Dying For A Duke Page 13

  Oliver bowled a rather vicious and fast ball which Phoebe watched with trepidation until Ben hit it with a resounding crack.

  Oliver cursed, yelling at Honesty, rather too forcefully in Phoebe’s opinion, to move herself. He ran towards the girl, snatching the proffered ball from her hand and belting back as fast as he could as Ben bore down on the forth post. Oliver, though, seemed in no mood to be a good sport and practically tackled Ben to the ground. Ben was caught off guard, obviously not expecting such a forceful blow and went down like a felled tree, hitting his head hard as he landed.

  “Ben!” Phoebe exclaimed, running to him. She sank to her knees in the dusty field to find Ben out cold. Her heart clenched with terror and she patted his face. “Ben, Ben!” she cried in increasing agitation. To her profound relief Ben groaned and blinked his eyes.

  “What hit me?” he murmured as Phoebe turned to glare at Oliver who had the grace to at least look a little sheepish.

  “Sorry, Ben,” he replied, giving them both a crooked grin. “I got carried away.”

  “I should say so!” Phoebe replied with heat. Despite his boyish grin she was really very angry with him. There was no place for such behaviour in what had been a friendly family game and she found her estimation of his character sinking rapidly. “I don’t know what you could have been thinking.”

  The children were looking on anxiously and Phoebe held out her hand to reassure them. “It’s quite alright. Ben is fine, aren’t you?” she added with a touch of anxiety.

  Ben nodded and chuckled and touched his hand to the lump on his head with tentative fingers. “I’ll live,” he replied, wincing as he investigated the wound.

  “Oh, Ben!” Phoebe said in dismay. “There is a lump the size of an egg on your head.”

  “Well I’ve been told before I’ve a remarkably thick skull so no harm done.” He winked at her and Phoebe laughed.

  “Well I think that is quite enough excitement for one afternoon,” she said, feeling in desperate need of a cold drink and a wash. “Come along, children, back to the house. Time to get cleaned up for dinner.”

  The children groaned but in a good-natured fashion as everyone was hot and dusty and very ready for a drink themselves. Phoebe watched them all trailing back to the house with real affection and wished, Oliver’s behaviour notwithstanding, that life could be like this all the time.

  Chapter 15

  I ne’er was struck before that hour

  With love so sudden and so sweet.

  Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower

  And stole my heart away complete. - John Clare

  “But you admit you paid the man’s debts?”

  Ben glowered at Mr Formby. He knew the man was only doing his job but he’d been stuck in the library answering the same damn questions over and over for the past hour and his patience was wearing thin.

  “Yes,” he replied, his tone more than a little terse. “Harold came to me on two separate occasions to ask for help. He said he was in trouble, gambling debts, and if he didn’t pay up, the men he owed money to would not be pleasant to deal with.”

  “Did he believe his life was in danger?” Formby persisted, his brow furrowed.

  Ben considered the question. “I didn’t believe that was the case at the time,” he admitted. “Harold was forever crying wolf as a child and he’d make the most God awful fuss over the most trifling of injuries. If he scraped his knees as a boy you’d have thought he’d broken both legs from the fuss he made. So no I thought perhaps there was a risk they might work him over a little but I didn’t believe he was in real physical danger.”

  “But you gave him the money anyway?”

  “Yes, of course!” Ben snapped as his patience deserted him. “He was my cousin, damn it. I may not have liked him much but I wouldn’t let him get into that kind of trouble if it was in my power to help.”

  “Very philanthropic of you,” Mr Formby mused, chewing at the end of his pencil with a thoughtful expression. “Unless of course the money you gave him was because he was blackmailing you?”

  “What?” Ben exclaimed. “How utterly preposterous!”

  Mr Formby shrugged. “We can see from your bank accounts that the amounts you stated were withdrawn when you said. We only have your word, however, as to the motivation behind that generosity. Perhaps Harold had some information on you that you didn’t want to become public.”

  Ben stood and towered over Mr Formby his fists clenched. “My reputation is beyond reproach,” he replied his voice icy with fury. “And you are welcome to investigate any aspect of my life as you see fit. I assure you, you’ll find nothing.”

  Mr Formby looked up at him, his face perfectly placid. “Well now, my Lord, that’s not entirely true is it. I’d find Miss Skeffington-Fox for starters.”

  Benedict blanched before his temper reasserted itself. “Leave the young lady out of this,” he said, the fury in his tone perfectly audible. “She is innocent and has nothing to do with anything that has happened here.”

  Mr Formby pursed his lips, staring at Ben with a considering expression. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my Lord,” he said, though the smile he gave seemed to be genuine with regret. “She is involved as much as you are our and she is in love with you.”

  “What!” Ben exclaimed, feeling any remaining colour drain from his face even as his heart squeezed at the words. “Who ...”

  “She did, sir,” Formby replied his tone a little softer now. “Sat there bold as brass and told me so herself.”

  Ben sat down rather too quickly and put his head in his hands.

