“We are going to search for a letter from Lady Celeste in my studio,” Sophia said with as much dignity as she could muster in her present position. “You are welcome to join us. And Ivy and Gemma as well.”
But Daphne didn’t seem fooled. “Ivy and Gemma are immersed in the library,” she said with a keen look. “I was headed downstairs to post this letter to Maitland. Though I might need to add a few lines, now.”
“I hope you’ll give the duke my best,” Ben said mildly as he shifted a little on his feet. “Is he expected to return soon?”
“In a few days,” Daphne said, turning her attention to Ben. “I hope he won’t need to give you a stern talking to, Lord Benedick.”
Sophia had never wished more for the floor to open beneath her and swallow her up. But that would not help given that Ben would be devoured with her.
“I cannot imagine that he will,” he responded with a shrug. “My intentions are entirely honorable, I assure you, Duchess.”
At that Sophia turned, needing to see his expression. He looked right back at her, his gaze as steady as a rock.
He was serious, she realized, her heartbeat increasing.
“I am glad to hear it,” Daphne said with a nod. “I guessed as much, but it never hurts to get confirmation. I’ll just leave you to it, then.”
And to Sophia’s surprise, she continued her trek downstairs, and left them to continue theirs upstairs.
“What did you mean by that?” she demanded once they were out of earshot. She wished desperately that he would set her on her feet so that she could question him properly. It was difficult to interrogate someone while he was holding you in his arms.
“Just what I said,” he returned mildly as they reached the door to her studio. With more ease than seemed fair, he managed to open the door and carry her inside without any trouble.
She waited until he’d placed her gently on the settee she’d spent so much time on these past few days to continue her questions. As if he expected no less, Ben took the chair across from her and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Ready for her to go on.
“But, we don’t really know one another,” she said with a frown. “And my family isn’t nearly as aristocratic as yours. Papa is the son of a not very prosperous baronet. And he himself is a solicitor. Not smart at all.”
The look he gave her was one of disappointment. “Have I ever indicated to you that I care about any of that?”
“Well, you will care very much when you see how small my marriage portion is,” she said with a raised brow. “I know younger sons have to make their own way in the world. And I cannot imagine I’m the sort of wife who will make your position in the clergy comfortable. Surely the archbishop frowns on vicars’ wives who call attention to themselves by painting scandalous pictures.”
She didn’t dare look at him to see if he agreed with her. Part of her was convinced that the idea of their marrying was mad and would lead to scandalous ruin. The other part desperately wanted him to tell her she was being a fool and that he’d marry her no matter what. She wasn’t sure which of these parts she wanted to trust at the moment.
“It might surprise you to realize that I am not impoverished and in need of a rich bride to keep me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed,” he said wryly. “Do you suppose I went into the church because my father tossed me out on my ear without a cent to my name? I went into the church because I wished to be of help to people. The politics, the edicts of the archbishop, these hold little interest for me.”
That gave her pause. She wasn’t sure what she’d thought regarding his financial situation, but she had assumed he needed a bride with a sizeable dowry.
Before she could reply, he continued, “I have made investments with my monthly allowance from the ducal estate which have grown into a respectable fortune. And, though I dislike admitting it lest you think me of the same ilk as Morgan, I own, along with my brothers Freddie and Cam, a cotton mill in Manchester.”
Sophia blinked. “I … you … what?” He could not have shocked her more if he’d just informed her that he turned into a wolf when the moon was full.
“When Freddie came back from France, he had some funds he wanted to invest. He did the research and Cam and I were both looking for something to do with our savings.”
“But, how can you do that?” she demanded. She tried to recall that this was Ben, who was so kind to his parishioners, who had comforted the family of the murdered Framingham. Who had kissed her as if she were the most precious gift in the world. But she had questions. How could she not? “How can you put little children to work? And subject them to unhealthy conditions that will ruin their lungs? Eventually kill them?”
