Love in the Time of Scandal (22 page)

Penelope searched his face for a moment. “What did he do to you?”

“Anything he pleased.”

“How bad?” she whispered.

Benedict sighed. “Whippings. Scathing lectures. Confinement to my room with only bread and water.” He released her and ran his hands over his face. “Suspension of allowance. Words with my superior officers. He once canceled my lodgings at university so I’d have to live in the charity ward for a term. He made me sack servants who had been with the family for years. When I returned the guineas Samantha took, he told me to leave his house, and when I told him I was married—without his permission and blessing—he banned me from the grounds and forbade me to visit my mother.”

“But now he can’t do anything to you,” she said slowly. “Because . . .”

“Because I married you.” He touched her face, unspeakably relieved when she let him. It gave him a jolt to realize that he’d feared she would recoil in disgust or horror.

Her eyes were shadowed. “But you would have preferred Abby or Frances Lockwood.”

“No,” he murmured, drawing her closer. “I would have regretted it to the end of my days.”

“Both of them would have been deferential and polite to your father.”

“Neither of them would have made me want to give a huzzah like you did tonight.”

She raised her brows. “When was that?”

“When you told him you look forward to seeing him tomorrow.” He brushed his lips against her. “No—I think it was when you said you wouldn’t let him bully you.” He slid his arm around her waist. “Actually, I think it might be right this moment . . .”

She framed his face in her hands. “He won’t bully either of us. Promise me.”

He had endured the earl’s tyrannical demands his entire life, not only for his own actions but to spare his mother and sisters. None of them had ever told him to stand up to Stratford. On the contrary, they had all begged him at various times not to provoke his father’s temper. Penelope didn’t know the earl, but that left her unafraid of him. Even though he knew a little fear could be a good thing when it came to Stratford, her undaunted spirit brought a smile to his face. “I promise.”

Chapter 21

D
espite Benedict’s fervent hopes, his father called on them the next day.

“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 the
Diana
. 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 quiet
tsk
and 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.

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?”