Stays: Regency equivalent of a push-up bra.

Smalls: Men's underwear.

'I cannot thank you enough for attending our humble event, Your Grace.' Mrs. Celia Farthing bowed deeply to her. 'I never would have imagined that a duke and duchess would have cause to attend something so unsophisticated.'

'We are more than delighted to partake in the happiness of our neighbors.' Minerva replied stiffly.

'You are too kind, Your Grace.' The older woman demurred. 'Though I lament we do not have finer company for you to enjoy. However, I do hear that Lord Harrison Windham has just come into his title and will be beginning repairs on his country seat soon enough. He was a charming young thing, grew up on the property between Hartley Manor and our home. He and Richard were playmates in their youths, the young heartbreakers.'

Harrison Windham?

So, that bastard was back on English soil, was he? Thought he could come back to Cornwall without facing consequences for his low behavior? Not if she had anything to do about it!

'I see.' She replied neutrally, even as distaste soured her mouth.

'I was hoping his lordship might take a fancy to one of my granddaughters.' She sighed wistfully. 'But alas, he comes from The Colonies with a betrothed in tow. I swear to you, by the end of the next decade the aristocracy will be more trade heiresses than actual high-born ladies deserving of....'

She trailed off in mortification as she realized who exactly she was talking to. 'What I meant by that was-'

'I know exactly what you meant, Mrs. Farthing.' Vera offered her a withering look, looking down her nose at her with her best I-am-one-step-below-royalty look. Was it effective as Benedict's? No. He had been born with mastery of it in his blood, but her approximation had the intended effect.

Mrs. Farthing, at the very least, had the decency to look mortified and thoroughly chastened. She scanned the crowd, either as a diversion or just to have an excuse to not look Vera in the eyes, then motioned discreetly. A few moments later, a man approached them. 

 'Richard, darling, come and greet Lady Rothbury.'

Oh, bloody wonderful.

Where the devil was her high and mighty, slightly intimidating husband when you needed him? By the looks of Richard's pale face, he was having just as much fun as she. He bowed deeply and introduced his wife. An adorable, short little thing who was eyeing her with equal measures of hostility and wariness. Mrs. Farthing, who loved gossip and had an opinion of just about everything and everyone, seemed to have neglected to listen to rumors about her own progeny for she looked at their awkward trio with an eager smile.

'Richard, you simply must dance the next set with Her Grace.' Mrs. Farthing began an incredibly well-intentioned but ill-advised attempt at making amends.

'I had hoped to save the only waltz for my wife.' Richards said through grit teeth. The waltz was still relatively new to England, and while it was all the rage in London, it still remained scandalous in a rural area like this. It must have taken Richard significant cajoling to get his grandmother to add it to the list. His wife's face was red with contained fury. Likely the woman wanted to do Vera harm.

'Oh, don't be silly! You and your wife will live in London! Dance a thousand waltzes together there!' She insisted.

'I am afraid my wife had promised the next set to me. If you will excuse us, I hear the musicians playing the opening strings.' A possessive hand came to rest at her side as her husband appeared at her side. She relaxed into his touch and allowed him to take her hand. He allowed the rest of their company a dismissive nod and in sure movements, Benedict led her onto the dance floor. They assumed the position for the dance, though Vera knew full well that he was holding her far closer than was appropriate, she couldn't bring herself to mind. It was, unfortunately, very wonderful to be in his arms.

'I hope I have not overstepped?' He murmured as he spun her expertly and pulled her back into his hold. 'It seemed as if you needed some assistance.'

'Yes, you were quite my dashing hero.' She winked at him. 'I do believe Mrs. Penn was a hairbreadth from plotting my demise.'

'Can you blame her?' He asked with raised eyebrows. 'If I was a woman, I wouldn't want you to be my husband's former lover either.'

'On account of the heartbreaking, devastating beauty?'

'Something like that.' He rolled his eyes. 'You're a fine dancer, Your Grace.'

'Thank you!' She beamed. 'I had two dance tutors give up on me before I finally got the hang of it.'

They danced silently for a few moments before Vera asked, 'Did you find the cards room enjoyable?'

'Alas, I never made it to the card room. I was interrupted by our host, who was looking to further his acquaintance. I've spent the last thirty minutes speaking to Mr. Farthing, twenty-nine of which were spent hearing the many virtues of his oldest grandson.'

'Oh, dear, 'she giggled.

'Did you know, madam, that your paramour saved the lives of some twenty men in Belgium?' He asked testily. 'So not only does he look like a hero, he quite literally is one!'

'Would you be so very offended if I tell you I find your irritation to be both adorable and endearing?' She asked with a teasing smile, even as her heart grew warm with fondness. He was just so –and she meant this in the most adoring way possible-stupid. He would never admit it, but his pride was severely rankled by Richard's rugged handsomeness. To Minerva, her husband was the clear winner if it came down to sheer physical appeal. And in the waistcoat that matched the blue of her gown, he looked so very dashing.

