Edward pinched the bridge of his nose and removed his hat, setting it upon the small writing desk near the door. “Did you pay the boy?”
“Yes,” she said meekly.
“I’m doing everything in my power to find her, Georgina,” he reminded her. “I have men on the streets. I’ve been out myself—”
“I know, I know, but you cannot expect me to simply sit by and wait and—”
“I expect you to stay safe.” Edward hissed out a breath, knowing full well that anyone would say anything to a desperate woman in return for coin. “My father would be furious to know I let you—”
“Your father is dead.”
Thank heaven for small mercies. His father would not be happy his illegitimate daughter had run off with God knows who to God knows where.
Actually, his father would be deeply ashamed by the whole situation. Edward had promised to look after Annabel upon his father’s deathbed, sworn to utter secrecy. The whole situation was far from ideal but had been made worse by Annabel’s errantbehavior. It seemed five years of playing the doting half-brother had spoiled the girl.
“Hold your nerve.” Edward snatched up his hat again. “I have this in hand.”
“She could be dead.”
The words were said coldly. And they were true. It was too easy for a girl to simply vanish in London, never to be seen again. But the boy she’d run off with wanted her for one reason and one reason only. It was obvious that Annabel Winters had money.
Annabel Winters, for her part, had not grown up in abject poverty. Georgina’s latest arrangement was only meant to be a stopgap while Annabel “sorted herself out,” though Edward had long suspected Annabel had no intention of being sorted out by anyone, least of all him. She possessed, in spades, the kind of stubbornness that one could admire in an older woman like his wife but within a young girl, could only lead to disaster.
Edward blamed himself. He had, in a flurry of misguided and expensive decisions, attempted to compensate for Annabel’s fatherlessness by providing for her as best he could. He’d found her tutors and then a finishing school. She’d spent one term at the finishing school before being expelled for unladylike behavior. Though the headmistress had been discreet, Edward heard tell of an incident with a groom, then another with the son of a local vicar.
His half-sister was, by all accounts, entirely unfinished and ill-prepared for the world. Still, Edward had believed she would be safe, as long as she remained under Georgina’s roof. He’d trusted that her mother’s constant vigilance would keep Annabel from straying too far.
They had both been foolish to believe Annabel’s behavior could change. Her running off to London in the arms of a criminally-minded boy was, quite naturally, the next step in Annabel’s rebellion.
Unfortunately for them.
“She won’t be dead,” Edward said firmly. “That boy will be keeping her safe.”
Georgina wrapped her arms about herself and Edward regretted his tones. He didn’t know how to comfort her. He wished he could ask his mother to step in or even Beatrice. They would know better how to comfort a distraught mother. But Edward had been sworn to secrecy by his father and he wouldn’t hurt his mother nor expose Beatrice to such scandal—especially knowing what her own father had put her through.
“I’ll find her,” was all Edward could say before putting his hat back on. “Do not doubt me on that.”
She smiled slightly. “You remind me of your father.”
He rather hoped not. His father was a kind man but weak. The thought of lying to Beatrice and fathering a child with another woman left Edward feeling ill.
Yet, he was lying to her, almost every day at present. Lying about his whereabouts, pretending her doubts about him didn’t matter when they cut him to the core.
Two women. Both causing him grief. Both on the run from him.
Edward walked out of the dingy building, the scent of boiled cabbage clinging to his coat like a persistent ghost. The rain pressed down on his shoulders as if to remind him of the burdens he bore.
He couldn’t find Annabel. Not right this second. Nor could he fix his slowly crumbling marriage. At least, not without being honest with her. Edward couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing her, that with each passing day they were going past the point of no return and there would be no coming together as he had hoped the first day he’d met her. He recalled her bright eyes and easy laugh and thinking that, if he was to be part of anarranged marriage, he most certainly wanted to be joined with her.
A pang of guilt speared through him as he waved at a nearby hack. He needed to take action. Do something other than sit in empty rooms waiting for one another. They needed to remember why they had both been so keen on this match. A sumptuous dinner perhaps. A night of glamor and music.
That was it. He’d leave her a note if she wasn’t home upon his return. She’d wear her best dress and he his tailcoat and they’d brave the grim weather to spend time much like they had upon their introduction, under glittering chandeliers and with champagne in their hands, and they’d laugh together once more and recall why they thought this marriage would be a success after all.
Chapter Three
The wind offHampstead Heath was a force to be reckoned with and by the time Beatrice reached the shelter of Highgate Cemetery her face was thoroughly numbed. She welcomed it slightly. It seemed better than sitting at home in the warmth and swinging between feeling nothing and utter hopelessness at her situation. Her boots squelched in the red-brown mud and she’d long given up using her umbrella but she pressed on. It was preferable to the alternative—waiting for her husband.
Or simply getting into a disagreement with him. She couldn’t understand why, but they seemed incapable of mastering the straightforward act of communication.
