She swallowed hard and debated dashing upstairs to her bedroom but that would be childish. She just didn’t want another disagreement, that was all, and for some reason, whenever she talked to Edward it always became tangled no matter how good her intentions were.
She gave a slight nod and he ushered her into the drawing room, motioning to the fire.
“I won’t keep you long. You look soaked through.”
“I’m fine.”
They stood for a moment in front of the fire, the only sound the crackle of the flames and the tick of the mantel clock. Beatrice had the urge to flee, to shed her ruined dress and scrub her hands clean, but Edward spoke before she could move.
“Beatrice…Bea…”
She blinked at the soft use of a nickname only her mother used.
“Will you dine with me tomorrow evening?”
“Dine with you?”
“Yes. At Verrey’s?”
“Verrey’s,” she repeated.
She hadn’t been there for an age. Not since they had wed. Did he recall that they’d shared a meal there once, before the idea of a marriage between them had been floated and that they had talked all night, so much so that her mother thought Beatrice was head over heels for Edward?
Beatrice searched his face, hunting for the catch. He looked older than she remembered, and tired. For a wild second she wanted to refuse, to punish him with her absence as he had punished her. She caught her bedraggled reflection in the window and exhaled. A night of fine dining and elegant evening wear was something they had yet to try.
“If you wish,” she finally said.
“I do.”
“Very well,” she said. “We can dine out.”
He paused for a moment as if surprised by her response. “Eight o’clock, then.”
She watched him, waiting for more, but he simply stepped aside to let her retreat upstairs. There was no triumph in his posture but she was certain she spotted a little relief in his gaze. She went up to her room, and closed the door behind her.
She did not know what tomorrow would bring. Perhaps nothing would change. Perhaps the tombs of Highgate had more life than her marriage ever would. Still, for the first time in months, she felt something approaching anticipation. It would be pleasant to wear a beautiful gown and dine under the warm haze of a glittering chandelier. Perhaps then, Edward would finally see she was worth coming home for.
Chapter Four
Pinching the bridgeof his nose, Edward peered at the ledgers until the numbers blurred, then gave up with a sigh, turning his attention to the wind rattling against the window. The study was warm enough with a fire burning in the iron grate, and the housekeeper had furnished him with cake and tea. He didn’t mind balancing accounts usually, finding it a satisfying job, especially since it appeared Beatrice was quite sensible at managing the household expenses.
But today was different.
Later today he would be dining out with his wife.
She would wear an elegant gown and maybe some jewels and they would have nothing to distract one another from the task at hand. He wasn’t certain if she quite understood what he intended when he invited her out but he was determined—tonight they would remember those early days of courtship and start to fix what he had almost broken.
A tap at the door. Edward did not bother to call out; the butler entered anyway, a folded letter balanced on a silver tray.
“An urgent missive, my lord.”
He grimaced. An urgent letter was never good. “Thank you.”
He recognized Georgina’s handwriting even before the signature. He read it dispassionately even as his stomach began to sink. A line of ink had blotted through the final word. He imagined Georgina’s hands shaking as she wrote.
“Christ.”
He set the letter aside and stared at it for a few moments. It seemed Annabel fancied herself utterly in love, ready to race to Scotland to secure her own happiness. From what he knew of the man she thought herself in love with, that could not be allowed to happen.
