Chapter 5

Kingston would kill him. Ben had missed another meeting. No way but the sun to know he'd missed it, though. His watch had fallen from a hole in his pocket a week ago when he'd been walking toward Fleet Street after his brief stroll with Lady Prudence. It had seemed an omen. She'd declared his schedule broken, declared he needed help, and his watch had slipped from his pocket as if seeking escape from his incompetence. Then he'd smashed it beneath his boot when he'd gone back to retrieve it. Hell. Should have bought a new one days ago.

The sun above his only timepiece now, and it mocked him. Late, late, late.

No. Missed entirely. He might as well set his steps toward Mayfair and hound the woman who hounded him.

Why had Lady Prudence refused to return his letters? She'd said she would. How could he probe for her secrets without her full epistolary attention?

He rounded the corner, bringing the door of the duke's residence into view. Another man stood on the doorstep. Norton.

Ben picked up his pace, not quite running to reach the man's side before he could knock. He caught Norton's wrist just before he slammed it onto the door.

"What the devil?" Norton, flustered, ripped his hand out of Ben's hold.

"Precisely my reaction to seeing you here, Norton. You're a married man. Leave Lady Prudence alone."

"I'm not here for her." He smoothed his lapels and straightened the angle of his hat. "Well, I am, but not in that way." He knocked, and the door opened swiftly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Jacobs. Is His Grace receiving visitors?"

Mr. Jacobs' thick black brows somehow loosened. "Lord Norton. A delight to see you again. Yes, His Grace is receiving visitors. Do come in." He stepped aside, opening one arm wide in welcome.

Norton stepped in, doffing his hat and greatcoat.

Ben tried to do the same, but Mr. Jacobs blocked his way.

"Mr. Bailey," he said, "what brings you here today?"

"I'm here to see Lady Prudence."

"She's not in."

Could be the truth. She seemed a busy chit. But she also possessed a devious mind. Wouldn't mind lying to your face, that one. He didn't feel like arguing, though. "I'll see Clearford, too." He could fish about for other ways to earn the woman's trust, see if Clearford's guide held any better advice than cultivate safe intimacy. Whatever that meant. Ben rather agreed with Lady Prudence on that one—intimacy of any sort held risk. But… with the right woman. At the right time. Worthwhile.

Mr. Jacobs sniffed, did not move.

Ben flung the edges of his greatcoat back and placed his hands on his hips. "I know he's in. You've just let Norton through to see him."

"Mr. Norton is a gentleman." Jacob's gaze lowered over Ben's frame, from the limp and loosely tied cravat to the too-large greatcoat, wrinkled clothes, and scuffed boots.

Ben rolled his eyes. "And I'm Clearford's friend. Must we have this argument every time I'm here?"

"Someone must retain the high standards of a duke's household. If the duke will not."

Ben cracked his knuckles, stretched his neck side to side. "Must I really move you? I've not had my exercise today, and I admit I'd like the challenge. Heft a fully grown man across the entryway. I think I can manage it."

His face twisted into a deep-lined scowl. Mr. Jacobs stepped to the side. But Ben received no welcoming, outstretched arm as Norton had.

Ben didn't need one. He bounced inside and smacked Jacobs on the shoulder. "Good choice." Then he and Norton followed the butler down the hall.

After a brief knock, and a muffled yet terse "come in" from behind the closed door, Jacobs opened it, ushering Norton and Bailey inside.

Where the duke stood poised on one side of the room, one arm raised slightly above his head, and in his hand a blade. "Have a seat." Said without looking their way. A breath before he went statue still. Then a flick of his wrist, and the blade sailed across the room, hit a square of wood hanging on the wall with a thwack.

"Not dead center that time," Bailey said.

Clearford grunted. "Wasn't aiming for the center."

"Fair enough."

"Tea, Jacobs," Clearford said, sinking into a chair behind his desk.

The butler bowed and closed the door behind him, and Norton and Bailey took seats on the other side of the duke's huge desk.

"That was inspiring," Norton said, his gaze still on the board across the room, a knife still vibrating within it. "Where'd you learn how to do it?"

"My father." Clearford wove his hands behind his head as he leaned back into the seat. "What brings the two of you here? And at the same time?"

