Unconventional Suitors 01 - Her Unconventional Suitor (2 page)

The old competitive spirit welled up in Benedict, forcing him to agree to the bet. “Fine, pick whichever lady you will, and I will have her eating out of the palm of my hand by the season’s end, eager and ready to accept my marriage proposal.”

“But that’s too simple,” Marcus interjected. “I don’t think Benedict will have any problems getting a chit to fall in love with him. I fail to see the challenge in it.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Griffin gently scolded. “You will attempt to woo such lady disguised as an unfashionable half-wit.”

Warren snorted, Marcus beamed, and Benedict scowled.

“You ask too much. I am not, nor have I ever been, an unfashionable half-wit. Besides, what sort of lady would ever be interested in such a boor? I do not wish my re-entrance into polite society to be tainted by your preposterous idea.” Benedict shook his head in disgust as he thought of the outlandish wager.

“It’s not simply an idea,” Marcus reminded him, his eyes twinkling with glee, clearly amused at the prospect of Benedict making a cake of himself, “It’s a bet, and you cannot back out unless…”

“Unless,” Griffin interrupted, “you want your mother to find out about your father’s bastard child.”

Benedict groaned. Why did he have to threaten him with that, of all things?

“And,” apparently Griffin wasn’t finished, “be branded a coward for life.”

There was that as well. No proper gentleman would rightly desire to be called a coward, nor carry the reputation with them indefinitely.

“Fine,” he growled. “I will do it.” The satisfied grin that appeared on Griffin’s face made Benedict want to slug him. He would never have agreed to such an outlandish bet if he hadn’t thrown in that fact about his father’s illegitimate child. “But, if I am successful in my attempts, I require one thing from each of you.” He glanced at each one of his friends to make sure that they were all listening. When he was satisfied that they were, he announced his condition. “I will select your bride’s in return.”

“Fine by me.”

“Alright.”

“Very well.”

Benedict was surprised that his friends were so quick to acquiesce to his stipulation. His mind instantly began conjuring up visions of the frumpy and ill-mannered ladies he would chose for them as punishment. A wicked grin broke out across his face.

“Do not be so pleased with yourself,” Griffin chided. “The only reason I have agreed to your preposterous notion is because I am convinced that there is no way you will win the bet. You may have been considered all the crack in the past, but as soon as we are through dressing you and dictating how you will act, you’d be lucky to get the stuffiest bluestocking to dance with you, let alone agree to become your wife. The lady we choose will have to willingly and readily become your wife, no easy feat.”

“What about excitedly?” Benedict asked arrogantly. They all scoffed at him as if that were the most preposterous idea.

Benedict chose to ignore their insulting ways and asked, “What if I simply compromise the chit you choose, forcing her into marriage?”

“That will not qualify as a win,” Warren eagerly piped in. “Griffin clearly stated that you will have to get the lady of our choosing to fall in love with you. You will forfeit the bet if you are found compromising her.”

Benedict’s eyes scrunched together in a scowl. “Are there any other rules I should be made aware of?”

Griffin shook his head. “I think that covers everything. You will have till the end of the season to be engaged. If you are not, we will claim the victory and be free to tell your mother about your father’s illegitimate son, your half-brother.”

Griffin stuck his outstretched hand in Benedict’s face, indicating that they should shake on the absurd wager. Benedict slapped his hand away and growled while Griffin threw his head back and laughed. Benedict had a feeling that this was going to be the longest season of his life.

Benedict sat before the glowing fire in his bedchamber, wearing only his dressing gown, when his valet, Jonathan, came strolling out of his dressing room with a pair of black wool pants and a freshly starched white muslin shirt draped over his arm. His new wardrobe had just been delivered that morning, and Jonathan had perhaps been even more excited than Benedict upon their arrival.

The man strode over to where Benedict was sitting and said, “Allow me to assist you with your dress, my lord.”

Benedict waved one hand before him. “Not tonight, Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s face registered confusion. “You have no need of my services, my lord? Are you not going out for the evening?”

Benedict leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “It is not that at all. I have found that none of the clothing I ordered will do.”

Jonathan gulped loudly. “Do they not fit to your liking, my lord, or is it something else? They appear to be cut of the finest material and are very well made.”

