Montgomery Townhouse, Berkeley Square—Early Evening
Benedict stepped down from the carriage looking like a man who had survived a storm at sea, except the storm had apparently been Sophia Fiennes announcing diplomatic vodka missions to Russia.
Duke Cecil followed behind him, composed as ever, though his expression suggested he had aged several years in the past hour.
The townhouse doors opened before they even reached the steps.
Duchess Eleanor swept forward, skirts gliding, eyes sharp enough to cut diamonds. Lord Edward trailed behind her, looking suspiciously innocent—which meant, of course, that he did something far from it.
Eleanor took one look at Benedict's defeated posture and paled.
"Cecil," she demanded, "what happened to Ben? He looks as though he witnessed a war crime."
Cecil exhaled and turned to their eldest son with theatrical slowness. "Well," he said dryly, "your oldest son here is the reason Benedict is like this."
