The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(75)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“Oh. Ah.” Bennet frowned thoughtfully.

Harry searched for a change of subject. “I’m grateful to you for coming with me,” he said. “Sorry you had to rush Thomas’s funeral. And your father’s.”

“Actually”—Bennet cleared his throat—“I was glad you were there, rushed or not. Thomas and I weren’t close, but he was my brother. And it was hard dealing with the succession on top of his funeral. As for Father…” Bennet swiped a drip of water off his nose and shrugged.

Harry splashed through a puddle. Not that it mattered. He was already soaked to the skin.

“Of course, you’re my brother, too,” Bennet said. Harry shot a glance at him. Bennet was squinting down the road.

“The only brother I have now.” Bennet turned and gave him a surprisingly sweet smile.

Harry half grinned. “Aye.” “Excepting Will, here.” Bennet nodded to the boy clinging to his back like a monkey.

Will’s eyes widened. “What?”

Harry scowled. He hadn’t wanted to tell Will, as he was afraid it would confuse the boy’s already complicated life, but it appeared that Bennet wasn’t waiting to discuss the matter.

“It seems that my father might very well be yours as well,” Bennet said now to the child. “We have similar eyes, you know.”

“But mine are brown.” Will frowned. “The shape, he means,” Harry said. “Oh.” Will thought about that for a bit, then peeked at him. “What about Harry? Am I his brother, too?”

“We don’t know,” Harry said quietly. “But since we don’t, we might as well say we are. If you don’t mind. Do you?”

Will vigorously shook his head. “Good,” Bennet said. “Now that’s settled, I’m sure Will is as concerned as I am about your impending nuptials.”

“What?” Harry lost the smile that had begun to form on his lips.

“The thing is, Lady Georgina is the Earl of Maitland’s sister.” Bennet pursed his lips. “And if she decides to dig in her heels… might be a problem, the two of us going up against an earl.”

“Huh,” Harry said. It hadn’t occurred to him before that he might have to go through his lady’s brothers in order to speak to her. But if she was well and truly mad at him… “Damn.”

“Exactly.” Bennet nodded. “It’d help if we could send word ahead to someone in London when we reach the next town. Have them reconnoiter, so to speak. Especially if it takes a while to get you a fresh horse.” Bennet looked at the mare, who was definitely lagging.

“Aye.”

“Not to mention, it would be nice to have someone at our back when we confront Maitland,” Bennet continued. “I know a couple of blokes in London, of course. Might be up for it, if we can convince them it’s a sort of lark.” His brow furrowed. “They aren’t usually sober, but if I impress upon them the seriousness—”

“I have some friends,” Harry said. “Who?” “Edward de Raaf and Simon Iddesleigh.” “The Earl of Swartingham?” Bennet’s eyes widened. “And Iddesleigh’s titled, too, isn’t he?”

“He’s Viscount Iddesleigh.” “How the hell do you know them?” “Met through the Agrarian Society.” “The Agrarians?” Bennet wrinkled his nose as if at a bad smell. “Don’t they debate turnips?”

Harry’s mouth quirked. “It’s for gentlemen interested in agriculture, yes.”

“I suppose it takes all kinds.” Bennet still looked dubious. “Christ, Harry, I had no idea. If you have friends like that, why the hell are you playing around with me and Will?”

“You two are my brothers, aren’t you?” “Aye!” Will shouted. “So we are.” Bennet’s face broke into a broad smile. And then he tipped back his head and laughed into the rain.

“THIS BLUE IS VERY NICE, my lady.” Tiggle held up the gown in question, spreading the skirts over her arm.

George glanced at the frock so enticingly displayed and tried to muster some enthusiasm. Or at the very least care one way or the other. It was her wedding day. She and Tiggle were in her bedroom in her London town house, which was presently strewn with the bright colors of rejected frocks. George was having a hard time convincing herself the wedding was real. It was only a scant week since she and her brothers had talked to Cecil, and now she was readying herself to marry him. Her life had taken on the aspect of one of those horrid dreams where a ghastly doom was inevitable and nobody could hear the screams.

“My lady?” Tiggle prompted.

If she screamed now, would anyone hear? George shrugged. “I don’t know. The neckline doesn’t really suit me, does it?”

Tiggle pursed her lips and set aside the blue. “Then what about the yellow brocade? The neckline is square and quite low, but we could put in a lace fichu, if you like.”

George wrinkled her nose without looking. “I don’t fancy all the ruffles about the bottom of the skirt. Makes me look like a cake with too much marzipan decoration.”

What she really ought to wear was black. Black with a black veil. She looked down at her vanity and touched with one finger the little carved horse standing on it. The swan and the eel sat to either side of the horse. They looked rather forlorn without the leopard to guard them, but she’d left him behind for Harry.

“You’ll have to decide soon, my lady,” Tiggle said from behind her. “You’re to be wed in less than two hours.”

George sighed. Tiggle was being awfully kind to her. Normally, a bit of vinegar would have shown through her lady’s maid façade by now. And she was right. It was no use holding on to dreams. Soon she would have a baby. Its welfare was of far greater importance than the silly fantasies of a woman who liked to collect fairy tales.

“I think the green, the one embroidered with lilies,” she said. “It isn’t as new as the others, but it’s rather fine and I’ve always felt it became me.”

Tiggle gave a sigh of what sounded like relief. “A good choice, my lady. I’ll get it out.”

George nodded. She pulled out one of the shallow drawers at the top of her vanity. Inside was a plain wooden box. She opened the box and carefully laid the horse, the swan, and the eel inside.

“My lady?” Tiggle was waiting with the gown. George closed the box and the drawer and turned to prepare for her wedding.