Chapter 15 #4
A baby. The one thing he’d never wanted.
What if the child was like his father or his Aunt Agatha?
How could he bring him or her into this world knowing that he might damn them to a life of anger, delusion, or misery?
He wanted to tell Prudence that he would gladly marry her, that he eagerly awaited the birth of their child, but he was bound up with fear.
Their child could be afflicted, and he still wasn’t sure how badly the sickness would affect him as he grew older.
It seemed to worsen with everyone, some declining more quickly than others.
He also wanted to tell her that he was glad she’d told him, but the shameful truth was that he was terrified. And he couldn’t admit it, not without revealing everything.
“Bennet, did you hear what I said?” she asked, breaking into the tumult of his thoughts. “I don’t expect you to marry me if there’s no dowry. I don’t really expect you to marry me at all. I would never want to entrap you.”
That was how he could avoid this problem of telling her about his family—if he didn’t marry her.
Which meant he’d marry Mrs. Merryfield. He’d never felt more cornered or more frantic in his entire life.
The dreams he’d had of Prudence pressing flowers with Aunt Flora were just that—illusions of a life he’d never have.
Memories of Bennet’s father filled his mind.
Wide-eyed and panting, he’d rifle through his desk for something—usually money or something important he’d misplaced.
This was followed by a rage or uncontrollable despair.
Or, in rare cases, a giddy euphoria because he’d found what he was looking for.
Those were the best memories because in those moments, he’d seemed happy.
The reality was that he’d never been happy.
And Bennet wasn’t going to ruin her chance for happiness by sharing his family’s affliction with her.
Perhaps she need never know the real and horrible truth.
There was a chance, however small, that their child wouldn’t be affected.
As emotion coiled inside Bennet and sapped his control, he fretted the worst would come, that he would succumb to fury or tumble into hopelessness. This situation certainly felt hopeless.
Bennet reached back and flattened his palm against the bark of the tree, pressing his hand into the rough grooves. He searched for and somehow found a piece of clarity amidst the tumult in his head. “Lucien will ensure you get the dowry. He’s not a man who gives up easily.”
“You don’t know Warfield,” she said darkly, her lip curling slightly. “He’s as heartless as anyone can be.”
Dowry or not, Bennet would marry her. He might not want a child, but it seemed he was going to have one.
“We should still get married.” He realized that wasn’t a proposal any woman wanted to hear.
Nor was the one he’d given Mrs. Merryfield when he’d proposed a “mutually beneficial union.” Prudence deserved better.
He took his hand from the tree and drew a deep breath. “Marry me, Prudence.” He glanced toward her abdomen, wondering if there truly was a babe within her. His babe. He could be a father. How he wanted there to be joy. But there was only fear.
“What if there’s no dowry?” She paused, her anguished gaze meeting his. “Or no baby?” Her voice squeaked on the last syllable.
Then he would be poor but relieved. “We will manage. At Riverview, we demonstrated our ability to clean, cook, and work hard. We’ll survive.”
Her features softened, and he saw in her the relief he couldn’t possibly feel. “Yes, I’ll marry you. What about your other…arrangement?”
He would call on Mrs. Merryfield tomorrow—after he obtained a special license to wed Prudence.
He couldn’t imagine Margaret would be happy, but she would have to understand.
It wasn’t as if anything had been formally announced, and the banns had not yet been read, of course.
“Don’t worry about that. Just ready yourself to become Lady Glastonbury on Saturday, assuming I can procure the special license tomorrow. ” He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.
Her eyes widened. “So soon?”
He couldn’t decide if she seemed surprised or tense or apprehensive, or all those things. “The sooner, the better, right?”
He wanted to ask how she was feeling, but realized it didn’t matter how either of them felt. Neither wanted to marry or have children, yet here they were. They would make the best of it. At least they liked each other a great deal—or so it seemed to him.
“Yes, I suppose that’s for the best.” She sounded uncertain, but again, he didn’t want to ask her how she felt.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead.
“This isn’t what we planned or perhaps what we wanted, but I think others marry with far less on their side,” he said pragmatically, hoping to convey the positive aspects of this shocking and perhaps unwelcome development.
“We enjoyed each other’s company at Riverview, didn’t we? ”
“After a time,” she admitted, provoking him to smile.
“And we certainly enjoyed each other in bed. Or did I imagine that?”
“You did not. I enjoyed that very much.”
He pulled back and looked down at her. “Then this is a very good start.”
His lips found hers, and he managed to keep the despair at bay.