The Match of the Century (3 page)
However, in truth, Elin had never minded the country dances in her parish back in Heartwood, but a London ballroom was different. She’d learned that during her first season. While her parents might thrive on the press of people in Town and the opportunities presented, Elin fought an urge to hide . . . especially this evening.
Many of the smiles directed at her were not sincere, especially those from marriageable young women who would have adored catching a prize like Baynton. Even the daughters of her cousin Robbie Morris, who served as her father’s secretary, could not hide their envy.
It was a bit overwhelming.
Elin’s smile began to feel plastered to her face. She couldn’t relax because guests kept coming through the door.
Finally, thankfully, Marcella whispered in Gavin’s ear. He excused himself from the receiving line. “We must start the dancing,” he apologized to those who had not yet gone through the line. He took Elin’s hand.
Her heart pounding, she followed him to the dance floor. Other couples quickly helped make up the pattern, and, at Baynton’s signal, the musicians began playing.
Elin had practiced for this moment, months, weeks,
hours
of practice. Her dancing master had declared it would be nice if the duke could just once join them in their lessons. That had not been possible. Baynton was too busy for something as frivolous as a dance lesson.
However, he quickly demonstrated he didn’t need the lessons. He had the gift of athletic grace and did not seem rattled by having all eyes on them. Indeed, he’d spent most of his life being the one everyone watched.
Elin was not that certain of herself. Fortunately, she acquitted herself well enough although she was relieved when the music ended.
Gavin bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers, with everyone watching. A murmur of jealous approval ran through the female guests as fluttering fans were raised to hide any other comments they wished to make. Elin wanted to pretend she didn’t notice. Her mother had always urged her not to be so sensitive to the moods of others, but then her mother was a social creature. Elin needed to contrive to be more like her.
“Let me take your to your parents,” Gavin said, his voice low in his ear as he leaned toward her to be heard. His hand went to the small of her back to guide her. It was a small gesture, a surprisingly intimate one, and she found herself slipping her hand around his arm to break it—whether from shyness or embarrassment she could not say.
They had traveled only a few feet before Sir William Johnson, a gentleman who often came to her father for advice, begged for a moment of Gavin’s time on a “delicate matter of state.”
If Gavin was annoyed by the intrusion, he gave no sign.
“One moment,” Gavin said as if he already knew what Sir William wanted. “Meet me in the library.”
“I’ll inform the prime minister.”
“And the prince,” Gavin said. He referred to the Prince of Wales, who was holding court by the punch bowls.
“I don’t know if he will join us.”
“He will. Tell him
I
wish him there,” Gavin answered. “Come, Elin.” Once more, he took her arm, but his attention was claimed several more times before they reached their mothers.
“The two of you are a remarkable couple,” her mother answered.
“Miss Morris adds to my luster,” the duke replied. “She is all I could wish for. Now, I’m terribly sorry, but you must excuse me. Mrs. Morris, Mother, Miss Morris.” He said her name with just the right touch of heat before leaving them.
Elin watched him go, his tall figure standing out in the crowd. People called to him, begged his attention, wanted a moment with him. She overheard a woman not far from her mention to her companion, “Of course, theirs is the match of the century. Two very wealthy people becoming
more
wealthy. How can it be better?”
Had the woman meant for her voice to carry? Or was Elin too attuned to what people thought of her?
She looked to the Dowager, who appeared completely at ease. “Is it always like this?”
Marcella took in the press of people gathered around them. “Usually.”
Her mother made a dismissive sound. “Elin, you have experienced this with your father. You understand that more work is done at events like this than in the hallways of government.”
“I do,” Elin answered, but she was lying.
Furthermore, she’d not been around Baynton often. During her Season, the most natural time for her to enjoy the duke’s company at soirees and balls, the old duke had taken him traveling with him. They had been in Belgium, she remembered.
Shortly after the trip, his father had taken ill. Things like marriages had been postponed, then there was the period of mourning. Elin had actually been content to return to Heartwood and the country life she enjoyed.
