'I'm so pleased you decided to stop by before you left, brother.' Ophelia Kent, formerly Montgomery, Countess Needham, offered Benedict an adoring smile from across the breakfast table before turning a grateful look to Graham. They were currently in her townhouse in Bath, where they had broken the first leg of their journey to Cornwall at her behest. 'And you, my lord, I am touched that you are traveling with Benedict. I will certainly rest less fitfully knowing you will be available if things go awry.'

'It is my pleasure, though your brother is determined to be an unpleasant traveling companion. My thanks to you and Lord Needham for your hospitality.' Graham chuckled good-naturedly but Benedict refused to feel even a pang of remorse. Granted, he had been incredibly ill-tempered, snapping at any minor provocation, but the way everyone around him seemed hell-bent on coddling him was driving him up the wall. He hated feeling as entirely helpless as he had the past few days. He was a man of action, one of the most influential men in the Kingdom, he had things to do, bills to pass, and estate matters to oversee. He was a busy, busy man and he did not have the time to be shuffled off to the country like a man in his dotage. To make matters worse, everyone around him was treating him as if he would die if they turned their attention from him for even a moment.

Who was he, without his work? Without his duty?

He did not have an answer.

'Ophelia, would you be so kind as to send word ahead of us to the estate in Cornwall? I do not know if Her Grace keeps it staffed at this time of year and I would hate to catch them unawares with our arrival.'

He could have sworn a conspiratorial look crossed her face for just a second before her sweet smile replaced it and she murmured her assent, avoiding his eye. The conversation shifted to the Marchioness of Graham and her charitable work with Graham providing all sorts of interesting details about his mother's work with her syndicate of influential ladies.

'Yes, I have heard all about your mother from Minerva. She absolutely sings her praises. Her Ladyship's work with the Women's Sanctuary is something incredibly commendable.'

Graham seemed pleased with the praise.

'It surprises me that Her Grace and my mother get along well. My mother is a tad....severe.'

'I think it was difficult for your mother to dislike someone who had such similar ideals as her, my Lord.'

'How do you mean?' Graham tilted his head. 'I thought it was her coin that made Her Grace more palatable to my mother. My mother is not too fond of the epidemic of Americans with money marrying into our ranks.'

'I think it's easy to see that Minerva is not exactly an idle heiress, she is very passionate about anything she sets her mind to and is a very determined woman.'

'Precisely. My Duchess is impressive, is she not?' Benedict felt his face shift into a mean smile. 'Just see Graham, she was set on having a title and here we are! The only title greater would be that of a princess, but alas I do not think princes have weaknesses as mortal as debt or addiction for her to exploit. Or they're more discreet about them than our dearly departed Father.'

Ophelia stiffened, narrowed her eyes at him, and uttered a reproachful 'Benedict!'

By God, his mood was so foul that he was here maligning a woman who couldn't even defend herself. And speaking ill of the dead. God, he was an unmitigated arse. And yet, he couldn't bring himself away from his anger. He was going to go live in her estate. Every goddamn thing was going to be a reminder of all she had taken from him. Every tile in that home was going to be a reminder that he had only made himself respectable on the back of her money.

'You know full well that is not what I meant! Her Grace is the patron of an orphanage in Cornwall, her dedication to the children is what persuaded Her Ladyship-'

'Here's an idea! Why don't we Saint the goddamned woman?! Everyone and their mothers seem to adore her so!' He snapped. Graham looked like he wanted to melt into the chair and disappear.

'Benedict, might I have a word with you in private?' His sister's voice was hard as steel, his friend was only too happy to exit the room with a polite excuse. Even the few servants looked relieved at their dismissal. God, his sister was truly the mirror image of their mother, particularly when she was in a right temper. She lifted her chin in the exact way that Benedict did when he was being haughty, about to deliver a cutting set down. They shared the same dark eyes, so brown they were almost black and they were a right fright when they were filled with anger. And right now, every ounce of his sister's righteous fury was trained on him.

'I will not have you insult my friend and my sister! Not in my home!' She snarled at him in a tone that would have sent all three Montgomery siblings running when employed by their mother. Lucky for him, he had stopped being afraid of his mother's wrath almost a decade ago and he would never be troubled by his sister no matter how loud of a tantrum she threw.

