slammed into his chest.
“I care nothing for her now, of course,” he stated, firmly. “And I feel that to allow myself to do such a thing again, to allow my heart to be so involved, would be nothing short of foolishness.”
“That is where you are mistaken,” Ramsbury replied, with a grin. “Quite mistaken. It may have been deeply hurtful and, I will not pretend that it did not bring you a great deal of sorrow and suffering, but to simply push aside the possibility of future happiness because of being so gravely injured is not wise.”
Benedict shook his head but did not answer. He did not want to speak of Lady Frederica, the lady he had once believed himself to love with such a deep and ardent affection that it had taken over his entire being. He had never felt such pain as when he had discovered that, instead of accepting his offer of marriage, she intended to permit the Marquess of Norwich to court her. She, who had given him so much hope, who had practically given him her promise, had proven fickle and, with that had come a great deal of pain. Of course, in due course, Lady Frederica had wed the Marquess of Norwich, leaving Benedict to his own misery and grief and, since that moment, he had vowed never again to permit himself to trust a lady of the ton. Never again would he allow one of them to invade his heart, or allow himself to feel anything for a lady who drew near to him. They were all just as Lady Frederica had been, he told himself. There was nothing of truth in any of their words, in any of their looks or their declarations.
And yet, he had to admit that Lady Ramsbury was not so. And if he was to admit to that, then that meant that there might be other young ladies who were also as she was. That was a thought he did not want to consider at present, finding it much easier to wallow in his own grief and upset, to linger in his pain and to find himself settling there rather than seeking out a new path.
“I have confused you by my words, I can tell,” Ramsbury said, his expression now back to one of joviality. “But that is a good thing, I think. Better for you to consider what has been said rather than believing that you are entirely in the right.”
Benedict wanted to shake his head and state that he would much have preferred to have been permitted to remain in such a frame of mind rather than being challenged by Ramsbury but instead, he simply lifted his glass of whisky in a toast and then took a sip.
“And you are attending the ball this evening, are you not?” Ramsbury asked, before taking a sip of his own whisky. “The ball at the assembly rooms is usually a very fine one indeed.”
“I have a ticket,” Benedict replied, glad that they would no longer be discussing Lady Frederica or his own feelings towards the ladies of the ton. “I intend to join you there.”
“Capital,” Ramsbury grinned. “Who knows? You might even step out to dance this evening, and then what shock shall go around London!”
Grimacing, Benedict shook his head.
“I can assure you that I shall not do so,” he stated, quite firmly. “I am not as easily changed as all that, Ramsbury, despite your best efforts.” Seeing the smile fade just a little from his friend’s face, Benedict let out a long sigh. “I am very glad for you, Ramsbury. I am happy that you have found such a beautiful contentment for both yourself and Lady Ramsbury. But that, I believe, is a very rare thing indeed and something that must be treasured, as I know you do. However, whilst I will confess that I have been persuaded to rethink my words and my belief that all ladies of the ton are just as Lady Frederica, that will not, at present, permit me to change my ways. I still dislike this time of year, regardless of whether or not I feel any differently about the ladies that surround me. It is best for me to be here in London so that I do not sink into a dark pit of despair, but that does not mean that I shall have anything to do with the ton. I shall not dance, shall not converse, shall not give any young lady