by Joyce Alec
Throwing himself back onto his bed, Benedict stared up, unblinkingly, at the top of his four-poster bed. He did not feel tired, but he knew that he had to, at the very least, attempt to get some sleep. His thoughts were filled with Miss Millerton, wondering just what it was that she had seen and exactly what had been said to her in the garden earlier that afternoon. At least now he knew precisely why the lady had appeared so afraid when he had first returned to her. The man he had not recognized must have said something to her about whatever it was she had witnessed.
Which meant that she has told you many untruths, came a quiet voice to his mind. She did not speak honestly to you.
No anger roused his heart, but rather a gentle understanding as to why she had done so. The fear that must have captured her heart must have been very great indeed.
“I will speak to her come the morrow,” he said aloud, his body becoming tired and weighted as he began to rest. “And this time, I will encourage her to tell me the truth, no matter how afraid she is.”
Hoping that he would be able to provide her with some reassurance, that he would be able to encourage her not to be afraid, Benedict felt his eyes grow heavy as tiredness overtook him. Forcing himself to rise and change so that his valet would not become greatly upset with the mess of his clothes the following morning, Benedict climbed back into his bed and pulled the blankets up around him. For the moment, at least, he needed only to rest.
The following morning, Benedict found himself beyond weary. After the time he had spent down in the cellar and at the shore, he had tossed and turned in bed, unable to get more than a few minutes of sleep at a time. Miss Millerton lay heavily on his mind and even when he had finally drifted off, the sun sending its bright rays out across the skies, he had dreamt of her.
Having broken his fast with the other guests and made certain that they were all in good spirits, he excused himself to go to his study to take care of some business, which most did not seem to be at all upset about. His mother, of course, had glared at him but he had merely shrugged, telling the ladies and the gentlemen present that he would join them at luncheon. In the afternoon, there was shooting and fishing for the gentlemen, whilst his mother had promised to organize a carriage ride for the ladies, so that they might venture a little further past the estate. As most of the guests had been present at the breakfast table, he had been unable to speak to Miss Millerton privately, which had brought him a considerable amount of frustration. However, he had promised himself that he would speak to her later on that day. Glad that she had joined the other guests rather than remaining to rest in her room, Benedict now sat down in his study chair, glancing briefly at the papers on his desk and wondering if it would be considered much too early for him to have a small whisky.
There came a scratch at the door.
“Come,” Benedict called, a trifle wearily. His butler opened the door and bowed, clearly aware that he had frustrated his master somewhat.
“My lord, I must beg your apology for interrupting you so soon after you have arrived in your study,” he began, but Benedict waved a hand.
“There is no need to apologize,” Benedict said swiftly. “What is the matter?”
The butler closed the door behind him and came a little further into the room, his expression a trifle wary.
“My lord, the gardener you sent to the servants’ quarters,” the butler said slowly, “he is well recovered. He wishes to come to speak to you, when you have a moment to spare.”
Benedict’s brows rose. It had not been long since he had sent Mr. Taylor in to rest in the servants’ quarters, but to hear now that he was recovered enough to speak to him was something of a relief.
“Indeed,” Benedict murmured, rubbing his chin for a moment. “That would be very satisfactory, I think. Might you ask him to come to my study?” A sudden worry caught his brow. “Or is his leg not in a fit state to climb the staircase?”
The butler hesitated, then shook his head. “I think, my lord, that with assistance, he will be able to manage,” he said honestly. “But I do fear that some of your guests might then see him and wonder at his presence within the house.”
Hesitating, Benedict considered what was best to do. “I will come below stairs,” he said after a few moments. “You are quite correct. That is a wise consideration. I will come shortly.”
The butler looked a little surprised but nodded. “That is very good of you, my lord,” he said, sounding quite astonished. “Should you wish to use my rooms?”
Nodding, Benedict gave the butler a very quick smile. “That would be much appreciated,” he told the man. “A few minutes, then.”
As the butler closed the door, the smile began to slip from Benedict’s face. He was not sure what he ought to do with Mr. Taylor. He did not want the man to leave the employment he had, simply because an unknown fiend had attacked him and then told him to leave. There was beginning to grow within him a small, burning spark that Benedict did not think would release him any time soon. Instead, he feared it might grow and grow and become so insistent that he would have no other choice but to listen to it.
He wanted to be free.
He wanted to reject the dark cruelty that surrendered him at present. There had to be something available to him, something that meant he could perhaps even manipulate those behind it into allowing him his freedom. Otherwise, he realized, pressing his head into his hands, he would be in this position for a long duration. He had no discernible way as yet to remove himself from the situation, but surely there had to be something he could do. Particularly if it was now beginning to invade the lives of those around him. His guests being endangered was more than Benedict could accept, fearing now that Miss Millerton had been weak with shock over being threatened in such a way.
But what can I do?
