Chapter 1
Billingsley Place
April 1813
“And then? What happened next?” Selina prompted, leaning further forward, as she hung on her friend’s every word.
“Well…” Anne replied, pulling out the word as if it were a sticky piece of toffee, “Rumor has it that Mrs. Fieler has been sending love letters to Mr. Bromton for almost the last six months.”
Selina gasped and widened her green eyes at her friend in the looking glass. “But I thought Mrs Fieler was just lately married.”
“She was,” Anne replied with a secretive smile.
“And Mr. Bromton is not her husband,” Selina added as she tried to make sense of the debacle.
“He most certainly is not,” Anne concluded with a stiff nod. She trailed her long fingers through the heavy royal purple and gold curtains that adorned the window nearest Selina’s bed. “But—” she continued, “it is common knowledge amongst the neighbors in the village that for years Mrs. Fieler has been in love with Mr. Bromton.”
“But—” Selina persisted, moving to the edge of her seat, “I thought Mr. Bromton married the pig farmer’s daughter…Miss Hammerschidmt…at least…oh…three years ago.”
“He did.” Anne squealed a little as she tacked on this tidbit. She had a tendency, whenever she was truly excited by a situation, to allow her voice to rise into a bell-tinkling falsetto. Now, her face, illuminated by the late afternoon sun that was shining through the windows, shown triumphantly and as she moved away from the window and stepped forward, her smile became self-satisfied.
Mrs. Anne Mullin’s was a very slim woman with a tanned face that came to a point at the chin. Her eyes were a bright and lively brownish grey and her hair was a mousy brown color. She wore her long locks pulled into a low bun at the nape of her neck. The style was a little matronly, but it suited Anne well and made her look most practical and intelligent—just as she was. Selina found that when Anne was truly enlivened and her voice crept up an octave, she adored her dear friend more than ever. Anne Mullins embraced who she was and did not try to disguise her more colorful mannerisms. That was just one of the qualities Selina admired in her.
“Oh,” Selina sighed dramatically. “Poor Mrs. Bromton.”
“Indeed,” Anne agreed. “The unfortunate lady must suffer being the target of gossip all over the village. Although, as this happened, almost two weeks ago,” she paused and narrowed her eyes as if she were counting back over the past few weeks, “yes…two weeks prior…I imagine there will be a new scandal very soon and Mrs. Bromton and her husband will be allowed to go on with their lives.”
“Two weeks?” Selina inquired incredulously. “If all this happened so long ago, why have you delayed in telling me of it? You know how I love to know the news from the village.”
Anne shrugged nonchalantly. “I couldn’t get away ‘til now. Besides, I imagine with the Season beginning soon, you’ve been busy in your own ways.”
Selina groaned and her shoulders slumped.
“Sit up, please, my Lady,” Mrs. Barker, her lady’s maid, instructed. Mrs. Barker was a petite woman, standing just an inch or so less than five foot tall. She had short chestnut brown hair, which she kept tidy by holding it back with several plain hair pins. Near her temples, there were streaks of grey hair which practically disappeared once she had the pins in place.
Selina fidgeted on the poofed seat that sat in front of the vanity and pulled her shoulders back. She looked at her own reflection in the mirror. She was tall and slender with lovely fair hair that Mrs. Barker took pains to curl into ringlets every day. Sometimes, the lady’s maid only had to create the hairstyle in the morning hours. But on nights such as this one, when Selina was expected to prepare for a special dinner with her mother and father, Mrs. Barker had to give the curls a touch-up. She tilted her chin to the side, admiring her own clear porcelain skin and focusing on her green eyes that were, she had been told on multiple occasions, her most attractive feature.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Barker,” Selina began, “it’s just that talk of the Season always brings me low.”
Mrs. Barker nodded dutifully and continued her work on Selina’s hair. Anne moved away from the plush purple settee where she had been about to repose and crossed so that she stood near Mrs. Barker, just behind Selina. “You know,” Anne said carefully, “this Season does not have to be like all the others. You’ve got your feet wet now and you understand what needs to be done to find a suitable match.”
Selina snorted delicately. “Knowing what to do will hardly make this Season any more bearable than the last or the one before. I would rather be an old maid than have to go through the horrors of being paraded before the ton again.”
“Don’t say that,” Anne said soothingly, giving Selina a gentle smile in the mirror. “No one wants to be an old maid.”
