Page 22 of Scars of a Passionate Revenge
“Indeed,” Benedict nodded, trying his best to ignore the undisguised jibe about his status in society. “Now, Miss Dunberry, perhaps you would tell me the answer to my question?” He was determined to bring the focus of the conversation back to her, no matter how many times the baroness tried to derail him.
She smiled and looked at him. “I do like to read, as you know,” she said softly. “But I also like to ride. I am lucky to have a very fine horse that my father bought for me a few years ago. His name is Dancer, and he is a wonderful character.”
Benedict swallowed. He did not like to admit it, but he was terrified of horses. He knew it was something to do with the night when the fire happened; he could not remember the details, but ever since that night, even the sound of horses’ hooves made him shudder. But he forced himself to smile. “You have some very pleasant parkland near here, where you can go riding.”
“Oh yes!” Alice said enthusiastically. “And the riding country near to my aunt’s house is also wonderful.”
Benedict pretended to look surprised. “Oh, so you reside with your aunt some of the time?”
Alice nodded, looking slightly askance at the baroness as she prepared to answer his question. “Yes, I live in the countryside with my Aunt Felicity for most of the year. I am only in London for a few weeks, for the Season, while my aunt is away in America visiting her son.”
Lady Danneville’s nostrils flared as Alice spoke. “Alice, I am sure that Mr. Fletcher is not in the least bit interested in your aunt!” she snapped. Then she seemed to remember herself, and the look on her face softened. “Why do you not tell him about your needlework and music skills, my dear?”
Benedict fought the urge to roll his eyes. How could this ridiculous woman imagine that he was in the least bit interested in Alice’s needlework skills? Music, though, was more of an attraction to him.
“Do you play, Miss Dunberry?” he asked, keen once again to dilute the baroness’s venom by focusing on Alice instead.
She nodded, with a rather wry smile. “I do play the pianoforte. But Mr. Fletcher, you must not get your hopes up. I play very poorly indeed, and my singing is no better.”
Benedict laughed at her modesty. “I am sure you are much more proficient that you say!”
The baroness sniffed again. “Alice, your false modesty does you no favors,” she said waspishly, then turned to Benedict. “You will find that Miss Dunberry is perfectly accomplished, as you would expect for a young lady in her position.”
“I had no doubt about that, I assure you, Lady Danneville,” Benedict replied.
The conversation went on in a similar vein, with Benedict trying to find out more about Alice, and the baroness interjecting with comments which on the surface appeared to be supportive and encouraging of Alice, but Benedict could sense a strong undertone in everything she said.
What interested him most, though, was Alice’s response. Occasionally she looked a little embarrassed, but mostly she seemed unaffected by her stepmother’s behavior. This led Benedict to conclude that this was how things were for her all the time, when she was in the presence of Lady Danneville.
He felt a surge of anger at this realization. It did not seem fair that a young lady as lovely as Alice should have to suffer like this. He was not at all surprised that she chose to spend most of the year with her aunt. Who would want to live in a house where they were regularly spoken to the way that Lady Danneville spoke to her?
Alongside the anger, Benedict felt guilt washing over him. He was using Alice for his own ends, to avenge himself against her father. None of this was her fault, and she was going to be caught in the middle. He almost changed his mind and dismissed his plan entirely when he looked at her sweet smile as she told him animatedly about a riding excursion that she had been on with Clara in the park the previous week.
But then he remembered the fire, and his father’s anguish afterwards as they fled the estate. He had to hold firm. He was certain that his father had been treated unjustly, and they had both been forced into penury and suffering as a result. Hurting Alice was not what he wanted, but he could see no other way to achieve his goal of revenge.
He swallowed and tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest that he felt when he looked at her.
Tea was over, and it was time to take his leave. “You must forgive me, ladies, but I have some business to attend to this evening.” He stood up and smoothed down his frock coat. “Miss Dunberry, you must tell me when you are next free to accompany me for a walk. I should very much like to explore the park with you again soon.”
A tiny crease of a frown crossed Alice’s brow. “I’m sorry to tell you that I am leaving tomorrow for Bath, for a house party. I shall be away for two weeks.”
Benedict felt his heart sink like a stone. Two weeks! He did not have two weeks to waste! He tried to disguise his panic. “I am very sorry to hear that,” he said slowly. He moved a little closer to her, hoping that Lady Danneville would not be able to hear what he said next. “I confess, Alice, that I shall miss you. But I hope that you have a lovely time at the party. Tell me, who is your lucky host?”
She blushed and looked up at him, her blue eyes shining. He had no doubt, now, of her feelings for him. But two weeks was too risky—someone else might fall for her while she was away, then all would be lost. He prayed that she would now reveal whose home she was visiting; then at least he had a chance of taking some action to manage the situation.
“The house party is to be at the home of Lord and Lady Hutington,” she said. “I am very lucky to be invited, but I will be pleased to see you again when I return home again.”
He held her gaze. “Two weeks is a very long time.”
Her cheeks flushed even more deeply and he took a step back, wary of going too far when Lady Danneville was still in the room. “I shall take my leave of you now, ladies,” he said, bowing low. “Thank you for a delicious tea, and a most pleasant afternoon.”
As he left the house, his mind was whirring. He knew that there was only one person who could help him now. His most trusted friend Cecil. He began to walk quickly in the direction of his friend’s lodgings, hoping against hope to find him at home.
***
“You want me to secure an invitation for us to the Hutington house party?” Cecil said slowly, taking a sip from his cup of coffee and staring incredulously at Benedict across the table.
They were sitting in the front parlor of Cecil’s lodgings, and Benedict had just told him that Alice was going to be leaving London for the next two weeks.