Now, for the first time, she wondered what sort of marriage they would have. Her father was a busy man but devoted to his wife and made time for Jenny. His business dealings took second place and, however much he doted on Elin, she was the third in his sense of priorities.
Watching Baynton disappear into an adoring crowd, Elin wondered where she would rank with him?
A stray thought also asked if Ben had returned to see his father before he passed? She’d not seen him at the funeral. Of course, there had been so many in attendance, it would have been difficult to lay eyes on every one of them.
But she would have noticed Ben . . . wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t he have been in the front, with the family? Or would he have hidden himself away?
Her father interrupted her worries by coming to her side. “You have made us very happy this night,” he said. He gave her a fatherly kiss on the cheek and plunged into the conversations around them.
Very soon, their small group expanded. Her parents had many friends. Marcella was popular in her own right as well as being the hostess.
Elin understood why her mother had wanted her to eat. Everyone tried to include her in their conversations while they carefully watched her. Judged her. Many guests wanted the opportunity to claim on the morrow that they had met her, that they had danced with her or talked to her.
Elin began to feel like a garden statue on display. She understood now why Marcella valued her mother’s friendship. In the world of London society, it was genuine.
The hour was approaching midnight. Gavin had not yet returned from wherever he was. The Dowager did not appear concerned. Elin was. She longed for a moment of respite and found the banalities she uttered or that were uttered to her boring. Gavin understood these people. He would shepherd her with his easy laugh and confident authority.
Even her parents were too busy to do other than smile indulgently at her as she was led to the dance floor by eager gentlemen wishing to impress her future husband or her wealthy father. She no longer tried to remember the names of Lady This or Lord That who were introduced to her. Her ability to feign interest was waning.
And then the evening turned.
Was it her imagination or had a hush settled over the ballroom? She glanced around and saw why—Lord Benedict Whitridge had arrived.
Since he was taller than his brother, he was easy to spot.
Since he was still in his travel-stained uniform, he stood out.
Since he hadn’t had time to shave, he appeared grubby in the midst of such elegant company.
And he was heading directly for her.
“Is that my son?” Marcella asked. She moved to stand beside Elin. “I didn’t know he was here.”
Her statement, for an inexplicable reason, incensed Elin. Did Ben believe he could do whatever he pleased to anyone he wished? Was he just insensitive to everyone?
Apparently so, because when he stopped in front of Elin and his mother, his breath was foul with whisky although he stood straight and tall. “My mother,” he said with a stiff bow.
“I did not know you had returned,” she answered, and took a step toward him as if wishing to wrap her arms around him.
Ben pulled back slightly, and Marcella’s hands dropped to her side. “I’m surprised my brother didn’t tell you to expect me.”
He sounded cold, cruel even.
And then he shocked everyone by taking Elin’s hand. “Come with me.” He didn’t wait for assent but pulled her after him through the crowd.
Shocked, Elin started to put up resistance but caught her mother’s eye and saw her small shake of the head, a warning not to encourage a scene.
So Elin followed his lead, but she was furious. How dare he present himself this way? He was making a mockery of everything, including his mother.
And when she saw that he was not taking her to the dance floor but moved toward the portico door leading to the garden, she almost raced him for it.
For eight years she’d been waiting to tell him a thing or two. Her meager supply of goodwill toward him had been depleted by his callous, boorish behavior. Did he think Gavin had given him a set down?
He hadn’t experienced anything yet.
In fact, the ballroom full of people, the importance of the evening, everything faded from her mind at the thought of finally having the confrontation she’d yearned for since he’d discarded her years ago as if she were used goods.
A footman standing by the door saw their approach and opened it. Elin flew into the garden. Ben was on her heels.
She marched across the stone terrace. Paper lanterns hung gaily around the terrace. Several couples were enjoying the evening air. Elin did not want witnesses to what was about to happen.
Now she understood why she’d been unsettled all evening. Ben’s presence ruined everything. He’d been in the back of her mind whether she could have acknowledged that fact moments ago or not.
She would have her say, and when she was done, she was going to take herself back into the ballroom to stand beside her betrothed as the announcement was made. Gavin was a good and noble man; Ben was a scapegrace, a rascal, a no-good friend. The latter was the worst charge she could level against him. The
worst
.
