“Nasty,”Will mumbled indistinctly from his place behind Bennet. His face was all but hidden in Bennet’s cape.

It had started raining the day of Thomas’s funeral and continued through Lord Granville’s internment the day after, but Harry didn’t say that. Bennet knew the facts well enough. “Aye, it’s nasty all right.” The mare nuzzled the back of his neck, blowing a warm, musty breath against his skin.

The horse had gone lame a mile back. He’d tried looking at the mud-clogged hoof but hadn’t found anything obviously wrong. Now he was reduced to walking her to the next town. Slowly walking her.

“What do you intend to do once we catch up with Lady Georgina?” Bennet asked.

Harry turned to peer at him through the downpour. Bennet had an expression of studied nonchalance.

“I’m going to marry her,” Harry said.

“Mmm. I’d got the idea that was your overall plan.” Bennet scratched his chin. “But she did take off for London. You must admit it looks rather as if she might be, well, unreceptive to the idea.”

“She’s carrying my child.” A gust of wind flung a spatter of icy raindrops playfully against Harry’s face. His cheeks were so numb with cold he hardly felt it.

“That part puzzles me.” Bennet cleared his throat. “Because a lady in such a state, you’d think she’d be running to you with open arms. Instead, she appears to be running away.”

“We’ve already been over that.”

“Yes,” Bennet agreed. “But, I mean, did you say something to her before?”

“No.”

“Because women can be awfully sensitive when they’re in the family way.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “And you would you know this how?”

“Everyone . . .” Bennet tilted his chin down, causing a trickle of water to pour off his tricorn into his lap. “Damn!” He straightened. “Everyone knows about women with child. It’s just common knowledge. Perhaps you didn’t pay enough attention to her.”

“She got quite a bit of attention from me,” Harry growled irritably. He noted Will’s brown eyes peering curiously around Bennet’s back and grimaced. “Especially on the night before she left.”

“Oh. Ah.” Bennet frowned thoughtfully.

Harry searched for a change of subject. “I’m grateful to you for coming with me,” he said. “Sorry you had to rush Thomas’s funeral. And your father’s.”

“Actually”—Bennet cleared his throat—“I was glad you were there, rushed or not. Thomas and I weren’t close, but he was my brother. And it was hard dealing with the succession on top of his funeral. As for Father . . .” Bennet swiped a drip of water off his nose and shrugged.

Harry splashed through a puddle. Not that it mattered. He was already soaked to the skin.

“Of course, you’re my brother, too,” Bennet said.

Harry shot a glance at him. Bennet was squinting down the road.