Much Ado about the Shrew (11 page)

           
The
three men laughed. "We did work well together," Ben admitted.

           
"We
still do," Milford said. "Only now we rescue fair damsels in distress
instead of defending fair Briton."

           
Ben
sighed and slouched back in his chair. "If you sell out, what will you
do?"

           
Welles
sat back
stifly
and took a drink. "My brother
and his wife have been touting the virtue of country life.
 
I have a small holding up north. I may just
go play gentleman farmer," he said, staring at the far wall as if
imagining his new life.

           
Ben
stared at Welles, who was caught up in his own daydreaming. He cleared his
throat looked over at Milford. "What about you, Milford?"

           
Milford
narrowed his eyes as he puffed his cigar, as if he were thinking. "No such
luck with me," he finally said. "My own family won’t even have
me.”
 
Ben felt a stab of guilt pierce his
heart until Milford continued, “It's either live off of either of you, marry an
heiress, or join the church."

           
Welles
choked on his brandy and sat up. "That's rich," he said. "I
would love to see you in the pulpit."

           
Ben
laughed. "I’d love to see you try to give a sermon.
You peons are all too stupid to understand God the way I do
,"
he said, imitating Milford's voice.

           
Milford
smiled. "I take it you're not supposed to call them peons?"

           
Ben
shook his head. "If it's either the church or living off of us, I say that
you are welcome at my estates anytime, Milford."

           
"What
about marrying an heiress?" Milford reminded him.

           
Ben
pursed his lips as if thinking. "Right. So, just let me know if you want a
room in the east wing or the west wing."

           
"I
cannot believe I don't have the endorsement of my two dearest friends,"
Milford said dramatically, falling back in the chair and putting a hand over
his face.

           
"I
can't believe I've had this entire conversation with the two of you without
alcohol," Ben complained, looking pointedly at their brandy snifters.

           
"I
can't believe you were able to stay in the same room with us without
alcohol," Milford told him, sitting up again.

           
"Here,"
Welles said, handing Ben his glass of brandy. "Have a drink."

           
Not
to be outdone, Milford leaned forward. "Here, Kendal, have a cigar,"
he said, handing Ben the stub of his cigar.

           
Ben
looked at the brandy in one hand and the cigar in the other, then looked up at
both men, who were staring at him expectantly.

           
With
a quick motion, Ben put the cigar out in the brandy, then set it on the table
in front of them.

           
"Oh,"
Milford said sadly, staring at the remains of his cigar.

           
"Compromise,"
Welles acknowledged with a frown.

           
"Let
this be a lesson to you, gentlemen," Ben said with an air of authority.
"Misery loves company."
        

Ben cursed England’s
weather for the thousandth time that week as he exited his carriage and ran up
the steps to Lennox’s townhouse in Mayfair.
 
Even though the footman held an umbrella over his head on the short time
he was outside, he was soaked by the time he approached the door, which opened
immediately.

“My lord!” the butler
cried, holding the door open while also gesturing a footman for a towel.

“Bertram,” Ben smiled and
passed over his coat and hat to the astonished man.
 
He dried his face with the hand cloth handed
to him.

“Would you like a room to
freshen up before I show you in?” Bertram asked, looking pained as Ben
towel-dried himself in the foyer.

“No need,” Ben said, waving
his hand and passing the soaked towel back, “Lady Beatrice is expecting
me.
 
Can you please let her know I’ve
arrived?”

“Very well,
m’lord
,” Bertram said, gingerly taking the cloth and
showing
Benedick
into a side parlor before exiting.

Ben sighed and sat down on
a plush settee near the window, staring out at the rain sluicing down the
window. His original plan had been to pick Bee up in his curricle and drive to
his mother’s house and then take a short drive around the park, but with the
weather, he had to take the carriage, which meant no park ride, and Bee would
have to bring her maid for propriety’s sake. He sighed. He had wanted some time
alone with Bee to strategize their story. And he wanted to take a drive around
the park.

"Bloody English
rain," Ben grumbled under his breath.

“Ben,” he heard a soft
voice from the doorway, and looked up.

Bee was standing just
inside the parlor. Her dress, he noticed, made the highlights in her hair shine
more brightly, and made her skin glow. What color was that? Gold-
ish
? No, that wasn’t right. Topaz?
 
“Lady Beatrice,” he said, giving up on his
mediocre knowledge of women’s fashions.
 
He stood quickly and gave a short bow before walking across the room to
her.