Elin went down the terrace steps and out into the darkness of the garden. There was a rose arbor there, surrounded by tall shrubs that offered privacy. When she felt those staring after them on the terrace could not see their actions, she whirled on Ben so quickly, he almost ran into her.
And then she did something she’d longed to do for years. She slapped the side of his stubbled jaw with all the force in her small being.
There was a loud, satisfying sound of flesh hitting flesh. Then a pain, the likes of which she’d never known, shot through her hand to her shoulder.
B
en was drunk.
His father had always stocked the library with choice whisky, and his brother had apparently—thankfully—maintained the practice. The golden brown fluid in the decanter had been an elixir from the gods to a man who had traveled as far as Ben had, to a man whose goals, hopes, and dreams had been dashed and a bleak future lay ahead, to a man who had come face-to-face with the only woman who had ever mattered to him.
He’d thought he’d accepted that he couldn’t have Elin. A man moved on, something that was vastly easier to do when oceans and countries were between them.
Ah, yes, and with the passage of time. Ben had counted on time being his strongest ally. He had been wrong.
Having his career terminated, finding himself summarily dismissed as if the sweat, the work, the sacrifices he had made for his country meant nothing—all of it had evaporated in Elin’s presence, and he’d become a boy again. A boy who had been half-mad with lust for her.
And what struck him during his third glass of whisky was that she wasn’t completely out of his grasp—not until the announcement was made.
Perhaps Fate was not being unkind. Perhaps the military dismissal was part of the plan of a benevolent God. Mayhap Ben was receiving a chance to make amends.
But Elin was obviously not happy with him.
She had just slapped him with all the passion in
her
being. He knew she’d given it her all because she grabbed her hand at the wrist in pain.
Uncertainty started to sober him.
The night came into focus and with it awareness. “Did you hurt yourself?” He moved toward her. “I’m sorry.” He sounded boozy. He needed to gather himself.
She took a step back, warning him off, and helped his sobriety by announcing, “
You
stink.”
“What?” Ben wasn’t certain he heard her correctly.
Her hand still around her wrist, she clarified for him. “You
smell
.”
He did. Now that she had brought it to his attention, he could smell his own person. There was the stench of travel, of the horses he’d ridden, of the salt in the sea air, of the rotting wood and foul fish, and just being a man. He was a reeking gallant charging forth to save her.
And perhaps that was not the wisest way to win his case.
He
should
have bathed before presenting himself to her, but Ben had never lived his life according to what he “should” do. Furthermore, strong drink had taken priority over sanity. Otherwise, he would have been in danger of throttling his brother, and it was never wise to throttle a duke. They had minions. He didn’t.
However, it was unkind of her to make the remark. Her verdict stung already damaged pride.
Ben caught himself swaying slightly and squared his shoulders to stand erect. “Dear Elin, always saying exactly what is on her mind without a filter.”
“
You
have a filter?” she countered coolly, releasing a hold on her hand, a sign she would survive striking him.
Touché.
Had he truly forgotten how sharp her tongue could be?
He matched her tone. “You are too small to do any true damage to me with only your hand, if that was your intent. The next time you decide to slap me, may I suggest you use a book. A good heavy one.”
“Let me go to the library then,” she answered stoutly, and started for the house.
Ben hooked his hand in her arm and swung her around. The rose arbor gave them some privacy, and he wasn’t ready to leave it.
“I must talk to you,” he confessed.
She pulled away, but he felt her change, soften. Perhaps she was curious as to what he would say. Perhaps she cared more than she was allowing.
However, at that moment, they heard an intruder. “Elin,” her father’s low voice called.
She looked to the sound, then back at Ben. Her eyes shone in the moonlight but gave away none of her thoughts. “We are here, Father.”
A beat later, Fyclan Morris came into the shadows of the arbor. He’d aged quite a bit since Ben had last seen him. Fyclan had been a witness as Ben had been marshaled toward a waiting coach and so had begun his military career. He had no complaint against Morris. If Ben had a beloved daughter of whom he expected great things, he would have done more than watch the randy bugger be hustled out of the country.
