Dying For A Duke Page 10

  She found him in the library as she had thought she might, with a large drink in hand. It didn’t look like his first.

  “Oh,” she said, affecting surprise. “Hello, my Lord. I was looking for Lizzie.”

  John snorted and shook his head, his eyes roving over Phoebe in a manner that made her skin prickle with disgust. “That silly creature! She won’t be down until the bell’s sounded I assure you.” He walked over to the decanter and lifted another glass. “Come and have a drink with me. Haven’t had the chance to speak with you yet.”

  Phoebe made out as though she was hesitant, dithering in the doorway.

  “Oh, come on,” he laughed, his eyes glittering a little too brightly. “I won’t bite.” He began to pour the drink and then winked at her. “Unless I’m invited to,” he added with a leer.

  With real misgiving, Phoebe closed the door behind her and prayed Benedict was as punctual as he usually was. She noted that he had poured her a large brandy, which was highly inappropriate for a young, unmarried lady.

  She took it from his hand, shuddering slightly as he deliberately delayed releasing the glass, their fingers touching.

  “There now, just what the doctor ordered.”

  Phoebe forced a smile. “After the past few days, yes,” she admitted. “Poor Harold.” She glanced up at him and saw his eyes narrow.

  “Poor nothing,” he said with real animosity. “The man was a fool and a fop. He’s no doubt got debts to his eyeballs and someone decided he’d had enough.”

  “But they’d never get their money once he was dead,” Phoebe pointed out, watching him closely.

  “Then maybe it was more personal, God knows there must be a fair few people in the world wanted him dead, spiteful little rattlepate that he was. He was forever gossiping and spreading scandal.”

  “I heard the runner had arrived?” she asked, and saw his face darken, a frown of what might be concern furrowing his ruddy face.

  “Yes, damn him. A Mister Formby,” he said with a sneer. “Don’t know what Sylvester was thinking of, involving someone outside of the family. Poking about in our affairs. Asked me all manner of impertinent questions. Told him I wouldn’t stand for it.” He looked belligerent now and had drawn himself up to his full and considerable height, his face flushing further with indignation. “Should sort these things out ourselves. Now there’ll be some God awful scandal when the whole thing could have been dealt with quietly.”

  “But his grandson was murdered,” she replied, really rather shocked. But then if John had murdered Harold he would have hoped the whole thing would be hushed up nice and quiet. “And,” she pressed, feeling her heart thud a little harder. “Sylvester thought that his eldest son’s death was no accident too, so you see ...”

  John frowned at that. “Gammon,” he replied, shaking his head. “Tony was a neck or nothing chap and so I told Sylvester. Always told him he’d kill himself driving like he did, and so he has.”

  “It ... doesn’t look good though,” she said, her voice sounding far less careless and rather more terrified than she might have hoped. “For you.”

  John made a disgusted noise. “What piffle, and I told Mr Formby the very same,” he said, pouring himself out another drink. “Tony died by accident and whilst I wouldn’t have lost any sleep over Harold’s death it was none of my doing. Besides, according to their estimation of the time he died I wasn’t even on the estate. Went to visit an old friend in Rye and stayed overnight. Fellow will vouch for me, no question. I didn’t get back here until after all the hullabaloo began.” He gave her a smug nod, his eyes narrowing in a spiteful manner. “Ben though, he took himself off for a long walk after a fight with Harold, according to Mr Spalding. Ready to kill him there and then by all accounts.” He downed his drink and moved closer to Phoebe who tried to back up.

  “Seems like you’ve set the cat among the pigeons there, my pretty. Didn’t like Harold paying you court did he, eh?”

  Phoebe looked at him in disgust. “Harold did not pay me court, as you so charmingly put it. He attacked me!”

  “Oh, come, come,” he said, his voice low and he moved closer still. “If you lead a fellow on you have to accept the consequences.”

  “I did no such thing!” she exclaimed, and ducked under his arm, making for the door. Sadly for her, big and unwieldy the man may have been, he wasn’t slow. His huge hand grasped her arm and pulled her back to him, manhandling her into a rough embrace.

