Theo was surprised—and not at all pleased—to find Miss Bennet seated across the table from Winnie when he entered the dining room that evening. Never mind that she looked unbearably lovely in the warm light of the centerpiece candelabra. He had avowed to avoid her, however flattering the lighting.
As he claimed the chair between them, he opened his mouth to make as convivial a greeting as he could manage, given the tension in the air. Before he could get a word out, however, Miss Bennet held up her hand. “Before you say anything, please permit me to apologize for my shocking behavior last night.”
“Miss Bennet,” he said, startled by her contrition, “you have nothing to apologize for, as I thought I made clear to you at the time.”
“I thought perhaps you were only being kind.”
“I promise you, all my statements were sincere,” he told her in earnest. “And it’s nice to see you up and around. Is your ankle now sound enough to walk upon?”
“I loaned her one of your old crutches,” Winnie interjected, “and my copy of Pride and Prejudice, too. Is it not kismetic that she had been reading my favorite novel before she took her spill? We have so much in common—including our measurements. For, as you can see, my blue silk dinner gown fits her perfectly. Does she not look charming in it, brother?”
He shifted his gaze to Miss Bennet, who was seated on his right, but had no eyes for the dress. He only saw that her hair had been coiffed, her color had come back, and her eyes sparkled like two oval-cut emeralds.
“She does,” he said. “Very charming indeed.”
She looked utterly ravishing, actually, as well as threatening to the equilibrium he’d fought so hard to achieve. Edwina’s rejection had inflicted an injury that, despite his denials to Winnie and himself, remained there still, gangrenous and festering. And because of the feelings of inadequacy with which that wound infected him—he could not believe any woman worth having would ever desire him as a lover or husband.
And Miss Bennet was definitely a woman worth having—but only if she wanted him for the right reasons.
Disliking the unease between them, he turned to Miss Bennet again. “How are you enjoying Pride and Prejudice so far? My sister cannot rave enough about that particular book.”
“I am enjoying it almost as much as I enjoyed the author’s first novel,” she replied, meeting his gaze for the first time. Then, addressing herself to Winnie, she asked, “How do you think it compares to Sense and Sensibility?”
“Though I adore both novels immensely,” his sister replied, “I love Pride and Prejudice just a tiny bit more.”
With a laugh, Theo turned to Miss Bennet. “I should say she does, for she has read it at least a dozen times.”
“I understand the authoress has written another more recently.” Miss Bennet directed her words and gaze at Winnie. “I believe she has called it Mansfield Park. Have you read it yet?”
“Not yet,” his sister replied. “I have, however, ordered it—from my usual bookseller in London—and expect it to arrive any day. Would you like to borrow my copy when I have finished reading it myself?”
“Yes, please,” Miss Bennet said.
Theo, feeling excluded, said, “I hope you ladies will excuse my silence, but I have nothing to contribute to the conversation.”
Winnie offered him an apologetic smile. “Would you rather we discuss another topic? Before we do, though, there is something I am dying to ask Miss Bennet.” Turning to the lady mentioned, his sister said, “Which of the protagonists do you think my brother resembles most?—Mr. Bingley or Mr. Darcy?”
A winsome smile spread across Miss Bennet’s handsome face. “Actually, I think he is much more like Colonel Brandon than either of the other gentlemen. Can you not see the resemblance?”
“Yes, you are right,” Winnie agreed. “He does indeed have much in common with the Colonel.” She slid a sly glance toward her brother. “On the surface, he might appear reserved and even taciturn at times, but beneath that stoic façade beats the heart of a true romantic.”
Theo was beginning to feel like a specimen—a feeling he did not care for in the least. “Let me guess,” he said. “This Colonel fellow is another character in Pride and Prejudice—and not a particularly dashing one from the sound of it.”
Winnie smiled at him with a worrisome glint in her eyes. “For your information, dear brother, Colonel Brandon is a character from Sense and Sensibility, not Pride and Prejudice—and he is not without his appeal…in his own somber way.”
Somber? Dear Lord. Is that how Miss Bennet sees me?
