Chapter 2 #2
“Do you think he approved of Wexford?” Prudence shook her head with a humorous smile. “His Grace will be horrified when he learns his daughter wishes to wed an Irishman. Given the duke’s reaction to him, you’d think Wexford was one of hell’s minions.”
Glastonbury flinched. “I don’t envy him. He’s a nice fellow. I hope they’ll be very happy.” His gaze fixed behind her. “Mrs. Logan is returning,” he murmured.
Mrs. Logan set a crock of butter on the table along with a plate of ham. “I’ll check on you shortly. Enjoy!”
Prudence plucked a roll from the basket and slathered it in butter. “Do you really hope that? That they’ll be happy, I mean.”
“Of course I do. I’m not that despicable.”
She was glad to hear it. Not that it mattered. Once he returned her to London, she’d likely never see him again. And if she did, it would be in a busy London ballroom or someplace similar, and they wouldn’t acknowledge each other. Why should they?
They ate quietly for a few minutes. Prudence hadn’t realized how ravenous she was. Apparently, being tossed around a coach half the night made one rather hungry. And sore. Her back and backside were somewhat tender.
After finishing two slices of ham and a roll, Glastonbury leaned back and perused her a moment, making her feel slightly self-conscious.
“What?” she asked dubiously.
“What do you plan to tell Lady Cassandra?”
Prudence shrugged. “The truth. What else should I tell her? That I eloped? I’m afraid that would be a difficult lie to uphold. Not that I would want to.”
“Perhaps your husband died tragically just after the wedding. Imagine the freedom you could enjoy as a widow.”
“I am already a lady’s companion, a spinster. You’ll have to come up with a better reason than that for me to keep the truth from Cassandra. Perhaps you ought to bribe me.”
His brow furrowed for the briefest moment. Then he laughed. It was a rather jolly sound. “You possess a keen wit, Miss Lancaster.”
“Careful. If you’re committed to this ruse you concocted, you’d best call me Prudence. Or Pru, if you’d like to seem familiar.” She finished the last bite of her roll.
“Shall you call me Bennet, then? Pru.” He said her name slowly, even though he used the shortened version, as if he were trying it out.
“If you’re to call me Pru, I shall call you Ben. Does anyone call you that?”
“My Aunt Agatha used to.” His gaze drifted to the fire and remained fixed upon it.
Prudence was tempted to ask if his aunt was still with him, but it sounded as if she was not.
He’d been kind enough not to prod after she’d foolishly mentioned her father.
She would show him the same courtesy. It wasn’t as if they needed to get to know one another, even if they were trapped together for a longer period of time.
She studied his profile, acknowledging that he was a very handsome gentleman.
He also seemed most remorseful, not that his contrition alleviated the trouble he’d caused.
Was it a trouble? She’d been frightened and uncomfortable, but she was unharmed and safe.
Presumably, her reputation would remain intact.
Would it if she was revealed to have been alone with Glastonbury for several days?
Elopement would ensure she wasn’t ruined.
Except she didn’t want to marry him, nor was he asking. But if she hadn’t eloped, what could she say she’d been doing? And why had she written the note? She’d have to reveal him and the truth of his actions.
It would be bad enough for him with everyone learning he had no money. Did she want to pile on his troubles by telling everyone he’d kidnapped her?
No, she refused to take any responsibility for the mess he’d created—not just for himself, but for her too. She shook the thoughts from her mind. Since they were stranded here, she had plenty of time to compose a plan.
“What shall we do all day?” she asked.
He looked back to her, his blue eyes brilliant in the light from the fire. “I thought I might take a nap. The chair wasn’t terribly comfortable.”
“You still aren’t sleeping in the bed,” she said. “Not even for a nap.”
“I wouldn’t think so. I’d planned to ask for extra blankets so that I may make a pallet on the floor.”
“How enterprising of you.” She stood abruptly, and he jumped to his feet. Glancing at the window, she said, “I’d take a walk, but it’s still pouring buckets.”
“A nap it is, then. Perhaps cards? Backgammon?”
Prudence found his charm disconcerting. He was contemptible. “I’d rather you didn’t try to be nice to me.”
“Makes it hard to stay angry, doesn’t it?” He flashed her a brilliant smile, and her traitorous stomach had the nerve to do a small but noticeable flip.
“Do not flirt with me, Ben,” she said sternly, immediately regretting using his name. It sounded far too intimate—and tasted that way on her tongue. She gave him her haughtiest glare.