Selina shrugged carelessly as she returned her friend’s steady gaze in the looking glass. “I’d rather live the life of a spinster than be married to a man I didn’t love.”
“Yes,” Anne persisted quite determinedly, “but you must endeavor to fall in love first. Surely, if you give the gentlemen of the ton a chance, you’ll be able to find someone who will fill your heart with happiness.”
“Hardly,” Selina scoffed. “I cannot find anyone I’m able to tolerate being in the same room with for more than five minutes. How am I to devote myself to a man if I cannot find someone I love?”
“Perhaps you’re thinking of this all wrong,” Anne replied as she rubbed her forefinger down the length of her chin. “Maybe you don’t need to find a gentleman you can tolerate, but you need to find one who wants to tolerate you.”
Selina giggled. “Do you really think there is such a man?” She asked jokingly, but Anne was not put off by Selina’s jest.
“I do,” she answered earnestly. “I know there have been plenty of suitors these last two Seasons who have shown a great deal of interest in you, but somehow, you always find fault with them.”
Selina swiveled in her seat, causing Mrs. Barker to groan a little, but she paid her little mind as she wanted to look her friend in the eye now, rather than peer at her through the mirror. “You do not seriously think I should have accepted the hand of Lord Samuels or Mr. Druthers, do you?”
Anne shook her head. “I only wish to see you happy, my dearest friend.”
Selina stared at her friend wide eyed as she acknowledged that with her response Anne had somehow covertly managed to dodge the question. “Anne, tell me truly, do you think I should have accepted the proposals I received last Season?”
Once again, Anne’s hand floated to her chin, and she tapped her index finger there as she contemplated her response. “I only think that perhaps, if you gave some gentlemen the benefit of the doubt, you might find yourself in a more pleasant mood.”
Selina’s mouth turned into an oval shape. She was utterly astonished. “What are you trying to say?”
Anne smirked. “If I remember correctly, last spring Lord Worthington swore never to return here after you lectured him for a quarter of an hour on the importance of reading a wide variety of literature.”
“Well,” Selina harumphed, “I do think having an active mind is an asset. Both men and women should take pleasure in reading. And I simply cannot countenance a boorish man who thinks there’s nothing better in life than having a bit of sport.”
“I too enjoy a good book,” Anne was quick to add, “but perhaps if you had listened more to what Lord Worthington had to say rather than presenting your own side of the argument, you might have learned that he liked reading just as much as hunting and fishing.”
“Unlikely,” Selina said as she turned back around so that Mrs. Barker could continue with her work.
“Which part?” Anne laid a delicate hand on her shoulder. “Is it unlikely that Lord Worthington enjoyed many different hobbies and pastimes or that you should hold your tongue long enough to let him fully explain himself?”
“Both.” The three women shared a laugh then and Anne crossed the room once more so she could stand next to the window.
“But I never met Lord Worthington, so I suppose it is not my place to say whether he was to be the man who captured your heart.” She turned back toward Selina and her maid. “What do you say, Mrs. Barker? Didn’t you encounter the fellow?”
Mrs. Barker, who tended to stay rather quiet, even when the other ladies were gossiping, pursed her lips now, as if she didn’t want to speak the truth. “Go on,” Selina urged. “Tell her what you thought of him.”
“He was not the man for Lady Selina,” Mrs. Barker said automatically. Then, tiny red splotches appeared on her face and neck. “But please don’t tell your Lady Mother I said as much. She might sack me if she thought I was encouraging you to reject eligible gentlemen.”
Selina put a comforting hand on top of Mrs Barker’s to steady her. “Have no fear. Nothing we speak of in my bedchambers is suitable for my mother’s ears. All the secrets we share…”
“Did someone say my name?” Selina’s mother’s voice interrupted the laughter as she walked through the door to her daughter’s bedchambers.
Anne coughed loudly as she was so shocked at the sudden intrusion. Selina released the hold she had on Mrs. Barker and sat even straighter in her chair.
“Good evening, Mother,” Selina drawled in her most boring voice.
“Yes,” Anne said, belatedly coming to her senses, “Good evening, Lady Aylesford.”
“Well, hello, Mrs. Mullins,” Selina’s mother said softly. Her mother believed it was never appropriate for a lady to raise her voice above a whisper and so when she spoke, everyone else always felt the need to hush themselves. Now that Lady Aylesford had entered the room, Anne leaned precariously toward her, trying to ensure she didn’t miss a word the countess uttered.
