“I see. Just ‘satisfactory’.” The words repeated back to her seemed harsher than when she had spoken them, and yet his tone was very much like hers. “And married life? I realize that we have not done very much as a married couple, but I do hope it has not been too distressing.”
She turned to look at him. His handsome face held something different from what it had before. If she could put a word to his current demeanor, she would have used ‘welcoming’. “Would you like me to be honest or say that which would please you?”
His laughter surprised her. “I suppose honesty would be the best at this moment.”
She plucked a blade of grass and twirled it in her fingers as she attempted to organize her thoughts. “When my parents told me that they would have to have to sell Brightstone Manor, I was devastated.” She looked up to see the butterfly move to another flower as she spoke. “To think of my childhood home belonging to another family was upsetting, to say the least. And then you came along and offered aid.” Once again, she turned to look at him and when their eyes met, she felt drawn into his. It was an odd sensation that battled with her recent thoughts of him. “You have no idea what such an act meant to me.”
Benjamin cleared his throat. “I was glad to be of service.”
“We married before we even knew one another,” Cecilia continued. “We have been married just two months now and I still feel as if I know nothing about you. So, to answer your question. Although I am thankful you intervened to help my family, I must admit that I am truly unsure as to what to think of our marriage until I have come to truly know you.” She took a deep breath. What had begun must be finished, so she allowed the words to tumble from her lips. “It seems as if we are simply two people living beneath the same roof rather than a married couple sharing a home.”
“Then might I make a suggestion?”
The softness of his voice startled her, and she felt a quickening of her heart. “Of course.”
He took her hand in his and Cecilia felt a stirring in her stomach that she had never felt before. It was not unpleasant, but it was disarming.
“You are right in saying that we came into this marriage as strangers,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Perhaps we need to learn more of one another, and then maybe you will feel more like a wife than a resident at Bantry Estate.”
Cecilia felt her face heat up as she fought back tears. “I would like that,” she said in reply. She was surprised to realize that what she said was true. The man before her was such a different man even a month ago; he had become a man with whom she could consider falling in love, a man with whom she hoped she would fall in love.
“Good,” Benjamin said as he released her hand and slapped at his leg as if he had come to some great conclusion. “Then it is settled. We will take extra time to get to know one another.” He rose and put his hand out.
Cecilia stared at it for a moment, unsure if what she had heard was real. Had the man she married, the man better known as the Duke of Thorns, made some miraculous discovery that forced him to change who he was? For this man held no resemblance to the former in any way but physical appearance.
Finally, she took his offered hand and allowed him to help her stand. Maybe she had had more of an effect on him than she had realized. However, whatever his plans, for better or worse, she would take these steps with him and hope their destination would be as pleasant as this day had been.
***
Later that evening after dinner, Cecilia found herself in the dining room, a polishing cloth in one hand and a silver candlestick in the other. Although she and Benjamin had discussed doing more to become better acquainted with one another during their time on the crest of the hill, dinner was as quiet as it always had been. All attempts on her part to begin any sort of conversation were met with single-word responses to her questions and slight nods of the head for any comments she made. How did the man expect them to get to know each other if they did not converse?
Her mind went back to the night of the party given by the Dramedas. He had shown her around like some new-bought horse and then left her to fend for herself among people she had just met. On more occasions than she could count, and if she removed their outing this afternoon, he had skirted any attempts at conversation and admonished her for wishing to do even the simplest of tasks. The only real joy she had was her needlework, but even that could become tedious when it was the only activity she had available to her.
“What are you doing?” came a voice filled with fury.
Benjamin’s sudden appearance made Cecilia jump and she pulled a hand to her breast. “Oh, Benjamin, you startled me,” she said with a shaky laugh.
“I apologize,” he said, though his tone belied his words. “And I ask again, what are you doing?”
Was the man a complete dense? “What does it look like I am doing?” she snapped back at him. “I am polishing the candlesticks.”
He raised an eyebrow and stared down at her as if she were an insolent child. “Do we not have servants to do that?”
“We do,” she replied with a jut to her chin. She would not allow herself to be bullied by this man any longer. “However, I enjoy doing such tasks. When I occupy myself with such chores, it helps me think; I find it salubrious, I suppose one would say.”
“Is that so?” he replied with a laugh that held no mirth. “I cannot imagine the servants who do the polishing on a daily basis would agree.”
She joined in with his laughter, though hers was much lighter. “Perhaps not. Regardless, I find it so. Plus, I polished silver quite often back at Brightstone Manor, and my parents found nothing wrong with such activities.”
“Well, you are no longer at Brightstone Manor, nor are you simply the daughter of a merchant. You are now a Duchess and should conduct yourself as such. Do I make myself clear?”
Cecilia pushed the chair back with such force that the scrape it made resounded in the room. “Of course, Your Grace,” she snapped formally with a deep curtsy that she hoped expressed the brusqueness behind it. She threw the cleaning cloth on the table. “I believe I will retire. Good night.”
