Page 6 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
Her head twitched in his arms and she stifled a sound. Kenneth looked down to her as one of her eyes moved over him, the other one fluttering shut.
“My apologies, good sir.” she croaked out. “I mean no inconvenience.”
“Come now, it is none at all.” Kenneth reassured her, bracing her against the wall.
“You’d think I’d have learned not to bait a man when he’s drunk as a wheelbarrow.” the woman feinted a laugh. “I can walk, set me down.” Kenneth could tell that she was trying to push him away.
“That's all that was, eh?” he asked, helping her to stand on her own. She could not support herself, and he gave her his arm to lean upon.
“It is nothing.” she mumbled, shaking her head, likely dizzy from the beating.
Kenneth watched as her lip began to tremble. Her emotions fought against her pride to keep the tears at bay, a sign of a girl who had learned long ago to be wary of the world. He pulled the cravat around his neck until the knot gave way. Kenneth used the cloth to dry the dampness on her face and sop up some of the blood on her cheek.
The night was coming on in full now. In the faint light from a nearby window, he could just make out the hollows of her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. The poor girl was exhausted. There was no telling how long she’d been running from those men.
“What is your name?” he asked gently.
“Leah,” she managed, reaching out vaguely for the wall in front of her. “Leah Benson. Release me now, really, I am fine,” she released a shuddered breath, stepping blindly forward, and she once again fell unconscious.
Kenneth positioned his arms carefully and lifted her from against the wall where he had steadied her. Her head lolled to the side and came to rest on the breadth of his shoulder. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for this mysterious woman as he cradled her, marching back to the street. It was a strange feeling; Kenneth had preached the good of the common folk for some years now, but beyond that he had never taken personal action such as this.
In this, he was directly responsible for someone other than himself and his estate, and that thought was a forgotten one that he would have rather left behind.I must get her to the carriage. One thought at a time.
Footsteps sounded through the night, accompanied by voices calling out his name. Kenneth took inspiration from Miss Benson and maintained a firm grasp on his pride, not caring what lingering stares or hushed whispers he would face as he stepped from the darkness with her in his arms.
“I am here.” he called out. “Bring the coach, quickly!”
The male members of the search party met him near St. James’s Street while the ladies kept their respectable distance. His rushing off from the Assembly Rooms had apparently attracted quite the crowd of onlookers, despite the off-again, on-again rainfall.
Several of the ladies present gasped with indignation at the sight of him being so familiar with a member of their gender, and then gasped even more when they could see the state of the poor girl.
Some mentioned the unconscious woman as if she were a novelty, although he very much doubted their irate nature was due to the fact that she was unaccompanied by a guardian or husband, but more so to do with the telltale signs of poverty she wore.
Practice what you preach.
The disdain in the atmosphere was hard for him to tolerate, and for some reason there was a slight hint of embarrassment at the back of his mind.
“Daniel,” he addressed one of his footmen. “Bring the coach about and ensure that Miss Benson is comfortable for the ride home.”
“Right away, Your Grace.” Daniel took Miss Benson from his arms, supported by another servant, and made quick work of his tasks.
“Worthington,” the Marquess huffed, approaching Kenneth from the crowd. “You have given us quite the show.”
“So, it seems.” Kenneth replied. “Although apparently it has been made an unnecessary spectacle.” he addressed the crowd that had amassed with his last line. He was glad that no one had seen the fight in the alleyway. There would be talk enough of this. Plenty already thought him too rambunctious, and it had impacted his ability to find a wife.
The Marquess was unenthusiastic about Kenneth's display of valor and made it known, “Whoever this woman may be, she should not be trusted so readily. This ‘Miss Benson’ you speak of is likely a criminal intent on robbing you when you least expect it, Duke. You are always fast to act, 'tis true, but you must be sure you act in the proper manner. The drink hour has been spoiled now.”
Kenneth was unwilling to neither explain himself nor feed into the chatter already surrounding the evening.
Let them make their own ideas.
He was eager to return to Miss Benson and see that her needs were attended to.
“I bid you all a grand evening,” he said as he placed his top hat upon his head and climbed into the back of the approaching coach.
Miss Benson had been placed gently across the bench, covered with the footman’s tailcoat. Kenneth sat beside her and covered her more carefully. He stuffed himself into the corner to ensure no part of him was making contact with her body, lest she wake and think the worst of him. He resolved not to bother her; she had been through enough for one night.
Kenneth had strove for many years to avoid the repute of a libertine. Although moralities were changing with each passing year, Kenneth wished to uphold at least a few facades of modesty, especially when in public. While he tended to go against the grain of nobility, there were some things that were still imparted, and he took seriously. The first of which, being his family name.
