Much Ado about the Shrew (16 page)

           
"I'm tired of watching my
friend drink himself into a stupor instead of facing the music," Milford
said, slamming his glass down onto the table. Some of it splashed a bit, to the
side, and he swore while waving away a servant who rushed over. With a sigh, he
pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hand dry. Both Ben and Welles stared at
him as he picked up his glass again, and frowned at the liquid inside.
"Bloody waste of good brandy," he grumbled.

           
"Alcohol abuse, that,"
Welles murmured.
 

           
Ben glared at Milford, then frowned.
"What are we arguing about again?" he asked.

           
All three men laughed, and Ben took
another drink. His head no longer ached. In fact, nothing ached anymore.
 

           
"What color are her eyes?"
Milford asked.

           
"What?" Ben felt himself
nodding off. It felt good, being numb to everything. He wasn't sure if he could
walk, however; he would have to ask the servants could pour him into his coach.

           
"Blue, I believe,"
supplied Welles.

           
"No, grey, I think,” Milford
said.

           
"Who are we talking about?"
Ben slurred.

           
"Your young lady. Her
eyes," Milford said, looking pointedly at Welles.

           
"They are grey-green," Ben
interjected angrily. Would they stop already? What kind of friends did he have,
anyway?
 
Ben thought of Bee's eyes, how
they sparked when they were angry with him, how they deepened when she spoke of
her family, and how they softened when they spoke about literature. "They
change, depending upon her mood."
 

           
"You mean hazel?" Milford
teased.

           
"Whatever," Ben muttered.

           
"I find it interesting that
Kendal knows what color Lady Beatrice's eyes are, but was somewhat hesitant
about Lady... what's her name?"

           
"Isadora," said Welles.

           
"Shut up," Ben said.
Dammit, he was losing that wonderful numb feeling.

           
"I cannot remember what color
eyes the last woman I was with had. I think blue," Milford mused.
"Yes, most definitely blue. Or brown. One of those two."

           
"Not green?" Welles
laughed.

           
"
Hm
,"
Milford said, pursing his lips together. "I think you're right. They were
green."

           
Ben rolled his eyes. "Point
taken, gentlemen," he said in a bored tone. "And I use the term
'gentlemen' loosely."

           
"We should be offended,"
Welles noted.

           
"I believe we're offensive.
Does that count?" Milford asked.

           
"I think I need another
drink," said Ben.

           
"How many drinks does that
make?" asked Welles.

           
"You're counting my
drinks?"

           
"How many drinks do you think
it will take until Kendal here acknowledges he loves Lady Beatrice?"
Milford asked.

           
"Enough!" Ben growled and
stood again.
 

           
Milford ignored him and looked pointedly
at Welles. "So how long have we decided Kendal here has had a
tendre
for Lady
Beatrice? Bee, is it?" Milford mused.

           
"He did visit her every time he
was on leave," Welles pointed out.

           
"So, for several years
then," Milford mused.

           
"At least," Welles said.

           
"I am not..." Ben started
to stay, but stopped mid-sentence. What if they were right? What if he really
did love Bee?
 
Ben sank down into the
chair and put his head in his hands. "God dammit," he muttered.
 

           
"Oh, don't be too upset,"
Welles said, reaching over and patting him on the knee. "You've made worse
mistakes in your life."

           
"Being friends with us, for
one," Milford added.

           
"We should drink to that,"
said Welles, taking a sip.

           
"I hate you both," Ben
grumbled.

           
"I'll drink to that,"
Milford said, raising his glass. "To hating us both!"

           
"Here, here!" said Welles,
draining his glass.

           
Ben kept his head cradled in his
left hand, but grabbed his glass with his right hand, and toasted along with
them.

           
Ben woke late the next morning, and
crawled out of bed with a sense of urgency, ignoring his pounding head.
Sometime quickly he needed to find Bee and declare his undying love to her. His
stomach lurched, either at that thought or the fact that he had too much brandy
the night before; he wasn't entirely sure. He moaned as the world tilted on its
side, and he sat back down heavily on the bed. For the first time in several
months, he bemoaned the lack of a valet; a valet would have his clothes spread
out, and maybe even a tincture prepared to help him through the morning.
 
Ben groaned at the thought. If he were to
hire a valet, it would probably be best if he were to move back into his house
with his mother and sister. Of course, he would need to do that, anyway, when
he and Bee were married. His throat constricted and he lay back onto the
sheets, staring at the ceiling. He and Bee married? Who would have ever
thought? But first he had to prove to
Bee
that they
were a good match. If their kisses were any indication, then they would definitely
be a good match in the bedroom, but Ben wasn't sure if he should bring that up.
Somehow he had to prove to
Bee
that they could get
through an afternoon without fighting.
I
survived against Napoleon's army for five years... I suppose one afternoon shouldn't
be too terribly difficult.
 

