Much Ado about the Shrew (2 page)

           
Benedick
had never thought that he would appreciate being
back in London.
 
It was dirty, noisy,
crowded, and the entertainments of the Season had never really held much appeal
for him.
 
He was surprised, therefore,
when he actually found himself looking forward to returning to London and to
the arms of the
ton
.

           
Years
of toiling on a muddy battlefield, surrounded by sick, wounded and dying would
do that to a man.

           
Thank
God the stupid war was over.
Thank God
Napoleon was defeated.
He knew it wasn't very
Christain
-like
to wish someone dead, but he found he had nothing but joy in his heart when he
heard the news that he was at least exiled. And now there was to be no more
fighting; at least on the French front, anyway. There would be no more
advancing, or retreating, or watching the men die under his command. He shook
his head to get rid of the image that cropped up. No, now the greatest
challenge he would face on a daily basis was to prevent from being
leg-shackled. Nothing like perspective to make a man appreciate things.

           
Like
the
ton
, and going to any sort of endless
balls, routs or dinner parties.

           
Garden
parties, the opera, the theatre.

           
Taking
his seat in Parliament.

           
Dear
God, perhaps he should re-enlist.

           
"Barrett!
I say, Barrett! Over here!" Ben heard a familiar voice across the park.

           
"Milford?
Milford, is that you?" Ben said, turning his dark bay gelding towards the
two figures who were riding up towards him through the morning mist.
 
It did not even register in his mind that he
was not being addressed as his now current title, Lord Kendal, as he was admittedly
not used to it yet, even though his father and brother had died last year.
 
He had insisted on continuing to be called
Barrett by his men through the end of the war, as if somehow he could prevent
having to take on the mantle of Earl. Now he was in London, however, and there
was no more war to be had, and no more excuses to hide behind.
 

           
"Milford!
It is you! Who is there with you? I forgot how terribly foggy it can be in
London in the mornings," Ben called back.

           
"Oh,
who else would possibly put up with me for more than a few hours, besides you,
of course?" Milford asked, trotting his horse towards him.

           
"Welles
is here? Why, of course, it must be, no one else besides us
can
stand you," Ben smiled.

           
"It
is I," Welles said, walking his horse up to the two of them. "Why I
let this idiot talk me into going riding in this... slop is beyond me,
however," he groaned. "I had enough of riding in inclement weather
during the war."

           
"It's
only fog, anyhow. You'll get soft, you know, if you stay at home all warm and
dry and coddled," Milford admonished.

           
"I
want
to be warm and dry and
coddled," Welles grumbled.

           
Ben
smiled at his two friends, Major William Welles and Major James Milford. All
three of them were second sons of aristocracy, and as such, they had made the
decision to go into the military when they came of age. They had enlisted all
about the same time, Ben immediately after his friend William had been murdered
in that senseless duel.
 
As luck would
have it, they all managed to survive years of fighting in the Continent,
although they all bore several scars, both internal and external. Ben noted
that while Milford seemed to hide most of his scars through sarcasm, Welles
focused on putting the entire war out of his mind by refusing to talk about it.
At all.

           
"Were
you off to anywhere special?" Ben asked.

           
"No,
just got into town a few days ago, trying to settle in," Milford said.

           
"I
came in with this lout and haven't managed to extricate myself from him,"
Welles added.

           
Ben
laughed. "Good to know things haven't changed. How was the country?"

           
"God.
Boring as bloody hell," Milford groaned. "Oh, dammit, I should watch
my language. There might be ladies about. Are there ladies about?" he
turned to and fro in his saddle.

           
"No,
the women were all too smart to ride this morning," Welles said.

           
"Exercise
is good for you," Milford reminded him.

           
"I
hate the bloody rain," Welles grumbled.

           
"You
should watch your bloody language," Milford admonished. "There might
be some goddamn ladies about."

           
"There
are no goddamn ladies about!" Welles said loudly.

           
A
gasp from behind them proved that there were, indeed, some ladies present,
although they hurried across the park, darting angry glances at the trio.

           
"Oh,
bloody hell," Welles mumbled.

           
Ben
and Milford's mounts shifted as they laughed loudly at Welles.
           
"We've all been gone too long
from society," Ben laughed. "We really do need to watch our bloody
language."

           
Even
Welles chuckled at Ben's remark.

           
"What
time do you think it is?" Ben asked.

           
Welles
and Milford looked at one another. "
Nearabouts
eight o'clock, I guess," Welles shrugged.

           
"Damn.
Too early for a drink. What say we ride over to my mother's townhouse and see
what Cook has for breakfast."

           
"Sounds
better than breakfast at White's," Milford said.

