Minerva was having a rough few days. It had all started when a bout of fever had run through the orphanage and she had caught it too. She had spent days lounging in bed, too sick to move and wishing that her husband was around to pamper her. Then she had received words for Sister Agatha's brother that her dearest old friend was not faring well.  He had heavily implied that her health was now deteriorating.

She would need to go to Boston, fearing that she might miss meeting her friend for one last time. And it made her absolutely miserable that Ben wouldn't be able to come with her, with his discomfort around water. She'd been anxious, sad, and worried all week.

And now, she was being dealt a humiliating blow courtesy one of her few friends in England.

'What do you mean that you have made a reservation for me?' Minerva asked her sister-in-law in disbelief. She stiffened in the seat of the formal receiving room at Ophelia's townhouse in Bath, where they were seated. Minerva tried not to be insulted at the fact that she would normally join Ophelia in her library where the two of them would simply talk for hours on end, and now she was being situated in the formal receiving room. 'At a hotel?'

The staff had also politely refused to unload her luggage.

Ophelia refused to meet her eyes, a guilty flush on her cheeks and neck. 'The guest wing is under repair. You sent such short notice, I just haven't had time to prepare.'

Yes, it was true, she had decided at the last minute to make a stop in Bath to see her sister-in-law on her way to Richmond for the fundraising event at the Sanctuary. She had been increasingly feeling dreadful about the spat between herself and her sister as Ophelia had been giving her rather a cruel cold shoulder. Her heart broke knowing that she had caused a rift in her most valued friendship. If only she could take her foolish words back, take back the offense she had caused. It was at her husband's suggestion that she had made her detour.

Her husband who she had not seen in a month. And had missed miserably.

Minerva did not point out that she had always resided in the family wing on her prior visits. Nor did she point out that she saw nary a painter, carpenter nor worker of any kind. Not a sound coming from upstairs.

'I see.' She responded coolly, trying her best to keep the hurt from her voice. Still, her next words came out like an accusation. 'It has been over two and a half months, I have written you seven letters. You have not responded to even one of them. You did not even write to tell me that you were expecting. I heard from Benedict.'

'Oh, you know how it is.' Ophelia offered her a weak smile, placing a slender hand on her stomach, where she had not yet started showing.

Just like everyone else, she is distancing herself from me.

'No, Ophelia, I do not.' Minerva insisted. 'We were friends, very close ones at that. Was my concern truly so h-hurtful that you would scorn me? Was it so h-horrible that I was concerned for your wellbeing and I promised to help you if Needham was harm-'

'Please keep your voice down!' Ophelia hissed, her eyes wild and panicked. 'Needham is home and I do wish for him to overhear anything on this topic.'

And once again came the foreboding feeling that Ophelia was not telling the whole truth.

'Ophelia-,' she began before she was interrupted.

'Truthfully I wanted to keep it a secret for a while. Until I was sure,' Ophelia confessed. 'I lost a child before and Needham was so disappointed. Things have not been right between us since then and I just wanted to keep the news to myself for a while.'

'Oh, Ophelia, I never knew.' Minerva sighed with remorse.

'I never wished to tell anyone of my shame.'

'Shame?!' Vera demanded, aghast. 'Who told you this? Needham? You have nothing to be ashamed of!'

'Minerva, please keep your voice down.' Ophelia's voice quivered as if she held back tears, shocking Vera into silence. 'Please. If you were a true friend you would not upset me at a time like this. Needham advised me to have you stay at a hotel because I should not have people around to cause me distress and I am beginning to think he was right.'

And then the alarm bells took to tolling again.

'So. This is Needham's decision?' Her disapproval must have been evident in her tone for Ophelia flinched and looked away. 'Ophelia. I do not like the way he is trying to make a rift between us. Perchance, is it because I was on the right track?'

'Again you start, with these accusations! And you are surprised that he will not extend his hospitality to you?!'

'Ophelia, he worries me. I see the shadows under your eyes, the way you look almost nervous. I have your best interests at heart, I swear it. You know that if you ever wanted to leave-'

'Being apart from your husband for years on end might work for you,' Ophelia's tone was more cutting than she had ever heard it, Vera felt the verbal slap as if it had been a physical one. 'But it is not me. What would you know of marriage? What would you know of family?'

