At last, he spotted Lady Wexford. She stood just off the path with her friend, Lady Overton. Bennet made his way toward them, drawing their attention as he approached.
“Lord Glastonbury, how fine to see you here,” Lady Wexford greeted him. “Fiona, you know Lord Glastonbury?”
He bowed to both ladies.
“I do. It’s a pleasure to see you,” Lady Overton said. With shocking red hair and a charming, inquisitive demeanor, she’d arrived from the country and commanded quite a bit of attention. That had been before she’d eloped with her guardian, the Earl of Overton, of which Prudence had reminded Bennet. Their elopement had earned even more attention. Bennet knew him vaguely, but they weren’t friends.
Bennet looked to Lady Wexford and tried to sound nonchalant. “Where is your lovely sister-in-law and her companion?”
“Kat—that is, Miss Shaughnessy—rarely comes to the park during the fashionable hour,” Lady Wexford said. “She finds all this to be nonsense. I would have asked Prudence to join us, but she wasn’t at home.”
Bennet tamped down his disappointment. Where was she if not at home? Particularly when he’d asked her to meet him? He wondered if she was doing something with the ring since he’d shared Lucien’s impatience. Had she gone to him? Had she gone to Lady Peterborough? Unease swirled through him. How he wished he could be at her side to offer support. This had to be a difficult time.
Hell, he wanted to be at her side even if it wasn’t difficult. He missed her.
He was suddenly eager to be on his way so he could be alone with his thoughts. “I just thought I’d stop and say good afternoon.” He touched his hat and continued toward the gate.
Why couldn’t Prudence have been the heiress he needed? How simple everything would be.
What a lie that was. The truth was that he didn’t want to marry. He couldn’t. His family’s illness wasn’t something he would subject a bride to, especially one he cared about as much as Prudence. If he did wed Mrs. Merryfield, he’d do everything possible to ensure she didn’t learn about his family’s illness. Thankfully, her revelation that she preferred to spend most of her time in London would make that far easier than he’d anticipated. It was a considerable point in her favor.
He rubbed his forehead as he left the park, feeling a headache come on. Why couldn’t a pile of money just fall into his lap? Surely he was due for some excellent luck.
What if meeting Prudence was the best luck he’d ever had?
Except they had no future together. He needed an heiress, and anyway, she didn’t want to get married either. She was also a paid companion, not someone a viscount ought to marry. He wasn’t sure he gave a damn about that, no matter what Society said.
His mind indulged the dream of not having to worry about money, of being able to do whatever he wanted. Would he marry Prudence? Of anyone he’d ever met, she would be the one who might understand his family. She might even accept them. Her heart was that generous and kind—that, he was certain of. She’d even called them fascinating, but then he’d barely skimmed the surface of their true personalities. Both of them could become quite angry, particularly Flora when things didn’t go the way she wanted or expected, and dealing with their obsessions could be tedious at best and volatile at worst.
Expecting someone to not only put up with his family but embrace them was asking a great deal. He’d long ago promised himself that he wouldn’t request it of anyone. But he’d never anticipated Prudence.
Furthermore, she’d have to agree not to have children. That was absolutely imperative.
Wonderfully, that seemed the easiest hurdle since she’d already indicated that she didn’t want children. She’d also said she didn’t wish to marry. Why, then, was he torturing himself with these thoughts? Things he couldn’t have, no matter how badly he wanted them.
Taking a deep breath, he thrust his shoulders back. He needed to get his priorities in order and do what needed to be done.
Tomorrow, he’d pay a call on Mrs. Merryfield.
Chapter 14
Prudence regretted declining Ada’s offer to accompany her to Lady Peterborough’s house in Berkeley Square. The stone façade rose tall and imposing as she approached the door. She hesitated, nearly capitulating to overwhelming trepidation. Ultimately, she managed the courage to knock.
Almost immediately, a footman answered.
“Good afternoon, I’m here to see Lady Peterborough.” Prudence handed the footman her card and was grateful that Cassandra had insisted on providing them as soon as Prudence had become her companion. That the card misidentified her as companion to Lady Cassandra Westbrook—which wasn’t even Cassandra’s name anymore—was the least of Prudence’s concerns.
The footman perused the card, then invited her inside. “Follow me, Miss Lancaster.”
She trailed him to a sitting room decorated in muted yellows and browns. The color scheme reminded her of one of the final days of autumn when once-bright hues were tired and faded.
After the footman left, Prudence fidgeted with her gown, then chided herself for the bad habit.
A few minutes later, the countess glided in wearing her typical expression of bland cheerfulness. It was as if she tried to look happy, but everyone knew it was an act, including her.
“It’s just you?” Lady Peterborough asked, stopping a few feet from Prudence and clasping her hands in front of her with a patient if bemused expression. “I am surprised you would call on your own.” She seemed genuinely curious and not as though she was trying to insinuate Prudence shouldn’t call.
“This errand doesn’t involve anyone else.” Prudence loathed confrontation, but this was important. Her entire future depended on what happened in this interview. She’d felt the same when she’d gone to see her half brother, only for everything to fall apart because she hadn’t been able to muster the boldness to say what she ought, that they were siblings and he should help her.
The words she’d prepared to say to the countess disappeared from Prudence’s mouth as if swept away on the wind. Panic rose in her throat, and heat flushed up her neck. Instead of speaking, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the ring. She took a step closer to the countess and held out her hand. The gold flashed in her palm.
Lady Peterborough tipped her head down, her brow creasing. “What’s that?”
“A ring.” Prudence coughed to clear the clouds from her throat. “My mother gave it to me before she died.”
Tawny eyes met Prudence’s for a moment before the countess plucked the ring from Prudence’s hand. She stalked to the window where the late-afternoon sun streamed past the draperies and held up the ring.
Prudence held her breath.
Lady Peterborough spun around to face Prudence. “Your mother gave this to you?”
“The woman who raised me.” Prudence breathed before plunging forward, “I understand this ring belongs to your family, that it may even belong to you.”
Clutching the ring, the countess hurried to close the door to the sitting room. When she came back toward Prudence, her face was pale and her eyes dark with fear. “Please keep your voice down.” She barely spoke above a whisper. “My husband mustn’t hear this conversation.”