  “She’s not involved at all I tell you,” he said, clenching his fingers in his hair. “Despite what ... what her manner might indicate, she’s an innocent. There has been nothing between us I assure you and ... and neither of us had anything to do with the murders, dammit!” he shouted.

  Mr Formby gave a sigh and sat back in his chair. “I’ll be straight with you, my Lord. I’ve spoken to every member of staff and family here and of anyone it could be, I’d really rather you and the young lady weren’t involved.”

  “But?” Benedict said, his voice heavy with foreboding.

  “But.” Formby agreed, his expression grave. “It doesn’t look good for you, sir. On recent investigation it has been found that the curricle the Marquess of Saltash drove had been tampered with. He was indeed murdered. We know that you visited the marquess the day before he died and would have had ample opportunity to make good any sabotage attempt you had in mind. We know you had a particular interest in the weapon that killed Lord Harold Rutland and that you were angered by his thoughts of selling it when he inherited the dukedom. We know that you have paid Harold Rutland two large amounts of money and only have your word that he wasn’t blackmailing you. We have more than one account of the fact that you had argued violently with him and threatened to harm him - Lord Oliver Bradshaw was quite vocal on the subject I might add,” he said, his bright eyes narrowing with an intelligence that Benedict prayed was sympathetic to his cause.

  “Further more Harold Rutland had flirted with and attacked a young lady who has admitted to being in love with you, and to whom I suspect you return such feelings. You also had ample opportunity for the deed as you were apparently walking alone in the gardens at the time the murder likely took place. We know too that of all the family you love Grizedale Court very deeply and that his grace has always wished you were the true heir. Need I go on ...”

  “No,” Benedict replied, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. “No need.”

  “Do you have anything to say?”

  Ben snorted and shook his head. “Other than the fact I am totally innocent? What the devil do you expect me to say?”

  “My Lord,” Formby said, his voice grim. “I have to tell you that it is only your uncle’s close friendship with the Chief Magistrate that is keeping you at liberty for the moment alongside my own instinct that you are not my man. I must return to London by the end of this w
eek, however. Then I will be obliged to give my evidence, and my feelings on the matter will neither be here nor there. Do you understand?”

  Benedict nodded. “Perfectly, Mr Formby. I thank you for your honesty and for believing me despite the evidence.”

  Mr Formby stood as Benedict got to his feet and held out his hand. “If you have any evidence to implicate anyone else, now would be a good time,” he said with a wry smile before he bid Benedict goodbye and left him alone.

  For the first time since all of this had begun Benedict considered the very real possibility that he might hang for crimes he hadn’t committed. Tugging at his cravat he believed he felt the noose tightening around his neck and took a deep breath before snatching up the brandy decanter. He poured out a large measure and downed it before repeating the process twice more. The alcohol burned down his throat and pooled in his belly, the molten heat having little effect on the solid ice that seemed lodged in his gut.

  What in God’s name was he to do?

  He found himself outside in the gardens, a feeling of utter despair washing over him. He could always run of course. The war was over with France now and he spoke the language tolerably enough. Or perhaps America ... He could run away from it all. He and Phoebe could marry and run away together; she would come with him he felt sure.

  And yet how could he drag her into a life where his name would be forever tainted by the worst kind of scandal? Where he would never be able to settle for fear of the past catching up with him? It was unthinkable.

  He wandered through the gardens, not seeing anything but a short, bleak future that ended with him climbing a wooden scaffold.

  “Benedict?”

  The soft voice filtered through the depths of his gloom like a shaft of sunlight despite the impossibility of being with her. His heart give a little leap in his chest as he turned and saw her. Dressed in a sunny yellow gown of silk and tulle with her blonde curls shining she looked like summer personified.

  “Hello, love,” he said, his voice low.

  She ran to him, her eyes filled with concern. “Ben, what is it? What’s happened? You look white as a sheet.”

  He shook his head and tried to smile at her but somehow his face seemed to have forgotten the action and he couldn’t make it work.

  “Nothing, nothing,” he said, trying to chase the concern from her eyes but failing miserably as her anxiety clearly deepened.

  “Ben,” she said, sounding a little hurt. “Please tell me and stop being so foolish. Haven’t you realised by now that I’m not so easily chased away. No matter how vile you are to me,” she added with a reproachful look.

  “Oh God, Phoebe.” Benedict put his head in his hands. Could he do nothing right. How was it that he was likely to be hanged for murder but even Phoebe could see through his only attempt at real deception? “I’m so sorry, love,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides and feeling utterly exhausted. “I was trying to protect you though.”

  “I know that now,” she said, smiling at him and stepping closer. Damn him but he didn’t have the strength to push her away again. She slipped her hand into his and he took it willingly, caressing her soft fingers with his thumb. “But there’s no need. Don’t you see, Ben. I love you. I would face anything with you. Even ... even if you needed to leave here. I’d run with you, you know that don’t you?”

  Benedict felt his throat grow tight as he looked down at her lovely face, a face that could grace Almack’s or any grand ballroom of the ton and be acknowledged as a diamond of the first water. She would have eligible offers of marriage from all corners of the country without even lifting a finger to achieve them because she was beautiful inside and out. How could he deny her that?

