And where would that leave Prudence? Without a job and with a potentially reputation-killing disappearance hanging over her. The thought of losing her hard-won security shortened her breath. Not too long ago, she’d been completely alone in the world, an orphan with no prospects after having to leave her position at a school for young ladies when the father of one of those young ladies had propositioned her most grotesquely. She’d had no choice but to depart unless she wanted to accept his disgusting advances.
Driven to desperation, she’d embarked on a foolish errand to find employment, only to find luck when she’d met Lord Lucien Westbrook, Cassandra’s brother. He’d rescued her from certain doom when he’d offered to help her find a position as a governess or a companion.
She would not allow Glastonbury to ruin her good fortune. She had to get back to London as soon as possible.
Bennet St. James, Viscount Glastonbury, jerked awake in a cold sweat despite the fact that he was sprawled in a chair near the warm hearth. Blinking, he saw that the first gray of dawn was just slipping over the chamber.
Glancing toward the bed, he detected the lump of Miss Lancaster and for the thousandth time berated himself for his stupidity. Not only had this turned into a horrible ordeal for the poor companion, he’d lost a pile of money for what amounted to total failure.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he forced himself to breathe. This was not the end of things. It was, however, one large step closer to defeat.
Unless he came up with a new stratagem. It could not, however, include marrying an heiress, since the Duke of Evesham would tell everyone that Bennet was a breath away from the poor house. Could viscounts even be admitted to workhouses?
Bennet shook his head. That wouldn’t happen. He would always have a place to live. Aberforth Place was entailed, and Bennet was stuck with it. Just as he was stuck with an abundance of female relatives to care for, some at Aberforth Place and others…elsewhere.
He could hope that Evesham—Cassandra’s father—wouldn’t tell anyone, but Bennet knew better than to expect that. Especially once everyone heard what Bennet had done, that he’d kidnapped Lady Cassandra’s companion and that he’d intended to abduct Lady Cassandra herself. His stomach folded over itself. If she went to Bow Street, there would be no stratagems and his family would be lost. What in the bloody hell had he been thinking?
He groaned softly, then sucked in a breath when he heard rustling in the bed. Leaning from the chair, he tried to discern if the companion had awakened. When she didn’t move again or make noise, he exhaled with relief. He wasn’t quite ready to face her furious disdain again. Though, he deserved nothing less.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t, and that was a terrible concern. People in his family sometimes acted impulsively, without concern for others, and, as with his behavior the previous night when he’d acted impulsively, bad things happened.
He’d been incredibly distraught upon receiving the note from Evesham in which the duke had informed Bennet that he was aware of his dire financial woes and would not allow him to wed his daughter. Frustration had turned to rage, and Bennet had lost sight of, well, everything. He’d been so close—the proposal was imminent, and Cassandra had given him every indication she was amenable to his offer.
Except she’d apparently been in love with Wexford instead. Not that Bennet had thought she loved him, nor did he love her. That might have come, however, since they liked each other at least.
All of it was moot now. And his chances of finding another heiress were slim. Once the ton learned of his destitution, he’d be labeled a fortune hunter, and no one would want to marry him. Save a wealthy merchant’s daughter in search of a title. He ought to consider that direction.
This was such a calamity! If only his father hadn’t lost every bit of money at the gaming tables, Bennet and the rest of his family wouldn’t be in this mess.
He glanced again toward the bed. He’d been livid after losing the chance to wed Lady Cassandra. He’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him, completely ruining the fight he was supposed to win and losing to Cassandra’s future husband of all people. That fight was supposed to change his fortune, just as marrying Cassandra would have done. If all had gone as planned, Bennet’s problems would have been solved.
Anger began to rise in him again. The boxing match had been his idea. He’d offered himself as a lure—a viscount fighting in a bout—to the owner of his boxing club. Frederick Dodd had immediately warmed to the idea and had even agreed to give Bennet a healthy portion of the ticket sales. If he won.
Instead, Bennet had lost—not only his pride, but a major source of income he’d been expecting. How in the hell was he going to meet his obligations? It wasn’t as if he could continue to let them lapse, especially where his relatives were concerned.
He began to shake as a familiar sensation of panic and desperation crept over him. His skin felt cold and clammy, and the room began to fade. This couldn’t be happening. He’d staved it off for so long, but he worried his collapse was inevitable. Last night’s criminal actions had proved that Bennet was no better than the most afflicted in his family…those who fought to keep themselves in check, to battle the darkness that threatened to overwhelm and drive them into inescapable despair and delusion.
Sitting up, he dropped his head between his legs and braced his palms on his thighs. He took deep, staggering breaths, willing himself to settle before his mind was completely out of his grasp. That had never happened—not yet. But it would. Someday.
Gradually, he began to calm, his pulse slowing and his breathing becoming more even. He could manage this. He would find an heiress. There was nothing wrong with marrying into the merchant class.
And what of Miss Lancaster? He looked toward her again, feeling weary. Was there a chance she wouldn’t tell what had happened? Surely, she’d want to protect her reputation.
He closed his eyes and silently cursed himself. Not only was he destitute and a scheming criminal, he was also an absolute scoundrel. The worst sort of gentleman.
But when he thought of those who would suffer because of his father’s actions, Bennet felt a renewed purpose. They were his responsibility, and he would ensure they were taken care of for the rest of their days.
Pushing himself up from the chair, Bennet caught the thin blanket before it slid to the floor. He set it on the cushion and stoked the fire, building it back into a low flame. Satisfied, he meandered toward the bed.
Miss Lancaster lay on her back, one hand resting beside her cheek against the pillow. Her features were barely visible with only the light from the kindled fire and the gray dawn to illuminate her. She was very beautiful, far more attractive than he’d ever noticed, truth be told. But then she’d always been a part of the background. Now she was in the center, her outrage demanding attention.
Her blonde hair was braided, but wispy curls had escaped, some brushing her temple and jaw. Long lashes curled against her cheek. Beneath them glittered moss-green eyes that had appeared almost jewellike in her well-justified fury. Pink bow lips had berated him with great effect, and her pert nose had wrinkled with her distaste of him.
He felt truly awful about what had happened to her. Hiring a trio of questionable fellows at the fight had been an abominable idea, one borne of abject desperation. But a part of him must have known Cassandra wouldn’t want to come. Why else would he have hired men like that or arranged to have them deliver her to him here, twenty miles from Croydon? He was a villain, deserving of Miss Lancaster’s outrage and much more.