Montgomery Townhouse, Berkeley Square—Late Evening
The drawing room was far too small for Benedict Montgomery's distress.
He paced from one end to the other, boots scuffing over the Aubusson carpet, his coat discarded onto a nearby chair as though it had personally offended him. The fire crackled merrily, completely unbothered by the emotional spiral occurring in front of it.
On the sofa sat Duchess Eleanor, elegantly sipping her tea, her expression hovering between maternal concern and barely concealed amusement.
Beside her, Duke Cecil tried valiantly to read the evening papers but kept glancing over the pages to monitor his youngest son's agitation, and Lord Edward, Benedict's older brother, lounged like a bored cat, swirling his brandy with a grin that was entirely too knowing.
Benedict dragged a hand through his hair for the fifth time.
"I simply do not understand," he burst out. "A marriage of the mind? With Felix? Felix of all people?"
