Page 23 of Indecent
Prudence pulled a loaf of bread from the oven and set it atop the worktable, pleased with the golden crust.
“My goodness, your bread looks wonderful,” Mrs. Logan sang as she strode into the kitchen carrying an empty tray of mugs. She’d taken ale out to those laboring.
“Let me help.” Prudence took the tray and went to the sink to clean the mugs.
Mrs. Logan followed her and pumped water into a basin. “You have an ease with cleaning and cooking for a lady of your station, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
She hadn’t asked a question, but Prudence had heard one just the same. “I grew up more humbly. My father inherited when he didn’t expect to. Things changed, but I haven’t forgotten my earlier years.” It was only a half lie. Shehadgrown up humbly. But happily. “My mother taught me to make bread.”
“That explains why you seem so unassuming, so approachable,” Mrs. Logan said. “I’ve not met a great many Society ladies, but you aren’t like any of them.”
Because shewasn’tone of them, even if she mingled in their circles. However, her real motherwasone of them, as was her real father, whose identity she knew. When Imogen Lancaster had revealed the truth of Prudence’s birth, she’d given her a ring that had belonged to her real mother. The ring was a family crest, something only a woman of means and position would have owned. That she’d gifted it to Prudence seemed to indicate she wanted Prudence to find her. In truth, if the woman had wanted her identity known, wouldn’t that information have been shared along with Prudence’s father’s identity? Prudence had since learned her father was dead. It was possible her mother was as well. Perhaps it was time to stop wondering and searching.
“How did you and his lordship meet?” Mrs. Logan’s query jolted Prudence back to the present.
Prudence plucked a dishcloth from behind the sink and washed the first mug. “At a ball.” It was the first thing that came to her mind—and the most innocuous.
“Did you fall in love immediately?” Mrs. Logan grinned.
“No.” Prudence hoped the woman didn’t press her for details. She’d have to inform Bennet of what she said so they could keep their stories straight. Anxiety stabbed at her as she wondered whether Bennet had already told her anything.
“Why did you decide to elope?”
“What did his lordship tell you?” Prudence asked, hoping to avoid giving her conflicting information if Bennet had in fact spoken to her already. She handed the mug to Mrs. Logan to dry.
Mrs. Logan’s cheeks tinged faintly pink. “I didn’t ask him. I shouldn’t have asked you either.”
Prudence didn’t want the woman to feel bad. Mrs. Logan was very nice, and Prudence didn’t like that they were lying to her. The woman wouldn’t appreciate having them sharing a room under her roof given the truth of their circumstances. It was beyond indecent.
“I’m afraid we were impatient to be wed,” Prudence explained. “The banns take too long. Although, if we’d known the weather would keep us here for so many days, we wouldn’t have bothered.” Prudence finished washing the next mug and gave it over to Mrs. Logan to dry.
“Oh, it is certainly bad luck.”
“I wonder if that means we shouldn’t wed,” Prudence mused.
Mrs. Logan gaped at her. “Of course not! Anyone can see you are meant to be together. You must marry!”
Prudence had picked up the next mug and promptly dropped it into the sink. Thankfully, it didn’t break. “I don’t know how you see what you do, but I appreciate your support.”
“About what?” Bennet’s question sounded through the kitchen as he moved inside from the exterior door followed by Mr. Logan, the stable master, and a few other men.
Mrs. Logan moved on to drying another mug Prudence had washed. “I was just telling her ladyship that it’s clear you and she are meant to be together, in spite of this bad luck with the weather and your poor coach.”
Bennet’s gaze found hers as she looked over her shoulder at him while scrubbing the final mug. There was mirth—and heat—in his gaze.
Prudence finished with the mug and handed it to Mrs. Logan. She turned, drying her hands on her apron. “I told her we eloped because we were impatient.”
“That is certainly true,” Bennet said with a nod. “What else did you tell her?”
“That we met at a ball.” Prudence gave him a look in which she tried to convey her concern at having to answer such questions.
“There’s soup and fresh bread, baked by our very own Lady Prudence,” Mrs. Logan said proudly.
Bennet looked toward the loaf Prudence had taken from the oven. “You baked that?”
“I did.”
“Astonishing,” he murmured. “It looks delicious.”