Morris did not glance at Ben. “Your mother requests your return to the ballroom. There are some people she desires you to meet. Baynton may also come looking for you.”
Ben expected her to leave him. He stood, his arms at his side, feeling useless. Once again, his brother won the girl without even having to be present. It must be good to be a duke—
“Tell Mother I will return momentarily,” Elin said, surprising Ben. “Lord Benedict and I are putting our heads together over a special treat for the duke. There is no other time to discuss our ideas.”
“I don’t believe you should be out here alone with him,” her father answered.
“No, perhaps I shouldn’t . . . but I am. Please, Father, I need this moment. Mother will understand.”
Under the flickering light of a yellow paper lantern, Ben could see Morris’s indecision.
Mother will understand.
To Ben’s surprise, Morris backed down. “I shall wait for you on the terrace.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Morris walked away, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
“Gout,” Elin said, as if anticipating Ben’s question. “He suffers terribly from it. Mother and I worry about him. He throws himself into his business interests with all of his being and doesn’t take time for his health.”
She’d moved so that now she stood in the lantern’s light. Her father could see her from his vantage point. Actually, anyone could see her and possibly believe after the haste they had left the ballroom that there might be truth to her story of planning a “something special” for Baynton.
“Such a sweet bride thing to do,” he murmured, his jealousy making his speak aloud.
“Is that it? Is that what you wished to say to me?” She shook her head as if he’d played her for a fool. “I
should
go inside—”
“Mouse, wait—”
She cut him off. “I detest that nickname.”
He knew that and yet, she had never protested too hard when he’d used it. Sometimes she’d even referred to herself by the name.
And suddenly, what he wanted to say, rolled right out of him. “Don’t marry Gavin.”
Elin stiffened, then slowly faced him. Her expression was unreadable, and Ben found himself holding his breath, waiting for her reaction, knowing what it must be.
“I was always meant for him.”
“Yes.” Ben knew that.
There was a beat of silence.
If he said more, he would feel exposed, naked. He was now completely sober.
For the first time, he realized that the military had actually been a place for him to hide. It had provided a shelter from these things called feelings that he’d thought he’d mastered. He’d been fooling himself.
At just seventeen, he’d been a callow lad, awkwardly wanting to change what had been a friendship to something dangerously more. At four-and-twenty, he was learning that, when it came to Elin, he still didn’t know how to proceed. And he wasn’t such a fool as to believe they were the same people they had been eight years ago.
“Why should I not marry him?” she demanded.
Because I want you.
Such a statement was too bold, but he spoke the truth as he said, “Because you will always be second place. You will be an afterthought. He’s like our father. He lives to be busy and important.”
“He
is
important.”
The strains of the music could be heard out here. It reminded him of how little time he had to plead his case. It reminded her that she was expected inside.
“Father is waiting for me,” Elin said. “I must go.”
Ben stepped into her path.
“Elin—?” He broke off, tightening his jaw as he realized he was no poet. Emotions were risky, especially when he wasn’t certain of what he wanted to say.
“Do you hate your brother so much?”
“I don’t hate him.”
“No, you just want to see him humiliated on the night our betrothal is announced. Or is it
me
you despise? Do you believe I remained the same trusting, gullible girl you took advantage of? I understand you are disappointed about losing your place in the military but I will not let you use me to strike back at Gavin. Besides, he’s right. Your place is here. You have a responsibility to your family.
Or must it always be your way?
”
Her distrust caught him unaware. “I did not bring you out here to discuss this.”
“No,
I
brought you out here to say that.” Her hands had balled into fists as if she wished to strike him again. “You and I made a mistake years ago. We were both young—but do you know, Ben, I believed you cared for me. I thought I mattered to you—”
“You do.”
“So that is why you left?”
“Wait, it wasn’t my choice. My father informed me I was leaving.”
She dismissed his claim with a toss of her curls. “And so you didn’t consider sending word to me?”
“I was seventeen—”
“Or write in
eight
years?”
