AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Come now, Huxley. Tease her anymore, and she might start to think that is a thing of which you are capable.”
The cad winked at her—winked—before seeing himself out.
“One of these days, I shall explain the story in its totality to you, Josie. For now…” She waved toward the doors. “I must find a way to survive another evening with him.”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Before Benjamin had encountered Lady Charlotte Fitzroy, he had thought himself a reasonable sort. He knew he was not well-mannered; he was certainly not kind, but he did have a solid grasp over his humors. Since their meeting, he had found himself in quite the pickle. What grasp he had on his feelings, his understanding of his very being, was shattered for Lady Charlotte’s presence. He felt all at once small and large. He felt boring and cherished. He felt, simply put, as though he existed only for her.
He had never existed for a lady. For his duty, certainly. For his family, at a time. When they had struck their deal, she had cautioned against trying to leash her… but what of Benjamin? Was he not dangling by her hook? It had felt like it in the greenhouse when he had almost kissed her before her maid had come to call her home. It felt like it now, as he sat in a carriage she had rented for him, traveling to her home, upon her invitation, to meet her family as part of her insane plan. He didn’t even look like himself as he caught the eye of his own reflection. It smirked back at him, but he was not moved to glee, wanting instead to put his fist through the glass of the vehicle’s window.
His discomfort did not stem from anger. It took root in the fact that having Charlotte as his puppeteer feltgood. Benjamin Fletcher had spent his entire life loathing the type of man he was pretending to be. Why, then, did it feel like coming home?
The driver slowed the horses to a halt. Out he stepped from the carriage before the footman could open the door. He hadn’t even known the man had been traveling with them. He looked at the grand house before him. Richmond Court. Four stories high, fashioned of snow-white stone, each curve, edge, and nook sanded down to perfection. The windows were crystal clear. The door a pristine slab of dark wood.
It was a palace for a king and a king’s daughter—a princess.
A man opened the door before he could reach for the lion-headed doorknocker. He was dressed in livery, holding himself straight like a nervous cadet. He might have been mistaken for one had he not been pot-bellied with crow’s feet.
“A name, sir?”
Benjamin nodded, “Mr. Charles Huxley.” It was enough to see him through the door without so much as a “Good evening.” At the sight of the entrance hall, Benjamin was gobsmacked. The room’s luxury made Pollock’s home seem like a sty for pigs in comparison. Not a mote of dust in sight. Not a seam out of place. The wallpaper was a vibrant yellow. Hell and damnation, he could see his reflection in the parquet! He picked up his jaw as the butler moved down the hall to the parlor.
The parlor was just as magnificent as the foyer, if not more. Where the hall had been yellow, the drawing room was teal. A gleaming pianoforte sat in the corner. Marble statues had been posted in alcoves, keeping watch, Greek in style. And this room was full of people. Some turned as he entered, the butler calling his name, but many remained all-consumed by their own intercourses. Women with feathers in their hair and bosoms hoisted to their necks. Men with midnight-black coats to match his own, sipping sparkling punch from crystalline glasses. Benjamin was more out of place now than he had been at the Singberry affair for the strange intimacy of the setting. There was nowhere to hide.
A guest was upon him at once. Not a guest, one of the hosts: the Marquess of St Chett. “Mr. Huxley,” he sang for Benjamin’s entrance. “How jolly good of you to come!” He shook his hand a little too firmly. “How was the ride over?”
“Fair,” Benjamin stammered. “Very fair indeed.” He swept a glance over the room and saw Mr. Raphael Pollock sitting beneath a window, locked in conversation with Lady Eleanor. “This seems quite the affair.”
“Oh, this?” St Chett looked around. “A small thing between friends, really. And why not?” The Marquess turned, placing a hand on the shoulder of a man behind him. The silver-haired devil turned around—the Duke of Richmond himself. His whiskers stuck out at all angles as though he hadn’t bothered with his toilette. “You will remember my father, the Duke of Richmond, from Rector’s?”
Charlotte’s father regarded him curiously as though he saw right through him. She had mentioned his eccentricity in passing, and to be fair, he had not made note of it when first they had met. It was in his eyes, his touch of madness, he realized now the man was drifting between worlds. “My, my… Mr. Huxley!” He beamed, seizing Benjamin’s hand in a cool, flimsy grasp. “It is good to see you again, good sir—talented sir.”
Benjamin wore a smile. “And you, Your Grace.” He didn’t know what more he could say to the man. He feared that anything he might say would lead him to the gallows. Thankfully, or perhaps not so thankfully, the man turned around and wandered off toward Pollock.
“Don’t mind my father,” the Marquess supplied. “He comes and goes. You shall get used to it soon enough.” He gestured for a footman to bring over a tray of drinks. “Perhaps it is too soon to be making such declarations.” He was speaking of Charlotte.
“Not at all.” Benjamin snatched up a glass, forbidding himself from downing it. It was all for show. Everything was for show. “I make no secret of my admiration for your sister.”
“And she makes no secret of her admiration for you, old chap. I say you are a brave man for scooping her up. See to commissioning a bridle post-haste.”
Benjamin cleared his throat to cover a chuckle. “I like a woman with a little bark.”
“A little bark?” St Chett repeated in mock-horror. “She has as much bark as a musket. Though perhaps I’m unfair in my brotherly tenderness for her.” He shook the notion away. “All right, I won’t hog your attentions all eve. Let’s see to getting you introduced.”
The Marquess made to turn, but he rolled his eyes faster than his feet could move. He was staring off behind Benjamin, and it was only natural to follow suit. Beneath the doorway leading to the parlor stood Charlotte. She was a marvel of sparkling white velvet that evening, though the front of her gown was a soft pink fabric. It was rather too girlish for Charlotte, he thought, who looked much more herself in the dark colors she had previously sported around him. Her beauty was intact, as it ever was, her rich, dark hair pulled away from her face, giving way to her eyes—those eyes that so ensnared him. Her presence wreathed around him as their gazes locked. Before he knew it, she was before him.
“Mr. Huxley.”
“Lady Charlotte.”
“How glad I am to see you...” She wrestled with a playful grin, but her flush gave her excitement away. She turned to her brother, tutting. The two of them were grumbling peas in a pod. “I hope my brother has not been boring you to tears.”
“I shall leave the melodramatics to you, darling sister.”
For a moment, Benjamin felt quite relieved he was not entangled with Lady Charlotte Fitzroy, for with her came her family, and he was not one for familial pantomime.
On the subject of theater, the curtains parted again to reveal a new figure at the door. Benjamin had been so relieved for Charlotte’s arrival that he hadn’t heard the man’s name being called. It was only when the air in the room shifted, when Charlotte stared at him in horror, that Benjamin caught sight of the newest guest: the Duke of Gamston.
