“Sorry for Thurmond on two levels,” Duncan remarked. “I do not wish to knock the woman out of a position, for she was an efficient nurse, but perhaps a warning to Thurmond is in order.”
“I could drop a word in Hunt’s ear,” Orson volunteered. “SirHunter knows my opinion of the woman.”
Though Duncan did not openly agree to Orson’s suggestion, it was understood among them that Duncan’s silence on the matter was the same as his agreement.
While the ladies were still part of the gathering, they all moved to the music room. Orson had agreed to play duets with both Theodora and Emma, and Lady Emma had supposedly been practicing a piece on the harp, planning a special performance for her betrothed.
Benjamin had stayed beside Duncan until the man was seated on his favorite settee and then sat beside him.
“I do not think I have ever properly thanked you for all you did for me after the shooting,” Duncan said softly.
“You would have acted with the same urgency if it had been any of us,” Benjamin said with equal quietness.
“I would,” Duncan admitted reluctantly. “Yet, I must say it was extremely comforting to find you at my side every time I opened my eyes, even for a few seconds.”
Their conversation took a backseat until Theodora and Orson played the song they all associated with Duncan and Lady Elsbeth.
“I miss her every day of my life,” Duncan whispered.
“Such is love’s plan,” Benjamin assured. “Everyone should know a deep affection.”
They sat in silence until Theodora and Orson finished their piece, then, Orson left Theodora at the pianoforte and nudged Alexander to take his place at Dora’s side and turn the pages for her. Meanwhile, Orson joined Emma and claimed the lady’s hand.
Duncan must have also taken note, for he said, “Hartley tells me you have taken the acquaintance of a young lady.”
“I have only been in her company twice,” Benjamin protested. For more than a month, he had been expecting this conversation. “We initially, literally, ran into each other in one of London’s spring rainstorms. I insisted on seeing her to her place of employment, for shehad no umbrella, and I did.”
“And that place?” Duncan asked.
“Sustar’s draperies,” Benjamin shared.
“A respectable establishment.”
Benjamin waited until the end of Theodora’s second piece before saying softly, “I was with Orson, Beaufort, and Hartley when I next encountered the lady. I believe she, like us, had called upon the Lyon’s Den, but my instincts say she was not seeking employment there.” He shrugged his discomfort, but it remained bunched between his shoulder blades. “She said she had business in the area, but there are few businesses catering to a lady in that area of London.”
Duncan said softly, “Could she be thinking of permitting Mrs. Dove-Lyon to arrange a marriage for her? Hartley says her father is a vicar, meaning she is a lady,” Duncan surmised. “But is she a fallen lady?”
“I hold no means of knowing,” Benjamin admitted.
“Did the lady not say her father attended Oxford with Hartley’s father?” Duncan asked.
“Yes, but…”
“You know the lady’s family name. You know where her father attended school and the approximate dates of his attendance. It might require a close look at school files and perhaps even DeBrett’s, for many younger sons take positions in the clergy, just as did your own father. You are accustomed to having your nose in a book, are you not, Boy?”
Benjamin smiled at being called “boy” again. “Yes, sir.”
“Of course, all that is not necessary if you are not truly interested in the lady,” Duncan hinted.
“Do you not despise always being wise?” Benjamin teased.
“Wisdom derives more from mistakes and failures than from success. One must fall upon his knees to rise up. Simple as that, Boy.”
