“Not yet, but I plan to speak with my aunt.”
Bennet realized he was nearly out of time. Which meant Prudence was nearly out of time. He could see that Lucien wasn’t going to be able to sustain his patience. “Give me until tomorrow?”
Lucien’s jaw worked, but he ultimately nodded. “Tomorrow.”
“I’ll bid you good evening.” Bennet left the library, but didn’t want to return to the members’ den. Instead, he went downstairs, took one more drink of whiskey, then gave his glass to a footman. Claiming his hat and gloves, he left the Phoenix Club and made his way to St. James’s Square, where he hailed a hack.
During the ride to his small terrace near Bloomsbury Square, he planned the note he would dispatch to Prudence first thing in the morning. He’d send it now, but it was far too late to deliver correspondence to a polite address. Not without provoking curiosity.
She had to make a decision. He hated pushing her, but Lucien wouldn’t wait any longer. Perhaps Bennet should just tell him the ring had been stolen, that he’d been accosted by a footpad and hadn’t wanted to tell him.
Bennet scrubbed a hand over his face. That “explanation” sounded quite weak.
When he arrived home, Bennet went straight to his small office at the back of the narrow ground floor. He penned the note to Prudence, asking her to meet him in the park tomorrow afternoon, if she was able.
“Evening, my lord.” Mrs. Hennings, his housekeeper and only retainer save Tom, the aging coachman, poked her head into the open doorway. In her middle fifties, she was widowed with grown children, and one of the hardest workers Bennet had ever met. She was also fiercely kind. “Do you need anything before I turn in?”
“I don’t, thank you. I was going to say you’re up late tonight, but I suppose I’m home early.”
“You are indeed,” she said, her light blue eyes perusing him. “If you don’t mind my saying, you’ve been different since returning to town. I know you’re going through a bit of a rough time. I hope it’s not too troublesome.”
Servants were often more knowledgeable about gossip than their employers. Mrs. Hennings was astute and loyal. He wasn’t surprised she would mention it, nor did he worry that she was contributing to the rumors. She’d been with him for four years, and his only regret was that she didn’t have help to ease her burden.
“Not too.” He gave her a wry smile. “What have you heard, Mrs. Hennings? No need to soften the blow. Be honest.”
She grimaced, her lips thinning. Straightening, she stepped into the office. “The neighborhood was rather taken with the news of your…problems a few weeks ago. The talk died down a bit, but it’s picked up again since you returned to town.”
“That’s to be expected. I hope you aren’t concerned that you won’t be paid.” He would hate for her to think that, and he would never let things come to that. He would find her a new, better-paying position before he couldn’t pay her wages.
“Not at all, your lordship. I’m not looking for another position.”
“I didn’t think you were.” Which was perhaps short-sighted and self-important of him. “But if you ever feel as though you must, I hope you won’t feel bad. I appreciate your honesty.”
“You’re a good lad,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t want to leave you. Is there anything else troubling you?”
Yes, very astute. “Nothing I’m at liberty to discuss. A friend is also going through a rough time. I’m trying to help.” Not that he was much use. All he could do was harass her to make a decision about an object that rightfully belonged to her. Lucien wasn’t owed it, but Bennet couldn’t explain that to him without exposing Prudence’s secret.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mrs. Hennings said with a smile.
“There is one thing. I’ve a note here that I’ll need delivered to George Street tomorrow morning. Can you get John to do it?” John worked in the Bloomsbury Square mews, and his mother was a friend of Mrs. Hennings. He sometimes helped with short tasks, including delivering the occasional letter for Bennet.
“He’ll be pleased to help. Just leave it on your desk, and I’ll make sure he takes it straightaway.” She turned and paused at the door. “Good night, your lordship.”
“Good night, Mrs. Hennings.”
Bennet finished the note and wrote down the address along with Prudence’s name. He wished he could deliver it in person, but that was impossible. What he wouldn’t give to go back to their simple time at Riverview. He closed his eyes and imagined, as he had so often, her in the kitchen and him in the stables or the yard. Both of them working to maintain their house and land, wherever and whatever it was.
But his life wasn’t that simple. Nor would it ever be.
Chapter 13
Seated in the small sitting room she shared with Kat on the second floor of the Wexfords’ house, Prudence folded the letter from Bennet that had been delivered that morning. She was out of time. She wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t make it easier. How she wished she’d never given that ring to Bennet!
But she had given him the ring, and Lucien had seen it. Now she knew the likely truth of her birth, and she couldn’t unknow it.
“Good morning, Prudence!” Cassandra sailed into the sitting room with a bright, almost giddy smile. “Where’s Kat?”
Prudence tried not to look at her oddly. It was so strange seeing her now, knowing they were probably cousins and certainly related in some way. She didn’t see much resemblance, but perhaps there was some slight similarity in the shape of their eyes. And in their smiles. “In the library.”
Cassandra sat down at the table with Prudence. “Of course she is. I should have known that already.” Clasping her hands in her lap, she looked intently at Prudence, still smiling. “Can you keep a secret?” She laughed. “What a silly question. You are the most secretive person I know. I’m still not sure where you go on Saturday mornings. Not that it’s any of my business. I’d thought you were visiting the man with whom you eloped, but since you are still absent on Saturday mornings and the elopement failed, I have to assume that was and is not the case.”
Sometimes Cassandra talked a great deal. Often, really. And since Prudence didn’t like to talk—at least not in her role as companion—she simply listened, usually with amusement. This morning, she was grateful for the distraction.
“What secret are you impatient to share?” Prudence asked, hoping to divert the conversation from herself. Especially since Cassandra’s secret didn’t concern her. Or did it? Suddenly, Prudence was petrified that Cassandra knew something about the ring or about her aunt probably being Prudence’s mother. Cold sweat dappled her nape.
“I probably shouldn’t say, but I can’t help myself. I am so happy! And I know you won’t tell anyone.” She looked toward the doorway, as if to confirm they were alone, which they were, then leaned forward. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “My sister-in-law, Sabrina, has confided in me that she’s expecting a child. Isn’t it wonderful? After all this time, she and Con will finally be parents. And I will be an aunt!”