“Of course we do not employ children,” he said, his mouth tight with displeasure at the idea. “And we offer honest work for a living wage. I do not pretend that ours is morally superior to any other factory in the north, but we have taken steps to ensure that the conditions are as safe as we can make them, and that the children of our workers—most of them women—are offered an education.”
Slightly abashed, she said, “I’ve heard other men, like Morgan, say that it is impossible to run a factory without child labor. How did you manage it?”
“Men who say that are lying to themselves to justify their practices,” he said harshly. “It is certainly possible to do it. But it is not without its detractors. And not from where you’d think it. Regularly our managers are accosted by children and their parents demanding that we employ them. Because they need the wages. I’ve done what I could to ensure that there is someone on staff at the factory to assist those people in whatever way we can. But going against the grain is not without risk.”
He meant that in more than one sense, she knew. Marriage between them would not be without risks. Or without its detractors, she knew. She could only imagine what the reaction of the archbishop would be to hearing about Fallen. Ben would be demoted or worse.
“I should have known you’d find a way to run a factory in a manner that helped the most people,” she said a little sadly. Because there was no way she could ruin this gentle man’s professional life by tying his lot to hers.
“I had hoped you knew me better by now,” he said carefully. “But,” and he smiled crookedly at this, “I tend to forget we’ve only truly known each other for a few days. For all that we’ve been acquaintances since I arrived, I don’t think I began to actually see or know the real Sophia until I saw your paintings.”
If he’d schemed for a hundred years to find a way to reach her heart, he couldn’t have found a surer way than through her painting. It was the most direct representation of the hopes and dreams and sorrows and pain she felt in her very soul. And that he could see her now—and she knew it wasn’t just easy flattery—was as close to being understood as she’d ever felt.
“I hadn’t intended to do this yet,” he said, his gaze intent now, as if trying to read her thoughts, “but surely you must know my intentions are honorable. I wouldn’t have kissed you without being prepared to pay for them with my hand in marriage. I’ve never met anyone like you, sweet Sophia. And perhaps I could marry some empty-headed society lady with a large dowry and more hair than wit, but we both know I’d be miserable with that sort of wife. I want you. With all your zeal for reform and need to call attention to the less fortunate in your work. The archbishop might not like it, but to be frank, I don’t give a damn.”
As he spoke, her heart, already faster than normal, began to pound. Her hands grew damp. And her stomach flipped with nerves.
“Sophia.” Ben was on one knee now, and she felt her eyes begin to fill as he took her hand. “Marry me. Make me the happiest of men.”
And to her everlasting shame and embarrassment, she fainted.
Chapter 19
Good heavens.
Ben quickly gathered Sophia into his arms and attempted to rouse her from her faint.
He hadn’t spent a great deal of time imagining the way hi
s future beloved would respond to his marriage proposal, but he dashed well had not considered that she might fall into a swoon over it!
“Sophia?”
Fortunately for them both, she opened her eyes almost immediately. He watched in mixed concern and amusement as the emotions flitted over her face. First confusion. Then, a smile as she saw him leaning over her—a good sign, surely? Then her eyes widened and a look of horror washed over her.
“Oh no.” She shook her head and tried to sit up. Wanting to do whatever it took to make her comfortable, he assisted her to sit up on the settee beside him.
“I cannot believe I did that,” she groaned. “I do not faint, Ben. Never. Not even when Tommy Travers spilled punch down the front of my favorite gown at the assembly ball.”
She covered her face with both hands. “I am mortified.”
“Well, I think the burden of shame lies with me,” he said wryly. “I am, after all, the man who managed to make you faint dead away at the notion of marriage to me. If my brothers ever get wind of this, I will never rest easy again.”
At that she dropped her hands, and threw her arms around him. “No,” she said squeezing him hard. “You mustn’t blame yourself or your words. It was a perfectly lovely proposal. I was simply overcome, I think.”
