Chapter 17

Ben stopped the gig in front of Bright House. The sun sank low behind it, making it shine as its name suggested. It sat on the north boundary of London and enjoyed the open skies of the country. The curved eaves over the front windows always reminded Ben of happy smiles or the sweep of bird wings in a watercolor. Every window glowed with welcoming candlelight, and the door flew open.

His grandfather lumbered out with a furrowed white brow and long, swinging arms. "Who's this, then?" He stopped before the gig and hooked his hands on his hips to study the conveyance and its passengers.

Ben hopped down and rounded the gig. "Just your only grandson."

He and Ben were of a height and similar build, and his grandfather had not lost his strength in old age, though his formerly yellow hair was white now. His blue eyes were sharp as ever.

He rubbed those curious eyes, then looked at Ben again. "No, you're not. I have but two grandsons, and none of them look like you."

"Come now, Grandfather. A shave of a beard and a haircut is not enough to make me entirely unrecognizable."

His grandfather's brows, always his most expressive feature, shot up to his hairline as he hinged forward at the waist and peered at Ben's chin. His hand shot out, and he snagged Ben's jaw between tight fingers.

"Ow! Let go."

He swatted Ben's hands away as he turned Ben's head from side to side. "The beard… yes. Why, I've not seen that jawline in years. Pity. Forgot you had a good one." He laughed, loud and long, and patted Ben's cheek. "Good to see you, my boy. And who are they, then?" He nodded at the gig, the ladies sitting in it. "Oh, never mind, Ben. You never do introductions right." He swept forward as Ben helped first Lady Norton and then Prudence to the ground. "I am Baron Brightly, and you two are quite lovely. Please give me the honor of your names so I may know what angels are called."

Ben snorted.

Prudence laughed.

Lady Norton peered up at the house, more statue than woman.

"This is," Ben said, coming to stand between the women and gesturing to the viscountess, "Viscountess Norton and this is my"—he gestured to Prudence, realized his blunder—"well, that is, this is Lady Prudence."

"Your Lady Prudence?" His grandfather chuckled, tapping his lips and turning his attention toward Prudence. "Well, well, Ben's Lady Prudence, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I'm not his Lady Prudence." She glanced at Ben, then lifted her chin as she faced his grandfather.

"Quite right," his grandfather said. "If I were you, I wouldn't be his either. One never knows when he might grow all the hair back."

"True, and then I'd be stuck with him. And all that hair."

"You like the hair," Ben grumbled.

His grandfather tilted his head, studied them both. "Are you entirely certain you don't want to be his Lady Prudence? I wouldn't mind having another young person about now and then."

"I'm not entirely sure he wants me." Prudence sighed, and though she likely meant it as a tease, her words worried him. Still, she did not know? Would he ever convince her, then?

Ben tugged at his cravat. "Are we going to stand out here all day?"

"My grandson is a fool. But if you will not be his Lady Prudence, perhaps you will be mine? Tea?" Ben's grandfather offered a winged arm to Lady Norton. When she took it, he patted it. "You'll be mine, too, then, yes?"

She did not answer, only marched into the house at his side.

"I do love a side of silent dramatics," his grandfather said. "You are all just in time for dinner. Or rather, just in time for me to tell Cook to make more of whatever she'd planned."

"I do love being punctual." Prudence took Ben's proffered arm and followed him inside the house.

Stepping across the threshold filled Ben's lungs, made him feel light. How long had it been? Too long. "You'll be quite stern with me then, Lady P. I've been late in returning home these days."

She patted his hand. "You've been busy. But you'll improve."

Hell, but he wanted to kiss the top of her head, to change the trajectory of their stroll toward the stairs, up them, and through the door of his bedchamber.

But he followed his grandfather to a parlor and settled Prudence into his favorite overstuffed wingback by an open window. She'd like the air. She'd like to watch the pink light of the dying day. And he'd like to watch her enjoying it.

Cora separated herself from his grandfather and made a slow circle about the room.

"So then," his grandfather said, "what has brought this interesting little party to my doorstep?"

"Refuge." Ben propped an arm on the top of Prudence's chair. "Lady Norton needs a bed this night, and time to determine what move to make next."

"Oh dear." His grandfather sank into the matching chair across from Prudence, hooked his foot beneath a beaten ottoman and pulled it close enough to prop his feet atop it. As he sank into the chair's cushioning, he steepled his hands atop his belly. "Nothing too serious, I hope?"

Lady Norton stopped before a landscape painting, her spine stiff beneath all that black. "If we are inconveniencing you, my lord, we will—"

"No, no!" his grandfather boomed. "Not at all. Have a bed. Have all of them. I won't ask questions." He cupped a hand around his mouth and sat up, leaned across the space between him and Prudence, and whispered, "Her husband?" He closed his eyes and stuck his tongue out.

"Grandfather!" Ben barked. "Even I know that's rude."

His grandfather shrugged.

Prudence rolled her lips between her teeth, then ducked her head. The gentle shake of her shoulders told him she attempted to suppress laughter. When she sat up straight, she had managed it, and she folded her hands neatly in her lap atop wrinkled skirts. "No. Not that. We are not in mourning. He has not…" She made the same gesture as his grandfather, eyes and tongue and all, a brief flash of a mad moment. "But he might wish he was after Lady Norton figures out how to proceed."