  “What, like seeking me out alone, hmm? I know your type,” he murmured, his brandy-soaked breath hot against her face. “You like to pretend innocence but really you want it rough, don’t you. Yes I know.”

  Phoebe’s scream was muffled as he pressed his fleshy mouth against hers but this time she lost no time in connecting her knee to Lord Rutland’s most sensitive flesh with as much force as possible.

  “What the devil!”

  John’s howl of agony was almost drowned out by Benedict’s curse as Phoebe stumbled away from John and fell against him with an unsteady yelp.

  “What is going on here?”

  To her dismay Phoebe saw she had quite an audience. A white-faced Lizzie, John’s wife Lady Rutland and a supercilious-looking Miss Pinchbeck all looked on in horror.

  “She tried to seduce me, Jane,” John blustered, staring at his wife who promptly turned on her heel and left the room.

  “How dare you!” Phoebe yelled and crossed the room to slap his face.

  “Well, my dear,” Miss Pinchbeck said with such a deal of smugness in her voice that Phoebe wanted to give her the same treatment. “I did warn you about your behaviour I believe.”

  “Miss Pinchbeck!” Lizzie exclaimed as Benedict made a furious noise and glared at his fiancée.

  “Yes, you could tell she invited his overtures by the way he was howling in pain!” Benedict retorted with furious indignation.

  Phoebe almost sagged with relief. She didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought, as long as Ben believed her.

  “And it isn’t the first time either,” Lizzie said in disgust, looking at John with such loathing that Phoebe was quite startled. “I’ve lost count of the number of maids we’ve lost to his wandering hands. Oh poor Phoebe,” she said, with real compassion before she turned on John with fury. “You nasty, despicable man! You just want to ruin everything for everyone. I do so hate you!” And with that parting shot she turned and ran from the room.

  John looked a little taken aback himself but he had an unlikely ally.

  “But she’s here alone with him,” Miss Pinchbeck pointed out with obvious satisfaction. “What else would the man have thought other than that she was throwing herself in his path? No doubt the title of Duke of Denholm cast its lures her way and she thought to take advantage of that.”

  “Theodora!”

  To Phoebe’s intense satisfaction Ben was staring at his betrothed as though he’d never really seen her before. Miss Pinchbeck had jolted with surprise at his outrage but now looked back at him with perfect composure.

  “She’s tried for you, my Lord,” she said her voice even. “Why not move on when that pathetic attempt failed?”

  Phoebe gasped and took an involuntary step backwards, away from the closeness of Benedict. She had known what kind of woman Miss Pinchbeck was but she was still surprised. Quite apart from the ignominy of being spoken about in such a way, she was shocked that the woman was so stupid. To behave in such a manner in front of Ben was sure to alienate him. A man who so despised scandal and scenes would not be thrilled to discover his future wife so ready to leap into the fray and add fuel to the fire.

  Besides which Phoebe felt a fair measure of guilt. Rightly or wrongly she had tried to take Ben from her. Suddenly she felt very tired and rather foolish. This had been a ridiculous idea.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, trying for dignity but hearing her voice tremble in an alarming manner. “I think I’d prefer you to dissect my character out of my hearing.”

  R
unning for the door she snatched it open and headed for the stairs. She was almost at the top when she heard Ben’s voice behind her.

  “Phoebe!”

  She didn’t stop, too close to tears to withstand another of his lectures. She had no doubt he thought her a dreadful creature, no matter if he believed she hadn’t been leading Lord Rutland on.

  She had opened her bedroom door and was about to close it when Ben caught up with her. Pushing through he closed it behind him.

  “Please go away,” she begged, breathing hard to try and still the hot tears of mortification that were even now burning her eyes.

  “Not until I’m sure you are unhurt,” he replied, his voice so gentle that a sob rose to her throat.

  She nodded and stepped away from him, turning her back. “I’m fine. It was foolish of me, I know it was. But I was only trying to help.”

