Page 63 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“I have come to issue an invitation,” the earl announced almost as soon as they had uttered the usual niceties. “To Stratford Court. As Lady Atherton, you will be the next mistress there. I hope you will fill the role creditably.”
“Goodness,” said Penelope in overly solicitous tones. “What are the qualifications for the position?”
Stratford paused. Benedict waited with interest. “Poise. Beauty. A gracious, retiring manner.” His dark, thin smile flashed for a moment. “But no; those were my qualifications for a countess. My son must have others.”
As if she didn’t feel the sting in his words, Penelope simply gave a sparkling smile. “Indeed he did! He told me himself exactly the sort of bride he had in mind, and I don’t recall any of those qualities.”
Oh God. Benedict tensed as his father’s cold, faintly pitying gaze moved to him. “My only memory of that conversation is the realization that you surpassed every ideal I had, my dear,” he said lightly.
She laughed. “Goodness, you’ll make me blush, sir!”
“Surely he did not intend to do that. It would be unseemly to embarrass a lady.” Stratford turned back to Penelope. “You will be welcome to visit Stratford Court tomorrow. I am prepared to convey you there on my yacht.”
Benedict’s tension grew worse at this inexplicable command. The yacht was one of the earl’s most treasured possessions. It was sleek and fast, and Stratford had won many a race with it; others were rarely invited aboard. That Stratford had come to London specially to offer to sail them to Richmond boggled his mind. It also alarmed him. His father’s attention had been fixed on Penelope in a surprising and unsettling way, and he wanted to refuse the invitation just for that reason.
But his wife seemed to have no inkling of his unease. “How very kind and thoughtful,” she exclaimed. “Is it a pleasure boat or a racing craft?”
Few things annoyed the earl more than hearing his yacht called a common boat. “It is for my personal pleasure,” he replied thinly, “although it is quite fast as well.”
“It’s rather late in the season for sailing,” Benedict said, trying to squelch the idea. “Lady Atherton would be more comfortable in a carriage.”
His father turned to him, his expression like granite. Benedict felt the wild elation of knowing the earl could not compel him to travel by yacht, as he once would have done. “I would be pleased to have your company aboard theDiana. Lady Stratford is most eager to make your bride’s acquaintance.”
The mention of his mother was deliberate, and unfortunately effective. He tried to ignore it. “And I’m keenly anticipating the chance to present my wife to her again. Perhaps in a few weeks we shall be able to make a visit.”
Because he was so attuned to it, he noticed his father’s furious disbelief at this response. The earl’s breathing paused for a moment before growing deeper and more controlled. He flexed his hands, lying flat on his knees, until they looked like claws. Not a muscle moved in his face. But when he spoke his voice was as even and commanding as before. “This week would better suit. Tomorrow, in fact.” He turned back to Penelope as if probing for weakness.
Penelope’s gaze flickered toward Benedict, but to her credit she didn’t quail from the earl’s intense stare. “I would hate to give any offense. But we could only manage a short visit at this time, and I fear it would be insufficient to make Lady Stratford’s closer acquaintance.”
Stratford bared his teeth in a victorious smile. “I am sure you can arrange something later, as a filial obligation to her ladyship. I depart tomorrow from the dock above Vauxhall.”
“It is kind of you to be so eager to welcome me to the family seat...” Again Penelope looked toward Benedict.
He could hardly say that Stratford’s veneer of solicitous attention was what made him want to deny it. Stratford never did anything without a reason, a reason that was generally calculated to benefit himself and very rarely took any account of the impact on others. For some unknown motive, Stratford wanted them to sail with him to Richmond, although Benedict was unable to think of a single good explanation. That could only be an ill omen, and he had learned too well that ignoring those omens was extremely foolish.
But Penelope didn’t know that, and now the earl turned her words on him. “Surely you don’t want to disappoint your mother,” he said, watching Benedict like a bird of prey. “After the way she worries about you...” He made a quiettskand shook his head. “When she only wants to see that you have made an agreeable match.”
Now he didn’t know what to think. He had promised his mother that the marriage was his choice—even desire—and that was more true than ever. His instinct said that the earl didn’t care one whit what the countess worried, and this was merely a way to manipulate him into capitulating. But... he hadn’t received a single letter from his mother since his visit to Stratford Court. That was unusual; she wrote to him once a month, even when he was out of the earl’s favor. Her letters were mundane, polite accounts, but they let him know she was well. He was somewhat ashamed to realize he hadn’t thought of his mother much lately; he’d been too distracted... and consumed... by his bride. “As ever, I’m deeply moved by her concern for my happiness. I hope you will assure her that I am very content.” He glanced at Penelope. “We shall make a proper visit to Richmond in a few weeks, since Lady Atherton also has family there.”
Stratford’s anger was nearly a halo around him. “You are refusing to come, then.”
“I’m delighted to be invited,” he began, but his father cut him off.
“No, I see you are not.” He gave Benedict the contemptuous look that never failed to make his skin crawl. “Perhaps my invitation was an insult to your new status. Perhaps you have forgotten your family duties, as soon as your family connections helped you wed an heiress. Perhaps you no longer need or care for a mother’s tender feelings, now that you have a wife to comfort you. I shan’t impose on you again, Lord Atherton.” He said the last with an acid edge, a pointed reminder that he himself was the true Viscount Atherton; Benedict only used the title by courtesy of being his heir.
Benedict said a dozen curses inside his head. What to do? He was being manipulated again, despite all his resolve and efforts to put himself beyond the earl’s reach. He could give in now, or risk never being allowed to see his mother again. Would Stratford stick to it? He’d never threatened it before. He glanced at Penelope, trying to buy a little time. She had grown quiet during the increasingly tense exchange, but her eyes were alert and wary. It was almost a relief to see. Perhaps now she would understand a little better about his father. This was one of the few times Benedict could recall the earl showing his true colors to someone outside the contained world of Stratford Court.
“It’s a very kind invitation,” he said, still trying to delay. “The sudden notice gives me pause, not the visit itself. There are some matters I must attend to, and others I must put off if I’m to leave town for a few days. Will you allow me a day to make arrangements?” A day to analyze the offer for any hidden traps, and the chance to refuse by letter instead of in person.
He ought to have known better. Any sign of wavering was a sign of weakness, and the earl pounced on it. “Of course,” he said with exaggerated civility. “A day to examine your fidelity to your birthright; a day to delay disappointing your mother and refusing your father. I understand perfectly.”
Benedict clenched his teeth even as he smiled. “I knew you would. I’m no longer a bachelor, free to follow my whims. I have financial affairs to manage and servants to instruct. And, as you have noted, I have a wife to consider now. She hasn’t had time to plan for a trip to Stratford Court, and I wouldn’t want her to be inadequately prepared for her first official visit as the future mistress.”
There was nothing Stratford could say to any of that, and they both knew it. Stratford gave him an icy look before turning to Penelope. “Nor would I ask it of you, my dear. But I assure you that you need not worry about ceremony overmuch in this instance.” Another rapier-sharp glance at Benedict. “After all, we are family.”
“We are indeed.” Penelope rose to her feet, and the gentlemen followed. She gave the earl another dazzling smile. “You are so considerate to indulge my female vanity. I would be mortified to arrive ill prepared and unable to do credit to the Stratford name.”
“No doubt,” said the earl dryly. Benedict wondered again how his father was able to stand all Penelope’s praise of his finer feelings—feelings he knew very well the earl did not possess, or wish to possess. Stratford bowed. “I depart for Richmond tomorrow afternoon. I trust you will see fit to join me, Lady Atherton.” Without another glance at his son, he left.