Selina sighed, thinking her mother was just a little too concerned with such things, when her eyes snagged on her mother’s own staring back at her in the looking glass. She and her mother resembled one another a great deal, both with brilliant green eyes and pink lips. But her mother had dark hair, almost the color of deep, rich chocolate. Where Selina had to have Mrs. Barker fix her blonde tresses multiple times a day, Lady Aylesford had only to be done up once and somehow, she continued to look absolutely perfect throughout the rest of the day. “I am so very glad you could join us this evening.”
Anne shot Selina a look in the mirror and the two young women were silent for a moment, trying to discern why Lady Aylesford was being so polite. It was not that Selina’s mother was ever rude to anyone, outwardly, but she did not think Selina should spend so much time with Anne as she resided in the village and was not a member of the ton. Anne cleared her throat. “Thank you, Lady Aylesford, but I must be getting home shortly. My husband will be expecting me.”
“Yes,” Selina’s mother cooed. “We mustn’t keep your husband waiting.” She tapped her fingers together, making a steeple of the forefingers.
Anne took the hint and moved toward the open doorway. “It was a pleasure to see you, Lady Aylesford, Lady Selina, and of course, Mrs. Barker.”
“You don’t have to leave just yet, do you?” Selina asked.
Anne shrugged lightly. “We shall meet again some other day, I’m sure of it.” She disappeared then as she exited the bedchambers. Selina pivoted to look at her mother. She was dressed in a gown made of soft forest green satin. The fabric made her eyes appear very bright and extremely large. She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small fan, which was made to match the green dress. She began to fan herself and as she did, her eyelashes fluttered.
“What is it, Mother?” Selina prompted gently, knowing that her mother was trying to savor this moment, making it more suspenseful, by being a bit theatrical.
“I have just the most wonderful news,” her mother chirped as she came further into the room. “At long last, your father and I have arranged a marriage for you.”
“No,” Selina retorted at once. “That is impossible. The Season has not begun, and I have not entertained any suitors in ages.”
“Ah,” her mother replied, snapping her fan closed, “but this gentleman was not one of your previous suitors. It is Lord Benedict Cadogan and…”
“Absolutely not,” Selina spoke over the top of her mother. “It is quite impossible that I should be betrothed to him.”
Her mother tipped her head gently to the side and gave her a sympathetic look. “But, of course, it is possible. You do remember that his mother was once my dearest friend.”
“I do.”
“Splendid,” her mother cried jubilantly as her voice became a touch louder with her zeal. “Then that means you also must remember Lord Benedict.”
Selina gritted her teeth at the memory. “I recall Lord Benedict and his mannerisms quite well. And if you will pardon me for saying so, I can assure you, Mother, that I will vow never to marry someone like him.”
Chapter 2
Frompshire Manor
Spring 1800
Thirteen Years Earlier
“Isn’t he just the most charming creature you have ever beheld?” Lady Mary Claremont asked as she hugged both arms around her new horse. The animal stood just a bit taller than his new owner. He had tawny colored hair, but his mane was a whitish blond shade. “And so handsome!” She squealed. “Thank you, Papa!”
“Anything for you, my heart,” her father, Lord Frompshire, the Earl of Frompshire replied, lifting his cup to toast his daughter. “Happy birthday, darling!”
“Happy birthday!” the throng of well-wishers chorused as they too raised their goblets and cheered.
Selina merely went through the motions, doing what was expected of her but little more.
Why must Lady Mary get another horse for her eleventh birthday? She already has a stable full of them.
Her eyes wandered away from the corral where all the party guests were gathered. She spied at least a dozen horses in the stables that were meant especially for riding. At Selina’s own home, her mother and father, the Earl and Countess of Aylesford, were not quite as wealthy as Lord Frompshire, so their stables were full of horses that did the job of pulling the carriages. One horse, Hercules, belonged to her father, but he rarely went out to ride at his leisure. He was always too busy trying to conduct business to spend his time frivolously.
It seems Lord Frompshire doesn’t have that problem.
For as Selina lamented the fact that she didn’t even know how to mount a horse, let alone ride one, Lord Frompshire led the other children into the stable and instructed his stable hands to prepare mounts for each of the young riders. “My darling girl longs for a race,” Lord Frompshire announced pompously. “Let us see if any of these young competitors will be able to match her on her new pony.” He paused and his eyes swept over all the children, including Selina. “What did you name him, Darling?”