And with that, she strutted out of the room, her head held high as she forced her hands not to ball up into fists. The man was insufferable. Not only did he wish to control what little conversation they had, but he believed he also should govern every movement she made. Cecilia had made the mistake of believing that Benjamin would make an effort to change; however, the man she met on their picnic had disappeared before the sun rose the following day, and the tyrant had returned.
Chapter Twelve
Benjamin tossed and turned in bed that night, sleep alluding him for hours. At one point, he had lit a candle and attempted to read a book, but he was so unable to keep his attention on what he was reading, the words made no sense whatsoever.
His thoughts continuously turned to Cecilia. His feelings for her felt all a jumble and he was unsure as to how to deal with them. The emotions that tore through him clashed with one another and made his uncertainty flourish. Fear plagued him for what could happen if he were to love her, or even care for her on any sort of level. Anger at both of them—he for allowing her to touch his heart and she for finding a way past the armor. Disorientation caused by a tugging for his life to move in a direction contrary to the way it was accustomed. And finally, the one emotion above all that he had tried to ignore for so long: affection. The last was the most difficult to comprehend, and he wondered if it would be the end of him.
When sleep finally came, Benjamin found an eleven-year-old version of himself sitting on a bench in the long hallway of Flaskingburg School, it’s imposing dark oak walls standing over him as he tried to keep his feet from swinging. The voices coming from behind the closed door could barely be heard—one deep and harsh, the other high and timid.
“You, young master, should know better than any of them,” the Headmaster was saying. “You are older than the other boys and should be a setting an example for them through
your behavior. However, I find myself distressed to find you grappling with Young. You do realize that the boy’s father is a Duke, do you not?”
“Yes, Headmaster,” another voice said, a voice belonging to Charles Bellamy, a boy four years Benjamin’s elder. Benjamin had never heard Charles sound so remorseful and it sounded odd to his ears.
“Perhaps I should send word to your father,” the Headmaster said.
Benjamin could picture Charles sitting up in his chair and staring wide-eyed. “No, please, Headmaster! I promise it will not happen again.”
The Headmaster sighed heavily. “I will not tell your father—this time. However, there will be consequences. I will speak to you later about what those consequences will be, but until then, I suggest you stay out of trouble.”
“Yes, Headmaster.”
“You may go. Send in Master Young.”
The door opened to a tall, lanky boy with bright red hair and a scowl on his face stepped out. Charles glared at Benjamin and rolled his hand into a fist, which he waved menacingly at Benjamin. “You better not tell the Headmaster what really happened or you know what you’ll get,” he said in a quiet voice as his eyes glanced toward the open door. Then he said more loudly, “The Headmaster wishes to see you.”
Benjamin winced and then stepped past Charles. He had tried to avoid the boy all term, but somehow Charles always found him, and he had found Benjamin alone. It had not been the first time, of course, and Benjamin was certain it would not be the last.
Although Benjamin’s father was a Duke, Charles’s father was a Prince and a large contributor to the school. Benjamin had had no illusions that the boy would receive very little punishment for his treatment of the boys he terrorized and was even less surprised Charles received nothing more than a simple threat to contact his father.
Benjamin stood in front of the Headmaster’s massive desk. A massive bust of the founder of the school, James Dangling, Duke of Chiverington, stared at him with a harshness that rivaled that of the Headmaster. That man looked all the magistrate as he glared down from some great height, or so it felt to a young boy such as Benjamin. He wondered if Charles had felt as small and insignificant as he stood there, and remembering the boy’s plea, he thought that he more than likely had. The image was strange to Benjamin, but even the most elite in the school could find himself standing before the Headmaster if he was found fighting.
The Headmaster sighed heavily. “Fighting is not tolerated in this school, Master Young. However, I am certain you already know this. I realize that Master Bellamy is not the easiest boy to endure, but if you are to make it in this world, you must deal with browbeaters such as he. The use of fists does not help your cause, but if you learn to use your words, you will find you can do so much more.”
“Yes, Headmaster,” Benjamin replied, though he was unsure to what he was responding. Boys such as Charles used a combination of fists and words to terrorize others, so what the Headmaster said did not ring true to Benjamin.
The Headmaster’s voice hardened. “I will let you off with a warning…this time. However, if you are caught fighting again, there will be dire consequences. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Headmaster.” There was no other way for Benjamin to respond.
“Then be off with you. I do not wish to see you returned to this chamber again.”
The dream morphed to a year later as Benjamin slumped in a chair in the drawing room of Bantry Estate, his mother sitting in her usual place before the fire with an embroidery loop in hand. She had said nothing since Benjamin gave her the letter from the Headmaster, but her lips were thin and turned down in the corners.
They were awaiting his father’s return from a business meeting, and Benjamin could feel the knots in his stomach tighten when he heard the front door open and close.
“Ah, there you are,” his father said as he entered the drawing room. Then he caught sight of Benjamin and frowned. “What are doing home?” he demanded, and Benjamin felt the knots tighten even further.
