Shaking him from her thoughts, she rapped on Ada’s door.
Ada responded with “Come in!”
Prudence stepped over the threshold. “Good morning.”
Ada sat near the window that overlooked Ryder Street below. She folded the newspaper she’d been reading and set it on the small table. “How did Kat enjoy the assembly? I saw that she danced with at least three gentlemen.”
Prudence perched on the other chair. “She didn’t complain overly much.”
“I imagine it will be sometime before she—and you—return for another one, however.”
“You are right about that, I think,” Prudence said. She realized she was a bit on edge. Because she expected Ada to ask about last night.
Ada didn’t disappoint her. “Why did you need my room? You were gone nearly an entire set.”
“Were you keeping track?” Prudence asked.
“I was paying attention. You know I always do.”
That was certainly true. Ada saw more that happened than anyone realized. Prudence was much the same. One learned a great many valuable things by simply watching.
“I just needed a bit of time to myself.” It was a weak answer, and Prudence doubted Ada would accept it.
Ada’s eyes narrowed, indicating she wasn’t going to settle for that response. “What’s going on with Glastonbury? Did you meet him up here?”
Hell. Prudence tried not to reveal her sudden agitation. Her heart was thrumming wildly, and a tremor ran through her. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because you two shared a look and I would swear he whispered something to you. Then you asked if you could borrow my room.” Ada pressed her lips together and arched her brows.
For the first time, Prudence found her friend’s awareness annoying. Which wasn’t fair. Prudence was the one keeping secrets. It was in her nature to do so, she argued to herself. Even if she didn’t typically keep things from Ada.
This was different. And not just because she wasn’t supposed to have told Ada anything. There was more to this than a tale of two people who’d spent a remarkable period of time together. What was it? The connection they shared. Prudence suddenly realized she had feelings about it, and she didn’t bloody want to. If she discussed it with Ada, she’d likely see it too. And Prudence definitely didn’t want to discuss that.
“Can you trust me when I say there is nothing between us?” Prudence would make sure there wasn’t. “And can you promise not to press me about this topic?”
“Which topic, Glastonbury or what you were doing in my room?”
Prudence narrowed her eyes in silent response. They were the same topic, of course.
Ada smiled faintly. “I won’t press you. Anyway, I have news to share. Lucien has asked me to spend a fortnight with the Viscount Warfield to tidy his ledgers.”
The discomfort Prudence had felt magnified. She gaped at Ada, for she was the only person who knew the truth about Warfield, that he was Prudence’s half brother, that Prudence had gone to him hoping that their shared paternity meant he would at least give her a job. “Lucien can’t ask you to do that.”
“Of course he can. Warfield is his friend.” They’d been in Portugal together.
“I doubt Warfield is capable of friendship,” Prudence grumbled. Her half brother was as rude and horrible as a person could be. That Lucien still stood by the man given his demeanor made no sense to Prudence, even if they had fought together in the war.
“I knew this would bother you, which is why I wanted to tell you. I don’t have to befriend him, and I won’t,” Ada said with fierce loyalty. “I’ll just fix his books and be on my way.”
“I’m sorry you have to suffer being in his presence. He won’t like that you’re there. He doesn’t like anything.” The viscount had been quite clear about that when Prudence had gone to ask for a job. She could only imagine what he would have said if she’d told him they were half siblings.
But she hadn’t gotten that far. He’d been so disagreeable, so unbelievably cold and unfeeling, that she hadn’t told him anything. She’d been flabbergasted and had completely lost her nerve. On her way out, she’d met Lucien, and that had changed her life. She supposed she owed the circumstance of encountering him to the fact that she’d gone to see her half brother in the first place, but she gave Warfield no credit whatsoever. That they were blood related almost made her angry.
“I confess I’m eager to go,” Ada said. “Not just because I love to fix things. Perhaps there’s a way I can avenge you.”
“You can’t avenge me,” Prudence said. “He doesn’t know who I am. He likely doesn’t even know that he has a half sister. He certainly won’t remember the poor young woman who came looking for a job.” She’d hoped to tell him about their kinship, that doing so would make him want to help her. How naïve she’d been.
“Perhaps he does know,” Ada suggested quietly.
“I highly doubt that.”
“But you don’t know it for certain. Perhaps the reason for his misery is because he can’t find his half sister.”
Prudence made a sound that was part laugh and part cough. “Sometimes your optimism is misplaced.”
Ada shrugged. “I suppose I shall find out for myself.”
“When are you going?” Prudence didn’t want to care but found she did.
“I’m not certain. Not immediately, however. I’ll let you know as soon as it’s set.”
“Just so long as you know that he’s as scarred inside as he is out—Lucien will tell you that if he hasn’t already.” Prudence stood. “Shall we go down to the kitchen for breakfast?”
“Yes.” Ada joined her, and they left her apartment.
As she descended the stairs, Prudence tried to focus on the future, on moving forward as she’d planned to do. If only the past didn’t keep trying to pull her back.
Chapter 11
Bennet walked into the Phoenix Club on Saturday evening, eager to find Lucien. Last night, he’d introduced Bennet to two ladies, one with a considerable dowry and the other a widow with a substantial fortune. The former was the daughter of a baron with ancient holdings and a lineage that was oft entwined with members of the Royal Family. And the latter also brought two children into the bargain, which Bennet saw as beneficial—then he wouldn’t feel any guilt at not giving her any of his.
When Bennet had heard the pedigree of the baron’s daughter, he’d wondered why he ought to even try. She could certainly snare someone who wasn’t currently the subject of ridicule about town.
But then he’d met her and understood. She was homely and quiet, almost frightened of her own shadow. Dancing with her had been like dancing with a newborn foal who hadn’t yet learned to balance. Except Bennet suspected the horse would have stepped on his feet less.
He felt rather uncharitable in his thoughts of her, but he compared every single woman he met now to Prudence. And the baron’s daughter couldn’t hold a candle to his former faux betrothed.
The second woman was the widow of a banker. She now ran the bank, an astonishing feat in itself, and had seemed quite eager to meet Bennet. During their dance, she’d made it clear that her interest had only to do with his title. He ought to have had no quarrel with that, but she seemed a severe woman. There were lines at the corners of her mouth that suggested she frowned more than she smiled.