Ben's grandfather settled back into his chair. "Ah, well, men are fools. Myself excluded, naturally. Ben?" His eyes narrowed, and Ben had to plant his feet to the floor to keep from retreating. "Why the sudden change, my boy? The clothes and all?"

Ben scratched the back of his neck. "No reason. Is that a new clock?"

"No changing the subject." His grandfather wagged a finger at him before settling his gaze on Prudence. "Is that what he calls you, my dear, other than my Lady Prudence of course? Are you his No reason?"

Prudence's mouth dropped open, and her eyes rolled around, no doubt seeking an answer the room would not serve up.

"Now is not the time, Grandfather," Ben grumbled.

"And why not?" the old man asked. "After all, the worst times are—"

"The best times for teases," Prudence said. "I agree." She grinned, and that curve of lips felt like a physical blow, one which could drop him to his knees. He already wanted that—to kneel before her and pledge himself. But now she shared a sly look with his grandfather, and Ben's heart felt damn well… complete.

He'd do anything for her, his life wet clay in her lithe hands, an empty broadsheet for her to press crowded with ink.

"I need to be alone." Cora stood, suddenly, within their little circle, having crept toward them on silent feet without even a rustle of skirts. I would like to retire for the evening. Is that possible? I do not wish to be a burden, but—"

"Not a burden, dear woman, not at all." His grandfather creaked to his feet. "I'll have dinner sent up for you. Will that please you?"

"Yes, very much indeed," Cora said, lips as thin as her voice.

His grandfather patted her shoulder and ambled toward the door, bellowing, "Bexton! Mrs. Bexton?" He threw the door open and bellowed the name down the hall once more.

"I'm right here, you old loon," a bodiless voice said from the hallway. "What do you want?"

"That's Mrs. Bexton, his housekeeper," Ben explained. "It must be the worst of times for her every hour of the day for he teases her constantly. Don't know why she hasn't left yet."

Only his grandfather was visible in the doorframe, and he'd hooked his thumbs in the waist of his pants and grinned like a madman. "Need rooms prepared for three guests. And dinner for three more as well. One portion to be sent to the pink room." He glanced back toward the parlor, toward Lady Norton. "No, ah, scratch that. To the green room. With all the dark trimmings. Will likely suit our guest's mood best."

"Guests? Three of them?" Mrs. Bexton cried. "On such short notice?"

"Should I tell them you can't manage it?"

"Grandfather," Ben warned. "Be nice."

"Oh!" A woman shuffled into the frame of the doorway, bumping his grandfather out of the way. She possessed steel-gray hair under a pristine white cap and a hooked nose. Her eyes shone bright and welcoming. "Mr. Bailey. Such a treat, and you've brought friends. Of course we can have rooms prepared. For such a charming lad, anything." She turned sharply and disappeared once more.

Ben's grandfather yelled after her, "I'm charming, too!"

"See," Ben said, "she recognized me instantly. I'm not too changed. Prudence… Lady Prudence knew me right away. In fact, she prefers me the other way."

"Do you now?" His grandfather sat back in his chair with a groan. "Interesting."

"I-I wouldn't say that."

"What?" Ben nearly bent his body in half to lean over the chair and stare her in the face.

"I-I like you"—her cheeks flushed the prettiest, brightest pink—"however you are, but I like how… how confident you seem now you've tried a new look. I suppose you were confident before, but then it seemed like defiance. Desperate. Oh, don't growl at me."

"I'm not growling."

"Were too," his grandfather said.

Prudence's fingers twitched in her lap as if she wished to do something with them. He could think of several things she could do, but she kept them tamed and still. So much like her—a calm that hid the potential for anything.

"But now," she said, "you appear ready to conquer the world."

Ben straightened slowly, scratching his chin. Funny she should say such a thing when, by choosing her, he'd be courting defeat. No more printshop, no more retribution. No more atonement for legacies lost.

Mrs. Bexton shuffled through the door. "The rooms are being readied, my lord."

"May I go up now?" Lady Norton asked. "Is it too much of a bother?"

"No, not at all. Right this way." Mrs. Bexton waited by the door.

Prudence bounced from her chair and followed Lady Norton to the hallway. "I will come with you."

Lady Norton nodded, and they disappeared behind Mrs. Bexton.

Ben dropped into Prudence's abandoned chair and met his grandfather's gaze. They remained there for some seconds. A standoff Ben would win. He certainly would not speak first. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned into the back of the chair, made himself comfortable, showed he could not be broken.

"So then," his grandfather said sooner than Ben expected him to, "you're in love."

That he had not expected. He did his best to hide his shock, then decided no use hiding anything. "Mother always said one second you have no idea and the next…"

"You know. Yes. A sentiment I have always shared."

His mother and grandfather had met but once, before Ben's birth when his father and mother had traveled to England for a month. That trip had been enough, apparently, to convince his grandfather to approve the marriage. An unheard-of victory for love. A baron letting his heir move across the sea, knowing he might never return. They'd promised to return some day, though. And never had the chance to.