The Duchess handed Benjamin’s father a letter, which had been given to Benjamin before he was sent home two weeks before the end of term.
“What’s this?” the Duke asked as he took the letter and slid a finger under the wax. His eyes moved over the writing, growing harder with each line they passed. “Fighting? Impertinence? Vulgarity?” He turned to Benjamin. “What is the meaning of this? Do you believe this is the manner in which a Duke should conduct himself?”
“No, Your Grace,” Benjamin replied. He hoped the use of his father’s title would show his repentance, although he did not feel remorse for his actions specifically but rather for the fact that those actions caused his parents grief.
However, his father must not have heard for he did not lessen his tone. “If you believe you that speaking to me as a Duke will help your cause, you are poorly mistaken. I can be a harsher father than a Duke if I choose to be. Is this what I will expect from you once you take over my position?” The words now came as a shout and Benjamin found himself attempting to melt into the fabric of the chair. “Do you believe that you will be able to use force to get what you need or want?”
All Benjamin could produce was just above a whisper. “No, Father.”
“Then explain to me what this,” he waved the letter in front of Benjamin, “is all about. Have you completely lost your mind?”
Anger boiled up in Benjamin at the unfairness of this treatment. Did he not have the right to defend himself? “It was because Charles Bell…”
“Do not place blame on the actions of someone else,” his father said through clenched teeth. “You are responsible for your own actions, not that of another.” He threw the letter on a table and walked to the door. “I cannot deal with such nonsense at this moment. I am going riding.”
“Father, no!”
Benjamin woke from the dream with a start and found himself covered in sweat and sitting up in bed. It took several moments for him to calm his swift-beating heart and to regulate his breathing. He got up from the bed and splashed cold water on his face and stared down at the water in the bowl. It had been some time since he had dreamed of his father, but just as had been before, it was always the same reenactment.
He donned a housecoat and made his way downstairs. Rather than wake up his valet—Marlins would be asleep at this hour—he decided that perhaps a quick walk would ease his anxiety and allow him to go back to sleep.
Somehow, he was unsure how, he found himself in the dining room looking at the silver candlesticks. Cecilia had said that polishing had eased her somehow. The idea had been as absurd then as it was now, but despite his misgivings, he found a polishing cloth in a drawer of the dresser and sat down at the table.
At first, the movement felt awkward but it did not take long before a feeling of calm came over him. There was a comfort to such a simple task, and he moved on to a second candlestick before he realized.
By the time he returned to bed, four candlesticks and three teaspoons sat on the table, the soft glow of the candles’ reflection of their lustrous gleam. What Benjamin found strange, and yet, comforting, was that all of his agitation was now gone.
He fell asleep considering informing Cecilia how her suggestion had helped him feel better.
***
The calmness that Benjamin obtained from the insignificant task he performed the night of heavy dreams stayed with him for several days. He found speaking with Cecilia more pleasant than ever, and he wondered how he could have ever thought her ability to converse lacking. Cecilia had convinced him to allow her to read after dinner several times per week, and on more than one occasion, he found himself deep in conversation over one particular passage or another discussing the meaning behind the author’s words. Needless to say, time spent with his wife was proving to be better than he would have ever considered.
One day as he sat beneath a large umbrella with Cecilia on the veranda drinking tea and enjoying the warmth of the sun, the door opened and Daton stoo
d there.
“The Duchess Dowager,” he announced before moving aside to allow Benjamin’s mother to pass. Or perhaps it was more that his mother had pushed her way past the poor butler.
“Mother,” Benjamin said as he jumped from his chair and went to kiss the woman’s cheeks. “What a pleasure it is to see you. Please, sit with us. We are taking in a bit of the day’s warmth before the weather changes.”
His mother glanced around with a smile. “I believe that I have had enough of fresh air after my long ride,” came her reply. “I would much prefer to be inside.” The skirts of her green traveling dress spun as she turned to reenter the house.
“But of course,” Benjamin said, feeling foolish. Of course, the woman would have had enough of the outdoors, even if she had been confined to a carriage for several days. She had never been one who enjoyed being out of doors often but found inside activities much more to her liking. “Come, Cecilia, we will take our tea indoors.”
“Yes, of course,” Cecilia replied as she stood, quickly hiding the confusion that had crossed her face.
A maid collected their tea items as they made their way to the drawing room. The woman, Laura by name, would be sure to bring up a fresh pot of a tea and a new tray in no time he was certain.
“Well, Mother,” Benjamin said once they were settled, “I would like to introduce you to my wife Cecilia. Cecilia, this is my mother, the Dowager Duchess.”
Cecilia stood and gave his mother a deep curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” she said smoothly. “I have been saying to Benjamin how much I have been wishing to meet you.”
His mother tilted her head and studied Cecilia. “And I you, to be sure. She is a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” she asked Benjamin without taking her eyes off Cecilia. “Yes, pretty, indeed.”
“I believe so,” Benjamin replied, glad his mother seemed to approve. “I realize our wedding happened rather quickly, but we saw no reason to delay it.”
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