Page 64 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Neither moved until they heard the door below close behind him. Benedict let out his breath and dropped back into his chair, rubbing his hands over his face.
Penelope went to the window. “He’s gone,” she reported. “What an odd call.”
He closed his eyes. That didn’t begin to describe it.
His wife’s hand on his arm made him start. “Is that the way he usually is?”
Benedict gave a short, bitter laugh. “No, that was exceedingly kind and solicitous, compared to how he usually is.” He met her eyes. “He’s very interested in you.”
His somber air weighed down the words. She didn’t make a face or roll her eyes. “Why?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” Absently he took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her ring. “I fear it’s not a kindly interest.”
A faint frown touched her brow. “Then what? Would he not want me to be presented to your mother?”
“I doubt he much cares one way or the other,” he said, still thinking about the earl’s demeanor. “The last time I saw him, he threw me out and said I wasn’t to come back, even under pretense of visiting her. If he didn’t want us there, nothing she said would matter.”
“Perhaps he really worries I’ll be a terrible countess,” she ventured. “Perhaps it’s pride, and he wants your mother to instruct me...”
Slowly he shook his head. “Possibly, but that wouldn’t be enough for him to come to London himself—and to take us on the yacht, no less. The yacht is his private sphere. I’ve only been on it twice, and my sisters have never been invited aboard.”
“Never?” Her voice rose in astonishment.
“He’s not like your father,” he told her. “Daughters are not important to him. The yacht is.”
Her mouth thinned. “If you wish to tell him no, I have no objection.”
“That would bring its own consequences.” But what were the consequences of saying yes? That was a harder question to answer, and this time it involved not just himself but Penelope.
Her fingers squeezed around his, lightly. She didn’t say anything. Benedict realized he was slipping back into the habit of keeping his thoughts to himself. “It strikes me as odd because he was not overly pleased by our marriage.” He hesitated, then decided it was time to bare all. “He disdains your entire family; your father made his fortune, which is not a gentlemanly thing to do, even though that fortune is the only thing—in my father’s opinion—that renders your family even marginally acceptable. And I married you without asking for his approval. He prefers a world of pride and privilege where all defer to him. He refused to let Elizabeth marry her first choice of suitor, and he only agreed to permit Samantha’s marriage when Gray’s father, the Duke of Rowland, intervened. For his heir to wed a girl he didn’t prefer, let alone approve of, is unthinkable.”
“Then why are you considering capitulating to his demand?”
It was the concern in her voice that got him. That note of compassion and worry slid through his guard and nicked him where he had no defenses. It meant she believed him, and more important, she supported him. Wordlessly he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “My mother is not the same as he is,” Benedict said in a low voice. “She is kind and loving, and I can’t leave her to face his temper. He’s never struck her, but... There are other ways to wound and cripple a soul, and Stratford excels at them all.”
They sat in silence for several minutes. When he finally dared steal a peek at her face, Penelope wore her deep thinking expression. Her gaze was focused on their linked hands with an unusual intensity, and there was a determined set to her jaw. “Do you think your mother would want us to go?” she asked.
“She would be delighted to make your acquaintance. Stratford was correct to say she worries about me, and about my sisters. Her greatest concern when I told her of our marriage was that I be happy with the match.” He shook his head. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she has no idea my father extended an invitation. He doesn’t consult her on things like that.”
“Then perhaps we should go for her sake. I am perfectly capable of withstanding your father’s disdain for a few days, and we can always decamp to Montrose Hill or even Hart House, although it’s been closed up for the winter.” She met his astonished gaze evenly. “It would be cruel to subject her to any more of that man’s displeasure, and if we refuse, he’ll have no one but her to take out his temper on, will he?”
For the first time, Benedict felt utterly unworthy of his bride. Here was her principled loyalty, extending not just to himself but to his mother, a woman she’d met only once, under difficult circumstances. “Penelope...”
“But I refuse to let that man browbeat me,” she went on. “I cannot promise to hold my tongue if he’s rude and belittles me or anyone I care about. You should know that before you send him your answer.”
Slowly his mouth curved. “I never thought to ask you to.” He tilted his head to look at her. “Do you mind going by river?”
“And miss out on what may be my only chance to sail aboard the exclusive Stratford yacht?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “How could one possibly chance it?”
Benedict laughed. She grinned back. “Thank you,” he said on impulse.
“For warning you I may give a smart answer?” She pursed up her mouth in that kissable way. “Are you certain you wish to encourage such behavior?”
“I know you won’t do it lightly,” he answered. “And I’ve been warned for some time now. I like your smart mouth.”
A sly smile played around her lips. “You didn’t always.”
“I’ve come to see the advantages.” He leaned toward her. “Shall I describe them?”