Then she spun on her heel and marched back upstairs. Once there, she wondered what in the devil she’d do next.
Following dinner that evening, Mrs. Logan approached their table with a bottle and two wineglasses. “I’ve brought our best port. May I pour for you?” she offered with a smile.
Bennet tried not to think of the cost. Surely the best bottle of port here was at least moderately affordable? Not that he had even a shilling to spare.
“Thank you, Mrs. Logan,” Pru said primly. She was very proper, but then he supposed she had to be as a lady’s companion. Especially working for the Duke of Evesham.
Had he ruined that for her? Revealing the truth about where she’d been, that Bennet had kidnapped her by mistake would damage her as much as him.
Had she considered that? He wanted to discuss it with her, but he also didn’t want her to think his motives were selfish.
He was finished—and he knew that. That didn’t mean she had to be too.
He’d been half-serious about his elopement-with-a-dead-husband suggestion.
Mrs. Logan departed, and Bennet lifted his glass over the table. “Shall we drink to an improvement in the weather?”
“Has it improved?” Pru asked, glancing toward the window where it was now dark outside. “It seemed to rain all day without interruption.”
“It’s more of a prayer,” he said with a benign smile before taking a drink.
She gave a slight shrug, then also sipped her port. “This is delicious.” She eyed him a moment, seeming hesitant.
“Is there something else you want to say?” he asked. “I think you more than deserve to ask me anything.”
“Can you afford this?” She inclined her head toward the port.
“I didn’t ask for it.” That would have to suffice as an answer. He preferred to avoid admitting the true depths of his insolvency. “But I want you to enjoy it. You deserve that too.”
She took another sip. “What will you do after you return me to London? Do you plan to stay for the rest of the Season?”
“If you’re wondering whether I’ll slink back to Somerset with my tail between my legs, the answer is no. I do need to go home to check on things, but hopefully, I’ll find an heiress first.” He lifted a shoulder. “Someone will want to marry a viscount. At least I have a title to sell.”
She frowned gently, her lush lips pulling down. Lush? He ought not characterize her in such a way. She was not for him to lust after. Still, it was difficult to ignore her beauty.
“You can’t marry for love, then,” she said matter-of-factly.
He gave a humorless laugh. “I haven’t the luxury of that, I’m afraid. I will hope to marry someone I like and admire—as I did Cassandra.”
“I can understand. Love is a luxury, isn’t it?”
“Why do you say that?” He found her to be rather enigmatic. She was very stiff, save her bouts of pique, which he’d thoroughly earned. Except for the brief mention of her father—in that moment, Bennet had seen love in her eyes.
“Love brings obligations and…messiness,” she said offhandedly. “I’m alone now, and it’s far more convenient—financially, emotionally, in all ways, really.”
He couldn’t argue that love was untidy. He had only to think of his family. They loved one another dearly, even his father, but there were plenty of other messy, complicated emotions and situations. “You’ve no desire to fall in love? To marry?”
“No.” Her response came fast and strong. “Then I’d have to worry about someone other than myself, including children.” Her shoulder twitched.
She didn’t want children? How extraordinary.
Bennet took a drink of wine, thinking it was far better than he’d expected. It was, quite possibly, expensive after all. Blast. Ah well, he’d find a way to settle his account with Logan. There had to be another painting he could sell.
He changed the subject because he wasn’t sure where they could go from there without venturing into rather personal, private territory. She’d already demonstrated she preferred to avoid that.
“What are you going to do now that Lady Cassandra is marrying Wexford?”
Prudence tensed, her shoulders stiffening along with her jawline. “I expect things will work out. They did after my previous charge eloped.”
“An actual elopement?” he asked in surprise. “Who was that?”
“Lady Overton. When she and Lord Overton eloped, I went to Lady Cassandra. The two are close friends, so it was a convenient—and fortunate—move.”
“I should say so. Does Lady Cassandra have another friend?”
“I can’t say, but I believe she’ll do her best to ensure I find a position. It may be that I shall work for someone older.”
“Would you prefer that?”
She arched a brow. “I suspect there would be far less intrigue.”
He laughed softly before taking another drink of port. “I suppose accompanying your charge to a boxing match and being abducted for your trouble is not likely to happen if you are companion to a dowager.”
She smiled, and he wished she would do it more often. “I should hope not.”
“It seems you haven’t worked for an older woman as yet. Does that mean you haven’t been a companion long? You seem rather young for the position, even if you are a spinster.” He wrinkled his nose. “I dislike that word.”