Bennet, Pride Before the Fall (Love Austen 3)

Bennet caught Darcy looking at him, and Darcy cleared his throat. “Would you like to join us in a game?”

Shaking his head, Bennet resettled in his armchair, pulling the warm laptop onto his thighs.

“Bennet,” Caroline said as if she knew him, “dislikes trivial games. He is motivated by work and rallying the liberals, and nothing else exists outside that.”

Good God. Is that the way he came across? “It’s clear I’ve made a poor impression. I actually love games, and I’ve many motivations.”

“Really? Like what?”

Like navigating through Lyon’s grief. Like finding the love of his life and settling somewhere he could call home. Like having sex again. “Like learning how to cook better, reading more, and watching every season of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.”

Caroline inclined her head toward Darcy, who was arranging his letters on his rack. “And how would your queer eye make over this straight guy?”

Darcy’s finger jerked and three tiles flew off his rack to the floor.

“I’m sure that would be impossible,” Bennet drawled.

A flush brimmed Darcy’s collar line.

Caroline misunderstood his meaning. “I agree. Darcy is exceptionally well turned out.”

“You’re starting, Caroline,” Darcy said brusquely.

Caroline startled in her seat and plucked a few letters off her rack.

Bennet could imagine Darcy playing entirely in silence, but after a few minutes, Caroline got inquisitive.

“Three months is a lot of time off work. Will you be staying in Cubworthy all that time?”

“A lot of it, I imagine.”

“Christmas, too?”

“No. I will head back to Port Ratapu for that week, until New Year’s.”

“Lovely. I’ll be there for Christmas too, with my mother.” She cocked her head. “It’s very intriguing why you’re staying here so long.”

“It’s no mystery. I have behaved abominably.”

“And come here to repent?”

“Reflect.”

Bennet was so caught up with their conversation he’d barely edited more than three sentences. He set his laptop aside and approached the Scrabble table, halting close to Caroline. He eyed the board. One of them was placing their X, F, and J’s on strategic squares.

“You haven’t spoken much about Georgie,” Caroline said. “How is she?”

Darcy’s fingers had stilled on his tiles. Stiffly, he laid out EQUALIZE. “Currently not speaking to me.”

“She took her brother’s side?”

Darcy frowned at the board. “She’s right to protect Henry.”

“Oh, I’m sure Georgie will forgive you. I’ve never seen a better father-daughter relationship.”

“It’s the father-son relationship that needs improving.”

It wasn’t any of his business, but Bennet was filled with curiosity. “Your gay son?”

“Bisexual.”

The emphasis on the distinction felt defensive.

Darcy cleared his throat and held Bennet’s gaze steadily. “I threw his boyfriend out of my home. In the middle of the night. You have your validation how much of a monster I am.”

“Yet you’re here to reflect. You yourself called your actions abominable, so I have to believe some part of you wants to come to terms with reality. To accept things.” A strained pause, and then, “I wish my parents had done the same.”

Darcy’s tight expression changed; his chin dropped with a small nod. “They didn’t accept you?”

Heaviness filled their next silence. Caroline’s gaze swung between them.

“Oh, this will all pass,” she said lightly. “You’re a wonderful dad. You gave your kids the best education, holidays in Cubworthy, taught them to ride, gave them everything they needed. You supported them through their grief when their mum passed.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, “but what does any of that mean if they don’t know I love them when they need to know it the most?”

“You made a mistake,” she cried.

Darcy rubbed his jaw, looking at Bennet. “Some mistakes can’t be fixed.”

Bennet heard a silent ‘can they?’ Some mistakes couldn’t. Once the damage was done, it was done.

He retreated to the armchair and buried himself in Finley’s slow-burn stepbrothers romance. He loved the intrigue, the dashes of angst balanced with humor, the intense subtle eroticism. And the truth behind it. He’d been a small part of the story himself and he was completely submerged in his work on it, except for one thing.

That prickly awareness of Darcy’s covert glances.

Bennet rose early and headed outside. The rain had stopped and morning peach stretched across the vast skies.

Movement behind him had him spinning around.

Darcy came to a stop on the porch, dressed in riding gear. “Bennet. You’re up already.”

“I’m usually headed toward the stable at this time.” Bennet paused. “I came out to see what the river situation looks like.”

“There’s no good vantage point from here.” Darcy gestured toward his stables. “I have another horse, if you’d like to ride.”

Bennet hesitated. He didn’t particularly want to spend the morning in Darcy’s presence, but . . . The fresh air in his face, that power galloping under him . . .

He probably wouldn’t have to converse much. In fact, he could hardly see Darcy expecting it. His offer was surely more out of politeness than a true desire for company.

“Yes. I’d like that.”