Jesus in Heaven, his wife's estate was magnificent. She didn't even ride, yet her staff maintained the riding course particularly well. There was a riding course with fences and hedges for jumping, open fields for a good gallop, and a shallow stream running through, which he assumed eventually flowed into the lake he had been avoiding. The flat green planes and a few rolling hills, the sun rising over a mercifully clear day and the gentle breeze invigorated Ben. After these weeks of being unable to ride, the back of his mount felt like heaven. He spurned Haider to go faster and faster, the sound of hooves thundering behind him told him that Needham and Ophelia were on his heels. Haider leaped over the trunk of a falling tree as exhilaration pumped through Benedict. He loved how his heart beat faster after a particularly hard ride, the burn in his muscles from keeping his seat.

As they crested a hill, all three slowed to a stop to enjoy the view. A little distance away, he could see his wife talking to two other people, her back to him. Beside him, Needham reached into the pocket of his riding habit and pulled out a flask.

'Oh, I truly wish you wouldn't drink that vile stuff when we have much finer spirits at home.' Ophelia said in protest. 'Why you would purposely drink such a common beverage, I will never understand.'

'I'm just finishing off what's left from what I got at the village taproom during our travels. Good or bad, one must never let a drink go to waste.' Needham winked at his fussing wife and shot a look at Ben that said Women, eh?

'If it is gin that my sister objects to, I would agree.' Ben said, unable to keep the ducal reprimand from his voice. 'Not only because it truly is a vile drink but because my wife distinctly dislikes the smell. I would urge you not to partake in your stay here.'

'Of course, Your Grace. Though I confess, I developed something of a taste for it in my university days when my father still controlled my purse strings. Cheap alcohol is better than no alcohol to a young lad.' He chuckled, though his posture had stiffened at the commanding tone in Ben's voice. 'There was no need for you to embarrass me in front of your brother, wife.'

Again, Benedict felt that fissure of disquiet at the steel in Needham's statement.

'I doubt she sought to embarrass you, Needham, no need to take it so personally.'

'Of course not.' He reached for Ophelia's hand and dropped a kiss on it. 'It is her wifely duty to improve both myself and my home. I do believe Ophelia and I shall head home now, I feel rather tired.'

Benedict nodded in approval, shaking off that feeling of anxiety, and spurned his horse towards Minerva. Clothed in spring green with a matching bonnet, she looked the very picture of feminine vitality. Her back was still to him, as she chatted away. The couple talking to her were clearly some of the farmers that lived on the estate, if their dirt-streaked clothing and sun-browned skin were any indication. As he neared, she turned to him with a smile. In her arms, she held a squirmy bundle swathed in a cloth. A small red face peaked out at stared at him assessingly. A baby.

His wife...and a babe. Why the devil had the sight of it felt like a shot to the chest?

She cooed something into the child's ear as it gurgled and laughed, extending one chubby pink arm toward her nose.

Jesus.

He staggered on his dismount, his chest tight and head a little dizzy. On slightly unsteady legs he approached them.

Babies. Not at all an uncommon sight. There were hundreds of them born every day in England. In fact, some would argue that there were more babies in England than could be fed. Why this particular one should affect him so was lost on him.

'Oh, Rothbury, come look!' She beamed at him, using his title in company as propriety dictated. He did not care much for propriety these days.

Fuck.

He had to get back to London, Cornwall was muddling his thoughts.

'Hello.' He managed to offer to the two people, who greeted him with an unrefined curtsy and bow. Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, his wife told him, had a portion of land along the northern border of their estate.

'And this-' She extended the babe toward him. Mutely he held out his hands. Did she expect him to take the squirming thing?! 'Is little Phoebe.'

Apparently, she did mean for him to hold the girl, for she moved his hands into position and promptly deposited the babe into his arms. She was a tiny thing, he could span most of her waist with one hand. So fragile. She peered up at him with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen and offered him a toothless smile. She smelt of soap and milk, a strange but not unpleasant mix.

'Hello, Phoebe.' He murmured. 'A pleasure to make your acquaintance.'

He heard his wife stifle a giggle and offered her a frown. How the devil else was one supposed to talk to a baby?

The babe clearly recognized her own name for she offered him a delighted giggle and kicked her feet in his arms. He shot a look at his wife to make sure he was not doing anything wrong and she was only looking at him with reassurance and approval. Benedict forgot to breathe.

The obvious delight in her eyes gave him an answer he had never sought; She wanted to be a mother. Of course, she did. Didn't most women? Someone as open-hearted and nurturing as his wife would take to motherhood like she had been made for it.

