“And enigmatic,” she said with a faint smile.
“Yes!” He laughed. “I’m still not sure what brought you to the Viscount Warfield’s house in search of employment, but I am glad I happened to be there the very same day.”
“As am I.” If not for that chance meeting, Prudence would not be where she was today. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”
He moved to pick up her case, then paused, pinning her with a serious stare. “I hope you know that I will always help you, no matter the issue. And you know I’ll keep it between us. If there’s anything you need with regard to this…elopement, I hope you’ll ask.”
She expected nothing less from him. “I will, thank you. It’s more than enough that you’re looking out for my welfare. Truly. If only everyone knew what a kind heart you possess.”
Laughing, he swept up her case. “What would happen to my roguish reputation?”
“I think you can be kind and a rogue.” She would categorize Bennet in such a way. Perhaps he was more scoundrel than rogue. Whatever he was, she’d do best to cast him from her mind. She needed to move forward.
Straightening her spine, she walked from Lucien’s office, her gaze keenly on the future.
Chapter 9
Three weeks later…
* * *
Bennet hesitated on the corner of Ryder and Bury Streets outside the Phoenix Club in St. James’s. He’d just returned to London yesterday after spending the past fortnight or so at Aberforth Place. The timing of his arrival there had been rather fortuitous as Great-Aunt Flora had been suffering one of her dark episodes. She hadn’t left her rooms in over a week. Bennet’s presence had roused her from the doldrums, and by the time he’d left, she was cheerful once more.
Logan had helped him secure an older, economical coach near Hersham. He’d stopped to pay for it on his return to town—another painting sold to cover the cost.
Tonight, he’d reenter Society, or at least the edge of it. He had no illusions about his standing or how far he’d fallen. The dearth of invitations compared to before he’d left told him everything.
He wouldn’t hide, however. He couldn’t, not when he needed an heiress to solve his considerable problems. That was not his mission tonight, though. He only wanted to know how Prudence had fared, and Lucien ought to be able to tell him.
This was the first time Bennet had come to the club on a Tuesday, the night they opened the men’s side to the ladies. He had to admit the idea of a private club that allowed ladies and gentlemen to mingle more than intrigued him. He wished Prudence was a member.
Upon entering, a footman greeted him and took his hat and gloves. Bennet had been here once before—for an assembly, which they held every Friday night during the Season. He’d come to court Lady Cassandra. Would she be here tonight? He felt a moment’s unease. The last time he’d seen her and her new husband, he’d been in a terrible state of mind.
Heading for the stairs, which would take him to the members’ den on the first floor, he studied the huge painting depicting a bacchanalia with Pan. It fit the space perfectly, as if it had been painted exactly for that place on the wall in this establishment. He was surprised that he’d somehow missed it on his first visit.
Luck, as usual, was not on his side, for he ran into Lady Cassandra, rather Lady Wexford now, and Wexford when he reached the top of the stairs. He summoned a brilliant smile and greeted them warmly.
“Good evening, Lord Wexford, Lady Wexford.” He bowed. “May I offer my most sincere and heartfelt congratulations on your marriage.”
Both regarded him dubiously. Wexford, a tall, dark-haired Irishman, managed to say, “Thank you.”
Bennet gestured for them to step aside with him, out of the way of the stairs. He spoke in a low tone. “Please accept my deepest apology for my behavior at the boxing match. I was in a very bad way, and I behaved reprehensibly.”
“You seemed quite desperate,” Wexford said, pity flashing briefly in his gaze.
A tight knot formed in Bennet’s chest, but he worked to ignore it. “I was indeed. But in hindsight, I’m very glad things worked out as they did.” He looked to Lady Wexford who, with her sherry-colored eyes and dark hair, was quite beautiful. Bennet also found her courageous, forthright, and more charming than was probably fair. “I hope you and Wexford will be very happy. Truly,” he added softly.
“I appreciate that. We are quite giddy, to be honest.” She flashed her husband a conspiratorial smile, the kind that spouses in love shared. Not that Bennet had seen a great many of those. Perhaps that was why it stood out. “And really, you and I were merely doing what we thought we should,” she said to Bennet.
“Just so.”
She frowned slightly, her brow puckering. “Though I suppose it was different for you. You were courting me for a specific purpose.”
“For money, you mean,” he said frankly. He chuckled at the faint grimace that passed across her features. “It’s quite all right. I should have been forthcoming about my situation. I extend my humblest apologies for not being honest with you about that.” He recalled Prudence admonishing him. What he wouldn’t give for her to take him to task again.
Lady Wexford tipped her head slightly. “To be fair, I was looking for any gentleman who had the nerve to court me despite my father’s obnoxiousness. You were the only one brave enough.”
“Because I had to be.” He laughed again. “It’s astonishing what one will risk when one is faced with financial ruin.”
“It’s really as bad as that?” Wexford asked.
Bennet had thought about how much to disclose when confronted with specific questions, which was bound to happen when he returned to town. He decided there was no reason to prevaricate. Better to just be open about his state—and hope fate might reward him. “I’m afraid so. My father gambled away or sold nearly everything. I’ve the estate to maintain as well as a pile of relatives.” Bennet waved his hand. “But never mind that. I’m sure things will come out right.” Or not. He had to admit he felt rather helpless at this point. Perhaps he was now trying to find a way to accept that this was how things would be.
“Have a drink with us,” Wexford invited, surprising Bennet. “We were just going to the library.”
“I haven’t been there,” Bennet said, eager to continue their conversation in the hope that he’d find out about Prudence.
They walked toward the front of the club, where apparently the library was located.
Bennet attempted to broach the subject of Prudence. “Lady Wexford, it’s a bit strange to see you without your intrepid companion. Miss Lancaster, wasn’t it?”
Lady Wexford glanced toward him with a glint of admiration. “You’ve a good memory, Lord Glastonbury. She’s not here tonight, but she still resides with me—with us, rather. She’s companion to Ruark’s sister now.”
Bloody brilliant. Bennet barely kept from grinning. He wanted to shout with gratitude. At least someone had good fortune.
“That’s wonderfully convenient,” Bennet said.