'I will speak of my wife however I goddamn wish, Ophelia and you are no one to command me otherwise. Might I remind you that you and mother were downright ghastly to her when she was engaged to Charlie? I am almost certain you've said far crueler things than I, you little hypocrite.' He snarled right back.

'I have apologized to your wife for my prejudice against her, and it speaks volumes of her character that she forgave me with such grace! Can you say the same?' Though she colored hotly with shame, she did not rise to the bait.

'I am not answerable to you, sister and you need not give me a lecture on the virtues of forgiveness. I do not understand how easy it is for you to stomach her after she didn't even pretend to go into mourning for Charlie. Nay, she was more than happy to speak her vows to me not even one week after he was buried!'

'She hardly knew Charlie! And you know it was our father that insisted on the hasty marriage, and not her!'

'You are deluded-' He started but Ophelia interrupted him, suddenly solemn. The anger in her eyes was instantaneously replaced by such sadness that he forgot his own fury. Suddenly it was not the woman of three and twenty that stood before him, it was the girl of five sneaking into his room when she'd had a nightmare. Never Charlie or their parents, always him because she knew he would take care of her. Those same eyes had lit with delight when he bought sweetmeats when he came home on holiday. She was the dearest thing to him in the entire world and he could not stand to quarrel with her. And certainly not about someone as inconsequential as Minerva Catherine Montgomery.

'How long do you intend to punish her for Charlie's death? How long to do you intend to punish yourself?'

'What are you talking about?' But even he knew his attempt at feigning ignorance was unbelievable.

'Ben, you are my dearest brother. You have always, always been so responsible. And God knows what you have sacrificed to make sure all of us live life with comforts that we take for granted. You always put family and duty above all else, but Benedict you are not responsible for what happened to Charlie.'

'If I had been home-'

'If you had been home, then it would be both of you that would be dead.' There was the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. Benedict felt his throat become thick.

'No. I would never have let him go to fetch the doctor. Because I would have known he was absolutely foxed.'

'Charlie was almost always drunk!' Her tears were flowing freely now. No one had ever spoken with him so openly about Charlie's faults, especially since it had the tendency to send their mother into hysterics. 'How many nights, Benedict, was Charlie away from home and none of us had any idea where he'd gone to? You did it once, Ben, once. And now you think you have to remain miserable and unloved to atone for some imagined crime. And it breaks my heart into pieces!'

'Phee....' All of a sudden he was so damned tired that he couldn't even form the words to reply. How could he explain to her that he did shoulder the blame for his brother's death? If he hadn't been selfish, Charlie would have been here and it was as simple as that.

'And as for Minerva, you never even gave her a chance! Just like Mother who still pretends as if she doesn't exist! She is so wonderful, Ben. She could make you so happy and it hurts me that you deny yourself a marriage, a family just because you decided who she was based on our horribly short-sighted opinions when she became Charlie's betrothed. Benedict, she is so full of love, it astounds and humbles you just to see it. And she could love you, if you would just let her. And you could love her, if only you would stop punishing yourself.'

'Ophelia. You are the dearest thing in my heart and you know that I have indulged you all your life, but on this subject, I will not be moved. Not even by you. I do not want her, I have never wanted her. I do not like nor respect her and any part of me that was capable of love died six years ago. If such a thing even exists. You ought to spend less time with Her Grace, she will make you into a fanciful, daydreaming sort like herself. With any luck, we can spend the rest of our lives without getting in each other's way, these past few years have been easy enough.'

He saw her shoulders sag in defeat but felt no triumph in it. He did not like to disappoint her, she who always looked up to him with such trust and wonder. He reached forward to pull her into an affectionate hug when he heard her wince.

'What is the matter, Phee?'

'I...uhm... it's the silliest thing, really.' She smiled at him weakly. 'I slipped after my bath last night, can you imagine?'

He tsked in disapproval. 'You've become clumsy as of late, Phee. Take better care of yourself.'

She nodded reassuringly but refused to meet his eye.

Some months later, he would look back to this moment and wonder how he could have possibly missed the signs.