There had to be other options.
And so here he was to speak with Lucien. Perhaps there was a way Bennet could avoid marriage altogether. If he could only cobble together enough money to make a sound investment, he might be able to keep everyone safe.
After handing his hat and gloves over to the footman, Bennet climbed the stairs to the members’ den. He ran into Lucien’s older brother, Constantine, the Earl of Aldington.
Aldington was another person Bennet would have described as severe; however, he’d seemed to lighten up of late. Bennet could have sworn he’d seen the man smiling at Westminster a few times.
“Evening, Glastonbury,” the earl said with a nod. “I’m just on my way out. Say, I was speaking with one of the men who works at your boxing club. He asked if you were here this evening. He’s over in the corner.” Aldington inclined his head across the large L-shaped room to one of the two corners Bennet could see.
It was Mortimer Dodd, thank goodness, not the man’s older cousin, Fred, who owned the boxing club and who likely planned to toss Bennet out if he hadn’t already.
“I’ll go and say good evening,” Bennet said with a smile. He bid good night to the earl and crossed the room to where Mort sat at a small round table. The man’s grizzled features were rather implacable—Bennet wasn’t sure if the man was pleased to see him or not.
“Evening, Mort. I understand you were asking about me.”
“I was.” Mort’s voice was deep and rough, a perfect complement to his oak-tree arms and athletic build. Though he was fifty, the man could take down someone half his age—and twice his size. “You haven’t been to the club in weeks.”
Bennet took one of the chairs at the table opposite Mort. “I was at my estate.”
“So I heard. But you’ve been back now nearly a week.”
“You’re well informed.”
“Not me. Fred.” Mort sipped his ale and set it back on the table. “He’s been waiting for you to show up so he can throw you out on your arse.”
“I expected as much.” Still, it stung. Bennet had begun training with Fred as a young man fresh from Oxford. Fred had pushed and encouraged him, instilling the confidence and discipline Bennet had needed to become an accomplished fighter—and a man. In some ways, he’d been the father Bennet had been missing and hadn’t realized he’d needed.
“You aren’t surprised that Fred would toss you out?” Mort squinted one blue eye at him. “What happened at the match in Croydon? You weren’t yourself.”
Bennet tensed. “I was not. I’d just learned that my financial realities were about to be exposed. I’d hoped winning the fight would solve some of my problems.” He assumed Mort knew all this since his cousin did. “I’m afraid I was so desperate to win that I performed exceedingly poorly.”
“It wasn’t just that. There was something wrong. You seemed…wild.”
Gripping the arm of his chair, Bennet tried not to think of the emotions of that night. He mostly kept them at bay. Indeed, fighting helped him do that. He’d sparred at Aberforth Place—one of the grooms fought with him when he was at the estate—but not since he’d been back in town.
“There’s nothing more to it,” Bennet said evenly, hoping Mort wouldn’t continue to question him. “I suppose I will need to find a new club.”
“You will. But for what it’s worth, I would’ve let you stay—because Wexford said we should. However, he resigned his membership the other day. Apparently, he’s given up the sport.” Mort sounded rather disappointed, which wasn’t surprising. He’d worked just as closely with Wexford as Fred had done with Bennet.
Bennet was touched that Wexford would speak on his behalf. Touched and perplexed by the man’s kindness and generosity of spirit, just as he was with Prudence.
“But it’s not up to you whether I’m allowed to stay,” Bennet said. “The club belongs to Fred, and he’s likely furious with me for losing.” They’d already had a falling out before the fight over the scheme that Bennet had proposed.
Mort gave him an earnest stare. “Fred never cared who won. He didn’t agree to your scheme to help you. He’s motivated by money and money alone.”
“I know that now.” Bennet had put his trust in the man he’d known for many years. The man he’d thought cared about him.
“Truth be told, I’ve had about enough of my cousin,” Mort grumbled. “I may go out on my own. If I do, you’re welcome to come train with me.” He took another drink of ale, then speared Bennet with a weighty glower. “Just know that I don’t truck with fixed fights or money-making schemes.”
“Nor do I anymore.” It had taken a botched kidnapping to make him see what a selfish blackguard he’d been.
“Good. Don’t bother going back to Fred’s even to resign. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
“I’ll take that advice, thank you.” Bennet caught sight of Lucien coming into the members’ den. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Lord Lucien.”
Mort nodded, and Bennet stood to approach Lucien.
“Lucien,” he said, upon reaching the man’s side. “Might I have a word with you in your office? It won’t take long.”
Lucien’s dark brows arched briefly, then he gestured for Bennet to go ahead and leave the members’ den. Bennet went straight into the office and heard the door shut.
“How did things go with Mrs. Merryfield and Miss Conkle?” Lucien asked.
“Well enough, thank you. I appreciate the introductions.”
“I’m sensing hesitation,” Lucien said slowly.
Bennet frowned. “You provoked me to think about alternatives after we spoke the other night. While I do need money as soon as possible, I’d like to find an investment scheme that will offer some security.”
“Do you mean in place of marriage?”
Yes, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to commit to that out loud. The last thing he wanted was for a rumor to start that although he was marrying for money, he didn’t really want to marry at all. Except it wouldn’t be a rumor since it was flatly true.
“I don’t know,” Bennet said. “But I’d like to try to make an investment. Do you have any you recommend? I can’t afford much.” He rubbed his left hand along his jaw.
Lucien’s gaze arrested on Bennet’s hand. “Why don’t you sell that ring? That looks rather dear.”
Bennet straightened his hand in front of his chest, then quickly dropped it to his side. “I couldn’t. Besides, I don’t think it’s worth much.” It would never be worth more in money than it was in sentiment—not to Bennet.
Lucien stepped closer, his gaze fixing on Bennet’s hand. “May I see it?”
Reluctantly, Bennet lifted his hand. Lucien stared at it a moment, then sucked in a breath. “I’ll be damned,” he breathed. “That crest is from my grandmother’s family.” He lifted his head to pin Bennet with a fiery stare. “Where did you get it?”
Unease rippled along Bennet’s shoulders. “I won it in a card game, but I don’t remember where or from whom. I’ve had it awhile.” Telling Lucien the truth wasn’t an option.