Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

BENEDICT

O n normal days, a luncheon at the Hardon household is a quiet, gentle affair. Usually, we sit in the drawing room or one of the many parlors and partake of our quick bites in relative peace before retiring to the study so Miss Hunt can do whatever it is she does to occupy her time. Today is certainly not usual.

The main dining room hosts trays with all sorts of small sandwiches and sliced cucumbers. Little cakes dot other trays, making my mouth water. Unfortunately, the churning in my gut makes me wonder if I'll even be able to put one of the delectable morsels into my mouth.

I wish Hardon would tell me what the matter is and be done with. To summon the rest of my friends bodes ill indeed. Though he is not one with the seven of us, he is as close to me as a brother. That he asked them to come as well piques my curiosity just as much as it drives my leeriness.

Miss Hunt stands next to me, overseeing the spread as any good lady of the house. Her lips turn down in the most adorable manner, nearly causing me to chuckle.

"Is it not to your liking?"

"No, Your Grace," she murmurs back, her tone soft and yielding. "Not the food, to clarify, but to be beset with all manner of women I know nothing about. I barely had time to prepare when Greyson sprung the news on me yesterday."

"I'm sure you'll do fine. I've never known you to shy away from any challenge." Her shoulders straighten up as pride seems to infuse her body.

"You are correct in your statement. I'll just view this as any other chore to accomplish." But then her shoulders slump. "Do you know what manner of women these are? Greyson would tell me nothing."

This time, I do allow the soft chuckle to slip past my lips. "Ever the recluse. Are you sure you're not a wallflower?"

The pout she gives me stirs something else, something dark and primal. For a brief moment, I want nothing more than to gather her into my arms and give her backside a reason to make her pout. It's not petulant enough to warrant an actual punishment, but certainly enough for me to take notice.

Stepping away, I give myself room to breathe for a second. It won't do any good to see her as anything other than a little sister: adorable at best, and a nuisance at worst.

"I am not an expert on all those in attendance today. For example, I have yet to meet Miss Alessandra Cappelli. Seems as if Redleigh has been keeping her stowed away until time for her coming out. I do know she's Italian and his ward."

"Oh. I've never met anyone from Italy. Perhaps today won't be as dull as I feared."

"Dull? That's what you're worried about?" Unable to keep the laughter at bay, I wipe my eyes and shake my head. "With Whiteport and Norhaven bringing the triplets, you will not need to fear that. Your sanity, perhaps. But never boredom."

Her eyes twinkle with mischief as she leans over. "Are they quite scandalous then?"

I try my best to read her expression, but I cannot seem to decipher it. "They are all quite respectable… Just prone to bits of fun. Best to learn who's who quickly, as they can sometimes use their uncanny looks to play a farce."

Miss Hunt fairly vibrates as she casts one more look about the spread. "Then all is ready. I look forward to meeting them. Thank you so much for your insight."

Nodding, I click my heels together and wait over near the entrance. For some reason, I find that I cannot stand too close. Her scent is overwhelming, nearly drowning me in the warm spices. I long to loosen my cravat and stand there askew as the chilled winds from outside cool me down.

It must be my anxious thoughts finding some other outlet. Growling under my breath, I jam a finger under the fabric and tug. It's not enough to loosen it, but the action brings me a modicum of relief. I stare at the door, willing the guests to make haste.

Though they are not in danger of being late, I wish to quit this room as soon as I can. As if I conjure them, a flurry of movement distracts me, drawing my thoughts away from the Hardon family, namely the sister, and onto the greetings as they fly about.

In true form, the triplets barrel their way in, giving little heed to those around them. They speak in animated tones and gestures as they drag Miss Cynthia Campbell behind. Granted, she doesn't seem worse for the wear. In fact, her eyes nearly glow as she laughs right along with them.

Whiteport, Norhaven, and Redleigh take up the rear, all three looking tired and haggard. A young lady follows beside, her eyes missing nothing as she takes in everyone and everything. Based on the introductions, it is indeed Miss Alessandra Cappelli.

She says nothing but curtsies with a pretty enough smile. Redleigh hovers over, his watchful eyes staring down at Lord Hardon and me. As if I want such an innocent thing. Her eyes are too wide. The tremble of her lips denotes someone of a worried constitution.

I cannot speak for Lord Hardon, seeing as he's remained rather close-lipped about his preferences and vices, but he does not show any sign of arousal or longing. With a sweep of his hand, he offers to allow her to join the others as they pick out their sandwiches. She smiles again and bobs in a gentle curtsy before shoring up the ranks of the womenfolk.

