Chapter 2

"That was a disaster."

Not certain he had heard right, Owen raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Pulling out a handkerchief so he might mop his face, Benedict gave a jerky shake of his head. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Except it wasn't nothing. Or at least, Owen was fairly certain that it couldn't be. He shifted uncomfortably. Glancing about the street, he didn't like how busy it had grown.

How he loathed London. When his cousin had begged him to come to town at once, he had believed it to be an emergency. Life or death. Owen owed Benedict much, so he had come. His cousin, a few years younger than himself, rarely asked for anything.

But this was not what he had expected.

Glancing back at the house they had left, he scowled at it. There had been little warning from his cousin about this business.

Ugly business that it was. Marriage contracts were not something he wasted any time thinking about. There was much he could do, but this had been a nightmare of a meeting. He'd had the proper upbringing of a duke. Or enough of one. Years of school and university, for example, and then time traversing the globe. Even though he had learned much, he had never learned how to be comfortable around people. And now marriage contracts?

It's the company, perhaps. The people. I can sort through contracts in my study all day if I must. But here? With other people? Why come to London and talk to anyone when they assume they already know me? Winchester this, Winchester that. The ton have already decided who I must be.

His frown deepened as he shifted the hat on his head. Benedict had given it to him when they had climbed into the carriage, telling him his own was out of fashion.

Except fashion mattered little out in the country. That was the way Owen preferred it. There was nothing for him in London.

Except, of course, his cousin.

Glancing at him now, Owen tried to think of something to say. The meeting had gone well. He'd hardly had to do any talking. And yet that hadn't stopped Benedict from turning to him often enough, as though he might.

"You made a fine match," Owen said at last, trying to remember how to manage a normal conversation on a topic he didn't care for.

"I suppose so. It's what Father arranged," Benedict admitted.

That made Owen steel his spine. "You never mentioned that."

Was that why I came here? To help Benedict fulfill something for the Marquess? He should have told me. I wouldn't have come. That foul, loathsome––

"I needed you here." Benedict glanced anxiously behind them at the house, before shaking his head. "Let's go, shall we? I could use a drink at White's."

Grunting, Owen followed. He stewed in his irritation as they walked down the lane before reaching the carriage. The two of them should have arrived a good hour earlier. And they had. Except Benedict had insisted on walking around the street like he needed the fresh air more than life itself, before meeting the Earl.

It was starting to make sense now why Benedict had felt so anxious.

"Your father wanted a match for you," Owen said the moment they were seated in the carriage. His cousin shot him a sheepish look and then dropped his gaze. "And you don't. Blast it, Benedict."

"I know. That's why I didn't tell you, Owen. I'm sorry. Only I'm not, because it had to be done. Did you hear how much her dowry is? Father's desperate. I don't think our coffers are doing too well," Benedict explained in a hurry. Once he started talking, he couldn't stop. "He won't tell me, but I took a look at a few accounting books when he wasn't around. He's not the best with numbers. But he's worse about letting me or anyone else see them. It was this, or he might start selling Mama's vase collection."

"She still has all those vases?"

Then Owen pressed his lips together. He hadn't meant to speak. He didn't want to talk about his family like this.

"And more. They're in every room," Benedict answered. "I didn't want to take that away from her. It's all she has—besides me, of course. This way, she can still keep me and her vases. Now, she'll have a daughter. So, I'm really doing it for her. That's why. And because it's what Father wants."

"You're only two-and-twenty. You could easily wait a few years."

Benedict shook his head. "That's not what Father said. He told me last summer it was time I found a wife. And I tried, only…"

Tilting his head, Owen watched his cousin trail off. Benedict looked something like an angel, with the sun shining on his blonde hair. He had never quite lost his baby fat. With his penchant for sweets, he was soft on the inside and the outside with his kind heart.

"Only what?" Owen prompted, his curiosity again getting the better of him.

I suppose that is only to be expected. We've been corresponding by letter for years now. When was the last time I saw him? Three or four years go? Whenever I was last in London, I expect. Benedict is fortunate I still have something of a heart to come when he needs me.

"I don't love her."

As he looked out the window, Owen considered the stately buildings they drove past. Though he'd thought they would ride on a rarely pleasant day in London, it appeared that Benedict had wanted to stay out of the sun. Owen had half a suspicion that his cousin didn't want to be seen.

London was just as it had ever been: crowded, loud, and drenched in smog even on a sunny day like this. Or mostly sunny.

Then he thought about what Benedict had said.

"Lady Georgiana Honeyfield?"

"No. I mean, yes."

The idea was nearly enough to make Owen laugh. He shook his head. "You don't need love. It's only marriage, Benedict. Few among the ton marry for love. Your father told us that only a hundred times when we were lads."