“Apollo,” Lady Mary replied as she swung her feathery brown hair over her shoulder. She gazed up at her father, her tanned face with its smattering of freckles split wide with a toothy grin. “He is going to fly like the wind, just like the sun god.”
“Yes,” Lord Frompshire roared his approval. Then, he marched away from the stables. Slowly, careful not to get any mud or muck on her skirts and shoes, Selina walked toward the group of children. She was a few years younger than Lady Mary and most of her other friends, but she had been invited to the birthday party because her mother and father were friends with the other lords and ladies.
“Now, who will challenge me?” Lady Mary taunted as one of her stable hands helped her fit her sidesaddle to Apollo’s back and mount the new pony.
“I will,” Lord Benedict Cadogan said, flicking his head so that his long hair fell in a swooping motion over his eyebrow. He had lovely dark blonde hair that probably needed to be trimmed, but as he was a young man of eleven, he didn’t much care to tame his tresses. His brown eyes lit with merriment and the freckles across his own tanned nose and cheeks gave him a playful look.
“As will I,” Lord Charles Hemleyton joined in. He puffed up his chest like a rooster and tossed his own reddish-brown hair, much as Benedict had just done. “I’m sure Cadogan won’t be nearly enough competition for you, Lady Mary.”
Benedict scoffed as the other children gathered around, claiming horses they wished to ride. “I could ride backward in the saddle and still finish the race first,” he boasted.
“Oh,” Lady Mary said jubilantly. She clapped her hands together. “I should like to see that. Should we hold him to it, Hemleyton?”
Benedict frowned at Lady Mary, and she blushed prettily. “I was only joking,” he whispered quietly. “It would be much, much too dangerous to ride in such a manner.”
“Of course,” Lady Mary told him in a placating tone. She swept her hand toward the animal. “But perhaps you’d care to ride Apollo?”
All the other children stopped the merrymaking and turned to look at Lady Mary to see if she was speaking in earnest. She was known for her teasing nature, but now, as she gazed at Benedict, it was apparent that she was truly offering him the opportunity to take a ride on her new horse. “Of course not, Mary,” Benedict replied, ducking his head shyly and allowing his long locks to fall over his eyes. “You ride Apollo.” Then, he lifted his head and gave her a crocked little smile. “Even with your new pony, you’re still going to lose this race.”
“Fine,” Lady Mary replied cheerfully. She ran her hand down Apollo’s side and began giving instructions. “We’ll race around the lake and the last one back here has to…be the rotten egg.” All the other young men and ladies clambered about their horses then, but Selina continued to hang back.
I can’t believe my parents insisted on sending me to this party. I can’t even join in the fun and games with the other children.
Aside from the fact that Selina did not know how to ride a horse, she had worn her best lilac-colored frock and it wouldn’t do to dirty it by climbing into a saddle and riding around the lake. Moreover, in all likelihood, she was the only novice in the group and would lose the race. While she didn’t know exactly what it meant to be the rotten egg, she didn’t want to find out, either.
So, as the other young men and ladies mounted their horses, she wandered toward the edge of the lake, still carefully keeping her petticoats clean and dry. “Ready, get set, go!” She heard Lady Mary shout and Selina spun just in time to see the competitors take off in a blur.
Her eyes floated toward Lady Mary first as she and her Apollo were clearly in the lead. Coming up behind her, there was Lord Benedict, followed by Lord Charles. The other children fell in line behind the leaders. Some only continued with the race until they reached the first bend that would take the group around the far side of the lake, but others persisted. Selina moved further around the edge of the lake, trying to keep her eyes on the competition, wishing that she could have been a part of it. She raised her small hand to shield her eyes from the early afternoon sun, but as the pack rounded the next bend, she lost sight of them.
Oh, bother!
She raced along the shore, pumping her small arms, trying to make her little, seven-year-old legs carry her faster. All the while, she kept her eyes on the lake, still not wishing to make a spectacle of herself by falling in the water or getting dirt smeared on her ankle boots. But she wanted to see how the competition was progressing, so she dashed through the tall grass, headed for where she figured the group would execute their final turn before heading to the stables, which were the finish line.
The sound of hooves startled Selina, as she was sure she had moved quickly. Not truly thinking of what she was doing, she turned and began running back toward the stables.
The cheers and high-spirited taunts that the competitors flung at each other reached Selina’s ears next and so stunned was she, that she spun around on the spot.
