Page 11 of Ravishing Among the Roses
Edmund stood awkwardly at another soiree, his third one in the last two days since Gabriel had left him standing in the garden. He’d sat dutifully through a dinner beside some Earl’s daughter. He’d drunk port with the other men and listened to them make crass jokes about their frigid wives and bemoan how expensive their mistresses were. He’d also spent more time with his brother than he had in the last few years, and he’d forgotten how persuasive and charming he could be. He’d forgotten how people listened to His Grace’s advice, and the advice was usually clever and insightful, and he began to feel himself agreeing with his brother which reinforced the entire pattern.
He, almost, fell back into the old habits of doubting himself – of thinking that he was the problem – because all the evidence in society was that His Grace was a charming smooth politician who had plenty of associates who listened to him and wanted to please him.
He’d almost allowed himself to forget that His Grace had thrown a tantrum and banished George. How could this man, who was so well accepted in society, behave so dreadfully in private?
And now he followed his brother around the room, signing young women’s dance cards and being introduced to an impossible number of interchangeable ladies, musing on how easy it had been to fall back into line and keep doing as he was told, because His Grace was more pleasant to be around when he agreed with him.
“Thwaitepiddle.”
Edmund turned towards the man who’d said his name. “Bennington.”
“Galforth.” Bennington nodded to Edmund’s brother, just enough to be polite but shallow enough to be insulting.
“Bennington.”
Was everyone just going to acknowledge each other’s names? Edmund wanted to leave, but that wasn’t anything new. He’d been wanting to leave since he arrived here several hours ago.
“I hear from Kelmscott that your heir is excelling at Eton. He may even graduate as Dux. You must be so proud.” Was Bennington baiting his brother?
“Kelmscott talks to you?”
“Naturally. My countess and his duchess are cousins. The Duchess of Kelmscott has been a kind friend to my countess.” Was Bennington implying something here? Edmund’s head started to ache. And how did Bennington have a countess and own The King’s Book Club? There were too many questions, although he remembered the first thing Gabriel had said to him, about marrying a woman of sapphic persuasion to protect her, and Bennington hadn’t blinked. Suddenly the concept of his countess made complete sense.
“Kelmscott has some interesting politics. I’m surprised you would align with him on Grey’s reforms. Aren’t you a large land holder?”
Bennington kept his gaze firmly on Edmund’s brother. “I’m surprised that you don’t agree that bringing fairness is an important step in parliament matters. Besides, I thought you valued family above all else, and Kelmscott is a true family man.”
His Grace’s face went bright red and Edmund briefly wondered if his brother might have an apoplexy in the ballroom. “I do. I am here to find Thwaitepiddle a bride. Family is about more than the needs of an individual. It is about preserving the good name for the future and protecting the need for our traditional boroughs.”
Edmund didn’t understand all those politics and had no idea why the voting districts for the House of Commons had anything to do with the Galforth family name. Although, if his brother didn’t like whatever it was Grey was reforming, then it probably needed to be done, so Bennington and Grey had his support.
“And those who refuse to comply are discarded?” Bennington asked.
“I don’t like what you are implying, Bennington.” His Grace’s nostrils flared.
“Good. Because there are some of us in society who don’t appreciate the substance behind certain rumours we’ve heard. Take care, Your Grace.” Bennington bowed, lower this time, then walked away, and Edmund wanted to rush after him. He wanted to know how someone could insult and threaten his brother like that without worrying about the consequences.
“I will not stand here and be insulted by a mere Earl. Come, Thwaitepiddle, it’s time to make a proper alliance.”
Edmund teetered, caught between obeying His Grace and wanting to be as strong as Bennington. And then Bennington returned. The man loved a good surprise and Edmund held his breath, filled with uncertainty. He clenched his fists to prevent them from shaking.
“Thwaitpiddle, come with me. We have a matter we need to discuss.” Bennington’s statement didn’t help ease the heavy weight in Edmund’s stomach.
His Grace sneered. “What matter could you possibly have to discuss with Thwaitepiddle?” The way his brother said his title, as if he was nothing, a piece of dust he’d brushed off his collar then sacked whichever servant responsible for not keeping his clothes clean enough, should have been the motivation Edmund needed to leave. But it was deserved disdain and he was trapped.
“I believe that’s between us.”
Edmund gulped. Bennington’s inability to tell the whole story was going to make Edmund’s life a misery. “It’s nothing that can’t wait, Your Grace.” He hated himself for placating his brother but he didn’t see what other options he had. He knew his brother would already be plotting a revenge for daring to go against his wishes in public, and he wanted, desperately, to avoid any consequence, even though deep in the crevices of his heart he knew it was possibly already too late.
“My club is hosting a series of scientific lectures.” Bennington increased the volume in his voice and Edmund could feel all the eyes of society burning on his skin. People noticed this conversation and some of them had stopped pretending that they weren’t listening. There were murmurs travelling around the room.
“I don’t see what that has to do with Thwaitepiddle.” His Grace’s upper lip curled, deepening the sneer.
“I have invited him to speak on the fascinating topic of rose propagation.”
“He is a glorified gardener, not a scientist. You have overstepped, Bennington.” The threat in His Grace’s voice went deeper than his dismissal of Edmund’s work, but Bennington didn’t seem to notice the threat. Instead Bennington smiled and spoke louder as if no threat could touch him. Sweat pooled at the base of Edmund’s spine.
“I understand Thwaitepiddle is an expert on the matter of scientific reasoning when it comes to the development of new varietals of roses. Aren’t the gardens at Galforth House host to one of the world’s finest collections?”
