Silently, she closed the door and turned. “It has been long overdue, hasn’t it?”
“Especially since yesterday,” Benedict said, “Is there somewhere we can talk? Privately?”
“Yes, we can—”
A flurry of peach bombazine came down the stairs and Alice stepped aside as Eliza managed to slide her coat on whilst tying the ribbon of her bonnet at the same time.
“Oh no, I am late. So late,” Eliza huffed and peeked out the door, waiting on the carriage. She turned to the two and hastily curtsied to Benedict. “My lord.”
“Where are you going?” Alice asked.
“To Miranda’s,” Eliza tapped her foot. “Er, that is Miss Valentine, my lord.”
“I see,” Benedict nodded. “Well, we shall leave you to it. Miss Alice?”
“Yes, yes,” she nodded to the stairs. “Please.”
As they mounted the stairs, Alice could not shake the dawning realization that he was not here to propose marriage. She could not blame him either as even if he did ask her to marry him, she would reject it.
A marriage to a man she did not want or feel a connection with was not one she would endure, even if that man had the wealth of the world at his feet.
“Would you like some tea?” She asked as they entered her aunt’s drawing room.
“It might help,” Benedict said.
As she sent for some tea, and they settled in across from each other, Alice folded her hands on her skirts. “You are not here to ask for marriage, are you?”
“No,” he sounded almost remorseful. “Miss Alice, as much as I regret saying this—”
“You have nothing to be regretful for,” Alice swallowed. “I will admit that in the beginning, it felt right, it felt fitting, but it has not felt that way lately. You are an honorable man, Benedict, kind and smart and lovely to be around, but we… we do not fit. Not as much as I would have liked.”
His expression fell. “You took the words from my mouth, Alice.”
“I should have done it before,” she said while rubbing her left arm. “I am sorry we—Itook this long to say it. You seem to want a wife who is not—” She let out a breath. “—I am too old, too independent, too practical, and too unsophisticated to attract a husband like you. Also, I am not one of theLe Bon Ton. There is not one drop of blue blood that runs in my veins.”
Shaking his head, Benedict stopped her, “I do not give a whit about you not having blue blood, Alice. You are a lovely woman, but as I grew into my majority, I realized that I wanted the very opposite of what my mother and father had, a marriage of silence.”
“And your brother does not want to marry at all,” she mentioned absently. “How intriguing is that.”
“Not at all,” Benedict replied. “Edward is a curious creature and stubborn as a mule.”
She bit her lip. “Are you sure that trait does not follow in the family?”
“Very,” Benedict said, then sobered. “Are you sure you have no regrets about our courtship ending?”
“Not at all,” Alice shook her head. “I am relieved though that you felt the divide too. I shudder to think what would have happened if we had kept up the pretense that all was well and went on with the courtship.”
He nodded, “I am glad that we cleared this up on amicable terms, because I—”
Just then, Penelope came into the room, “Alice, I have to—” she jerked to a stop at seeing Benedict and clamped her lips shut. Vivid red raced up her cheeks as she dropped into a curtsey. “—I do apologize for interrupting; I thought you were alone.”
Benedict stood and bowed; the warm affection for Penelope that stamped itself on Benedict’s visage made Alice smile; her nagging suspicions were correct, he adored her sister, much more than he ever did her.
“It is quite all right,” he said kindly.
“I shall leave the two of you be. We can talk when you are finished here,” Penelope spun on her heels.
Alice made to tell her to stay—but knowing what Benedict had come here to say—wanted to take her rejection privately. “Thank you.”
