by Golden Angel
“So what are you going to do?” Isaac asked curiously, finally breaking away from making moon-calf eyes at his wife. “I can’t imagine you giving up so easily.” He raised his eyebrow sardonically as Arabella smirked. Lydia just smiled encouragingly. She really was his favorite sibling; not actually being related to him by blood gave her a strong advantage in his opinion.
“Of course I’m not giving up,” Benedict said vehemently. “I just have to decide what to do next.” He exchanged a significant look with his sister-in-law.
******
Three women stared at the bouquet of flowers Christina had brought with her to Daphne’s. It had arrived mid-morning and was the largest, most expensive, and most gorgeous bouquet she’d ever received. The main portion of the bouquet was arbutus, the sweet-smelling fragile flower with white and pink petals must have been hideously expensive as they were not native to England. They must have been grown in a hothouse, after being brought over from the United States. Camellias bloomed in a rainbow of color between the more fragile petals of the arbutus, blue and white violets ringing them, and the entire thing was framed with bright leaves of ivy and tied with a wide violet ribbon.
For those familiar with the meanings behind the chosen flowers, it was a stunning declaration of love, faithfulness, intent to marry, and supplication in a single glorious bouquet.
“Well…” Daphne murmured, still staring at it in wonder.
Daphne’s sister-in-law, a sweet young woman with brilliant reddish hair the same color as a sunrise, seemed stunned into silence. Married to Daphne’s brother, the Earl of Cranborne and one day to be the Marquess of Salisbury, Vivian Cecil was not a close friend of Christina’s, but Christina was so out of sorts she didn’t care. Besides, the Countess had a reputation for being quiet and composed; she was not the kind of person to indulge in idle gossip. Especially not about a friend of a friend.
“That… is certainly larger than I realized it would be,” Daphne finally said, a bit faintly.
Christina had brought the splendid monstrosity in her carriage and sent for a footman to bring it in after her arrival, while she told Daphne and Lady Cranborne about Benedict’s proposal and her refusal. Of course, since Lady Cranborne was there, Christina had not gone into the specifics of the setting of his proposal - although she surely would when she and Daphne were able to speak privately.
“I did tell you,” she said, turning her head slightly to look at her friend a bit reproachfully.
“Yes… but…” Daphne gestured at the floral splendor almost helplessly, apparently unable to take her eyes from it. “I thought you were exaggerating, but if anything you understated its proportions.”
The three women returned to their mute contemplation until Daphne broke the silence again.
“Last night Benedict proposed.”
“Yes.”
“You declined.”
“Yes.”
“And he sent you… this.”
“Yes.”
“Well, what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know! That is why I came to you!” Christina’s response was nearly agonized. She truly didn’t know what to do; her first reaction had been to flee her house in case Benedict would be following the bouquet’s arrival, and her second reaction had been to seek out her bosom friend.
Not only had she come to Daphne, but she’d come before her friend’s normal at-home hours. After seeing Christina and the state she was in, Daphne had told her butler that she was not at home to any future callers. Of course, Lady Cranborne was already visiting and asking her to leave would have been rude; besides, a second, discreet, opinion would not be amiss.
“It’s terribly romantic, isn’t it?” Lady Cranborne said, a bit wistfully, reaching out to stroke one of the ivy leaves. She seemed almost unaware of having spoken aloud, but the wistfulness in her tone tugged at something inside Christina.
From what she remembered, Lady Cranborne’s marriage had been arranged and she’d never even had a Season as a debutante - although she’d already had one as a married Countess. Her courtship, if she’d had any, would not have been anything like Christina’s with George. Not that George had ever sent her such a bouquet, even when courting. He’d sent her a dozen roses, twice a week, before their wedding, which she’d thought incredibly romantic, but compared to this…
It wasn’t just the expense, it was the obvious care which had been taken with the bouquet and the message of the flowers. Not to mention the ribbon tying it together, which was the exact shade of violet she loved the most. Benedict was not the type of man to leave such a small nicety to chance; she knew he’d had a hand in every last detail of the stunning array.
Lady Cranborne was right. It was terribly romantic.
Just looking at the bouquet stirred all sorts of uncomfortable feelings inside of her; feelings she hadn’t had since George. Her stomach felt fluttery, her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since the bouquet had arrived, and she wanted to go running to Benedict and cover him with kisses. Alternatively, she also felt sick with the idea of being trapped into marriage again, with the uncertainty of if his love would sustain - not just for weeks or months, but for the rest of their lives.
“Perhaps you should just say yes and be done with it,” Daphne said pragmatically, sitting back against the couch with a thoughtful expression on her face. The dark green morning dress she was wearing, set against the cream-colored couch, highlighted her emerald green eyes and jet black hair. On the other side of her, Lady Cranborne was also wearing green, but a much lighter shade to go with her pale green eyes and bright red hair, and she had turned to study both her sister-in-law and Christina with a searching look. “Dearborne does not seem the type to give up, especially not when he has made so clear a declaration.”
“But I don’t want to be married again,” Christina said stubbornly, hating the tiny note of indecision in her voice. It was just a small bit of indecision, and she would squash it. “Especially not to him.”
