Page 46 of Scars of a Passionate Revenge
Benedict nodded and did as he was told, quietly marveling at how quickly things could swing into place in a house as grand as this, to help a gentleman to achieve their desires.
He stood in the drawing room, gratefully sipping a cup of hot coffee, and staring out of the window as the sun rose behind the trees at the far end of the estate. The sky was a burnt orange, with deep purple and blue hues. He wished, for a painful moment, that he was still lying in that clearing with Alice, watching the dawn.
When she had told him she loved him, his heart had melted, and he had replied to her with his own feelings too, without even thinking. It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world and a strange hope had filled him, before the moment was destroyed by what she said next.
But now, that sense of hope began to return. It had not been a lie, when he had told her that he loved her. He saw that now. And that, of course, was the reason why his heart had balked so very hard against the act of betrayal he had been planning to carry out against her, to get his revenge on her father.
Maybe, though, there was more to it than met the eye. Perhaps there had been some kind of misunderstanding, some kind of mistake. What she had said about the head groom and his report of events all seemed too simplistic. Perhaps there was some hidden truth that he could be on the verge of discovering, which would allow him to release his need for revenge? And then perhaps he could enjoy a wonderful life, with the woman he loved by his side.
He shook his head, forcing such fantastical thoughts out of his mind. He had to focus, and not get carried away. The most likely explanation was that the baron had betrayed his father, just as he had always believed. But soon, he would know the truth.
***
It was a hard journey from Bath to London, and even though he had barely slept for almost two days now, Benedict resolved to go straight to the baron’s house. He knew that if he went to his own house to rest and refresh himself, it was more than likely that he would fall asleep, thus further delaying the discovery of the truth. No, he had waited long enough.
He found himself on the doorstep of the baron’s grand London house. He felt a flicker of nerves as he waited for someone to answer the door. He wondered if he would ever feel quite at home in such grand surroundings, or if he would always feel like an imposter.
The door swung open, the butler standing in the doorway. “Mr. Fletcher,” he said with a bow. “What a surprise to see you.” He looked him up and down and quirked an eyebrow. “Miss Dunberry is not at home, I am sorry to tell you.”
Benedict cleared his throat. He was rather impressed that the man even remembered his name. “I would like to see the baron, if he is at home.”
The butler nodded. “Please, come inside.”
Benedict was shown into the drawing room, but nothing further was said. He still did not know if the baron was at home, or the baroness, or if he was any closer to discovering what had really happened all those years ago.
A maid brought in a tray with some tea, and he helped himself to a cup, finding that he was grateful for the sustenance, after such a long journey with scarcely any time to rest or take refreshment. He paced up and down the room anxiously, waiting for something to happen.
A little while later, the maid returned to refresh the hot water on the tea tray. Benedict seized the opportunity to try and find out what was happening. “Miss, I am sorry to trouble you, but do you happen to know if the baroness is at home?”
She looked up at him, her startled brown eyes staring out at him from beneath her cap “I believe she is out on an errand, Sir, and due back very soon.” She dropped a curtsy then hurried from the room, almost before Benedict had time to thank her.
He continued to wait in the drawing room, growing increasingly impatient with the sense of powerlessness he felt. It was just like these people to keep him waiting, standing around in their grand room, not able to do anything to move things forward. He felt like storming out in an impotent rage, but he knew that would not achieve anything. He would have to wait it out. Surely, they couldn’t leave him standing around there all day?
Eventually, after he did not know how long, the door swung open, and the baroness entered the room. She was wearing a very elaborate outfit—he scarcely even knew how to describe it—and when her eyes fell upon him, she looked at him with barely disguised disdain.
“Mr. Fletcher,” she said, with a forced smile. “It is very pleasant to see you, although I am sure that Smith has already told you that Miss Dunberry is away from home at present?”
Benedict nodded impatiently. “I am not here to see Miss Dunberry.” His thoughts flew back to the moment when he had kissed her in the woods, the previous night, when everything had seemed so simple. He wished that he was back there now, and not having to face reality in such a brutal way. “I wanted to see the baron, but no one has been able to tell me whether he is at home.”
The baroness shook her head. “I am afraid that will not be possible,” she replied. “He is currently resting. As I am sure you know, he has been unwell for some time, and his physician has recommended that he gets as much rest as possible.”
Benedict let out a sigh. What was he going to do now? He was determined to find out the truth today, if it was the last thing he did. He decided, almost on impulse, to reveal his motivations to the baroness. After all, what did he have to lose, now?
“Let me tell you why I am here, My Lady,” he began. “I have wondered for a while now how it is that you do not recognize me, but I suppose that I was beneath your notice all those years ago.”
He watched her face for a trace of a reaction, but she remained impassive, so he continued. “I am Benedict Fletcher, as well you know. But what you do not know, or at least you pretend not to know, is that my father, Daniel Fletcher, once worked on this estate, as the estate manager.
But he was dismissed very suddenly, having been accused of a terrible crime, which I know he did not commit. And it is my intention to find out what really happened, the night of the fire. You may remember it?”
Her face changed, then, and he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, before she blinked rapidly, seeming to attempt to regain her composure. “Well, Mr. Fletcher, what a surprise to learn of your heritage. I am sure, though, that I know nothing about the night you are talking of. And really, you should leave now. The baron will not be awake for some time, so there is no point in you wasting your time here.”
Benedict shook his head. “I am in no rush today, Madam.” He crossed the room and sat down on an armchair, spreading his hands over his knees. “I will wait until the baron is awake.”
The baroness stared at him. “A man such as you cannot waste hours waiting for an old man to wake from his nap. You must have more important things to do. I remember you talking of all your investments and business interests. Surely you have better things to do than sit around here all day?”
Benedict could see the fear and discomfort plainly on her face now. He knew there was some hidden secret that she was not prepared to divulge, that she was perhaps too frightened to admit. Now was not the time to give way. He would hold firm. “No, My Lady. I am quite at ease.” He leaned back in his chair, fully aware that his relaxed demeanor would only cause her to experience further discomfort.
She shook her head. “Well, if you insist, then I shall ask a maid to send you some more tea. But you must prepare yourself for a long wait.”
