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He chuckled. “Well, if you marry me, you’ll have one. Who’s going to gossip too openly about the Duchess of Keswick?”
“Your… your engagement.”
“Iamnotengaged.” Benedict said firmly. “I shall have theGazetteprint a retraction; I promise. I never asked that woman to marry me, and I will not marry her. I want to marry you, Rosaline.”
Despite the wet, grimy pavement, Benedict sank down onto one knee, ignoring the wet seeping through his breeches.
Rosaline stifled a gasp, eyes wide.
“Will you marry me, Rosaline Wyre?” Benedict murmured.
Rosaline made a strange choking noise. “Yes.” She whispered. “Yes, I will.”
Benedict jumped to his feet, moving forward to take Rosaline in his arms and kiss her.
“Benedict, no! Not in the street!” she hissed, pushing him back. Her firm words couldn’t quite hide the grin on her face. “Our neighbors have enough to gossip about our family without your kissing me right here.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I think it’s rather too late to worry about the propriety of a kiss between us, don’t you?”
“It’s the place, not the act.” Rosaline said primly.
It wasn’t long before Rosaline and Benedict were walking up the steps to Benedict’s house. The rain had faded to a light drizzle, but not before thoroughly soaking them both.
Their intention was to speak to the Dowager. Benedict knew that his grandmother couldn’t force him into marriage, but he still wanted her blessing.
“I’m sure she’ll come around.” Benedict said, helping Rosaline off with her cloak and handing it to the wide-eyed footman. “Thank you, Michael.”
The footman bowed. “Your guests are in the parlor, Your Grace.”
Benedict paused, frowning. “Guests?”
“Lord Nicholas Parsons, Your Grace, along with his daughter, Miss Louisa Parsons.”
There was a pause. Rosaline and Benedict exchanged glances.
“Isee.” Benedict managed. “Very good, thank you.”
Hand in hand, the two moved towards the parlor, pushing open the door.
Benedict already knew what – or rather, whom – he would find inside.
The bald man with cold eyes sat on an armchair near the fire, filing his nails. He did not look up when they entered. The miserable woman in a yellow dress that Benedict had seen earlier hunched over on the window seat. She was wearing another yellow dress, one that seemed to drain her of color.
“Your Grace, you’re here at last.” Lord Nicholas Parsons said, inspecting his nails. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
CHAPTER22
There was a long pause.
“Ibelieve you have the advantage of me.” Benedict said coldly. Rosaline resisted the urge to hide behind him. The man – Lord Nicholas – was staring at her so coldly that she wanted to cringe. Why was he so angry? What did he mean by being here like this? Benedict clearly didn’t know him and seem almost angry at his presence.
“Ibelieve you know who I am.”
“Ibelieve I don’t.” Benedict shot back. “Oh, my footman told me your name, but that’s not what I’m asking. Who are you, and why are you here?”
Lord Nicholas got to his feet, tossing the nail file into the hearth.
“Iam Lord Nicholas Parsons,” he said smoothly, “And this is my granddaughter, Louisa. Your fiancé, Your Grace. Which is why am I so confused as to why you would arrive here hand in hand with another young lady. A young lady who, if my memory serves me correctly, was recently exposed as nothing more than a fortune-hunter. For shame, Your Grace.”
