“I was baiting you, as you well know,” she teased.
“Of course, I’ve met you before. You do not have a sincere bone in your body.”
“Quite right.” She hesitated for a moment, seeming to waffle over her next words. “Why her?”
At last, Benedict reached the top of the steps. He paused there, hand braced against the wall. “She’s… She looks—looked—at me like I matter. I felt safe around her, to be soft, tender. I never once worried she would meet my vulnerability with anything other than sincerity and kindness. The way she trusted me, foolish though it may have been, it makes me want to be better for her. To prove her faith wasn’t entirely misplaced. And she possesses all the usual qualities that attract a man to a woman—to magnificent effect. In the end, it was her head, herheart, her soul, everything she is. Those are the things that made me fall for her.”
Bella considered him thoughtfully. “You know I cannot abide such sincerity.”
Benedict finally managed the ten steps to his bed. “I know, you would not be you if you could.”
“Benedict?” Bella asked as he fumbled about on the bed coverings for a sturdy hold to lower himself.
“Yes?” Benedict collapsed face first on top of the bed, his back protesting in the cool air.
“I amsincerelyso very sorry. You have no idea how sorry.”
“I do, Bella. And I’m sorry too.”
She nodded, her curls brushing her temple. “I’ll send West up when he returns. You rest for now.”
“Thank you, Bella. For involving West. I know how much you dislike him, but I am glad you were not alone.”
She swallowed. “I’m stubborn. Not a fool.”
“Goodnight, Bell.”
“Ben,” she whispered, then closed the door.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Areyou certain you will not join us tonight, Lizzie? I’m given to understand that the Marchants have a beautiful orangery,” Mama asked at supper the next evening.
Eliza was pleased with her ability to act as though her world had not been shattered—again—hours before. Sophie had also managed an unaffected countenance throughout the day, covering for Eliza’s occasional slips into melancholy. But her mother knew she would never turn down an offer to visit an orangery. She might actually call a physician if Eliza declined.
Without an orangery or greenhouse of her own, Eliza was limited in her plantings. The temptation to experience the exotics of an orangery…
“You purposefully concealed this information until this exact moment so I would not have time to talk myself out of the temptation.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation,” Mama said.
“Fine. I’ll go fetch a dress.”
“I’ll send May up.”
It was the work of no more than an hour before the Wayland ladies stepped inside the grand Marchant home beside hercousin, and aunt. Aunt Kate, the music lover in the family, would never turn down a performance. And Henry apparently knew the son—the cellist for the evening—from his school days.
The Marchants had come to prominence several centuries before, reflected in the opulence of their ballroom. Eliza could only imagine what treasures may be discovered in their orangery.
She impatiently took the seat on the aisle beside Sophie. “Do you suppose there will be a moment to visit the orangery?”
“I doubt it. You’re the only one who is quite so excited about it,” she whispered back as others took their seats. “Sneak out between movements. I’ll tell Mama you were unwell and went to the retiring room.”
“Miss Eliza,” a masculine voice interjected. “I am pleased to see you looking so well.”
“Lord Bellemere,” she said as she turned to find him behind her with his mother. “I am much improved and thought some air would do me good. I am pleased you found me.”
“Might we join you?”
