Angry with himself, he closed the ledger on his desk and turned to look out the window. His study had a lovely view of parkland. Someone was marching toward the house.
Standing, he went to the window. As the person came closer, he began to recognize her. But no, she was wearing a proper gown, albeit quite old. And a bonnet. That tied beneath her chin. Bennet couldn’t remember the last time she’d done so.
He rushed from the room and dashed to the entry hall. The single footman was nowhere to be seen, likely because Eakes had him doing some chore. Bennet opened the door and stepped outside just as she was striding for the entrance.
“Frances?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand against his forehead.
“Benny, you’re home.”
He loathed that name. Thankfully, she was the only person who called him that. “Yes.”
“With a wife, I hear.” Her gown was probably three decades old and rather small for her current frame. “Why wasn’t I invited to your wedding?”
“It was in London,” he said, surprised that he wasn’t recoiling from her scent.
She walked past him into the house and immediately untied her bonnet with a vicious tug. The ribbon came apart from the hat, and she held the satin up with a frown. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Whipping the accessory from her head, she tossed it across the entry hall. “Bloody nuisance. This is what I get for trying to fit in with you people.” She flung the ribbon too, but it landed mere inches from her feet. She swore again and stamped on it with her heavy boot, which didn’t at all complement her ancient walking dress.
Prudence walked in from the staircase hall. “I thought I heard voices.”
Before Bennet could introduce her to his father’s cousin, Frances stalked toward her. “You’re very pretty. I’m Cousin Frances.”
“I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Prudence.”
Frances held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Prudie.”
Prudence took her hand as she looked toward Bennet with a puzzled expression. Probably because of her new nickname. If he could live with “Benny,” she would learn to accept “Prudie.” He suppressed a smile even as trepidation skipped through him. Frances seemed to be lucid, but once in a while, she had days where she insisted that she had to get ready for a ball or milk a cow, neither of which were things she needed to do.
“I’d planned to visit you tomorrow,” Prudence said. “I’m glad you’ve come today. Will you stay for tea?”
Leaning toward Prudence, Frances inhaled sharply. Then she wrinkled her nose and walked around Prudence, sniffing as she went.
Bennet frowned. Perhaps Frances wasn’t as lucid as he thought.
He moved to stand beside Prudence. “What are you doing, Frances?”
Frances stopped when she was once more in front of Prudence. “When is the baby coming?”
Prudence went rigid beside him. He put his hand on her waist.
“How would you know that?” Prudence whispered, her face pale.
“Animals have a certain smell when they’re breeding. You have that smell.”
“Breeding?” Great-Aunt Flora scurried into the room, her gaze fixed on Prudence. She must have been in the small sitting room just off the entry hall. “You are expecting.”
“Yes,” Prudence didn’t look at anyone, and Bennet wanted to whisk her away.
“That would explain the hasty wedding,” Great-Aunt Flora added with a nod. “I knew it! I’m surprised there was nothing in the newspaper about it.”
Great-Aunt Minerva glided in from the staircase hall, two squirrel heads poking forth from her apron, each in their own pocket. “About what?”
“Prudie is breeding,” Cousin Frances said.
“How lovely!” Great-Aunt Minerva beamed at Bennet. “I’m so glad you decided to have children after all. A little St. James running around Aberforth Place is just what we need.”
Prudence turned to him. “What does she mean you decided to have children after all?”
Bennet’s earlier agitation intensified. This was not how he wanted to discuss his preference to avoid children with Prudence. Hell, he’d hoped never to discuss that he’d ever felt that way. They’d deal with the child when they had to, and she never had to know how terrified he was, how desperately he wished she wasn’t carrying his child.
“He was going to let the line die with him,” Great-Aunt Flora said with a tsk. “He wasn’t even going to wed.”
“Flora!” he bellowed. “Can’t you ever remain silent? Can’t any of you remain silent?”
Great-Aunt Minerva pet one of the squirrels in her apron. “Of course we can’t, and we shouldn’t have to. Why wouldn’t your wife know that you’d planned to remain childless, that you—”
“Not another word, Minerva,” he growled.
“I suppose you haven’t told her about Agatha either.” This came from Frances, who stood with her hands on her hips. “You can’t hide who we are, Benny. Nor can you run from the fact that your offspring will be just like us.”
“He or she might be like Judith,” Great-Aunt Minerva said unhelpfully. “But that would be a pity.”
While they spoke, Bennet watched a range of emotions move across Prudence’s features. Shock, dismay, disbelief, anger, and a host of others he couldn’t identify.
“Who is Agatha?” Prudence asked calmly, despite the pulse ticking strongly in her neck.
Bennet took her arm and steered her from the entry hall.
“Will you come to my study so I can speak to you without the chorus chiming in?”
She walked toward his study, her back stiff and her shoulders high. Once inside, she stood off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest. She was the visual representation of someone closed up tightly, and he didn’t blame her. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Who is Agatha?”
He moved to stand in front of his desk, emotion raging within him. “Agatha is my father’s other sister. He was the oldest, then Agatha, then Judith. She lives in a hospital in Lancashire.”
“Why?”
“It’s very hard to explain. Which is why I haven’t before now.” He glanced at the floor, murmuring, “One of many reasons why.”
“Try.”
“You will already have noticed that everyone is somewhat eccentric, but it’s more than that. There are…swings of emotion, including those fits of pique my great-aunts mentioned. There is also delusion—in the case of Agatha and with my father. One of the reasons he lost so heavily at the tables was that he would often think he was actually winning.” He struggled to explain everything properly. It was so difficult for others to understand.
“Agatha is in hospital because of this?”
He nodded. “It’s an illness of the mind and seems to affect everyone differently. Minerva and Flora can become quite obsessed with their activities. Minerva will paint for days without leaving her painting room. She’s typically maudlin during these periods, but if you interrupt her to try to coax her to come out, she can become despondent. Flora is overly protective of her flowers and newspapers. Her moods can range quite heavily from excessive excitement to incredible sadness. She’s gone days without sleeping for her love of reading and flowers.”