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“Ben…” Sam gingerly took the bundle and placed it on her lap. “His name was Benedict.”
I do believe in fate, she’d said to John just a moment ago. John receiving these letters by mistake, Sam now learning of them and having them back… It must have been some sort of sign, but she couldn’t decipher it at the moment.
“Now,Sam,” he said with extra emphasis on her name. “If you don’t mind, it seems like I have business to tend to.” He tipped his hat at her, turned his mount, and thundered away.
* * *
As soon as he got home, John put himself in order and ventured out to his intended’s home. Something about Sam’s mood and the way she talked about the duchess’s fate bothered him. Montbrook had been pleasant every time he saw him. He looked as if he approved of the match. But if what Sam told him was true, there must be more to his deceptions than that. He wanted to make certain the duchess was all right. After all, she was going to be his fiancée. John heaved a sigh.
A few hours earlier, he’d been ready to dissolve their agreement and propose to Sam. It was a fanciful dream. Sam didn’t have any feelings toward him. Granted, neither did the duchess, but he was ready for a marriage of convenience, was he not? And hadn’t he decided that subjecting his angel to a marriage with him was a fate worse than death?
Whatever the case might be, the duchess now depended on him in a way that nobody had ever depended on him before. And he wasn’t about to fail Sam’s trust.
As he neared the Somerset townhouse, he tossed his reins to the approaching footman and reached the front door steps. Several moments after he knocked, the door opened and a tall, gray-haired butler appeared on the doorstep. His face was impassive, but something akin to relief danced in his eyes the moment he read John’s card.
“Welcome, My Lord,” the butler said with a bow, then showed him into a drawing room and left.
This was a different drawing room from the one he’d seen before but equally spacious and expensive. John looked over the room slowly. His gaze fell to a portrait above the hearth, and he moved closer to study it. It was a portrait of a young blond man and a smiling, red-headed young lady. For a moment, John thought he was looking at the duchess, but there was something different about her eyes.
“My grandparents,” the duchess said from behind him.
John stiffened and turned slowly. It had been a while since someone was able to sneak up on him. The expensive, thick Persian carpets muffled the sound of footsteps very well. The duchess was looking at the portrait with something akin to sadness in her eyes, or maybe, reminiscence.
“Theirs was a love match,” she continued, still looking at the portrait. “And a scandalous one at that. She was a merchant’s daughter; he was a newly titled duke. You’ve come to see my guardian?” She trained her gaze on him at her last sentence.
“Your Grace.” John inclined his head, and she sank into a graceful curtsy. “Yes. But also, I am here to invite you out for a ride in the park.”
Surprise registered in her eyes for a moment before she masked it with a smile. “I shall be delighted.” She drew her hand toward her hair as if to make sure her coiffure was still intact. “I shall go and put myself in order then.”
John couldn’t fathom what she meant to do with her appearance. She already looked ready for court. The duchess turned her overbright smile at him, and he inclined his head.
At that moment, Lord Montbrook entered the room. He was a heavyset middle-aged man, and he was breathing heavily, as if walking from one room to another was too difficult of an exercise. “My dear,” he said, addressing the duchess, “you shouldn’t be alone with a gentleman.”
He then turned to John and inclined his head.
“The door was ajar, Uncle.” She smiled at him and walked toward the door. “Lord Ashbury asked me to go for a ride. I hope you don’t keep him occupied for too long,” she threw over her shoulder and hurried out of the room.
The moment she left the room, Montbrook’s gaze hardened. “Your betrothal is not official yet. I wouldn’t want rumors surrounding my niece.”
“That is why I am here, to make the betrothal official. With your consent, of course.”
“I don’t have a betrothal contract ready yet. We shall need to reschedule when my solicitor is present. I shall send you a note.”
“But we do have your consent, yes?”
Montbrook grunted in answer. “Until the betrothal contract is signed, you need a chaperone present with her at all times.”
“Surely, it is not necessary for today? We shall be riding in an open barouche.”
“You do not seem to care for her reputation.” The man puffed out his chest.
“She will be my wife soon enough,” John answered stonily.
Montbrook’s nostrils flared. “Until she is, take care to act with complete respect. No rendezvous behind closed doors. And stay in full sight of thetonduring your outing. If there’s even a whiff of impropriety—”
John raised his brow. Was Montbrook trying to threaten him?
“I know you overeager types,” the man continued. “There will be no hasty weddings. She deserves a grand celebration.”