'Ophelia!' The hurt gasp was wrenched unwillingly, tears smarting Minerva's eyes.

'No!' Ophelia stood up to her feet, her palm facing Minerva in a command to silence. 'I have heard enough out of you! Needham is right! All you are is bitter and jealous of me. Of us. Our marriage and love. I am h-happy! I am about to have my husband's child! And you would suggest I leave him? Why would you wish that kind of scandal upon me? You may not care about the way you are ridiculed behind closed doors. You may not care that your husband remains heirless after six years. But I do. I care about these things and clearly, you are so envious of me that you would set out to ruin it! My place is by my husband's side and if you cannot keep your negativity from me, you are no longer welcome in my home!'

Vulgar American.

Title hunter.

Disgrace.

Shame on that exalted family.

Minerva felt so hurt she couldn't breathe. It had been years now since she had felt so isolated, so alone. Not since the first year after her marriage.

Her marriage.

He will turn on you too. It is just a matter of time.

No. No, that was her hurt talking. Benedict knew who she was. Cared for her.

He found you tolerable enough in Cornwall. What of London? Where you are the object of gossip and ridicule? Where you have more enemies than friends? He will remember why he stayed away for six years.

No. No. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. She was not being fair or reasonable. She could not accept that thought to be true, for it would break her in ways she had never imagined possible.

With shaking legs, Minerva got to her feet, fighting to keep a humiliated flush from her cheeks. With strides more confident than she felt, she turned her back to Ophelia and walked out of the room. As the butler opened the door that led into the foyer, she found Needham eyeing her with a cold satisfaction that chilled her to her bones. He offered her a mocking bow and stalked up to her, menace permeating every step.

'I hope you understand the way of it, you interfering bitch.' He sneered and Vera reared back in shock. 'If you try to besmirch my name again, that too in front of my wife, your husband will be hearing from me. Let's see how happy he will be to hear of you trying to stir up scandal as you are used to.'

Disgrace.

Vulgar.

Title Hunter.

Scandalous, shameless, woman.

And while she would have loved to raise her hand and slap him across his face, she remained frozen in both horror and heartbreak until he walked away. By the time she was seated in her carriage, her hands were trembling and the tears had begun to slip down her face. And yet, while she had been thoroughly rebuffed and humiliated, her instincts were still warning her of danger.

By the time she had reached her hotel room, Minerva had made a decision. Perhaps she was giving into her delusion, but her relationship with Ophelia had been well and truly decimated. If there was nothing to lose, the least she could do was clear her conscience. So, Minerva sat down and wrote one last letter to her sister. A letter that would have far-reaching and devastating consequences. 

But, even if she had known all that was to come, she would have still made the same choice over and over.

'Pregnant? Pregnant?' Benedict hissed in horror as blue, remorseless eyes blinked at him in mild amusement. 'Duchess, you are nothing but a shameless hussy.'

'So, I am unable to give you due attention for a few days and this is what you do?!' He demanded in outrage, as the recipient of his fury remained completely unaffected. 'The barn cat! The barn cat!! At the very least you could have had some standards!'

All he received in response was a swish of a fluffy tail.

'The barn cat! He likely has fifty different kinds of diseases! Did he even have all his teeth?!'

His cat, just like her namesake, was completely unimpressed by his offense, purred, and rubbed her body along his legs. With a sigh, he crouched down and scratched her head as she leaned into his touch. She looked at him adoringly and his outraged fled in a puddle. He wasn't really upset, he just missed his wife and was being disastrously surly because of it.

'Very well,' he sighed. 'Don't look at me like that, you know full well that I will take care of your brood, no matter how questionable your choice in mate.'

Duchess meowed in triumph and rolled onto her back to present her stomach to him. How would Minerva react to the news? She had a tendency to pretend that she did not like Duchess, but he had often seen her give the feline scraps from her plate. She would likely be sleeping with kittens on her stomach by the end of the week.

Ben groaned, he missed his wife.

Stupid bloody Boston.

It would take at least four weeks to reach America by ship, add the two weeks she intended to stay there, and then the four weeks it would take her to get back. A little over two months.

What the devil was he going to do for two months?