Before he could defend himself, the footmen came in with the soup and, to Theo’s relief, all conversation ended. As they dipped their spoons into the creamy white broth, he stole glances at Miss Bennet. She didn’t slurp her soup as he did, or clank her utensil against her teeth and the side of the bowl. Surely, she would lose interest in him when she saw what an ill-bred lout he really was.
Winnie was the first to break the silence: “So, tell me Miss Bennet, if you do not think me too impertinent, why do you dislike your cousin so?”
Theo shot his sister a dirty look before turning to Miss Bennet. “Do not feel you have to answer if you consider her question too personal.”
“While some of my reasons are too personal to share,” the lady replied, “others are not—such as his ill-treatment of innocent animals. He beats his dogs, spurs his horses bloody, and traps small animals so he can torture them for sport. When I was a girl, he delighted in making me watch him carry out his cruelties—more to make me afraid of him, I now believe, than for the pleasure he derived from his evil deeds.”
“How dreadful,” Winnie cried, aghast. Then, to her brother, she said, “You cannot let her marry a person who would do such terrible things to helpless animals.”
Theo agreed in theory. He had never approved of people who thought animals were put on this earth solely to serve their purposes and were, therefore, theirs to maltreat as they chose. But rather than express his views, he said to his sister, “And how, pray, do you suggest I prevent it?”
“I should think the answer would be obvious to a man of your intelligence.”
Fighting to keep his temper, he turned to Miss Bennet. “As much as I want to help you, I must tell you how strongly I object to elopements. Not only is such conduct dishonest, it also makes social outcasts of those involved—and I did not move all the way to Much Wenlock only to be shunned by my neighbors.”
“I do not understand,” Winnie put in. “Why should eloping make outcasts of the couples who do so? Are not marriages made in Scotland as binding as those performed in England?”
“They are binding under the laws of Scotland, and thereby in England as well,” he explained. “They are not, however, Sacraments in the eyes of the Church of England. But that is not the chief reason couples who elope are spurned.”
“No? Then pray, what is the reason?”
“Well, to be indelicate, it is presumed that couples elope because the bride is with child. Otherwise, why would they be in such a hurry?” Turning back to Miss Bennet, he said, “Do you really want people to think I seduced you in order to trap you into marriage? Because that is exactly what they will think if we should run away together.”
“Let them think what they will,” she returned with her chin in the air. “I will act in a manner to procure my own happiness, whatever the gossips of Much Wenlock have to say about it.”
He arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Even if it destroys your reputation and everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve? Do you not see how unreasonable that sounds?”
She jerked her gaze away from his. “Abusing animals is not my cousin’s only crime.”
“Then tell me what else he has done,” he demanded. “Give me some chivalrous reason to agree to this lunacy you both propose.”
“Yes, Miss Bennet,” Winnie cajoled. “Do tell us your other reasons for hating him so. And then, Theo might take pity on you and elope with you to Scotland…even though he objects to the practice in general.”
Before Miss Bennet could say anything, the footmen came in to clear their bowls and serve the entrée course of partridge, chicken fricassee, and asparagus in butter sauce. By the time they dug in, it was as if their earlier conversation had been forgotten. Theo, not wishing to press Miss Bennet to tell what must be a dreadful story—and one perhaps unsuitable for Winnie’s ears—decided to wait to bring the subject up when they could speak more privately.
After the meal was finished, Winnie helped Miss Bennet back upstairs and remained in her room for almost an hour thereafter. When at last Winnie returned to her own bedchamber, he knocked on Miss Bennet’s door. As he waited for her response, he considered what she might tell him about her cousin’s behavior. Had he struck her? Had he injured her in some other way? Had he taken ruinous liberties? Though all were unpardonable, Theo especially hoped the latter was not the case—for her sake, not his. He had always thought it unjust to blame the lady for such assaults when it was clearly the gentleman’s doing. He also disapproved of husbands forcing themselves on their wives. In his books, wives were people, not property, and should be treated with respect and allowed to exercise their free will—provided it did not injure her husband’s livelihood or reputation.
At length, Miss Bennet answered his knock. “Who is it?”
“Captain Raynalds. May I have a word?”
“Of course.”
