Page 74 of Indecent
He took a deep breath and got to the heart of things. “I’m afraid I’ve come to dissolve our arrangement.”
She looked as if she’d frozen. She didn’t blink or swallow or move in any way. She didn’t even seem to breathe. At last, she spoke. “Did I hear you correctly? You no longer wish to marry me?”
“I’m afraid I find myself in another situation that would prevent me from wedding you. It’s not your fault, nothing you have done. I am deeply sorry to cause you any distress.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “We made an agreement. The settlement is being drawn up today.”
He knew that and was thankful he hadn’t yet signed it. “I came to tell you as soon as possible. I do apologize for the trouble.” He didn’t flinch from the rising anger in her gaze.
“This is highly infuriating,” she said tightly, her hands clasped together in her lap. “We had an agreement,” she repeated. “Furthermore, you need my money.” Her nostrils flared. “Did you find a more preferable bride? Someone in the peerage, I’m sure.”
“It’s not like that. I am going to marry someone else, but not because of money.” He wanted to be honest with her—she deserved that.
“What, you fell in love?” Her lip curled. “How foolish you are to choose that over security. Perhaps your current situation is more due to your ineptitude than you would like to admit. Blame your father all you like, but if you would choose love over security, you can’t be very astute.”
Her vitriol surprised him, but then he didn’t know her very well. And he didn’t like what she said. What if he was making a bad decision, just as his father nearly always did? Mrs. Merryfield was the better choice: she already had children, she would hardly come to Aberforth Place, and her money was assured. But Prudence…and the baby.
Bennet swallowed, hating the discomfort roiling in his chest. “If it makes you feel better to malign me, please do so. This is rather inexcusable of me, but it must be done.” Even if it was a poor choice. He didn’t think it was—and perhaps this meant he really was like his father, that he couldn’t escape the same end. He clenched his hand into a fist and flexed it back flat again.
“Must it?” Her voice rose. “As I said, we made an agreement. Where is your loyalty, your honor? Have you no shame at all?”
His ire stirred, and his body tensed. “I am doing this because of honor.” Trying to redirect the conversation and hopefully extract himself as quickly as possible, he said, “At least the betrothal wasn’t announced. There will be no ill effect on you.”
Her jaw clenched. “I told my friends, my family, mychildren.”
Bennet flinched. He’d met her younger child, a daughter, briefly. Ten years old, she was sober and exceedingly polite. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”
“Then don’t. Keep your word, and we’ll forget this unfortunate conversation occurred.”
Anger coiled within him. “While I understand this is difficult, I cannot continue with our arrangement.” Honestly, he hadn’t thought she would take it this badly—it wasn’t as if he was breaking her heart or causing her to lose anything.
“Perhaps I will consult with my solicitor and see what he says.”
Was she threatening him? Now he was becoming well and truly angry. “I have tried to be polite, but your continued refusal to accept this change is becoming tiresome. We will not be married, and that is the end of it.” He stood, more than ready to depart.
She also got to her feet. “You do disappoint me, Glastonbury. I liked you. I thought we would suit very well. This was a mutually beneficial agreement, and you can tell me you’re a man of your word and of honor, but that is simply not true. You’re a fraud and a liar, and given what I know of your father, perhaps I’ve escaped certain disaster.”
It was the one thing she could say that would hit him hard and square. Yes, it was entirely likely she’d just avoided the biggest mistake of her life. And perhaps she was right about his honor. He’d demonstrated a clear lack of it when he’d arranged to have a lady kidnapped. Desperation was an ugly thing—he was seeing it now in Mrs. Merryfield.
He felt bad that he’d aroused this in her. He was trying to do the right thing, but she would pay the price. “I truly am sorry. I didn’t want to disappoint you—or hurt you—but it’s precisely because of my honor that I must wed someone else.”
Her eyes widened. “She’s with child, isn’t she?”
Christ, how had she guessed that? Bennet said nothing.
“You could at least show me the grace of honesty.”
He’d tried to. “I’d rather not discuss it.” He ought to deny it, but when his and Prudence’s baby came so quickly after they wed, he’d be caught in a lie. He didn’t want to be what Mrs. Merryfield had called him—a liar or a fraud. But wasn’t he? His family was a shameful secret he couldn’t bear to share.
“Then I shall take that as confirmation,” she said coldly. “You’ve behaved reprehensibly and now plan to throw me over for some stupid chit. Anyone foolish enough to give herself to a man outside the bonds of marriage deserves whatever happens to her.”
Fury erupted in Bennet sharp and fast. He lunged toward her. “Shut your mouth. Don’t speak of her. Ever.”
She jerked back, her face pale. Fear glazed her eyes, and Bennet felt a surge of self-loathing so strong that he nearly shouted out his rage.
Instead, he spun on his heel and quit the room.
The footman barely got the door open before Bennet strode through it into the gray afternoon. Stalking down Bruton Street, he tried to push the anger from him, the sense that he had no control. The feeling of loss and despair followed quickly, setting him even more on edge. No, he wouldn’t let this happen. He wasn’t a bad person; he wasn’t lost in anger or emotion.
