“I don’t know.” She ought to speak with Lady Peterborough, if only to return the ring. But then that would provoke questions if Lucien ever learned that the ring had been returned. What a tangle.
“How can I help? Or am I a bother at this point?”
“You are never a bother.” She let out a rattled laugh. Tucking the ring into the pocket of her walking dress, she took a sustaining breath. It didn’t relax her as much as she’d hoped. But then, she was likely going to feel unsettled for some time. Just the idea of confronting the countess—Cassandra’s aunt—made her want to toss up her accounts.
Because her idea to confront her half brother had gone so well, she thought sarcastically.
“But I don’t think you can help.” She gave him a weak smile—it was the best she could do. “I do worry about what you will tell Lucien.”
“Don’t. You have enough to be concerned about. This could change things for you. If you wanted them to.”
He probably didn’t mean to sound ominous, but that was how she took it. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable suddenly claiming to be a member of Lucien and Cassandra’s family.” In fact, she nearly returned the ring to Bennet right then. But she’d need it when she went to see Lady Peterborough. After that, she could give it back to Bennet, and he could sell it Lucien.
“I’d like to think about this for a few days. Then I’ll likely return the ring to you. I think that’s best.”
“Do you?” Bennet didn’t look so sure. At her slight nod, he went on. “I’ll put Lucien off while you work this out.”
She finally began to relax—a little. “Thank you. I’m afraid I can’t quite grasp this.”
He took her in his arms then, holding her close. “It will be all right. Perhaps nothing has to change—if that’s what you want.”
Prudence pulled from his embrace. “I need to go. Thank you for coming to me and lying to Lucien, though I feel bad you had to.”
“I’ve done far worse.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Let me know what you decide. I’ll keep Lucien at bay as long as possible.”
Bennet took her arm and guided her from the alcove. “In truth, the investment likely wouldn’t help in the short term. I will still probably need to marry an heiress.” He sounded most unenthusiastic.
A fleeting thought ran through Prudence’s mind. If she were the legitimate daughter of the former Viscount Warfield, it would be the answer to Bennet’s problems. Except she wasn’t, so it didn’t bear consideration. Which was why she hadn’t told him.
He walked her back to the corner at Queen Street. “Try not to worry too much. And please let me know if you need anything. Just send me a note, all right?”
She nodded.
“Promise me, Pru.”
“I promise.” Then she left him, hurrying back to the Wexfords’ house and praying she could dash upstairs without seeing anyone.
Telling Prudence about the ring the day before weighed heavily on Bennet. Not that he regretted doing so or could have avoided it. She’d looked so shocked and then almost…panicked. He hated that she viewed her birth as shameful.
The noise of the Phoenix Club was a blur of sound around him, conversation and laughter, people going about their lives while he sat in a chair overlooking Ryder Street, a glass of Irish whiskey in his hand.
“Drinking the good stuff again, eh, Glastonbury?” Wexford asked before sitting down across from him.
“I meant it when I said you’d quite ruined me with it.”
“You deserve it,” Wexford said with a chuckle before sipping from his own glass. “Mort said he spoke with you about his plans to start his own club. I thought you should know that I’m the primary investor.”
“That’s why you withdrew your membership from Fred’s?” Bennet asked. “Mort indicated it was because you’d married.”
“It’s both. I’m done fighting.”
Bennet frowned. “Then why invest in a new club?”
“Because Mort’s been like a father to me, and I believe he’ll make a success of it. I think I told you before that he’s the best trainer in England.”
“I don’t know if you said exactly that.” Bennet laughed. They’d had a discussion one day at the club as to whose coach was better—Mort or Fred. Mort certainly had the better disposition. What did it say about Bennet that he’d been content to work with the more volatile of the two, that he’d found an affinity with Fred instead of Mort? Was it because when it came to fatherly figures, Bennet expected and deserved someone who was mercurial? Like his actual father.
“So, will you join Mort’s new club?” Wexford asked. “It would help him a great deal to have you there. You’re a very well-respected pugilist.”
Bennet snorted. “Are you sure about that? You beat me quite soundly in Croydon. Furthermore, my reputation is rather tarnished just now.”
Wexford made a face, his handsome features distorting as he rolled his eyes. “No one cares about that in a boxing club.”
“I’m shocked you don’t care, to be honest,” Bennet said quietly.
“Did you expect me to hold a grudge?” Wexford sipped his whisky. “Who has the patience for that? Anyway, I’m deliriously happy, and you don’t seem disappointed by how things turned out. In fact, I’d say you seem rather…pleasant, all things considered.”
He had been disappointed in Croydon. And furious. Which had provoked him to commit a terrible act that had somehow turned out to be far from disappointing. Yes, he was pleasant. He was almost happy.
Well, he had been for a few days. Now, he was venturing toward true disappointment because he had to save his bloody estate and family. His happiness had nothing to do with his duty.
Bennet finished his whiskey. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find more of this noxious brew you persuaded me to drink.” He stood and took himself off to the library where he could refill his glass. He could have asked a footman, but in truth, he found Wexford’s happiness a bit constricting.
“Glastonbury, a word, please.” Lucien approached him with a rather determined set to his brow.
Bennet finished pouring his whisky, then followed Lucien to a quiet corner. He could well imagine what was coming next. “Evening, Lucien.”
“I don’t wish to press you, but I’m rather keen to show that ring to my aunt.” Lucien’s gaze darted to Bennet’s hand, but of course, he wasn’t wearing the ring. “Where is it?”
“I left it at home. I don’t always wear it.”
“Have you come to a decision?”
“Not yet.” Bennet sipped his whiskey, his jaw clenching.
Lucien’s brows pitched even lower over his dark eyes. “It’s a family heirloom. You must understand how important it is for me to recover it.”
“I do understand. And I am empathetic. It’s just that I’ve become rather attached to it, silly as that sounds.”
Lucien stared at him. “It rightfully belongs to my family. It has to have been stolen.”
“You don’t know that.” Unless he did. Bennet tensed, his hand gripping the glass tightly. “Did you learn something about it?”