Those last words rolled awkwardly off his tongue. Wincing, he realized he was following his uncle's advice. His stomach churned at the thought. Is this what London did to a gentleman? Turned him into something horrid?

His uncle Ralph, the Marquess of Carlisle, the nightmare of his youth that he had attempted to spend the last twelve years forgetting, had left his mark on them both. In more ways than one, and much more than Owen wanted to remember.

He ground his teeth while turning away from the window. It was the beginning of spring. The trees were beginning to blossom, and soon they would have a few more sunny days.

But Owen wouldn't be in London that long. No, that would surely kill him. He had rented rooms across town for the evening and would be back home within a few days.

"You'll stay, won't you?"

I swear he must have read my mind. Stay? For what? This is not my marriage. Benedict signed the marriage papers. Everything is prepared. Next week, he'll have his wedding… Ah, I suppose that is what he was asking for.

He balled his hands into fists. "Next Thursday?"

Benedict hesitated, his eyes darting away before he nodded. "Yes, next Thursday at St. Luke's. Father wants to host a large wedding brunch afterward. You know he'll have all of his friends there. Don't tell me you would leave me alone on a day like that?"

It only took half a heartbeat to realize that attending the wedding of his cousin would mean standing in the same room as his uncle. A feat Owen had managed for years. That was a record he had no interest in breaking.

He straightened in his seat. Suppressing the overwhelming emotions threatening to bubble to the surface, he coughed.

"I should return back home," he said

His cousin grunted, shooting him a desperate look. "Owen, really. Just one week! It's the least you can do. You don't need to talk to him. I know how he… We both know how awful he is. But please, I could use your support."

"You will have your wife. She seems…" Owen hesitated.

There were a few words he might use for Lady Georgiana. They might have only been in each other's presence a moment, but that was enough for Owen to assess another's character.

She's pretty in a handsome sort of way. Taller than Benedict, but they would not be the first couple to appear in that way. I've never seen eyes that look so much like emeralds before. As for her character, she appears stubborn. Even when she accepted her father's harsh behavior, I could see her tempted to resist. I doubt they'll be entirely compatible, but they should be comfortable. Benedict will appreciate that.

"Owen, please?"

"Fine." He jerked his head up. "For the wedding. But after that, I'll need to be on my way back home. If the roads are clear, then I could reach my estate by nightfall."

That made his cousin grumble. "You're always out in the country. Or out of the country. You and those cursed plants."

"They're not cursed." Owen rolled his eyes. "But perhaps they are if I am touching them," he added sarcastically.

"Not that again. No one really believes you're cursed, Owen. I mean, they can't. Curses aren't real." Benedict paused. "Are they?"

Owen shrugged. "Does it matter? If the ton believes…"

How or when the rumors had begun, he couldn't recall. The first Season he had attended had been over in a month due to boredom and a few doors being closed to him. It was his valet who finally told him of the rumors.

Every one of them was more ridiculous than the last. They all made him roll his eyes. The ton were notoriously fickle, proud, and petulant. He didn't have time for their games.

If they wish to think me a monster, then they shall make me whatever their hearts desire. Just so long as I am not forced to stay in London.

"The ton is a pack of fools and liars," Benedict hissed with surprising vehemence. He tugged hard at his cravat until it came loose. "What is it all for? Wealth? Hubris? I'm so blasted tired of this. If I could just run away like you have, I would do it in a heartbeat."

Owen blinked in surprise. Good Benedict, kind Benedict, cheerful and faithful Benedict, now eager to flout the rules of Society.

"Who are you, and what did you do with my cousin?" Owen demanded, only partially joking.

Quickly growing sheepish, Benedict rubbed his face with both hands. "I don't know. I beg your pardon… I don't know what has gotten into me. It's been a long day. With this marriage my father is forcing me into… He said he would cut me off if I didn't make this happen. Can you believe it? I don't ask for much. I don't gamble. I only wanted…"

"Wanted what?"

A weak laugh escaped him. "It's nothing. It doesn't matter what I want, does it?"

Owen opened his mouth but closed it when he realized that he didn't have an answer. Not for Benedict.

For himself, Owen had that agency now. That freedom. It was weighed down with responsibility and pain, yet he had the funds as a duke to do as he desired. He answered to no one but the Crown. His uncle could no longer touch him. And until the man died, Benedict would not have that freedom.

I cannot tell him how relieved I am that this responsibility does not sit on my shoulders. I won't marry. There is another legacy I can leave, one that Ralph Comerfield can never touch. I'll wait a week because I owe that to Benedict. I will see him married to the pretty, albeit unfriendly, lady before I leave London for my plants again.

One week and then home. The thought brought him peace.

Settling back on the bench, Owen told himself he could survive for that long. It would all be over soon.