Minerva was fuming.

She'd been betrayed! Backstabbed and left to bleed like Caesar! It had taken both Elizabeth and Prudence not one second to fall head over heels in love with her husband, dressed so very elegantly in a brown and gold waistcoat and one of his not-ruined shirts, and were now following him around like love struck puppies. Nicholas, standing with the help of his crutches, had taken one look at the Duke, who managed to look like the very picture of masculine vitality even as he limped with his cane, and had found his new hero. And to add insult to injury, Churlish Benedict was nowhere to be seen. No, he'd been replaced by bloody Prince Charming! When the children had lined up on the front lawn in their Sunday best, he had kissed the girls on their hands and complimented their dresses. Both of them had nearly expired on the spot from delight. For the younger boys, he had given them firm handshakes that had made them feel all grown up and important. And as for Robert, he had reached into his jacket and had given him a beautiful silver pocket watch.

'A working man's most important commodity is time, never let anyone waste yours. You will soon leave the comforts of childhood, let this be your first lesson, young man.' He had said with a brief approving nod and infinite ducal wisdom. And that had won him the admiration of every adult present, servant staff included. In just fifteen minutes, Benedict had managed to amass a small gaggle of loyalists that would follow him into war. The nerve!

Traitors, the lot of them, Benedict included! What was the world when you couldn't even expect the enemy to act the part? He was supposed to sulk forbiddingly in a corner while she gave the Marchioness a tour, not win hearts right and left! And looking so irritatingly dashing to boot! Did he absolutely have to be so damned handsome?! The audacity!

She was barely even listening to what the administrator was saying as he led the Marchioness around the first floor, showing her the dormitories. Instead, she kept sneaking glances outside any available window, trying to catch her husband slip up so that the world could right itself once more. Right now, he was sitting on a blanket under a tree and seemed to be studying Prudence's sketches with great interest while she stood in rapt fascination. Elizabeth, determined not to be left behind, had just dashed past them to get her book of sums.

Her stupid, wretched, idiotic heart gave a hard thump of longing.

No! Abandoned us for six years, remember? And being nice to children is about as bare minimum as it gets! Stop it, you romantic fool! Her brain, lovely logical thing that it was, hissed right back.

'While I agree that Rothbury cuts a fine figure in that waistcoat, it is hardly like you to stare after him like a newlywed.' Minerva jumped at Lady Eleanor's amused statement and turned a solid shade of strawberry.

'That is not what I was doing!' She replied hotly. She had always found it silly when debutants fanned themselves when they were flirted with, but perhaps a fan would cool her cheeks now. 'Please forgive me, I have been a poor hostess. Please, Mr. Steele, let us move to the library.'

In two weeks, he would leave. And then she could get rid of these stupid, pointless, idiotic feelings and everything could go back to normal.

Well, Benedict thought in astonishment, he had never imagined that he would be well-liked among anyone under the age of twenty. He'd always been sober, even as a child, and had few friends. It had always been Charlie who was far more social than he, dragging him along on his misadventures. He felt the familiar stab of pain that usually accompanied thoughts of his brother, but for the first time in a long time, the pain did not leave him winded.

He had been the one that kept Charlie grounded, while Charlie had added some frivolity to Benedict's frigidness. It was no wonder that, with him gone, Benedict had become so...... severe. The last six years had made him even soberer than he had been in his youth, with the weight and responsibilities of a dukedom on his shoulders, not to mention the several businesses that he was now a major shareholder in. Somehow, he realized somewhat uncomfortably, his range of emotion had been whittled down to a narrow gauge that oscillated between irritation, misery, and complete indifference. He was not an easy man to get along with, and he knew well that save for his three friends and his wife, people only put up with him because of the power he wielded in their sphere. So, the fact that these children were treating him with no hint of hesitation or trepidation made him feel.....something. Affection? Ease? It was a pleasant humming sort of sensation that he hadn't felt in years. God, how pathetic was that particular admission? He twisted his neck and ventured a look through one of the windows to see if he could spot the rest of his companions only to see his Duchess sending him the vilest, most loathing glares imaginable.

What in God's name had he done wrong now? He had found his behavior entirely exceptional!

