“I didn’t do anything,” he hissed back. Which technically he hadn’t. Not today, anyway. He probably shouldn’t have told Alastair his marriage was a catastrophe, but that had been weeks ago.
Benedict looked to where Amelia’s skirts were swishing out of view. Today she had been warm and funny and—relatable. But there was nothing warm about her now.
He had made such strides in bringing her into his world today. All ruined by a petty Scotsman who couldn’t resist throwing a punch. God only knew when he’d be able to get her back into the pub.
“I’m going upstairs,” his sister said pointedly and made ready to follow Amelia like a lovestruck puppy.
He held her back with a hand on her shoulder. “Best you give her some space, poppet.”
“Why? She’s not angry with me. Shelovesme.”
The words caused a wave of fear and jealousy to run through him. Fear that Cassandra was going to get her heart broken when Amelia inevitably left, just as his mother had. Jealousy that his sister could make Amelia happier than he could.
Cassandra gave him a consoling pat on the arm. “She might love you too if you stop making her angry.”
Benedict’s heart flip-flopped in his chest. He wanted his wife to love him. He wanted the warmth and playfulness she shared with his sister to be shared with him.
At first, he’d never understood the ice princess’s appeal. Now he wondered how many London men had been on the receiving end of her warmth. He felt sick at the thought of her lavishing her wit on others—the foppish men from town who were more her type than a big lummox from the country.
He was going to have to woo her. To show her a life so unlike her past yet rich and gratifying. To convince her to leave her life in London behind. And maybe his sister was the first step in that.
“Fine, head upstairs. But if she doesn’t answer her door, you’ll need to find something else to do.”
Tom approached. “Letters, sir.” From a silver platter—one Benedict had never seen before—he handed over three envelopes.
The first was for Amelia, from a Lord Hemshire. He’d be best off letting Daisy deliver that one.
The second was a bill for the new curtains his wife had ordered—for the entire house, not just his mother’s wing. He made a mental note to ensure the old curtains were distributed among those in the village who needed some.
Benedict ripped the third envelope open. Competing feelings of relief and trepidation settled over him. The Americans were coming to visit. He would have a chance to plead his case, to convince them he could work well with the British. But to do that, he needed the help of his not-currently-speaking-to-him wife.
Damn it.
Chapter14
And turn, turn, take his hand and curtsey.” The book slid off Cassandra’s head and onto the carpet. Amelia winced as it thumped. For the fortieth time.
Cassandra threw her head back, groaning at the ceiling. “I am never going to get this right.”
Ameliatsked. “Of course you are. You’ve made excellent strides since this morning. I’ve never had a student with such potential.”
“Really?” Cassandra’s eyes brightened.
Well no, not really. But the truth wasn’t going to be much use. “Absolutely. Now back to the beginning, please.”
Training had begun at the bright and early hour of ten in the breakfast room. A full tea set, which had been discovered in the attic, was now cleaned, polished, and laid out, ready for its first use in decades.
Horrifyingly, Cassandra had no idea what half the items were, let alone how to use them. Once they’d reached the point where she knew all the steps to a perfect cup of tea, even if she was somewhat sloppy on the execution, they’d moved on to dancing.
And that’s where they’d been for the past hour. Cassandra moved with the grace of a dozen children storming a sweet stall in Hyde Park. Not that she could be blamed for it. Poise took practice, and most females began when they were still in the nursery. Assuming there was an adult with some sense there to teach them.
Which just made Amelia more determined. The greater the challenge, the more she relished the success. A lesser tutor would have given up well before now.
“Having a dance partner will help. Not that you want to rely on him to keep you steady. Half the men at a ball are either too old or too soused to stand steady.”
“But who can I dance with? Ben is at work.”
And there was the conundrum. It wouldn’t be appropriate for Cassandra to dance with any of the manservants. Generally, one would have a sister, a cousin, or dancing master. At the very least a—