Once their plates are laden, they head over into a nearby drawing room where their aunt remains vigilant over the young ladies. She too has a plate, though not nearly as stuffed as theirs. Grinning over at Norhaven and Whiteport, I jerk my head over to where they went.

"I do not envy you two. I have my hands full enough with two sisters, both of whom are nowhere near ready for the marriage mart. How do you manage with three?"

Whiteport rolls his eyes as he snatches an obliging sandwich. "Have I ever given the impression that I'm 'managing' anything? The only thing I can say with any certainty is next year's Season will most likely be the death of me. Please announce my demise with the gravitas afforded one of my position and affliction."

"They seem well adjusted enough," Lord Hardon interjects, taking a sip of his port. "I hope for them to be a kind influence on Augusta. She hasn't any friends in London."

"If Miss Cynthia Campbell is at the helm," Norhaven chimes in, "she'll have friends plenty enough after today. Where she directs, my sisters follow."

There's an odd note to his voice, but if anyone else notices it, they don't say anything. He glances at the door, his expression almost wistful… I must be imagining things. Norhaven is never the type to be melancholy. And yet, his sense of yearning lately seems to rival even my own.

Brushing that all aside, I look over at Lord Hardon. "You wished to see us? Pray tell it's for something more than a sandwich and a swig of ale. I could have had this and more… delectable bites… elsewhere."

The others join in with ribald laughing. All except Redleigh. As usual, he nurses a drink, brooding off to the side. It's ridiculous, really. With all the years we've been friends, he should know we accept him for who and what he is. It seems to change nothing, however, as he continues to force himself to be on the outside.

With a heavy sigh, Lord Hardon motions toward the door. "Such discussions are far better suited for my study."

Interest piqued once more, I trail after him, joined by the others. A somber air passes over us as we take the chairs surrounding a modest desk. As we wait for Lord Hardon to speak, I study each duke in turn, doing my best to gauge their thoughts and reactions.

"I have asked you all here because I have a matter in which I need help. I've already spoken to Portswell about keeping an eye on my sister as I leave, but something far more sinister has reared its ugly head." He rummages around his desk for a few moments before tossing a letter down on the surface.

As I bend over to get a better look, my gut cramps as I take in the handwriting. The scrawl, though strange, is still familiar. Before anyone else can get a closer glance, I sweep it up and skim the missive. My lips curl up into a snarl as I slam it back down and reach into my side pocket.

"Seems as if today is a day for bad news." I toss my own letter down next to his and note the pallor of his face.

"I thought I was the only victim in this. That they would leave you alone if I complied with what they asked."

One by one, the others produce similar letters and put them down on the desk. "I was going to meet up with the other dukes," Whiteport says, jabbing his finger at the thickly laid ink. "I cannot say whether or not those not in attendance have received one as well, but seeing as we are all victims of this machination, it's safe to assume."

"But why me?" Lord Hardon asks, red tingeing his face as he brings up his letter to reread it silently. "As of this moment, I am only friends with Portswell and have no sway of anyone, much less him. What does he think to accomplish by threatening me?"

Redleigh rubs his chin as he paces. "It is because you appear to have some influence. I know from talking with him that Portswell considers you with the same affection he does us, which puts you in harm's way."

With a growl, the viscount slams a fist against his desk, the stench of anger rolling off of him. "But to threaten me in such a vague way?" He waves the paper around. "You will regret not working with us. Whatever can they imply?"

"Anything, unfortunately," I muse. "You don't think this has anything to do with your crops, do you? A sort of warning?"

"That, I can say for sure, is a no. Based on the correspondence and what we've been seeing in regard to the uprisings, I'm just a fellow casualty of the military and their massive horses. If they wanted to send me a sign, they'd have to do something far more ostentatious."

"Fair," I muse. Gathering all the notes in my hands, I spread them out and look at the similarities and differences. All say to watch for further communication but have no other commands. "Have we considered the fact that this might be a prank?"

Norhaven grabs his letter and skims it again. "Possibly, but if it is, it's in poor taste. Not that I would join any cadre or faction that stands in opposition to the king. Just penning this is treasonous. I don't think someone looking for a lark would dare do such."

"Some have dared more," Whiteport responds. "Unfortunately, until more is brought to light, there is nothing any of us can do. They still want us to await further communication, so until then, I say we remain vigilant and keep in touch if anything suspicious happens."

"Too long has the monarchy ruled with an infantile fist," I read out loud, my words harsh and guttural. "Levies are given to some and not others. The House of Lords rule over parliament but have no actual power. Some would see that power combined, and the counties ruled by the titleholders who were granted that land. We rule them already. Why answer to a higher power who cares nothing of our plights when we can band together to help our own interests?"

