Ring of Secrets

by Roseanna M. White

  “Well, they…I…” He turned from her to pick up his books before again meeting his mother’s unwavering gaze. He had no reason to feel awkward. She had been after him for years to settle down. “I have been paying court to their granddaughter, Miss Reeves.”

  Yet rather than the overjoyed speech he half expected, a breath hissed from between her teeth. “You jest! You cannot be interested in that stupid girl.”

  Was he the only person in all of New York who saw that something more lurked behind her empty countenance? Or perhaps George was right, and he saw something he wanted to see rather than what was there.

  No. He could not believe that. So he shook his head and swept by his mother. “She is not stupid, Mother.”

  She scoffed and trotted after him as he headed up the stairs. “I never thought to see the day when my Bennet fell prey to a pretty face. I expect it of Archibald, but not you, dear. You have too much sense than to saddle yourself with a brainless minx like her for the rest of your days. We must keep tonight’s engagement, of course, but afterward I expect you to succumb to better sense. You are now the heir to a sizable English estate, and you must consider a woman’s ability to manage it before you make any commitments.”

  “Mother.” He pushed into his sitting room and set his books onto a table. “I daresay when out from under her grandparents’ influence, she will have no trouble rising to any task.”

  Huffing to an angry halt once inside the door, she planted a hand on her pannier. “Her grandparents are hardly the problem, Bennet. Have you any idea the disgrace her mother brought upon them?”

  He paused with a hand on the fastener of his cloak. “Disgrace?”

  Mother rolled her eyes and came in far enough to take a seat on the settee. “It never ceases to amaze me how you can retain absolutely any information you read in some dusty tome and yet rarely remember what goes on with our neighbors.”

  Ben fought the twitching of his lips with admirable aplomb. “I must say, Mother, I have often wondered how you manage the opposite.”

  “Impudent boy.” But she smiled. Briefly. “It caused such a scandal that it was talked of for years. The Hamptons had only the one surviving child, Amelia. She was a few years my younger, and your father and I were already married by the time she entered society, but she was without question the toast of New York. Until he came to town.”

  Shrugging out of his cloak, Ben arched his brows. “He? Mr. Reeves?”

  “A nobody. A penniless farmer from some backwoods town in Long Island.”

  “Oyster Bay.”

  Her mouth already open to continue, Mother stared at him. “Well, you can apparently retain some information on our neighbors. Did Miss Reeves actually admit to the filth from which she came?”

  “’Tisn’t a secret, apparently. If you still recall her parents’ story, I daresay everyone else does as well. And Oyster Bay is a fine community from what I have heard.”

  “Humph.” She patted the whitened curls resting atop her head. “If I were her, I should do my best to make them all forget. Amelia shamed the entire family by running off with that man, and who knows if the marriage was even legal? Certainly it was not performed in the Church of England, and she was too young to have wed without her parents’ permission. Undoubtedly she lied about something, or else they never married at all but lived together by common law.”

  If she expected that to shock him, she had obviously never read the bawdy tales of Rabelais. Which of course she had not. Neither her father nor his ever would have let them soil her delicate female mind.

  But she expected some response, so he shrugged. “’Tis hardly Miss Reeves’ fault what her parents did or did not do. I see no reason to judge her for their actions.”

  Mother’s lips thinned to a line of blotchy red paint. “’Twill suffice to judge her on her own. She is an utter ninny. I know not how Phillippa tolerates her. And be forewarned. The girl will flirt with anything in breeches, but her sights have long been set on Colonel Fairchild, with the Hamptons’ blessing.” She blinked in that way that spoke of an epiphany she didn’t much care for. “Or it had been. They would no doubt prefer you, though, now that you are heir to Clefton.”

  “Mother…” He drew in a breath and shook his head. “Please, give her a chance.”

  For a long moment, she stared him down. “Why do you argue with me, Bennet? Everyone knows I am an excellent judge of character.”

  Ben held her gaze without flinching. “But all agree I am an excellent judge of wit, and I am sure Miss Reeves has more of it than she shows.”