“Because you love him,” Daphne said placidly.
“Exact- wait, what? No!” Christina floundered at the inadvertent admission, her breath suddenly gone. She pressed her hand over her heart, where it felt as though it was beating so hard it might burst out of her chest.
“Oh my,” Lady Cranborne said, her voice quiet but clear as she leaned forward in concern. “You’ve gone quite pale, Lady Stanhope. Are you alright?”
“I- I… yes.” Christina took a deep breath - as deep as her corset would allow. She was not going to faint just because Daphne had tricked her into agreeing that she loved Benedict. Daphne smirked back at Christina’s glare, unperturbed. “I’m fine. A bit taken aback by your sister-in-law’s tricks.”
“Her brother isn’t fond of them either,” Lady Cranborne said, a smile curving her lips as they looked at each other across Daphne’s lap, their gazes meeting in understanding. “It’s truly best if you ignore her starts, but such a response is a struggle for him.”
Daphne sat up indignantly. “I’m sitting right here!”
Christina couldn’t help but laugh at the small smile still playing on Lady Cranborne’s lips. She’d thought the lady to be so quiet and meek she barely had a personality, but apparently she was hiding a wicked sense of humor. The lady’s green eyes danced as she studiously tilted her head away from her sister-in-law, as if Daphne hadn’t spoken.
“What do you want, Lady Stanhope?” Lady Cranborne asked. While there was curiosity in her voice, it seemed as though she was mostly asking as a prompt, a question for Christina to answer for herself.
Turning her head to look at the bouquet again, Christina felt her lips twist. Not quite a smile, not quite a frown.
What did she want?
When she’d left town before Christmas, she’d been sure she wanted to move on from Benedict, to come back with her emotions firmly under her control, and enjoy the same kind of nonthreatening friendship she still had with Lords Haversham and Conyngham. But his surprise
arrival at the Wutherings’ ball had forced her to face him without preparation, and she’d been stunned by the strength of her feelings for him as they’d surged up at the sight and touch of him. Then, his shocking appearance in her bedchamber, his masterful wresting of control from her, had made her change her course. She’d begun to adjust her plans - spending the Season as his lover might be harder to recover from than the month they’d spent together previously, but she’d thought she could do so. She’d had some vague thought of traveling or spending some time away from London after this Season, giving her more time and space from him once the Season ended. By then, surely, he’d be willing to let her go.
Instead he’d made the insane offer of marriage. Marriage for love… a marriage based on the one thing she couldn’t trust, couldn’t countenance. When she’d occasionally considered remarrying - as a distant kind of idea, something which would happen years in the future if at all - it would be because she wanted children. She’d never thought about love as being a part of her future at all, other than as something to avoid.
Benedict said he loved her.
What did she want?
Some part of her, some deeply buried yearning in her heart, wanted to believe him.
But marriage?
If his feelings changed, if his love slowly slipped away, they would still be married. She’d be trapped again. Of course he wouldn’t mean to, he was presently absolutely in earnest, but who could predict the future?
Certainly not her.
******
Although Benedict wasn’t entirely surprised to be turned away from Christina’s front door with the butler claiming the lady was out visiting friends, he was disappointed. A quick query did confirm his bouquet had been delivered and received before she left. The butler’s stern lips had twitched very slightly, his brow arching just a touch, giving a general impression of amusement at Benedict’s expense.
Yes, the bouquet had been a bit overmuch, but Benedict had wanted to ensure every one of his intentions and emotions were laid out bare to her in the message. There would be no retreat or pretense on his part; he was going to court her, convince her to marry him, and that was that.
Sighing, he walked down the street, slowly, keeping his eyes open for her returning carriage. Unfortunately, despite the busy traffic, there was no sign of her. Benedict couldn’t help but wonder what she’d thought of the bouquet. The butler’s opinion had been clear enough, but what was Christina’s?
Had she already had plans to visit this friend of hers, or had it been a snap decision after she’d received his bouquet?
And, if the latter, was that a good sign or a bad sign?
Benedict always thought he had an exemplary understanding of women and their behavior, but Christina sometimes confounded him. Then again, that was part of what he enjoyed so much about her. While she was often entirely predictable, she occasionally astonished him by behaving in an unexpected manner he could have never anticipated.
Even now knowing how her past might affect her current behavior didn’t entirely help him, although he supposed he had a bit more insight into the motivations behind her behavior. It didn’t seem to help him predict it. He had thought she would be at home, hiding from him, and he’d seriously considering entering through her bedroom window again. But the butler had been telling the truth when he’d said Christina was out, Benedict could tell.
He wished he’d been able to discover who the friend she was visiting was, but Christina had chosen well with her butler - the man had become positively frosty when Benedict tried to offer him a bribe for information.
Returning to Manchester House, rather than to the lonely house on Jermyn Street, Benedict went looking for his brother, but it quickly became clear Isaac was not at home either. He was wandering his way back to the front entrance - meandering more like - when he heard Lydia calling his name. Backtracking, he peered into the morning room and smiled at her.
“Where’s Arabella?”