“Look out!” Someone yelled. Selina dashed all her cares about keeping her dress spot-free to the wind as she flung her body across the tall grass, diving for the edge of the lake. Her fingertips slapped noisily on the edge of the water, splashing her a little. But then, in the next instant, her hands flew over her head as she fought to protect herself from the horses that were about to stampede over her at any second.
“Watch what you’re doing!” One of the competitors shouted and then a haughty laugh rang out. Selina dared to lift her head as the thundering hooves skimmed right past her toes. She spotted Benedict and Charles as they nearly swerved into one another in their attempt to miss her. But it was Lady Mary who was chuckling merrily. She tipped her head back and as she did, her long brown hair came loose from its pins and went swirling behind her in a rather romantic and daring fashion. As Selina watched, the two boys jostled for position and Lady Mary took the lead.
Over her shoulder, she called out to them. “You’ll never be able to catch me now!” Then, her horse, Apollo, put on a burst of speed, and she disappeared. Selina lay tucked into her position, with just her chin lifted that fraction of an inch so she could watch as the other racers wound around the bend and headed toward the stables. Her heart thudded in her chest and tears sprung to her eyes.
They could have trampled me.
At that thought, her breathing became erratic, and she buried her face in the sweet grass, forcing herself to inhale and exhale deeply.
“Are you alright?”
Selina opened one eye first, then the other. With her cheek still pressed amongst the earth, she turned her head to see who was speaking to her.
“Are you alright?” the boy asked again. “I think I almost hit you back there, but I couldn’t be sure. Did my horse get you?”
Selina shook her head but found that her words had deserted her. She was usually so quick to say what was on her mind, but now, her tongue felt like a leaden weight in her mouth. She blinked twice, to clear her eyes and suddenly recognized the young man who was speaking to her.
“Lord Benedict,” she murmured.
“Lady Selina, right?”
Again, Selina was unable to speak, so she just nodded her head stiffly. He crouched at her side and immediately she could scent his perspiration as well as the almost wild smell of the horse he’d been riding. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to think of the horses. “I say…” Benedict continued. “Did you get out of the way in time, or do I need to carry you back to the stables?”
“No,” she croaked.
“No, you didn’t get out of the way or no, you don’t need me to carry you to the stables?” She winced and opened her eyes. “I am not hurt, my Lord.”
“Phew,” Benedict said, making a dramatic show of wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His long locks swung back in front of his eyebrow and when Selina looked up at him, she thought she saw a dimple appear on his left cheek when he smiled at her. “Come on, then,” he said, patting his hands first on his thighs, then offering one to her. “Let me help you up.”
Selina extended her own hand shakily but just as she reached for Benedict, the sun disappeared. She leaned further upward on her elbows as Benedict turned. Standing above them, casting a long shadow was Lady Mary. Her hands were on her hips, and she looked much older than her eleven years as her expression was one of annoyance and condescension. “Come along, Benedict,” she commanded. “Charles demands you race again. He says the race was unfair as he had to swerve to avoid hitting her.” She gave Selina a pointed stare as if she personally blamed her for ruining the race.
“But didn’t you win?” Selina asked as she scooted so that she could sit on her knees.
Lady Mary tipped her head back and gave a perky laugh. “Such a child…” she muttered. Then, she grasped hold of Benedict’s hand, which was still extended out toward Selina. She gave him a little yank and he rose to his feet at once. “I do expect you to put on a better show this time, Benedict. You’re not to let me win, even if it is my birthday.”
Benedict strode off, moving so that he was parallel with Lady Mary, swinging the hand she still held tightly. But Selina just sat in the grass, watching them go, wondering why both Benedict and Mary left her in such a state.
Chapter 3
Cadogan Hall
April 1813
“Father.” Benedict sighted his father, the Duke of Strathearn, at once upon approaching Cadogan Hall. While the entryway was made of finely carved stone and it was an alabaster white, his father was dressed in all black. From his highly polished knee-high boots to the silk tie that hung about his neck, his misery was identifiable, even from a distance.
He’s still donning his mourning clothes.
Two years had elapsed since the death of his mother, Flora, the Duchess of Strathearn, and while Benedict had done his best to grieve his mother during his travels abroad, he had long ago returned to wearing his finest clothing. It disheartened him to see his father now, for as he got closer, the signs of sorrow were even more apparent. Years ago, his father had been a healthy and fit man, with a trim waistline, a full head of dark blonde hair, just like Benedict’s, and light blue eyes that glittered in the twinkling candlelight. But now, Benedict could see not only that his father had lost a copious amount of weight, making his clothes bag off him, but his hair was no longer as thick and lustrous as it once had been. And, maybe most distressing of all, as Benedict dismounted and stepped forward to hug his father, he could see that the joy which had always been in his eyes before, was now extinguished.
