The Brooding Duke of Danforth

by Christine Merrill

  Chapter Twelve

  Benedict had never noticed how beautiful the rain was.

  He had first become aware of it while staring up at the roof of the Comstock conservatory after Abigail Prescott had proved to him how little he knew about women and about love. How had an inexperienced girl managed to shatter his control so completely, breaking through barriers that it had taken years to build with a touch of her hand?

  It explained much about the barely understood fears he’d had when he had offered for her in London. He had thought to get her properly married and spirited away to the Danforth country property before the process of seduction had even begun. He would be teacher, she would be student. The doors to his heart could be opened slowly as he grew accustomed to the companionship of the woman who would share the rest of his life.

  He had not imagined an apt pupil that would surpass his teaching before they’d even reached the final lesson, stripping him naked to the soul with a kiss.

  She had ruined him. Reduced him to one of those lovestruck fools who stared at darkening windowpanes and imagined the raindrops on them were diamonds, then wished he could collect them to lay at his lady’s feet. When Lenore saw him, she would laugh out loud.

  And he would laugh with her, for he did not care what she thought.

  ‘You look to be in an exceptionally good mood, Your Grace.’ He could tell that it was Lady Sanderson speaking without even turning around. He could hear the sound of her restrung pearls slicking together as she toyed with them.

  ‘I had a very satisfying afternoon nap,’ he said, trying not to look as smugly happy as he felt.

  ‘I was given to understand that you had gone to your room to read a book,’ she said. Her tone was probing and bordered on impolite interest.

  He turned away from the window to address her directly. ‘I did. And when I finished it, I fell asleep.’ He made a point to avoid lying, even about such small things as this. He had, indeed, read the final chapter before going down to the conservatory. And there had been a brief but delicious nap, as well, taken in the arms of the beautiful woman who had loved him to completion.

  ‘Well, it has done you good. You are positively brimming with vitality,’ she said with a knowing grin.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, making a mental note to police his moods even more closely than he had before. It was one thing to be in love and quite another to look like it. If he wished to keep Abby free of the gossip she detested, he would have to school himself not to sigh over raindrops until their second engagement had been announced in The Times.

  ‘Lady Beverly had a nap as well,’ Lady Sanderson added.

  ‘How fortunate for her,’ he replied.

  ‘But it must have been very short. When the games started, she was seen hurrying down the bedroom hall, away from her own room,’ Lady Sanderson said, staring at him as if she expected a response.

  Though he had his suspicions, he had no idea exactly who Lenore had been visiting when she was not with him, nor did he particularly care. Even if he had, he would not want to share the information with this busybody. He schooled his face into his most impassive expression and stared at her, waiting.

  ‘Lady Beverly’s room is next to yours, is it not?’

  ‘It usually is,’ he said. There was no point in denying the fact, for they always requested rooms that were adjoining and sometimes received a connecting suite. It was assumed that they would make use of the convenience. Until now, the other guests had been polite enough to pretend that they had not noticed.

  ‘How interesting,’ she said. ‘I hope Lady Beverly was not lost. It is a very big house, you know. So many doors...’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, staring back at her without emotion.

  ‘Perhaps I should ask her.’

  ‘Do as you please,’ Benedict answered, continuing to stare at the woman until she and her damned pearls moved away. Then, he followed her movements around the room, watching her interrogate each guest in turn, paying an annoying amount of attention to several young ladies. If she got to Abby, it was doubtful that their afternoon activities would remain secret for long under such rigorous questioning.

  But before that interview could occur, Lenore had gone to Abigail’s side, asking a few brief questions and pointing her towards the door. Then she wandered in Benedict’s direction, laid a languid arm upon his shoulder and whispered in his ear, ‘It appears that Lady Sanderson is not satisfied with the usual gossip in this house. She has decided to fish for more.’

  ‘Your fault, this time. You were seen outside someone’s room and it was not mine.’

  Lenore responded with an indifferent shrug. ‘Do not blame me for this. You look as though you were struck directly in the nether regions by Cupid’s sharpest arrow and Miss Prescott cannot stop staring at you.’

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘I sent her off to the library to retrieve a book that I have assured her is a personal favourite. The Comstocks have a most unusual collection, full of things no young lady should be seen with.’

  ‘Then why in God’s name did you direct her towards it?’ he snapped, before gaining control of his temper again.

  ‘Because it will give her a reason for her blush,’ she said, staring towards the door as she waited for Abby’s return. ‘It will also re-establish my claim upon you, Danforth.’

  ‘You have no claim upon me,’ he said, brushing her hand off his shoulder.

  ‘But for the sake of a certain innocent party, I do not want people knowing that fact until we are safely away from here,’ she said in an urgently sincere tone unlike her usual devilish good humour.

  ‘Might I remind you that Abby Prescott is innocent as well?’

  Lenore arched an eyebrow. ‘Is she really, Danforth? Because she looks well tumbled to me.’

  ‘No matter how old it is, our friendship does not entitle you to speak that way about my future wife.’

  ‘The engagement is back on?’ she said, surprised, but clearly happy for him.

