Page 28 of Chasing Benedict
“Indeed. But we are here now, and a bargain is a bargain.”
Hereturned out to be Mother Morton’s Coffee-House and Tavern in Soho Square. From the outside, it appeared like any other respectable tavern. However, one must procure membership and pay a yearly fee to be allowed entrance to the evening suppers. Despite having been away from London for years, Alex had kept up his membership, looking forward to the day he might be able to return. Katherine had been well aware of his nature, and was both understanding and accommodating. They had never returned to London after their marriage, but if they had, she wouldn’t have begrudged him a trip to Mother Morton’s. It wouldn’t have been his aim to find another man for an assignation, as the hurt over being forced to let go of Ben was still too fresh. But there was something to be said for having a place to go where a man could simply be himself without fear—especially when who he was could earn him time in the pillory, the loss of his title and lands, or a dance on the end of a noose
Now that he could experience it again, Alex very much wanted Ben to share it with him.
“Fine,” Ben huffed, hauling himself out of the carriage.
He blew past Alex toward the entrance while avoiding his gaze. They paused for Alex to present the card he carried as proof of his membership, vouching for his companion before being allowed entrance. His shoulders slumped in dizzying relief as the door swung shut behind them. They were ushered past a velvet curtain into the wide, open room of the tavern, which was filled with the haze of cigar and cheroot smoke, as well as a clamor of voices and laughter. Atmospheric lighting from the chandelier and candelabras revealed a long bar along one side of the room, around which were crowded a colorful array of patrons. The middle of the room had been cleared of all furniture for dancing, and upon a stage draped in green and gold curtains, a group of musicians filled the air with lively music.
The right side of the room was reserved for those who wished to dine—the tables ranging in size from intimate settings for two, and sprawling accommodations for larger groups.
“Shall we have dinner first?” Alex suggested, his stomach rumbling. He hadn’t eaten since this morning, too nervous to think of taking a single bite.
“Whatever you want,” Ben grumbled, allowing Alex to take his arm and guide him toward an empty table.
Alex leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I will hold you to that.”
Ben glared at him but didn’t bother to put any distance between them. Here, two men leaning into each other and linking arms was the mildest of affections on display. All around them, men clasped hands, embraced, and traded kisses without second thought, safe in the knowledge that it was safe to do so.
Mother Morton’s hadn’t changed much during Alex’s absence. As he and Ben settled into a small table for two in a shadowy corner, he felt a warming sensation like coming home after a long time away.
He and Ben had frequented this tavern many a night, and everywhere Alex looked, he saw something that reminded him of those days. Phantom memories materialized before him like wisps of smoke.
Feeling Ben’s eyes on him, Alex glanced up and offered a shy smile.
“Why here?” Ben demanded. The sparse words were strained and heavy with the weight of the past.
“You know why,” Alex countered.
Ben neglected to respond as a flamboyantly dressed waiter approached them. He wore the signature scarlet and gold colors of all the staff at Mother Morton’s, though his attire was anything but conventional. From neck to waist, he was respectable in white shirtsleeves and a bright red waistcoat with gleaming gold buttons. It was the billowing tufts of a matching skirt that drew the eye, the darts and gatherings reminiscent of an older style in women’s fashion. A pair of heeled shoes with gleaming silver buckles peeked out from beneath his hem. His head was covered by a red and gold turban adorned with a brooch made of paste jewels, a jaunty red feather arching along his jaw. His face was painted with rouge and kohl, a few hours’ worth of stubble showing through white face powder. A heart-shaped beauty patch stood out beneath one eye.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in a deep voice belying his feminine attire. “Can I interest you in a late supper? The mutton is exceptionally good tonight, and there are a scrumptious array of selections for dessert.”
Ben barely spared the waiter a glance as he ordered beefsteak and ale, while Alex requested the mutton, a bottle of Burgundy, and a selection of every available dessert.
Their waiter was off with a swish of his skirts, disappearing through a crowd of other men dressed in sedate evening attire mingling with those whose cuffs and collars dripped with lace, their faces painted, their heads adorned with towering, powdered wigs. Here and there, Alex spotted men in corsets and skirts and gowns ranging from homely to decadent. Painted fans fluttered, and jeweled hands waved through the air amid animated conversation.
Ben took in the scene with a clenched jaw, his entire body radiating tension. Alex knew this reaction to be his fault, not the fault of those congregating around them. Being reminded of a place they’d once gone together to be alone and free made Alex happy, as it clearly had the opposite effect on Ben. It was Alex’s hope that by the end of the night, that would change.
After all … Mother Morton’s was where they’d shared their first kiss. As they awaited their dinner, Alex leaned back in his chair and remembered it with fondness and longing tightening his chest.
CHAPTER 6
“That noxious creature, the so-called ‘Ravishing Widow D’, is hosting another of her exclusive parties this coming Tuesday. This writer has heard rumors of the arrangements being made … the likes of which are too scandalous for the eyes of my esteemed readers. Suffice it to say that Lady D has proven yet again that you may take the woman out of the gutter, but you cannot remove the stains she left it with.”
-The London Gossip,27 January 1820
Benedict hung close to Alex as they stood at the bar waiting for their drinks, afforded a bird’s-eye view of the entire front room of what he now knew to be a molly house. He had accepted Alex’s invitation to accompany him to London for Christmas, not wishing to spend the break with his family before heading off to Cambridge. His mother’s death the year before had been a stunning blow, one he couldn’t have endured if not for the friendship of Alex—who seemed determined to brighten his days when he required it, or simply sit in silent grief with him when it was what he preferred. To return to a home devoid of her sparkling presence would make tolerating his father and brothers even more unbearable.
He had not known what to expect as a guest in the Vautrey family townhouse, but he’d never fathomed being welcomed by the earl and countess and treated like a son. Benedict and Alex spent their days roaming London, attending plays at the theater, dining in coffee-houses, and exploring museums. They played cards before the fire in the drawing room some evenings, a thick, heated tension swelling between them.
It had been this way for the entirety of their friendship, with Benedict hovering on the cusp of a monumental decision. As they came to know one another, Benedict had mustered the courage to ask Alex why he always stared at him with those secretive eyes of his.
Alex had stunned him by replying, “It’s only that find you beautiful. I cannot help myself.”
That had been the first real insight into Alex’s nature. Benedict’s first instinct had been to place distance between them, for surely such feelings were sinful. They were young men, and the natural thing to do was join forces to gain the attention of the ladies they would one day court for marriage. Only, every time that thought crept into his mind, he was besieged with the memory of standing before a naked Jemima. His disinterest in her wasn’t a singular event. No woman had ever provoked him to the sort of lust the other lads were afflicted with.
Alex, however, filled him with queer feelings he would rather not examine too closely. Only, as time went on, Benedict was forced to admit that what he felt for the other man was something beyond friendship.
