“Well, she was out alone today,” he said. “At least, I assume it was the lady you named.”
“I am surprised,” she said again. “Her sister-in-law has been staying with her for some time. I have very little acquaintance with her, and it seems unfair to judge a near stranger, but I would guess she is as much a stickler for propriety taken to an extreme as the earl, her father, is. He isnotmy favorite person, or anyone else’s that I know. Had he lived a couple of centuries ago, he would have joined forces with Oliver Cromwell and those horrid Puritans and sapped all the humor and enjoyment from everyone else’s life. I am surprised Lady Matilda did not insist that Mrs. McKay remain at home behind closed doors and curtains.”
“You sound indignant,” he said.
“Well.” She set down her cup and saucer. “When one arranges a quiet dinner with the soberest of one’s neighbors, including the vicar and his wife, with the intention of extending the hand of sympathy and friendship to two ladies who have recently lost a husband and brother, and one has been turned down and made to feel that one’s very existence is frivolous and contaminating, then one can surely be excused for being slightly ruffled when one is reminded of it.”
He grinned at her until she caught his eye and laughed.
“The answer to my invitation was written by Lady Matilda McKay,” she said. “I like to believe that Mrs. McKay would have declined it in a far more gracious manner, if she had declined it at all.”
The grin faded from Ben’s face. “I owe her an apology.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Did you not apologize when it happened? She wasnothurt, I hope?”
“I do not believe so,” he said, though he remembered that she had been sitting on the ground when he first became aware of her. “But I ripped up at her, Bea, and blamed her for the near catastrophe—and her dog, which is an ugly brute if ever I saw one. I owe her an apology.”
“Perhaps we will see her at church on Sunday,” she said. “I would not go riding up to the doors of Bramble Hall, if I were you. For one thing, you have not been introduced and it would be vastly improper. For another, I do believe the sister-in-law might well have an apoplexy if she discovered a single gentleman on the doorstep. Either that, or she would attack you with the nearest umbrella or knitting needle.”
He could just forget about the whole episode, Ben supposed a few minutes later as he made his slow way upstairs to change out of his riding clothes. But he hated to recall that he had behaved in a manner unbecoming a gentleman—and that was a bit of an understatement.
He definitely owed her an apology.
Samantha and Matilda went to church as usual the following Sunday. It might have amused Samantha that Sunday service had become the big outing and social event of her week, if it had not also been so pathetic. For so it had been for the past five years, even though she had been only nineteen when she first came to live at Bramble Hall. And the situation was not about to change, despite the fact that she no longer had Matthew to tend at home.
She sat beside Matilda in their usual pew at the front of the church, her prayer book on her lap, and turned her head neither to the left nor to the right, though she would dearly like to have seen which neighbors were also present. She would have liked to nod genially to them as she had always done in the past. But Matilda sat rigidly still, and, foolishly perhaps, Samantha felt constrained to match her piety, if that was what it was.
It was only after the service, then, when they had risen to pass down the aisle and out to the waiting gig, their faces properly hidden behind their veils, that she sawthat managain. It was how she had been thinking of him, with growing indignation, for two days.
That man.
He was sitting in the pew across the aisle and one row back from hers. He must have been able to see her all through the service. He was still sitting, not jumping to his feet as soon as her eyes alit incautiously upon him, as any proper gentleman would have done, especially one who had treated her so ill. And it was not that he had not noticed her. His eyes were directly upon her.
Howdaredhe?
He was not wearing his hat inside the church. His face was narrow and angular, as she had observed at their first meeting. He had a straight, finely chiseled nose and slightly hollowed cheeks, a firm chin and hard blue eyes beneath midbrown hair. He must have been exceedingly handsome in his youth. He was not a youth now, though. It was hard to guess his age, but his face bore evidence of having looked upon a great deal of hard living, perhaps of suffering. It was still handsome, however, she conceded grudgingly, perhaps the more so for not being boyish.
It would have been more satisfying if he had been ugly. All villains ought to look the part.
She would have looked away with deliberate disdain and continued up the aisle, but she had hesitated a moment too long, and the lady beside him, whowason her feet, spoke to her. She was Lady Gramley. Of course she was—this was her usual pew.
“Mrs. McKay,” she said kindly, “how do you do?”
“I am well, thank you, ma’am,” Samantha replied. She could feel Matilda’s hand firm on her back. Good heavens, was it improper for a grieving widow even to exchange pleasantries with her neighbors at church?
“Perhaps you will allow me the pleasure of presenting my brother, Sir Benedict Harper,” Lady Gramley said. “Mrs. McKay, Ben. And Lady Matilda McKay.”
Andfinallyhe considered getting to his feet, though he was in no hurry even now. He looked to one side, away from Samantha and Matilda, and picked up two canes, which he arranged on either side of him. They were not ordinary canes. They were longer and had handpieces partway down, with leather loops through which he slid his hands. They circled his arms as he grasped the handpieces and hoisted himself to his feet.
Had he fallen from his horse since she last saw him? Samantha wondered hopefully and unkindly. But no. Those canes must have been specially made. She had seen nothing like them before.
Even when he was slightly hunched over them, she could see that he was tall and thin. No, not thin.Lean. There was a difference. And his well-fitting, fashionable coat and pantaloons, over which he wore highly polished Hessian boots, emphasized his pleasingly proportioned physique. He was an attractive man, she admitted without feeling in any way attracted. She felt as irritated with him as she had been two days ago. More so, perhaps, because now she could see that he had had an excuse for not jumping from his horse to rush gallantly to her rescue on that day, and she did not want him to have any excuse at all.
“Sir.” She inclined her head with as much frosty hauteur as she could muster. She was aware of Matilda slightly curtsying and murmuring his name.
“Ma’am,” he said, inclining his head. “Lady Matilda.”
Benedict. It was far too pleasant a name for him. It sounded like a blessing—a benediction. She wondered if there was any profane word in existence that he hadnotused in that meadow. She doubted it.