  The slam of a door below saved Mother a response to that. She smiled. “Archibald must be home.”

  Ben didn’t know whether to grin or sigh. He always so looked forward to seeing his brother, younger by a mere eleven months. Unfortunately, they seemed to get along better from a distance these days.

  Feet pounded, and then Archie’s voice called out, “Where is everybody?”

  Mother stood and poked her head out the door. “Up here, darling, in your brother’s sitting room. Do tell me you cleaned your boots before stomping your way through my house.”

  “Of course, Mother.” When his brother entered, it was with a mischievous grin—and soiled footwear. He gave their mother a loud kiss upon the cheek and then turned to Ben, arms outstretched.

  The grin won out. Might as well enjoy the reunion. Ben flicked at the gold fringe on his brother’s red army jacket. “Look at you, with epaulettes on both shoulders now. Major Lane.”

  Archie chuckled. And then lunged.

  Ben couldn’t recall the last time his brother greeted him with something other than an attempt to wrest him to the ground. It had been this way since they were tots, the slight, wiry Archie determined to prove that strength rested not in Ben’s bulk but in his own determination.

  And since they were tots, Ben had obliged him. When his brother’s arms closed around him, he put up just enough fight to be convincing before he allowed Archie to capture him in a headlock.

  In all likelihood, Ben would not have to let his brother win anymore. Archie had filled out a bit and ended up the taller. But he still felt like a stocky bear in comparison to his brother’s lithe frame, and he still feared injuring him. If not physically, then his pride—if by chance Ben did win a tussle.

  “Oh, boys, do stop this childish display.” Mother stayed beside the door. “And now that we are all here, we had better dress for dinner. We are going to Hampton Hall to dine, Archibald. Your boots had better be polished by the time we leave.”

  Archie released Ben’s neck, though he caught him on his way up for an actual squeeze of greeting. “The Hamptons’, eh? Excellent. It has been entirely too long since I have enjoyed the particular scenery to be had in their hallowed halls.”

  Ben didn’t much care for the gleam that entered his brother’s eyes.

  Mother must not have either. She arched her brows and leveled a finger at Archie’s nose. “None of your nonsense, young man. Miss Reeves hasn’t the brains to recognize the wolf beneath your sheep’s clothing, and we cannot afford a break with her grandparents over something as shifting as your affections. Besides.” Her gaze swung to Ben, probing and not without challenge. “Her family has apparently decided your brother can offer the alliance they seek.”

  “Benny? With Miss Reeves? You jest.” As if to prove it, Archie loosed a loud guffaw.

  And why was that absolutely everyone’s reaction? Ben planted his hands on Archie’s back so he could send him helpfully toward the door. “I fail to see the humor. Now, if you please, I must dress.”

  Archie skidded into the hall behind their mother, though he turned back once out there, grin in place. “I had not thought you capable of this, Benny. I am impressed. To think that you, the most intellectual man I know, being led by far baser inclinations…well, this is wonderful. I cannot wait to see it for myself.”

  Ben took great pleasure in shutting the door in his brother’s face.

  But
it festered, the accusation Archie hadn’t the sense to make sound accusing. Ben couldn’t ever recall an instance where George and Archie had been in agreement before, and the fact that they were now…a wise man did not dismiss such things. A wise man would entertain the possibility that the rest of the world was right and he was mistaken.

  Maybe it was only her looks that drew him. Maybe Fairchild saw the true her, a gentle spirit clothed in simplicity of mind, and Ben had fabricated any idea of depth. Maybe what he had taken to be her admittance that she hid a brain beneath the beauty was really only a momentary serious side to a girl otherwise happy with her frivolity.

  Maybe he ought to heed his mother’s advice and make this engagement his last at Hampton Hall. Leave Miss Reeves to the honest, upright affections of Colonel Fairchild and find himself another excuse for frequenting balls and soirees.

  Uncertainty brewed within him as he dressed and slid on the itchy powdered wig, and it only increased as he climbed into the carriage alongside his mother and brother. He ignored their prattle during the short drive, focusing instead upon his inner questions.

