Prudence’s spine bowed, and she relaxed against the chair. Of course Cassandra didn’t know anything about the ring or Lady Peterborough. “That is wonderful. I won’t say a word.”
“She’s known for some weeks now apparently. Her courses are very regular, so she knew right away when they failed to appear that she may be carrying. The physician confirmed it, but she and Con have kept it to themselves. I don’t blame them. They deserve to bask in their happiness together.”
Everything she said nestled into Prudence’s mind and grabbed hold. Prudence’s courses also came regularly. She suddenly realized she hadn’t had them in a long while. Too long. Her mind raced. She thought back… It had been before Riverview. Before…Bennet.
But he’d done what was necessary to prevent a child, so it couldn’t be possible. Could it? Since then, Prudence had read what she could find about sex and had seen mention of the method he’d employed.
Still, she was long overdue for her courses.
Panic spiraled through her until she felt she might be sick. Was that because she was upset or because she was also carrying a child?
Calm down, Pru. You don’t know if you’re carrying.
But it wasn’t as if she could see a doctor. There was one person she could talk to…
“They certainly deserve to be happy,” Prudence murmured. “I’ve just remembered something I need to tell Kat. Please excuse me.” She escaped the room on shaking legs.
As Prudence made her way down to the library, her hand flitted over her abdomen. She curled her fingers into her palm and jerked her arm to her side. She refused to believe it.
Kat was curled on the settee, her feet tucked beneath her while she read a book, turning the page as Prudence approached. “One second,” she said without lifting her head.
Prudence was used to this behavior and stood patiently, despite the fact that her insides were screaming.
Turning the page once more—Kat was an incredibly fast reader—she set the book on the settee beside her. Then she looked up at Pru expectantly.
“I’ve an errand to run this morning. Do you mind if I’m gone for an hour or two?”
Kat blinked at her. “I never mind when you have things to do. Indeed, I find it silly that you should have to ask me permission to do anything.” She made a face, then narrowed her eyes, her mouth slanting into a sly smile. “But then you did elope, so I think you find asking for permission just as irritating.”
That wasn’t true, but Prudence almost wished it was. “Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”
A short while later, Prudence walked into the side entrance of the Phoenix Club and ran into Ada in the kitchen. “You’re here,” she said rather stupidly. Seeing her friend made Prudence feel overwhelmed once more. Her heart began to pound.
“Yes,” Ada said, her blue-gray eyes sparking with alarm. “What’s wrong? You look pale. And distressed.” She tugged Prudence to a chair at the table where the maids took their meals—and where she and Prudence ate on Saturday mornings.
No one was about, thankfully. Still, Prudence found she couldn’t speak. Emotion clogged her throat, along with the panic she’d barely managed to keep at bay.
“We have to go upstairs,” Prudence whispered. “I can’t… Not here.” She also couldn’t ask Ada to have this conversation here. To do so would expose Ada’s secrets, and Prudence would never do that.
Ada nodded, and they went upstairs. By the time they reached the top floor, Prudence felt as if she’d run across London. Sensing Prudence’s anxiety, Ada held her arm as they made their way to Ada’s apartment.
Once inside, Prudence collapsed in her regular chair.
Ada scooted her chair close and took Prudence’s hand. “You’ve well and truly frightened me, Pru. What’s the matter?”
“Everything. I haven’t had my courses in weeks, since well before I went to Croydon for that stupid fight.” Words tumbled from her mouth faster than she realized what she was saying. “Could I be carrying, Ada? How did it feel? How did you know?”
Some of the color drained from Ada’s face, but she stiffened her spine. “I missed my courses. I was also quite sick in the mornings. Are you sick?”
“Right now, yes. But not any other morning.” She squeezed Ada’s hand. “It started when I realized I haven’t had my courses in some time.”
“This is silly to ask, but is there reason to think you might be carrying?” Ada asked.
Prudence nodded. Then she spilled the truth about her time with Glastonbury. Ada listened quietly, intently, kindly, her hand never leaving Prudence’s.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Glastonbury? You must know I would have understood. I’m keenly aware of what it’s like to be swept away by emotion.”
Swept away by emotion. No, it had been physical attraction. Lust. Prudence had worked hard to banish any emotion. “Honestly, I hadn’t planned to tell you about Glastonbury at all—not even about the kidnapping. But when you, correctly, pointed out that I wouldn’t have eloped, I couldn’t lie to you. Neither could I reveal the full truth. I’m not certain why. Perhaps because I was trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. Or at least not think about it.”
Ada regarded her sadly. “You regret it, then.”
“No!” Prudence answered without thinking. When her brain caught up, she added, “Perhaps.” If she was with child, Prudence would certainly regret her actions. But would she? She’d never imagined becoming a mother because she hadn’t thought it would be possible. “Is there a chance I’m just late getting my courses? I haven’t been sick at all.”
A faint grimace flashed across Ada’s features. “Some women aren’t. How are your breasts? Are they sore? Do they feel hard or full?”
Prudence had found they were sore recently, but hadn’t given it much thought. “They do feel odd.”
“Any strange taste in your mouth? Sometimes it was as though I’d sucked on iron.” Ada stuck her tongue out and made a sound of disgust.
That also sounded familiar. Prudence clapped her hand over her mouth and started to cry.
“My dearest.” Ada leaned forward and put her arms around Prudence, holding her while she let the emotion pour out of her.
When at last her tears began to dry, Prudence sat back, wiping her eyes. Ada leapt up and brought her a handkerchief. She sat down again and looked at her with such love and sympathy that Prudence feared she would start to cry again.
“I never do that.” Prudence blew her nose. “Cry, I mean.”
“It happens more often when there’s a babe. One day, I burst into tears when Rebecca did.”
Rebecca was one of the children that Ada had been governess to. Ada had fallen in love with their father and he with her. She’d come away with child.
It seemed Prudence really was increasing. She stared straight ahead, seeing nothing but a gray emptiness. “This can’t be happening. I can’t bear a child who would be known as a bastard.”
Ada gently covered Prudence’s hands, which were resting in her lap, with her own. “I know exactly how you feel. When I was with child, I was terribly afraid—not necessarily for me as much as for the baby and the stigma with which he or she would have been born. As horrible as it was to lose it, I was so grateful.” She took a ragged breath, turning her head from Prudence. “And don’t think that doesn’t make me feel awful.”