Page 89 of Indecent
Whipping the accessory from her head, she tossed it across the entry hall. “Bloody nuisance. This is what I get for trying to fit in with you people.” She flung the ribbon too, but it landed mere inches from her feet. She swore again and stamped on it with her heavy boot, which didn’t at all complement her ancient walking dress.
Prudence walked in from the staircase hall. “I thought I heard voices.”
Before Bennet could introduce her to his father’s cousin, Frances stalked toward her. “You’re very pretty. I’m Cousin Frances.”
“I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Prudence.”
Frances held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Prudie.”
Prudence took her hand as she looked toward Bennet with a puzzled expression. Probably because of her new nickname. If he could live with “Benny,” she would learn to accept “Prudie.” He suppressed a smile even as trepidation skipped through him. Frances seemed to be lucid, but once in a while, she had days where she insisted that she had to get ready for a ball or milk a cow, neither of which were things she needed to do.
“I’d planned to visit you tomorrow,” Prudence said. “I’m glad you’ve come today. Will you stay for tea?”
Leaning toward Prudence, Frances inhaled sharply. Then she wrinkled her nose and walked around Prudence, sniffing as she went.
Bennet frowned. Perhaps Frances wasn’t as lucid as he thought.
He moved to stand beside Prudence. “What are you doing, Frances?”
Frances stopped when she was once more in front of Prudence. “When is the baby coming?”
Prudence went rigid beside him. He put his hand on her waist.
“How would you know that?” Prudence whispered, her face pale.
“Animals have a certain smell when they’re breeding. You have that smell.”
“Breeding?” Great-Aunt Flora scurried into the room, her gaze fixed on Prudence. She must have been in the small sitting room just off the entry hall. “Youareexpecting.”
“Yes,” Prudence didn’t look at anyone, and Bennet wanted to whisk her away.
“That would explain the hasty wedding,” Great-Aunt Flora added with a nod. “I knew it! I’m surprised there was nothing in the newspaper about it.”
Great-Aunt Minerva glided in from the staircase hall, two squirrel heads poking forth from her apron, each in their own pocket. “About what?”
“Prudie is breeding,” Cousin Frances said.
“How lovely!” Great-Aunt Minerva beamed at Bennet. “I’m so glad you decided to have children after all. A little St. James running around Aberforth Place is just what we need.”
Prudence turned to him. “What does she mean you decided to have childrenafter all?”
Bennet’s earlier agitation intensified. This was not how he wanted to discuss his preference to avoid children with Prudence. Hell, he’d hoped never to discuss that he’d ever felt that way. They’d deal with the child when they had to, and she never had to know how terrified he was, how desperately he wished she wasn’t carryinghischild.
“He was going to let the line die with him,” Great-Aunt Flora said with a tsk. “He wasn’t even going to wed.”
“Flora!” he bellowed. “Can’t you ever remain silent? Can’t any of you remain silent?”
Great-Aunt Minerva pet one of the squirrels in her apron. “Of course we can’t, and we shouldn’t have to. Why wouldn’t your wife know that you’d planned to remain childless, that you—”
“Not another word, Minerva,” he growled.
“I suppose you haven’t told her about Agatha either.” This came from Frances, who stood with her hands on her hips. “You can’t hide who we are, Benny. Nor can you run from the fact that your offspring will be just like us.”
“He or she might be like Judith,” Great-Aunt Minerva said unhelpfully. “But that would be a pity.”
While they spoke, Bennet watched a range of emotions move across Prudence’s features. Shock, dismay, disbelief, anger, and a host of others he couldn’t identify.
“Who is Agatha?” Prudence asked calmly, despite the pulse ticking strongly in her neck.
