Furthermore, there wasn’t a dowry yet. What if Lucien wasn’t successful? Would she expect Bennet to marry her if there was no dowry and only the probability of a baby? It was far too much to ask.
“I was just trying to help you,” she said, her throat dry. “I’m glad you’ve found a happy solution.”
Bennet frowned, lines creasing his brow. “This isn’t about happiness. Mrs. Merryfield has the funds I require, and she likes the idea of being a viscountess.”
“Then you are both getting what you want,” Prudence said, trying to sound supportive.
“I’m getting what I need.” His voice was a low rasp. “Not what I want.” His eyes fixed on her. The desire burning in their depths was unmistakable.
Perhaps she could tell him…
“There you are, Prudence,” Kat said, bustling toward them, her drawing paper and board tucked under her arm.
Prudence rose hurriedly. “You’re finished already?”
“No, but I’ll have to come back another day. I just can’t get the drawing to come out right.” Kat sounded frustrated. And distracted. She didn’t even make eye contact with Bennet, who’d risen from the bench.
“Lord Glastonbury happened to stroll into the museum and was kind enough to visit with me,” Prudence explained.
Bennet bowed to Kat. “Good afternoon, Miss Shaughnessy. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He turned to Prudence and took her hand. “I’m delighted to have been able to spend time with you, Miss Lancaster.”
He sounded so earnest, and his touch reached straight into her soul, effortlessly reminding her of their time at Riverview. How could such a period be so fleeting and yet so wonderfully memorable?
“Likewise, my lord.” She gave him a brief curtsey, then withdrew her hand before her entire body tried to sway toward him. That she would never kiss him again—worse, that Mrs. Merryfield would do so for the rest of their days—made her want to rage.
Instead, she pivoted and left the museum with Kat, at a loss for what to do. The dowry was no longer necessary, unless she wanted to trap some unsuspecting man and pretend the child that she was probably carrying was his. But she would never do that, not even to save her child from the stain of illegitimacy. Better to escape to America or the continent and reinvent herself as a widow.
Her back prickled as if Bennet was staring at her. Perhaps he was. She wouldn’t turn to look. She had to keep moving forward.
Musicales were not something Bennet particularly enjoyed. However, when one’s invitations all but dried up, one went to a musicale to which one was invited. Particularly when one’s betrothed—how he suddenly disliked that word—sent a note ensuring you would be there.
As he walked upstairs to the drawing room, he indulged the memory of when Prudence was his betrothed. It hadn’t been real, but it had felt wonderfully genuine.
“Good evening, Glastonbury,” Mrs. Merryfield greeted him. She stood near the top of the stairs as if she’d been waiting for him to arrive. Elegantly dressed, her dark hair swept into a neat chignon, she didn’t smile, but her eyes gleamed with approval. Or perhaps importance. Actually, he realized he had a very hard time reading her. That was probably not a good thing between spouses.
“Good evening, Mrs. Merryfield,” he said, wondering if he’d ever feel comfortable calling her Margaret or whatever nickname she preferred. He suspected there was no nickname. He couldn’t envision her as Peggy or Margie or Meg or anything else but staunchly Margaret.
He offered her his arm and wondered if he’d ever feel anything when she touched him. He also wondered what she would say when he refused to finish inside her when they shared a bed.
Suppressing a twitch of distaste, he quickly ushered that thought from his mind. Perhaps they wouldn’t even have to share a bed since they wouldn’t be having any children.
“I’m quite looking forward to Sunday.” Now she smiled, briefly, her lips tightly pressed together. Bennet didn’t think he’d ever seen her teeth—not completely. Were they horribly crooked? It was hard not to compare her to Prudence, whose smile made him want to grin like a boy who’d just been given chocolate.
Bennet didn’t respond as they moved into the drawing room. Tonight’s musicale was to be a quartet from Edinburgh. “Do you think the music will be lively?” he asked, diverting the conversation from anything to do with their impending nuptials.
“Do you expect them to play a reel?” She sniggered. “There’s no dancing tonight.”
Pity, for he enjoyed a good Scottish reel. Did Prudence know how to dance one?
He led Mrs. Merryfield into the room, and she withdrew her hand from his arm. Pivoting, Bennet sucked in a breath. Prudence had just come in with the Wexfords. He hadn’t expected to see her. It didn’t look as if Miss Shaughnessy was with her. How peculiar that she would come alone. Well, not alone. She was with Lord and Lady Wexford.
“Did you hear me, Glastonbury?”
Blinking, Bennet turned his head toward Mrs. Merryfield. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with someone.” He gave her his brightest smile, then took himself off toward the new arrivals, who’d moved toward the seating area.
Immediately, he acknowledged that he shouldn’t have left the woman he was going to marry to speak with the woman who’d captured every part of his imagination—along with every part of his body. Prudence looked lovely tonight, her blonde hair styled with green ribbon that matched the green of her simple but exquisite gown. The silver trimming brought out a shimmer in her sage eyes. He could have drowned in them quite happily.
“Good evening, Miss Lancaster.” He bowed to her and took her hand before realizing he’d completely cocked that up by not addressing Lady Wexford first. He never forgot that sort of thing. What was wrong with him?
Pivoting to Lady Wexford, who stood between Prudence and Wexford, he bowed more deeply. “Forgive me for not addressing you first, but I’m afraid Miss Lancaster deserved my immediate attention—she looks splendid this evening.” He glanced toward Prudence, whose mouth quirked into a small, secretive smile.
“No forgiveness is necessary,” Lady Wexford said cheerfully. “I am quite pleased for Prudence to be the center of attention.”
“I don’t care for that,” Prudence said quietly, hastening to add “But this is fine—because I know all of you. I only mean that I wouldn’t like to draw attention from others.”
Bennet wanted to tell her that he would keep her safe from that, from everything, but he did nothing of the sort. “Is Miss Shaughnessy not here with you this evening?”
Lady Wexford adjusted one of her gloves. “No, she vehemently changed her mind and decided to stay home.”
“‘Vehemently’ is an excellent description,” Wexford said with a shake of his head.
“And since Prudence was already dressed, we thought she should come with us.” Lady Wexford smiled at her former companion. “It’s almost as it was before.”
“Except for you being married,” Prudence said drily.
Lady Wexford chuckled. “Well, yes, except for that.” She glanced about the drawing room, which was rapidly filling with people. “Have you seen Lucien, by chance?”