Norton leaned forward, speaking before Ben could put words in the right order in his muddled mind. "I've come to petition for your approval."

Before Norton could finish his sentence, Clearford was shaking his head. "I already told Prudence no. If I'd known you prone to seducing young women in gardens, I never would have allowed you near my sister to begin with. You've ruined her friend."

"I've married her." Norton's jaw tight as his body moved out of the lean, spine stiffening.

Ben's hands tightened around the ends of his chair arms, clawing fingers over clawed wood. "Told Lady Prudence no to what? Petition approval for what?"

Norton's gaze remained trained on Clearford. "My wife wishes the comfort of her friend as she grows accustomed to her new home. You'll deny her that?"

"Your wife must have friends other than my sister." Clearford looked up to the ceiling, as if the conversation bored him.

"Would you two slow down?" Ben grumbled. "You're at the finish line, and I've not even started yet."

With a sigh, Clearford dropped his gaze to Ben. "Lord Norton is taking his new bride to the country, and he's invited Prudence—"

"My wife has invited her." The words ground between clenched teeth.

"To come along as well," Clearford finished.

"Like hell she will." Ben stabbed a finger into the desktop. "She can't go."

"I'm aware," Clearford said, unfolding his hands from behind his head and refolding them across his abdomen. "I've already denied the request. Prudence is not pleased. It has been a battle of wills all week long." He sighed. "She's begun a campaign of silence. Refuses to speak to me unless I give in."

"Please." Norton held his hands out, palms up. "You must relent. Cora wishes Lady Prudence's presence above all else. It is the only wedding present she desires."

Ben exploded to his feet. "You thought your wife was Lady Prudence in that garden! And you think the woman you wanted to begin with should accompany you and your new wife away from all her family?"

"Precisely why I've denied him, Bailey," the duke said. "Do sit down. No need for dramatics."

Ben dropped back into the chair. "Says the man who throws knives for fun."

Clearford turned to Norton. "You see quite clearly why I will not allow it."

Norton stood, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You think I mean to take advantage of Lady Prudence during her stay in my home? You impugn my honor."

"You impugned your own damn honor in that garden." Ben stood once more. His hands could make fists, too, but he kept the knuckles loose. Better to show control when another man vibrated with rage.

"We'll have no duels," Clearford said, coming to his feet.

The door opened, and a maid appeared with a tray. She set it on a low table near the fireplace and scurried away. The duke swept toward the steaming tea, welcoming Ben and Norton to join him.

Neither man did, but Clearford didn't seem to mind. He dropped into a chair, stretched one leg out long, and poured his own tea. That right there—one thing Ben had always admired about his friend. He never let others do for him when he could do for himself, no matter his lofty title.

The duke studied them, raised a brow. "No? Very well then. Do as you please." He settled back into his chair with a sigh, holding the cup before his face and inhaling deeply.

He sat just beneath the portrait of himself hanging large as the gods above the fireplace. In it, a much younger Clearford, before he'd become the duke, stood behind his sisters and beside his father in a field, looking at something in the distance. He appeared young and carefree and lacked the lines of worry that currently bracketed his mouth, radiated from the outer corners of his eyes. All eight sisters peered down at the three men in the room, and Ben spotted Lady Prudence among them all with ease. She'd been posed a bit to the side, away from the rest, and she looked out on the world with something like disgruntled distaste. For what? Had she disliked standing still for so long. The Lady Prudence he knew never seemed to sit still. And even when she did, her leg bounced up and down, and her thoughts whirred like a factory full of machines behind her eyes. Always moving, doing. He admired that.

"You're right to keep her home," Ben said, holding the painted Lady Prudence's gaze. "Keep her safe."

That seemed to unlock Norton. He rushed forward, swinging himself into the chair opposite the duke, leaning forward, elbows digging into his thighs as he held his palms out once more. "She would be safe with me. I swear it. I was looking for your sister that night, Clearford. I admit it. Your revision to the Guide suggests a single kiss to test the waters."

"In a sunlit drawing room," Clearford drawled before taking a sip of his tea. "With a distracted chaperone nearby. All perfectly proper."