“Hello, my son,” his father whispered as he wrapped him in a tight hug. “It has been too long.”
“Too long, indeed,” Benedict echoed, shifting in his father’s bony arms. “Perhaps I should not have stayed away so long.”
His father relaxed his grip and when their eyes locked, he shook his head firmly. “No regrets, my son. Live every day to its fullest so that at the end of it, you can say that you did the best you could with the time you had.” He sighed deeply, then asked, “I trust that your return journey went well?”
“Indeed,” Benedict said as he handed his horses’ reins off to his valet, Gunter.
“Would you care to join me for a walk then, to stretch out your stride once more?”
Benedict rather thought going for a walk right now was less than appealing, as the dark grey clouds overhead foretold the rain that was sure to be upon them soon, but he could not resist spending a few minutes with his father. “Of course,” he replied. “Lead on.”
As the two gentlemen wound their way around the grounds, Benedict inhaled deeply. “I have missed this,” he murmured. “The lake…the hillside…it all calls to me now.”
His father nodded. “Are you saying you spent little time out in the country while you were in France?”
“No,” Benedict responded with a quick head shake. “Not exactly. It’s more that I found pleasure doing indoor pursuits rather than riding or taking long walks.”
“Hmmm…” his father murmured. “That doesn’t sound much like you.”
It sounds exactly like me.
Benedict had to resist the urge to correct his father. As a young lad, he’d been athletic and had enjoyed the thrill of participating in competitions. But as he grew, he came to think of his outdoor pursuits as mostly hobbies, while his true passion lay with the study of the arts. Even now, Benedict ached just a little to be back in France, pouring over his etchings, trying to become more skilled at the endeavor. But he couldn’t say that aloud to his father, as it might hurt his feelings. Instead, he shook off the notion and began the conversation again. “Do you remember, Father, in my last letter how I told of the time I spent with Prince Henri?”
His father nodded stiffly. “I do recall you mentioning him.”
Benedict chuckled lightly. “I’ve lived with Henri and his family for the past year. I’m sure I mentioned him more than just once.”
“Of course,” his father replied simply with a nod of his head. Then, he made a soft sound in the back of his throat as though he was discomfited by the conversation. “Remind me again how you met this Prince and became so ingratiated to him and his family.”
Benedict began to tell the tale with zeal. “I had spent just over a year in France, touring the countryside, when I came upon the village of Les Bourgade Esthetique. A friend of mine recommended I visit as it was rumored that there was a stunning sculpture exhibit in the local art gallery.” He sucked in a deep breath as even in the recollection of the event, his enthusiasm could not be contained. “When I finally made my way to the village, I found that the entire main thoroughfare was one art gallery right after the next. I had to search for hours to locate the sculptures as every time I popped into a place, I felt compelled to stay there and observe the rest of the artwork. Father, you wouldn’t have believed it. There were landscapes, portraits, and of course, sculptures, but…”
His father held up a hand and that silenced him at once. “Yes, and what of this Prince Henri and his family?”
Benedict pushed forward with eagerness. “It was Prince Henri’s family who sponsored the exhibits. They are the patrons for the village, and they support the local painters and sculptures who wish to…”
Again, his father quieted him with the wave of his hand. “And what of their political affiliations? Need I worry that my son was so closely tied to the French nobility when the tension between our two countries is so volatile?”
Benedict patted his father on the shoulder. “You need not be overly concerned. Prince Henri and his family members do not now, nor have they ever had very strong political ties. As patrons of the arts, they support their little village, but other than that, they mostly stick to their own grounds.”
The duke swung his arms so that both his hands came to rest behind his back. “I cannot say that I am thoroughly pleased by your choice of friends. I would have preferred if you spent only the one year in France, as we originally planned, then returned.”
Benedict lowered his head then and looked at the ground in front of them. He scuffed the toe of his boot over one of the smooth rocks that protruded from the hillside. Just then, the clouds that were heavy with the rain rumbled and one small droplet landed on the tip of his nose. He brushed it aside and made to move the hair away from his forehead as well. “I am sorry to displease you, Father. But we both know that coming home after just a year was not a possibility. I could not…” He paused and swallowed the bundle of nerves that rose in his throat. “I could not return home without thinking of Mother.”
