Page 21 of Scars of a Passionate Revenge
“Will my father be joining us?” Alice asked. “He has seemed so much better these last few days.”
Benedict felt his heart contract a little at the note of hope in her voice, but the look on the baroness’s face told him that Alice was about to be disappointed.
“Sadly the baron has had to return to his chamber,” Dorothea said. “He has been feeling unwell again today, so of course he needs to follow the instructions of the physician and rest.”
“But Madam, he has not seen a physician for many weeks now!” Alice protested. “Do you not think it is time to call for him again, to see if his advice has changed?”
Dorothea glared at Alice, and Benedict watched as she visibly crumpled under her stepmother’s stare. “Alice, now is not the time to discuss this,” she said firmly. “Now, come along, both of you. Tea is already laid out in the drawing room!”
Chapter 9
Benedict and Alice followed Lady Danneville down the corridor and into the drawing room, where an opulent tea was laid out. Benedict reflected for a moment on how far he had come—afternoon tea with a baroness, after all those years of hardship.
He imagined how he would have responded, in those days, to the sight of the plates laden with sandwiches and cake, the steaming pot of tea. He would not have been able to restrain himself. But now, he had learned how to behave like a gentleman, and he had no fear of losing control.
At the baroness’s invitation, he sat down in an armchair and Alice sat opposite him. He thought that she looked a little nervous, and in that moment he could not help but feel sorry for her. He wondered why she was even here, and not still living with her aunt, but he knew that if he asked that question, he would risk giving himself away immediately. For how could a new acquaintance such as he know such a detail about her former life?
Another maid was present in the room, preparing to pour the tea. Benedict thought that she looked much more severe than Alice’s maid, Sarah, who had a rather homely look about her.
Lady Danneville turned to her just before she started to pour. “Marie, please will you take a tray up to the baron. Use that pot of tea, we have another one here for us and we can help ourselves.” She paused and looked thoughtfully at the spread of food in front of them. “Perhaps no cake, though. Sandwiches will be better for him. I am convinced that his poor diet is what has made him so ill.”
Alice looked as if she was about to say something, but Benedict saw her biting her lip to stop herself from speaking. No doubt she wanted her father to enjoy some of the pleasure of the cakes, too.
Benedict wondered for a moment if it would be possible to smuggle some up to the baron’s room before he left, then groaned inwardly. What on earth was he doing imagining fulfilling his arch enemy’s cake needs? He forced himself to bring his mind into focus.
The maid did as she was told and made up a plate of sandwiches, then took them out of the room on a tray, with the pot of tea that the baroness had indicated, leaving the three of them alone to enjoy their refreshments.
Lady Danneville poured out tea for them and then looked rather intensely at Benedict. “So, tell me, Mr. Fletcher, do you plan to travel abroad again soon?”
Benedict blinked and wondered if she was trying to figure out how stable a prospect he was for his stepdaughter, or whether there was something else behind her questions.
“I have no plans for further travel for the foreseeable future, My Lady,” he replied, taking the cup of tea that she was holding out to him.
“Well, I am very glad to hear it,” Lady Danneville said, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “It has been a pleasure to welcome you into society. You are the talk of theton, you know, Mr. Fletcher!”
Benedict winced, and when he looked over at Alice, he could see the embarrassment on her face too.
He glanced over at the baroness and once again tried to search his memory for traces of her. But as with so many things that happened in the time before the fire, the time when his memories seemed to almost stop completely, he could not remember any details at all.
It seemed likely to him that he would have had very little to do with her, as the child of a servant, but he felt instinctively that even then, he did not like her. And now, it was becoming more and more clear to him the kind of woman that she was, as he watched Alice practically cower beneath her gaze.
The baroness offered him a plate of sandwiches and he took it, grateful to have something to focus on, other than his growing dislike for her. He took a bite of one and chewed it thoughtfully, while looking out of the window. The baron’s London house certainly was in a fine situation, with a grand entrance opening out onto one of the most fashionable streets in Mayfair.
Benedict’s thoughts flickered back to some of the places he and his father had been forced to rest their heads over the years—nothing better than hovels—and felt his anger beginning to rise again. But then he turned again to look at Alice, who was chewing delicately on a bite of sandwich, and felt all the confusion of the previous evening returning to him.
“Tell me, Miss Dunberry, other than reading, how do you like to spend your time?” he asked. He was keen to be seen to be making polite conversation with her, but also, in all honesty, he was interested to know the answer to his question.
He often felt rather sorry for the young ladies of society, who, pampered as they were, were unable to go out into the world to earn their living or to seek adventures. He wondered what Alice did all day, stuck at home.
Before Alice had a chance to answer, though, the baroness scoffed. “Reading is all she ever does, Mr. Fletcher! I keep telling her that bookishness is not an attractive trait in a young lady, but she will not listen to me. Perhaps you will advise her of the same, and see if she will follow your guidance?”
Benedict felt his shoulders tense at the baroness’s words and forced himself to pause before he answered. No matter how angry her idiotic remarks may have made him, he had to remember what he was here for; shouting down Alice’s stepmother would do nothing to ingratiate him to her family, although he suspected that Alice herself might rather enjoy watching such an argument unfolding.
“I must confess, Lady Danneville, that I do not entirely agree with you, if you will forgive me for saying so.” He kept his tone as light as he could, but chose each and every word carefully.
“I think that a well-read young lady is a marvelous thing, especially as polite society is so against it, although I do not understand the reasons for such views. But a well-educated woman is a great asset to any household.” He smiled across at Alice, and once again enjoyed the pinkness of her cheeks as she absorbed the compliment.
“Well, I must say that you give your opinion very decidedly, for someone who is a relatively new entrant into polite society, as you put it,” Lady Danneville said with a sniff. She leaned over to pour herself some more tea. “But I suppose these are the views of modern gentlemen, and it does no harm to listen to them.”
