Page 49 of Her Wily Duke

Hazelworth gave a humourless laugh.

“Of course there was no proof that she was doing any such thing, but it still bothered him. And no matter how many times he warned her not to leave the house after sundown, she would still wait until he went to sleep and go out to watch the monkeys perform. The man who owned them held a performance every evening – late, because the men who came past by then had had enough to drink to be generous with their coin.”

“So what did he do?”

Hazelworth shrugged.

“He tied her to a tree. Every night at sundown he would tie her to the tree with a piece of rope, and then he would bring her dinner and she would have to eat it out there. And sleep out there. And he only let her go at sunrise each day.”

“But that’s horrible!” said Benedict, overwhelmed with disgust.

“It may be. But do you want to know something? It worked. He only had to leave her out there for seven nights. On the final morning he brought her inside and extracted her promise to never go out like that again. And she never did.”

Thin curlicues of smoke hung over Hazelworth like steam over a warm beverage. Benedict studied his impassive face, wondering what sort of person this was, who could find beneficial moral instruction in a story like that.

He wondered how badly the couple’s marriage, and the woman’s spirit, had been broken, if the tale was actually true.

“So that’s my advice to you,” said Hazelworth, rising from his chair and extinguishing the cigar, on the dish left for that purpose on the side table, causing a cloud of ash and smoke as he continued speaking.

“Be as firm as you can. Women are drawn to the masculine virtues, and shun a man who behaves like a wilting flower. If you want her to love you, if you want her to respect you, you’ll need to be hard and ruthless.”

“But I’m not hard and ruthless,” said Benedict, “I never was. When I was a small child, I shoved a boy who was being cruel to me. He fell and split his lip, chipping a tooth. There was blood everywhere — and I just remember being down on my knees begging him, ‘Please forgive me, I’m so sorry, I’ll never do it again… I’m so, so sorry…’”

That incident had stayed with Benedict ever since, making him a man who worked to achieve what was necessary by any means he could which did not involve violence, or excessive threat. His own father had not been impressed by it, but had allowed that Benedict’s rather more cunning methods often worked well. Hazelworth shivered in disgust, as if the spectre of such sensitivity made him nauseous.

“If you don’t feel you have it in you, at least do your best to make her think you’re hard and ruthless. Marriage needs theatre and spectacle to be successful, just like anything else.” He moved stiffly away from the couch towards the door, motioning for Benedict to follow. “Try doing it my way for a few weeks,” he said as they made their way into the dark hallway.

Benedict made a vague noise which he hoped Hazelworth would take as assent, and the man went on.

“She might tell you that she wants a sensitive, caring man to look after her needs and whatnot — and maybe she does! But she’ll never respect that. One day she’ll thank you for being firm when you needed to be, you can depend upon it. At that point I’ll be in my grave, but you can thank me, and I’ll hear you from wherever I’ve gone.”

Benedict smiled in a placating manner, knowing that if he objected, they would be standing here for another ten minutes while Hazelworth argued his case. He was relieved that the conversation had ended, though he felt a pang of unease at the thought of Lady Hazelworth and the trials she must have suffered. As they were coming down the stairs, they were approached by one of the footmen. He looked deeply flustered and kept tugging agitatedly at the collar of his livery jacket.

“Where are my daughter and my wife?” asked Hazelworth. “Are they still talking?”

“My Lord, there’s been a… an incident.”

“What sort of incident? Out with it!”

“The young lady ran off from the house. She was found standing by the river talking to—”

“To WHOM?”

“My Lord, the man whose name you do not wish us to speak!” cried the footman, in great distress.

Hazelworth slammed his fist down hard on the oak banister. Benedict, still in shock, looked from one to the other with a perplexed expression.

“You mean the man who assailed us coming in?”

“Yes, if that wasn’t already clear to you,” said Hazelworth, moving briskly the rest of the way downstairs and into the parlour, despite the cough which wracked him. “I tried to warn you that something like this was going to happen — if you don’t keep a firm hand on your woman, she’ll take her wares elsewhere!”

Chapter Five

They found Ariana sitting in the parlour, her bonnet and dress damp from the rain and her hands shaking in agitation. Her mother sat in a tall chair on the opposite side of the Persian carpet, peering anxiously through the window as if watching in case Lord Jasper came back towards the house. She was, Benedict thought, trying to get as far away from her daughter as possible.

Benedict stood paralysed at the door, not wanting to go any further into the room, not wanting to face the unhappy truth that his wife had arranged a secret meeting with another man on the day after their wedding. Not loving him, not even finding it in herself to like him, was bad enough; to know that she loved another man was even worse.

He wondered if it was always going to be like this, the whole marriage, if the next thirty to forty years were going to be a daily crucifixion. He had hoped for the bare minimum of comfort together, as his parents had found – at least while his mother had lived.