“No,” his father replied drearily, “I suppose you could not.” He stopped walking then and looked up directly into the sky. Benedict watched as tiny droplets of rain fell onto his father’s face, but he did not even bother to wipe them away.
“Father,” Benedict said, reaching out and placing both his hands firmly on the older man’s forearms. “Tell me something wonderful.”
“Wonderful?” His father returned as he lowered his gaze, and his eyes came to meet his son’s. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I know that these last two years have been horrendous, but surely, in all that time, you’ve had cause for some celebration. Pray tell me what I have missed so that I may share in the triumph with you.”
Benedict searched his father’s eyes, hoping that a glimmer of the man he used to be would return, but it was not to be. The duke’s gaze remained placid and calm and when he exhaled deeply, Benedict felt as if the weight of the world must be on his father’s shoulders.
“Come now,” Benedict coaxed. “There must be something you can share with me. There must be something that has given you cause to smile, perhaps even made you happy.”
His father smiled slowly then, but the joy never touched his eyes. “I am pleased that you have come home, Son.”
Benedict gave his father a small smile in return and whispered, “As am I.”
The two men began walking once more and Lord Strathearn turned the conversation to the business of the estate. As Benedict sauntered at his father’s side, he found that he was grateful to the tenants for staying active and giving his father something to keep him going. “And what of the Season?” Benedict asked as they made the loop around the lake and got closer to the route that would return them to their home. The rain was now falling consistently. It had yet to turn into what could be called a downpour but judging by the way the thunder clouds continued to flit across the sky angrily, he surmised they would only have a few moments more before the wrath of the storm reached its height. “Are we going to host a ball this year, as we’ve done in years past or…?”
“Ah!” His father exclaimed softly. “The Season…I’d nearly forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?” Benedict prompted. “Has one of my old friends gone and married a beautiful lady in my absence?”
“No, no,” the duke replied. “At least, if one of your chums did take a bride, it was nothing I took notice of at the time.”
“Fine,” Benedict responded with a brief smile, wondering who might have made a match last Season while he was away. “Then what of soirees? Shall we attend Lord and Lady Mellings’ card party in a few weeks? I do always enjoy playing at Commerce with the rest of the invited guests.”
The Duke shook his head fervently. “I’ve no idea if we have received the invitation to Lord and Lady Mellings’, but I shouldn’t be surprised if you got one of your own this year.”
“Indeed?” Benedict asked, pausing his hasty steps so he could look at his father’s profile. For the first time since they had been reunited, his father’s shoulders were no longer slumped and there were small slashes of vibrant color highlighting his cheeks. “Why would they go to the trouble of inviting us separately?”
“Because Lord and Lady Mellings’ will wish to invite your new wife as well.”
Benedict choked on the inhalation he’d just taken. “My wife?” He eeked out. “What wife?” They were mere feet from the entrance to the manor, but Benedict planted his feet, demanding that his father explain himself.
“I have made arrangements on your behalf, my son,” his father spoke quickly as his words flowed more fluidly over the happy news. “I had intended to surprise you with the news, but since you asked for me to relay information that brought me joy, there is no time like the present. You may remember Lady Selina Shirley. She is the daughter of Lord and Lady Aylesford.”
“The little girl who used to follow me around?”
His father shook his head vehemently. “I’m sure Lady Selina did no such thing. Her parents brought her up to be the most genteel lady imaginable. She never would have trailed along after a young man.”
Benedict squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remember the young lady clearly. He recalled her bright blond hair and clear green eyes that always seemed just a smidgeon too big for her face. “But it must be her. I remember a Lady Selina who was always hanging about.”
The Duke laughed then, and the sound shocked his son. He had not shown such bliss once during their entire conversation, but now the laughter echoed as it reverberated off the walls of the manor. “You may well remember Lady Selina as a child. Her mother, the Countess of Aylesford, was your own mother’s closest friend. I’m afraid that meant Lady Selina was towed after her mother, joining the ladies at their tea and when they lunched together.”
“And I am to marry her now?” Benedict questioned. He was completely dumbstruck by the news. Even though his father had said as much already, he sought some sort of clarification on the matter.
“Yes, my son,” his father replied, giving him a kind smile. “Lady Selina will make a lovely bride.”
Benedict frowned, still searching his memory for what he could recall about the young lady. “I wish I could be so certain.”
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