  Then he remembered how little talking had been done that afternoon. ‘Not officially,’ he allowed.

  ‘Then if you can manage to keep your hands off her and woo her like a proper gentleman, you and I should be able to maintain our charade for a few more days,’ Lenore said with a small sigh. ‘And here she is now.’

  Abby had entered, carrying a small leather volume, only to be stopped immediately by Lady Sanderson.

  Benedict stared at the book in her hand, then back at Lenore. ‘What did you send her after?’

  ‘Thérèse Philosophe,’ she said, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the smile.

  ‘Dear God.’ Benedict said, starting forward to grab the book out of her hand.

  Lenore held him gently by the arm. ‘Do not trouble yourself that she will be corrupted by a book before you get your chance with her. I made sure before I sent her that she does not speak French.’ Lenore gave her a speculative glance. ‘Unless you wish me to teach her...’

  ‘You have done too much already,’ he said, glaring at her. ‘And my concern is not that she will read it. Suppose Lady Sanderson reads French?’

  There was a sudden shriek and the clatter of loose pearls hitting the floor.

  ‘She does,’ Lenore said, triumphantly. ‘And now she has quite forgotten whatever it was she was sniffing after.’ Then, she laughed out loud, elbowing him in the ribs as if urging him to laugh along with a joke that he wanted no part in.

  Abby turned to them now, her face not just blushing, but crimson with embarrassment. She looked from him to Lenore and back again, her eyes narrowing in suspicion and her flush turning to anger.

  He shook his head in denial before remembering his plan to keep what they had done a secret. He could not let her go on thinking that he had any part in what had just happened.

  But no one noticed h
im, for, as his friend had predicted, any previous scandal was completely dismissed. ‘Oh, dear,’ Lenore said, not sounding the least bit guilty. ‘Whatever have I done? I believe Lady Sanderson has fainted. Hartshorn?’ she called. ‘Does anyone have any hartshorn?’

  Apparently, the lady now on the floor was not the only French speaker. There was another shriek, more than one giggle, and a wail of misery from Abby’s mother.

  Beneath it all, the Countess muttered to her husband, ‘And this was why I suggested we get a lock for the library door.’

  Abby was the only one silent in the room. Her cheeks had gone from red to chalky white and her hand was against her mouth. Looking almost as if she meant to be sick, she pushed her way through the guests crowding around Lady Sanderson and ran for the door.

  Before she reached it, Benedict caught her arm. ‘Miss Prescott.’

  ‘Let me go,’ she whispered and pulled her arm free.

  ‘I had nothing to do with what just happened,’ he said.

  ‘But your friend did,’ she said, practically spitting the words at him.

  ‘She was trying to spare you attention over...’

  ‘She was trying to embarrass me,’ Abby corrected. ‘And she succeeded.’

  ‘Lady Sanderson was about to discover what we had done.’

  ‘If she had, you might have been forced to offer for me,’ she said. ‘Why would that be a problem? Unless it had been your intention all along to forget me as soon as we leave here.’

  ‘Of course, I mean to marry you,’ he said. ‘But I thought you would not want to be forced into accepting me because of a scandal.’

  ‘Nor do I wish to be made a laughing stock by the woman everyone but you believes to be your lover.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ he insisted. ‘You know the truth.’

  ‘Does Lenore?’ she asked with a sardonic smile.

  ‘Of course. There is nothing between us and there never will be. We have an agreement.’

  ‘And now that you are about to break it, she is trying to destroy me,’ Abby said.

  ‘She is trying to protect...’ Someone. Even he was not sure who.

  ‘She is lying to you, Benedict. You are a fool to believe otherwise. And I am an even bigger fool to trust either of you.’ He reached for her again and she dodged his hand, running for the stairs. But before he could follow, the door to the salon opened and the guests flooded into the hall, ready for dinner, making further conversation impossible.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After running from the salon, Abby refused to come down to dinner, telling her mother that she was too ill. It was at least partly true for her stomach roiled at the thought of having to share a table with Lenore, staring at her smug smile of success while Benedict sat only a few feet away, wilfully oblivious.

  She had not thought it possible that the nearly perfect afternoon would end with her feeling even worse than she had during the week of their attempted marriage. At least then, she had not thought Benedict cared about her. Now she was sure he did, but that it would not be enough. No matter what their future might be, Lenore would always be standing between them, unwilling to accept that she had lost.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door, but she had made her apologies several times already, to both her mother and Lady Comstock, so she ignored it. Then it came again. And a third time when she did not answer that.

  ‘I am indisposed,’ she called at last, throwing herself on the bed and pulling a pillow over her ears so she would not have to hear it.

  ‘Then I will not be long.’

  Abby let out a scream of frustration, sat up and tossed the pillow she’d been holding at Lady Beverly, who was standing at the foot of her bed. ‘I did not give you leave to enter.’

  ‘And I did not ask permission,’ she replied. ‘But there are things that must be settled between us and I do not have the patience to wait for you to come out of hiding.’

  Since it was pointless to deny what she was doing, she responded, ‘I would not be in hiding if you had not humiliated me in front of the whole house.’