'You are really her husband? Her Grace, I mean. ' The boy with the crutches finally spoke up when the rest of the children had gone off to search for wildflowers; the girls had thought to make garlands for the guests. Miss Macleod and Graham were both absent today, so it was only the Duchess and Lady Eleanor aside from himself. Speaking of Graham, there was a conversation due between them in regards to his attention towards Miss Macleod.

'Yes.' He replied absently, as he considered how to tell Graham to not be a cad in the most polite way possible.

'And she does not mind?' He ducked his head and did not meet Benedict's eye. 'That you cannot walk properly?'

Truthfully, his limp was the least of the things his duchess minded about him, but he couldn't very well say that, now could he?

'No, however, it is just an injury. I can walk just fine most of the time.' He admitted.

'Oh.' The boy looked absolutely crestfallen. Discomfort curled around Benedict. He did not know how to speak to upset children!

'Your legs do not mean you will not find a wife.' He tried to say reassuringly, though in truth he did not know how to offer comfort to adults, much less to a young boy.

'What woman would have a man that cannot protect her?'

Now how the devil was he supposed to respond to that?  

'You are...you are not less just because you are different.' Benedict mumbled, but it did nothing to raise the boy's spirits. 

'Everyone says that, but I cannot even play with them.' He nodded to where the rest of the children had made a game of collecting the flowers in the field. 'I will always be left behind. My own father did not want me because I am like this.'

What kind of scum abandoned a child like this, just because he was not born entirely healthy?!

Why on earth did children drop incredibly personal nuggets of information on unsuspecting, awkward adults? He was a Duke for Christ's sake! People spoke to him of business and lands and estates, he was entirely unequipped for this conversation! He shot a desperate look around and caught the eye of his wife, who had now made her way to the garden and was speaking with the administrator and Lady Eleanor. Something in his eyes must have relayed his discomfort as she immediately excused herself and began to walk toward him. But it would take her several moments to reach them, and the silence between him and Nicholas grew increasingly oppressive.

'I think having no father is better than one who constantly disappoints you.' The truth tumbled from his lips before he even knew what he was saying. The confession settled between them, however, the silence turned from awkward to pensive. Small mercies.

'Or one that hurts you.' They both turned to find the Duchess standing barely two feet away, with a rueful look in her eyes. Benedict tucked that bit of information away, unsure what to do with it. She could, of course, just be making a general statement, but the tightness of her lips made him think otherwise. 'I find that family is oft more than who we share blood with. What are the two of you talking about?'

'Young Nicholas thinks that he will not find a wife.' He informed her, glad that someone more experienced could steer the conversation back into more comfortable waters.

'Is that so?' She chuckled as if it was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. 'Never fear, young one. There is nothing more romantic than a brooding artist, Nick. Just wait until you're older, there shall be a gaggle of women who would happily marry you.'

That coaxed a bemused smile out of Benedict. Perhaps it was not all bad to be able to look at things in such a romantic manner.

'What does brooding mean?' Nick tilted his head in interest.

'Just take a look at His Grace; all moody and mysterious.'

'I think he is very nice.' Nicholas graciously disagreed.

Minerva let out a disbelieving sound even as Benedict felt a trill of pleasure run through him.

'Scoot.' She nudged him lightly. His brows furrowed in displeasure at the singularly American word. Her accent she could not change, no matter how horrid it was, but did she absolutely have to use silly words?

'Scoot?' He asked disapprovingly, making no move to make space for her on the blanket. She sighed in resignation before he spotted the glint of humor in her eye.

'Your Grace, if you would be so incredibly gracious as to move your dukely posterior to the right, so that I may also be seated, I would greatly appreciate it.'

Benedict bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He had been doing that a lot recently. Not biting his cheek, but laughing. Perhaps the country air really was conducive to a good mood as well as good health?

'Ducal. Dukely is not a word.' He corrected mildly as he moved to give her space. She lowered herself so that she was sitting beside him, so close that they would touch if he swayed just a bit. Would she be as soft everywhere else as her hands had been?

Christ. Where the devil had that thought come from?

Thankfully, at that moment, Prudence and Elizabeth returned with a basket full of flowers and sat down beside them, sparing him from thinking any more inappropriate thoughts about his wife. He watched the younger of the two, Elizabeth, struggle to form the right kind of loop with the stems and extended his hand and showed her how to do it correctly.