Oh and they were, Benedict thought with irritation. His new wardrobe had been ordered with care, each garment being custom-made to fit his physique to perfection. He had spared no expense on the wardrobe either, hoping to make a good impression upon his re-entrance into society. But, thanks to his dim-witted friends, the clothing would go to waste this season, a thought that vexed him greatly.

Benedict debated whether he should fabricate a story to tell Jonathan or if he should simply tell him the truth as to why he would not be wearing some of his new clothing to the Trenton Ball this evening. He finally settled on being honest.

Jonathan sat stone-faced listening to Benedict’s silly excuse. It sounded even sillier to Benedict’s ears when he was forced to try and explain his reasoning. It was clear that Jonathan was not amused. Once he had finished explaining the bet, leaving out the part about the child the former Earl of Danford had fathered with his lover, he sat back in his wing-backed chair and waited for a response.

Several long seconds passed before Jonathan spoke haughtily. “What a foolish idea, my lord. You are no longer in your youth; your reputation does not need to be compromised at your friends request. Your mother would be appalled to learn of this. I insist you back out of this childish bet at once.”

“It is not your place to insist I do anything,” Benedict reprimanded. Jonathan’s cheeks turned red as he continued, “Nor will I allow you to speak a word of it to my mother, understood?”

Like the obedient valet he was, Jonathan dipped his head and mumbled, “Yes, my lord,” though Benedict knew it pained him greatly to do so.

Rising, he motioned towards his dressing room. “You may have the evening off, Jonathan. My friends will be here any moment to help me with my facade.”

Jonathan scurried to the dressing room to replace the unused clothing just as a firm knock resounded through the room. Benedict walked to the door and swung it open with a flourish to reveal Warren, Marcus, and Griffin dressed in the height of fashion.

He stood back and let the men walk into the room, silently inspecting their evening wear. All three men were dressed in impeccable attire, from their finely cut tailcoats down to their perfectly polished shoes. Benedict had no doubt in his mind that they spared no effort in their appearance that night in hopes of making him look even worse.

Griffin walked over to the bed and plopped down a heap of faded clothing that he had been carrying in his arms. He pulled a ghastly looking red velvet dress coat from on top of the stack and turned, holding it up for Benedict to see.

“This is for tonight.”

Benedict’s eyes widened in alarm as he took in the tailcoat that was cut atrociously wide, instead of fitted as per the current fashion dictated. “It’s horrid.”

He walked over to the stack of clothing and began rummaging through it, desperately hoping to find something less hideous and less out of date than the offensive jacket. Finding nothing he scoffed, “Where did you find all of this atrocious clothing? In your own closest?”

“Not likely,” Griffin answered. “Most of it came from Warren.”

Benedict looked to Warren who was several inches taller than he and much more slender. He doubted the clothing would fit, at least he hoped and prayed it wouldn’t.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” Marcus urged impatiently, “or we will be late for the ball.”

Benedict removed his dressing gown, throwing it haphazardly onto the bed while he waited for Griffin to hand him the chosen clothing. He handed him a worn shirt which he slipped over his head. The sleeves dripped with lace that was yellowed with age. It fit so snugly that Benedict was afraid if he lifted his arms the seams would rip.

“How am I supposed to dance in this?” he asked with disgust, flinging his hands out before him as he inspected the horrendous lace and shuddered.

Marcus laughed. “You mean you think you’ll actually find a lady desperate enough to dance with you dressed like that? Not likely. Now put these on,” he said, stretching forth a pair of navy blue breeches that were too long.

Benedict slipped into the ill-fitting breeches then waited for Griffin to tie a ruffled cravat around his neck. He despised ruffles. Next, Griffin helped him into yellow waistcoat embroidered with green leaves before assisting him into the red velvet jacket whose sleeves were unfashionably short.

“It’s no wonder you haven’t been able to snare a wife, Warren, with these dreadful clothes at your disposal. I can only imagine that if I look this awful, then you must have looked downright hideous in them.”

Warren rolled his eyes. “You cad, those aren’t really from my closest. Do you think I would dare be seen wearing something so unfashionable? Hardly,” he scoffed.