  There was a heavy sigh and she started as his fingers closed over hers. “I know that, you idiotic creature. But it was more than foolish, it was damned dangerous.” His voice was rough now and she looked up at him in surprise. “Promise me you’ll not do anything like that ever again, Phoebe. If ... if he’d have hurt you we really might have had another murder on our hands.”

  She blinked faster but the tears fell just the same and she ran to him, wrapping her arms about his waist.

  “Oh, Ben,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, and it was all for nothing. I don’t think he can have done it. He wasn’t even here. He was with a friend in Rye who’ll vouch for him.”

  There was a moment’s pause and then Ben put his arms around her. “Unless he’s paying someone to cover for him.”

  “Oh,” she said looking up. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Benedict shook his head. “Either way, I had a very disagreeable interview with Mr Formby this morning and I get the distinct feeling he believes I am involved in this up to my neck. So please ... please stay out of trouble, Phoebe. At least until this mess is cleared up.”

  Phoebe sniffed and nodded, remembering herself and their earlier argument. She let go of him and moved away, putting some distance between them. “I’m sorry, Benedict. I’m afraid I’ve given you a deal of trouble. I ... I’ll try not to from now on.”

  She was more than surprised when Benedict closed that distance once more and took her hand again. “You’ve given me more trouble than I’ve ever known my whole life,” he said, but his eyes were smiling at her. “So I don’t see why you should stop now.”

  He was staring down at her and Phoebe felt her breath catch in her throat. “Benedict,” she whispered, hardly daring to believe in the emotion she saw there. “If ... if you truly want to marry Miss Pinchbeck I ... I’ll leave you alone, I promise I will.”

  Benedict swallowed and his face shuttered up. “It has little to do with want now, Phoebe,” he said, his voice soft as his thumb stroked her palm in small, caressing circles. “You must see ... it’s impossible. There is nothing I can do. No matter what I might wish for.”

  “But she’s odious and cruel and ...” Phoebe bit her lip as tears sprung to her eyes, knowing she shouldn’t say such things.

  “Please, love, please don’t cry,” he begged her, looking torn. “I’ve been a fool, I know I have. Sylvester tried to tell me ...” He took a breath and raised her hand to his lips, kissing the fingers with a tender brush of his lips. “Forgive me,” he whispered and turned to leave the room. She watched as he hesitated at the door. “If there was a way, Phoebe, I’d take it. I swear I would.”

  And with that he left her alone.

  Chapter 12

  Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

  I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! - Shelley

  The funeral was a strange affair as far as Phoebe was concerned. Apart from the unsettling Mr Spalding there didn’t appear to be anyone there with a good word to say about Harold. His mother looked distraught of course, but according to Lizzie she always looked that way. Lizzie was surprisingly vocal on the subject in fact. Since her little outburst in front of John she seemed to have decided that Phoebe should be taken into her confidence. She had never been close to her brother, Harold. At five years older than her he had bullied her without mercy as a child and as adults the best she had hoped for was to be ignored.

  She turned to look at Phoebe, her hazel green eyes full of sadness.

  “Mother is devastated,” she admitted, with a shrug. “Of course she is, but ... I never believe she really feels anything. I’ve never believed she really gave two hoots about us other than the fact that Harold was the heir and therefore of value. I think it’s the loss of the title that bothers her the most.” She looked immediately contrite and flushed. “I shouldn’t say such wicked things.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Phoebe said with a smile as she slipped her arm through Lizzie’s. “We’re friends now and you can say whatever you wish to me, I assure you I won’t be the least bit shocked.”

  Lizzie gave her a rueful grin, though there was something of a sparkle in her eyes now. “No,” she said, giving Phoebe’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t believe you would be.”

  The rest of the day passed quietly and Phoebe had no opportunity to see Benedict. She told herself perhaps that was for the best, for now at least. She hadn’t the slightest intention of giving up on him, however. And was more determined than ever to rid him of the wretched Pinchbeck woman no matter what happened between them.