He scowled as he entered his study, smoky from the cheroots his companions had been smoking, the men sitting with their shirts rumpled and sleeves rolled up, bunched up over papers and letters and newspaper articles. They were in the finishing stages of their retaliation plan against the bill, somehow his offices had become their unofficial headquarters. Between him, Graham, Stanhope, and, very, very occasionally Carlisle, they had managed to amass a good amount of both political and public support. Now was the time for writing speeches.

Ben shot a look towards Stanhope, who always seemed to occupy the seat furthest from him, and always looked damned uncomfortable in his company. Ben was all too aware that his family's country seat was in Cornwall. Practically neighbors with Hartley.

A young, rakish Stanhope would have been neighbors with a lonely, newly wedded Minerva for a year before he left for America.

A lonely Minerva who Ben had basically encouraged to take lovers.

She had never said Sir Whose-it had been her only.

He felt ill.

He took a calming breath. He was a reasonable, rational man who would not jump to conclusions. No one had warned him this whole marriage and courting business brought out the worst of the jealous barbarian in men. He would have appreciated the knowledge instead of having these unwelcome feelings foisted upon him.

Another hour or so had passed when the doors to his offices burst open and in walked Carlisle with all his customary nonchalance. Ben bit back a reproachful snarl as Carlisle situated himself on Ben's chair behind Ben's desk.

What kind of gentleman wore rings on multiple fingers and earrings, anyway? What was he, some pirate?

'Oddly reminiscent of our years at Cambridge wouldn't you say?' Graham drawled with a twitch of amusement on his lips. The first he had seen in nearly two weeks since his friend had arrived at Ben's doorstep forcing him to go boxing at an ungodly hour in the morning.

If you do not come with me, I will drink. Graham had announced with such hopelessness that he had thoroughly terrified Ben. His friend was still tight-lipped about what had shaken him so thoroughly, and it wasn't like Ben was the kind of person who appeared inviting enough to people to get them to talk about their problems.

'You and Harry doing all the work while I laze about?' Carlisle grinned his Cheshire smile as his feet found themselves over the surface of Ben's desk. Ben considered tossing Carlisle out on his arse, but then they would be out of significant support. He did not know how Carlisle had gotten them meetings with some of the most elusive of their opposition, and just for that, he would tolerate his impudence. 'Ah, worry not gentlemen, for I come bearing good news.'

'And what is it, Carlisle?' Ben asked as Carlisle made no effort to elaborate.

'I do believe I have secured us the final two votes we need to swing the debate in our favor.' He purred smugly as the rest looked at him in disbelief. They hadn't been able to find a chink in their opposition's lobby for weeks.

'How?!' Graham demanded.

'Hmmm, hardly important, just know that it is done.' Carlisle just winked. 'Now! Up, you geriatrics! There's an exhibition match at Hellfire that none of you want to miss.'

'We have work.'

'Oh, don't act eighty for once in your life, Rothbury. I worked very hard to find an activity to appeal to all of you.' Carlisle made a dramatic pout. 'Can't go drinking because of Sister Hastings. Can't go to a bordello because of Sister Hastings and Stanhope. Can't do anything else improper because of you.'

'I have no interest in a bordello, either!' Ben snapped defensively, Carlisle's eyes shot to him, glinting in amusement.

'So that leaves boxing and gambling. Both of which we can do at Hellfire.' He continued after he had finished taking his cold measure of Benedict, absently flicking his earing. Emerald today, matching his waistcoat. 'So up with the lot of you, I have had your horses readied.'

'We could do with a break,' Graham sighed. 'We've been at work since the morning.'

'I should like to join you, Carlisle,' Stanhope added in hasty agreement, likely hoping that Ben would refuse.

'Very well!' Ben announced, just to tick Stanhope off.

A short while later, the four men were dismounting from their steeds as an eager stable boy came forward to lead their horses to the stables in the back. Stanhope stopped him and dropped several coins in the boy's palm as the child looked at him in shock.

'Sir, this is too much-'

'You have any siblings?' Stanhope asked, a strange look on his face.

'Aye, sir, a sister and a brother.'

'Buy them a good dinner tonight, alright? Roast chicken or whatever they like.' Stanhope cleared his throat as the boy scampered away, afraid that his luck might be short-lived. He scowled as he observed Carlisle's cold, assessing eyes on him.

'You know, you could just-' Carlisle began as Stanhope shot him an icy glare.