“Shopping with Gabrielle,” Lydia said with a smile, setting down the book she’d been reading. “I meant to go with them, but I think I must have not slept as well as I ought, I’m a trifle fatigued.” The smile curving her lips turned a little dreamy and her fingers drifted towards her stomach, making Benedict hide his own smile. Yes, he was completely confident his sister-in-law was increasing, even though she and Isaac hadn’t announced it yet.
The day dress she was wearing was loose to conceal any changes to her figure, its sunny yellow color giving her honey-blonde hair a soft glow - or perhaps that was just the glow of impending motherhood.
“I take it your trip to visit Lady Stanhope was unsuccessful?” she asked, after ringing for some tea. “You returned much more quickly than anticipated.”
“The lady was not at home,” Benedict said with a sigh, not bothering to hide his disappointment, knowing his sister-in-law was good for sympathy. Something neither of his siblings would indulge in.
“How unfortunate,” Lydia sympathized, reaching out and patting his hand in an encouraging way. He adored his sister-in-law. She was exactly the kind of soothing, sympathetic ear his bruised ego needed and his own siblings would never proffer. “Perhaps you will have better luck this afternoon?”
“If I return,” he said with a slight frown, sitting back against the couch. One of the maids brought in the tea service, and Lydia busied herself with pouring both of them a cup while Benedict contemplated his next move. “Do you think I should go back again today?”
“Perhaps not today,” Lydia conceded, with a rueful smile. “If her butler informs her of your morning visit, a second attempt might seem a bit importuning.”
“Or desperate,” Benedict muttered, picking up his own cup of tea. It wasn’t considered particularly masculine to like the stuff, but Benedict secretly enjoyed drinking tea as much as any of the ladies did. Having a good cup was just another benefit of spending time with Lydia, as he could claim he was only doing so to be polite.
“Yes, perhaps a bit desperate too,” Lydia said, teasing. It was as harsh as her teasing ever came, making her the gentlest member of the family. “You must introduce us to her as soon as possible so Arabella and I may befriend her. Then we can take you with us for visits at-home and invite her to our smaller gatherings.”
“I don’t suppose I could just introduce her to you, and not Arabella?” he asked, only half-joking. Lydia laughed.
“How unkind you are to your sister,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth even though she attempted to sound reproving. “And here I believed you told your brother my influence had improved her behavior greatly.”
“In public, certainly… here at home with me?” He made the question plaintive and whining, making her laugh again.
A knock on the door and clearing of the throat had them both looking up. Sulman stood in the doorway, a small smile on his face. Unlike his counterpart on the estate, Rigby, Sulman didn’t allow being a butler to entirely erase his personality and it was clear he had a soft spot for the new Duchess.
“A note for you, my lord,” he said to Benedict.
“Interesting,” Benedict said, standing up as Sulman walked over to hold out the small tray he’d carried it on. It didn’t surprise him that a note would be delivered to this house, rather than the one he often stayed in as he kept the address of that house mostly private, but he didn’t receive notes often at all. Normally any notes sent to the house were for the family as a whole.
Swiftly opening it, his eyebrows felt like they were sliding into his hairline by the time he was done reading.
“Benedict?” Lydia was looking up at him, alight with curiosity. “What is it? Who is it from?”
“An ally,” Benedict responded, a grin spreading across his face.
Lord Dearborne,
Please excuse my presumption if this note is unwelcome, but I thought you might be interested in knowing that Lady Christina Stanhope will be my guest at the Royal Theater tomorrow evening for A Midsummer Nig
ht’s Dream.
Perhaps I will see you there?
Lady Daphne Parker
Countess of Marley
P.S. I also particularly hope you will be able to attend my ball this Friday, your sister-in-law, the Duchess, will have received your invitation.
Chapter 5
The theater was one of Christina’s favorite pastimes, although she often longed for the power to silence others when in attendance. Too many of Society came to the theater to see and be seen, rather than enjoy the performance. Christina loved the spectacle, the show, and while she was perfectly happy to socialize during the intermissions, while watching the actual play she would prefer silence in the audience. As a result, she’d become rather adept at blocking out the sights and sounds of everyone else, so she could focus on the stage.
For the first time since her first Season, she was struggling to pay attention to the play rather than the audience, and it was all Benedict Windham’s fault.
Even though he was just sitting there.
Right over there.
Sitting in the Manchester box, just across the theater and a bit closer to the stage than she was in her box. Sitting right where she could see him out of the corner of her eye, no matter how she tried to train her gaze on the stage.
Seated next to his sister in the chair closer to the balcony, behind the Duke and Duchess of Manchester, he cut an elegantly handsome figure. Despite the imposing presence of the Duke, Benedict’s aura of authority held its own against his brother’s, even in such a small space. She couldn’t help but wonder if the Duchess and Lady Arabella felt crowded, being so confined with two such larger-than-life men.
Perhaps she might have been able to ignore his presence, his mahogany hair curling over the stiff white collar of his shirt, the way his broad shoulders filled out the dark superfine of his jacket, and the fitted, gleaming bronze of his waistcoat - which no doubt brought out his eyes - if the blasted man would stop staring at her.
He made no pretense of watching the play.
His eyes did not wander the audience.