"To me," Whiteport chimes in. "This sounds like someone who is already one of the peerages. The use of the word we denotes kinship with us in a way that supersedes friendship. But who would dare call for an uprising in parliament and ask for our aid in that endeavor? It must be someone quite daft."

"True," Norhaven agrees. "We seven," he glances over at Lord Hardon. "Or eight, I suppose, have been a tight-knit group with nothing but loyalty to the crown. I suspect it's because of where we're situated. Most of our lands are bordered by water, making them good for trade and travel. If they can get to us, they will control a large section of England, making it easier to bring all sorts of mischief into our borders."

Whiteport rests his lips against his knuckle, deep in thought. "Yes. That must be it. Either way, I say we table this discussion until more has been revealed."

I clap a hand on Lord Hardon's shoulder and grin. "I concur. Besides, I'm not sure what state we will find all the ladies in when we go to collect them."

Redleigh groans and shakes his head. "Miss Cappelli will no doubt run them all amuck. She's been such a handful."

"Worse than Miss Campbell?" Norhaven asks. "To hear my sisters speak of her, she's one escapade short of being a hoyden."

"I suppose I should be grateful for Augusta then. Just as long as your ladies do not steer her down the wrong path. For the most part, she is gentle and most agreeable. A demure paragon of femininity."

"Boast not," Whiteport growls, his tone teasing. "For soon you will have to deal with suitors. Let's hope she keeps her wits when they all come calling."

With a smirk, I cross my arms. "Indeed. This journey of yours seems quite convenient. You mean to tell me you did not plan it this way?"

He shakes his head and holds out his hands. "Forsooth if I were not needed, I'd be here to wage war against the cads and rakes. It goes against everything in me to force you to assist me in doing so."

"Verily," we all say at once as we exit the study.

Quiet fills the house, driving me forward. With six young omegas under one roof, it's not customary for things to be so silent. Where's the tittering laughter, the teasing? Surely, they can't be at odds already.

When Lord Hardon opens the door, all eyes turn to us, wide as they take in our figures. More like plotting something then. Lady Hunt rises from the pack and smiles at us, a predatory gleam in her eyes. Or is that just a shaft of light illuminating her in the wrong way? As soon as I see it, it's gone, leaving me to wonder.

"So good of you to join us, gentlemen."

"I'm afraid they can't tarry long, sister. They must collect their siblings and away."

Again, her full, luscious lips turn down into a pout. "Surely not without a bit of entertainment. However shall I learn to host if there is none about to practice on?"

Off in the corner, Aunt Amelia Hunt bobs her head, barely keeping her eyes open. Such good fortune for them, Lady Hunt strives not to take advantage of her guardian's altered state. It does make me wonder if I should enquire after a finishing governess for their family just to help polish her up in the absence of her mother.

"Can't you practice on your aunt? I'm sure she'll be quick to tell you where any fault might lie," I inquire, studying her face.

Again, she dips down into that blasted curtsy, her gaze so submissively trained on the floor. "You are, of course, correct, Your Grace. How silly of me. I shall conduct my lessons with her." Several beats pass where silence descends on the room. "Although, since we are all here, can I not entice you to stay for one song on the pianoforte?"

"Augusta-" Lord Hardon begins.

"One song never hurt anyone," Whiteport cries out. "Allow us to hear your performance so that we might have a spot of joy to carry us home."

"Oh, you're too kind, Your Grace," she cries out, clapping her hands together. "Though it will not be me entertaining you. I have it on good authority that Lady Cynthia Campbell has a charming hand and can lull the most savage of beasts into submission with her music. Don't you?"

The lady in question looks to the floor, her face flushed as her lips thin. To look upon the scene is to believe that it was not planned. At least it doesn't seem like it on Lady Campbell's part. Her fingers clench for a moment as she looks up, pinning Norhaven with a quick stare.

Whiteport and Redleigh don't seem to notice, but I do. Curious. Could this daughter of a Baron truly have her cap set at a duke? Preposterous. There's no way Whiteport would let his brother marry someone so below his station. It's sad, really, to be so tied into the title to miss those around you.

From what I know of Lady Campbell, they would make an intriguing pair. But he is not my brother, and I am not in a position to question him. Sigh heavy on my lips, I turn to the performance, watching as Lady Hunt inches away from her new friend.

"If Lady Campbell is to entertain us with the pianoforte, surely you can join in with a song?" I call out, not wishing to see the poor omega on the spot.

If I hadn't been watching as closely as I was, I would have missed the slight curl to her lips as she takes her place next to the instrument. Could it be that this little kitten has claws, after all?