  “Phoebe, don’t be foolish,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “I can’t run. A guilty man would run and I’m innocent. I’ll go to the scaffold innocent if I must but I will not drag you into this so for God’s sake don’t ask me to.”

  “But, darling,” she whispered, reaching up and putting her hand against his cheek. “I am in this, whatever it is. I may not be your wife in law but here,” she said, placing his hand over her heart. “In here it makes no difference. For better or for worse, Ben. I won’t let you chase me away again. You may be as obnoxious and odious as you possibly can and it won’t make a jot of difference you know.” She smiled at him, mischief twinkling in those lovely blue eyes. “After all, you were perfectly vile to me when we first met and I still fell in love with you.”

  He laughed despite himself, despite the desperation of his situation, despite accusations of murder and a fiancée that made his blood run cold he laughed and couldn’t deny the joy that this woman brought him. No matter how bad things got, if she loved him, if she believed in him ... surely there was always hope.

  He pulled her close, too tired of fighting his feelings for her. Tilting her head back he pushed the pretty bonnet from her head and pressed his lips against hers. She coiled around him like the wild honeysuckle climbing the trees at the edge of the woodland and he basked in her love. Whatever happened he knew what it was now, to love and be loved. But then he realised that he had never told her how he felt before, though she had declared herself more than once.

  “Phoebe,” he said, hoping she could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I don’t know how this is going to end, and ... and it may be that I’ll say things that you won’t like again to protect you, to keep you safe, darling.”

  She made a sound of protest and he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her.

  “Listen to me please. Whatever happens, whatever I may say or do over the coming days please remember this and keep the words in your heart for me. I love you, Phoebe. I love your ridiculous name and your outrageous tongue and all the wilful, shocking things you do and say and wear ... I love you without reservation. You’ve reminded me what it is to love and be alive and ... and to find the joy in life. I will never, ever forget that fact. I will love you until my dying day, whether that be coming soon or when we are both old and grey. You’re everything I never expected and didn’t know I needed, love, and I’m so very grateful for you.”

  Phoebe sobbed and flung herself into his arms, and he held her tight. Relieved that for once he had found the right words to give her. The right words to show her how precious she was to him. No matter what the future held.

  Chapter 16

  Love conquers all things, so we too shall yield to love. - Virgil

  After Benedict had persuaded Phoebe to return to the house before someone found them alone together, he had walked the grounds a little longer before returning to the house for dinner.

  The meal passed without incident for once, though Phoebe was remarkably quiet. Perhaps that was why, he thought with a rueful grin. He did notice, however, that Theodora seemed to be making some effort to be pleasant which was something. Her efforts were falling on stony ground for the moment, which was hardly surprising, but she seemed undaunted. To the point when after dinner she invited the children to play cards with her. Benedict sent Jessamy a stern look, forcing him to accept the offer.

  “Yes, of course, Miss Pinchbeck, thank you,” he said with great politeness if not sincerity.

  While they waited for her to return with the cards, Jessamy sidled up to Phoebe with a scowl.

  “What’s she playing at?” he grumbled, with as much discretion as he was capable of, which meant the whole room heard him.

  “Perhaps she is trying to make amends,” Benedict said, wondering if perhaps now she’d had time to consider his words, they had actually taken hold.

  Jessamy, the twins, Phoebe, Lizzie, Cecily and even his mother looked back at him as though he’d grown a second head.

  “Well ... no, perhaps not,” he added, with a sigh. But if that wasn’t the case what was she up to?

  “Perhaps she’s realised if she pushes too hard, Benedict would rather run away with someone else,” Honesty said with a devilish grin, as though she
had heard his thoughts and replied with all the candour her name would imply.

  “Honesty!” Benedict scolded her, truly shocked that his little sister could be aware of such possible goings on, let alone comment on them. Any further conjecture was happily put to an end as Theodora returned.

  It was truly painful to watch her try to interact with the children. She simply didn’t know how to speak to them without condescension and her attempts at humour were just ... well, not funny. The longer he spent with her, the harder he found it to rationalise his proposing to her. He must have been out of his mind.

  ***

  Phoebe left everyone playing cards and went to get some air on the terrace. She knew she was foolish to hope that Benedict would join her; he would never be so obvious in front of everyone. But she still turned her head with a hopeful smile as she heard footsteps behind her.

  “Oh, hello, Oliver,” she said, trying hard to keep the smile in place.

  “Well that’s an overjoyed reaction if ever I heard one,” he said with a grimace.

  She laughed and shook her head, turning back to look at the twilight as it crept over the lovely gardens of Grizedale. “Forgive me, I am pleased truly. Just a little pre-occupied.” There was a pleasant breeze tonight that freshened the warm air and she fancied she could smell the sea upon it as it fluttered around her skirts. She had a sudden longing to escape, to run away and walk barefoot on a sandy beach with the waves foaming around her toes and, of course, with Benedict by her side.

  “I suppose murder will do that to you,” he said, his tone thoughtful.