Now, with his large, splendid house towering in the background, she could not fail to realize what an enormous gulf separated a powerful peer of the realm from someone little higher than a servant.
But Lord Benedict bowed and offered her his arm, as if she were an honored guest. “I fear I am to blame for Stanhope Court being neglected.”
The blue gaze he fixed upon her did not seem cold at all. In spite of Rebecca’s determination to resist any such foolish fancy, she could not ignore a warm glow of sincere regard.
“Why are you to blame?” She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, steeling herself to betray no sign that this first contact between them gave her any particular enjoyment.
But it did, hard as she tried to persuade herself otherwise. There was a solid dependable strength about the viscount’s arm that appealed to her far more than it ought to.
“This poor house was a casualty of my mission to secure more support for our men at arms,” he replied with a mixture of pride and chagrin. “When Parliament was not in session, I twice made the voyage to Portugal. I wanted to see first hand what our troops needed to win the war. The rest of the time, I cadged invitations to house parties where I could meet with other Members of Parliament and promote my views.”
Rebecca’s respect for the viscount grew with every word he spoke. Though he made it sound as if he were apologizing for his actions rather than boasting about them, it was clear he had worked tirelessly for something he believed in.
“Perhaps you should have hosted a party,” she suggested, as they passed through the elegant entry hall with its fine marble floor, “and invited those people here.”
“I’m not certain who would have accepted an invitation from me in the end.” His firm mouth briefly arched into a wry grin. If Rebecca had not been watching his face so carefully, she might have missed it. “I had become such a notorious bore on the subject. Besides, everyone knows married gentlemen make far better hosts.”
“Were you too busy promoting your cause to seek a wife?” Rebecca recalled something he had said during their first meeting about never expecting to have a family.
Surely now that the war was over, such an eligible and attractive man would have no difficulty securing a bride. Somehow the thought of him being married provoked a rush of contradictory feelings in her. On one hand, it seemed wrong that so good a man should always be alone. Yet at the same time, she resented the thought of him belonging to another woman.
Rebecca chided herself for such ungenerous feelings, especially when Lord Benedict flinched at her words. She hoped her offhand remark about such a private matter had not offended him.
But before she could stammer an apology, the viscount recovered his spirits and continued their conversation. “I fear I neglected a number of things in my zeal to do my duty, Miss Beaton. This house... my brother’s welfare...”
He gave a rueful nod down the wide, portrait-hung gallery toward young Mr. Stanhope, who was ushering Hermione into a sitting room.
Was that why Lord Benedict had taken such a forceful interest in his brother’s engagement, Rebecca wondered, because he felt guilty for failing in his brotherly duty? She could understand such feelings all too well. With a pang of shame, she recalled promising to advocate on Hermione’s behalf with his lordship. Yet she had not said a single word about the poor girl.
“As for that,” she hastened to rectify her lapse, “Mr. Stanhope does not appear to have suffered any neglect. He possesses most engaging manners and has become a general favorite in this area ever since he took up residence. Though you may not approve of his attachment to Miss Leonard, I can assure you she is an excellent match for him in every way that truly matters.”
A doubtful frown darkened Lord Benedict’s striking countenance but it was too late for him to say anything disparaging about Hermione for they had reached the sitting room.
They had not been ten minutes at tea before Sebastian wondered why his brother could not see what was altogether obvious to him. A country squire’s daughter like Hermione Leonard was simply not cut out to be the wife of a future viscount. Apart from a brief greeting to their aunt, the young lady had scarcely spoken a word since she arrived, and not for a lack of effort on his part to draw her out.
“Another plum puff, Miss Leonard?” He held out the overflowing tray of cakes and pastries. “You have eaten so little, I fear our hospitality does not meet with your approval.”
“Not at all.” She reached toward the plate with wary hesitation as if she feared the walnut tea cake might be poisoned.
“For pity sake, Sebastian,” his brother snapped, “don’t hound Miss Leonard to eat if she’s not hungry! I told you this was twice too much food for the five of us.”
With a shrug, Sebastian offered the plate of sweets to her companion. “Can you find anything to tempt you, Miss Beaton?”
“Indeed, sir.” She picked up a rout cake and set it on her plate then reached for a jam tartlet. “The only difficulty lies in choosing between so many temptations.”
“Then by all means have as much as you wish of everything,” Sebastian urged her. “I like to see a lady with a healthy appetite.”
It accorded well with the rest of her character. She did not pretend excessive delicacy as so many ladies of fashion did. Sebastian was certain she could not be prone to swooning or any other such affectations. It surprised him how much at ease she seemed in his house. Though clearly impressed and appreciative, she was not overawed by the grand old place. Her demeanor presented such a contrast to Claude’s gauche, uncommunicative fiancée, he could not help but be impressed.
“That is most generous of you, Lord Benedict.” She cast a cheerful smile around at all the others. “But I fear my digestion will suffer if I overindulge in such rich fare.”
How would he have borne this visit, Sebastian wondered, if not for Miss Beaton’s presence? Somehow she managed to keep up an engaging flow of conversation to cover for Miss Leonard’s sulky silence.
“What a marvelous art collection you have, Lord Benedict,” she remarked, effortlessly filling yet another awkward pause. “That portrait of the young lady with the long curls is very fine indeed.”
“You have a good eye for painting, Miss Beaton. That lady is our great-grandmother. She sat for the Restoration Court painter, Lely. It is one of the most valuable in our collection.”
“I’m certain Miss Leonard recognized the artist’s style,” Miss Beaton continued. “She is quite an accomplished artist herself. She has done some very clever sketches of our acquaintances and a charming series of watercolors of the garden at Rose Grange.”
Her praise of Miss Leonard put Claude back in good humor. “Hermione tells me you are quite skilled at drawing and painting, Miss Beaton. Might I persuade you to undertake a commission for me?”