           
Then why was he terrified?

           
Ben sat up, much more slowly this
time, and, with careful movements, got himself dressed while planning his day
in his mind. First, he would stop off at his club and get breakfast (even though
his stomach rebelled at the thought), then he would call on Bee and spend an
entire afternoon with her without arguing.
 
After that, he would call on his mother and, let her know of his
intentions of moving back home.
 
He
wondered how his mother and sister would take the news of his marrying Bee, and
his stomach flipped on him again.
 
He
realized he would be living in a house with three women. Three very demanding,
opinionating women. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “Courage, man,” he
told himself, and forced himself out the door.

           
A few hours later, Ben handed his
reins off to an eager young footman in front of the house Lennox had rented. Reminding
himself that if Lennox could live with three women, he certainly could as well,
he hopped out of the curricle. "I should only be a few minutes," he
said to the footman, tossing him a coin, which the footman quickly pocketed.
 

As Ben began walking towards the house,
he noted a familiar figure standing right outside of it. "Welles! What are
you doing here?" Ben asked. "Where is Milford?" he looked down
the street. "I never see you two apart."

           
"I, well, um..." Welles
looked at the ground, then scratched the back of his head nervously.

           
"Out with it, man!" Ben
said, slapping him on the shoulder and shoving him up the steps when he balked
nervously.

           
"I'm here to call on Lady
Julia," Welles confessed as Ben pushed him towards the door.

           
Ben stopped suddenly.
"Really?" he asked. "Lady
Juli
- Bee's
cousin?"

           
"Yes," Welles said defensively.

           
Ben blinked, confused. "I
wasn't aware there was anything between you," he said.

           
"I don't know if there
is," Welles returned, frowning. "That's why I'm here."

           
Ben smiled at his friend and patted
him conspiratorially on the back. "I supposed I finally get to see the great
Lord Welles nervous about something! I’ve seen you face down cannon-fire with
nary a blink of an eye.”
 

Welles swallowed and drew his finger
around his cravat, pulling it away from his throat. “I would rather face
cannon-fire than what I fear I’ll have to deal with in there,” he said.

Ben laughed hollowly, Welles’ thoughts
mimicking his own, and rapped the knocker on the door. “It can’t be that bad,
man.
 
Just a few women… and their
mothers,” he muttered. He saw Welles visibly shudder and placed his hand on his
shoulder and squeezed it gently. “C’mon, chap, you’ve met Bee’s family,” he
murmured. “A nicer group of people you’ve never met.”

Welles
nodded, but looked visibly pale.

Ben
shook his head. “That bad, eh? And here I thought I was the only one headed into
the parson's mousetrap."

           
Welles pulled at his cravat again as
if it were choking him. "Yes, well,
er
... one
thing at a time, you know."

           
“Wish I would have known as much
last night,” Ben grumbled to himself, but Welles didn’t respond as he was
swallowing convulsively.

           
"Does Milford know?" Ben
asked quietly as they entered the house and were escorted into the parlor.

           
"Milford knows
everything," Welles returned in a whisper. "Even what you don't tell
him."

           
Ben chuckled. "True," he
noted.

           
Bertram announced him, then
retreated almost as elegantly as Simmons did, Ben noted. He was finding himself
noting a lot of small things lately that he never did before. He filed that as
something to mull over at another time, then greeted Bee's aunt.
 
Bee was sitting in the corner, next to one of
the
gits
who had been spouting poetry to her at the
Hereford ball.

           
Ben allowed himself to reminisce for
a moment on the kiss they had shared in the library. He had been the first
person ever to kiss Bee. The first person to ever cup her pert breasts, the
first person to make her moan. And he would be the first to undress her, the
first to-

           
"Lord Kendal, how nice of you
to join us," Bee said, interrupting his thoughts. Ben noticed that he had
walked across the room without realizing it.

           
"Lady Beatrice," he said,
and looked over at the man next to him. "Lord... Norton," he said,
hoping that was correct.

           
"Lord Kendal," Norton
returned flatly. Ben smiled to himself; Norton was obviously still miffed that
his poetry recital the other night had been interrupted.

           
"Lord Norton and I were just
discussing which were superior; novels or poetry. Which do you prefer, my
lord?" she batted her eyes lightly at him and gave a small smile.

           
Ben smiled back, but instead of
rising to her bait (as he had never read a novel, and the only poetry he had
ever learned was what he had been forced to read at school, which he knew she
was well aware), he asked, "Why Lady Beatrice, what is your
favorite?"