  He must examine himself tonight and gauge every reaction to her to determine whether it was only a physical attraction he felt. He must watch her with the thought in mind that he could be mistaken about her and see which theory her actions upheld.

  The winter skies were cold and clear as they exited the carriage and went through the open doors of Hampton Hall, but Ben could have sworn a storm brewed, so electric and thunderous were his thoughts. Lightning pierced him when the Hamptons greeted them in the drawing room and he had his first glimpse of Miss Reeves.

  She curtsied to his family. “So good to see you again, Mrs. Lane. Oh, and I did not know you were back in the city, Lieutenant.”

  “’Tis ‘major,’ now,” Mother corrected.

  “Oh!” Miss Reeves’ eyes went wide, her gaze upon his brother’s right shoulder, where the second epaulette now resided. But her blink was empty. “I can never keep these things straight. But congratulations, sir. Mr. Lane, I cannot believe my good fortune, getting to greet you twice in one day.”

  Confound it, his tongue felt verifiably twisted. “I…yes…that is…the fortune is mine.”

  She wore cosmetics tonight, more than he had ever seen on her before. Perhaps she had, in the past, dusted her nose with rice powder, but he had never seen her wear rouge. Indeed, when he bent over her hand in salutation, he caught a whiff of the beet juice used to color the powder for cheeks and lard for lips.

  Her smile was small and halted rather abruptly. Pain flashed through her eyes, though it was quickly doused.

  His gaze focused on her right cheek again. Was it swollen? Without question—and the rouge did not quite cover an edge of bruising.

  As the rest of the party moved to the furniture, a few of the knots smoothed out within him, though a couple of different ones took up residence. He did not release her hand. “Would you take a turn about the room with me, Miss Reeves?”

  “Very well, sir.” She sounded far from enthusiastic and moved to his right side. Undoubtedly so that hers was turned away from him. “I trust you passed a pleasant afternoon?”

  He kept his gaze upon her as he led her to the edge of the chamber so that they might walk its perimeter as far from their families as possible. In a low voice he said, “More pleasant than yours, from the looks of it. What is wrong with your cheek, Miss Reeves?”

  She turned wide eyes on him, filled with outrage and a grain of amusement. “Mr. Lane, perhaps you are yet unaccustomed to seeing ladies wearing paint, but I assure you, ’tis the height of fashion. I resent being told it looks wrong.”

  He may have been tempted to smile, had it not been a matter of her welfare. “It is not the rouge to which I refer, Miss Reeves, as you well know.”

  “In which case I have no idea…” Her gaze shifted beyond him, and her smile went completely false and stunningly beautiful. “Lieutenant.”

  His brother stiffened. “Major.”

  “Oh! Yes, do forgive me.” Her lashes fluttered, but to Ben’s eyes she looked far from repentant.

  It made a man wonder what had passed between Miss Reeves and Archie before Ben returned to New York. Knowing his brother’s habits with females as he did…well, whatever it was, Miss Reeves seemed to know how to handle him.

  Still. “Archie, I am about to say something with all fraternal love.” Ben smiled too and clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “Go away.”

  The major laughed. “Nay, I cannot. Having conversed separately with both of you, I cannot resist listening in on what you talk about together. I mean only to lighten the discussion for Miss Reeves, as she cannot possibly find anything of import in your talk of scientists and philosophers, Benny.”

  She joined her hands together on Ben’s arm and moved a fraction closer to his side. She had that look of amused stupidity on her face again. “Oh, you are most correct, Lieutenant. Your brother never speaks with me of imports, neither of jams from England nor silk from Europe. Yet I know not how I could ever survive without them. Can you imagine an existence with only fresh produce?”

  “’Tis ‘major.’” He put a bit more rebuke in the correction this time. Then his lips melted back into their usual smile. “And prithee, brother, how could you have neglected such riveting conversation with the lovely Miss Reeves? You must bore her to tears.”