'I already know your opinion and need not your judgment. It's complicated.'

Carlisle just shrugged as if he hadn't a care in the world, and sauntered forward with his regular, lazy stroll, motioning the rest to follow.

What exactly was Stanhope hiding?

In another hour or so, it was becoming increasingly clear that the three men aside from Carlisle were not in a jubilant mood, with Carlisle himself getting mightily frustrated with his companions' lack of enthusiasm for the activities he had planned for the night. They had hardly even cheered when one bruiser had knocked his opponent out cold in a stunning show of professional skill. Nor were they overly enthused by the game of Hazard, all rolling the dice halfheartedly and betting the tiniest, most inconsequential sums. Two rounds of a similar nature passed until he decidedly had had enough.

'The devil is wrong with the lot of you?!' He slammed his palms down on the table, startling the rest of his companions. 'If I had wanted to spend my time with moody women, I'd be tupping your mothers.'

That got a strangled laugh out of both Graham and Ben, but Carlisle had lost all semblance of his aloof nature.

'You!' The irritated man snapped at Stanhope. 'Just tell your woman the goddamn truth about Cornwall before you marry her and ruin everything.'

Before Ben could even register the suspicious sentence, Carlisle's gaze was now trained on him. It was the first time he had ever seen the other man so obviously lose his composure.

'You!' His finger found Ben. 'What the fuck is your issue? Besides the stick up your arse that you were born with?'

'My wife is going to Boston.' He grumbled and then flushed at the admission.

'So? Either you go with her or you forbid her to go. And foist a few brats upon your woman and do whatever the fuck it is that married people do. Can you manage that or do I need to show you how to fuck, in addition?'

Ben sputtered, his face coloring. Before he could come up with a suitable, dukely retort, Carlisle had already shifted focus to Graham.

'And you!' He hissed as Graham looked at him in shock. 'Grow a goddamn pair of bollocks and ask your woman to marry you, society be damned. They're always looking for something to gossip about, why let those leeches control your life?'

'Easier said than done,' Graham hissed, his face a mixture of pain and mortification. 'Do you not think that I do not wish for it, that I do not ache for it? I do. Every damn day. But we all know the consequences of defying tradition. She would be shunned and ridiculed-'

'Carlisle is right.' The words burst forth from Ben, with such strong conviction that it surprised even himself. 'You should do it.'

'Rothbury! You, yourself were the one who lectured me on all the reasons why this would not work.'

'I was wrong.' Ben declared with an emotion so potent that he could not name it. 'I didn't understand then, but I do now. Once you are sure about a woman, you keep her by your side. You keep her, come hell or high water. You fight for her, come hell or high water. Our society is a harsh one, yes. It will be difficult, yes. My Duchess, she-'

Damn! His throat had become so thick with pain and remorse at the thought of his wife that he'd had to break off. So young and alone, having to face all of that herself. He had left her to fend for herself. It was like his heart was being twisted until it would tear.

If she never trusted me, I would deserve it.

'She saw a lot of hardship. It will be like that for your wife, but the difference is that you will be by her side, you will not make my mistakes. Rutland and I will be by your side. Yes, there will be gossip and conjecture and ridicule. But your wife will be a Marchioness, she will be welcomed in the houses of two dukes, keeping company with duchesses. Once Stanhope marries, you can add an earl and countess to the list as well. We will help you weather the storm. People will always look for the newest, hottest scandal. Why let fear of them stop you from being happy?'

Graham had turned ashen by the time Ben had finished speaking, looking dumbly between him and Carlisle.

'You're serious?' Graham's voice quivered with barely restrained emotion. 'You would support me?'

'You are my brother.' Ben answered simply.

Carlisle gave him a satisfied smile as he sunk back into his chair, his mask firmly back in place.

'I-I'm going to marry my woman.' Graham repeated in disbelief. And then once again with conviction. 'I am going to marry the woman I love! I owe the two of you a great debt. Now you had better pray she accepts me because if she doesn't I will probably move out of the damn country.'

As Graham strode away with renewed purpose, Carlisle casually pulled a cheroot from his pocket. He held it between his ringed fingers and took a long draw.

'I ought to open a matchmaking agency once I retire.' He said absently, with the same old cool amusement.

Retire from what, exactly?