'I would be very offended indeed.' He gave her a warning glance.

'Then I shall not tell you and only think it.'

He muttered something moodily under his breath, shot a glare in Richard's direction, and then maneuvered her into another elegant turn.

Would she be a hypocrite if she admitted that the sight of her jealous husband was making her rather gleeful?

Poor Mrs. Farthing, Vera thought pityingly as she watched the woman hurriedly making arrangements for the unexpected influx of overnight guests.

When it rained, it poured. In this case, rather literally.

As the ball had been coming to a close, the night had been overtaken by a rather fearsome summer storm. Since most people had come in carriages, it was not an impossible task for them to return. Then came the news that the river running through the Farthing's property had overflown and subsequently swallowed the bridge that lead back to the main road. Following that, a large tree fell onto the path alternative to the bridge, leaving all of her guests stranded at the country home. A country home with neither the rooms nor the staff to accommodate such a large number of guests.

Mrs. Farthing looked one step away from dissolving into a fit of tears. Minerva was ashamed of the small twitch of smugness she'd felt at that. When their incredibly worried hostess offered them the use of the master bedrooms because she dared not suggest a duke and duchess share a guest bedroom, Minerva was half tempted to accept. Unfortunately, her gracious husband stepped in and assured their hostess that they were not rude enough to make their hosts vacate their own rooms and that sharing a bed for one night would be no big hardship.

This was how they found themselves in slightly cramped quarters, with only space enough for a bed, a fireplace, and a dressing table. A screen had been propped up between the bed and fireplace to allow them privacy to change. A flushed, slightly out-of-breath maid entered the room, arms laden with new bed linens and a borrowed change of clothes. She took a few panting breaths and set about changing the sheets.

'I'll be right along to help you change, milady.' She said. 'I just need to get linens to all the other guests.'

'Take your time-' Vera began at the same time as Benedict said;

'There is no need. You seem to have work enough. I can help my wife undress.'

The maid flushed, scandalized but offered him a curtsy. 'Thank you, milord.'

'Your Grace.' He corrected absently as the maid looked up in confusion.

'No, milord. Grace was the one who brought the water. I am Penny.'

'No, I-' He sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 'Thank you, then, Penny. You are dismissed.'

He reached into his pocket and offered her a coin, which she accepted with a happy smile.

Once the maid shut the door behind her, Vera turned to her husband and struck out an accusing finger.

'If you think, sir, that I shall allow you to take liberties with my person under the guise of acting as lady's maid, you are severely mistaken!'

He just offered her a smug grin and said, 'Let's see you get out of that dress unaided then.'

Drat. He had a point. The entire thing laced up from the back. Never mind her thousand layers of undergarments.

'Very well! Only if you promise to keep your lecherous hands to yourself, then I shall permit you to aid me,' she acquiesced haughtily.

'I shall endeavor to keep all fondling to a minimum,' he answered gravely, though there was no mistaking the mischief in his smile.

'Minimum?! Sir, there should be no fondling whatsoever!'

'On that score, I make no promises,' he said huskily and the low baritone of his voice sent shivers up her spine. He stepped behind her, reaching for the laces on the back, easing them loose one by one. He turned her toward the mirror on the dressing table so that her back faced the fire. Once he had bared her shoulders, he brushed his lips lightly against the skin he'd exposed. Vera's insides quivered.

'Ben.' She said in a warning tone.

'No no, I am not trying to do anything untoward. I just.... I just like touching you.' He admitted, she met his eyes in the mirror to find a tinge of pink on his cheeks. Silently he continued unlacing her until she was able to step out of the dress, his fingers found the fastenings of his petticoats until those too were loose enough to remove. She felt inordinately shy and could not meet his eyes again.

'You know, I have been sadly remiss in my observations.' He murmured as he ran a hand down her back, stopping at her bottom and cupping it gently. She yelped in surprise. 'Your bottom is just as delightful as your other assets.'

'You are making rather free with my person, sir!' Though the admonishment left her rather shakily. He squeezed her flesh as he chuckled.

'Minimal fondling, remember?'

'You are outrageous! What have you done with my straight-laced, uptight husband?'

'I have told you time and again that you are a poor influence.' He smiled, his lips grazing her shoulder once more. 'Never in my life have I imagined speaking so openly to a woman. Never in my life have I imagined that I would enjoy it. It is a precious gift you have given me.'

That stunned her so thoroughly that she could not muster another word until he muttered a curse under his breath and she raised her eyes again only to find him scowling at her chest.

Well. That certainly wasn't a reaction she was used to.

'Is there something wrong with my chest?' She asked, feeling rankled. She had intended to say a more scandalous word but found her resolve leave her at the last second. He started forward in shock then let out an offended sniff.

'It really doesn't behoove a duchess to speak so bluntly.' He muttered crankily. 'You know full well that your chest is bloody magnificent. It is this I take objection to.'

She followed his pointing finger to her undergarments. 'My stays? After all the grumbling about dressing for my station? These are the height of fashion, one simply cannot wear a low-cut gown without them, I assure you!'