  Her grip on his arm tightened a bit and then relaxed. “Not at all, sir. I find your brother’s company quite singular. He is the only person I have ever met who called me clever.”

  “Did he?” Genuine confusion joined the mirth in the gaze Archie turned on him. “He is usually quite stingy with that particular compliment.”

  Mother lifted a hand from her chair. “Archibald, do come tell the Hamptons what you told me of General Clinton.”

  Archie sent his gaze to the ceiling, bowed to Miss Reeves, and then spun. “Coming, Mother.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Ben muttered.

  Miss Reeves chuckled. “Are you not on good terms with your brother?”

  For a moment he stared at the bright red of his brother’s jacket. Archie had grown into the sort of man who made friends wherever he went, though often left a few enemies behind him—generally in the form of irate fathers. His features were finer than Ben’s, his hair a few shades lighter, his form fashionably slender. But for once he was in the company of a young lady whose head didn’t seem to be turned by him.

  Amazing.

  “On the contrary, Miss Reeves, we are on very good terms—when not together.” He turned his head toward her again and smiled, pitching his voice once again to a quiet level. “I have discovered that Archie and I make the best sort of correspondents and the worst sort of companions. We care for each other greatly, but we are too different.”

  She nodded, her expression finally absent the layer of performance. “You ought to be glad of that, Mr. Lane. I certainly am. Your brother is…tiring, let us say. Or parrying his advances is so, at any rate.”

  He could follow that line and get a few answers, and maybe he would at another time. But there were more pressing concerns to address in the few minutes of semi privacy they enjoyed. “And what is it you failed to parry today, my dear, that resulted in the bruise upon your cheek?”

  Her chin lifted. But still it trembled ever so slightly. “Mr. Lane, it is quite rude to draw attention to my clumsiness.”

  “It may be, were it a result of such.” Yet ’twas not embarrassment that colored her eyes, but something darker. Something that made fierce instincts clamor up inside him.

  Someone had done this to her in the few hours since they had parted ways at the Shirleys’. Someone, no doubt, beneath this roof. If he were a betting man, he would have staked his fortune that the someone owned the roof.

  She looked deep into his eyes for a few moments and seemed to see the thoughts rioting within. Her fingers soothed over his forearm. “If you think it not a result of my running
into something, then you must imagine…well, that is absurd, of course. Though if it were the case, you would still have no cause to worry.”

  “Would I not?” He led them to the window and halted, so close to the panes that he could feel the cold radiating from them. Better that than being any closer to the rest of the group.

  “Indeed not.” Her voice was the barest of whispers, scarcely making it to his ears. “For you see, Mr. Lane, though I can tolerate the order not to think for myself, there are some things I will not suffer. And so you can be sure that if this bruise were the fault of anyone but myself—which, of course, it is not—then it is the first time such a thing has happened. And will without doubt be the last, lest such a perpetrator—who does not exist, mind you—finds his secrets all spilled.”

  That eased his mind for only a moment. He had no doubt Hampton possessed his share of secrets he would not want society to be privy to. But a man who would strike his granddaughter on the face was surely not one to let her threaten him in response. He shook his head. “I do not want to see you hurt, Miss Reeves.”

  “Nor do I, I assure you.” Brightness bullied its way into her smile.

  It made the room feel all the darker. This place, this family, was not where she belonged. Yet he was not the one to rescue her from it, not when his own life would offer her none of what she thought it would. “Miss Reeves…has Fairchild proposed? Or would he, do you think, with the proper encouragement?”

  Her hand fell away from his arm as her face went completely blank. “Pardon?”

  Ben sighed. “He loves you, you know. He wants to care for you and protect you. With the proper urging, I imagine he would make an offer, and you ought to…he would keep you safe and do all in his power to make you happy.”

  Now she folded her arms over her torso. Try as he might, he could not determine what emotion filled her eyes. Not quite contemplation, nor realization. Not exactly disillusionment.

  She swallowed. “Is that what you want me to do, Mr. Lane? I must say, ’tisn’t what I expected, given your speech on Christmas.”