Page 65 of To Defend a Damaged Duke
For the briefest of interludes, Benedict imagined that would be the last word on the matter.His relief was short-lived.
“But I haven’t finished with him yet!”declared Lady Wardholme.
“I think, poppet, you’ll find that you have,” contradicted a cool, commanding voice.Considering he cut such a slight figure, Rossingley had a forceful presence.Benedict heaved an enormous sigh.Finally,finally, someone to take charge.
Rossingley patted his arm.“I do believe, Your Grace, that the earl and countess and each of the ladies present this evening accept your fulsome apology.”
He made an expansive gesture, encompassing the assembled throng.“The night is warm, the punch has flowed freely, and we’ve all had a terribly exciting day.”His upper lip curled with mischief.“And we’ve all been guilty of overindulging in the delights of the fairer sex, have we not?Now…” Turning away from Benedict, Rossingley searched for a particular person.“Ah, yes.Lord Lyndon.There you are, my darling.What is it you were wittering on about earlier?Something about the duke having a dalliance with…with a…a youngfootman?”
A few titters broke out while several gentlemen snorted.More notably, a few of Lyndon’s chums edged away from him.
A picture of waspish disapproval, Rossingley addressed Benedict’s bleary, confused twin.“Do I take it you were referring tothisduke?”He pointed to Benedict, that gesture somehow encompassing his creased collar, rumpled waistcoat, flushed, damp face, and askew hair.Askew, Benedict thought, described exactly how he felt.
“Incidentally, Your Grace,” Rossingley murmured, “you have a touch of rouge on your shirt.”
For the benefit of the folks straining their necks at the back, Rossingley tutted loudly.“No, no, no, Lord Fitzsimmons.”He shook his head.“It can’t bethisduke.I fear you have erred greatly.”
“I’ve never heard such a preposterous suggestion in my life!”Francis butted in.“Lyndon, don’t be an ass.Retract at once.If His Grace wasn’t our esteemed brother, for this slight of character, he’d want pistols at dawn!Wouldn’t you, Benedict?”
What Benedict really wanted was a chair to sit on and for everyone to stop looking at him as if he were some exotic bug that had crawled from under a rug.As that wasn’t happening any time soon, he mustered his last reserves of ducal gravitas.
“Quite possibly.”Clasping his trembling hands behind his back, he pushed on.“But I am your brother.If we duelled, my weapon would not be a pistol.But forgiveness.We are all at the mercy of foolish mistakes when foxed.”He brushed himself down and vainly tried to rearrange his hair.“A lecture I should be delivering to myself this evening.None of us is immune.Our dear father, rest his soul, used to say there are no mistakes, only lessons.”
With herculean effort, Benedict nodded to his brothers, then stepped away from the balcony.“I have had an excellent day at the races.You find me in excellent humour.Thus, on that note, I shall forget you ever entertained such nonsense and will put this matter to bed.A lady’s bed,” he added as he caught Rossingley’s amused expression.
Benedict rested his eyes on the Countess of Horton.“My lady, I do believe I have kept your delicious banquet waiting long enough.It would be my greatest pleasure to take your arm and escort you in to supper.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
SUCH WAS HISsocial insignificance.Tommy was practically seated in the servant’s quarters.He didn’t know the young woman on his left, and he never would; whatever the bespectacled chap onherleft was saying must have been riveting.Over the (cold) entrees, the (cold) soup, the meats, the stews, and the desserts, Tommy became more familiar with the angular line of her right shoulder blade than the contours of her face.
A low door opened to his right, possibly leading to a cellar if the welcome draught was a marker.Tommy’s dinner companion wouldn’t have noticed if he fell through it.
An immaculately restored and composed Mrs de Villiers sat diagonally across from him, the envy of nearly every woman in the room.Her self-satisfied smile hinted she was fully aware of that fact.Angel sat not too far away, steadily chomping through everything placed in front of him and washing it down with claret.Tommy even caught occasional glimpses of Rossingley’s blond head, off in the highfalutin distance.But he was far too far down the pecking order to see Benedict.
Tommy felt him though.He’d felt the waves of relief flooding from him as the plan had unfolded, as the tide of uncertainty swung in his favour.As Lyndon’s friends distanced themselves, shuffling away until he stood alone, malevolent, drunk, ridiculed.The scheme could scarcely have gone any better.
But Tommy sensed Benedict’s pain, too, at having to endure such a public pantomime, at having to behave in the kind of grubby manner to which he was ill-suited, for no other reason than that his blameless life and that of his blameless brother, Francis, and his one true love, could continue undisturbed.
But, even more, Tommy felt Benedict bleeding out for his lost brother and his unconditional love for a troubled man unworthy of even a fraction of his love and his forgiveness but freely offering both anyway.And Tommy knew Benedict would continue trying to persuade his twin to accept them long after all this hoo-ha had died down.As surely as thetonwould hold extravagant balls and the scandal mongers would find something to tattle about, he understood these things.
Was Tommy attending his last ball ever?He damned hoped so.And the sooner it was over, the better, so, at last, he could be reunited with Benedict and perhaps escape somewhere private with him.
An insistent rattling sounded in the distance from a spot towards the important end of the table.All around, the chattering voices quieted.Even the woman next to Tommy paused for breath.
A very-pleased-with-himself, Lord Ludham, stood up to speak.
“Your Grace, my lords, my ladies, and gentlemen,” he began in a ponderous fashion.“Good evening to you all.And thank you, Lord Horton, for allowing me to speak.”He nodded a bow.“As you all know, I’m not a man of many words.”
Tommy’s heart sank.In his experience, that line presaged all the longest speeches.
“Brevity is the soul of wit,” Lord Ludham continued, his booming baritone probably reaching the ears of the good citizens of Piccadilly.“As you’ll soon learn for yourselves on the tenth page of my discourse.”
Tommy relaxed.He knew he liked the man.
“And, I think we can all agree—” Lord Ludham’s gaze skirted the assembled gathering.“—this evening has been eventful enough.However, there is just one more announcement before the ladies withdraw.”
His long, contented sigh echoed around the packed dining room.“Our dearest Isabella, the youngest of my and Henrietta’s offspring, has been a most wonderful daughter.We thank her for the nineteen years of unbroken joy she has bestowed on us.”He flashed a surprisingly roguish grin along the length of the table.“I am fully aware she turned twenty November last, but I’m not counting the few months since because, frankly, there was nothing joyful about endeavouring to follow her exploits.”
