Page 27 of Their Wildest Dreams

“Discretion is of particular importance here,” he continued. “Everton has stood unoccupied for many years. My marriage and the reopening of the house have naturally stirred curiosity. I will not tolerate servants who make household matters the entertainment of the village.”

“A servant who discusses his employers has mistaken both his position and his value, my lord.” Crandell met Benedict’s gaze with careful respect. “I have no taste for gossip.”

Nor, Benedict thought, any visible taste for anything else. The man’s composure was complete. Pritchard’s dignity had always possessed warmth beneath it, revealed in the smallest softening of his manner toward Benedict’s mother or in the patience with which he had endured the mischief of two neighboring children. Crandell appeared carved for the role he sought, every response polished until nothing of the man remained.

Benedict set the references upon the desk. A faint ache had begun behind his eyes, the consequence of too little sleep and too much brandy partaken of too late in the night. He wanted the interview concluded. He wanted to return to the library and discover whether Harriet regretted what had almost occurred. He wanted, with an urgency that humiliated him, to finish the kiss that had been denied them.

“The position is yours, if you wish it,” he said.

The words were spoken before caution could reclaim him.

Crandell inclined his head. “I am honored by your confidence, my lord.”

Benedict’s unease sharpened. He ought to correct the error, explain that the appointment depended upon further inquiries and endure whatever inconvenience resulted. Instead, he heard Harriet’s voice accusing him of making every decision as though no other person possessed sense enough to participate in it. They required a butler. The agency was well regarded. The references had already been examined by men whose profession depended upon their accuracy.

His dislike was instinct, not evidence.

“You may begin at once,” Benedict said. “Mrs. Mercer will show you the servants’ quarters and acquaint you with the present arrangements.”

Crandell rose. “Very good, my lord.”

He bowed and withdrew, closing the door without sound. Benedict remained at the desk, staring at the empty chair. He could still call the man back. He could require a week’s trial or send a rider to Denham with instructions that inquiries be made independently.

He did neither.

For several moments, he attempted to review the accounts awaiting his attention. The figures blurred. He abandoned them and crossed to the sideboard, then stopped with his hand upon the brandy decanter. It was not yet noon. Even in his present state, he had not sunk so far as that.

Benedict turned away and went to the window. From there he could see the southern lawn and the neglected garden beyond it. Harriet was not visible. He pictured her still seated upon the library carpet, startled by what had passed between them. Or perhaps she had risen the instant he left and resumed cataloguing books, dismissing the incident as another example of his presumption.

He could not dismiss it.

For years he had believed their quarrels proof that he and Harriet were fundamentally ill suited. Marriage had revealed a more unsettling possibility. Their antagonism had never arisen from indifference. He had noticed too much about her, sought her attention too relentlessly and felt every rebuke too keenly for indifference to have played any part in it. Irritation had been safer because it demanded nothing and admitted less. But that safety was gone.

Tonight he would enter her chamber because the servants must believe theirs an ordinary marriage. He would sit near her fire and listen while she spoke. He would be expected to behave as though he had not held her in his arms and come within a breath of tasting her mouth.

Benedict rested his forehead against the cool glass.

He had thought sleeping apart would preserve the terms of their agreement. Instead, every evening had become an exercise in leaving the woman he desired and seeking an empty bed only a few yards away. He did not know how long honor could withstand such intimate punishment without altering him into a man he had never meant to become.

Behind him, the door opened. Crandell stood upon the threshold, as silent as he had been when departing.

“Forgive me, my lord. Mrs. Mercer has asked whether I am to accompany the household to church on Sunday.”

Benedict straightened. “Yes. You may attend with the other servants.”

“Very good, my lord.”

The door closed again.

Benedict looked toward it, the unease returning without explanation. Then he thought of Harriet waiting somewhere within the house and allowed the feeling to pass.

Chapter

Thirteen

The village church was crowded. And all eyes were focused on the newly married couple seated so prominently in the first pew. Pillars of the local society that they were, he thought bitterly.

Selby had expected Harriet’s marriage to diminish her. Instead, it had done precisely the opposite. There was a brightness to her, her skin glowing and her eyes glimmering with something that he could not name.