Page 24 of The Scoundrel's Christmas Challenge
Christiana shook her head. “You may continue if you like,” she told the group, “but the point goes to Lord Bentson.” Men were such vain creatures, she’d decided. Even her Lucius. Her Lucius. How had that niggled its way into her brain?
Lord Bentson bowed. “Thank you, my lady.”
“I must admit I’m surprised. What other secrets are you hiding?” She studied the old man’s face, seeing him in a new light. He was growing on her, becoming more than an acquaintance.
“You may find out one day.” He gave her a wink, nocked another arrow, and sent it flying to join his first arrow, dead center. “Fluke indeed,” he mumbled.
***
Lady Elwood patted her husband’s hand. “You won at piquet tonight, my dear. You are still my champion.”
Her husband grunted and held up his glass. “To my wife, who always finds the brightness on a gloomy day.”
They all raised their glasses. “To our hostess, who has provided a most unique and entertaining house party,” added Lord Bentson. “Your mother would be proud.”
Christiana paused in taking a sip of her wine. “Did you know my mother well?” she asked. “Besides the correspondence concerning the vase.”
The older man nodded. “That’s a story for another time.”
“It’s too early to retire,” said Lord Elwood. “Anyone up for a game of billiards? Page, are you feeling lucky?”
Christiana recognized the challenge in his voice. Exactly the tone needed to prod Lucius into playing. But when they all rose to watch the game, Lord Bentson remained seated.
“I thought I’d sit here and enjoy my brandy and the fire,” he said apologetically to his hostess. “The old bones tire more easily as the years fly by.”
“Then I shall sit with you,” she declared, pouring herself another glass of wine and taking the wingback chair next to him.
After the other guests had left, she could not contain her curiosity any longer. “So, tell me the story of how you knew my mother.”
Bentson smiled. “We met during her first Season. She was a beauty.” His eyes grew distant, as if he found himself back in a ballroom decades ago. “She was standing by a wall, hoping not to be noticed. I believe she had spilled some punch on her dress and was trying to hide it until she could leave or find her shawl.”
“Mama was always a bit clumsy. She often said she wore more food than she ate,” Christiana agreed. “An exaggeration of course. She never minded making fun of herself.”
“There wasn’t an arrogant bone in her body,” murmured Lord Benston, still staring into the fire. “She wasn’t clumsy on the dance floor. I wish the waltz had been introduced back then.”
“You enjoy dancing?”
He nodded. “Once upon a time with the right partner. And I believed she was.”
“You… you were in love with my mother?” The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. “What happened?”
“I was young and foolish, craving adventure. Love was secondary to working for the Crown, playing spy, courting danger.” The old man shook his head. “By the time I was ready to settle down, your mother was married. According to the on-dits, it had been a love match.”
Christiana nodded, smiling. “They were very happy. And you?”
“My wife was a lovely woman. A good mother, kind, excellent at managing a household.” He studied the brandy, his knobby fingers gripping the crystal glass. “I was lucky. I was content. But still, I always wondered…”
“About Mama?” Her mind raced to remember any mention of this man before the letters began asking to purchase the vase. Had her mother cared for him once? Or had she continued to carry a torch for him, even though she was happy with Papa, also wondering what might have been?
“When I heard your father died, I wrote to her under the guise of offering my condolences and wanting to buy the Ming vase.” He chortled. “I needed to know if she hated me for leaving, not asking her to marry me, or if she had been truly happy. I was an arrogant young man to think she would wait.”
“Did you find out?” Her heart went out to this man. She understood unrequited love all too well.
“No, she did not hate me. Yes, she had been truly happy.”
“But she wouldn’t sell you the vase. Why?” The piece of porcelain had been in the curio cabinet for as long as she could remember. It must have been one of Mama’s favorites.
“It became a ruse for our letters. An excuse to touch one another’s lives again. It wasn’t the antique I wanted so badly as it was her attention.” He took a drink of the brandy, then let out a loud sigh. “I found the piece during a mission early in my career, before she was married. I sent it to her with a note, comparing the priceless object to her beauty.”
