Page 13 of Chasing Benedict
It was something Benedict had never considered, but it made perfect sense. The woman he remembered from his youth was the daughter of a gentleman with only a tenuous hold on respectability. She and her father had been willing to do anything to better their status. When using Benedict to do so hadn’t worked, she must have devised this London Gossip scheme as a way in. With the information she had on him, it stood to reason she knew many other secrets—the kinds of secrets she could use to bribe her way to the status she desired.
“How, indeed,” he murmured, lost in thought.
“Consider it done, darling. It is no trouble at all, and Avonleah would give me anything I wanted for an invitation to one of my parties. I’m hosting another Tuesday next, you know. I hope you will come. Perhaps it will prove a pleasant respite.”
“Perhaps. I can make no promises right now.”
“I understand. What else can I do to help?”
Rising to his feet, Benedict shook his head. “Nothing for now. You have already helped me so much. I could never repay you.”
Millicent stood, rounding the table and pulling him into an embrace. He had to crouch to meet her, bracing a hand at her back as she wrapped both arms around his shoulders and squeezed.
“You are one of the few people in this godforsaken city who accept me as I am,” she said. “That alone is enough to make me willing to do anything you ask. I am the one who owes you a debt of gratitude.”
“Nonsense,” Benedict insisted as they pulled apart. “You aren’t the only one grateful for accepting friends.”
She walked him to the drawing room door. “I will have your invitation delivered right away. If you need me at the ball, you have only to seek me out.”
Benedict took his leave with a half-hearted promise to do what Millicent had asked. However, he couldn’t explain why he would not take her up on such an offer. Only he could confront this unpleasant part of his past and lay it to rest once and for all.
THE BELLabove the door to Rowland-Drake Linen-Drapery and Haberdashery tinkled as Alex pushed it open, entering an establishment that had grown and flourished during his absence from London. What had once been a small, one-room shop was now transformed. The removal of a wall had opened the ground floor of this building into one next door. The first main room overflowed with fabrics in an array of vibrant hues, and counter displays offered the necessary trimmings for various garments. Fashionable hats, gloves, shawls, and other accessories were artfully arranged in the newly attached room.
Searching the area, Alex caught the eye of the young man behind a large oak counter. He was tall and wiry, with smooth, light-brown skin, dark hair cropped close, and a pair of startlingly vibrant green eyes. The combined parentage of a black parent and a white one dueled for dominance on his face.
“Welcome to Rowland-Drake, my lord. Might I help you find something? A gift for a lady perhaps … or fabric for a new waistcoat? I can see you’re a man of extraordinary taste.”
He dipped his head to indicate Alex’s waistcoat—a pale lavender silk printed with tiny silver fleur de lis. Alex smiled at the young man, obviously an assistant to the owner who was an old school friend of Alex’s. Apparently, Aubrey Drake had trained his protégé well.
“Perhaps in a moment,” Alex replied, eying a jade green fabric spilling from the massive rolls mounted to the wall. “But first, I wondered if Mr. Drake might be in this afternoon?”
“He is, my lord, but he’s very busy today preparing for a new shipment. I can inquire if he will see you.”
“He will. Simply tell him the Earl of Vautrey requires his attention.”
Instead of bustling off to deliver the message, the young man goggled at Alex in clear shock. “Lord Osborne, is that you? I mean … you said ‘earl’ so you must be Lord Vautrey now. My God, I thought you looked familiar.”
Alex furrowed his brow and took a close look at the assistant. No one called him Lord Osborne anymore, as his viscountcy had simply been a courtesy title until he’d inherited the earldom. His eyes widened as he realized what a dolt he’d been. The man’s features were too distinct to be forgotten, though the last time Alex had seen him, he’d been skinnier than he was tall and still carrying the softness of youth in his face. But the eyes didn’t lie. Before he was the shop assistant, Christopher Sanders had been a young apprentice in this very shop.
“Kit?” Alex blurted. “By Jove, look at you! The last time I saw you, you appeared as if a strong wind could carry you away!”
Kit rounded the counter and offered Alex a hand with an exuberant smile and a deep chuckle. Alex marveled at the depth of the voice he heard, unable to believe his eyes or his ears.
“Well, there have been quite a few changes around here,” Kit said while giving his hand a hearty shake.
“So I see,” he replied, glancing about the renovated shop. “Aubrey has done well for himself.”
“Not better than you, I see,” boomed a third voice from across the room.
Alex turned to find the man he’d come to see, coming from within a small back office. Aubrey Drake’s wide, white smile contrasted starkly against his dark-as-night skin. He hadn’t aged a day, though a few strands of gray salted the wool of his short, close-cropped hair. Standing as tall as Alex and as broad as Ben, Aubrey Drake was a sight for sore eyes. Alex hadn’t seen Aubrey since the day of his wedding, and had missed the company of one of his closest friends.
“Aubrey,” he murmured, emotion straining his voice as a handshake was transformed into a tight embrace. “I am so happy to see you.”
Aubrey pounded his back, then leaned back to stare Alex in the face. “The feeling is entirely mutual. I didn’t know you were in Town.”
Kit moved back to his place behind the counter, but looked on with a curious gaze as Aubrey drew Alex out of earshot.
“I only arrived two nights ago,” Alex said. “I didn’t want to impose on you while you are working, but I hoped you might have time for a word. I will not take up too much of your time.”