  ‘And that is why I came to apologise,’ her adversary replied, her hands in an open gesture of surrender.

  It was the last thing that Abby had expected to hear and she could not think of a way to answer it.

  Lenore continued. ‘I am sorry. Truly. I am accustomed to playing such games with Danforth and forget how they must seem to others.’

  ‘Games?’ Abby said, baffled.

  ‘Since he tends to be stoic in the face of anything that may occur, he is the perfect foil for those moments when I choose to do something outrageous as a distraction.’ Then she looked at Abby. ‘But you have changed him.’

  ‘I did nothing,’ she insisted, trying to forget how he had looked when they had parted after their picnic.

  ‘Did you not see how he was behaving tonight? Just as he was after he proposed to you in London. He does not know up from down,’ Lenore said with a laugh. ‘And you? What the two of you were doing this afternoon was writ plain on your face as you entered the salon before dinner. If you mean to spend your afternoons in dalliance, you will have to learn to hide it better.’

  It was pointless to deny something that Lenore had helped arrange, so she said, ‘Did you embarrass me as a punishment for what we had done?’

  Lenore laughed again. ‘Good heavens, no. You might assume I am behaving as I do out of jealousy, but I was quite happy to be elsewhere during your little tête-à-tête. Unfortunately, I was seen in a place I had no business being by the same woman who was about to question you.’

  ‘You were having a liaison?’ Abby said, surprised.

  Lenore nodded. ‘With someone I like very well, who I do not wish to hurt by my carelessness. And that old biddy with the pearls had decided to hound us all until she discovered the truth,’ Lenore replied. ‘I am sorry to have involved you in the solution without explanation. But I suspect, after this afternoon, she will have forgotten entirely the questions she meant to ask you about Danforth’s intentions.’

  ‘You were trying to help me?’ Abby said, still suspicious.

  Lenore nodded. ‘From this point forward, if you behave strangely, or blush without explanation—’ she shrugged ‘—our friends will put it all down to the prurient nature of your reading material.’

  ‘What was in that book?’ she asked, afraid of what the answer would be.

  Lenore gave an airy wave of her hand. ‘A convent girl is debauched by her priest, among others.’ She smiled. ‘Since telling you even that much has made you blush, I chose well.’

  If she did not have a megrim when she’d come to the room, Abby suspected that one would develop should she spend any more time with Lady Beverly. ‘Very well. You have explained your behaviour.’ She glanced past her towards the door, willing her to say goodbye.

  ‘We are not quite done speaking yet,’ Lenore replied.

  ‘Since I have nothing more to say to you, I cannot think of any reason for you to remain,’ Abby said, standing and walking to the door to see her out.

  ‘You are young and in love, and Danforth being what he is, he has not told you all you need to know about our relationship, probably claiming it is a matter of honour.’

  ‘Yes,’ Abby said, wetting her lips again and trying to find the right words to ask indelicate questions.

  ‘I would not mind if he told the truth,’ she said, with a feline smile. ‘But even after all this time, he sometimes has trouble discussing it. In truth, he is rather prudish over such matters.’

  ‘Prudish.’ After what they had done this afternoon, it was the last word she would use to describe him.

  ‘I assume he has told you that I am not his mistress,’ she said, in a leading tone.

  ‘Yes,’ Abby replied, using the same tone back to her.

  ‘But it is clear aft
er today that, no matter how he insists, you will never fully believe him. You are convinced that, even if nothing has happened as yet, it is bound to happen eventually if we continue to spend time in each other’s company after your marriage.’

  It was an accurate assessment of her fears. ‘People will talk,’ she replied.

  Lenore shook her head. ‘There has been nothing. There never will be. It is not that he never loved me. But he understands why we will never be together and made peace with it, ages ago.’

  ‘With your infertility?’ Abby said.

  Lenore laughed so hard at this that it took some time before she was able to speak. Then she said, ‘To the best of my knowledge, the problem in my last marriage was with my husband, who was no more interested in me than I was in him. He had friends at his club and I much prefer the company of women.’

  ‘Most times, they are easier to understand,’ Abby said, wishing she would come to the point. ‘But that has little to do with the conversation we are having.’

  Lenore was staring at her in disbelief. ‘Perhaps I should have sent you after a book of poetry by Sappho.’

  When she saw that held no meaning either, she spoke in a slow, didactic way, ‘When it comes to intimacy, I prefer my own sex.’

  Abby frowned, still confused. It almost sounded like she was referring to a romantic relationship. But that could not be right, because Abby was not even sure that such a thing was possible. She puzzled over it for a moment, trying to imagine how it would work.

  Then, with a puff of exasperation, Lenore leaned forward, cupped her chin with a long-fingered hand and kissed her on the mouth in the same way Benedict had, before retreating to leave Abby dazed with shock.

  Then, as she so frequently did, Lenore laughed. ‘Do you understand now? I have kissed Benedict, long ago, when we were young and foolish. But for me, it was nowhere so pleasant as that. But we have been friends since childhood. When I made him understand that there could never be any more than that between us, he agreed that it might be easier for both of us to keep company and channel any gossip about me far away from the most interesting parts of my life.’