“No.” Bennet sifted through the correspondence on his desk while Great-Aunt Minerva sat in a chair petting one of her squirrels. George, he thought, thinking it was the smaller of the two.
They’d just arrived a short while ago after a hurried trip from Somerset—no small feat with two older ladies, two squirrels, and far too much luggage.
Great-Aunt Flora turned from the window wearing one of her signature pouts. “Where will I find flowers to press?”
“The park,” Great-Aunt Minerva responded. “I need to take Temperance and George for a runabout. They are anxious after the coach ride.”
Bennet had tried to convince her not to bring them, but she’d insisted. Eventually, he’d abandoned the argument because he simply wanted to get on the road. He’d been eager to get to London, to see Prudence.
Now that he was here, he was filled with apprehension. There was much to be said. And much to face. The former didn’t frighten him. The latter shook him to his core.
“We can’t go to the park right now,” he told them, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “Great-Aunt Minerva, can you take your pets out to the garden? I don’t think they will mind the lack of flowers.”
“That is true.” Great-Aunt Minerva rose and departed through the door in the corner that led outside.
Great-Aunt Flora huffed a breath. “Do you at least have a newspaper I can peruse? Preferably something with gossip?”
Bennet found a few newspapers in the stack of things on his desk and absentmindedly handed them to his great-aunt.
She thanked him just as Mrs. Hennings stepped into the room.
“None of these have gossip,” Great-Aunt Flora complained, setting Bennet’s teeth on edge.
Mrs. Hennings held up a finger before dashing from the room. She returned a moment later with another paper and gave it to Great-Aunt Flora. “This should have what you’re looking for,” she said with a smile.
“Thank you very much.” Great-Aunt Flora smiled with anticipation as she settled into a chair to read.
The housekeeper turned to Bennet and inclined her head toward the door, seeming to indicate she wanted to speak with him privately.
Nodding, he followed her into the narrow staircase hall. “Thank you for fetching that for my great-aunt. I wish she didn’t like to follow gossip so much.”
“I was quite surprised to see you’d brought them with you,” Mrs. Hennings observed.
“They insisted on coming, and I thought I could use the support, quite honestly.”
Mrs. Hennings’s features creased with concern. “Does this have anything to do with Lady Glastonbury? I confess I was curious as to why she returned to London without you. Which brings me to the reason I wished to speak with you.” Now she looked positively pained.
Dread stole through him.
“You know my daughter is maid to Lady Basildon,” Mrs. Hennings said. “In her position, she hears an astonishing amount of gossip.”
Bennet’s breath caught. What now?
“There is a rather unsavory rumor going about that you only married Lady Glastonbury because she is carrying a child, that you were paid to do so by her cousins, to whom she is…scandalously related.”
Every curse word Bennet had ever heard raced through his brain, along with an overwhelming need to personally and physically destroy whoever had started this. “Did Lady Basildon start this rumor?”
Mrs. Hennings blinked in surprise. “I don’t know. There is more, however.”
Fuck! Bennet massaged his forehead. “Do tell.”
“There is speculation that the babe isn’t even yours since you and Lady Glastonbury seem to be living separate lives.” She grimaced, her gaze full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry to have to relay this, but I knew you would want to know.”
“I appreciate you telling me,” he murmured, his mind working through not only how this could have started, but how this was affecting Prudence. She would be devastated. And rightfully so.
While he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, his absence had made this even worse.
He realized Mrs. Hennings was watching him warily. “Rest assured, Mrs. Hennings, Lady Glastonbury and I are not living separate lives. And though it is no one’s business but our own, my wife is expecting my child.”
“Should I ask my daughter to share that information with Lady Basildon?” Her question held a bit of a squeak at the end.
Bennet realized she was nervous, and he didn’t blame her. He probably looked furious enough to throttle someone. He certainly felt that angry. “I’d rather not justify their nasty gossipmongering. And by ‘their,’ I don’t mean your daughter. I know she is only trying to be helpful.”
“Absolutely, my lord. She was most distressed on your behalf.”
He didn’t doubt that. Jane Hennings had worked in his father’s London household several years ago when there had been more money. Bennet felt terrible that she’d had to leave. “Perhaps when Lady Glastonbury comes to live here, your daughter might want to return to this household as her lady’s maid. She could also help you around the house.” Not just because it might be necessary—he knew Prudence wouldn’t be comfortable having a maid dedicated solely to her.
He was getting ahead of himself. He hadn’t even persuaded her to come back. He wasn’t sure he could.
Mrs. Hennings’s brows lifted gently in surprise. “I’m sure she would be most enthusiastic, my lord.”
“Excellent. Don’t say anything yet.” He didn’t regret making the offer, but now he had to determine how to pay for it. Taking a deep breath to halt the rising panic and frustration, he wondered if things would ever be easy.
Mrs. Hennings nodded, then went on her way.
Bennet went to the base of the stairs and gripped the post, bending his head as though he just couldn’t support the weight of it any longer. His mind galloped with thoughts and worries and, most of all, a towering rage. He dug his fingertips into the wood, but the surface was, like his current situation, unforgiving.
And his current situation was entirely his fault. Not the rumor, of course, but he’d made it worse by not being at his wife’s side.
“I heard what she said,” Great-Aunt Flora said.
Bennet jerked his head up to see her just inside the staircase hall. “I would prefer to be alone at the moment, please.” He wished he hadn’t brought her or her sister.
“I can imagine—what a debacle. However, we can fix it.” She sounded quite confident.
“How?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the certainty in her gaze.
“We shall reclaim the narrative.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and now he saw determination. “Gossips like to hear themselves talk—I should know. We must give them something else to talk about. Something that is better than this.”
Every thought in his head vanished. He simply stared at her. “I pray you have an idea, because I do not.”
“Not yet, but I will.”
The need to see Prudence was overwhelming, but he acknowledged it would be better if he had a plan in place. Not that he was at all confident in whatever plan Great-Aunt Flora might devise. “When can I expect this scheme of brilliance?”