           
Ben looked slightly taken aback, but
recovered quickly. "Why, I was just telling Lord Norton here that I adore
my novels, especially my penny
dreadfuls
."
 
Lord Norton looked back at her, and Ben was
fairly certain he was getting prepared to tell her why she was wrong.

           
"Why is that, then?" he
asked, interrupting Norton before he had a chance to speak.

           
"Well," Bee said slowly,
looking at him with some curiosity now, "I suppose I enjoy those novels
with happy endings. There are so few happy endings in the world."

           
"Which is why poetry is more
true of real life," Norton said condescendingly.

           
"But we don't always wish to
read about the continued sorrows of the world," Bee tried to explain.
"Sometimes it's pleasant to imagine a happier world."

           
"Spoken like a true
optimist," Norton said with an air of disdain. Bee frowned and looked to
Ben.

           
"I can say that I have seen
quite a bit of the worst side of humanity," Ben mused, and noted when
Bee's face fell. "But I believe I must take Lady Beatrice's side, on this
point, anyway. Perhaps if we read more happy endings, there will
be
more happy endings."

           
Bee smiled up at him. Grey eyes, he
noted, and smiled back, giving a small wink.

           
Norton began speaking again, but Ben
interrupted him. "I do so hate to steal Lady Beatrice away from you again,
Norton, but we did have an appointment to go driving. Do you not remember, my
dear?" He put his hand out, and Bee automatically placed hers into his.

           
"Oh, dear, is it that time
already? How time flies when speaking to such knowledgeable friends!" she
said, looking pointedly at Norton, who stopped scowling once she graced her
smile upon him.

           
"Of course, Lady,
Beatrice," he said. "It has indeed been a pleasure." He stood
and bowed, but glared at Ben before walking away and joining the crowd around
Lady Julia. Ben noticed absently that Welles had managed to procure a seat
right between Julia and her aunt.

           
With a nod to Lady Lennox, Ben
guided Bee to the foyer.

           
"Burton, please tell Lady
Lennox that I've taken her niece out for a drive. We should be back in plenty
of time to prepare for dinner tonight."

           
Burton gave a slight nod. "I
believe your team is still in front," he noted.

           
"Do you need to change,
m'dear
?" he asked Bee.

           
"Why?" Bee asked
defensively, "is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?"

           
Instead of retorting, Ben merely
smiled. "You are quite lovely the way you are now. I just know that my
mother and sister are constantly changing."

           
Bee gave a hesitant smile.
"Thank you, Ben," she said. "I should get a wrap, however."

           
Ben waited until her maid brought her
a wrap, then went back upstairs for her bonnet, then realized she should
probably take her reticule, then decided she should most likely change her
shoes. Ten minutes later, Bee came down in a different dress altogether.

           
Ben bit back the response that was
gathering in the back of his throat. Instead he said diplomatically, "That
is a lovely dress.”

 
          
Bee
laughed. "You can go ahead and say it," she smiled.

           
"Say what?" he asked as he
finally
led her out to his curricle.
Luckily his team was a pair of older geldings; not as smart-looking as the
current style, but safe for London's busy streets and much less spirited. They
were standing as placidly as a working hack horse.

           
"You told me so," Bee
said, and paused as Ben grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into the
vehicle. Ben thought he heard her breath catch, and he winked up at her once
she was secure. "Never," he said in a low voice so only she could
hear. "I'd take my revenge in much more... unique ways."

           
Bee's eyes grew wide and Ben grinned
as he walked around to the other side and hopped into the curricle, grabbing
the reins on his way up. "Ready, Bee?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Let them go," he told the footman, and once his horses' heads were
released, he guided them out into the street.

           
They were silent for several minutes
as Ben's horses trotted placidly through the quiet streets.
 
Ben found that Bee's presence, which usually
set him on edge, now somewhat calming. She was wearing some sort of lavender
scent, and his thoughts drifted to the masquerade, where he licked it off of
her neck. He sighed contentedly and looked over at the person who had invaded
his thoughts and, apparently his heart, sitting a bit stiffly at his side.

           
Nudging her a bit with his arm, he
tried for conversation. "I never knew you enjoyed novels."

           
Bee looked over at him.
"Yes," was all she said.

           
Ben rolled his eyes.
"Bee," he admonished.

           
"I'm sorry, but you're just
acting, so... oddly," she frowned, pursing her eyebrows.
 
She had an adorable little crease there, Ben
realized. He hadn't noticed that before.

           
"Does it bother you? Would you
rather we be at each other's throats?" Ben asked, turning his attention
back to his horses.

           
"No... no," Bee said.
"It's just that I don't know how to act when we're not fighting."