Page 65 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

Chapter 22

Bentley could not deny the very real warmth pulsing through his body, despite the frigid cold surrounding him. He had just told Hattie that he would come to her house for a dinner party, and his heart was beating so hard he feared it would soon escape his chest. It was quite a lot for his brain to wrap around—the idea of going out in Society again. But Warren had been correct. Once Mr. Humphries was no longer around, there would be little threat to Bentley’s secret being discovered.

He could attend dinners or balls again, or even church. He could openly call on Hattie.

“You are considering going out in Society again?” Hattie asked, her eyebrows raised. “That is wonderful news.”

“Well, there are a few contingencies.” In truth, he was questioning the sanity of such a notion, despite the benefits. Should he not wait for a confirmation letter from his mother before believing himself safe? Pain sliced through his heart, and he closed his eyes briefly.

“What is it?” Hattie asked, her tone dropping at once as she shoved her pencil and portrait at her maid and crossed to his sofa. The gesture felt oddly familiar and comforting in its familiarity.

He tried to smile. “It is nothing.”

“You are distressed.” She waved a hand about his torso. “None of this strong-willed it is nothing business, if you please. I am the soul of discretion, and Agnes is quite as trustworthy as I am.”

Bentley glanced to the maid, and her brief smile was all he needed to believe Hattie’s faith was not misplaced. He could well imagine that the maid had a strong loyalty to her mistress. How could anyone not feel that way in relation to Hattie?

Hattie gazed up at him, her eyes as wide and open as her soul, and he very much had the desire to cease speaking and draw her into his arms. She fit so perfectly there, and her warmth would do much to heal his aching heart.

“You are beginning to worry me,” she whispered.

Bentley pulled himself from his musings. He needed to focus. It was as though holding Hattie in the shop earlier that day had unlocked a portion of himself he’d vowed to keep hidden away. Bentley had chosen not to pursue marriage out of respect for his father and subsequently dismissed the thought of obtaining a wife, giving it very little thought. But now… he looked at Hattie’s open, caring face and the subject was very much on his mind.

What he lacked, at present, was the knowledge and ability of how to go about addressing it. How did one discover if another cared for them in equal measure? Was he just meant to tell her of his feelings and hope she returned the sentiment? It was impossible to know how to proceed, and quite a terrifying prospect. Bentley had avoided vulnerability for so long, he was uncertain if he contained the strength to make himself so vulnerable now.

But he could try.

“It is not worrisome, merely…” He cleared his throat, uncertain how to begin. Should he tell her of his mother’s deceit? Surely that was too much for her innocent ears.

“What are the contingencies you speak of?” she asked. “Are you in danger?”

Her concern buoyed his spirits. “No, nothing of the sort. I merely…” He swallowed. He could not very well say that he must wait for his mother’s husband to die. The very thought made him feel foul. “It is rather complicated. You see, I do not have an easy time in company, and being around groups of people has always made me uncomfortable. As I aged, my mother sought to drive that abnormality from me by exposing me to as many social functions as she could. It did nothing but heighten my desire for solitude.”

“You have chosen to remain hidden for your own comfort?” Her tone was compassionate, not condescending, and he appreciated her desire to understand.

“No, that merely made my choice easier. I hid away because I deemed it necessary to protect my father’s good name from scandal. If it was discovered that I…well, I do not wish to reveal the sordid details. I fear they are too much to lay upon your ears.”

Hattie glanced to the sofa opposite them where her maid sat. Bentley had forgotten the woman was there.

Laying a hand over his, Hattie squeezed his fingers. “You needn’t tell me anything.”

He blinked, noting the authenticity of her words and realizing how deeply he did want to tell her everything. But she rose, stepping away from him and crossing to the other sofa, reclaiming her seat nearer her maid. Her attention was drawn back to the portrait she was crafting, and the mood in the room shifted, as though the very atmosphere recognized the time for sharing had passed.

“You know,” Hattie said, glancing up at him before looking down at her canvas. “I never noticed the cleft in your chin before you shaved. Your beard hid it well.”

“That was my intention,” he said, without thinking. Or perhaps that was the lie he told himself, and the slip up had been entirely intentional. He wanted her to know. Bentley believed Hattie would be different, that she wouldn’t cast him aside.

She chuckled. “Whyever would you want to do that? It is so handsome.”

He warmed from her praise, his heart skipping a beat. “Because if anyone spotted the similarities between me and my mother’s second husband, my father’s good name would forever be tarnished. Gossip tends to spread through the ton like a barn caught in flames.”

Hattie looked up, dropping her hand onto her lap. She was clearly surprised, her mouth hanging open before she clamped it shut. “You mean to say that your father, the duke—”

“Was not my natural father.”

Silence descended on the barn loft. Hattie recovered quickly. “Your mother married your…natural father…after the duke died?”

Bentley had made a mash of this. He’d wanted her to know the truth, but his delivery had felt more like a confession than bringing her into his confidence. He suddenly wondered at the wisdom of this plan. It was out there now, and there was nothing he could do to take it back. He had trusted this woman—blindly, perhaps—and now his fate lay in her hands.

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