           
"The
staff there always overcooks the eggs," Welles said.

           
"Exactly!"
Milford exclaimed. "How difficult is it to cook eggs?"

           
"And
why do they always run out of toast just when I want an extra slice?"

           
"The
kippers were a bit overdone last week, as well."

           
"Gentlemen?"
Ben interrupted. "Sorry to change the subject from what is obviously a
matter for Parliament, but it looks as if it might start raining in earnest
soon."

           
"Capital
idea," Milford said. "And after breakfast we could perhaps determine
to what balls and routs we've all been invited."

           
"For
what purpose?" asked Welles.

           
Ben
was opening his mouth to reply when Milford chimed in. "Backup, dear
Welles, backup," he said mysteriously.

           
As
the three were riding across from one another, with Milford in the middle,
Welles slowed his horse a bit and leaned back to catch Ben's eye. Ben looked
over at him, but just shrugged and pushed his mount level with Milford's.

           
"We
are all dashing young men, straight from the Continent, bravery and heroism
dripping from our boots," Milford continued in a lofty tone.

“I say, my valet keeps my
boots quite polished,” Welles argued.

“What I mean,” Milford said
patiently, “Is that we must be prepared for the women to be throwing themselves
at our feet."

           
"They'll
be throwing something at you," Welles grumbled.

           
"I
don't think any women will be throwing themselves at us," Ben admonished.

           
"Perhaps
only at me," Milford noted.

           
"Or
not
," Ben said slowly, "but
I
was also
thinking along those
lines; that there might be safety in numbers."

           
"If
Milford here is part of the number, you can be sure the women will stay
away."

           
"Welles
speaks merely from his own experience with women."

           
Ben
took a breath.
 
It took hours to get
through a basic conversation with these two; he hoped whomever they each
married would be the patient type.

           
"I
forget myself," Milford said, "as he has risen to Earl, our poor
Barrett is now Lord Kendal and therefore has to get married."

           
Welles
nodded sadly. "I wish we could forget you."

           
"It
was inconsiderate indeed for my brother to go and die last year," Ben
said. He probably would have taken more offense to Milford's remark if, well,
if it were not Milford saying it. Ben realized, however, that he
was indeed
Lord Kendal- not his father,
not his brother.
 
He felt the air leave
his lungs for a moment with the realization of what he was really returning to.
"But it is not a bride I am looking for," he said, taking a steadying
breath.
 
He paused, trying to change the
subject. "I have to introduce Bee into society. She's just out of
mourning."

           
"You
have to introduce a bee into society? That's rather forward of you,"
Milford said.

           
Before
Welles got a word in edgewise, Ben said quickly, "Lady Beatrice
Everill
, the sister of William
Everill
."

           
"
Everill
, wasn't he the chap who-" Milford started.

           
"Yes,"
Welles finished, nodding.

           
"Ah,"
Milford said softly.

           
"So
she's out, then?" Welles asked, breaking the uncomfortable pause in the
conversation.

           
"She's
been out," Ben said, thankful to Welles. "
Everill
...
died at the beginning of her first Season." He paused, taking a breath.
"Since then, she's lost her family one after the other, so was stuck in
the country in mourning. Her aunt wanted to wait for me to return to London
before she brought her back out; she is sponsoring her for the Season, but I am
to help with introductions."

           
"I
suppose we can't take her to any gambling dens," Milford grumbled. Welles
rolled his eyes, and Ben clenched his jaw.

           
"Let's
start with the next few days. Are either of you going to the Stafford's this
evening?" Ben asked.

           
Milford
turned towards Welles. "I don't know. Are we?" he asked.

           
"And
I'm your secretary now, as well?"

           
Milford
shrugged.

           
Welles
looked over at Ben and sighed. "Yes," he said finally. "Although
I don't know why Lady Stafford invited this reprobate."

           
"To
reform me, of course," Milford said with an air of authority.

           
"Reform
you from what?" Ben asked.

           
"From
being an ass," Welles quipped.

           
"I
don't know if that particular trait is
reformable
,"
Ben said thoughtfully.

           
"Everyone
knows that rakes make the best husbands," Milford said sardonically.

           
"You'd
have to be a rake first," Welles said. "You aren't a rake."

           
"I
could be a rake," Milford said defensively.

           
"Ha!"
Welles laughed. "You don't have the blunt or the looks."

           
"Or
the dancing skills," Ben added.

           
"I
can dance," Milford said testily.

           
"You
look like a charging bull on the dance floor," Welles said.

           
"Well,
obviously she saw
something
she
wanted in order to invite me," Milford said, not arguing the point.

           
"Yes,
the fact that you might be Earl someday," Welles told him.