“I have not,” Bennet replied, wondering if he’d returned from his errand to visit the Viscount Warfield. Did that mean he was making progress? Perhaps they were working out the settlement agreement.
Cold sweat broke out along his nape and shoulder blades. His gaze darted to where his betrothed—he suppressed a shudder—stood speaking with another lady. Then he looked to Prudence, serenely beautiful in her spectacular evening gown. Except in his mind’s eye, he saw her in a simple dress with an apron, working in Mrs. Logan’s kitchen at Riverview. She was as lovely to him in any setting, in any costume. Or in none at all.
Of course he would marry Prudence instead of Mrs. Merryfield. If he had to marry anyone at all, and he did, he would choose her.
He suddenly needed to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. Someone came to speak with the Wexfords, and Bennet took the opportunity to move closer to Prudence. He bent his head toward her ear and whispered, “Meet me in the garden when the musicale starts.”
He gave her a slight nod, then left the drawing room before she could refuse. Bennet made his way downstairs and out to the garden. A few people stood talking near the doors, but they went inside, leaving him alone.
After waiting what seemed an interminable amount of time, he heard the beginning strains of the quartet. He looked toward the door, expectant. Perhaps she wasn’t coming. Just because he hadn’t given her a chance to decline didn’t mean she would do his bidding.
He should have asked her instead of demanding. But he needed to see her. Did she not need to see him? Apparently not.
Frustrated, his shoulders slumped, and he turned to walk through the garden.
“Bennet?”
Swinging back around, he saw Prudence framed just outside the doorway. He strode toward her, but she met him halfway. Heedless of anything and anyone, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. She threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly as he lifted her against him.
He opened one eye to make sure they were still alone, then pulled her into the shadows at the side of the garden where a tree would obscure them from the house. There, he kissed her again, his tongue tasting hers as he longed for far more than they could share in a garden during a musicale.
She was suddenly gone from him. His body went from full arousal to confusion.
Her face was pale in the light spilling from the house into the garden. “I think I’m carrying a child.”
The words tumbled from her mouth and slammed into him like rocks.
He stumbled back, and if not for the tree, he might have collapsed completely. “What did you say?” he whispered, his pulse racing and his insides twisting.
“I know you were careful at Riverview, but it seems I may be with child.”
Seems. May be. These were not words of confidence.
He took solace in her uncertainty. “You aren’t sure, then?”
“Not entirely, which is why I didn’t tell you yesterday. I didn’t want you to feel entrapped, especially when you’ve found what you need.” She sounded cold, which was how he felt at the moment. “I feel badly about this. We should never have shared a bed. I shouldn’t have asked you to.” Her cheeks flushed bright with color, and she looked away from him.
Bennet took her hand. “You didn’t ask me to do anything I wasn’t eager to. I was careful.” But even he knew the method wasn’t foolproof, no matter how cautious one was. “Have you seen a physician?”
She stared at him, blanching as quickly as she’d turned red. “Of course not. I’m unwed.”
He was an ass for asking such a thing. Now he understood why she was seeking the dowry. It wasn’t to help him, but to save her. “This is why you want the dowry.”
Nodding, she again looked away from him, but only briefly. When her eyes met his once more, they flamed with determination and self-preservation. “I don’t want my child to be illegitimate.”
Like her. She didn’t say it, but he heard the fear in her voice.
“I understand.” He took a breath, trying to slow his speeding heart. “No one knows that about you, however. You are legitimately the child of the Lancasters.”
“I know. Trust me, however, when I say it matters. I can’t expect you to understand.”
“Because my life is so easy and enviable.” He realized he sounded sarcastic and that he was inviting criticism, but she knew nothing about his reality. Nor would he tell her.
Except she was to be his wife. Or so he’d decided, even before hearing this distressing news. She wasn’t Mrs. Merryfield, who would spend her time in London away from his family. Prudence would be at Aberforth Place, and she would see everything. Everything.
Bennet pressed back against the tree as panic swirled inside him. When she saw what they could be like, what he could be like or worse, end up like, she’d want to run far away.
“Your life is easy and far more enviable than most,” she said quietly. “But I understand you have difficulties. This is why I hesitated to tell you about the child. I know how badly you need money.”
“This is about so much more than money,” he whispered. “It’s complicated—my family is complicated. You have no idea the mess my father left me.”
“No, I don’t, but perhaps you’ll tell me. If my half brother provides the dowry.”
He should tell her. Right now. But the words simply wouldn’t come. He’d never told anyone. Not even retainers. When new ones were hired, he left it to Mrs. Marian, the housekeeper, or Eakes, the butler and Mrs. Marian’s brother, to explain the situation to them. Not that there’d been many new retainers. Aberforth Place had a small staff, and not just because there was no money. It was easier to keep things quiet when fewer people knew the truth.
Prudence took a stuttered breath. “I understand that without the dowry, you can’t wed me. Still, I wanted you to know about the baby. I didn’t think it was right to keep it from you.”
A baby. The one thing he’d never wanted. What if the child was like his father or his Aunt Agatha? How could he bring him or her into this world knowing that he might damn them to a life of anger, delusion, or misery? He wanted to tell Prudence that he would gladly marry her, that he eagerly awaited the birth of their child, but he was bound up with fear. Their child could be afflicted, and he still wasn’t sure how badly the sickness would affect him as he grew older. It seemed to worsen with everyone, some declining more quickly than others.
He also wanted to tell her that he was glad she’d told him, but the shameful truth was that he was terrified. And he couldn’t admit it, not without revealing everything.
“Bennet, did you hear what I said?” she asked, breaking into the tumult of his thoughts. “I don’t expect you to marry me if there’s no dowry. I don’t really expect you to marry me at all. I would never want to entrap you.”
That was how he could avoid this problem of telling her about his family—if he didn’t marry her. Which meant he’d marry Mrs. Merryfield. He’d never felt more cornered or more frantic in his entire life. The dreams he’d had of Prudence pressing flowers with Aunt Flora were just that—illusions of a life he’d never have.
Memories of Bennet’s father filled his mind. Wide-eyed and panting, he’d rifle through his desk for something—usually money or something important he’d misplaced. This was followed by a rage or uncontrollable despair. Or, in rare cases, a giddy euphoria because he’d found what he was looking for. Those were the best memories because in those moments, he’d seemed happy. The reality was that he’d never been happy. And Bennet wasn’t going to ruin her chance for happiness by sharing his family’s affliction with her. Perhaps she need never know the real and horrible truth. There was a chance, however small, that their child wouldn’t be affected.