Good heavens.
Ben quickly gathered Sophia into his arms and attempted to rouse her from her faint.
He hadn’t spent a great deal of time imagining the way his future beloved would respond to his marriage proposal, but he dashed well had not considered that she might fall into a swoon over it!
“Sophia?”
Fortunately for them both, she opened her eyes almost immediately. He watched in mixed concern and amusement as the emotions flitted over her face. First confusion. Then, a smile as she saw him leaning over her—a good sign, surely? Then her eyes widened and a look of horror washed over her.
“Oh no.” She shook her head and tried to sit up. Wanting to do whatever it took to make her comfortable, he assisted her to sit up on the settee beside him.
“I cannot believe I did that,” she groaned. “I do not faint, Ben. Never. Not even when Tommy Travers spilled punch down the front of my favorite gown at the assembly ball.”
She covered her face with both hands. “I am mortified.”
“Well, I think the burden of shame lies with me,” he said wryly. “I am, after all, the man who managed to make you faint dead away at the notion of marriage to me. If my brothers ever get wind of this, I will never rest easy again.”
At that she dropped her hands, and threw her arms around him. “No,” she said squeezing him hard. “You mustn’t blame yourself or your words. It was a perfectly lovely proposal. I was simply overcome, I think.”
She pulled away from him so that he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “You did nothing wrong. I’ve just had so much excitement these past few days and I haven’t really been sleeping well, and I suppose I didn’t eat much at breakfast and it all caught up with me.”
“Perhaps we should ring for some sandwiches and tea,” he said with a practicality he wasn’t especially feeling. There was still the matter of his unanswered proposal hanging between them. Though he’d be a churl to bring it up again when she was obviously famished and overset.
“A good idea,” Sophia said with a smile. “You always know what to do to make me feel better, Ben.”
And to his surprise, she leaned in and kissed him. Then snuggled against his shoulder as if they’d not just enacted a scene from a Restoration farce.
“Do I take that to mean you’ve accepted my proposal?” he asked, half fear, half hope.
She pulled away from him again and gave him an exasperated look. “You don’t honestly believe I fainted from shock and disgust, do you?”
Well when she put it like that …
Feeling sheepish, he shrugged. “One doesn’t like to presume…”
Her laugh was clear and bright and just what he’d needed to hear.
“Of course I accept your proposal, you fool.” She shook her head, loosening a few silky strands of brown tresses from her chignon to lightly trace the skin of her neck. “I’m not sure your optimism over the reaction our betrothal will elicit from the church hierarchy is founded, but if you’re willing to take a chance on me, then I will take a chance on you.”
For the first time in a quarter hour at least, Ben felt himself relax. And with a slight whoop, he pulled her to him and kissed her again. Properly this time, with every ounce of joy and hope and passion he felt when he was with this remarkable woman.
When she came up for air, her cheeks were delightfully pink and her hair was even more disheveled.
Though he would have liked to continue on in that manner, her stomach gave an annoyed growl. “I suppose I’d better send for those sandwiches,” he said with a grin.
Just as he pulled the bell, a knock sounded on the door and Gemma called from the doorway, “Sophia, Lord Benedick, I’m afraid there’s a bit of a disturbance downstairs and I fear it’s something that only you can deal with.”
“Come in, Gemma,” Sophia called to her sister with a hint of amusement. “We’ve news.”
Cautiously, as if she expected to find them in, at the very least, a passionate kiss, Gemma stepped into the room enough to see that they were both fully clothed with several feet between them.
“Oh,” she said, her smile rueful. “I wasn’t sure.… that is to say…”
“What is going on downstairs?” Sophia asked, clearly wanting to ensure there was no trouble before she made any sort of announcement.
At the reminder, Gemma’s smile turned into a frown. “The Bishop of Chichester is downstairs with your father, Lord Benedick. And neither looks particularly happy.”
“What?” Ben was not entirely surprised by the arrival of the bishop. He’d expected Morgan’s next move in the attempt to discredit Sophia would be to have the bishop rein him in. But he was genuinely shocked to learn his father was here. “Why are they here and not at the vicarage?”
“They said they called there first and learned from your man that you were here.” Gemma seemed as nonplussed as he felt. “I’ve left them downstairs with Daphne and Ivy. I think perhaps it’s best to limit their time with Daphne before someone takes offense.”
That was an understatement.
Sophia, who had taken all of this in without a word, set about smoothing her hair and righting her gown. Though it wasn’t in any sort of disarray that he could see. Using her walking stick, she stood and offered him her arm. “Shall we go downstairs and see what these gentlemen want?”
He’d known he’d have to inform both the church and his parents about the betrothal at some point, but he hadn’t supposed it would be quite this soon.
Still, he took her arm. “You’re able to get downstairs like that?” he asked. Her eyes showed the memory of how she’d gotten upstairs earlier.