'How did you know how to do that?' His Duchess asked incredulously.

'When I was younger, we used to live in Chatwick Hall for most of the year. There is a summer fair there every year, but we were never allowed to go. It simply wasn't proper for the children of a Duke to mingle with the local children, even though we tried our hardest to convince my parents.' At his wife's surprise, he added. 'Come now, I was a serious child, but not a soulless one. Even I was tempted by the idea of sweets, prizefighters, and acrobats.'

He closed his eyes and let himself be transported back to a much simpler time, once again he was thinking of Charlie without the sharp stab of resentment and heartache. The nostalgia felt pleasant, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

'One summer when Ophelia was six, and I was eleven, we were riding through the town and she saw some girls wearing these flower crowns. She decided that she wanted to learn how to make one, come hell or high water. She was not satisfied with just buying one, of course, because what would happen when the flowers wilted?' His mouth curved into a bittersweet smile. 'Mother, of course, wouldn't hear of us taking her to the fair, so that evening Charlie and I went to the vendor who was selling the garlands and paid her to teach us so that we could teach Ophelia. Charlie was rubbish at it, so I was the one who ended up learning anything at all. After that, she would make them for me whenever I returned home on holidays until she grew out of it.'

'Benedict.' His wife whispered gravely. 'This is horrible. You must not do such a thing again!'

'Do what?' He was entirely confused, he had thought the tale a rather charming one!

'Have redeeming qualities!' She hissed through a smile so as to not alert the rest of their company to her displeasure. 'Now what am I to do?! The next time I am vexed with you, I will think 'this man learned how to make flower wreaths for his sister' and I will want to be nice. '

'Ha!' He exclaimed sarcastically before lowering his voice to a whisper again. 'I am sure we can manage one more brawl to annoy each other sufficiently before the fortnight is over!'

'Stop it!' She hissed and jammed a solid thumb into his ribs. 'You must not be funny! I am quite serious! As impossible as it sounds, if I start liking you, it will be an unmitigated disaster!'

'So very unlikeable am I?!' He snapped. Now, why had he gone and said that?! He knew he was unlikeable. Moreover, he did not care if she disliked him!

The children had somehow sensed the tension and had begun to inch away, one by one. Even Nicholas had taken his crutches and made himself scarce.

'You cannot be serious! You are about as approachable as a porcupine!' She cried.

'I ought to kiss that impertinence straight off your mouth!' He retorted, completely incensed! And then came the horror as he realized he had just said that out loud. His wife's answering look of revulsion was truly the icing on the cake of his embarrassment.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! He had lost his mind!

'Well!' His equally horrified wife sputtered. 'If your kiss is as abysmal as your lovemaking, I shall thank you to keep your mouth to yourself!'

Abysmal?!

Well, things really couldn't get much worse from this point!

But of course, they could for he had entirely lost control of his tongue!

'You cannot possibly think that- that our wedding night was a reflection of my...my ability! I assure you, I have yet to hear a complaint!'

'From women who you shower with your money? Who would complain, in such a case? A stuck-up prude like you likely makes for a dreadful bedfellow!'

'Stuck-up?! Prude?' He exclaimed in shock. 'And I am the farthest thing from a selfish lover, I assure you!'

'Ha! I sincerely doubt that!' She replied hotly, her face red and chest heaving. Not as unaffected by him as she was pretending, was she? He really ought to kiss her senseless until she took back every last word!

'Careful, madam!' He snapped. 'Or am I to take that as an invitation to prove you wrong?!'

And that, of course, had been the worst possible thing to say because now he was imagining it. Her softness beneath him, her generous breasts in his hands, his mouth on her neck, and her legs around his waist. The taste of her would be simply exquisite, both sweet and tart just like her tongue. And then he would tease her until she begged-

God have mercy!

He could not go there! He must never go there!

Except, with the way fire burned in every single one of their exchanges, he knew for a fact that sex would be positively incendiary between them. He resisted a disappointed groan as he felt his groin twitch with interest. It was stupid how simple creatures men could be at times!

She let out an affronted cry and whirled away in a flurry of skirts, thank Christ for that! Who knew what else would have come out of his mouth had she stayed and argued with him some more?!

Good God, fourteen days seemed far closer to an eternity.