Page 10 of Lord of the Darkness

Chapter Four

Benedict’s return to the Hazelworth estate on the following day ought to have been a happy one. He and Ariana were returning together, and they were married now. One day the estate would be his, although that day was not really one that he wished for, for that circumstance would only come about with Lord Hazelworth’s death. The family and staff ought to have been there to welcome them, but only a solitary footman stood waiting in the autumn rain, with an umbrella. At least the rain was warm, the year not having advanced too far yet.

And Benedict was tired. He had passed a miserable night in his own bed, painfully aware that Ariana was only two doors away from him – even though she might as well have been on the other side of the country.

He had expected his marriage to go better than this, but so far everything had been a disappointment. His back was stiff from the awkward position he had been in, when he had finally fallen asleep after tossing and turning for hours, his bones ached, and he could barely keep his eyes open.

But what made it was worse was that Ariana didn’t even seem bothered by the events of the previous evening. She hadn’t offered him so much as a ‘How are you?’ or ‘Are you well?’ since they had first seen each other that morning. In fact, she had barely spoken two words – which had been a grudging ‘good morning’.

Now, they moved across the damp gravel as his carriage drove off behind them, in the direction of the Hazelworth stables, and approached the marble steps which led up to the imposing door. At least there, they were protected from the rain by the portico. As they ascended those steps together, the uneasy silence was broken by a loud cry from behind them.

“You’re making a mistake!”

Startled, Benedict paused on the threshold. He turned to see a lonely figure leaning against the vast elm at the edge of the forecourt. The man presented a rather strange appearance – he wore what had once been a fashionable straw hat, which was the colour of a wheat field in summer, over hair of a matching tone. His beard was scruffy, as if he had no access to a skilled valet, even though his clothing, whilst rather in need of attention, was indicative of wealth and station. He carried a hip flask in one hand as he half-staggered forward, gesturing at Ariana with the air of a street-corner prophet, his pale blue eyes intent. Benedict concluded that the man was rather more than moderately foxed.

“Ariana, if you allow your father to arrange your marriage,” the strange man said, “you’ll be making the biggest mistake of your life!”

Ariana paled and eyed the door, as if wanting to flee inside before he caused a scene, despite the fact that there was no one else there to witness it.

“Who is that man?” Benedict asked.

“Lord Jasper Peele, heir to the Marquess of Wittering,” said Ariana warily. “He’s been in love with me since we were children.”

Benedict turned a surprised glance back to the approaching man. He did not look at all what one might expect from the heir to a Marquess.

“And your father didn’t approve?”

“He threatened to shoot him if he ever came onto the property again.”

“That doesn’t seem to have stopped him. Does he know that we’re married?”

“Apparently not.”

Lord Jasper came striding toward them in a simultaneously menacing and ridiculous fashion, his inebriation making his progress more of a wavering line than a straight path. Benedict ushered a hurrying Ariana through the door which the patient footman held open, his face carefully uninterested. Then he turned back to stand impassively at the top of the stairs to prevent Lord Jasper from entering the house, should he attempt such a thing.

“Don’t come any nearer,” he said, “or you’re going to regret it.”

Lord Jasper paused, looking startled by the menace in this stranger’s voice. Benedict glowered, filled with a degree of intense disdain that he hadn’t thought possible toward someone he had only just met. His marriage might have been arranged, but he still loved – well, hoped to love… - Ariana, and felt an instinctive resentment towards any man who threatened her. He would be a poor sort of husband if he did not protect his wife.

“You wouldn’t be so dismissive,” said Lord Jasper, “if you knew what Hazelworth was planning. He wants to have her married off. He’s selling her into bondage for the sake of satisfying his own desire to see this estate well maintained after his death.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Benedict bristled at the suggestion that his marriage had been purely transactional – even though, to be truthful, it had begun that way. Now, he had discovered that he wanted it to be more, and he resented the implication that he might not feel so. “The Hazelworths will ensure that their daughter marries a man who loves her.”

“Why not just let her marry a man of her own choosing? What are they afraid of?” Raising his eyes towards the house, he cried in a loud voice, “Hazelworth, what are you afraid of?!”

“Lower your voice, fool!” Benedict almost shouted himself, indignant, and wishing the strange encounter to simply be done with. “It might interest you to know that Lady Ariana is already married. She was married yesterday morning.”

Lord Jasper’s face passed from shock to disbelief to disappointment, all in a single instant.

“Sir, you jest! You’re playing a game with me. Who is the lucky husband?” Benedict didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to: his scowl of contempt told Lord Jasper all he needed to know. “It was you, was it?” A strange new respect seemed to have crept into Lord Jasper’s voice as he added in a confidential whisper, “How was it? What was it like, bedding her?” If Benedict had been a fighting man, he would have planted Lord Jasper a facer. Instead, he stepped back down the stairs and shoved him as hard as he could, away from the house. Lord Jasper stumbled backwards, looking afraid of him for the first time. “All right, I was only curious!”

“You leave her alone!” shouted Benedict. “Our marriage is no concern of yours.”

“She would have married me if she’d been given the choice,” Lord Jasper shot back — though not before making sure that he was out of arm’s reach. “She only married you because her father forced her to!”

“If she’d wanted you, she wouldn’t have fled at the sight of you!” Benedict pointed out. “You’re nothing to her!”

However much Benedict might have been regretting the precipitousness of his marriage, he did not wish it undone, and he felt a fierce surge of protectiveness toward Ariana when faced with the insolence of this stranger. He and Ariana belonged to each other: and not just because her father had wanted it. They were committed, beyond any undoing. If Ariana had objected to the marriage, surely she would have said so.