“I heard from Cassian that you have a large ballroom,” Mrs. Alistair interrupted his thoughts.
“That is wonderful and absolutely necessary for a wedding breakfast.”
Wedding breakfast?
Now, the boredom became laced with panic. Both of them were suffocating feelings. Mrs. Alistair was oblivious, though. He could not remember when he had confirmed the wedding because she seemed so confident that it would happen. However, he could not imagine a life spent in such placid predictability. He could wager nobody had ever guessed his thoughts would go that way.
“What do you think, Your Grace?” Penelope interrupted one of her mother’s monologues, as if embarrassed by it. “Do you believe blue will complement my complexion?”
He was taken aback. Of course, that was one of the things he should expect from respectable ladies of society. Many of them were far too concerned with how they looked to their suitors. He was not her suitor, if he could help it, anyway.
“I am not an expert in such things, Miss Penelope, but I dare say it is suitable.”
Suitable.
It was a safe word that he lived for. Now, the word tasted like ash on his tongue. It would describe the rest of his life if he married the woman before him. He wished that Anastasia were there to hear this so that he could meet her eyes.
He found himself wondering, absurdly, where Anastasia was. Whether she was avoiding the drawing room, or whether she had been told to keep out of sight. Whether she was even aware of who had arrived.
He did not know the rules of courtship as well as he ought to have, which was a shame given who he was. All he knew, in that moment, was that he felt trapped, and that the polite calm of the room was doing nothing to relieve it.
If anything, it was making it worse.
“Definitely dull,” the dowager declared happily. “What do you think, dear? That poor girl is like an unsalted oyster.”
Benedict sat up rigidly. He somehow expected the older woman’s commentary. Now, his attention was on Anastasia, because it always was, no matter how hard he tried to redirect it. He had been bracing for her usual response—sharp, irreverent, unapologetically loud. He expected her to scoff, to agree, to make some comment that would make him grit his teeth, and everyone else laugh.
However, he was not prepared for her answer. It was like a slap in his face.
“Oh no, not at all, Aunt,” Anastasia replied, her voice frighteningly devoid of her usual zest. “I believe that they are a pair made in heaven. Miss Alistair will make the sort of wife a man like His Grace requires, as indicated by his list. From the little I have heard so far, she is sensible. She will provide a balance while also protecting his reputation at all costs. She is a woman who can be relied upon, and she is pretty, too!”
What is she talking about?
Her words sliced through the air like weapons being flung at Benedict. One poisoned dart was fashioned to pierce his self-control. What could he say in front of the dowager? Anastasia was merely agreeing with the principles he kept pushing toward her.
Hearing her parrot his rules and demands felt like defeat, not the victory he expected when each item was crossed off.
Was this what she thought he wanted? Was this her way of punishing him?
Or worse… was she letting him go?
“Are you quite well, dear Anastasia?” the dowager asked, frowning. Her jaw had dropped as her protegee explained why the match was successful.
“I assure you, Aunt, that I have never been better,” Anastasia replied. “His Grace needs a woman who can support him fully in his endeavors, instead of serving as a distraction to them.”
A distraction.
Benedict’s fingers tightened around his glass. He could feel the pressure in his grip, the urge to crush it, to shatter something—anything—because he could not shatter the sick, sharp twist inhis chest.
He was not used to being punished like this. Not with politeness. Not with his own rules.
He wanted to speak. He needed to speak with her and explain. But not here, not like this, not with the dowager watching and servants close enough to carry whispers through the estate.
If he reacted, he would expose himself and drag Anastasia to further ruin.
If he did not, Anastasia would think he agreed.
And he could not allow that.