“Yes,” she said with prim dignity. “I believe I can make it.”
“Then I suppose we should go see what all the fuss is about.”
* * *
Sophia rather felt as if she were stepping on stage when she and Ben stepped into the drawing room, where Greaves had placed the Duke of Pemberton and the Bishop of Chichester. As she limped in, both men turned to give her polite, but rather searching looks.
To her amusement, the bishop was still holding one of the phallic figurines from the mantle. Which he hastily put back as he stepped forward to greet them.
“Lord Benedick,” the church leader said with a regal inclination of his head. “What a surprise it was to find your father was calling upon you here, rather than at the vicarage, as well.” He was a tall, reed-thin man with what Sophia imagined was a permanent look of impatience on his long face. “Are you so frequently from home that your parishioners have begun seeking you out here as well? That’s hardly proper.”
A flash of exasperation crossed the duke’s face as he ignored the clergyman and addressed his son. “You’re looking well, Benedick. I hope you’ll introduce us to your friend?”
At the reminder Ben gave her a look of apology. She imagined he’d been just as nonplussed by the bishop’s introduction as she had.
“Miss Sophia Hastings, I’d like you to meet my father, the Duke of Pemberton,” he said with a gesture toward the man whom she would have picked from a room full of other peers as his father. Like Ben, and indeed Freddie and Cam as well, the duke was tall with a strong if not particularly bulky build. His dark brown hair was a shade darker than his son’s, and he had brown eyes, which must mean that his sons had inherited their blue eyes from their mother. “Papa, this is Miss Sophia Hastings. Her father is the son of Sir Giles Hastings of York. And she is assisting me with a particular matter that the Earl of Mainwaring has asked me to look into. It has to do with art and as Miss Hastings is herself a celebrated oil painter, she has been a valuable resource.”
He made no mention of their, admittedly nascent, betrothal, but Sophia felt a pang of disappointment at the omission. Though she supposed that had more to do with the other man who stood waiting for an introduction.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Hastings,” the duke said, bowing over her hand. “Like Gussie, here, I too was surprised to find my son here rather than at the vicarage, but I understand now. How could he possibly stay away when such beauty was here at Beauchamp House?”
It was clear where the Lisle boys had got their charming manners from, Sophia thought with a blush. “You are kind to say so, your grace,” she said with a smile.
Then she turned to face the bishop, who was not nearly as pleased with her as the duke seemed to be.
“Your grace,” Ben said, his presence at her side giving Sophia a boost of courage as she faced the annoyed ecclesiastical, “Miss Sophia Hastings. Miss Hastings, this is his grace the Bishop of Chichester.”
“I had rather hoped to have a word with you alone, Benedick,” the clergyman said with a sniff. “Would that be possible?”
“Don’t be so stiff-rumped, Gussie,” the duke said with a frown. “If Benedick says they’re investigating something for the Home Office, then that’s what they’re doing. Whatever issue you have with him can’t be more confidential than that.”
If anything the bishop’s nose and mouth grew more pinched. “Perhaps, Pemberton, you should mind your own business. And as it happens, since Miss Hastings is the reason for my visit to this Sussex backwater, I believe it would defeat the purpose to counsel your son about her while she’s in the room.”
“We’re both standing right here,” Ben reminded them with a little wave. “And as it happens, I have a guess as to what brought you here, Bishop.”
“First,” the duke said, with a look at Sophia’s white-knuckled grip on her walking stick, “I believe we should sit down and discuss this like civilized people.”
He offered his arm to Sophia. “Miss Hastings, may I?”
She exchanged a look with Ben, who seemed to shrug with his eyes—something she’d never known possible—and decided it was safe to take the duke’s offered arm. Soon she was tucked up in her favorite overstuffed chair near the window with an ottoman at her feet to elevate her ankle.
Once the men were seated in chairs around her, with Ben taking the seat beside hers so they presented a united front, the duke, who seemed to be the unquestionable leader of this meeting, indicated with his hand that his son should continue.
“My guess, your grace,” he said to the bishop, “is that you’ve had a complaint from a member of my parish about Miss Hastings. Perhaps a complaint that I’ve been spending too much time with her? Or that I recognize her at all given the content of her artwork? Does that sound familiar?”
“That may have been the gist of what I was told,” the bishop said with a grudging nod. “And that you’ve been using your position as vicar to intrude upon matters that do not concern you. I might add that the person who made this complaint is a respected member of the community.”
Sophia had little trouble guessing he meant Peter Morgan. And it surprised her not a whit that the bishop thought him respected.