Lifting his head, Benedict let out a long breath, set his shoulders, and pushed himself out of his chair. That was the question that had been pressing on his mind ever since the beginning of his predicament and as yet, he could not find an answer. Walking to the door, Benedict allowed his mind to fill with Miss Millerton, looking forward to the time later today when he would be able to speak to her and tell her that he knew all that had occurred. Perhaps, if they spoke together at length, if he told her all that had happened and all that he was now being asked to do, she might come up with an idea as to how he could free himself from their clutches. After all, she had offered to listen to him whenever he wished to speak to her, and he was not arrogant enough to think that a lady could not have a suitable idea. Pulling open the door, Benedict allowed his spirits to lift just a fraction. Speaking first to Mr. Taylor and then to Miss Millerton might just ignite a flare of hope in his heart for what would be the very first time since his troubles began.
“Taylor.”
Benedict was rather surprised at the change in the man. He looked almost entirely healed, for his face bore only a thin line where the cut to his cheek had been and his eye had only light green around it.
“You look much improved,” Benedict said, a little astonished. “What a remarkable recovery.”
Mr. Taylor limped a little further into the room, inclining his head toward Benedict as best he could. “The housekeeper has been very good to me,” he said in a humble voice. “I have wanted for nothing and been able just to rest.”
Thinking that he would have to thank the housekeeper for her diligence, Benedict nodded and gestured for the man to sit down. Obviously, his leg still pained him, and Benedict did not want to have him standing for too long. “Please,” he said. “Sit down.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Taylor murmured, before sitting down heavily and letting out a long sigh of evident relief. “Might I also thank you for deigning to come down here to speak to me, rather than insist I come to speak to you. That is very considerate and not something I expected, my lord.”
Benedict did not respond verbally but merely smiled.
“You did ask me to come and speak to you when I knew that I
was recovered enough to be of assistance to you,” Mr. Taylor continued, his gaze set and his expression resolute. “I am ready, my lord.”
“I believe I told you to wait until you could walk without pain,” Benedict reminded him gently. “But that is not so, I think.”
Mr. Taylor lifted his chin and swallowed hard, his jaw set. He did not immediately speak but took a few moments before he responded. Benedict allowed him to have the time required, wondering what the man would say.
“That is true, Lord Knightsbridge,” Mr. Taylor answered eventually. “There is pain that still runs through my leg and whilst I have recovered in many places, there is still lingering pain there. However,” he continued, his shoulders lifting into a small shrug, “I think that my leg might never be without pain again. That is why I did not delay in coming to speak to you, my lord.”
Benedict swallowed hard, feeling a sudden pang of anger deep within his chest. The men had not only beaten Mr. Taylor and threatened him with more pain if he did not obey, they had also, it seemed, removed from him the use of his leg. And in doing so, they might very well have removed the opportunity for Mr. Taylor to find suitable employment ever again.
“I do not want to sit in my room waiting to see if my leg is ever going to improve, Lord Knightsbridge,” Mr. Taylor said quietly. “I know that you promised you’d pay my wages even when I was recovering, but it doesn’t feel right to be doing nothing when I ought to be doing something.”
“That is very good of you, Taylor,” Benedict murmured, not quite certain what to say to this remark. He wanted to express sorrow for the situation Mr. Taylor now found himself in, but the words seemed trite and he did not want to say them. Instead, he satisfied himself by asking, “And what is it that you think you want to do?”
Mr. Taylor hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t want to speak out of turn,” he said, choosing each word carefully, “but I know that you yourself are finding particular matters with these…men to be very difficult. I want to help.”
Letting out a long, slow breath, Benedict nodded carefully, watching Mr. Taylor with sharp eyes. “That is an offer I would be glad to accept,” he said, aware that he was beginning to treat Mr. Taylor as something of a confidante rather than someone in his employ. “I would not want to order you to do something that you were either unable to do or unwilling to do, particularly with your leg.” Pressing his lips together for a moment as he thought, Benedict chose each word with care. “In truth, I am not quite certain what can be done, as I believe I have told you myself, there are threats being made that currently force my hand.”
Mr. Taylor shook his head, his lip curling in obvious disgust. “I don’t know what sort of men would do such a despicable thing,” he said darkly. “I want to find a way to stop them.”
Again, Benedict hesitated. Should he tell Mr. Taylor of his suspicions? After all, there was a slim chance that the man was involved in this in some way, and if he told him what he had overheard, he might then attempt to tell those in charge.
But surely a man would not have been so badly injured, so badly beaten, if they were only involved in a ruse, he told himself, nodding slowly as though he agreed with his own thoughts. You shall never make any progress unless you speak.
“There is a matter involving one of my guests here,” he said as Mr. Taylor leaned forward in his chair, clearly eager to listen to every word. “Miss Millerton has been approached by a man I am certain is involved in sending the notes to me. She was given a dreadful shock because of it, I am certain, and has not been telling me the truth of what was said to her. I must speak to her and tell her what I overheard.”
Mr. Taylor’s eyes widened a fraction. “Overheard?”
Benedict nodded. “I was in the cellar last night and overheard some men speaking about her. They also spoke of someone within this house who, I am certain, is working alongside them.” He narrowed his gaze and watched Mr. Taylor carefully, wondering if there would be even the slightest indication in his expression as to whether or not he knew of such a thing already.
