“What on earth is going on here? Did you turn highwayman? Go on a robbery spree across London?”
Bennett inwardly groaned, before turning and glaring at Judith, who stood with hands on hips inside the library doorway. Worse, Preston stood behind her, and both were looking at him with acute alarm.
“Doesn’t anyone knock anymore?” he bit out.
Judith tilted her head. “We did. Several times. But apparently you were far too busy flame-watching. Or calculating the profit to be made after selling your ill-gotten gains.”
“There is no reason for you two to be here. Kindly turn around and leave at once.”
Preston frowned and ran a hand through his wayward red hair. “With all due respect, Tunbury, it is mid-morning and you are sitting alone in your robe, unshaven, surrounded by a small mountain of baskets, cloth, and sweets. Many might consider that a powerful cry for help.”
“Or an employer attempting to prepare something nice for his staff?” Bennett shot back, in no mood for social niceties. They had invaded his library after all.
Judith and her husband exchanged a meaningful glance. Knowing they had that special bond, two people who actually loved each other alongside the rampant lust that he now understood but definitely did not want to think about in relation to his sister, only increased his irritation.
“I’ve ordered tea,” said Judith surprisingly gently. “We’ll help with these baskets, but I hope that you’ll also tell me what is weighing on your mind. Is there someone who must perish from an untraceable poison in their syllabub? Perhaps fall from a castle turret in the middle of a violent storm?”
“Those bloody novels. Preston, why do you permit it?”
His brother in law shrugged. “As long as it’s not me being poisoned or shoved off a turret, I really don’t mind. And reading makes her happy.”
The couple exchanged another look, sweet enough to give him toothache. But then Judith marched straight over to the chaise and sat down, Preston following to settle his lanky form next to her.
“What is troubling you, Bennett?” asked his sister bluntly, her gaze concerned. “Is it that the anniversary of Father’s death rapidly approaches? I don’t hold with the ‘buck up, soldier’ nonsense, and neither does Preston. It is quite, quite acceptable to be sad. Or is it a winter malaise, perhaps? London weather is truly terrible, so cold and bleak and miserable.”
He hesitated. Alongside countless lectures on the folly of sin and self-pleasure, how often had he been told that a duke remained stoic at all times, that accepting comfort was a weakness? Yet he needed to get these chaotic thoughts out of his head to reduce their power, much like he’d done when confiding in Delilah.
“Father’s death will always be on my mind, as will my abrupt inheritance,” Bennett began slowly. “I dislike the cold, and have no great love for Christmastide. Because of these elements, it is true December is my least favorite month of the year. But it is not any of those things.”
“If I didn’t know better, Tunbury,” said Preston, tapping his knee, “I might think it someone rather than something.”
“No,” he replied swiftly. “Of course not.”
Judith clapped her hands and sat forward on the chaise. “Liar!” she crowed. “Oh my word. You’ve met someone and they’ve turned you upside down and inside out. I’m torn between offering a hug and dancing a jig. Now you can throw away that foolish list drawn up by the three old windbags, and wed for love instead.”
Bennett jerked to his feet and stumbled over to the hearth. For the longest time, he concentrated fiercely on an unnecessary stoking of the fire. Then he sighed. “No. I can’t.”
“Oh dear. May I ask…are we talking about a woman? Or perhaps…a gentleman?”
He blinked at the unusually tentative question, but Judith had always been far worldlier than him, even though younger in age. “A woman. But she is…we are…I don’t even bloody know. I thought there was more than a strong attraction between us. A certain closeness, the ability to discuss any matter, even delicate ones. She is wise and thoughtful and plainspoken. I feel…at ease in her company.”
Preston nodded. “That’s how I feel about Judy.”
“Except my sister returns your affection,” Bennett said sharply. “And you’re both accepted in the ton.”
Silence greeted his words, and he cursed at revealing such telling details. Straightening his shoulders to at least vaguely resemble a man possessing composure, Bennett turned back to face them. The deep sympathy he saw did not improve his temper.
“Is there anything we can do?” asked Judith.
“Yes,” he replied, tightening his robe sash. “Assist me with these damned baskets. You know how much cloth is required. But I swear on the good book, if even a single sweet goes missing, it will be you two falling from a castle turret.”
“Outrageous tyranny,” said his sister with a sniff, but they were soon hard at work.
Bennett exhaled in relief.
This was the answer, staying occupied. As long as he remained busy, he could banish Delilah Forbes from his mind and find a measure of solace, even contentment.
Surely.
Chapter 6
“I cannot believe you dragged me along to a hospital fundraising meeting of all things, Dee. This is quite beyond the reasonable bounds of friendship.”
Delilah grinned at Naomi as they strolled arm in arm about the large Curzon Street drawing room. “I’ve attended many. Without fail, they are fifty percent gossip, thirty percent afternoon tea, fifteen percent skullduggery, and five percent fundraising. More importantly, they are an opportunity for you to win over the most important society matrons in London. Let’s make Wickham’s Confectionery as well known for sweets as Gunter’s is for ices.”
“Are they…” Naomi lowered her voice, “…kind to you? Knowing your occupation?”
“It does help that I’m very wealthy,” she admitted. “And that several high-ranking ladies here attend the Temple. Of course others give me the cut direct or are rude, but I try to ignore that. I’m not angling for soiree invitations or to marry their sons or brothers. I just like to contribute to a good cause, enjoy a nice afternoon tea, and tut over aristocrats behaving badly.”
Naomi giggled. “Sounds excellent. Not a lot of scandal in my Cheapside kitchen.”
“Apart from you and Wickham decorating each other with spun sugar when the children are sleeping,” Delilah said pointedly.
“I don’t know how that shocking rumor started. Everyone knows that a couple wed ten years with three in the nursery is naught but dull and respectable.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“As are yours. So feel free to confess the truth about you and Mr. Innsworth, a man who looks remarkably like a certain duke.”
Heat scorched her cheeks. “You know.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “He is a handsome, rich bachelor with an ancient title. Dressing up as a clerk doesn’t change that, although it was rather endearing how much he enjoyed the sweets. And the way he looked at you, I might add.”
Regret stabbing like a dagger, Delilah stopped to admire a gilt-framed portrait of playful spaniels on the wall. Five days had passed since she’d politely tossed Ben out of her bedchamber; and while a part of her hoped he might return or send a note, of course he hadn’t. Why would he? And she couldn’t exactly visit him in Grosvenor Square. Society gossiped about each of them sufficiently already.