Unconventional Suitors 01 - Her Unconventional Suitor (18 page)

“Two years, your grace.”

“Why so long? Did your father not wish for his only son and heir to be home learning how to run the estate?”

This question was a little bit trickier than the first. Benedict was thoughtful for several seconds before responding, “I suppose he did, though I was young and restless and wished to see the world before settling into my duties. My father always humored me in my ambitions. I don’t think that either of us expected him to pass on at such a young age. Had I had any inkling that would be the case, I would never have left England.”

“Is that true?” the duke asked, his brown eyes piercing through him. Benedict felt like he was being interrogated.

“Of course it is true. Had I known that my father had less than two years to live, I would have opted to stay home and would have spent all of my free time by his side. My father and I got along quite well, and he was an excellent earl. Heaven knows I could have used the time to learn from him.”

The duke looked at him as if he was pondering whether he was being sincere or not. It left him feeling deuced uncomfortable.

“Oh father, please do stop questioning Lord Danford so; you are monopolizing all of his attention,” Lady Phoebe whined, and though Benedict was grateful to have the duke cease questioning him, he wasn’t sure he was ready for her to begin.

She turned to him immediately. “So, Lord Danford, I wish to hear all about your bachelor friends. But please, do not bother telling me about them unless they are full of juice and exceptionally handsome.”

Benedict’s eyes widened. Was she serious? He could clearly see why her father and mother thought it wise to keep her away from London for as long as possible. They were going to have their hands full when she had her coming out next year.

“Phoebe,” Lady Gillian scolded, “Lord Danford’s friends are entirely too old for you. They would not be interested in a girl still in the schoolroom and one with a bold tongue, no less.”

Benedict watched with amusement as Lady Phoebe stiffened her shoulders and glared at her sister. “If that is so, then pray tell how you were able to get so many suitors vying for your attention?”

“Well for starters, I am no longer in the schoolroom. I have had my coming out already.”

“And your bold tongue?” Lady Phoebe pried.

Benedict could see that Lady Gillian was getting flustered by her vexing sister so he decided to come to her aid. “I find her boldness quite refreshing.” Lady Phoebe smiled victoriously. “But only because she doesn’t use it to intentionally vex others.” Lady Phoebe’s face fell as Lady Gillian gave him a grateful smile.

“Well said, Lord Danford,” the duke complimented him with a smile and the remainder of the dinner went by much more comfortably.

When dinner was finished, the duke invited Benedict to his study for port and cigars. Benedict had never been so nervous in his entire life than he was as he walked into the wood paneled room. Benedict refused the cigar, but gladly accepted the snifter of port as he sat across the desk from the duke.

“Now that the ladies are gone, is there something you wish to ask me?” the duke asked as he lit the cigar that was dangling from his lips.

Benedict swallowed loudly. There was nothing quite like being put on the spot. “Actually there is. I would like to ask you for your permission to wed your daughter.”

“Which one? Gillian or Phoebe?”

In his nervousness, Benedict failed to notice the duke was attempting to be humorous. “Both of your daughters are lovely, but it is Lady Gillian’s hand that I seek.”

The duke guffawed. “But of course it is. You must relax, for I was only jesting.”

Benedict exhaled. How was he supposed to relax when speaking to the woman he loves father about marrying her? It just wasn’t to be done. He took another drink of his port hoping the liquor would help.

“In following with both of my daughter’s proclivity for boldness, may I ask why I should allow you to wed my Gillian?”

Benedict looked at the duke as if he had sprouted a second head. His palms began to sweat as he contemplated telling the man that he was in love with his daughter. It was one thing to admit it to himself and to her, but another thing entirely to admit it to her father.

“Well, have you nothing to say?” the duke asked with an admirable amount of patience.

“I am unsure of where to start, your grace,” Benedict answered honestly.

“You can start by telling me the truth about your feelings for Gillian.”

“Very well,” Benedict sighed. “I will start by telling you that I am in love with your daughter.” Benedict stiffened as if he were waiting for the duke to draw his sword and attack, but the duke did no such thing, much to his relief.

“I thought that might be the case. And is she in love with you?”

