Page 24 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Chapter 9
Benedict’s sense that his encounter with Penelope would yield an unexpected opportunity was confirmed within a day.
It was not, however, the one he had expected.
“Atherton, you sly dog.” Hollander sidled up to him in the officers’ common room the next night. “Very cleverly done.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” he replied, pouring a glass of port.
Hollander snorted. “No idea! You were so indignant:I refuse to discuss a lady!” He chuckled. “Now I see why—but good Lord, you might have let some of us in on the secret.”
“Is it secret?” Benedict sipped his port, pretending not to care even as his attention sharpened.
“Not any longer.” Hollander glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “The rumors are true, aren’t they? You certainly seemed eager to squash Cabot’s interest in her the other night.”
Benedict lifted one shoulder. His mind raced; what were these rumors about Penelope? He’d expected there would be some—it was too much to hope that both Mrs. Lockwood and Frances would be completely discreet—but from Hollander’s avid expression, they were more salacious than expected.
As expected, his disinterest provoked his fellow officer. “You won’t say?” Hollander’s eyebrows went up. “Ah, I see. You’ve enjoyed her and don’t want any competition, do you?”
“Competition at what?” Cabot dropped into the chair opposite Benedict. He looked between the two of them. “What are you whispering about, Hollander?”
“Atherton put one over on all of us, it seems,” the man replied, never taking his eyes from Benedict’s face. “Not very sporting of him. I daresay he’s been having the Weston girl all this time, and warning the rest of us off to preserve his place between her—”
Benedict was out of his chair and had the man by his collar. “Not one more word,” he said through his teeth.
Cabot seized his arm and hauled him back. “Bloody hell, Atherton! You can’t attack a Guardsman!”
Benedict released his fellow officer with a small shove and glanced around the room. Hollander’s eyes were wide, but his mouth curved in a slow, delighted smile. Everyone had gone silent, staring at them in a mixture of astonishment and anticipation. He straightened his shoulders and kept his voice low. “That’s arrant nonsense, Hollander, and I’ll thank you not to repeat it.”
Hollander smirked as he got to his feet. “That you’ve been having her, or that you’re warning us lot off?”
“Having who?” asked Cabot. His face blanked. “You don’t mean—?”
“The Weston girl. It turns out she’s even less a lady than she pretends.”
Cabot gaped a moment before recovering himself. He waved them toward the door. “Step outside, gentlemen. This is a private conversation,” he barked as men started to follow them. “Are you brawling over a woman?” he demanded once they reached the courtyard.
“Not brawling at all,” said Benedict in a flat tone. “Hollander’s gossiping like an old woman.”
“Oh?” The corporal leaned forward, arms folded over his chest. “Have you heard that gossip? Every woman and man, young or old, will be repeating it soon.”
“No, what is it?” asked Cabot, to Benedict’s private relief. He was dying to know but did not want to ask.
“That Penelope Weston is little more than a whore,” replied Hollander. “They say she can be tumbled for the asking, at any ball or rout. They say she left a rout early the other night, in significant dishabille, after a particularly vigorous rendezvous.” He stared defiantly at Benedict, who somehow managed to keep his own expression fixed and unresponsive.
Cabot frowned. “Are you sure? That sounds unlikely. She’s an heiress, and a pretty one at that.”
Hollander shrugged. “She’s no lady.”
“And the only two things a female can be are a lady or a whore?” Benedict asked coldly. It took some doing to keep his fists at his sides, even though he doubted Hollander was really the one to blame for this.
“Just reporting what I was told,” retorted Hollander.
“Peace!” Lieutenant Cabot threw up his hands. “Hollander, that’s a vile thing to say about any woman without hard proof. Atherton...” He hesitated. “Don’t strike him for repeating gossip, no matter how unbecoming it may be for an officer of the Guards to repeat such sensational and defaming whispers.” He glared at Hollander. “Good night, sir.”
Hollander snorted and walked away. When the door of the barracks had closed behind him, Cabot turned to Benedict. “Not after the girl, eh?”
He flexed his hands. They were stiff from being clenched into fists. “Not willing to be labeled a despoiler of young women, no.”
