Page 71 of Indecent
“Good evening, Glastonbury,” Mrs. Merryfield greeted him. She stood near the top of the stairs as if she’d been waiting for him to arrive. Elegantly dressed, her dark hair swept into a neat chignon, she didn’t smile, but her eyes gleamed with approval. Or perhaps importance. Actually, he realized he had a very hard time reading her. That was probably not a good thing between spouses.
“Good evening, Mrs. Merryfield,” he said, wondering if he’d ever feel comfortable calling her Margaret or whatever nickname she preferred. He suspected there was no nickname. He couldn’t envision her as Peggy or Margie or Meg or anything else but staunchly Margaret.
He offered her his arm and wondered if he’d ever feel anything when she touched him. He also wondered what she would say when he refused to finish inside her when they shared a bed.
Suppressing a twitch of distaste, he quickly ushered that thought from his mind. Perhaps they wouldn’t even have to share a bed since they wouldn’t be having any children.
“I’m quite looking forward to Sunday.” Now she smiled, briefly, her lips tightly pressed together. Bennet didn’t think he’d ever seen her teeth—not completely. Were they horribly crooked? It was hard not to compare her to Prudence, whose smile made him want to grin like a boy who’d just been given chocolate.
Bennet didn’t respond as they moved into the drawing room. Tonight’s musicale was to be a quartet from Edinburgh. “Do you think the music will be lively?” he asked, diverting the conversation from anything to do with their impending nuptials.
“Do you expect them to play a reel?” She sniggered. “There’s no dancing tonight.”
Pity, for he enjoyed a good Scottish reel. Did Prudence know how to dance one?
He led Mrs. Merryfield into the room, and she withdrew her hand from his arm. Pivoting, Bennet sucked in a breath. Prudence had just come in with the Wexfords. He hadn’t expected to see her. It didn’t look as if Miss Shaughnessy was with her. How peculiar that she would come alone. Well, not alone. She was with Lord and Lady Wexford.
“Did you hear me, Glastonbury?”
Blinking, Bennet turned his head toward Mrs. Merryfield. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with someone.” He gave her his brightest smile, then took himself off toward the new arrivals, who’d moved toward the seating area.
Immediately, he acknowledged that he shouldn’t have left the woman he was going to marry to speak with the woman who’d captured every part of his imagination—along with every part of his body. Prudence looked lovely tonight, her blonde hair styled with green ribbon that matched the green of her simple but exquisite gown. The silver trimming brought out a shimmer in her sage eyes. He could have drowned in them quite happily.
“Good evening, Miss Lancaster.” He bowed to her and took her hand before realizing he’d completely cocked that up by not addressing Lady Wexford first. He never forgot that sort of thing. What was wrong with him?
Pivoting to Lady Wexford, who stood between Prudence and Wexford, he bowed more deeply. “Forgive me for not addressing you first, but I’m afraid Miss Lancaster deserved my immediate attention—she looks splendid this evening.” He glanced toward Prudence, whose mouth quirked into a small, secretive smile.
“No forgiveness is necessary,” Lady Wexford said cheerfully. “I am quite pleased for Prudence to be the center of attention.”
“I don’t care for that,” Prudence said quietly, hastening to add “But this is fine—because I know all of you. I only mean that I wouldn’t like to draw attention from others.”
Bennet wanted to tell her that he would keep her safe from that, from everything, but he did nothing of the sort. “Is Miss Shaughnessy not here with you this evening?”
Lady Wexford adjusted one of her gloves. “No, she vehemently changed her mind and decided to stay home.”
“‘Vehemently’ is an excellent description,” Wexford said with a shake of his head.
“And since Prudence was already dressed, we thought she should come with us.” Lady Wexford smiled at her former companion. “It’s almost as it was before.”
“Except for you being married,” Prudence said drily.
Lady Wexford chuckled. “Well, yes, except for that.” She glanced about the drawing room, which was rapidly filling with people. “Have you seen Lucien, by chance?”
“I have not,” Bennet replied, wondering if he’d returned from his errand to visit the Viscount Warfield. Did that mean he was making progress? Perhaps they were working out the settlement agreement.
Cold sweat broke out along his nape and shoulder blades. His gaze darted to where his betrothed—he suppressed a shudder—stood speaking with another lady. Then he looked to Prudence, serenely beautiful in her spectacular evening gown. Except in his mind’s eye, he saw her in a simple dress with an apron, working in Mrs. Logan’s kitchen at Riverview. She was as lovely to him in any setting, in any costume. Or in none at all.
Of course he would marry Prudence instead of Mrs. Merryfield. If he had to marry anyone at all, and he did, he would choose her.
He suddenly needed to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. Someone came to speak with the Wexfords, and Bennet took the opportunity to move closer to Prudence. He bent his head toward her ear and whispered, “Meet me in the garden when the musicale starts.”
He gave her a slight nod, then left the drawing room before she could refuse. Bennet made his way downstairs and out to the garden. A few people stood talking near the doors, but they went inside, leaving him alone.
After waiting what seemed an interminable amount of time, he heard the beginning strains of the quartet. He looked toward the door, expectant. Perhaps she wasn’t coming. Just because he hadn’t given her a chance to decline didn’t mean she would do his bidding.
He should have asked her instead of demanding. But he needed to see her. Did she not need to see him? Apparently not.
Frustrated, his shoulders slumped, and he turned to walk through the garden.