  The afternoon was quite pleasant though as her new found friendship with Lizzie deepened. They actually had a fair amount of thoughts and ideas in common, if not experiences. Lizzie was endlessly fascinated by Phoebe’s life following the army in her step-father’s wake and wanted nothing more than to hear anything that Phoebe would tell her. In return, and in the spirit of confiding female friends, Lizzie admitted that she had a Beau, but that the family would never approve of her marrying him for reasons she wouldn’t divulge.

  “So, you see,” she said with a heartfelt sigh. “I know just how you feel.” She smiled when Phoebe gave her a quizzical look. “About dear Ben,” she said, patting Phoebe’s hand as she blushed. Good Lord, did everyone know?

  “I can see you’re in love with him. And little wonder,” she added. “He’s about the only decent man in the family. Well apart from Grandpapa of course. He’s a darling.”

  “Yes.” Phoebe grinned, more than happy to agree with that statement. “Sylvester is a darling.”

  “And Ben?” she pressed as they took another turn about the rose garden.

  “And Ben ...” Phoebe sighed. “Oh, Ben is engaged to that horrid creature and far too honourable to do anything to get rid of her.”

  Lizzie nodded. “Yes, I thought that was it.” She stopped and stared over the lovely landscape that took in acres of fields and woodland and the vast lake, and in the far distance the pale, silvery line of the sea on the horizon. “Life is cruel sometimes isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Phoebe replied, looking out at the sea and sighing. “Yes it is.”

  ***

  Surprisingly everyone seemed in rather better spirits at dinnertime. Perhaps it was just that they’d had enough of doom and gloom and bickering. Mr Spalding had left after the funeral, once the runner had done interviewing him. A fact which everyone was more than pleased about, but Phoebe didn’t think that alone would account for the good humour around the table. That Lord John Rutland and his wife were also dining out was another perk. But she thought perhaps the lurking presence of the runner, Mr Formby, was making even this disparate family close ranks. He’d been poking into everyone’s affairs by all accounts and setting up everyone’s bristles. Phoebe was due to speak to him tomorrow.

  Oliver was also in fine form tonight and was flirting outrageously with both her and Lizzie who was looking very well this evening. She seemed to Phoebe to be suddenly a little more sure of herself. Phoebe hoped she wasn’t being conceited in believing she may have had a hand in that. Whatever it was that accounted for the good mood of all pr
esent she was thankful for it.

  Of course Miss Pinchbeck was still there to cast her disapproving sneer over every humorous remark, apparently believing there was still no call for levity. It was something Phoebe heartily disagreed with. Having seen the war at far closer quarters than anyone else around the table she knew the value of humour. She had seen the soldiers laughing and joking outrageously after a particularly gruelling day and knew full well it wasn’t that they didn’t care about their fallen comrades. It was their way of coping and reminding themselves they still lived. Phoebe wondered if Miss Pinchbeck had ever felt truly alive.

  Grief also clearly gave people an appetite as everyone ate a hearty meal. Sylvester was in fine form, so much so that he’d asked the children to sit with him, joking and teasing them. Jessamy was clearly full of pride at this and the affection between him and the old man was a joy to see. He was getting a little over-excited perhaps, to the point where even Lady Rothay, who was very relaxed about such things, reprimanded him, albeit gently, for making such a row.

  The desserts came in, including stewed pears with allspice and delicate little shortbread biscuits and a jam roly poly which happened to be Sylvester’s favourite.

  The old man smacked his lips with deep appreciation as he scraped the last of the jammy remains from his bowl. To her amusement Jessamy was equally concerned with cleaning his bowl with great care and looked rather bereft as he noted the serving dish was bare of seconds. He glanced around and saw that Phoebe, who was in truth struggling, had barely touched her own. He gave her a beatific grin which made her laugh.

  “I say, cuz, can I have that?” he demanded. Without even waiting for her answer, clearly believing her indulgent smile enough of a reply, he leapt up from his chair to circle the huge table.

  “Jessamy!” Miss Pinchbeck said, her voice sharp and deep with disapproval. “Show some manners. What are you thinking? You do not get up in the middle of a meal, certainly not to seek out someone else’s leftovers.”