He always had.
Unlike his father, Bennett had always felt things keenly. Anger, injustice, compassion, frustration, happiness, lust and now loneliness. Feelings that bubbled under the surface despite his very best efforts not to acknowledge them. At times the effort of holding them back was almost too much and Bennett feared that, like a volcano, those silly emotions might one day all erupt simultaneously, leaving him looking foolish, completely exposed and vulnerable. What would his pragmatic, sensible father have made of that? He would have been horrified. Ashamed. Disappointed. And his legacy would crumble like dust.
Yet the more he considered it all, how exactly were those feelings wrong? They were basic, essential human emotions that shaped the character of the nation. Life would be dull and bland indeed if everybody ruthlessly masked them and did everything quietly and politely. In which case, his father had either neglected to tell his son how to best deal with his own emotional responses—or, worse, mightnothave considered that such things were, in fact, very important. Surely a good politician, a good servant of the people, should feel deeply about things that mattered—or else why bother?
And if his father’s advice was not entirely trustworthy, what else had the man got wrong? Had he sent Bennett down the wrong path? All of these doubts and questions about his own personality and fundamental beliefs left him feeling guilty. What sort of a son was he to question a man so respected by his peers that his words were still quoted by the great and the good in Parliament almost fifteen years after his death?
Not a worthy one.
Frustrated, he sat heavily on a bench; the marble was freezing and instantly chilled him. Bennett welcomed the uncomfortable sensation. At least it gave him something physical to take his mind off his emotional turmoil. A refreshing chill might be just what he needed to help clear his mind.
* * *
Amelia reached the end of the ornamental garden and decided that she was being ridiculous. Not only was it freezing, but she was delaying the practical. The quicker she found Lady Worsted, the quicker she could escape this ball and ensure that she continued to avoid her father and the misery that thinking about him created. Meeting him again would serve no purpose. It was too late for revenge—not that she would not wish to see the man suffer, but because it would not change the past. And it was in the past.
Her father was consigned to her past; he had no part in her future. Amelia had a new life, one she had built for herself and that she enjoyed. So what if she had missed out on balls and finery? She had filled that gap with education and good deeds. Her life was filled with purpose, unlike her mother’s had been. Her mother had gone to the grave hoping that her husband would want her back. Amelia would never allow herself to appear pathetically desperate for a man’s affection or be a victim of his scorn.
If she had been sensible, she should have realised that there was bound to be the possibility of colliding with the Viscount now that she was mixing with the ton again. Her father rarely left London and he did like to socialise. The prospect had not really occurred to her because Amelia had seen the hateful man only a handful of times since her twelfth birthday, and had not actually set eyes on him in four years. Or heard from him. Even after her mother had died in the workhouse, he had not made any attempt to check on his daughter. As far as he knew, she might also be dead and buried in that sorry excuse for a graveyard in Seven Dials. He probably wished that she was. All of those nasty loose ends from his regrettable marriage to an unsuitable woman would be neatly tied up. All chance of scandal and gossip would be gone. The fact that she had thwarted him in something cheered her.
Amelia wound her way around some ruthlessly clipped bushes and stopped dead. Sitting on a bench on the path back to the house was the Duke. After a moment of dithering, she darted back behind the cover of the shrubbery. She could hardly go breezing past him as if it were perfectly normal to go strolling around a strange garden wrapped in a blanket. He would want to know why she was out here and Amelia had no desire to tell him another lie.
Except there was something about his posture that bothered her. Those gloriously broad shoulders were definitely slumped and he had a faraway look on his handsome face that appeared, from this distance, to be sad. Much as she wanted to avoid him, his lost expression called to the Good Samaritan inside her. She had always hated seeing anyone upset; it was in her nature to try to make things better. He had come to her aid in Piccadilly; her conscience reminded her that it was only right that she returned the kindness.
‘I see that you are hiding too.’
Her voice startled him and his head snapped up sharply.
