Page 7 of Indecent
He exhaled. “I told you I was desperate.”
Mrs. Logan returned with the tea, but didn’t linger, for which Prudence was grateful. They couldn’t discuss what was actually happening or had happened in front of her.
Glastonbury drank his coffee, his brow set into contemplative lines.
“I don’t know how you can drink that,” Prudence commented. “So bitter.”
“Perhaps I’m a bitter person,” he said.
She’d thought he seemed so, but was surprised to hear him describe himself that way. “Are you?”
He only shrugged in response. “I hope the tea is to your liking.”
She took a sip and found it quite delicious for such an isolated place. “It is, thank you. I can’t believe you authored a fake note. You really are a blackguard.”
“Yes. I’m afraid your opinion of me and this situation is about to get even worse. There is a problem with the coach requiring repair. It won’t be ready to leave until tomorrow, which is probably for the best since the rain has likely made the roads quite slow. It would take us twice as long to reach London.”
They were trapped here for another night? “I didn’t think my opinion of you could sink any lower. I was wrong.” She took another drink of tea as anger swirled inside her. The problem with the coach might not be his fault, but the fact that she was even here was. If not for him, she’d be on her way back to London with Cassandra right now.
“I am deeply sorry for everything.”
“So now I must keep up the charade of being your betrothed for an entire day.” She glowered at him. “I want a separate room.”
“The inn only has two rooms, and when I arrived, Logan noted that the smaller one has a leaky window. He indicated that he wouldn’t be taking any other lodgers because the room isn’t fit for habitation at the moment. I am confident he wouldn’t allow us to sleep there. He takes our comfort very seriously.”
That was certainly convenient, she mused—for Glastonbury. Except he hadn’t planned to be closeted with her. He’d expected Cassandra, who would have been even more upset by this situation. She had a family and a man she loved, and Glastonbury would have ripped her away from that. What had he taken Prudence from? A job that was likely coming to an end soon. Friends, but no family.
Did that mean her life was somehow less? That she wouldn’t be missed?
She shook the silly, emotional thoughts away, as she’d done for years. Ever since her father’s death when she was fifteen and her mother had admonished her to “tuck away” her grief. She’d said, “No one wants to see your emotions, Pru. They’re messy and ultimately useless.”
“Even love?” Prudence had asked. Her mother had said that love was something to be held close to the heart and that those worthy of the sentiment knew they were loved, as she knew Prudence loved her and she loved Prudence. It had felt like a secret, a bond that only they shared. In the wake of her father’s death, she’d found comfort in that. Then, after her mother’s death, she’d buried everything away. Emotionswereuseless when life and everything in it was so incredibly fleeting.
Bringing herself back to the present, Prudence asked, “How did you even find this place? It barely seems like an inn.”
“Years ago, on my first trip to London, I wasn’t able to make the final leg of the journey due to rain.”
“Sounds familiar,” she said quietly.
“I ended up here. It’s a farm, but they also operate as an inn, albeit a small one.”
“So you routinely stay here? I assumed you chose this place because it’s isolated. Less chance of being caught with a kidnapped heiress.”
“That’s rather cynical.”
She narrowed an eye at him. “But accurate, yes?”
“Yes,” he admitted with a sigh. “However, I would have chosen Riverview anyway. Because, as you said, I routinely visit on my way to London from Somerset.”
Prudence sipped her tea, then frowned. “I wish you hadn’t used my Christian name. In fact, I am surprised you even knew it.”
“I pay attention. No one will know who you truly are, if that’s troubling you.”
He was right. No one here would ever think she was Miss Prudence Lancaster, paid companion. Here, she was Lady Prudence. “Is my father a duke?” she asked sarcastically.
“Do you want him to be?”
“My father was a teacher,” she said quietly, looking down at her tea as she recalled the man who’d raised her until he’d died. Her real father wasn’t a duke, but he wasn’t far off. She began to panic that Bennet would somehow read her thoughts—that she’d been adopted and that her entire life was a fabrication that could fall apart with the wrong utterance. Fleeting, indeed. She jerked her head back up and rushed to divert the subject of their conversation. “I’m still struggling with how you could be so desperate to do something this despicable. I understand you’re in need of money, but this is beyond the pale.”
