“And what exactly does one wear to send a pack of frothing dogs after a fox? Yellow?” He took a piece of buttery fabric from her hand. “Is this a happy enough color for such festivities?”
“Benedict.”
He heard the warning in her voice as she snatched at the swatch in his hand but didn’t heed it. He was so damned frustrated. He crushed the fabric; it wasn’t remotely satisfying. “Only pompous, useless, entitled aristocrats think foxhunting is a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon.”
She took in a deep breath. He could practically see the ticking down of numbers in her brain. “Careful. These are my friends you’re talking about. Show some respect.”
Respect?Respect?For noblemen who chose barbarous entertainment to fill their empty days?
He didn’t even need to say the words out loud. She threw the remaining fabric in his direction. It fluttered to the floor before it could hit his chest. “Respect forme, you bonehead.”
A headache was forming behind his right eye. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to keep it from settling in. His wife was an incredibly intelligent woman. She had to understand that a relationship between him and her old chums was not on the cards. “I’ve spent my life working against the absolute rule of these wastrels. I have no interest in entertaining a group of them.”
“I have no delusions of your beingentertaining. I swear, Benedict. You are every bit as narrow-minded as you accuse others of being. If you would just take a moment to hear me out, you’ll see that what I’m suggesting is actually a very good idea.”
“A hunt in order to prove to the Karstarks that London still cares for you? Amelia, it’s understandable that you would want to carry on with life as you’d planned it, but it’s not possible.” And it hurt that she would still want to. The past few weeks had been glorious. All his fears and trepidations surrounding their marriage had seemed unfounded. Until now.
And since his distaste for the idea didn’t seem to matter, he turned to logic. “The house isn’t prepared to host a large gathering, for starters.”
Her obstinate look turned pleading. She put her hands on his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt, and looked up at him. “I could make us prepared. It’s what I do. I organize dinners and balls and house parties. I was born for this.”
It was painful to hear the timbre of hope because at some point the desire to make her happy had become a major priority. But it wasn’t his only priority, and he couldn’t give this to her.
“You can’t getmeprepared. I’ve no intention of wearing yellows or greens when my current wardrobe suffices. I won’t learn to engage in inane conversation with men I don’t respect. It may seem a great idea to you, but it won’t go the way you think it will. Oil and water don’t mix. Put me in a room with those people and something bad will happen. I know it. This hunt is not happening.”
“You’re not even going to listen to me, are you? You won’t hear me out?” She stepped back, crossing her arms. At first glance, she was angry. Then he noted the way she wrapped her arms around her chest, as though she were hugging herself. How often in her childhood had she had no one else to console her?
He was denying her the company of her friends, and he felt like a cad for doing so. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be what you need in this situation. But you’ve married a businessman, not a duke.”
“Wildeforde is not the issue here.”
“Is he not? If you had married him, you could have had as many house parties as you liked. He might be a deceitful arse, but he rubs elbows with the best of them.” Benedict tried to keep the bitterness from his voice but couldn’t keep his contempt from showing.
“What happened between the two of you?” Amelia asked. “Sometimes I get the impression that you were friends, but at times like this, you seem to despise him.”
Benedict rubbed at the spot between his eyes. “We were close. Hell, at school we were inseparable. There’s a certain safety in numbers when you’re outcasts.”
She wrinkled her nose and cocked her head to the side as she absorbed the information. “It’s hard to think of Edward as an outcast,” she finally said. “He’s so well-admired.”
“When we met—it wasn’t long after his father had died—the other students at Eton had stripped him naked and shoved him into a trunk. So no, he was not exactly admired. He was bearing the brunt of his father’s scandal. John and I heard him yelling and went to help. I was big, even then, so there was no fight. The curs only ever came for me when I was alone. From that day forward, our continued proximity to each other was the only thing that kept the three of us from being thrashed daily.”
Amelia brushed her fingers across his cheek. “That doesn’t sound like a bond one grows out of.”
He caught her hand. He didn’t want her sympathy. His school years had been hard, but they’d taught him better lessons than Latin and algebra. They’d taught him that the upper classes looked on everyone else as no better than dogs, and smart men kept as far away from them as possible.
“Wilde is no better than the rest of them. He’ll use people—a woman even—and discard them without thought. He caused a lot of hurt for someone I care for, and I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
She dropped his hand and stood back. “Someone.A woman. While he was engaged to me, I’m presuming, since we were betrothed since childhood. Goodness, for a man who prides himself on propriety, he manages to make shocking choices.” She brushed her skirts with force enough to dent steel.
“You care,” he said flatly. Of course she did. She’d said she’d never loved Wildeforde, but he’d been everything she had ever wanted. Benedict had been a fool to think she could ever have valued him more than a duke.
“Well, it’s not quite flattering to know your fiancé was off cavorting with other women.”
“And that hurts.”
She noticed something crushed in his expression or tone because she sighed and took his face in both hands, forcing him to look at her. “It hurts my pride, you dummy. That’s all. And if you were to choose a darned color, it might not even hurt that.”
“Easy now,” Amelia said as the men lifted the giant anvil used to shape the steam chest. The weight of the thing was immense, and everyone gasped as one of the blacksmiths’ knees buckled under the pressure. Oliver, who was bearing the bulk of the load, exhaled sharply, his eyes widening from the unexpected strain. Two others rushed forward to shore up support in that corner.
