The Scandalous Proposal Of Lord Bennett. Raven McAllan

to put his back up – and it seemed his staff. She giggled, her heart suddenly lighter. She could neither change her way of thinking than a leopard could change its spots. To be outspoken and forward-thinking was ingrained in her. Ever since her mama died, her papa had tried his best to be both parents to her. But as he had often admitted, the workings of a woman’s mind remained a mystery to him, as they did to most men. She loved him dearly, and was more than happy with the strength and independence he’d helped her gain. However, Clarissa would be the first person to admit that her attitude didn’t go down well with most of the ton. It had never bothered her before; in fact she had actively cultivated their view of her. Until Ben had shown his chivalrous side, that is, and she had started to wish he saw her as more than an encumbrance. She still hadn’t decided why he had come to her aid, although to be seen stroking her ankle could well have become the scandal of the decade.

      Life was so complicated. Clarissa sighed and began to walk.

      The garden was immaculate, but even so, she had the impression it wasn’t loved. No lady of the house came and picked the flowers or walked the lawns. No guests spilled out of the dining room or the ballroom to walk the terrace and enjoy the soft evening air. It was a pity, and Clarissa knew, even though there was now a mistress of the house, nothing would change. The thought depressed her in some strange way, and she retraced her steps inside, and thence to make her way to the breakfast room.

      The footman looked at her strangely as she walked in alone, and at such an early hour, but he merely bowed.

      ‘My lady.’

      Clarissa bit her lip. Although she’d been a Lady all her life there were ladies and there were ladies. As the married Lady Bennett she was of a higher echelon than the unmarried Lady Clarissa Macpherson. She’d have to find that hat and learn how to wear it. In her father’s house, once her rakish, but strangely staid, pompous and proper with regard to her, elder brother had moved out, she and her father had lived life very informally.

      Tarnation, I can only be what I am. Stuffiness and pomposity didn’t sit well with Clarissa’s true nature. She smiled at the young footman. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

      ‘C … can I get you some breakfast, my lady?’ His voice squeaked and he blushed the colour of the deep red cushions on the chairs.

      ‘Just chocolate and a light meal, please.’ She ignored his embarrassment. He was new and no doubt scared. ‘Eggs, perhaps?’ What was his name? ‘Timothy.’ She remembered at the last minute and was glad she’d done so when his face lit up. ‘Of course, my lady.’

      Nothing was said about Ben, and Clarissa chose not to mention him. Her mother had died when Clarissa was in leading reins, and she and her father always breakfasted together. Clarissa had no idea if that was the norm or not, but felt it best not to comment unless she was asked a direct question.

      She waited until the man left the room, and stared at the twelve-foot-long table. If Ben did appear and they sat at either end, they would need to communicate by signs – did he know semaphore? – or a written note. For a family dining table it was ridiculous. How stupid did Ben feel when he ate alone?

      As if on cue the man himself appeared. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his normally immaculate hair appeared to have been in a fight with a hedge and lost. The cravat tied around his neck was more Belcher than Bennett, and all in all he looked, well, disreputable. She risked a quick peep downwards, but nothing hard spoiled the neat fit of his pantaloons. Clarissa wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed.

      He took one swift glance at her and sighed. ‘How many apologies do I owe you?’

      She shrugged. He looked like a little boy who had been caught red-handed tormenting the chickens, or trying to ride the family sow, and it was hard to keep a straight face. For the first time, Clarissa had an idea life was not going to be as straightforward as she hoped. ‘If you need to ask, then the answer is, of course, none.’

      ‘I was afraid of that. Several then.’ He essayed a grin. She didn’t respond and he rubbed his chin with one hand. ‘But as at this moment I have no recollections of my misdemeanours, I’ll save the specifics until I do. Until that time, please consider them given.’

      ‘Of course, my lord,’ Clarissa said levelly. ‘Shall I ring for the footman?’

      He shook his head and winced. ‘Argh, of all the idiotic, stupid … Sorry, no need. I’ll sit and die quietly until one appears.’

      It was difficult not to let her lips twitch at the air of pathos that surrounded him, but she hardened her heart. Everything he suffered was self-inflicted. If she wasn’t careful he’d run rings around her, and Clarissa was honest enough to know that could only end in heartache. ‘As you wish.’

      ‘You’re all heart, my dear.’

      She chose not to answer as the soft swish of a door opening caught her attention. A few seconds later a plate of eggs and slices of crusty bread were set in front of her, and a chocolate pot and cup placed to one side. She thanked the footman who bowed and turned to Ben.

      ‘My lord?’

      ‘I’ll have what my wife is having,’ he said.

      The footman’s eyes widened. ‘Chocolate, my lord?’

      Ben blanched and Clarissa hid her face with her napkin as he then turned green and got up so abruptly his chair crashed down behind him. He left the room in a hurry.

      Clarissa turned to the footman. ‘I think he means the eggs, Timothy.’

       Chapter Three

      After parting company with all of the previous day’s food and drink, and probably that of the week before as well, Ben dunked his head under the pump in the tiny backyard and spluttered as his nose and ears filled with the liquid.

      He pulled his head up much too sharply for someone suffering the afflictions he did, and groped for the towel he’d plucked from the washing line on his mad dash to get rid of the contents of his stomach.

      ‘Here.’ The towel was placed in his hands, and he lifted the coarse material to his cheeks.

       Damnation and hellfire, I know that voice.

      He scrubbed his face, dropped the cloth, narrowly missed the water trough and looked up into the eyes of his wife.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. Her amused expression helped not one iota to reduce his embarrassment. ‘My apologies you have to see me like this.’

      ‘Really?’ One elegant eyebrow lifted almost to her hairline. The wind flirted with her curls, and the hem of her skirt drifted back and forth over the dusty ground. As ever her fringe was all over the place. She looked young, and now, sadly, disgusted.

      How on earth can she do that and invest it with all the scorn and disbelief she obviously has? Which, he acknowledged, he deserved.

      ‘I had thought it was due to your having to rest your eyes on me; you decided that to drink yourself into oblivion was a better option.’ Clarissa surveyed him steadily, and Ben was sure his face was the colour of the roses she’d carried in her bouquet the day before. How on earth could she make him feel like a scrubby schoolboy so easily?

      ‘I’m sorry I gave you that impression.’ Try as he might he couldn’t lift his voice. It was hard not to scuff his boots in the dirt and kick a stone. However, in the state he was in he’d probably break a window or hit his wife on the head if he did.

      ‘Are you? If you say so.’

      His hackles rose as she dismissed his apology so cavalierly. Really his wife needed lessons in manners. And I don’t? He dismissed the thought. It was too close to the truth to be contemplated at a silly hour.

      ‘I’ve instructed Timothy to take your eggs away and bring you a jug of ale, and barbaric though it sounds to me, red meat. According to Renwick, your