She pulled away from him so that he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “You did nothing wrong. I’ve just had so much excitement these past few days and I haven’t really been sleeping well, and I suppose I didn’t eat much at breakfast and it all caught up with me.”
“Perhaps we should ring for some sandwiches and tea,” he said with a practicality he wasn’t especially feeling. There was still the matter of his unanswered proposal hanging between them. Though he’d be a churl to bring it up again when she was obviously famished and overset.
“A good idea,” Sophia said with a smile. “You always know what to do to make me feel better, Ben.”
And to his surprise, she leaned in and kissed him. Then snuggled against his shoulder as if they’d not just enacted a scene from a Restoration farce.
“Do I take that to mean you’ve accepted my proposal?” he asked, half fear, half hope.
She pulled away from him again and gave him an exasperated look. “You don’t honestly believe I fainted from shock and disgust, do you?”
Well when she put it like that …
Feeling sheepish, he shrugged. “One doesn’t like to presume…”
Her laugh was clear and bright and just what he’d needed to hear.
“Of course I accept your proposal, you fool.” She shook her head, loosening a few silky strands of brown tresses from her chignon to lightly trace the skin of her neck. “I’m not sure your optimism over the reaction our betrothal will elicit from the church hierarchy is founded, but if you’re willing to take a chance on me, then I will take a chance on you.”
For the first time in a quarter hour at least, Ben felt himself relax. And with a slight whoop, he pulled her to him and kissed her again. Properly this time, with every ounce of joy and hope and passion he felt when he was with this remarkable woman.
When she came up for air, her cheeks were delightfully pink and her hair was even more disheveled.
Though he would have liked to continue on in that manner, her stomach gave an annoyed growl. “I suppose I’d better send for those sandwiches,” he said with a grin.
Just as he pulled the bell, a knock sounded on the door and Gemma called from the doorway, “Sophia, Lord Benedick, I’m afraid there’s a bit of a disturbance downstairs and I fear it’s something that only you can deal with.”
“Come in, Gemma,” Sophia called to her sister with a hint of amusement. “We’ve news.”
Cautiously, as if she expected to find them in, at the very least, a passionate kiss, Gemma stepped into the room enough to see that they were both fully clothed with several feet between them.
“Oh,” she said, her smile rueful. “I wasn’t sure.… that is to say…”
“What is going on downstairs?” Sophia asked, clearly wanting to ensure there was no trouble before she made any sort of announcement.
At the reminder, Gemma’s smile turned into a frown. “The Bishop of Chichester is downstairs with your father, Lord Benedick. And neither looks particularly happy.”
“What?” Ben was not entirely surprised by the arrival of the bishop. He’d expected Morgan’s next move in the attempt to discredit Sophia would be to have the bishop rein him in. But he was genuinely shocked to learn his father was here. “Why are they here and not at the vicarage?”
“They said they called there first and learned from your man that you were here.” Gemma seemed as nonplussed as he felt. “I’ve left them downstairs with Daphne and Ivy. I think perhaps it’s best to limit their time with Daphne before someone takes offense.”
That was an understatement.
Sophia, who had taken all of this in without a word, set about smoothing her hair and righting her gown. Though it wasn’t in any sort of disarray that he could see. Using her walking stick, she stood and offered him her arm. “Shall we go downstairs and see what these gentlemen want?”
He’d known he’d have to inform both the church and his parents about the betrothal at some point, but he hadn’t supposed it would be quite this soon.
Still, he took her arm. “You’re able to get downstairs like that?” he asked. Her eyes showed the memory of how she’d gotten upstairs earlier.
“Yes,” she said with prim dignity. “I believe I can make it.”
“Then I suppose we should go see what all the fuss is about.”
* * *
Sophia rather felt as if she were stepping on stage when she and Ben stepped into the drawing room, where Greaves had placed the Duke of Pemberton and the Bishop of Chichester. As she limped in, both men turned to give her polite, but rather searching looks.
