Page 53 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“No.”
She glanced at him. “Your father’s not a very kind man, is he?”
“No,” he agreed shortly.
“What did he do?” she asked, her voice very carefully neutral. He could tell now when she wasn’t being completely herself. “You tried to prevent Samantha from telling me and Abby the truth. You said you expected to be horsewhipped for helping us. You—”
“I didn’t know exactly what Samantha would confess,” he interrupted. “I didn’t know it was about the money. I thought—I feared she had planned to elope with Sebastian. If our father had heard that confession, I shudder to think what he would have done to her.” Penelope gave him a sideways look, as if wondering whether he was exaggerating or not, and Benedict said a silent curse. There was no way to put it off. “You suspect me of being a terrible friend, not without cause. You believe I turned my back on Sebastian for years, and you’re right. But the more complete truth is that my father—” He stopped, at a loss to explain something he’d never before put into words.
“I know he despises Sebastian,” Penelope said. “That much was clear.”
He smiled grimly. “He does. He ignored our friendship when we were young—I suppose it was too trivial for him to worry about—but when Mr. Vane went mad, my father lost all tolerance for the Vanes. Madness taints the blood, therefore the son must be avoided as well. Sebastian had gone into the army by then. When old Mr. Vane came around begging to sell his lands, my father was only too happy to relieve him of the property.”
“Begging?” she repeated, her voice rising.
He gave a brusque nod. “For a pittance. Mr. Vane was mad, Penelope. He looked like a wild man and spoke to people who weren’t there. He pleaded with my father to take the land.”
“Who could take advantage of a man in such a state?”
“A man who has no pity for others.” He gave her a very serious look of warning. “I mean that. Stratford has none.”
She frowned. “But why did you defend him when Sebastian appealed to you for help?”
This, he realized, was the real sticking point for her. A woman who went to a friend’s aid and kept her secret, even when it rebounded disastrously on her, would not understand why he’d acted that way. “If I had taken Sebastian’s side, what could I have achieved? Protesting to my father would not have changed his mind, and would only have made him angry with me. On the other hand, agreeing with Sebastian would only have encouragedhimto continue asking, which I knew would be pointless. You have to understand,” he said, seeing her frown deepen, “Sebastian didn’t make the most diplomatic approach. He arrived in a state of outrage, and it only got worse. There is one way to handle my father, and arguinganythingisn’t part of it.”
“But you could have let Sebastian know you disagreed!” she exclaimed. “You could have explained to him that you knew he was right, but his cause was hopeless...”
Benedict tried not to feel a surge of resentment. Why did she ask if she didn’t want to know the truth? But perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised; how could Penelope understand what Stratford was like? Her father was of a far different breed. Thomas Weston had given in when Abigail wanted to marry the penniless son of a madman. Neither of Benedict’s sisters would have dared broach such an unthinkable request with the earl. Indeed, Elizabeth’s first choice of husband had been summarily rejected because he was merely a gentleman, even though one of excellent family and handsome fortune. She’d pleaded with Stratford to reconsider, gently, nervously, and been confined to her room with only bread and water for a week. Benedict remembered it well, for he’d been whipped for sneaking her a pair of oranges.
This was why he never told anyone about his family. No one else quite understood, or even knew, the firmness of the earl’s resolve or the quickness of his temper. And really, what did it matter to Penelope? Stratford had banished him for marrying a woman of common origins; there was no reason to bring the two of them together. It wouldn’t change Stratford’s mind—nothing did—and Benedict’s lot was cast with his wife. To his mind, it was better for everyone if Penelope and Stratford never met.
“Perhaps I could have,” he said at last, answering her demand about Sebastian. “Perhaps I should have. But I didn’t, and I can’t change it now.”
“Weren’t you sorry at the time? He was your friend,” she went on in growing agitation. “When he needed you to support him, you told him his father was a madman and deserved what he got. You abandoned him!”
For some reason that snapped his temper. Sebastian Vane has his own wife to stand up for him; why must Benedict’s wife do the same? “I? He abandoned me first,” he retorted. “He bought a commission and rode off with his regiment. What was I to do? Does nothing change in three years? He was not the same when he returned home, and neither was I. He never asked for my help, before he came to Stratford Court. I would have told him not to come, but once he had done it and enraged my father, yes, I knew he had wrought his own fate. It might—might—have been possible to wrest the land back from my father, over time, with the right persuasion, but after the blazing row they had...” He shook his head. “My father wouldn’t sell it back to him now for all the paintings in Rome. Yes, I thought it was kinder not to leave Sebastian any hope of regaining that land, because he has none.”
“But he told people Sebastian was a thief,” she said, although with less indignation than before. “And you didn’t say a word of protest...”
“Who would have believed me?” She had let go of his arm some time ago. Now Benedict backed away from her and threw out his arms wide. “If I had gone around Richmond telling people Sebastian was innocent, it would have been the same as calling my father a liar—and I had no proof of anything, mind. I would have been caned within an inch of my life for such disrespect. Until a few weeks ago, I had no idea where the money was. For all I knew, Sebastian did take it. He threatened something very like that, you know; I heard with my own ears. He shouted that ‘Stratford would pay’ for swindling his father out of that land. He might as well have slapped a glove in my father’s face and called him out, Penelope.”
Her eyes were perfectly round. For once it seemed she had nothing to say. He sighed and dropped his arms. “I don’t mean to shout at you,” he said wearily. “You don’t know my father. And to be honest, I hope you never do.” Still she stared at him, not cowed but decidedly taken aback. He looked over his shoulder. The handsome little house Gray had bought for his sister was visible across the street. “Here is Samantha’s house. Let’s go in and see one decent member of my family.”
Chapter 18
Penelope really didn’t want to pay a call after that conversation, but Benedict seemed determined. He rapped the knocker and stepped back to her side. As he did so, everything about him changed. She noticed it because she was still staring at him in confused anger and hurt. His shoulders went back, and his spine straightened. All hint of tension and displeasure dropped away, and he looked as serene and composed as the King out taking a walk.
Penelope was flabbergasted. They had been arguing, heatedly, just a few minutes ago. He’d raised his voice and told her off. Now it was as if the conversation never happened.
“Is Lady George in?” he asked the servant who opened the door.
“Yes, my lord.” The man held the door wide.
He left them waiting in a small parlor. Benedict strolled to the window and appeared fascinated by whatever was outside. Penelope fidgeted with a button on her glove, not sure what to say. Perhaps it was for the best that she keep quiet; everything she said today seemed to be wrong. Hadn’t Mama warned her that she must overcome her tendency to speak her mind, and become more sensitive to those around her? Abigail had told her Benedict’s father whipped him. Penelope had seen with her own eyes how cold and uncaring the earl was. It was hard to think of anyone choosing Lord Stratford over Sebastian, who was as decent and kind as the earl was not, but Lord Stratford was Benedict’s father. It was very easy for her to choose, but perhaps not for him—and she’d only thought of that too late. She slipped the button through its silk loop, then back again. She ought to join a convent, one with a vow of silence.
After a few minutes the footman returned. “My lady asks you to join her in the dining room, my lord.”
“Ah, the mural,” murmured Benedict as they followed the footman. He once again offered his arm, and Penelope, feeling like a very poor wife, took it. If he wanted to present a facade of marital contentment, so be it. “Samantha said Gray was threatening to paint one.”
