He’d been stupid about a great many things.
“We’re all stupid sometimes,” Great-Aunt Flora said.
Bennet blinked as a headache crept across his skull. “Did I say that out loud?”
Great-Aunt Minerva stroked the head of one of the squirrels. “You need to go after her.”
“And we’re coming with you.” Great-Aunt Flora lifted her chin with an expression that dared him to refuse her. “You never should have let her leave.”
“I’m not her jailer,” Bennet slurred. “Besides, she saw all of us and doesn’t want us. Why would she? We’re all tainted. Broken.”
“Definitely stupid.” Great-Aunt Minerva shook her head. “We’re a bit off, but we’re not broken. You definitely aren’t. As much as we like to claim you as a St. James, you are not like us.”
The pain in his head increased. Or perhaps it was always there, and he was merely becoming sober. “What do you mean? I’m drank like my father. Drunk too. And I make very bad decisions. Like kidnapping Prudence. Only it wasn’t supposed to be Prudence.”
“You kidnapped her and got her with child?” Great-Aunt Flora shrieked.
“Sort of.”
Great-Aunt Flora looked at her sister. “I think he is like us.”
Great-Aunt Minerva waved her away as if she were an annoying insect. “I’m sure you had a good reason for kidnapping her. You do not make bad decisions—at least not like your father did. You’ve done everything you can to keep this family together and functioning. What would we do without you, Bennet?”
“But I’m so bloody sad right now.” He was even whining like his father sometimes had when he’d been particularly despondent.
“As you should be. You cocked things up with the woman you love and you’re miserable. You’ve good reason, unlike me when I go into my painting frenzies. I wish I knew what prompted them, but I don’t.”
“I wish I knew why I become so irritated if my papers or flowers are in disarray,” Great-Aunt Flora said. “It really isn’t the same as what you’re going through right now. You must see that.”
He wasn’t sure he did.
“When you’re sober, you’ll understand,” Great-Aunt Minerva said with confidence. “Then we’ll leave for London. Tomorrow, all right?”
“No. I’m not taking you to London.”
“We’re not letting you go alone.” Great-Aunt Flora sniffed. “Come, Minnie, let’s pack our things.” They left in unison, marching away as if called to battle.
Bennet blinked after them as another shaft of pain drove through his temple. He winced, cradling his head. Definitely becoming sober.
“Mrs. Marian, where’s the key to the wine cupboard?”
The housekeeper materialized as if she’d been a ghost lurking belowstairs. Round figured with a smile as wide as England, she shook her graying head at him. “You’d have to ask Eakes, but he won’t give it to you. Your great-aunts are right.”
“About what?”
“All of it. You may not want to believe them, but they are aware of their…problems. Just as we are all aware that you don’t suffer any of it.”
“You don’t know everything I’ve done,” he whispered.
“I don’t have to. I’ve known you since you were a small boy. You have never demonstrated anything that would make me think you share the affliction of your great-aunts or of Frances. Don’t forget that my mother worked here in your grandfather’s time. She always told me how like him you were. And you know he wasn’t like his brother or your father.”
Everything she said was true. Could he truly be unafflicted?
He wasn’t sure he could believe it. “I don’t suppose you have something that would improve my headache?”
“Cook does.” Mrs. Marian smiled. “I’ll send it up. You should rest before you pack.”
“You think I should go to London?”
She laughed. “I don’t think your great-aunts are going to give you any choice. But yes, you should go to London. Lady Glastonbury wasn’t here long, but I could see how much you love each other. We are all so pleased to see you happy at last. You certainly deserve it.” She gave him another smile before taking herself off.
Bennet slumped against the cupboard door. Whether he deserved it or not, he had been happy. The fact was that he loved Prudence. When she’d said she loved his aunts because they were family, he knew he loved her too, that he’d loved her for weeks. Since before they’d even left Riverview. She’d seen him at his worst and had grown to care for him in spite of that.
He wasn’t entirely convinced he should follow her to London. If they continued as they were, he’d only fall more in love with her and then it would be difficult to pull away—as he must after the babe came. He couldn’t risk a second child, not when he was already so frantically worried about this one.
When he allowed himself to think about it. For the most part, he avoided thinking of the future. But as Prudence’s belly rounded, he would have a harder time doing that. Perhaps being apart was the solution. She’d just reminded him that she hadn’t wanted this.
The terrible secret was that deep down, he had. He wanted her. In his bed, as his wife, and as the mother of his child. He didn’t care if she was illegitimate or a companion or a charwoman. She was the first thing he thought of when he roused from sleep and the last image he saw in his mind before he fell asleep. She also haunted his dreams and filled his senses. Prudence was everywhere, everything.
He’d burdened her with his family, with their affliction, with his uncertain future. But perhaps he wasn’t going to end up like his father. Moreover, he could hope—really hope—that his child wouldn’t either. And if he or she did? Bennet wouldn’t love them any less. He already loved them quite desperately, just as he did their mother. They would support their child together with his family.
Of course he had to go to London.
Chapter 20
Cassandra, seated in a nearby chair, tapped her foot. “We should go to the park.”
Prudence’s nerves were still frayed. She had to fight to keep her emotions in check, something that had become a daily, if not an hourly battle. “I’ve only been here two days. Can’t I settle in before you make me pretend to be a viscountess?”
Though it had been nearly a week since she’d learned the truth about Bennet’s family and about his desire to never marry or have children because of that family, the emotions of that day were still strong. She wanted to blame the baby, but the fact was that after burying her feelings for so long, every single thing she’d ever felt now rose to the surface at the slightest provocation. She hated how lost she felt, how out of control.
Ada, who sat beside Cassandra on a settee in the Wexfords’ drawing room, turned toward Prudence. “You aren’t pretending to be a viscountess.”
Wasn’t she? She’d abandoned her husband. She’d been angry with him, but she shouldn’t have left. Flora and Minerva had tried to persuade her to stay, but she’d been overwrought. She hated disappointing them. Already, they felt like her family, even if Bennet didn’t want them to be.