"Yes, well, that always felt a bit awkward. Some things are easier done in the dark." He dropped his head and ruffled his hands through his hair. "They were wearing the same costume, Clearford. And your sister"—he looked up, opening his palms once more—"was wearing a black veil to cover her hair. They're the same height, similar figures. I had no idea. I didn't even know there was another woman dressed in a black gown that night. I thought—"

"And that's why Lady Prudence can't go with you." Ben marched forward, stood as a third corner of their triangle. "You wanted her, but you didn't get her. Now you'll try another means of—"

"No!" Norton jolted to his feet once more. "I'm not some tormented villain!"

Clearford sighed, rolling his head to the side as he rolled his eyes.

One of Norton's fisted hands tapped Ben's shoulder, a warning. "I want only my wife, Bailey. Do you understand? I may have set off looking for Lady Prudence that night, but I discovered… I discovered—" His voice cracked, and he cursed, a word he whispered into his shoulder. "Suffice it to say I want only my wife. She has my loyalty, and I must now earn hers. I was a vicar once, you know. I do not take marriage vows lightly."

"Sit down the both of you." Clearford took another sip. "Are you sure you don't want tea? It's calming."

"No." Ben began pacing, from the fireplace to the knife-tortured board at the other end of the room and back. Did Norton speak the truth? Or did he lie to gain convenient access to the woman he truly wanted? Shouldn't bother Ben. But after following the chit around so much, writing to her so often of late, he felt rather… protective.

Norton sat, rubbing a palm over his face. "I merely wish to make my wife happy, Your Grace. Please."

"The question," Clearford said, "becomes whether I trust you're telling me the truth. I'm inclined to believe you."

"Clearford!" Ben's pacing took him more quickly than before to the tableau before the fireplace. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

Norton scooted closer to the edge of his chair, closer to Clearford. "You are invited, too, Your Grace. Come and see that I speak the truth. I wish for your sister's presence in my home only in that it brings joy to Lady Norton."

Ben crossed his arms over his chest, tried to see what Clearford had found so interesting about the ceiling earlier.

Clearford ran his knuckles up and down his jaw. "Hm. An excellent suggestion. Yet… I cannot leave my other sisters unattended. The twins are slippery. And the younger ones… no. I'll not leave them. I cannot, Norton. But"—his gaze slid to Bailey, the corner of his mouth tilting up—"Bailey might attend in my stead."

"Me?" Ben bellowed. "Me?" Louder than before. A bit of spittle on his beard.

"Why not? You're courting her. And a house party is the perfect moment to cultivate intimacy. Understanding."

Understanding of the chit's secrets.

Hell.

"It will also take her out of the range of other suitors," Ben said, each word feeling heavy on his tongue.

Clearford shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"You wanted your sister to have options, Clearford."

"Yes, well, you seem to care rather fiercely for her safety, Bailey. Perhaps you are the best option."

Ben tore around a small sofa facing the fireplace and sat, small blue pillows falling to the floor. With Norton here, he couldn't very well scream the words tearing at his throat. I'm not going to marry your sister, and you know that! Clearford no longer cared about marriage. Not in this very moment, at least. Tired of being in the dark, he wanted information. He expected Ben to supply it by any means necessary. Including marriage. That not a means Ben particularly relished. Nothing against marriage in general. Ben fully intended to fall in love one day. No idea who would look at him long enough for him to take an interest. Every woman he met turned up her nose, unwilling to look past his appearance.

"You're her most ardent suitor, Bailey," Clearford said. "And I trust you as a friend to guard her reputation. Lady Norton will act as chaperone. But… if you have other plans. Work, perhaps. In one of you printshops."

Damn Clearford to Hell. His message clear as a well-printed letter with fresh ink. Ben must follow Prudence, or the duke wouldn't sell.

"Very well." Ben's hands curled like claws around the sofa's arm. "Perhaps I am the best option." Because he had no other options, not if he wanted to make Bailey's Prints a reality.

Silence.

Then, with the halting tones of hesitation, Norton said, "Ah, um, yes. You are, of course, welcome, Bailey, but… excuse me for pointing this out, but… Lady Prudence has always seemed as enamored of you as she has been of me. That is to say… not at all." He blinked at Ben, then leaned forward to pour himself a cup of tea, hiding himself from Ben's response in the task.

Clearford did not hide. He held Ben's gaze, tilted his head, eyebrows raised, waiting.