"Who is she? Her family?"

"Her brother is the Duke of Clearford."

"A duke's sister." His grandfather whistled. "Does the man know you work?"

"He knows I own several printshops. He owns one of them with me." Unfortunately. "The shop I told you about. The one that reminds me of Boston."

His grandfather's expressive brows made a united front above his sharp eyes. "I thought you meant to buy out the co-owners? I recommend against uniting family and business matters."

"I would prefer not to as well." He had no choice.

"You're not marrying the chit to get the shop at a steal, are you?"

"No. I consider that an insult." Shouldn't really. Not after all he'd done. "I'm not sure the duke will sell to me after I ask for Prudence's hand."

His grandfather settled deeper into his chair. "Do not worry, Ben. You do not have to work. You are my heir, and you—"

"I do. I do need to work. I failed Mother and Father once, and I won't do it again."

"Bah." His grandfather pushed to his feet and crossed the room, threw open a cupboard and grabbed a full decanter and tumbler. The glass clinked together, and he snapped them to the table, unstopped the bottle, and poured himself a generous amount of what Ben knew to be quality whisky.

"Are you going to offer me any?" Ben asked, stretching his legs out in front of him and clasping his hands together behind his head.

"No. Grow a brain and perhaps." He snorted.

"Are you calling me a fool?"

He grandfather returned to his chair and took a swig of his drink before answering, "I am. Because you are a fool. What happened in Boston is that you were a child, a fifteen-year-old boy with no business running one. You were grieving and alone. Yet you survived. You made the decision to come to me."

"Because I'd run the printshop into the ground."

"Because you had the courage to do what it took to survive. You made that journey alone."

"And fell overboard. Lost Mother's ring, Father's last paper, and—"

"And survived something most would not. Then you conquered Mrs. Bexton's heart here in London and made friends with a duke's heir of all people and went into business running a print empire."

"Helping run it. Mainly I stay in the back and manage the machines."

"Something that partner of yours knew little about before you. Bah." His grandfather shook his head. "Wake up, boy. You're no failure." He sipped from his glass once more, then studied the amber liquid as he swirled it round and round. "You remind me of your father. There are not many men who would throw over a title and a life of ease to live in an entirely different country with the woman he loves. Your father did, though, and you're your father's son. I see it in every line of your face." He sighed and took another sip. "Have you told your Lady Prudence about all this?"

"Not entirely." And he couldn't. Not entirely.

His grandfather took a longer sip this time, then met Ben's gaze. "You should. When a fellow's in love with a woman, he should tell her everything until every cowardly corner of his heart is laid bare before her. She'll shine light there, you'll see." He tipped his glass toward Ben. "One way or another, she'll bring a light and show you every place that needs dusting." He inhaled deeply. "But also every bit that's good and pure and worth her time."

"How'd you know? That I… that I lo—"

"You arrived on these shores with a scraggly bit of scruff you called a beard. Looked like baby bird feathers glued to your cheeks by a tottering two-year-old." His grandfather lifted the glass to the candlelight, tipped it this way and that. "You refused to shave it, no matter how I teased. I think you thought it a part of who you were in Boston. Couldn't let it go. It filled in, scraggly patches fading away. Still, you kept it. But for her… you shaved it all away. You mean to step into a new life with her." He smiled at the glinting candle-lit glass. "Yes, and I hope you become the man you're meant to be at her side."

His grandfather stood, downed the rest of the whisky, and made for the door. "I'm going to check on dinner. Famished, I am." He stopped in the doorframe and regarded Ben over his shoulder. "Whether it's a fashionable coat, a printshop, or a woman, what we want most changes as we do. Don't stick tight to one prize and neglect another."

When his grandfather disappeared into the hallway, Ben rolled his eyes. He didn't need his grandfather's maxims.

"And Ben."

"Gah!"

Only his grandfather's head peeked at him from the side of the doorframe, grinning. "If you're too much a coward to embrace changing, some other man will embrace her. She is not yet, as she was quick to point out, your Lady Prudence." He slapped the frame twice, then disappeared once more.

"Not… my… Hell." His grandfather's warning buzzed in his arms and legs, making a muddle of his mind. They had returned to London.

And to the suitors. The Season was coming to an end, but still there was plenty of opportunity for some other man to woo Prudence away from him.

And if Ben didn't take what he wanted, some other man would. Of course they would. Prudence was everything any man—if he possessed a brain—could want. Clever and kind, pretty and passionate. That day looking over his notes and ledgers and schedules, she'd made him feel capable, as if with her he could accomplish anything. He wanted to help her feel the same. He didn't want her to ask why when a man found her attractive. If he had it in his power to change that, he would. Now. And by any means necessary.

His grandfather, as usual, had the right of it. Men changed. What they wanted melted away to be replaced by new desires. Ben still wanted to honor his parents, honor their love and their strength. But if he couldn't have that and Prudence, well…

Ben Bailey would never compromise a woman he didn't intend to have. But he intended to have Prudence. Even if it meant giving up everything else.