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He must have been mad to think he could marry into this lot, Benedict reflected, watching the polite folk filing their way out of the Anderson’s hallway, from his seat just inside in the drawing room. A bunch of meek-faced hypocrites, the lot of them. Not one of them had the guts to look the devil in the eye. No, that wasn’t quite true, he thought musingly, one of them did. That sanctimonious bitch, Betsy’s cousin, had courage enough, though precious little else to recommend her to a man.

He had felt Lizzie Anderson’s disapproving gaze on him all through supper, when she wasn’t gazing starry-eyed at that thief of a preacher, that was. There was a rich irony to the fact her fervent admiration had led to the man’s unmasking. Ben savored the fact for a moment. That stricken look on her face as she had denounced her idol would have been enough to wring sympathy from the flintiest heart, but all it afforded him was a dark sort of amusement. He knew damned well she had counseled Betsy against marrying him.

His fiancée came hurrying back into the room, the color high in her cheeks. “I’m so vexed I could scream,” she said, crossing to stand by the window. She hitched a lace curtain and watched their guests pouring out into the street. “If Mama does not handle this, we will be given the cut direct by all our friends and neighbors!”

“And just how do you suggest she ‘handles’ it?” Benedict drawled.

Betsy turned to look at him in astonishment. “Why, Lizzie must be forced to retract her ridiculous claims, of course!”

Benedict reached into his jacket pocket and extracted his silver cigarillo case. “Your cousin saw him take it, Bets. It was in his pocket.”

Betsy shook her head so vehemently her blonde ringlets bounced. “It’s all a plot against Reverend Milson. A conspiracy! Papa agrees with me.”

When Benedict raised his eyes to hers, she flushed and turned away. “Why would there be a conspiracy against Reverend Milson?” he asked coolly. “You know your cousin was keener on him then anyone. Didn’t you tell me, she spends her spare time embroidering him slippers and handkerchiefs?”

“Exactly!” Betsy said, eagerly seizing on the fact. “He must have spurned her affections, so she turned against him. Old maids can be bitter, you know.”

For a moment, Benedict was so taken aback he could not speak. The idea of Lizzie Anderson flinging herself at a man was so ridiculous he almost laughed. She’d been mad for the reverend alright, but Lizzie Anderson was an old maid of the mitten-knitting variety, not the man-hungry type. He would swear an oath on it.

He remembered the conflicted look on her face as she confronted the reverend. She’d been almost begging him with her eyes to give her a reason why he’d taken it. Any reason would have sufficed. She would gladly have swallowed any ridiculous lie he might have uttered, but the reverend had faltered when confronted with so many onlookers and turned craven. The shattered look on her face was still fresh in his mind’s eye. She’d had a hell of an awakening. “I thought you and she were much of the same age,” he said at last.

Betsy pouted. “I’m an engaged woman,” she pointed out. “Lizzie’s never had so much as a gentleman caller in her life.”

“You won’t be engaged much longer if you keep this up, my girl,” he said softly.

Betsy gasped. “Benedict!”

He narrowed his eyes. “You saw how those jackals turned on me. They were a hair’s breadth away from denouncing me at the table.”

“No!”

“If there was a conspiracy, very likely it would have been against me, not your precious reverend.”

“How can you say so?” Betsy flung at him, her bosom heaving. She looked at her best animated, but at this very moment, he could not remember admiring her less. “After my parents received you into their home, despite your – ” she broke off with a dismayed gasp.

“Record?” he suggested, striking a match and lighting his cigarillo before draping an arm over the back of the sofa. “Or do you mean my prize fighting?”

Her chin rose. “Yes, despite both of those things.”

He breathed out a curl of smoke from his lips. “Very magnanimous of them,” he agreed. “If I was honest and penniless, I doubt they would have felt the same way.”

Her eyes filled with sudden tears. “You have no cause to say such a thing!”

“Haven’t I?”

“Oh, Benedict darling,” she cried and crossed the room to sink onto the sofa beside him. “Please don’t let this horrid evening come between us. We are to be married in four days’ time.” She placed a soft white hand on his sleeve, and he had to suppress the impulse to shrug it off. “This has been the worst evening of my life. Please don’t add to it now, by forcing a quarrel between us.”

Before he could reply, a footfall in the doorway announced his prospective father-in-law’s arrival on the scene.

“I trust I’m not interrupting,” Josiah Anderson said, clearing his throat. “But you must allow me to apologize for this dreadful evening’s entertainment, Mr. Toomes.”

“Oh, dearest Papa,” Betsy said, rising and moving to his side. “It’s not your fault. No one could think so.” She slipped an arm through his and looked at Benedict meaningfully. “No apologies are needed between family.”

Benedict contemplated the end of his cigarillo before rising to his feet. “I believe I’ll take my leave of you now,” he announced, to his betrothed’s consternation. He remained distant during their goodbyes. Mrs. Anderson did not appear; apparently, she was too busy taking her recalcitrant niece in hand. On the twenty-minute walk back to Winchester Street, Benedict wondered if she would succeed in brow-beating Lizzie into taking back her damning words. Thinking of that stubborn and principled damsel, he was surprised to find he had some doubt.

He threw a penny to a beggar sat huddled on the corner and discarded the butt of his smoked cigar. On the surface, Lizzie Anderson would have little choice but to accede to her uncle and aunt’s wishes. From the confidences Betsy had poured in his ears, he knew Lizzie had been taken in by them at age four as an orphan. She was wholly dependent on her uncle’s goodwill and her aunt’s charity. They had always been loud in their assertions that she was a second daughter to them. He wondered how true this statement would prove, now the chips were down.

On reaching the quiet, affluent street on which the tidy red-bricked villa he had purchased little more than a month ago stood, he paused. Betsy still believed him to reside in lodgings, but he had bought the house as a surprise, in anticipation of their impending marriage. He contemplated now the double fronted exterior and decorated gables. Buying it had been quite an achievement, a farewell to his former life. Contemplating its solid respectability now, he felt rather flat.