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As the evening drew to a close Amelia was surprised to acknowledge a sense of disappointment. She was even more surprised to confess, although she would not do so aloud, that she had enjoyed dining with the Devereauxs. She confided as much in the pages of her journal, which she had attended to as she clambered into bed that evening, by the light of a candle that flickered in the cold night air.
I ought to go to sleep! she thought, yawning into the back of her hand. I shall just finish this page... Her pen travelled quickly over the paper, recalling the way the light had danced across Sir Benjamin’s handsome features, the precise timbre of his voice and how it changed when he addressed his sister, his stepmother, and her. She shivered and automatically reached to pull her blankets a little tighter. Surely she had only imagined that his voice changed when he addressed himself to her, and yet she did not see how she could have dreamt up such a detail. Certainly, his whole manner was different when he addressed Lady Devereaux. Amelia had known the two were not fond of one another and from the few clues that Joanna had dropped she had been firmly on the side of Lady Devereaux, despite her own mixed feelings towards that lady. One evening in the company of Sir Benjamin, and she was in danger of forming an entirely new opinion. Devereaux had been compassionate, kind even. I am sure you have heard me called a great many things, Miss Sudbury, in these walls and outside of them. I doubt very much that kind was amongst them. She bit her lip as the memory of Devereaux’s words brought back the memory of his face as he had said them.
I suppose it is a necessity that a man who seeks to build the reputation of a rake must be handsome, she reasoned, slipping the ribbon she used as a marker between the pages of her journal and sliding the book closed. But is it a necessity that he be quite so handsome?
She coloured at this thought, though there was nobody in the room to witness it and nobody alive who could know it. Except, perhaps, for Devereaux himself. The way he had smirked at her had suggested he knew precisely what thoughts ran through her mind at any given time, which infuriated her and made her all the more determined to trip him up. I am not like the young ladies you usually associate with, Sir Benjamin, she thought, summoning up the image of his smirking, handsome face to direct her silent comment to. She was no delicate flower, poised to wilt under the slightest glimmer of attention. She would not seek it out, either, for whilst she had never yet been to London or experienced the season, she had read novels enough to imagine that there were untold scores of young ladies eager to secure Sir Benjamin’s wealth and title - now that he was in possession of them both - for their own. Perhaps those young women were even happy to endure the behaviour that had qualified him as one-quarter of the notorious four horsemen, but she, Amelia Sudbury, was not. She would rather keep her self-respect, even if it kept her alone all her days.
“I do not care to marry,” she whispered aloud, as if hearing the words would make them truer. “Unless I find a gentleman who matches me with wit as well as wealth.” She pursed her lips. Unfortunately, in her albeit limited experience, she had met gentlemen possessing only one or the other. And now, at last, she might have found one in Sir Benjamin who was both clever and rich, and yet he had no morals.
She leaned over the side of the bed, blowing sharply to extinguish her candle and plunging the room into darkness.
If it is morality I want, I suppose I ought to take Father’s advice and settle for Mr Connelly. She lifted her hand to her lips to smother a sleepy laugh. The curate was a kind man, and certainly must be clever. He did not seem quite capable of matching her wits, though, such that she had abandoned all attempts to goad him into it. Admiral Sudbury merely wanted his only daughter to be happy and he had deduced, from what quarter she could not tell, that no woman could possibly be happy who was not married. With his wife gone and lacking any feminine confidante he might defer the task to, he sought to solve the matter himself and thus pursued a friendship with the curate that brought that young man often to their home, in hopes that lightning would strike and Amelia might magically find herself wed. She did not think her father was particularly partial to the curate more than any other man, but as he was the only gentleman in the admiral’s acquaintance under the age of forty, he had decided upon him as the most likely candidate for Amelia’s heart.
I suppose I should be grateful, she thought, drowsily. Papa’s circle of gentleman acquaintances is so very narrow. Just think, if he had met Sir Benjamin first, what hope would there be for me?
But the thought, once formed, was not as amusing as she had expected it to be. She could not quite pinpoint what the heavy feeling of disappointment meant that lodged in her chest, but it was some time before she finally surrendered fully to a dreamless, exhausted sleep.
***
DEVEREAUX SAT UP LONG after the rest of the house had turned in for the night. He was not sure he would ever get used to the early hours kept by those in the country. In London, at about the time both Joanna and Lady Devereaux talked of retiring for the night, he and his friends would just have been beginning their evening.
He was sprawled in a chair in the study that had belonged to his father and was now his favourite room in the house, on account that it was the one place he was guaranteed of finding sanctuary from the whispers and stares of the servants and the two ladies.