There they stood; him, his wife....and a baby. And for a second he saw an impossible future. A future he had never thought to want. A future he had ensured would never come to be.

He, his wife, and a baby. Maybe more.

A girl with chestnut hair and sapphire eyes that said scoot and drat and all other manner of stupid American terms. He would gift her a horse when she would be six, and she would be joining him for his morning rides by the time she was seven.

A young boy, dark hair like his own, but the disposition of his mother. Smiling, generous, perhaps a little scandalous, but society would be kind to him because he would be the heir to a dukedom. Benedict would teach him everything his own father had failed to impart onto him. He would never be without options.

Yes, there would have to be a few more to make sure they achieved every possible permutation of their personalities. Because they tempered each other rather perfectly, didn't they? She was the scandal to his discipline, the softness to his rigidity.

And their children would be loved. Adored. Spoiled, but not overmuch. He feared he might be the indulgent sort, but his wife had a good head about her shoulders. They would be good-looking too, if they took after their mother. Though he himself was certainly not difficult to look upon, she was a beauty worthy of ballads.

You are mad. Stop it. You need to get back to London. Your real life is there. You do not deserve to even dream of these things after what you have done.

And yet the thought would not leave.

'I came to ask if you would like to ride. Or jump the fences, rather.' He asked once the couple had left. Desperate to wrestle his tumultuous emotions under control. Deathly afraid of what this woman was coming to mean to him.

'Oh, Ben, I couldn't ride to save my life, much less jump six feet in the air on a horse and survive it.'

'I would be the one making the jumps, obviously.'

'Then how-'

He took a sigh, this had just meant to be a nice gesture, how was he making a complete bungle of it?

'We will be on the mount together.' He explained.

'Oh!' Her eyes sparkled with both apprehension and excitement. She bit her lip. 'That sounds terribly frightening.'

'Of course, you must be so very afraid. You do not need to join me if you do not wish it.' He grinned at her. He lowered his voice to a whisper, 'Coward.'

He just approached his horse, extending a hand in both invitation and challenge. Her expression turned defiant. She took his hand and allowed him to help her into the saddle and then he mounted behind her, tucking her close to him and arm around her waist.

With a tug of the reigns, Haider shot off, making his wife yelp in surprise, and tighten her grip on him. That, unfortunately, pushed her magnificently full breasts into his arm. Had there been a time in his life when he had wanted anyone but her?

Which was of course, ridiculous. She was just a woman. There were millions of those in England too. Hence all the damned babies.

'Oh, Ben! We're going too fast, I will fall!' She shrieked as he kicked his horse faster toward the approaching fence. She shut her eyes tight and buried her face in his neck.

'I will never let you fall.' He called back, feeling the truth of it settle into his very bones. He would sooner cut off his own arm than let her come to harm. Haider lifted his front legs off of the ground and then they were flying. His wife let out a shout of horror that soon turned into a whoop of delight as they soared over the hurdle. His mount's hooves hit the ground, and they were off again, racing to the next one. This time, she peeked for a split second at the fast-approaching fence and held onto him with a vise grip, but did not close her eyes again. Once they were over that one, they both let out shouts of exhilaration. He took her over a few more of the hurdles, her confidence increasing with each pass until she let her death grip on him lose and was grinning like a mad woman by the time they slowed to a halt.

He went down and turned around to help her dismount and was struck dumb. The sun shone behind her, illuminating her chestnut hair, and her adorably flushed face. Dear God. She was so beautiful it hurt to look, overflowing with youth and joy and vitality, everything he had never had in himself. Her eyes were alight with sheer joy. When had he ever inspired that emotion in anyone? God, that smile. When had he ever been the recipient of such open adoration?

'Oh, Benedict! Thank you! That was so wonderful! I loved it, I loved it!'

The second her feet touched the floor, she was in his arms, his mouth claiming hers. This went far beyond a simple want. He needed her like he needed his next breath. She was so responsive to him that he descended further into madness. More, more his body demanded. He wanted, nay he needed, to cement his claim on her. Didn't she see that it was always meant to be the two of them?

Even if Charlie hadn't passed, he would have found a way. She was never meant for anyone else.

Was this what the opium had been like for his father? Madness and euphoria, all in one heady mixture. Never enough, the yawning chasm of need ever deepening.

His back hit a tree, he let out a surprised grunt but his mouth didn't leave hers. He sank his teeth into her bottom lip, eliciting a yelp before he smoothed the hurt with his lips and tongue. He parted his mouth, allowing her to claim him right back. Everything about her fit him, everything in him seemed to be made for her. He ran a series of kisses down the graceful column of her neck as she rocked into his rapidly hardening length.

Lord help him, he was about to tup his wife out in the open like some barbarian.

