Page 8 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“Leah,” she corrected boldly.
“Beg pardon?” he blinked twice.
“My name is Leah. I’m not a lady with a title of my own; I’m just someone down on her luck, is all. I know you’re guessing me as a vagabond or a thief, but that’s not who I am,” Miss Benson switched back to her normal, informal dialect, slouching down into a comfortable position on the bench. She chewed her nails nervously.
She glanced down at her hands and winced at the dried blood and dirt that covered them. Seeing her distress over the blood, Kenneth handed her a crinkled-up cravat from his pocket. She accepted the offer and wiped her hands before folding them neatly in her lap.
“I always like them to be neat,” she said absently, admiring the folded cloth. Miss Benson appeared to be lost in her thoughts momentarily. She then asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you save me? I mean no insult but not many of your position would do such a thing, not that I’ve seen anyways. They will give you proper gossip for it too.”
“Yes, well,” Kenneth cleared his throat against the strong language. “I have a proposition for you. Let us cast aside any prejudiced opinions of one another and simply exchange in polite conversation. If you wish to inquire upon the societal standards of the high society, I will not indulge in your curiosity, for I find it one of the dullest subjects there could ever be. However, if you wish to speak to me of the joys and wonders of life, then I would be happy to share my own experiences with you.”
Kenneth took a deep breath before he continued, “I shall only speak honestly. It is the least you deserve. There is no profound reason as to why I intruded upon your encounter with those men. I saved you because firstly it was the right thing to do, and secondly because it was thrilling.”
Miss Benson avoided his penetrating stare as he spoke with sincerity he assumed she was not accustomed to. She continued to glance out the window as if the rain could summon the words she needed. Unfortunately, at that moment, it switched off once again.
“Were you injured on my account, Your Grace?” she asked, wincing as the carriage went over a series of bumps.
“Nothing I am unequipped to handle, Miss Benson,” he replied gallantly.
“Leah,” she corrected once again.
“Of course. So, you’ve stated.” Kenneth smiled playfully in her direction, hoping to put her mind at ease. He watched as she studied his profile and found himself becoming uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I was in the army for some time.”
She stroked her fingers against the bench like a painter creating something beautiful on a canvas.
“Fightin' old Bony?” she croaked coyly. Despite her wit and charisma, she was still injured.
“And the Americans.” he indulged, popping his eyebrows. It seemed that her spirit was lifting a bit.
She chuckled softly, playing along, “Bloody rebels.”
“Quite.” he answered, adjusting his hat with the hilt of his cane. He found himself smiling, even blushing a bit perhaps. It had been some time since he had found even an extended conversation with a woman at all enjoyable.
Kenneth was aware that he caught the attention of many young ladies despite being nearly thirty years of age. His skin was pale, and his eyes were dark. He lived quickly, and with passion, and made it clear for all to see. There was power in that image, and he wielded it as a great suit of armor against the world. Yet here it seemed this woman could see through him, like some sort of mystic of old. He was disarmed but pleasantly surprised. Miss Benson had a warm complexion and the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen.How do I proceed? I know not how to speak with her, it seems.
“Do you enjoy being a Duke?”
Kenneth was taken aback by her inquiry. No one had ever asked him if he enjoyed his position. He had assumed, like everyone else, it was an unspoken duty to the crown. Of course, he was aware of his privileges, but he did not mind too much to go without them. It never occurred to him that he could be anything different or if he would want to be anything else.
“I suppose, like everything else in life.” He handled his palm and thought about it. “There are good sides and bad sides to what I do –
“Am,” she interrupted him. “It's more of an 'am' than 'do' sort of life, isn't it?” Her eyes shone with bravery and the fearless young woman before him leveled her stare with his. Kenneth shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her gaze, but he maintained the eye contact she had established.
“I suppose you are correct.” he uttered, idly stroking the ruffles at the sleeves of his shirt. He gave no indication of his thoughts. She rose to the challenge and asked, “What are the good sides?”
“I would like to think that what I do matters, that I am part of something larger. It is good to feel important, valued, and to know that I have some power, what little there is, in making things better.”
“What things?”
Kenneth knew that making big changes was complicated. There were always two sides to change: the ones who wanted it and the ones who didn’t. It’s much easier to talk about change than it is to go about making it happen. His father had spoken about change many times, but the only ones who’d benefited were those who didn’t need it. The wealthy often flourished at the expense of the poor, but this had been a repeating cycle for thousands and thousands of years; it was not likely to be uprooted.
“Life, I suppose. Crime, for one thing.” His eyes looked pointedly at her bruises and cracked lips.
“Good luck to you.” she snorted, but it brought her great pain from her middle and she winced.
“What about you, Miss Benson? I'm sorry, Leah. What is it you want most in the world?” Kenneth asked, having sensed her thoughts turning dark once more. He would have to be careful and tread lightly. Her trust would not be won in the space of a single carriage ride.
She sucked in her breath a bit, contemplating, and puffed out her cheeks in thought. Then after a time she delivered a manicured reply.