Benedict glared at Griffin. “I hardly dare ask where they came from then.”

“Wise idea,” Griffin assured him. “It’s best you do not know. Now put these on,” he said, extending a pair of scuffed leather shoes with a large brass buckle towards him.

Benedict hesitated before attempting to shove his foot into the shoes, without any success. “They aren’t going to fit,” he said with satisfaction.

“That’s all I could procure,” Griffin said. “You will just have to wear your own shoes.”

Benedict considered it a small victory, until he put his brand new, perfectly polished shoes on and stood back to inspect himself in the looking glass. If it were possible, the shoes only made him look even more unfashionable, for they stood out like an eye sore next to his faded and ill-fitting clothes.

“I look like an a—“

“Unfashionable half-wit,” Warren said, handing him a quizzing glass to finish off the look. “Exactly what we were hoping to accomplish. Now don’t forget, you must act the part as well or no one will believe it is true.”

Benedict groaned.

“So basically, you may continue to act as yourself,” Marcus teased.
“It’s time for us to depart,” Warren said, coming over to muss Benedict’s perfectly styled hair. “We will see you at the ball.”

“I may not come,” Benedict called after their retreating figures.

“It’s your choice,” Griffin shrugged, “but then you won’t get to see which lucky lady we choose for you to wed.”

Benedict threw the quizzing glass at his back, but Griffin pulled the door closed right before it reached him. The glass smashed into the door then clattered to the ground. Benedict was hopeful that it had broken, but when he bent to retrieve the dratted thing, it was miraculously in one piece. Just his luck.

***

Benedict walked uncomfortably up the three stone stairs leading into the Trenton’s townhouse. He handed the butler his card, the whole time trying to pretend he didn’t notice the disdainful looks the servants were giving him.

He followed a servant into the ballroom where he was introduced to the mistress of the house, Lady Fiona Trenton.

“Benedict St. Claire, the Earl of Danford.”

Lady Trenton eyed him skeptically, taking in his appearance with a scowl on her face. Her lips pinched tightly together as he took her hand and bowed carefully before her in hopes his clothing wouldn’t tear.

“It is an honor, madam.”

“Yes, I am sure that it is.” Her voice was disdainful and Benedict was grateful she couldn’t see him flinch.

He stepped into the ballroom, scanning the throngs of people looking for Marcus, Griffin, and Warren. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he noticed several people turn to look at him before quickly turning away, as if he wasn’t worthy of their glance. He felt deuced uncomfortable. His hideous ruffled cravat suddenly felt as if it were suffocating the breath right out of him.

Finally, he spotted his friends and began quickly making his way to where they were standing, glasses of champagne in each of their hands. He tried to pretend that he didn’t notice several ladies tittering behind their gloves as he passed, knowing full well that he was making a cake of himself and hating every minute of it.

“You better wipe that scowl off of your face, lest you scare your future bride away,” Marcus warned as he approached.

Benedict grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray and took a long swallow. “About that. Have you had enough time to make your selection?”

“Hardly,” Griffin chimed in. “We only just got here minutes before you. Please be so kind as to allow us ample time to make such an important decision.”

The four of them quietly moved to a corner of the ballroom where they could comfortably appraise their options. Benedict pulled at his cravat, wishing he could take it off. The room felt too hot. He glanced around at the ladies in attendance, curiously wondering which one his friends would choose.

His eyes roamed around the outskirts of the room, spotting several ladies standing with their mother’s, looking around nervously as if they were anxious for somebody, anybody to ask them to dance. A quick appraisal told them that these were the spinster’s of the ball. They appeared older than most of the ladies, clearly about to be considered on the shelf or already firmly there. Their dresses were out of style and their faces not altogether pleasing. It was no wonder they had not made a match.

Inwardly Benedict groaned. These were exactly the type of ladies that his friends, in their attempt at humor, would match him with. He couldn’t fathom spending the rest of his life with someone he wasn’t attracted to in the slightest. Not for the first time, he thought this whole thing a foolish idea. If it weren’t for his friends threatening to tell his mother about his father’s shameful secret, he’d back out of the deal this instant.