'You want children.' He said as he caught his breath, resting his brow against hers, their breaths mingling. Apparently, his attempts at pushing the topic from his mind had been for naught. She was still dazed, her lips swollen from the intensity of his hunger.

'Yes, of course, but what does that have to do with anything?' She asked dreamily.

'We can- I can give you children.'

I can give you anything you ask of me.

She flinched as if he had struck her, snapping out of her haze. She stumbled back, holding up two palms to him in a beseeching motion. 'You are being cruel, Benedict.'

'I don't understand.' His breath left him in a whoosh, his heart feeling the sting of her rejection. She wanted children, just so long as they weren't his. Christ, why the devil was he having so much trouble breathing? She was right.

'How is it that you still do not know me at all?' She demanded, all her previous delight replaced by fury. 'How would this work, Rothbury? You fuck me until we have a child and then you go back to London? And then my child will grow up wondering why their father didn't care enough about them to actually stay?'

He cringed at the rude term on her lips, embarrassment turning his face red. Each word that left her mouth made his shame mount. What business did he have wanting anything with her? 'Of course not, we would live together, in London.'

She laughed out loud, though there was no mistaking the pain in her eyes. 'And then what, Rothbury? Children are hardly conducive to your lifestyle. It's not exactly easy to parade your Frenchwoman around with babies in the next room.'

'There is... there is no one like that in my life any longer.' He said, wanting her to know, even if it made no difference.

'That is hardly the point!' She snapped. 'Someone else will come along to take her place soon enough. How dare you even attempt to offer me this, this perversion of every stupid dream I had before our marriage? If you knew me at all, you would know that I would sooner spend my life childless than raise children with your society's values. My children will not be raised in a family where their parents seek their pleasures outside of the bonds of matrimony.'

'And what if I say I want children?' The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Knew that he sounded like the most entitled arsehole in the damned country. Her eyes snapped to his, full of such ire that he staggered back under the force of it. Her hand rose and paused midair, clenching and unclenching as if she had just stopped herself from striking him.

'How would that work, Rothbury?' She jeered at him. On her face was a twisted, cruel smile mocked his audacity. 'We take the children to Hyde Park on Mondays and Wednesdays, Thursdays would be for you and your lovers? I think I should like Friday for myself and mine!'

'It would not be like that!' He gasped at the horrid picture she painted. The pain of her rejection shocked him. She intended to take lovers still. Being with him had changed nothing for her, even as so much had changed for him. He was irrelevant in her life, just as he had spent six years trying to be. No wonder she mocked him for even daring to ask.

'And why, Rothbury, is it that you get to decide everything in this marriage? You decided six years ago that you wanted one that you could forget about and on a whim, you decide the opposite. Damn you. Damn you. I am not your plaything and my children will not be your playthings to abandon on a whim once you've decided you've had enough.' She stabbed his chest with an outraged finger, he winced as her nails poked into him.

'I would never-' He began hoarsely, his throat constricted with guilt and shame. She was right about everything, what reason had he ever given her to believe otherwise?

'I was the one who wanted these things. I would have been happy to give it to you, all of it. You chose not to take everything I was willing to give and now you think you can make demands of me six damned years after the fact?' Her voice faltered and she hugged herself in a broken gesture that tore at his damned chest. 'Leave. I do not wish to speak with you any further.'

His heart was taking turns between lodging in his throat and dropping to his feet in horror and shame.

'Minerva, please. I have overstepped. Grossly overstepped. You are right in everything you say.' He took a hesitant step toward her, when she did not move away he dared to reach for her hands. He caressed her knuckles with his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing motion. 'Forgive me. We are more than an hour's walk from home, be angry with me if you must, but please do not ask me to leave you here.'

'I need some time to get my emotions under control, please, Benedict. I could use the exertion. We have been getting along so well, I don't want us to fight in your final weeks here.'

'I do not wish for that either.'

'Then please, leave.'

And then what choice did he have but to comply? He did not want to push her away, he did not want them to be strangers after he had known her warmth and friendship. If these few weeks were all she would give him, then he did not want to spend them avoiding her, not talking to her.

Mutely, he mounted his horse once more and set his course for Hartley. Using the silence, he contemplated the question that was foremost on his mind; how the absolute fuck was he going to make up for the argument he had caused today?

A/N: Phew! This was a really emotional chapter for me to write because this particular conversation had been left unaddressed for so long. I am glad Vera was spitting mad, and even gladder for Ben's obvious remorse. I may or may not have teared up writing this lol. Thanks for reading! Don't be afraid to share your thoughts! 

As always, see you guys next week, and happy reading!