Page 65 of Indecent
“Why did you give this mystery gentleman the ring?” Lady Peterborough asked.
“I gave it to him as a favor—that he didn’t ask for. I’d hoped he would sell it. In fact, I told him to. He’s in need of funds, and I wanted to help.”
“He sounds rather important to you.”
Now was the moment to spill the other reason she’d come today. “Things have changed since I gave him the ring. I find myself in the same dire straits as you once did.” Prudence hesitated the barest moment before plunging forward, heat rising in her face. “I believe I’m carrying a child. I need a dowry.”
Lady Peterborough’s eyes widened. “His child? Oh, my poor dear.”
Prudence didn’t answer the countess’s question. “Can you help me?”
“I do understand your plight—of course I do. But I can’t give you anything for fear my husband would realize some of my allowance was unaccounted for. I take it this mystery gentleman to whom you gave the ring is the father? If he’s in Lucien’s circle, he must be rather prominent.” Lady Peterborough’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. “Has he agreed to marry you if you provide a dowry?”
“He hasn’t agreed to anything yet.” Prudence stiffened her spine and averted her gaze from the countess. “I haven’t told him about the child. I’m not even entirely certain.”
“Forgive me, but if this manisa gentleman or a peer, I can’t imagine he’d marry you. I’m sorry to have to say that.”
“He would if I had the money,” Prudence snapped, her emotions getting the better of heragain. Reining them in, she straightened her spine and moderated her tone. “He needs money.” He also seemed to want her, but that didn’t mean he’d want to wed her. She could certainly understand why he wouldn’t. “In any case, I will be forthright with him about everything—he already knows the circumstances of my birth.” And he didn’t seem to care.
“So you don’t intend to trap him into marriage with a dowry?”
“Since you don’t know me, I will strive not to allow your opinion of me to be disappointing,” Prudence said coolly. “No, I don’t intend to trap him. As I said, I will tell him about the child—or at least the possibility of one. He would not be free to marry me without a dowry, and I should like for him to have that choice.”
A sad smile curved the countess’s lips. “I fear you’ve given the male sex far more credit than they are due. He likely isn’t free to marry you at all—dowry or no. His duty will require that he wed someone of his station.”
“I can see you aren’t going to help me.” Prudence stood. “Are you going to give me the ring back?” It seemed as though the countess wanted her to have it.
“Of course. It’s yours.” The countess rose from the settee. Taking Prudence’s hand, she pressed the ring into her palm.
“What am I to do with this?” Prudence asked. “You want me to have it, and yet I can’t wear it or otherwise display it for fear that people will discover who—and what—I am. When I pass it to my daughter, am I to tell her that I am a bastard and her grandmother is a countess as well as the daughter and sister of a duke? None of that matters since we can’t tell anyone. It’s simply a fairy tale I can put her to bed with every night. No, you keep your ring.” Prudence tried to hand it back.
The countess’s features had creased more deeply with everything Prudence said until she looked thoroughly pained. “I wish you could wear it with pride. I wish I could declare to the world that you’re mine. How I wanted a daughter, and look at you—so beautiful and so accomplished. I wish I could help you,” she added quietly. “Do you really think this man will marry you if you have a dowry?”
Probably, if only because he needed money. “I want to give him that choice—for the sake of the baby who is as much a part of him as of me. If he refuses, I will not be any worse off than I am today.”
“Your heart might be broken,” the countess said softly, her gaze warm with understanding that nearly melted Prudence’s resolve to turn her back on the woman. “I know how that feels, and in some ways, you never recover. I really would like you to keep the ring.”
“I will likely sell it,” Prudence said, though the funds wouldn’t come close to solving Bennet’s woes.
The countess looked her in the eye. “I can see how important this is to you—the dowry. I can’t ask my brother. I’ve never wanted to trouble him with this. The only person I can think to ask is your half brother.”
“No,” Prudence practically snarled. She refused to ask him.
“Such a vehement response. Do you know him? It sounds as though you’re familiar with his…demeanor.”
“I am. He’s a horrible person.”
“He wasn’t before the war.” Lady Peterborough gave a faint smile, then took a deep breath, lifting her chin. “I would like to help you. It’s the very least I can do. However, my options are limited. If Pete found out about you, my life would be over.”
Prudence gasped. It couldn’t bethatdire. “What would he do?”
“Send me to a convent, probably. He’s threatened as much. Which is why I can’t do what I would like.”
“What’s that?” Prudence asked cautiously.
“Claim you as mine, of course. What I can do is speak to Maximillian—I mean Warfield—and insist he provide a dowry for you. His father would want him to do it, I’m certain.”
Prudence stared at her, hating the idea of going to him, but beginning to accept that it might be her only path forward if she wanted her child to be born in wedlock. “I desperately want this baby to be legitimate,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word.
