Page 69 of Indecent
“Very well.” Lucien exhaled as he stood. “Wish me luck with Warfield. I’m going to visit him now. He’s a difficult sort.”
“So I hear.”
Lucien cocked his head. “What happens if he won’t provide the dowry? I know how badly you need the money.”
“For now, I’d appreciate it if you could leave this between me and the lady in question.”
“It’s hard to do that when you apparently require others’ assistance,” Lucien said drily. His features darkened. “Don’t break her heart if the money doesn’t come through. I may not know who she is—yet—but she’s my blood, and I’ll defend her honor.”
“I would never want to hurt her,” Bennet said softly. But he already had when his hired ruffians had ripped her from her sleep and altered the course of her life. To the point that she was now planning marriage when she’d indicated she wished to avoid it.
Whywasshe doing this? Just to help him as she’d tried to do by giving him the ring?
Something had changed. Bennet needed to know what.
Lucien left, and Bennet rose from the chair to pace as agitation raced through him. He’d suddenly gone from being desperate and uncertain to having two potentially viable options. The question was, which would he choose?
Mrs. Merryfield had the money he needed, and he’d already made a commitment to her. Still, if Prudence had a dowry, wouldn’t he prefer to marry her? He certainly preferred to bed her. He’d dreamed of her every night since they’d parted at Riverview. But it was more than that. He couldn’t see Mrs. Merryfield with his family, whereas he envisioned Prudence picking flowers with Great-Aunt Flora and visiting Great-Aunt Minerva in her painting room. While it seemed potentially charming, he knew it was a dream. What would Prudence do when Great-Aunt Minerva threw her paint and made an awful mess? Or when Great-Aunt Flora shredded her newspapers in a fit only to sob once she realized what she’d done?
He pushed the thoughts away. All this was moot. Prudence didn’t yet have a dowry, and he didn’t understand what was going on.
He needed answers and he needed them fast—before the banns were read on Sunday.
“Ijust want to make a sketch of this specimen,” Kat said, her gaze focused on the bird in the case at the British Museum. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” Prudence was used to her drawing all manner of things and had brought a book. “I’ll just go find a place to sit and read.”
“Excellent.” Kat was already moving her pencil across the parchment she held on a small, thin board that provided a portable writing surface.
Prudence retraced their steps back to the entry area where there was seating. She found an empty bench and sat, opening her book on her lap.
She didn’t read a word.
Her mind was too full of thoughts of Bennet, the baby, whether she was going to have a dowry, the fact that she now had a mother who apparently loved her. It was incredibly overwhelming.
She couldn’t deny the joy she’d felt when Lady Peterborough—perhaps she ought to think of her as something less formal—had agreed to help her and even said she loved her. She also couldn’t ignore the burgeoning happiness she felt when she thought of the child she probably carried. And what about Bennet?
“Good afternoon.”
The deep, familiar voice sent a shock of pleasure down her spine. She snapped her head up and met the disarming gaze of the person most occupying her thoughts.
“Bennet,” she whispered, utterly surprised to see him.
He smiled. “Prudence.”
He’d sent a note that morning asking to see her today. She’d responded quickly with her regrets since she had plans to accompany Kat to the museum today. He knew she would be here.
She realized she hadn’t seen him since before she’d confronted her mother. “I’m sorry,” she blurted.
He appeared perplexed despite the smile hovering about his mouth. “For what?” He sat down beside her.
“For not seeing you. For not telling you that I confronted Lady Peterborough. She is indeed my mother.”
The smile overtook him then. “I know. That’s part of why I asked to see you today. Lucien told me.” He glanced about. “Where is Miss Shaughnessy?”
“She’s sketching a bird. It will take her a while—she’s quite detailed with her work—so I came here to read.” She closed the book in her lap. “I’m afraid I wasn’t getting anywhere. Too distracted.”
“I can only imagine. What happened with Lady Peterborough? I hope she was pleased to see you.”