Why did he have to ask that? “I am not entirely sure. Perhaps she has enlightened you on the subject?” he asked hopefully.

The duke shook his head and laughed. “She hasn’t been so bold in her admissions, though I find that highly unusual for her. But I will admit that I think she carries far greater feelings for you than she does for her other suitor.”

“Her other suitor?” Benedict stammered as he set his port down on the desk.

“Yes. Lord Evander was here this afternoon seeking her hand in marriage.”

Benedict’s pulse quickened in alarm. It was no surprise that Lord Evander was interested in Lady Gillian, but he had a sinking suspicion it was his friends that had put him up to the task. If the duke revealed that he gave Lord Evander permission to wed Lady Gillian, Benedict was positive he’d kill each one of his sorry friends with his bare hands, starting first with Griffin.

His fists clamped together in barely contained fury as he waited for the duke to continue. When it became apparent that no further information would be forthcoming, Benedict snapped, “Well, what did you tell him?”

The duke puffed long and hard on his cigar, seeming to enjoy Benedict’s discomfort, before he finally set it down and answered, “I told him that he was too late, that she had already been spoken for.” Benedict was speechless. “Well, you are not going to make a liar out of me, are you?”

Benedict didn’t know what to say, but he knew that he had to say something or risk continuing to appear the fool. “Are you meaning to imply that you are giving me permission to wed your daughter, your grace?”

“If you promise me that you will strive to keep her as happy as she is now for the rest of her life, then yes, I am granting my permission.”

Benedict’s heart soared. He sprang up from his chair and reached across the desk to shake the duke’s hand. In his over exuberance, he knocked his snifter to the ground, and as he was stumbling to reach for it, he heard the undeniable sound of fabric ripping. He straightened in alarm as he stared at the duke with wide eyes.

His future father-in-law’s eyes sparkled with mirth. Pointing to his shoulder he said, “It was your shoulder seam that ripped. Be thankful that it was not your breeches.” Benedict nodded in agreement, though he didn’t experience much relief, as he replaced the snifter once more on the desk and reached for the duke’s hand.

The duke sealed his word with a firm handshake, and as Benedict turned to leave, he called out, “Lord Danford, I recommend that you see to your wardrobe immediately.”

Benedict grimaced. “Yes, I will do that,” he answered honestly, knowing that all he needed now was for Lady Gillian to admit her love for him and the bet would be won and he could cease the farce at once.

His step was light as he made his way to the drawing room, anxious to speak with Lady Gillian and tell her that her father had granted them permission to wed. He hoped that Lady Phoebe wouldn’t be around so he could pull her into his arms as he told her the good news and perhaps steal one of her addicting kisses.

Disappointment filled his breast as he rounded the corner and heard several voices—Lady Gillian was not alone. Several pairs of eyes turned to look at him as he entered. Lady Gillian, Lady Phoebe, and their Aunt Miranda ceased speaking and looked at him expectantly.

When he didn’t say anything, Lady Gillian scurried to his side. “My lord, have you seen my little brother anywhere? Aunt Miranda seems to have misplaced him.”

“I did not misplace him,” Aunt Miranda said irritatedly. “He ran away from me.”

Benedict looked into Gillian’s worried face. How he wished he could gather her into his arms and tell her the good news, but instead he was forced to answer her questions about her troublesome little brother. “No, I have not seen him, nor would I know him if I had. You forget I have never seen the child.”

“I have looked everywhere upstairs for him and am convinced he is not there. Do you think he would have disappeared outside?” Aunt Miranda asked with worry.
“Oh, I sure hope not, but perhaps we should break up and begin searching for him,” Lady Gillian suggested.

“Good idea,” added Benedict. “Lady Gillian and Aunt Miranda, continue your search of the house, since you are more familiar with the layout than I, while Lady Phoebe goes downstairs and makes her inquiries to the servants. I will go outside and begin my search for the lad.”

