“He hasn’t agreed to anything yet.” Prudence stiffened her spine and averted her gaze from the countess. “I haven’t told him about the child. I’m not even entirely certain.”
“Forgive me, but if this man is a gentleman or a peer, I can’t imagine he’d marry you. I’m sorry to have to say that.”
“He would if I had the money,” Prudence snapped, her emotions getting the better of her again. Reining them in, she straightened her spine and moderated her tone. “He needs money.” He also seemed to want her, but that didn’t mean he’d want to wed her. She could certainly understand why he wouldn’t. “In any case, I will be forthright with him about everything—he already knows the circumstances of my birth.” And he didn’t seem to care.
“So you don’t intend to trap him into marriage with a dowry?”
“Since you don’t know me, I will strive not to allow your opinion of me to be disappointing,” Prudence said coolly. “No, I don’t intend to trap him. As I said, I will tell him about the child—or at least the possibility of one. He would not be free to marry me without a dowry, and I should like for him to have that choice.”
A sad smile curved the countess’s lips. “I fear you’ve given the male sex far more credit than they are due. He likely isn’t free to marry you at all—dowry or no. His duty will require that he wed someone of his station.”
“I can see you aren’t going to help me.” Prudence stood. “Are you going to give me the ring back?” It seemed as though the countess wanted her to have it.
“Of course. It’s yours.” The countess rose from the settee. Taking Prudence’s hand, she pressed the ring into her palm.
“What am I to do with this?” Prudence asked. “You want me to have it, and yet I can’t wear it or otherwise display it for fear that people will discover who—and what—I am. When I pass it to my daughter, am I to tell her that I am a bastard and her grandmother is a countess as well as the daughter and sister of a duke? None of that matters since we can’t tell anyone. It’s simply a fairy tale I can put her to bed with every night. No, you keep your ring.” Prudence tried to hand it back.
The countess’s features had creased more deeply with everything Prudence said until she looked thoroughly pained. “I wish you could wear it with pride. I wish I could declare to the world that you’re mine. How I wanted a daughter, and look at you—so beautiful and so accomplished. I wish I could help you,” she added quietly. “Do you really think this man will marry you if you have a dowry?”
Probably, if only because he needed money. “I want to give him that choice—for the sake of the baby who is as much a part of him as of me. If he refuses, I will not be any worse off than I am today.”
“Your heart might be broken,” the countess said softly, her gaze warm with understanding that nearly melted Prudence’s resolve to turn her back on the woman. “I know how that feels, and in some ways, you never recover. I really would like you to keep the ring.”
“I will likely sell it,” Prudence said, though the funds wouldn’t come close to solving Bennet’s woes.
The countess looked her in the eye. “I can see how important this is to you—the dowry. I can’t ask my brother. I’ve never wanted to trouble him with this. The only person I can think to ask is your half brother.”
“No,” Prudence practically snarled. She refused to ask him.
“Such a vehement response. Do you know him? It sounds as though you’re familiar with his…demeanor.”
“I am. He’s a horrible person.”
“He wasn’t before the war.” Lady Peterborough gave a faint smile, then took a deep breath, lifting her chin. “I would like to help you. It’s the very least I can do. However, my options are limited. If Pete found out about you, my life would be over.”
Prudence gasped. It couldn’t be that dire. “What would he do?”
“Send me to a convent, probably. He’s threatened as much. Which is why I can’t do what I would like.”
“What’s that?” Prudence asked cautiously.
“Claim you as mine, of course. What I can do is speak to Maximillian—I mean Warfield—and insist he provide a dowry for you. His father would want him to do it, I’m certain.”
Prudence stared at her, hating the idea of going to him, but beginning to accept that it might be her only path forward if she wanted her child to be born in wedlock. “I desperately want this baby to be legitimate,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word.
“I understand.” Lady Peterborough took her hands and gave them a squeeze. “Will you let me take care of this for you?”
Prudence couldn’t quite believe this woman wanted to help her, but wasn’t that the reason she’d come? “Thank you. Please don’t tell Warfield I’m increasing. It’s humiliating enough that I had to tell you.”
“You mustn’t feel ashamed, not with me. I’m your mother, Prudence, and I love you—I have always loved you. This is my grandchild, and I will love her—or him—too.”
The family she never imagined was not only possible, it was coming to be, whether Prudence wanted it or not. She wanted it. An immense lump formed in her throat, and tears gathered in her eyes. She shook her head, refusing to cry. Bloody stupid emotions.
How had Prudence gone from an independent woman content with her life to pining after a man who’d kidnapped her and hoping she indeed carried his child? Perhaps pining was extreme, but she did think about him far too much.
Lady Peterborough continued, oblivious to the major shift of thought occurring in Prudence’s mind. “We’ll tell your brother that you require a dowry, that you could make a very advantageous marriage. His father would want that, and Maximillian should too. He won’t claim you as his sibling, however. You do understand that?”
Prudence nodded and managed to push out a few words. “Yes, and I don’t want to claim him either.”
“Good.” The countess’s expression turned pensive once more. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve settled the matter. I’ll move quickly—I understand time is critical for you.” She glanced toward Prudence’s still-flat abdomen.
As Prudence left, she couldn’t help still feeling apprehensive. What if Warfield wouldn’t give her a dowry?
She couldn’t shake one word: trap. She’d no wish to snare Bennet in a marriage he didn’t want. He would be shocked when she told him about the baby.
She hoped he might also be happy, since she was starting to feel that way too.
Bennet returned from the park to find two of his relatives had arrived unannounced. Shocked, for they never visited him here, let alone at Aberforth Place, he worried something awful had happened.
He rushed upstairs to where they awaited him in the drawing room.
Aunt Judith, his father’s youngest sister, perched on the edge of the settee, and Great-Aunt Esther, his grandmother’s sister, sat in a chair near the hearth. She straightened as if surprised when he entered—or as if she’d been asleep.