. And sweet cinnamon-scented curls. “But I am well acquainted with your determined spirit. And I know you will persist in ferreting out my so called talent until you can dispute my sister’s accolades.”
“Likely confirm rather than dispute, but yes, I am quite determined.” Her voice echoed off the stone walls.
He smiled in the dark as he led her around a corner and toward the door that awaited them at the bottom. “Then I shall sing you a hymn.”
“Excellent. I find they bring me comfort in times of despair.”
“And following a secretive viscount down a darkened stairwell is despairing?”
Juliet laughed. “It is quickly leaning that way, yes.”
“Then allow me to convince you otherwise…as much as I am able in present circumstance.”
With a deep breath, he sang the words to a hymn that had once come so easily to him…the familiar tune rolling off his tongue, his voice filling the narrow passageway. Benjamin held the last note of the first verse as he lifted the latch on the door, pulling Juliet into the bustle of the kitchen.
She peered up at him, her sapphire eyes transfixed. “That was…”
Benjamin dipped his head and covered her lips. Taking the supple flesh of her lower lip between his teeth, he drank of the woman he could not deny and whom he very much wanted to impress.
Her eyes bright, her mouth stretching wide with a grin, she pulled away. “You only succeed in delaying my review, not preventing its eventual delivery.”
“Then perhaps the arrival of the hounds will distract you from contriving your critique.”
Artemis bounded to his side, toppling over an empty bowl with her tail. Benjamin knelt down, rubbing her favorite spot under her chin, her pink tongue lapping at his face.
“No, but the arrival of your sister’s children might. I would not want them to hear me gush like a school girl as I delivered my praise.”
Benjamin gave his wife a smile and stood to lift up the towheaded boy of four who had raced toward him. “No, we wouldn’t want them to hear any sort of complimentary remarks or notes of admiration in regards to their cantankerous uncle, now would we?”
His sister’s youngest squealed with laughter in his arms.
He ruffled the boy’s light hair and directed him toward Juliet. “This, my dear Lady Colwyn, is Master James Meadowcroft.
Juliet gave an elegant curtsy. “How do you do, sir?”
James scrunched his nose, seemingly unimpressed with his new aunt and grabbed Benjamin’s nose. “Cook let us play with the hounds. Did you know Artemis is going to have puppies?”
“I did.” Benjamin set down the tot and rubbed Artemis’s back. “What do you think we should name them?”
His nephew placed a finger under his chin in deep contemplation. “I don’t know.”
“How about Apollo?” asked the boy’s elder sister. “And Athena? Why not continue with the Greek Parthenon of gods?”
“An excellent idea, Louisa.” Benjamin beamed down at his niece.
“When you do think the puppies will arrive?” Louisa asked.
Juliet placed her hands on Artemis’s swollen sides. “As soon as nature determines she is ready. Which, if my guess is correct, should not be long.”
Which meant Juliet’s departure would follow and his solitude would be restored. His life would return to normal, and he would resume the role of reclusive viscount.
A role that had suddenly lost its allure.
Chapter Twelve
Juliet had always favored Yuletide and the festivities that accompanied the season. The gathering of family, the celebration of the Lord’s coming, and the spirit of peace and giving always brought a smile to her face and an overwhelming wave of gratitude to her heart.
Especially this Christmas, when her plate was filled to overflowing with a multitude of blessings, such as her husband, her marriage, and her new home. Juliet trailed her hands over the balustrade in the elaborate foyer on her way toward her room to ready for bed. She smiled at the signs of the season the staff had set out to celebrate the holiday. Boughs of evergreen covered every mantle, the lush green needles filling the house with their pungent fragrance. Even a sprig of mistletoe hung in front of the entrance, the tiny white berries eliciting a passion-filled kiss fro
m her handsome husband each time they passed beneath the festive greenery.
She had waltzed into a fairy tale. And while she bore no crown or jewel-encrusted tiara, she was a princess, with her knight in shining armor at her side. For the entire week Benjamin had doted upon her, his feelings duly expressed in both the bedroom and out—for no one’s eyes but their own.
Away from Frederick’s judging and leering glares, Juliet embraced a self-confidence in her appearance she had only ever dreamed of possessing. Benjamin treated her as a priceless gem, not a tarnished piece of silver that might shine with a bit of polish.
The hounds also appeared enraptured with the festive and merry atmosphere of Darlington. Cleo, Horatio, indeed, the entire kennel had endeared themselves to Darlington’s staff, and even more so to Mr. Meadowcroft.
His patience, his firm guidance in his training, and his affection for her kennel lent the man a special air and Juliet couldn’t help but find herself in his constant companionship. His eager interest in her breeding methods, in her selection of champions, had him asking a thousand questions she was more than eager to answer.
Much to her husband’s chagrin.
“Juliet,” Benjamin whispered. He came up beside her and pulled her behind a Flemish tapestry, into a hidden enclave off the main corridor. “If you spend another moment answering Meadowcroft’s incessant barrage of questions, I shall have to challenge him to a duel over your attentions.”
Juliet could not fight the pull of her lips as they lifted into a smile. “Careful, my lord. Or I might begin to think you are jealous of my time.”
He let out a throaty laugh. “Of course I’m jealous. I have to steal you away to have a moment without him trailing after you like a compass needle set on north. He is bewitched and infatuated with your teachings. Meadowcroft speaks of little else, his conversations focused entirely on the superiority of your hounds and which question he would like to ask you next. I admit to being rather possessive of your time, my lady. I find I do not like to share.”
Her heart fluttered at her husband’s words. He wanted to be with her.
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