Steeling his courage, he opened the door and entered the room. She was seated on the bed in one of his sister’s dressing gowns, brushing her waist-length hair. Struck again by her beauty, he stared at her and she stared back at him with glassy eyes. Had she been crying? The thought that he might be the cause of her tears distressed him exceedingly.
“Is everything all right?”
“For the most part.”
“And what part is not all right?”
“Do not trouble yourself on my account, Captain,” she said, averting her gaze. “For I will get through it, one way or another.”
There was no air in the room, so he limped to the window, drew back the drapery, and pushed open one of the leaded panes. He took a deep breath, ran his tongue across his lower lip, and looked out at the view. Dusk was gathering over the landscape. The shadows of late afternoon were fading and the first stars were beginning to appear. A horse nickered in the silence, leaves rattled in the breeze, and cows lowed in a nearby field. He suddenly felt very alone.
“I have come to inquire about your cousin,” he said at last. “At dinner, you said he had done more to offend you than torture small animals while forcing you to watch. And I would very much like to know how he injured you, if you are of a mind to tell me.”
“Will it make any difference?”
“It might.”
“Then I will strike a deal with you,” she told him. “I will tell you what my cousin did to me if you will tell me something equally intimate in return—something so personal you have shared it with no other person before.”
He knew which story to tell her, assuming he could muster the nerve. For it was indeed personal—as well as mortifying. Moreover, he was also deeply ashamed of what transpired, even though he was in no way to blame for the boatswain’s behavior.
“You have my word,” he said.
She regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment before saying, “Will you not sit down and rest your leg? Telling both of our stories might take a long while.”
With some reluctance, he left the window, took a seat in the bedside chair, and leaned forward with the support of his cane. “I am ready to hear whatever you have to tell me.”
She got up and took his place at the window, turning her back to him as she went on brushing her hair. As he waited for her to speak, he imagined how it would feel to run his fingers through those silken tresses.
After an extended silence, she began. “I was sixteen at the time and had not seen Charles in above a year—which was no hardship on my part, believe me. After his father died—did I mention he was an earl?—my aunt and cousin stayed with us for a time at Craven Castle.” Her hairbrush stilled as she continued. “Every time I looked his way, I found him staring at my bosoms and, while he’d always scared me, these predatory looks inspired a different kind of fear. I did everything I could to avoid being alone with him—until Papa insisted we pair up for a walk into the village.”
Though Theo feared where this was going, he was of no mind to stop her speaking. He admired her courage, knowing it was no easy matter to share something so personal with a person one barely knew—especially a person of the opposite gender. Moreover, it would bring them closer, and he desired very much to be on more intimate terms with her.
Miss Bennet went on with her story: “‘Can we please be friends again?’ Charles asked as we strolled together at the tail of the family party. As far as I was concerned, we had never been friends, so I was at a loss to give him an answer. He must have taken my silence for assent because he pulled me off the footpath into a copse of trees and, before I could recover my bearings, he had me pinned against a tree. Only then did I realize how far we had fallen behind the others…”
Fury erupted inside Theo. In his mind’s eye, he saw her pinned against that tree, screaming in vain for help. Had he been there, he would have beaten her cousin within an inch of his life.
“I trembled in fear under my cousin’s wolfish leer,” she continued, her voice shaking. “When he maneuvered his mouth toward mine, I realized what he meant to do…but before I could protest, he pressed his lips against mine and forced his tongue into my mouth.”
God in Heaven! Her cousin really is a scoundrel of the highest order.
“Somehow, I managed to get my hands between us and gave him a hard shove. As he stumbled backward, I took off toward the footpath like a frightened rabbit. To my enormous relief, I saw Georgie and my mother walking back my way. As I hurried toward them, shaken and trembling, Charles called after me: ‘If you tell a soul, I shall make it widely known what a dirty little slut you are.’” To this Miss Bennet added hoarsely, “I hope you will pardon my language, but I thought you should know what he said.”
Outrage churned in Theo’s chest. He had no doubt Charles would have gone farther had she not succeeded in releasing herself from his hold. Nor did he doubt that cur would have carried out his threat to ruin her reputation had she made his vile actions known. Theo had meet many men like Charles during his years in the Navy—men who felt entitled to anything they wanted, and damn the consequences to anyone else. In the eyes of such egotists, other people only existed to fulfill their selfish needs.
