Much Ado about the Shrew (22 page)

           
Lennox gave a loud,
"Pshaw!" and Ben saw him rolling his eyes. "Thank you, my dear.
I will leave them on this table, here? And perhaps you can tell the housekeeper
where they are, then?"

           
The maid looked to Lennox, and then
to Ben. "If you wish,
m'lord
," she said.

           
"I do wish," Ben said.
"Thank you." The maid blushed and scurried from the room, giving
Lennox a wide berth, Ben noticed.

           
"Always flirt with the
help?" Lennox said sarcastically. Ben noticed his brogue had been tamped
back down with his anger.

           
Ben shrugged. "Beats scaring
them half to death, I dare say."

           
"Depends upon the
situation," Milford noted.

           
"Now just look right
here," Lennox started, but Ben held up a hand. "Let us not continue
our fight just yet," he said, taking care to stay out of Lennox's arm
range. "I do believe we have a young maiden to rescue."

           
"And just how do you intend to
do that?" Lennox asked, his eyes narrowing.

           
Ben looked up, and pushed the book
he was holding into Lennox's hands. "I believe these hold the key, my
man," he said, and proceeded to grab a handful the maid had left on the
table. He thrust them into Lennox's arms before he could protest.
 

           
"How are these books going to
keep Bee from marrying Surrey?
 
Or bring
her back from whatever hell you put her in?"

           
Ben forced his own guilt down at
Lennox's words.
 
This was not the time to
wallow, but to act. "These," he said, brandishing a book, "are
romances. Some excellent examples of penmanship, some, well, I have to agree
with Bee; these penny
dreadfuls
are most likely
trash."

           
"I must have hit you harder
than I thought," Lennox muttered.

           
"Some of them are quite
tolerable," Milford said, then when Lennox and Ben looked over at him, he
looked surprised. "What? There's nothing wrong with enjoying a novel or
two."

           
"Which of these are good?"
Ben asked Milford, his eyes sparking.

           
Milford frowned. "Not
those," he said of the ones that Ben was currently holding.

           
"This is a waste of time,"
Lennox said.

           
"You apparently do not read
many novels," Ben said, shifting through a few of the books.
 
He picked up two titles and, upon Milford's
nod, added them to the pile Lennox was carrying.
 

           
"No," Lennox said with a
low undertone to his voice, "I do not. Now, are you going to tell me what
this is all about, or do I dig a shallow grave and put you and these books in
it?"

           
"We want to help Bee, do we
not?" Ben asked in a nonchalant voice, still looking through the titles.

           
"Of course, but I still fail to
see how these books are going to help."

           
"These books, as I said
before," Ben smiled, "are romances. And what plotline do romances
most often have?"

           
Lennox looked at him blankly, and
Ben wondered if Lennox was contemplating throwing him into Bedlam. Certainly after
this was all finished he should consider admitting himself. "No? Well,
there are only a handful of plots in romances, but one is more prevalent than
all the others."

           
"Haunted abbeys and miscreant
monks," Milford said.

           
"What?" Ben asked.

           
"You asked about what all of
these stories have in common," Milford said.

           
Ben rolled his eyes. "Besides
those," he said.

           
"I still have no idea what you
are talking about," Lennox intervened.

           
Ben continued as if Lennox had not
spoken. "Of course, there are usually haunted abbeys and miscreant
monks.
 
I do so hate miscreant monks.
Just so very... creepy."

           
Lennox balanced the books in one
hand and grabbed Ben with the other. "You are going to tell me what you
are talking about right now or I swear to God that I will throw you from this
house, and wherever you land will be so far away it will take you a year to
come crawling back to London."

           
"Yes, yes, I know, you hate
me," Ben said, shrugging off Lennox's arm, still sifting through the
books. "But these books will help us rescue Bee."

           
"And just how will they do
that?"

           
"Because, my dear oak, all of
these novels have in common is that the hero rescues the fair maiden.
 
And that is just what we are going to
do."

           
Milford smiled. "Ah, my dear
Kendal. I knew you would come around eventually."

           
Ben sighed as he re-read the note he
had just received when Milford entered his study the next morning without being
introduced.
 
They had agreed upon
returning to his townhouse the previous afternoon that Milford would see if he
could discover more about Dorset's relationship with Surrey, and Lennox would
ask his mother to try to talk some sense into Bee. Ben, on the other hand, was
stuck trying to come up with a plan to get Bee away from both Dorset and Surrey.

           
"And how does the noble hero
fare?" Milford asked.

           
Ben looked up. "Does Simmons
know you're here?

           
Milford shrugged. "I didn't
come to see him. Why would he care?"

