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Chapter Two
July 11, 1819
Cranleigh, Surrey
England
Benedict Giles Urquhart, Viscount Worthington, yawned as he entered the morning room. What he needed was a cup of strong coffee to banish the cobwebs from his brain before his customary morning ride. He’d read long into the nighttime hours, for the novel he’d chosen had been rife with adventure and intrigue, with a dashing, fearless hero, of course. That had been the only drawback to an otherwise lovely few hours of being immersed into the book. How easy it was for a fictional character to tap into courage. He’d never lived a real life with real problems.
Dawn had just broken, and it was one of his favorite times in the country, which was why he took full advantage of it whenever he could. “Ah, good morning, Mama,” he said to his mother, who was there ahead of him, for she often rose before the sun, and had done so since they’d lost his father a few years ago.
“Good morning, Benedict.”
He pushed his silver-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose as he moved to the sideboard. “How did you sleep?”
“Well enough, though I still can’t acclimate myself to not having anyone to talk with before I retire.”
After he poured himself a cup of coffee, he declined cream or sugar from a hovering footman and then joined his mother at the round table. “You miss him.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, and I suppose I always will. He was very much my soul mate.”
Benedict nodded while sipping his beverage. The day simply didn’t feel “right” until he’d poured at least one cup of the hot liquid down his throat. “You’ve often spoken of that.” Though he could imagine that in theory, he had no idea what that must feel like, to find the exact one person in the world who made him feel… complete.
Or if it were truly possible. Perhaps his mother had merely been fortunate in love.
“I believe there is that one person for all of us on this earth.” Her eyes took on a faraway look as she peered, not at him, but almost through him. “That one perfect half that’s missing from you, and once found, will make you feel beyond content.”
“As if you’ve suddenly found something you didn’t know what you were searching for,” he finished quietly for her. They’d often had this discussion, especially when she was feeling more acutely lonely for his father. “I’m glad you were able to experience that, Mama. Perhaps you will again, should you decide to return to London for a Season.”
“Oh, I’m not certain I believe that… or could be so fortunate a second time.” She gave her head a slight shake. In the rays of the rising sun, the silver threads weaving through her dark auburn hair glimmered. With a little sigh, she came back to the present and looked him up and down. “Are you riding today?”
“I am, as I do every day.” He tugged at the bottom of his plain brown silk waistcoat. “Was there something you needed before I set out?”
“Yes.” She took a sip from her teacup. “For you to take responsibility for your title and marry. I’d like to have grandchildren before I die.”
“Ah.” He rolled his eyes, for this was an ongoing complaint and it was beginning to chafe. “Marriage is not something I’m actively searching for. I have a few years yet until I’ll feel compelled to enter parson’s mousetrap.”
Not that any woman worth her salt would want him once they discovered how much of a coward he’d been on the battlefields, how he’d failed at every turn during his military career. Even the thought of marriage terrified him, so it was yet another subject he’d rather avoid. Which was why he’d hidden himself away in the country with the hopes of not surfacing again for long months.
“You’re three and thirty.”
“As if that’s ancient.”
“To the Marriage Mart, it is.” She sighed and met his gaze. Sadness lingered in hers. “You need someone in your life who will show you that who you are isn’t horrid. Someone who can help fill the cracks in your soul.”
Benedict snorted. “I’m not certain about that.” As he took another gulp of his coffee, he frowned. No woman wanted a coward, nor would they excuse such behavior. No man wished for that sort as a friend. The one time he’d been promoted on a battlefield had been an accident, but there’d been no time to explain. Even now, remembering his time in the infantry left his knees weak, his pulse racing, and sweat to break out on his brow. “I’m better off alone.”
“Reading about men you assume are braver than you?” When he didn’t answer, his mother continued. “I don’t like that you shut yourself up in your study three days a week, analyzing everyone else’s things, their projects, every possible decision in their lives, but never living your own.”
His hand holding the cup shook, so he quickly finished the remaining liquid and then set the cup on the tabletop in front of him. “I tried living my own life. It put me on battlefields I had no business occupying. I saw things no one should ever have to witness.” He kept his voice level, quiet. “I learned the world is a terrible place, Mama, and it’s only growing worse. Why would I want to marry or bring children into it, which would put them at risk?”
“Oh, Benedict, you must let yourself move forward in hope at times.” She put her hand over his and squeezed his fingers. “Otherwise, you’ll spend the rest of your life alone and lonely, which are two different things.”
“It might be the best thing, for I’m an inherent risk for an unlucky woman to take in hand.” The nightmares he occasionally suffered were proof enough. To say nothing of the fear that kept him captive, but he’d long ago made peace with the decision to remain unmatched. “Remaining by myself is no risk to anyone.” Unwilling to linger in the maudlin thoughts, he scrambled to his feet. “I’m going riding.”
She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Is that not a risk?”
Benedict shook his head. “I’m well familiar with the terrain, my horse, and my abilities. Everything is in control, and therein the risk is contained and low. Nothing untoward will happen to me.”
