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“I, uh . . . thank you?” she said, looking at him wonderingly, finally shutting her obviously gaping mouth.
He crossed back to the pianoforte, took up her crutches, handed her one of them, and offered his free arm to her. “Shall we?”
She needed his full support in order to hop across the room on one foot with one crutch. She clutched his arm, which, thankfully, felt solid and steady.
“Easy now,” he said softly.
Somehow, she made it to the chair he’d placed near the tea service for her, and she was grateful to once again be sitting safely and securely. Mr. Fortescue took her crutch from her and leaned both crutches against the wall, then returned to take his own seat. “How do you take your tea?” he asked.
“With a dash of milk and one lump of sugar, please,” she said, still rather mystified by his actions.
He prepared her tea and handed it to her.
“And lest you forget,” she said, beginning to regain her wits, “I kept my part of the bargain by playing for you. It is time for you to keep your part of the bargain.”
He sighed. “What is it you wish to know?”
* * *
Ben had promised her he would be forthcoming about himself, but he dreaded the questions she might ask. He already knew she had a quick mind, regardless of the fact that she’d briefly forgotten what he’d told her about Gemma—at least, that had seemed to be the case. For whatever reason, she’d thought the words of her ballad would remind him of his so-called lost love. Gemma was certainly not that, may she rest in peace.
He sipped his tea and waited for Rebecca to ask her first question. She seemed intent upon her biscuit and tea, although he suspected her mind was busily at work.
Soon, she set her teacup on its saucer and set both on the table. He sipped again from his own cup, watching her and waiting.
“Are you the Earl of Winton?” she asked.
He choked.
“Isobel told me the other day after you left that Mr. Arnold had left his property to the future Earl of Winton,” Miss Rebecca said as Ben spluttered and coughed and grabbed a napkin to press to his mouth. “Having never met the gentleman in question, we are both naturally curious to know if you might be he. And if so,” she continued, “then why have you led us all to believe you are a mere mister,MisterFortescue?” She paused, seeming to just now recognize that he was in the midst of an embarrassing mishap. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine in a moment. And I confess that I am Winton, yes,” he said eventually around a few lingering coughs. “And to answer your other question: I have not spoken of my title for the time being so that I may enjoy a brief respite from it. Does that answer your question?”
“I suppose, in theory, it does, although it seems rather odd,” she said. “I suppose the next question I should ask is, What shall I call you?”
It was another question he hadn’t expected, but this one made him huff out a relieved laugh, although it made him cough again. “You may call me Ben, if you like,” he said once he got his coughing sufficiently under control again. “Since we are neighbors.”
“Thank you. That pleases me. And you may call me Rebecca,” she said. “I am presuming that you still wish not to be referred to by your title, then.”
“Not yet. Titles frequently bring complications with them, and I have had enough of those in my life recently. I wished to enjoy freedom from them for a short while. Examining my new inheritance so far from Winton Court seemed to provide the perfect opportunity, although I have always known it wouldn’t last long. But I have been here but a few days thus far, as you know, so remaining plain Mr. Fortescue is what I’d prefer for a while longer. Can you keep that secret for me?”
“I shouldn’t like to lie to Isobel, if she were to bring up the subject again,” Rebecca said. “Not that I will bring it up myself. I suspect you have some servants who may already know or suspect they know, however, as Mr. Arnold was on rather companionable terms with them.”
“So I have already begun to realize,” Ben said.
“Do you not consider it misleading?” she asked. “Deceptive even?”
“If I prefer for the people here to get to know me as a man rather than as a lord, is that not acceptable?” he said. “Will they not feel more comfortable getting to know me on equal terms?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” she said. “For what happens when they know the truth? You have deceived them by omission. You have created what you consider equal terms, but that is not the case, is it? They will realize your status exceeds theirs—and not by a little. What then? How are they to interact with you afterward?”
He hadn’t really considered that, caught up as he’d been with his own problems. “Your points are valid ones,” he conceded, “but I think there is another perspective to be had. I was courted by those who thought they could curry favor with me after my father’s death. Yes, I had been reared knowing I would eventually assume his title, but I don’t think I was fully prepared for the social machinations I encountered. Additionally, once I became earl, I found myself inundated with feminine attention, and I say that in all modesty.”
“It would have happened anyway,” Rebecca said. “You were your father’s heir, and you are also an attractive gentleman.”
He shook his head, although he was pleasantly surprised that she thought him attractive. “Thank you for the compliment, but I suspect you may be somewhat naive and romantic in your thinking, Miss—Rebecca—if you believe that to be true, for I was not one of Society’s favorites before my father’s death, being disinclined to spend much time in Town. When I became Earl of Winton and had duties in Parliament to fulfill, ah, nowthatwas when I instantly became subjected to an overwhelming amount of female attention—of all ages, sizes, and marital statuses—that I hadn’t experienced beforehand.”
She began to giggle and then covered her mouth with her hand.