“So,” she said nervously,
her eyes darting around the room.

Ben smiled. He imagined she
felt the same way he did before a battle, and it was true, they were engaging
in a battle of sorts, although this was for acceptance of the
ton
.

“I apologize that my aunt
and cousins are not here to greet you,” Bee said quickly.
 
“My aunt felt it would be good to, well…” she
broke off, her voice catching.

“Divide and conquer?” Ben
said softly.

Bee nodded, but did not
speak. She stared at a spot behind Ben, her eyes starting to water.

Ben felt his own heart
break for her. “All will be well,” he said, grasping Bee’s hands in his own and
kissing each one lightly. He moved his head down and in front of her face to
try to catch her eye, and gave a slight smile when Bee’s eyes met his own. They
were light, light green today. “Bee? Don’t you trust me?”

Bee gave a faint smile.
“Yes, yes, of course,” she said, trying to
steel
her
voice.

Ben gave her hands a
squeeze and turned her out towards the foyer. “Is your maid ready? Because of
the weather we will have to ride in the carriage.”

Bee nodded, and the trio
quickly settled into his carriage, with Ben taking the rear-facing seat while
the women sat huddled together. The weather outside seemed to reflect the gloom
of the carriage inside, Ben noted.

“I sent a note over this
morning to my mother,” Ben said, staring at the water sluicing down the glass
windows.
 
“I must say from her response
that your actions only made her like you more than she did already, if that
were possible.”

Bee exhaled a breath that
Ben realized she had been holding. “I do so love your mother,” she said, a soft
smile lighting her face.

Grey eyes again. Probably a
good sign.

           
“Yes,”
Ben said. “She has already begun her campaign against Surrey, if you want to
call it that.
 
At the very least, I doubt
we will ever run into him in a ballroom.”

           
Bee’s
eyes snapped. “That is the
very least
,”
she said angrily.

           
Ben’s
eyebrows went up. “Bee,” he started.

           
“I
don’t understand why he is back!” she fumed. “Why is he allowed to come back
when my brother is dead?”

           
Ben
sighed. “It’s complicated,” he began.

           
“Complicated?”
Bee snorted.

“Yes, complicated. But it
doesn’t matter. If I were not the Earl, you can be sure I would call him out,”
Ben assured her.

           
“If
I were not a woman, I would call him out, no matter what my title,” Bee
returned.

           
"It's
not that simple," Ben began.

           
"Simple?
The man murdered my brother!"

           
“Don’t
yell at me, woman,” he said in a dangerous tone, looking up at her. “I was
there, remember? Your brother was my best friend and more a brother to me than
my actual brother. He was also the biggest sort of fool to believe that Surrey
would play according to the gentlemen’s code of conduct.”
 
Ben gave a loud sigh. “My mother just came
out of mourning for my father and brother. I do not wish to send her back into
it.”

           
"So
that is it, then? I am just supposed to be accepting that the man who murdered
my brother is wandering about London and attending
ton
events?"

           
“Enough!”
Ben said loudly, and slouched back in the squabs, putting a hand over his
face.
 
He spoke in a low voice, massaging
the headache behind his eyes. “It’s a fine thing to think of calling a man out,
but as your brother found out, there are repercussions to one’s actions.
 
What do you think will happen to my mother if
I am dead? My sister?
 
Would you have me
leave them the way your brother left you?”

           
Bee
frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, but did not reply, merely stared
out the window for long moments.
 
Ben
looked over at her maid and gave her a sympathetic shrug, to which the maid
responded with a smile, no doubt used to Bee’s tirades.

           
“You
should think about getting a new carriage,” Bee said finally, continuing to
stare out the window.

           
“What?”
Ben frowned, taken aback by the change of conversation.

           
“Lennox
just bought me a new carriage,” Bee replied, her countenance relaxed as if they
had not just been yelling at each other. “Right, Betsy?” she asked her maid.

           
“Um…
yes’m
,” Betsy replied quickly, happy for the change
of topic. “It’s a right smart carriage it is, too.”

           
“You
should talk with Lennox,” Bee said. “He brought the man in and we designed it
right there in the parlor!
 
They are
doing wonderful things with making the carriages lighter for the horses and
more comfortable for the occupants.”

           
“How
nice,” Ben muttered.

           
“The
seats are so soft, it’s like sitting on butter. And they were able to build a
shelf underneath the seat, so we don’t have to store our packages outside.”

           
“Heaven
forbid,” Ben grumbled.