“And say what?” he snapped back. “ ‘Don’t marry my brother?’ You can see how that has gone over here.”
She made a small moue of fury. “What a fool I was! I mourned your leaving. I was at a loss without your friendship, and I was afraid, Ben, afraid of what could happen—but it didn’t. As mother said, it meant
nothing
.”
“Elin—”
She held up a hand to ward him back. “
Don’t.
Don’t make excuses. Don’t come near me. And don’t believe for a second that I will allow you to be familiar with me. We will keep up pretenses. We’ll proceed as if we mean nothing to each other beyond the superficial. I will be your brother’s wife and a duchess, and all will be good. But I will
never
let you close to me again, so don’t even try. And that is what I came out here to say.”
Elin started to walk away. Ben reached for her. He needed for her to listen. He’d been drunk when he came out here. He’d squandered the opportunity to plead his case. He was a fool, but he
loved her
.
Ben dropped his arms, stunned by the direction of his thoughts.
Loved her?
That couldn’t be possible. They hadn’t seen each other in years. Yes, they had been friends, but love was something Ben had never imagined.
He couldn’t love Elin. Why, he
shouldn’t
. She acted as if she hated him—and she was well on her way back to the house and out of his life.
Nor did he want to live according to the terms she had just described. He’d once treasured Elin’s friendship. He couldn’t let her believe that he’d brought her out here for no other reason than to hurt his brother.
Whether he loved her or not—and he needed to do a great deal of thinking before he accepted
that
idea—he did not want her to believe the worst of him.
He used his longer legs to fall into step behind her. She did not acknowledge him. Oh, yes, with that set of her shoulders, she would make a brilliant duchess.
“Listen to me,” he said to those stiff shoulders. “You
must
listen. How long have you been out here? Has Gavin even noticed you are missing? Or is he surrounded by ‘important’ people who require all of his attention? Yes, he is a busy man, but is that what
you
want? A man who thinks his wife is just another task on his ducal list of ‘expecteds.’ Be careful, Elin. Gavin has been taught there is nothing more important that the legacy of Baynton. People don’t matter. Certainly not his brother, and it stands to follow, not even his wife.”
Elin whirled on him. “You are so bitter. Before you warn me about Gavin, you might be wise to see to yourself.” Her words were like lashes. They stripped him bare.
“Yes, I am bitter. I’m the one who lost you.”
He didn’t know who was more surprised by what he admitted—Elin? Or himself?
“Ben, you never had me,” she said sadly.
“Yes, I did,” he answered, daring her to claim different. It was all there in front of him now. He’d not been able to understand back then because they had both been too young. He’d known Elin better than any other person in his life.
He loved her, and in the space of moments, the word no longer frightened him. In a way he could not understand, he believed she loved him in return. Or had.
Was this the whisky talking? Did it matter? It all made sense to him.
Of course, there was a strong possibility that the events of years ago might have destroyed any feeling she held for him, except she was out here. She was talking to him. That must mean she cared.
All Ben wanted was an opportunity, even a tiny one, to redeem himself. It was not too late to save both of them.
“Ben,” she started, her voice gentle as if she wanted to deny him once more.
“No, Elin, listen to me. We have time. There is a chance—”
Before he could say more, he was interrupted by the sound of a man desperately shouting her name.
She turned, glancing at the terrace, her gaze searching. “Father?”
Fyclan Morris had said he would wait on the terrace, but it was another man who hurried toward them. In the light of paper lanterns, Ben had trouble recognizing him until he grew closer. When Elin said, “Robbie, is something wrong?” Ben remembered her cousin Robbie Morris, who served as her father’s secretary.
He was a slender man of middling height with reddish blond hair and sharp features. He might even be referred to as handsome although right now, Ben could have wished him to the devil. He was not done with his conversation with Elin.
“
Your mother
. She needs you.
Come
,” Morris said as he took her hand and began pulling her to the house.
“What is it?” she asked, moving with him. “Where is Father?”
“He is already inside.” Morris took her arm. “She collapsed, Elin. She fell to the floor.”