Benedict wasn't sure how long he stood there, immobile. Matters became worse when people continued to shuffle in throughout the day in hopes to help redecorate a few rooms as a surprise-wedding gift from Katherine.
He was a cad.
He wasn't sure if he should get foxed.
Shoot himself in the foot.
Or just apologize again and again until she knew he meant it.
He started with flowers. As many as he could order, and sent them to her house. No response.
So he became creative.
He bought her a horse. Stupid idea really, what the devil was she going to do with an extra horse?
And then a thought occurred to him. When they were young, she had always liked to read. Books were her favorite pasttime, the little bluestocking.
With a smile, he placed his next order.
Books, lots and lots of books.
When his final gift elicited no response, he decided to make his way over there in person.
"Lady Katherine is indisposed and not receiving callers, your grace." The butler's expression was heated. Benedict half-expected his coattails to catch on fire.
"Do you know if she at least received the books?" Benedict asked.
At that, the butler's face broke into an amused smile. "Ah yes, I believe the lady mentioned something about using the books for kindling in place of wood. Brilliant idea, if I say so myself. Good day." The butler shut the door.
In his face. A duke's face nonetheless.
Benedict cursed and looked up at the large house, scaling the wall was out of the question.
Desperate, he ran around to the back.
Spying. He was now resorting to spying on the woman he was to marry.
A door opened, Katherine emerged onto the balcony, a sad smile on her lips. "Is he gone?"
"Yes, my lady." The maid curtsied. "Will that be all?"
"Yes, but, next time he arrives, allow him into the sitting room. I shall see him now."
Benedict almost ran back to the front of the house to knock on the door, but something in Katherine's expression gave him pause.
And then he saw them. Watery tears running down her cheeks. She lifted her dainty hand to wipe them away then let out a guttural sigh before laying her head against the rail of the balcony and hiding her face in her hands.
He was the reason.
Suddenly, he felt quite at odds with himself. As if he had put his boots on the wrong feet. Having made a mess of things, he knew the only person he could trust to give him adequate advice was the one person he never expected to be seeking wisdom from.
Agatha.
She should be arriving today.
After all, she was to make an appearance at the Kringle Ball in a few days, and she would want to rest up before she did so.
A new plan began to form in his head, one that caused a slight smile to replace the frown.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A Sad End, A New Beginning
Benedict appointed his very best footman to stand watch by his aunt's house. The minute she arrived, he wanted to know.
Hours later, he was knocking on the door with such force, he thought it would come off the hinges.
"Yes?" Baldwyn answered, odd. Where the devil was the butler? The minute his eyes fell on Benedict, he exhaled and pulled him into a hug. "I saw you from the window, by the time Agatha's old butler would have made it here, you would have been an old man."
Coughing was heard from behind Baldwyn. He rolled his eyes.
Benedict stepped into the house; it felt odd, almost eerie. "What's going on? Something's wrong." But everything seemed to be in place. From the perfectly calm servants to the sparkling floors.
Everything but… Agatha.
Dread shot down his spine, Benedict looked at Baldwyn with a questioning gaze. "I take it she's resting."
Baldwyn lifted his arm and scratched the back of his head, and it was then that Benedict was able to focus on his cousin's horrendous demeanor.
"What the devil happened to you?"
"Life," Baldwyn muttered. "Agatha, Anastasia, marriage, and a half-empty bottle of brandy, thanks for asking."
Benedict squinted and leaned in toward his cousin. "Let's start with the first one, though I can't help you with life, considering I've mucked up my own and that of the woman I love quite thoroughly. Let's discuss Agatha."
At the mention of her name, a nearby maid burst into tears and ran from the entryway.
Was the woman that much of a dragon to her own staff?
"She's not well." Baldwyn swallowed and looked away, his eyes glassy from being foxed or perhaps depressed.
"I need to speak with her."
"Follow me." Baldwyn led him to Agatha's chambers. "I'll just be outside while you two have a little chat."
Benedict opened the door and paused. "Baldwyn?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you love her?"
Baldwyn paled. "Agatha? Of course, you fool, anyone would—"
"Not Agatha. Anastasia. Do you love her?"
Immediately Baldwyn looked to the floor. "Yes."
"Then you should tell her before you lose her forever."
Benedict slapped his cousin on the shoulder and walked into the large room. It reeked of medicine and tonics. Confused, he looked from left to right until his eyes finally settled on a lump in the bed.
"Aunt?" He walked closer, irritated at the ridiculous knot of emotion in his throat.