'You hardly need the extra help in that department!' He complained. 'No wonder all these fools were salivating over you like starved dogs! And I am sorry for my behavior at our first meeting, surely you know that.'

'You're jealous!' She accused, somewhat still incredulous that something like that would even be possible.

'Ugh.' He grunted as he set about unlacing the aforementioned offending garment. 'I know. How bloody pedestrian.'

'Happens to the best of us.' She assured him, heaving a sigh of relief as the last of her fussy undergarments was divested, leaving her in her shift.

'It most assuredly does not happen to dukes.' He snapped, tossing off his coat moodily then plucking frustratedly at the buttons of his waistcoat. She pushed his hands away and helped him unfasten them. Why was her face so damn hot?

'What is the matter? You're flushed deeper than when I had my hands on your adorable little rump.' He tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. He smiled at her wickedly and she blushed even more furiously.

'It is you, Your Grace, who are too blunt with his speech!' She protested, even as her body sang at his touch. 'This feels too...domestic. I fear that I will forget all the reasons I should not trust you. I am already terribly attracted to you and I fear that I will become lost.'

'Minerva,' he let out an agonized groan. 'I would ask your permission for something.'

'If it is more kissing, the answer is a resounding no,' she told him sternly, though the thought of his lips was becoming more appealing by the second.

He laughed. 'You are cruel, sweetheart. But that is not what I would ask of you.'

Sweetheart? Who the devil was this seductive rogue in front of her because it sure as hell was not her husband!

'What is it, then?' She tried to sound aloof, but that was particularly difficult when one's heart was lodged in one's throat.

'I would like to court you.'

'Court me?' She asked in bewilderment. 'We are already married.'

'We are married in name, yes.' He agreed, brushing his lips across her cheeks. 'But I wish to be your husband in truth.'

'Ben. I don't- I don't know if I can....' She felt humiliating tears prick her eyes.

'Hush, hush, my darling girl.' He ran in hand in soothing trails down and up her back. 'You are right to not trust me. It is a privilege I have done nothing to earn. You were not courted as you should have been, not with Charlie and certainly not with me. When you said that I cannot be the only one who makes decisions in this marriage, you were right. I would court you to prove to you that I am serious about you. About us.'

 'I would court you because it is a travesty that you weren't given bouquets upon bouquets of flowers. I would court you in the hopes of gaining your trust, because there is nothing in this world I would like more. I love being your friend. I would be more, if you would but have me. So, I am laying the choice at your feet. I will court you, and it will be your decision whether or not you find me acceptable. If at the end of it, you wish to continue our old arrangement, I shall not stand in your way.'

Vera stared at him in shock, one part of her screaming at her to not be a fool. The logical part. The sensible. Her stupid romantic heart, on the other hand, was begging to go tumbling headlong into disaster. Her every hope and dream and wish, offered to her on a platter.

'I am not asking you to say yes,' He continued. 'I am not asking you to make any commitments. I only ask that you do not say no.'

Dare she hope?

She should know better.

She really ought to know better.

Dare she place her trust in him?

Yes! Her heart sang.

No! Yelled her mind.

'Very well.' She whispered, both elated and terrified.

'Oh, thank you, my darling.' He took her hand and kissed the soft flesh of her palm. 'I shall be the model suitor, you shall see.'

'I'll believe it when I see it.' She rolled her eyes and slipped into the bed. She watched as Benedict stripped down to his smalls and made his way to the bed. 'They gave you a night-shift! Why are you nude?!'

'I am not taking the risk that the shift they gave me belonged to your Sir Whose-it. And stop pretending you're horrified, I can practically feel you ogling me.'

'A duchess does not ogle nude men!'

'And what of American hoydens?' He asked saucily as he slipped into bed beside her. She put a defensive pillow between them, which he promptly tossed away. 'Worry not madam, your maidenly virtue is safe with me.'

She found herself hauled into the comfort of his arms, head tucked under his chin, her back crowded by the delicious heat of his bare chest. He threw his arm over her, his hand splayed across her stomach.

'Well!' She tried to infuse indignation into her proclamation. 'You are incorrigible!'

As she moved around, trying to get comfortable, the hand that was resting across her stomach moved to grip her hips.

'Stop wriggling your arse against my cock unless you are prepared to face the consequences.' He growled in her ear. He pressed his hips into her bottom, making her feel the evidence of his desire.

She gasped at the sudden shift in his tone.

'It really doesn't suit you to use crude words, Your Grace!' She admonished breathlessly.

'Liar.' His chest rumbled in amusement. 'I remember how wet it made you; pretty, wanton girl that you are. Now go to sleep while I'm still feeling chivalrous.'

He smacked her backside in reprimand, light enough for it to not hurt but certainly strong enough for her to feel it! She let out an offended cry, mutinously wriggled her hips against his hardness, and then closed her eyes to sleep.

Behind her, he let out a string of curses and mutterings about death by sexual frustration, then fell back to find his own rest.