Page 36 of Chasing Benedict
“Of course. Discreet and loyal.”
Ben stared at him with silent accusation in his eyes, as if Alex had somehow swindled him into something he hadn’t agreed to. Truthfully, he’d expected Ben to balk at the suggested sleeping arrangements but had decided it was worth a try.
One that paid off, handily.
“Fine,” Ben huffed. “But I want the left side of the bed.”
“Naturally. I’ve always preferred the right, anyway.”
Ben glowered at Alex as if suspicious of his claim, but gave a grudging nod before sweeping a hand to indicate Alex should precede him. Alex couldn’t help a sly smile as he led the way. It was a small victory, but after Ben surprised him by bringing his boxing master along, Alex was due.
Inside the dining room, footmen were busy arranging dishes on the table between place settings—one of which was hastily being added for Mr. Fisher.
“Does he know?” Alex asked before the man could impose on them with his presence.
“No,” Ben replied, without needing to ask what Alex referred to. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Of course.”
Fisher entered the room just as they seated themselves—Alex at the head of the table and Ben to his right. Fisher took the place to his left.
“I’m grateful to you for allowing an old man to impose on your hospitality, my lord,” Fisher said while eying the various dishes laid out for them.
“Think nothing of it, Mr. Fisher,” Alex replied. “I want your time here to be enjoyable, so if you need anything, alert any member of my staff, and you will be accommodated.”
“While we’re on the subject,” Fisher said while piling several finger sandwiches onto his plate. “Mr. Sterling will be on a strict diet during his time in the country. No fancy French foods or heavy sauces. No desserts. No wine, beer, ale, or spirits.”
Alex’s lips quivered at the low, pained sound Ben made in the back of his throat, but kept his attention on Fisher. “I see. Anything else?”
“Beefsteak and eggs for breakfast,” Fisher replied, adding a cluster of grapes and a handful of lemon tartlets to his plate. “Or ham and eggs. Coffee is to be taken black, no cream or sugar.”
“For the love of Christ,” Ben grumbled.
Ignoring him, Fisher pointed his fork at Alex. “And … a mixture of water, salt, and oats three times a day. Pugilists gruel … good for the muscles and the bowels.”
“Fisher, I hardly think the earl wishes to discuss my bowels over his meal,” Ben griped while serving himself from a dish of cold meats and cheeses.
“Oh, let the man speak freely, Ben,” Alex said. “It’s all very interesting. So, this mixture of oats … does he eat them with a spoon or suck them down like a glass of milk?”
“I’m going to kill you,” Ben whispered, stabbing viciously at a grape with his fork. “Slowly. Painfully.”
Alex laughed him off and continued peppering Mr. Fisher with questions about Ben’s training regimen—which he truly did find interesting. Ben had always been a fighter, and Alex had witnessed several informal brawls like the one at The White Cock. What he really wanted to witness was a legitimate pugilist match—Ben testing his strength and skill against someone trained, just like him, to wreak havoc with his fists. Perhaps he could attend this upcoming fight Ben had mentioned.
After an hour of listening to Fisher’s plans for Ben over the next four weeks, while Ben sulked over his food, they parted ways to wash the dust of travel away. Fisher informed Ben that he would have the rest of the day for a respite, but was expected to report to the gallery for training at dawn and no later. With that, Fisher ambled off in the company of a footman to his guest chamber. Alex led Ben upstairs to his own rooms, pleased to find that the promised bath had been drawn in the washroom. Ben’s toilette items had been neatly arranged beside his on the washstand, and a small trunk rested on the bench at the foot of Alex’s bed.
Ben stood in the midst of the room, taking in the chamber’s colorful decor—the furnishings and bedding coordinated to match the magenta, gold, and royal blue pattern of the Chinese wallpaper.
“Why am I not surprised?” Ben muttered, toying with one of the gold cords tying back the bed curtains. “Decorated yourself, did you?”
Alex hesitated only a moment before replying, for he couldn’t continue to dance around the subject of his marriage. He had brought Ben here to reveal the truth, and could start by edging closer to the massive elephant in the room. “I didn’t do it alone. Katherine had a keen eye for colors and fabrics—it was one of the things we had in common. She chose the furnishings, and sent for the fabrics to upholster the chairs so they matched the curtains.”
Registering Ben’s disdainful expression, Alex rushed on before he could make some degrading remark about Katherine.
“I understand that the subject of my marriage is a sore one between us,” he said. “But I’ll not tolerate any disrespect toward her under this roof. There is so much for me to tell you, but I’ll begin with this … Katherine was a dear friend, and my memories of her are important to me. I cannot put that aside just because I’ve brought you here.”
Ben didn’t offer a verbal reply, but a quick nod of acquiescence proved to be enough.
Alex decided to let matters lie for now. They’d had a long, trying few days , and he had another resident of the house to visit before he could make himself more comfortable. “Help yourself to the bath. I have something to see to, but I’ll return shortly. There’s a library three doors down from the dining room—on the left. But there are books in the attached drawing room, through that door. Or you could explore the house. The third floor is in a bit of a shambles … renovations that won’t be completed until spring. I wouldn’t suggest going up there. But the rest of the house is yours. I want you to be comfortable here.”