All three ladies heads dipped into a nod as they took off in different directions in a flurry of activity, surprising Benedict somewhat with their quick obedience, leaving him no choice but to follow suit. He raced outside and began searching for the boy. He searched through the shrubbery in front of the townhouse anxiously but without success. When a cursory glance of the lawn did not produce anything, he jogged to the edge of the townhouse and looked around the side. The lamplighters had already been by to light the streetlamps, leaving the street awash in soft golden light making it easy for Benedict to see that there was no child playing in the streets.

He turned back to the house and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This was not how he envisioned spending his evening. He was supposed to be speaking with Lady Gillian right now and sharing his good news, not spending his time in search of her pest of a brother. To be fair, Benedict couldn’t rightfully label him a pest since he had never even met the boy, but in that moment that is exactly what the child was to him.

“What are you looking for, sir?” a tiny voice in the dark startled him.

Benedict shook his head and squinted at the young boy whom he was certain had not been their just minutes ago. “I’m looking for the Duke of Chesley’s son. That wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”

The boy smiled proudly and there was something oddly familiar about the dimple that appeared high up on his cheek. Benedict wracked his brain, trying to think if Lady Gillian or any of the other Bourne’s had that dimple, but he was certain that none of them did. He forced the senseless thoughts from his mind and asked impatiently, “Well are you or aren’t you the duke’s son?”

The boy stuck out his hand for Benedict to shake, “Indeed I am. The name is Anthony Bourne. Pleased to meet you. Who are you?”

Benedict reeled back with shock. Surely it was just a coincidence that the boy’s name was Anthony, was it not? “How old are you Anthony?”

“I just turned eight this summer.”

Benedict felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. It was nearly eight years ago that he had learned of his father’s bastard child. It was just an uncanny coincidence he kept telling himself over and over again, unwilling to believe that he could be staring at his half-brother.

“Are you well, sir?” Anthony asked when Benedict continued to stare at him in shock, refusing to take his outstretched hand.

“Truthfully, I am not sure,” he finally managed to say. “You best hurry along and get inside. Your family is frantically looking for you and will be happy to know that you are well.”

“They are overreacting again. I told my Aunt that I was in need of some fresh air. What could that have meant besides going outside for a spell?” Anthony scratched his head as if he were honestly putting a lot of thought into the matter.

“Be a good boy and run along,” Benedict urged, “and I promise to bring you a sweet the next time I see you.”

Anthony’s face lit up, revealing once more the dimple on his cheek. Benedict sucked in a sharp breath as he suddenly remembered—his father had had the exact same dimple.

***

“Oh Anthony, where have you been?” Gillian asked as she rounded the corner and saw her little brother standing in the entryway.

“I was outside getting some fresh air, just like I told Aunt Miranda I was doing.”

Gillian knelt before her brother and gathered him into her arms. “Anthony, you gave us all such a fright. You simply cannot leave this house without a guardian. London is very different from the country, you know.”

Anthony struggled out of her grasp. “I don’t need no guardian. I am eight years old now,” he exclaimed defiantly.

“Oh yes you do, young man,” Aunt Miranda admonished as she came down the hall and saw that Anthony had been found.

“I told you I needed some fresh air.”

“And I told you not to go traipsing off without me, didn’t I?”

“I don’t remember,” he said with false remorse.

Aunt Miranda rolled her eyes and sighed. “How convenient. Now take my hand and let’s go ready you for bed before you cause any more mischief. Your antics have thoroughly exhausted me; I think I might retire as well.”

Gillian bade them both good night, and as they began ascending the stairs, it dawned on her that Lord Danford had not returned. “Anthony,” she called out, “did Lord Danford find you?”

Anthony shrugged. “I do not recall if that was the man’s name I spoke to, but I do remember that his coat sleeve was torn.”

Gillian chuckled, “That would have been him. Where is he?”

“He left.”

“Are you certain? He did not even say goodbye.”

“I saw him getting into his carriage myself, honest I did. When will he return, Gillian?”

“I do not know,” Gillian answered honestly. She was feeling rather confused by his sudden departure.

“Well, I hope it is soon, for he promised to bring me a sweet.”

“Then I am sure it will be soon, for Lord Danford is a man of his word.” Doubts began swirling through her mind as Aunt Miranda and Anthony disappeared up the stairs. Was he truly a man of his word? She was starting to wonder.