Ellie tried to play it innocent. “I came to see a dear friend.”
“In part, perhaps,” Victoria said. “But I know the true reason is you wish to speak with my brother.”
“I—”
“I have known you since the schoolroom, Ellie,” Victoria chided gently. “I know when something is plaguing you. I do wish you would confide in me too, though—you know you can trust me.”
Shoulders dropping, Ellie confessed, “I do wish to speak with Benedict, but I fear he might not want to see me after the disaster that was last evening. I do not know the relationship the two have, and I—I do not want to be the catalyst to tear it even further apart.”
“…You cannot tear what is already torn, Your Grace,” Benedict’s tired voice emanated from the doorway.
Both Evelina’s and Victoria’s heads snapped to the doorway where Benedict stood. Benedict was in his shirtsleeves; his cravat was missing, while his bronze waistcoat and brown trousers were fitted superbly to his lean body.
Victoria rose primly. “I’ll call for some tea so you two can talk.”
Benedict took a seat across from Ellie, leaned over, and braced his elbows on his knees before framing his face. Ellie did not speak, she allowed him to gather his thoughts.
It was only when Victoria returned with the tray of tea and coffee that he began his story. “Beaumont and I met as young children. He was four, I was a month away, and we were fast friends. We started Eton at the same time, but that is neither here nor there.
“The fateful day occurred on the eve of his twelfth birthday. The former Duke had steadily been succumbing to a brain fever, and his uncle Edgar, who always had designs on stealing the Dukedom, pulled his influence to achieve the next best thing. To become the acting Lord and the sovereign ruler of the lands. He contrived a document with the help of the family solicitor to usurp the management of the Ducal lands and businesses, while the former Duke was bedridden.
“That fateful afternoon, when his uncle employed my father and the family solicitor’s help in deceiving Beaumont into signing the document, was one where all we had cared about was flying some blasted kites,” he swallowed.
“We were children, neither of us had the mental capacity to think adults would steer us wrong. My father was like a second father to Beaumont, so his cosign held all the leverage in the world to Dorian. Over the following weeks, lands were sold, businesses were hemorrhaged, and by the time Albion—an elderly, shrewd butler who served the Wolfthornes—caught on to what was happening, Beaumont’s uncle came for him and told him he was now exiled. My heart fell to my feet. I never saw him nor his father again until some years ago, when he resurfaced,” Benedict exhaled, rubbing his face.
“I never, and I swear on my life, Ineverhad a role in the deception,” he muttered. “I do know that I hastened him to get outside to fly kites, but—but that was only boyish enthusiasm! I am sorry for my part in it. I never meant to hurt him. I begged my father to at least look out for him, to help him somehow, but he never did.”
Ellie remained silent as she mused over this new information. When he finally paused, she handed him a cup that had been brewed earlier by Victoria. “Is that why you do not speak to your parents anymore?”
“Yes,” he uttered with conviction. “And it is why I took Victoria away from them, too. I don’t know if you are familiar with the ill-fated love affair she had with a preacher's son…”
“I am.”
“Hmph. The signs of their greed and prejudices were always there,” he grunted.
Ellie sipped her tea, deep in thought. “You have never seen him in the time he was exiled, and when he finally made his return to high society?”
“No,” Benedict admitted. His eyes lifted to the window and took on a far-away look. “He was so… hearty and effervescent back then. Now, he is aloof and cold. I sometimes pray there is still a trace of his old self beneath all that veneered exterior. But I swear on everything I ever loved, I was not a willful instrument in his family’s downfall.” He sipped his drink with a shaking hand. “Though I have little hope that you believe me.”
Ellie stared at him, her expression unreadable for a moment—then her brows pulled together, her voice low, level. “Do you honestly think I would believe an eleven-year-old boy was part of some conspiracy to dismantle a Dukedom? That you, a child, were somehow aware of estate law and inheritance politics and... what, complicit by flying a kite?”
Her tone wasn’t mocking — it was tired. Tired of how absurd this all was, tired of how long it had gone unspoken.
“It is just as I expected. You belligerent, foolish men. I can’t believe either of you have let this go on for as long as it has. It is tragic, immensely—what happened to him, what was stolen—but the way you have both twisted yourselves around a false truth? It is like neither of you ever stepped out of it. Dorian is convinced you betrayed him, and you are still apologizing for something you didn’t do, like you are stuck there, both of you, in those same muddy shoes.”
Slowly shaking her head, Ellie replied. “So, yes, I do believe you. And it marries the few things Dorian has told me. The disconnect here is that you and he see the same thing from different angles.”
He gave her a tight, humorless smile. “I don’t suppose you can convince him of that.”
Ellie considered herself a decent judge of character, and with all her powers of evaluation, Benedict read as honest, genuine, and sincere. She knew he had no hand in Dorian’s pain, but if only she could convince her husband of that.
“I shall do my utmost best,” she nodded. “And thank you for explaining this to me.”
Setting his coffee down, Benedict rubbed his palms together. “May I ask you something personal?”
“Of course,” Ellie replied.
“Is he… is he happy?” Benedict asked.
