Page 66 of Indecent
“I understand.” Lady Peterborough took her hands and gave them a squeeze. “Will you let me take care of this for you?”
Prudence couldn’t quite believe this woman wanted to help her, but wasn’t that the reason she’d come? “Thank you. Please don’t tell Warfield I’m increasing. It’s humiliating enough that I had to tell you.”
“You mustn’t feel ashamed, not with me. I’m your mother, Prudence, and I love you—I have always loved you. This is my grandchild, and I will love her—or him—too.”
The family she never imagined was not only possible, it was coming to be, whether Prudence wanted it or not. She wanted it. An immense lump formed in her throat, and tears gathered in her eyes. She shook her head, refusing to cry. Bloody stupid emotions.
How had Prudence gone from an independent woman content with her life to pining after a man who’d kidnapped her and hoping she indeed carried his child? Perhaps pining was extreme, but she did think about him far too much.
Lady Peterborough continued, oblivious to the major shift of thought occurring in Prudence’s mind. “We’ll tell your brother that you require a dowry, that you could make a very advantageous marriage. His father would want that, and Maximillian should too. He won’t claim you as his sibling, however. You do understand that?”
Prudence nodded and managed to push out a few words. “Yes, and I don’t want to claim him either.”
“Good.” The countess’s expression turned pensive once more. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve settled the matter. I’ll move quickly—I understand time is critical for you.” She glanced toward Prudence’s still-flat abdomen.
As Prudence left, she couldn’t help still feeling apprehensive. What if Warfield wouldn’t give her a dowry?
She couldn’t shake one word: trap. She’d no wish to snare Bennet in a marriage he didn’t want. He would be shocked when she told him about the baby.
She hoped he might also be happy, since she was starting to feel that way too.
Bennet returned from the park to find two of his relatives had arrived unannounced. Shocked, for they never visited him here, let alone at Aberforth Place, he worried something awful had happened.
He rushed upstairs to where they awaited him in the drawing room.
Aunt Judith, his father’s youngest sister, perched on the edge of the settee, and Great-Aunt Esther, his grandmother’s sister, sat in a chair near the hearth. She straightened as if surprised when he entered—or as if she’d been asleep.
“What a surprise,” Bennet said, not bothering to characterize their visit as something pleasant. He loved all his relatives, but these two in particular tried his patience. Was that because Aunt Judith seemed to have escaped the family affliction while Great-Aunt Esther didn’t come from the afflicted line? “Did I miss a letter from you that said you were coming?”
“I didn’t bother to write,” Aunt Judith said, not mincing words, but then she never did. “As soon as I heard the rumor, I readied myself to travel.”
“I insisted on coming along,” Great-Aunt Esther said. At seventy-four, she was still quite spry. “It’s been an age since I was in London.”
Aunt Judith cast her a beleaguered look. “We’re not staying long.” She returned her attention to Bennet. “I told her not to come, that this was a critical errand, but not one that would allow for socializing or sightseeing.”
Great-Aunt Esther smiled at Bennet, her cheeks dimpling as lines fanned out from her blue eyes. “I’m certain Glastonbury will insist on squiring us about town for a few days at least.”
“And where would we go?” Aunt Judith asked. “I suspect he has no invitations. If the rumor is true.” She looked at him expectantly, as if Bennet should know what she was talking about.
Of course he did.
“Is that why you’ve come?” he asked, provoking her to be explicit, which shouldn’t be difficult for her. He lowered himself into a chair closer to Great-Aunt Esther than to Aunt Judith. Hopefully, the latter wouldn’t see it was some sort of preference, but she very well might.
“Yes, that’s why I’ve come,” Aunt Judith replied. “As someone whose livelihood depends on you, I was horrified to hear that you are practically destitute. I am just glad that rumors tend to be exaggerated. Still, how bad is it?” She leaned forward slightly, blinking and cocking her head so that she reminded him of a bird.
“Practically destitute isn’t far off, actually,” he said somewhat cheerfully. What was the point in being gloomy about it? “Father left things in quite a mess, I’m afraid.”
Aunt Judith’s nostrils flared, and she jerked back. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Your father was a mess at everything. I should have expected that he would have died poorly too.”
As angry and frustrated as Bennet often felt toward his father, he reminded himself that those emotions were directed at the unfortunate situation. His father could no more help his shortcomings than he could stop them from driving him down a regrettable and disastrous path. The best thing he’d ever done was marry Bennet’s mother—or so he always said. Since she’d died giving birth to Bennet, there was no way Bennet could know for himself.
“There is nothing to be done about that now,” Bennet said, pressing his lips together before he added anything else that would be unhelpful. “I’m doing my best to rectify matters.”
“You’re on the hunt for an heiress,” Great-Aunt Esther said. “That was the other part of the rumor. Perhaps Judith and I can help you on that front. Though, I daresay, we’ll need to visit a modiste.”
Judith snapped her head toward her aunt. “Don’t be daft! There’s no money for that. We are not here to gad about Society.”
Great-Aunt Esther sent her niece a sullen look. “We could still help,” she muttered.