"I think," Norton continued, "she might be intimidated by you. I only say all this because it's clear to me now you have real feelings for the girl. You care for her safety. I admire that. But…"

"Yes, Norton?" Clearford prodded. "You're a fount of wisdom, and I wish to hear what you have to say."

"I don't," Ben grumbled.

"He appears rather terrifying, doesn't he? With the hair and the beard. And the clothes." Norton slanted a quick glance at Ben before returning it to the duke. Apparently, men who flung knives for fun were less terrifying than an American with a beard.

"This is ridiculous." Ben draped his arms across the back of the sofa. "Lady Prudence is not scared of me." Not at all. She rolled her eyes at him, shrugged him off, lectured him. If he were to identify a feeling she had for him, it would be something like annoyance. Not fear. Besides, she'd said she wouldn't change him. Just his schedule. He coughed to hide an unexpected chuckle.

"But she will not let you close when you look like that." Did Norton's words sound like a snort? As if he, too, rolled his eyes, as if he had no fear of Ben's fist finding his face.

He should.

Ben tapped a finger on the back of the sofa. "And you know how to get close to women, don't you, Norton?"

Norton's jaw ticked, his muscles bunched. Those hands—fists again. The man proved surprisingly easy to rile.

"Norton has a point, Bailey," Clearford said.

"What?" Ben's finger stopped tapping as his hands clenched the back edge of the couch.

But Clearford stretched out, made himself even more comfortable, a sly grin stretching his lips. "You do not look the picture of a suitor. And that is exactly what you are supposed to be. Perhaps that's why you've made no progress. How can my sister trust your intentions when you're clearly not attempting to impress her?"

"What are you trying to say, Clearford?" Ben growled.

"That you're a mess. In fact." He rose and ambled toward his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a notebook. He opened it on the desk and dipped a pen in an inkwell. "I should amend the Guide. Make sure there's a section on personal appearance."

"I'm not changing how I dress to please a chit, Clearford."

"Then you'll not win the lady's approval, will you, Bailey?" Norton looked irritatingly smug.

"Shut it," Ben growled. He stood and found his way to the other side of the duke's desk, steepled all his fingers atop it as he leaned forward. "Listen here, Your Grace. I don't need to shape myself into a certain foppish figure to please anyone."

Clearford looked up from his book, blinked, stood up straight. "Very well, then. Don't. I'll find another man to help with Prudence."

"Help with Lady Prudence?" A quivering question in Norton's voice. "What does that mean?"

Clearford returned his attention to his book, the pen flowing across the blank page, filling it up. "Court, Norton. I meant court. Naturally."

Ben straightened. Perhaps he should let Clearford choose another man. But if he did, Ben would not get his printshop. Changing his hair, his clothes, shaving his beard—those changes would last for a short time only. Resurrecting his parent's legacy would be well worth the hassle.

"No. No other man," Ben said. "I'll do it."

"Excellent." The duke spoke without looking up, but his hand froze, his pen hovering just over the page. "Do you… know how… to dress fashionably?"

"Bloody hell!" Ben stomped toward the door. "I think I can manage it."

"Surely. But I'll send my valet to you this evening. Just in case."

Ben ripped open the door but stopped in the frame. "When do we leave, Norton?"

"Tomorrow."

Ben nodded. "And where?"

"Norton Hall, near Cambridge."

"I'll see you then, Norton." As he swept out of the room, he heard the viscount's voice, quizzical and low.

"Bailey must love your sister quite ardently to agree to such an improvement."

Didn't hear how Clearford managed to answer that one without fumbling about for a believable lie. Ben spilled onto the pavement before the house with a scowl and a determined stride. Bond Street. He'd find what he needed there. He possessed fancy clothes. But it had been years since he'd bothered to wear them. They got in the way of his work in the printshops. Doubted they still fit. He'd put on a bit of muscle since he started working on the presses, learning how to fix them. The clothes at the back of his wardrobe had been fitted to a younger man, a boy really, just off a boat and intent on pleasing his grandfather.

Styles had changed since then, same as his body. He'd need new clothes entirely. Bloody bother, it was. But what brought him closer to Lady Prudence, what encouraged her to spill her secrets into his ears would also bring him closer to Bailey's Prints.