           
"To introduce you."

           
"We've already been introduced.
I've known you since you were 11."

           
Ben rubbed his head with his hand.
"Why are you being purposefully obtuse?"

           
"Because it drives you to
distraction, man," Milford said. "I told Simmons I would see myself
in because he was busy dealing with some idiotic footman who traipsed mud into
your entryway. Why is that a problem, anyway?"

           
"Because," Ben huffed.
"I'm trying to maintain... some sort of...
something
here." He waved his arms about before finally taking
a breath and sighing deeply.

           
"That's the role of a
wife," Milford said. "May I suggest you get one?"

           
"I'm... working on it,"
Ben frowned, looking down at the papers in front of him.

           
"Ah," Milford said, and
looked at Ben expectedly.

           
"What did you find out?"
Ben finally asked. "Is Dorset in debt to Surrey?"

           
"So you
have
heard," Milford frowned. He walked to the sideboard and
poured himself a liberal brandy, sitting down in the chair in front of Ben's
desk.
 
He swirled the liquid around in
the glass, but merely stared at it, not drinking.

           
Ben sighed at his somber friend.
"He just hinted at it," he acknowledged. "How much does he owe
him?"

           
"Oh, more than you know,"
Milford said.

           
"Milford," Ben growled,
punching his nose with his fingers.

           
"Fine. But you and Welles do
take the anticipation out of a story," Milford said. "This information
did not come cheaply, by the by."

           
Ben frowned. "Of course not. I
assume it's worse than I am currently imagining?"

           
Milford snorted. "Oh, I don't
think either of us would have ever conceived of this." He took a long
drink of his brandy and then sat back in the chair, closing his eyes as the
brandy warmed his body.
 
Ben pursed his
lips, trying not to rush Milford, even though all he wanted to do at that
moment was jump up and shake the man until he told him the entire story.
 

           
"Right," Milford said
suddenly, sitting up and blinking rapidly, as if waking from a short nap.
"The story. The short version is that Dorset hired Surrey to kill Bee's
brother five years ago. The thing is, Dorset didn't pay him, figuring Surrey
would be stuck on the Continent. Now that Surrey is back, Dorset is planning on
using Bee's dowry to pay him off.
That's
why
he agreed to the marriage."

           
"Um..." Ben said, then sat
back in his chair and sipped some brandy. "Huh."

           
"Right," Milford said,
looking up at Ben, then back down at his drink. "So Dorset had his own
nephew killed to inherit the title.
 
I
want to make some sort of
Hamlet
reference here, but nothing is coming to me."

           
Ben made a face. "I think we
have bigger problems here."

           
"Something about a
nunnery..." Milford trailed off.

           
"Milford!" Ben said,
holding up his quill and pointing the end at his friend. "I need your
help."

           
Milford ignored him, swirling the
liquid around in his glass. "What I don't understand is why he would kill
Bee's brother. What about Bee's father? He was still alive when William was...
um, killed."

           
"He was very sickly," Ben
said sadly, and began scratching at the paper in front of him. "William's
death sent him over the edge, which I guess Dorset was hoping would
happen."

           
"Though this be madness, yet
there is method
in't
," Milford quoted softly.

           
"I would rather this not end up
as a tragedy," Ben murmured.

           
"It wounds me to think you
would anticipate otherwise," Milford said, holding his heart with one
hand. With the other hand, he took another sip of brandy.

           
Ben rolled his eyes and began
writing again.

           
Milford stared at him for several
minutes, waiting for Ben to look up. When it became clear that Ben would not,
he finally broke the silence, "I don't say this very often, Kendal, but I
have no idea what you're thinking. What is the plan here?"

           
"Have you heard from
Welles?" Ben asked, not looking up.

           
Milford frowned. "Not today. I
saw him for a short time yesterday, but he seems utterly besotted with Lady
Julia." He took a deep breath. "Abandoned for a woman. How
droll." He slouched in his chair, sulking.

           
"I'm sure he'll be back to his
normal self soon," Ben said soothingly.

           
"You know he was talking about
calling you out yesterday?" Milford said nonchalantly.

           
"What?" Ben yelled.
"Calling me- what are you talking about?"

           
Milford just held up his glass and
stared at the amber-colored liquid. "I think it was merely talk to impress
Lady Julia. But I thought you should know," he said.

           
Ben took a breath. This was getting
entirely out of hand. "There's not going to be a duel," he reassured
Milford.

           
"I can't be a second to both of
you," Milford said plainly.

           
"That's not why there's not
going to be a duel," Ben frowned. "Here, I need you to take these to
Welles and Lennox."
 