‘I was merely taking some air. The ballroom is unnecessarily stuffy.’ He appeared to be embarrassed to have been caught and stood up. His military posture returned instantly. Those impressive shoulders were pulled back and he clasped his hands stiffly behind his back. The man was so wooden and formal sometimes that it made him quite difficult to talk to. Had she not seen another side of him in Piccadilly, she might have simply bid him a good evening and continued towards the house. But she now knew him to be occasionally kind and quite thoughtful underneath all of that stiffness, and she had definitely just caught him hiding. She would persevere and extend the hand of friendship, and in doing so would avoid going back into that awful ballroom just a little while longer.
‘Well, I am hiding. I feel a little out of my depth in that grand ballroom.’
That admission appeared to confuse him. Amelia could tell that his human side felt compelled to sympathise, while the duke in him wanted to ignore it. He was still standing ramrod-straight, but his feet shifted from side to side indecisively while the two halves of his personality went to war. After a few moments the human won.
‘I needed to get some air.’ He unclasped his hands and exhaled deeply, then stared out into the darkness. ‘It seemed to me that you were enjoying yourself. Especially when you were waltzing with Uncle George.’
‘It was very kind of him to dance with me. But I do not belong in a ballroom and I am certain everybody in there knows that. Companions are not meant to dance.’ Perhaps telling him that would spare her from attending any other grand social functions while she remained in London, thereby eliminating any possible chance of colliding with her father.
‘You hid your discomfort well. I never would have guessed you felt out of place.’ His eyes turned to hers briefly before fixing back on whatever it was he was looking at so intently in the distance. Clearly, basic conversation was not something he felt particularly comfortable with, but perhaps it was simply that he was uncomfortable to be conversing with someone so socially inferior. Companions were not meant to befriend dukes—that he might also think so rankled.
‘Would it be impertinent for a mere companion to ask an illustrious duke why he has also escaped to the garden, or should we continue to pretend that it was the stuffiness that brought you so far from the house?’ Amelia stared at his profile and watched the ghost of a smile curve his lips at her bold question.
‘You are impertinent, Miss Mansfield, but I suspect you do not care that I might think that. If you want to know the truth, I find occasions like this tiresome.’
‘I would have thought you would find some entertainment in them. Surely you must call some of those people friends? You spend a great deal of time standing on your own.’
He was silent for such a long time that Amelia was certain that he had decided their brief conversation was at an end and that he was waiting for her to realise it and move along. But he surprised her.
‘I am afraid that it is no longer that simple, Miss Mansfield, and I find myself in an unusual predicament. It is common knowledge that I am part of the government, and thus almost everyone wants to ask me about some aspect of state business—I have to be very careful how I answer them. My discretion is essential, but I would rather not cause offence by telling people to mind their own business. Therefore, it is prudent to avoid extended conversation with anyone.’
He was still resolutely not looking at her and for some reason she knew that he was admitting to only part of the truth. ‘That does indeed sound tiresome. However, it must be even more tiresome to be the most eligible man in the ballroom.’ That had been obvious and quite something to witness. ‘I did notice how some of the mothers swarmed around you the very moment we arrived. Much like the young ladies did.’
He turned to her then and smiled properly, clearly amused at her observation, and Amelia realised that his real smiles were deadly. Not only did his eyes dance, he appeared boyish and charming. And so much younger than he seemed when he was all stern and pompous.
‘Is this another one of your conversational traps, Miss Mansfield? If I agree with you, I will sound conceited and you will have another reason to give me a set-down. Or should I pretend that I have no idea what you are talking about, when we are both painfully aware that your observations were correct. Either way, you will be condescending, and I am well aware of the fact that I do not deserve anyone’s pity.’
Perhaps she had been a smidgen hard on him since her arrival in his fine house, especially as he had shown her some kindness? And his smile was doing peculiar things to her; she felt a little guilty for making him feel like that. ‘I was merely making an observation about your unique situation. All of that blatant admiration,all of the time, must become cloying. I imagine that it also feels quite disingenuous. They have come to beseento socialise with a duke—not you personally.’ Amelia was starting to believe that the Duke and Bennett Montague were sometimes very different people, and for some reason that realisation worried her.
He watched her for a long moment before he nodded reluctantly. ‘You are very astute, Miss Mansfield. After a while I feel as if the walls are closing in on me and I have to escape. Just for a little while. And I...’ He closed his eyes and sighed, and she knew that he was feeling awkward at confessing so much.