“My son has already explained this, Gussie,” said Pemberton, his leg crossed over his knee, perfectly at ease in what must be a difficult meeting for his son. Clearly he was not intimidated by the bishop. That much was obvious by the way he referred to him by what must have been a childhood nickname. “He and Miss Hastings are working together on a matter at the behest of Mainwaring. Whom you and I well know works for the Home Office. If he is able to fulfill his duties as a vicar, then I don’t see what the problem is.”
“I’m quite able to defend myself, sir,” Ben said to his father, who lifted his hands to indicate his son had the floor. “Though, your grace, I do not believe there is anything to defend here. As my father said, Miss Hastings and I are working together on something for Mainwaring. It involves art forgery and more than that I cannot say. But I can assure you that I have not neglected my duties, and having seen Miss Hastings’ paintings, I can assure you that they are far from what Morgan claims them to be.”
It was all perfectly true, but Sophia couldn’t help but feel a bit of frustration at his decision to omit the news of their betrothal. Wouldn’t that reassure the vicar about the time they spent together? While she did appreciate that the investigation for the Home Office was perhaps a stronger argument for their closeness, the betrothal would remove the appearance of impropriety at least. Or so she thought.
If anything, the bishop seemed to grow more annoyed. “What business has the Home Office to co-opt my clergymen to perform their nasty little tasks? I’ve a mind to pay a call on the Home Secretary himself to complain.”
None of the others responded to that, which Sophia assumed was a rhetorical question. And if it wasn’t, there was no response they could give that would assuage his pique.
“Morgan has done a great deal for this village, Benedick,” he continued in a scowl. “In fact, I believe his donations have made the living at Little Seaford one that is no longer the kind of pittance once seen here. You risk him reducing the amount of his tithe by going against him. And of him withdrawing some of his funding for your pet projects like caring for the village poor. Are you prepared to do that?”
Sophia watched as Ben’s jaw tightened. She could see that he was holding his temper on a tight leash, indeed.
“Are you suggesting that I cease investigating a matter at my country’s behest in order to appease a man who would use donations to the church as a means of getting what he wants?” his words were clipped and cold.
“I warned you about the politics of the church when you came to us, my boy,” said the bishop with a shrug. “It is part of the job, no matter how much you dislike it. Of course you must render unto Caesar when necessary, but do not forget what duty you owe to the church and your parish.”
He gave a pointed look at Sophia, who felt her back stiffen. “I notice you glossed over Morgan’s other accusations regarding Miss Hastings.” He did not elaborate, but it was clear from the way his eye roved over her what his meaning was. “Perhaps I should remind you as well that there are certain moral standards to which we expect you to adhere.”
At that both Ben and duke stood. “Now see here, Gussie. If you’re going to accuse my son of—”
“Don’t be tiresome, Pemberton. I’m not accusing him of anything. But there is the appearance of impropriety. And that, I think, is enough to cast doubt on the nature of his relationship with Miss Hastings.” The bishop had stood as well. “It might all be perfectly innocent, but it is what his parishioners think that matters. Once he has lost their confidence…”
“I doubt very much I’ve lost anyone’s confidence who knows me,” Ben said, his anger radiating off him. “And I will not have you cast aspersions of Miss Hastings’ good name without so much as a bye-your-leave. It might change your opinion to know that I have only today asked her to be my wife and she has accepted. So, I will ask that you moderate your manner of speaking about her or I will be forced to complain to the archbishop.”
At his announcement, Sophia struggled to her feet. “Benedick, you needn’t have told him about this now.”
She’d wanted him to announce their betrothal before, but now it felt like a play in a chess game. And she could see from the bishop’s high color and pursed lips that it hadn’t calmed his anger.
“I beg to differ, young lady,” the bishop said coldly. “Now is the perfect time, because it tells me that the rumors are true. It is of course, your choice whom you take as a wife, Lord Benedick. But if you choose this route, your career will not be an easy one. You have not shown yourself to be a political man when it comes to rising in the church, but know if you do this that your chances of rising will forever be dimmed.”
“Because Miss Hastings and I have been seen in one another’s company too frequently?” Ben asked with incredulity.
“Because Miss Hastings paints what more than one of your parishioners has complained to me is obscene. Dead prostitutes? Dying children?” The bishop made a noise of disgust. “It is unfit for a man to paint such scenes. Much less a lady.” He said the last word with a degree of skepticism that indicated he doubted her claim to the title.
Sophia clenched her fists in an effort to keep from striking the man. He was, of course, entitled to make judgments based on the content of her art, but to use them as a bludgeon against Ben was inexcusable. His career thus far with the church had been, so far as she knew, blameless. Was he to be censured solely based on the friendship of a few months’ duration? She knew of church elders who had carried on affairs of decades duration who had escaped punishment. That Ben would find himself in such a situation because of her was enough to make her want to howl at the unfairness of it.
Like powerful men before him, the bishop also liked to have the last word, apparently, because once he’d said his peace, he swept from the room.
Leaving a pregnant silence behind him.