He tossed two
sealed letters across his desk at Milford, who looked over at them, but
remained seated.

           
"Why?" Milford asked.

           
"Because I have a plan,"
Ben explained as he began writing another note. "How much blunt can you
get in the next few days?"

           
Milford's eyes narrowed.
"Why?" he repeated. When Ben did not immediately respond, he said,
"I say, I did not just resign my commission to a free holiday to shoot as
many Americans as I choose, merely to have to
pay
my way there."

           
Ben frowned and rolled his eyes.
"The war is over, first of all. Secondly, we're not going to America.
We're going to buy as many of Dorset's markers as we can."

           
Milford blinked. "I give,"
he said. "And why would we be so kind as to do that?"

           
Ben sighed, and set down the quill.
He paused for a moment, then sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes before
speaking. "The plan is to keep Surrey from using Dorset as a way to
collect his debt. If Dorset owes
us
more than he does Surrey, we'll have leverage against him."

           
"But that doesn't help Lady
Beatrice," Milford said. "She's still a pawn in all of this. Dorset
can still marry her off to Surrey."

           
"That's why I need you to
deliver that letter to Lennox," Ben said, nodding his head towards the
letter on the desk. "Lennox and I will...
er
,
rescue
Bee from her impending
nuptials."

           
Milford raised his eyebrows at Ben.

           
Ben looked up guiltily. "And,
I, well, I need to borrow 10,000 pounds."

           
Milford choked mid-sip of his
brandy. "P-pardon?"

           
"From you and Welles. So 20,000
pounds total."

           
"Oh, of course. Silly me,"
Milford said. "I thought you wanted a substantial amount. I believe my
footman probably has that in his pocket. Shall I ring for him?"

           
"It's only a loan for a short
time until I get Bee's dowry, then I'll pay you back," Ben promised, not
realizing until that particular moment how much he had counted on his friends
to complete his plan.

           
Milford rested his head back against
the chair and closed his eyes. "Damn and blast, Ben, you make things
complicated."

           
"I know," Ben said softly.
"But I need to rescue Bee."

           
"Fine," Milford frowned,
sitting up. "But for the record, I agree with Welles. You are an ass. If
you hadn't botched up the entire courtship, we would be enjoying the wedding
breakfast right now, and I would be on my third drink."

           
"So noted," Ben said
tiredly.

           
"And what will Surrey be doing
amidst all of this?"

           
"Oh, hang Surrey!" Ben
said irritably.

           
"We already discussed
that," Milford reminded him. "That wasn't an option."

           
"That's not what I meant,"
Ben frowned.

 
          
"Certainly
with a dowry of 30,000 pounds, he will want to chase after the lady, and I
don't know if there's a carriage out there that can beat a man on horseback on
the road to Scotland. That's where I assume you're rescuing her to?"
Milford added.

           
"I am," Ben said evenly.

           
"Then congratulations, and all
that rot," Milford said, holding his brandy glass up as a toast before
drinking. "But you still haven't told me about Surrey."

           
"Actually," Ben said,
sitting forward. "That's where you and Welles come in. You and your
closest friends."

           
"Friends besides you and
Welles?" Milford asked, looking confused. "We
have
met before, correct? Perhaps you're thinking of someone else? I'm
James Milford. Lord... and Major... retired Major, now," he trailed off.

           
"Well, you'll need to make
about a dozen new friends between now and tomorrow," Ben said testily.

           
Milford frowned. "Sometimes I
miss the war."

           
"No, you don't," Ben
admonished.

           
"How would you know?
You
don't have to pretend to be nice to
a dozen people for a day," Milford complained.

           
 
"You'll be fine," Ben consoled him.
"Just... just
don't
be
yourself."

           
"If anyone asks, I'm not doing
this for you. I'm doing it for Lady Beatrice."

           
"And I'm sure she's eternally
grateful."

           
"No, she's going to make the
rest of your life difficult, and I'm going to enjoy watching her do it."

           
Ben barked a laugh. "One can
only hope."

           
"Fine. I'll take these to
Welles and Lennox," Milford said, reaching over to the desk, grabbing the
letters and pocketing them. "Anything else," he asked, but made it
sound more like a statement.

           
"And make a dozen
friends," Ben reminded him.

           
"Fine," Milford ground
out, but remained seated.

           
"Well?" Ben said, looking
to Milford, then to the door.

           
Milford held up his brandy glass in
response, which was still partially full.
 

           
"Of course," Ben rolled
his eyes. "Silly of me."
           
"Understandable,"
Milford said. "You've been under a great deal of stress."