           
Bee
ignored him, but continued to rattle on, talking with Betsy about the wonders
of her new vehicle until Ben wanted to scream. When the carriage stopped, he
almost threw himself out of the door, absently noting that at least it had
stopped raining

           
If
it hadn’t been raining earlier, he could have taken his curricle, and then he
wouldn’t have had to hear the litany of reasons why her carriage was so much
better than his. Dear God, the woman was vexing. There was nothing wrong with
his bloody carriage.
Nothing.
Leave
it to a woman to find fault in every little thing.

           
Justifying
their need for shopping, he supposed.

           
Giving
an undignified snort to hide the laugh at his own joke, he turned back just as
a footman handed Bee out of the carriage. She did not look at him, but at the
townhouse in front of him. Once her maid was standing next to her, Ben moved to
take her arm, but she stayed, rooted to the spot. His eyebrows narrowing, he
looked back at Bee.

           
And
noticed that she was terrified.

           
Guilt
washed through him as he noted her eyes were light green again, her face a pale
white. “Courage,” he whispered, and put his other hand behind her back, gently
guiding her up the stairs. “Where is the vixen who threatened to call out
Surrey only a few minutes ago?”

           
Bee
stiffened in his hold, but squared her shoulders. “Right,” she said, more to
herself than to him.

           
Walking
into the parlor, however, Ben felt a little ill himself as the room instantly
went quiet when the butler announced them. He gave a quick smile and walked Bee
quickly over to his mother, who instantly jumped up from the loveseat where she
was sitting and gave Bee a quick hug.

           
“Oh,
my dear gel!” she said, “Oh, how horrible things have been for you! Oh, you are
so brave my dear!” And with that, the other members of the room began to fawn
over Bee, asking how she had single-handedly faced her brother’s murderer.
 
Ben stepped back, allowing his mother to work
the room to her advantage. By the way his mother told it, he might as well not
have been there, and Bee seemed to face down Surrey’s entire regiment. He
allowed himself to relax slightly and sat down in an empty chair across the
room.

           
“Ben?
Oh,
Benedick
!” he heard his mother call from across
the room.

           
Ben
sat up straight, wary at the tone. That was the tone his mother used before
telling him to dance with some wallflower or carry something heavy down four
flights of stairs. “Yes, Mother?” he asked, setting his teacup aside.
 

           
“
Benedick
, I was just telling Lady Beatrice that she and her
family must come to dinner sometime this week. You’ll set something up with
Lord Lennox?”

           
Ben
breathed a little more freely. A dinner was easy. A dinner he could do.

           
“Of
course, Mother,” he said.

           
“And
be sure to invite your two soldier friends,” she said.

           
Ben
smiled in spite of himself. “Of course, Mother,” he said.

           
“And
of course you’ll go with her family to the Beaufort’s ball tonight,” she said
with a smile.

           
“Of
cour
---“Ben stopped himself mid-sentence, but his
mother had already smiled her thanks and turned her back, responding to a
comment made by a man at her left.
 
Ben
sat back in his chair and seethed silently, knowing his mother had set him up.
Well, fine, then. He did owe her a debt of gratitude for handling Bee so very
well. He drummed his fingers on the chair, watching Bee with his mother. Why
was the damned chit so easily handled by his mother, but he could never seem to
get a grasp on her?

           
Ben
reached over and grabbed a few small cakes. If he had to sit here in his
mother's parlor, he may as well take advantage of the situation. Noting after
he finished his cakes that Bee was still ensconced next to his mother, he left
the room and wandered into his father's study, pausing as he sat down at the
large desk.
 
His mother had wanted him to
come and live with her when he returned, but he felt overwhelmed already;
somehow donning the mantle of Earl seemed less formidable in his bachelor
apartments. Having never assumed he would take the title, he had never prepared
himself mentally for the task. Even just sitting at his father's desk, knowing
his father and brother would never return to kick him out of the room so they
could talk estate business, left him feeling melancholy and overwhelmed.

           
Well.
No use being sad alone, Ben thought. He stood up quickly from the desk and
poured himself a small brandy from his father's crystal decanter, then sat back
down and penned notes for Welles and Milford. They were supposed to head out to
the theatre tonight, but he supposed a masquerade could be equally diverting.
For one, the rule that a man could not dance with a woman only twice would not
be in effect, as no one would supposedly know who was dancing with whom,
although the costumes were such that no one's identity was truly hidden.