Page 61 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Benedict felt as if he’d just been smacked in the face. Samantha gasped softly, and Gray’s face grew dark. Penelope smiled her sunny smile as if the earl had just paid her a lavish compliment, and dipped a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, my lord. I’m very honored to receive your blessing on our marriage.”
Stratford’s mouth firmed. Benedict was torn between wanting to applaud his wife’s response and the urge to whisk her away before the earl could berate her for impertinence. “I had not thought it would take this long to give it.”
Penelope nodded sympathetically. “We were so sorry you and Lady Stratford didn’t attend the wedding. I hope to make her ladyship’s acquaintance soon.”
Samantha was staring at Penelope in wide-eyed awe, Gray in open approval. Far from being cowed or even muted by the earl’s presence, Penelope seemed more fearless than ever. Every word she said was utterly true, perfectly polite, and absolutely guaranteed to infuriate Stratford. He preferred people respectful and accommodating, and instead Penelope had just told a garden of people that Stratford hadn’t approved his own son’s wedding. Benedict considered waiting for the earl’s reply, but the watching assembly of guests dissuaded him. At least in public, he preferred to maintain some civility. “Has Mother accompanied you to town, Father?”
Stratford watched Penelope with a curious expression. Benedict had long been a student of his father’s expressions, attuned to any clue to his mood, and he had no idea what this one meant. It was unnerving. “She has not.”
“What a terrible pity,” Samantha put in, catching his eye. She was trying to follow his lead. “I hope Mother is well?”
“Yes.”
Thankfully the butler rushed up, walking as fast as he could without running. “My lord, my lady, dinner is ready.”
“Excellent!” declared Gray at once, giving Benedict the strong impression that he’d sent the butler off to rush dinner along as soon as Stratford appeared. He had noted the way his brother-in-law stepped in front of Samantha as the earl approached, and the way he kept her close to his side. “Crawley, set another place next to mine for Lord Stratford.”
Stratford’s smile was cold. “That won’t be necessary. I will dine at my club.” He glanced at Penelope again. “I shall call upon you tomorrow, Lady Atherton.”
“Of course!” She beamed at him again. “I look forward to it, sir.”
“It would be our pleasure,” added Benedict evenly. “Until tomorrow, Father.”
A muscle twitched in the earl’s jaw. Without a word he bowed, turned on his heel, and left.
No one spoke until he was gone. Samantha let out her breath. “What does he really want?”
Benedict felt Penelope at his side. Somehow he had a bad feeling Stratford had come because of her, although he couldn’t see any reason for that. “I expect we’ll find out tomorrow,” she said, seemingly unconcerned. “Is he always so stern and grim?”
Samantha shuddered. “No,” she murmured. “Sometimes he’s worse.”
“Enough about him.” Gray took her hand again. “I refuse to let him ruin this evening. Shall we go in? I told Crawford to announce dinner even if it was still raw from the butcher, but I am personally quite ready for the wine.”
Samantha’s worried gaze flitted around, taking in her curious, expectant guests. She gave a strained smile. “I am as well. Perhaps we could begin with a toast in the drawing room to give Cook a little more time for dinner.”
“Wine sounds ideal,” said Benedict. “But would you allow us a few moments alone?”
His sister nodded, and he seized his wife’s hand. Through the garden, into the house, into a small salon away from any prying ears. He closed the door and paced the length of the room, plowing his shaking hands into his hair. “I hope you didn’t provoke him.”
“Oh,” she said airily, “no more than he provoked me, I’m sure.”
Benedict looked at her in amazement. “What? Why, Penelope?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, obviously struggling to choose the right words. “Do I understand this correctly? Your father arrives, unannounced and uninvited, well into the evening, to look me up and down like a piece of furniture. He deliberately insults me, by your admission. He slights Samantha and Gray in their own home. He announces he will call upon us tomorrow, and then he walks out after barely acknowledging the invitation to stay to dine. And I’m the one at fault? Was I not polite?”
“That’s not the question,” he began.
“What ought I to have done?” she exclaimed. “Cowered in fear and whispered my thanks when he deigned to glance at me? That’s not my nature.”
“I know.” He sighed and reached for her. “But it would have been better—”
She stepped back out of his reach. “Better? So he would think he can bully me as he’s done to you?”
Benedict stood motionless, his hand still outstretched. “I will never let him touch you.”
“Then I regret nothing. Perhaps it’s time someone stood up to him.”
He gave a bitter laugh and let his arm drop. “‘Perhaps it’s time.’ As if no one else has ever tried.”