Theo got up and went to stand beside her at the window. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“No,” she said, “it wasn’t. But I felt you needed to understand why I am so desperate to escape the marriage.” She set her hand on his arm and looked up at him through shimmering eyes. “Even so, I do not suppose what I said made any difference to you.”
He licked his lips. Her confession had made a difference, but he was not yet ready to offer her marriage. “Before I begin my story, I must tell you it is neither a pretty tale—nor one suitable for the ears of a lady. Do you still want to hear it?”
“I do.”
He cleared his throat as he considered how to begin. She kept her hand on his arm, as if to offer support. Did she suspect what he was about to disclose?—or did she simply sense his acute unease? Finally, looking out at the stars, he said, “I joined the Royal Navy as a cabin boy when I was twelve years old. My father, who worked on a packet boat, was killed by pirates the previous year, and my mother needed the money to support herself and my sister.” He paused to take a breath before continuing. “Life at sea was hard—and dangerous—especially for the younger members of the crew. Not only did we work our fingers to the bone…and risk the lash at every moment, we also had to contend with the threats of pirates, enemy engagement, and the lechery of our own shipmates. For sodomy, you see, is as commonplace aboard naval vessels as is rum and seawater. So, to protect myself from such assaults, I carried a scaling knife nicked from the galley my first week aboard ship…”
When he paused, she looked up at him with such kindness in her eyes his chest began to ache. “You do not have to tell me if you’d rather not.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No, Captain. I want to know all your secrets—even the ugliest ones.”
He wanted to know all of hers, too, but could not bring himself to say as much. Moreover, he wanted to tell her his story, vile and vulgar though it was. Would hearing it put her off the idea of marrying him? Part of him hoped it would, while another part feared her retreat.
“My master aboard ship was the Captain, who, though a decent enough fellow, worked me as hard as his other crewmen. One night, he sent me to fetch him a cask of rum. It was pitch dark below deck, so I took a candlestick with me. Just as I reached the rum supply, the flame went out. Then, a hand covered my mouth as a man’s body luridly pressed against me. My assailant—who I later learned was a bo’sun named Tom Pepper—dragged me to the barrels and, being larger and stronger than I was, bent me over one of them.” There was a lump in Theo’s throat the size of a grapefruit. “When he tried to take down my breeches, I pulled my knife and thrust the blade blindly to the rear. He yelped and backed off, whereupon I ran like the devil himself was after me. Later, in the infirmary, the doctor grew suspicious of how Mr. Pepper had sustained his wounds. When interrogated, he confessed to his crime and was made to stand trial. But he escaped the hangman’s noose because I refused to bear witness against him—or even to tell another living soul what happened below deck that night.”
She squeezed his arm through his coat sleeve. “Why did you not testify?”
“Because there was a stigma against being buggered, even if it was forced. And, being a commoner, I already had one strike against me in the eyes of the Admiralty. I had ambition, you see. And had I let it be known I’d been attacked in so degrading a manner, never would I have been promoted above the grade of able seaman.”
There was a brief silence before she asked, “What became of the boatswain?”
“He got fifty lashes and a dishonorable discharge.”
She looked up at him with watery eyes. “Did anyone ever try to attack you again?”
“No,” he said. “Word got around that I’d defended myself admirably—so no one dared touch me thereafter.”
She bit her lip the way he longed to. “You were lucky to have escaped your attacker.”
“So were you.”
“I assure you, I felt not the least bit fortunate at the time.”
“Nor did I, Miss Bennet,” he somberly replied. “Nor did I.”
The urge to kiss her shot up from his depths. He bent toward her and hovered there, like a soul trapped in purgatory, until he suppressed the desire and withdrew.
“Forgive me.”
Her brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For being weak and afraid…for letting past injuries and resentments color the present…and for wanting to kiss you when I have no right to do so.”
Resentment darkened her eyes as she stared up at him. “So, you still refuse to help me, even now that you know what my cousin is like?”
“I want to help you, Miss Bennet. Truly I do. But I need more time to think it through.”
“How much more time?”
“Give me the night,” he said, “and you shall have my final answer in the morning.”