However, Mr. Taylor did not even flinch. He did not look away but rather continued to hold Benedict’s gaze, his lips a little twisted.
“Not only must I speak to and reassure Miss Millerton,” Benedict continued with a small sigh, “but I must also try to discover which person within this house is working with those despicable men.”
Mr. Taylor nodded slowly, his brow furrowing. “Then I could, perhaps, try to speak to the staff?” he said, and Benedict began to nod. “They might be more willing to talk openly to me, although I don’t mean any offence.”
Benedict waved a hand. “I do believe they would be more willing to speak to you. I think your intentions are good. And I can, of course, examine the guests a little more carefully.” He lifted one shoulder. “There is nothing to say that one of my guests could be responsible, although I think it a little unlikely.”
Mr. Taylor said nothing as regards to this, clearly unwilling to put any suggestion of blame on the guests. “And, if you would approve, I can stay near to this particular lady if the guests are in the gardens.”
Frowning, Benedict hesitated. “No, I will not allow you to put yourself in further danger,” he said firmly. “You might well be seen by those who have already injured you. I will stay close to Miss Millerton should we go out of doors.” Seeing the slight paleness in Taylor’s face, Benedict let out a long breath and then rose. “You should rest, Taylor,” he said, wondering if the man had been reminded of what had occurred to injure him so. “I will come to speak to you again in a day or so.”
Mr. Taylor inclined his head. “I am sure I will be able to climb the stairs very soon,” he said humbly. “Please, do send for me and I will come to you at once.”
Benedict smiled and nodded. “Very well,” he said, settling one hand on Taylor’s shoulder for a moment. “Now, rest. And I will speak to you again soon.”
7
Although very reluctant to step outside again, Susanna had been unable to remain indoors, despite her wishes to do so. Her aunt had been greatly concerned with Susanna’s murmurings about remaining inside to rest for the afternoon and had declared that she would remain with her, should she decided to do so, which, in turn, had forced Susanna to put on her bonnet and follow the other ladies outside.
What she wanted, at present, was to be left alone for a short time so that she might think. After the incident with the man in the garden, she had felt herself so shaken that it still had not left her. That fear that he might then go on to do or say more to either herself or to Lord Knightsbridge had captured her heart with such fierceness that it had not let her go. In fact, when she had seen Lord Knightsbridge that morning, Susanna had been terrified that he would come toward her, to demand that she answer more questions about the man, fearing that he knew she had not spoken the truth.
“You are still looking a little pale, Miss Millerton.”
Susanna quickly placed a smile on her face as she turned to look at Miss Longleat.
“I am very well, I assure you,” she said quickly. “I am a little fatigued, that is all.”
“You did not sleep well?” Miss Longleat asked, slipping her hand through Susanna’s arm.
Susanna hesitated, then nodded. “I did not,” she answered, without wanting to express too much of the truth. “But I am certain I shall this evening.” She smiled again and looked at Miss Longleat. “And how do you fare, Miss Longleat? Are you enjoying the house party?”
“I am,” Miss Longleat said happily. “Lord Knightsbridge has been paying me some particular attentions of which I am very glad indeed. Although Mr. Easthill has also been sending some attentions my way, which I have been very grateful for.”
“Mr. Easthill?” Susanna repeated, glancing at Miss Longleat. “I do not know that gentleman particularly well.”
“Nor do I,” Miss Longleat replied with a giggle. “But I am certain that I shall get to know him a good deal better should he continue with his a
ttentions!”
Susanna was a little surprised at this. Having spoken to Mr. Easthill on only a few occasions, she had thought him to be overly loud, rather arrogant, and entirely interested in himself rather than in anyone else. After all, had not Miss Longleat had to rescue Susanna herself from his overwhelming presence at the dinner table only a couple of days ago?
“He is quite eligible,” Miss Longleat sighed contentedly. “Although if Lord Knightsbridge should seek to court me, then I think I should have to consider him over Mr. Easthill.”
Susanna tried to smile. The thought of Lord Knightsbridge courting Miss Longleat sent a sharp stab of pain to her heart, even though she herself was terrified of him knowing the truth about her.
“And what of you, Miss Millerton?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, seeing how Miss Longleat’s smile was a little sly. “Do you mean to ask which gentlemen have caught my attention?”
“Precisely,” Miss Longleat chuckled as Susanna felt heat climb up into her face. “There must be someone, surely?”
Susanna shook her head. “No, there is not,” she answered honestly. “No, I cannot say that I have found anyone of particular interest here at present.”
Miss Longleat laughed but Susanna did not join in. “I am sure that you must have some interest in someone, Miss Millerton, but I understand your lack of willingness to speak to me of it. I shall not hold it against you.”
A weak smile touched Susanna’s lips. “I thank you,” she said, and Miss Longleat began to speak about Mr. Easthill all over again. Susanna listened with half an ear, allowing the words to wash over her as she herself let her thoughts linger on Lord Knightsbridge. He was not someone she ought to consider and yet there was a strange pull toward him, despite her fear and her anxiety. It was not something she even wanted to acknowledge, for it was both ridiculous and foolish.