He ought to consider retiring himself, for the fire had died down to its embers, and the air had a cold nip to it, but he could not bring himself to move just yet. How Lennox would tease him for going to bed as early as a child. How Merriweather would sling a companionable arm around him and steer him towards the liquor cabinet, urging him to take just one more drink before bidding the night farewell.
He let out a long, low sigh. He had not anticipated how much he would miss his three friends. He had not anticipated missing them at all! But ten years had proved habit-forming, and he saw the other three horsemen on a near daily cycle, individually or in some combination. His eyes darkened. He despised the moniker, and he was less than delighted that this, too, had preceded him to Westham. He wished he really was a horseman, then he might stand a chance of out-riding his reputation.
This sparked an idea in his brains which were not quite yet dulled by lethargy. He would go riding! It had been some time since he had been free to ride with abandon, and he had missed the feel of the wind whipping through his dark hair. It would allow him the chance to avoid his stepmother if he spent much of tomorrow out of doors. He grimaced. She had acquiesced to his request and joined them for dinner but she still had not spoken to him beyond what was strictly necessary. He kicked at the air, wishing he could somehow will her to work with him in this situation his father had left for them to resolve. They were in limbo living here all together in the house that now belonged to him. He knew she expected him to return home and promptly have her and her daughter evicted, and part of him approved of the plan. He could enjoy the privileges of his own house without having to perpetually look over his shoulder. But would that not be as good as admitting he was precisely who everybody expected him to be? Never mind a horseman, he was the antichrist himself, if his stepmother was to be believed. His scowl deepened. She would have people think such evil of him. He knew she was responsible for creating the rumours about him and yet who would believe her capable of them?
Hauling himself to his feet he stretched, lifted his candle and made his way wearily to the door. He did not care what these country folk thought of him, not really. A sharp pain registered in the region of his chest, and he absently reached up to brush at it, as if it were a physical thing. He ought not to care about what these country folk thought of him, and for the most part he did not. An ephemeral image of Amelia Sudbury floated behind his eyes, stopping him in his tracks. She, perhaps more than any of the others, was poised to dislike him on account of her friendship with this house. Who knew what Joanna had told her about him and what she believed to be true. He did not know why it bothered him that she thought him a rake or a rogue or some otherwise deplorable human creature, but it did.
He shrugged off the image of Amelia Sudbury and walked slowly upstairs. A floorboard creaked ahead of him and he paused, blinking blearily into the darkness. He held his candle aloft and almost fell back when the light illuminated a figure. He caught hold of the bannister at the last minute, righting himself.
“Oh, it’s you,” he muttered, dismissing the shadow of his stepmother. He was in no mood to be polite to her at this hour, nor was there anybody nearby to witness him doing so. “What do you want?” he growled, before moderating his voice into something a little friendlier. “Is something the matter?”
“I did as you asked,” Lady Devereaux murmured. “I joined you for dinner. Now, will you tell me what fate you have in store for my daughter and me?”
Did he imagine it or did her voice quaver as she spoke? He leaned a little closer, peering up at her and realised that her drawn features were not entirely an affectation. She might not mourn the loss of his father - for he certainly doubted her affection for him had been as genuine as was her affection for his wealth and position - but she was not indifferent to the changes that had taken place. No, it was worse than that. She was...afraid.
A wry laugh bubbled up in Ben’s chest.
“You find my pain amusing?” she asked, her voice little more than a sob.
“I find it amusing that our positions have now been reversed, Madam,” he said, dipping his head in a feigned bow. “When you sought to see me expelled from my home - very well done, by the way - you cared little for my feelings on the matter. Any worry you feel for your own future, now that it is in my hands to decide, is of your own making.” He yawned and did not try to hide it. “I am no monster, Lady Devereaux, no matter what your testimony would have my father, my sister, the entirety of Westham believe. I will not leave you penniless.” His breath caught. “But I am still wading through my father’s affairs. If you are expecting an answer before the week is out then I am afraid I must disappoint you. Believe me, Madam, I am no more appreciative of this living limbo than you are. I will seek to resolve it as soon as I can. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I will take my leave. I have a busy day planned for the morrow.”
Lady Devereaux’s breath caught, and he could tell it was on the tip of her tongue to inquire what plans would keep him busy and might they have some effect on her own future and that of her daughter. She wanted to ask, but she would not, and Ben felt no desire to tell her.
“Good night, Dever - Sir Benjamin. I trust you will sleep well.” His stepmother’s voice was little more than a whisper, but Ben did not stop to acknowledge her words nor to return them.