To her amusement, the bishop was still holding one of the phallic figurines from the mantle. Which he hastily put back as he stepped forward to greet them.
“Lord Benedick,” the church leader said with a regal inclination of his head. “What a surprise it was to find your father was calling upon you here, rather than at the vicarage, as well.” He was a tall, reed-thin man with what Sophia imagined was a permanent look of impatience on his long face. “Are you so frequently from home that your parishioners have begun seeking you out here as well? That’s hardly proper.”
A flash of exasperation crossed the duke’s face as he ignored the clergyman and addressed his son. “You’re looking well, Benedick. I hope you’ll introduce us to your friend?”
At the reminder Ben gave her a look of apology. She imagined he’d been just as nonplussed by the bishop’s introduction as she had.
“Miss Sophia Hastings, I’d like you to meet my father, the Duke of Pemberton,” he said with a gesture toward the man whom she would have picked from a room full of other peers as his father. Like Ben, and indeed Freddie and Cam as well, the duke was tall with a strong if not particularly bulky build. His dark brown hair was a shade darker than his son’s, and he had brown eyes, which must mean that his sons had inherited their blue eyes from their mother. “Papa, this is Miss Sophia Hastings. Her father is the son of Sir Giles Hastings of York. And she is assisting me with a particular matter that the Earl of Mainwaring has asked me to look into. It has to do with art and as Miss Hastings is herself a celebrated oil painter, she has been a valuable resource.”
He made no mention of their, admittedly nascent, betrothal, but Sophia felt a pang of disappointment at the omission. Though she supposed that had more to do with the other man who stood waiting for an introduction.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Hastings,” the duke said, bowing over her hand. “Like Gussie, here, I too was surprised to find my son here rather than at the vicarage, but I understand now. How could he possibly stay away when such beauty was here at Beauchamp House?”
It was clear where the Lisle boys had got thei
r charming manners from, Sophia thought with a blush. “You are kind to say so, your grace,” she said with a smile.
Then she turned to face the bishop, who was not nearly as pleased with her as the duke seemed to be.
“Your grace,” Ben said, his presence at her side giving Sophia a boost of courage as she faced the annoyed ecclesiastical, “Miss Sophia Hastings. Miss Hastings, this is his grace the Bishop of Chichester.”
“I had rather hoped to have a word with you alone, Benedick,” the clergyman said with a sniff. “Would that be possible?”
“Don’t be so stiff-rumped, Gussie,” the duke said with a frown. “If Benedick says they’re investigating something for the Home Office, then that’s what they’re doing. Whatever issue you have with him can’t be more confidential than that.”
If anything the bishop’s nose and mouth grew more pinched. “Perhaps, Pemberton, you should mind your own business. And as it happens, since Miss Hastings is the reason for my visit to this Sussex backwater, I believe it would defeat the purpose to counsel your son about her while she’s in the room.”
“We’re both standing right here,” Ben reminded them with a little wave. “And as it happens, I have a guess as to what brought you here, Bishop.”
“First,” the duke said, with a look at Sophia’s white-knuckled grip on her walking stick, “I believe we should sit down and discuss this like civilized people.”
He offered his arm to Sophia. “Miss Hastings, may I?”
She exchanged a look with Ben, who seemed to shrug with his eyes—something she’d never known possible—and decided it was safe to take the duke’s offered arm. Soon she was tucked up in her favorite overstuffed chair near the window with an ottoman at her feet to elevate her ankle.
Once the men were seated in chairs around her, with Ben taking the seat beside hers so they presented a united front, the duke, who seemed to be the unquestionable leader of this meeting, indicated with his hand that his son should continue.
“My guess, your grace,” he said to the bishop, “is that you’ve had a complaint from a member of my parish about Miss Hastings. Perhaps a complaint that I’ve been spending too much time with her? Or that I recognize her at all given the content of her artwork? Does that sound familiar?”
Wallflower Most Wanted--A Studies in Scandal Novel Page 18