“What the devil are you doing?” he demanded, seeing the dowager duchess holding a key and closing the library’s door.
“I am only ensuring you find Lupita! She loves the library. You need to look more closely. You can ask Anastasia for help!” the old lady claimed, giving them a guileless smile as she continued to close the door.
It was too late. Benedict’s legs had only taken him a few steps forward. Frustration seized him. It was not merely annoyance that he felt but a white-hot spike of panic that made his chest burn—missing a task on his list? Being late? Rage burned through his throat like a prohibited spirit, but this time, leaving the taste of ash. He hated being helpless. After all, he had spent his entire adult life ridding himself of the feeling.
The lock turned.
He still lunged for the door, as if his body was enough to fight a large wooden door, which was designed with fortification in mind. He rattled the handle, anyway. The door felt solid, crashing against his torso. Perhaps he could try to appeal to the dowager duchess.
“Open this door immediately! I am due for a critical appointment!”
It was not particularly true. However, being able to attend his meeting was relevant to his mental constitution at the moment. If his mind were to be obliterated by Anastasia and her aunt, then the estate would be in ruins.
“Nonsense! I can always send a note to the earl that you have fallen ill. You need a break, dear boy! All you think about is productivity. You two enjoy yourselves. Hope you find Lupita there, but if a footman finds her elsewhere, I will have him report to you!”
What followed was the sound of her fading footsteps. The dowager duchess had meant to lock them in for some twisted reason of her own. There was no doubt about it.
Benedict turned around to see Anastasia calmly assessing him. He breathed heavily, more from boiling anger than exertion. He did not like the fact that his composure was completely shredded. The more he looked at Anastasia, the more she looked back. She was soon shaking with giggles.
“My life was not like this before,” he grunted. He tried to push back memories of chaos, more insidious ones from his past.
Anastasia and the dowager duchess had brought chaos into his life. It was messy, but it did not compare to what his father, mother, and uncle had put him through.
For a moment, he merely stood there. He realized that his fists were shaking, and his thoughts were no longer on Lupita and her owner. They had traced back many other things—the life that he had been trying to erase with his lists.
The words were supposed to recreate his life. They were supposed to make him into a new person, one who was worthy of respect. He thought of these things as his vision blurred, standing before the woman who could not even address him by his proper title.
“You bring chaos every time,” was what he said, even as he knew that chaos had always been within him, threatening to rise once more. “I was about to leave, and now I am locked in the library as if I am being punished. Like a schoolboy!”
“Were you punished like this as a schoolboy?” she asked, grinning at him. She tilted her head to one side as if she were genuinely interested in what his past was like.
But his past was dangerous. Answering her questions about it would turn them into moments he had chosen to forget.
“No… I…”
Suddenly, he was flustered, like a schoolboy. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering being embraced in his mother’s arms one day. He had clung tightly to her because he did not know when the tide would turn. His mother would eventually forget about him for days after coddling him.
“Relax, Mr. Straton. I doubt she would let us starve here. Therefore, the door would not remain closed for long. She would eventually have to open it after she finished whatever mission she had, whether it involved Lupita or not. She may be only trying to change your plans because you are always buttoned upand so determined to work from dawn till dusk.”
“Perhaps you are right about the way I am planning every little detail, Miss Dawson,” he conceded. “However, at this point, all choice in this matter has flown out the window. My life managing a dukedom requires structure more than ever.”
She squinted her eyes at him. He wondered whether he had managed to offend her this time.
“Fear guides your life,” she retorted, even as her tone had become too serious. Her words, on the other hand, struck him like a physical blow. They silenced his carefully constructed pride.
Benedict felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him hollow and cold. He stood there stunned, but managed to open his mouth to ask a question.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
“Sometimes, Mr. Straton, things are out of our control. Today, my aunt locking us in is proof of that. Weather can ruin your crops, no matter how carefully you plan the success of their growth. And for me? You may think me chaotic, but somehow chaos finds me. Do you think I like being forced to stay here? Things are not going my way.”
Benedict felt the words like a slap. Of course, she did not want to be here. A woman like Anastasia needed freedom. The locked door would also affect her just as much as it did him, because it prevented him from carrying out his plans. He stood there speechless, watching her play both sides of the chessboard.
“I disagree with you. There are still ways in which we can control our lives. We may not be able to stop all terrible things, butwe can limit them through careful planning and living our lives wisely.”
His little speech was delivered with indignation and pride, yet it also made him feel like a hypocrite.
“Play chess with me, Mr. Straton,” she offered, gesturing to the chair opposite hers. “We can’t pass the time merely arguing or fuming. Let’s entertain ourselves.”
