He checked his pocket watch—an hour until his dinner with Beatrice. He should be getting ready really.
It would take that long just to get across London. His chest constricted. The timing, of course, was perfect.
Flexing his jaw, Edward briefly considered his options. He could wait, see if Annabel returned. He could ignore the letter. He could—ridiculous thought—pretend he never received it, go to dinner with Beatrice and for once act like the sort of man she might respect.
But that was fantasy. He remembered his father’s last days, the way the old man’s voice rattled in his ruined lungs, the grip on Edward’s hand still iron-strong as he begged him to look after Georgina and Annabel.
Edward found himself gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale. He loosened his hold and tried to steady his breath. Duty was a curse. He was a sensible man, and sensible men did not believe in curses, but in that moment he felt well and truly hexed.
“Where is the viscountess?”
“At the hospital I believe, my lord.”
But of course. His beautiful wife’s skills were not limited to sketching and managing a household excellently. She also happened to have a charitable nature.
Guilt swirled its way through his gut.
He rose swiftly. “Will you warn her that I may be late tonight but that I will be home?” He looked at the butler when the man nodded. “Iwillbe home and we shall dine out, do you hear me?”
“I shall pass on the message exactly as you have dictated, my lord,” the butler sniffed as though offended Edward thought he would do anything else but the man didn’t have a romantic bone in his body and Edward doubted he understood the importance of Edward not letting Beatrice down.
Edward shrugged on his coat, grabbed his gloves and hat. As he put a hand to the door, Mrs. Prewett moved through the hallway. Her eyes widened.
“You are leaving, my lord?”
“I will return,” Edward vowed.
“Of course, my lord.”
He couldn’t avoid the narrowed gaze Mrs. Prewett gave him. He knew full well whose side his housekeeper was on.
The front door opened to a flurry of wind, bringing in several stray leaves with it. Edward hesitated only long enough to wonder if Beatrice would really wait for him, or if she would simply roll her eyes, curse his name, and dine alone. He didn’t blame her. He had once believed that there was nothing worse than a man who failed to live up to his obligations. Now he knew better. There were some obligations that ruined every other thing you tried to build.
Clutching his hat, he stepped into street and summoned a hack. He knew where he needed to go first and he didn’t look forward to it. Annabel had supposedly been spotted at the Royal Oak and according to his men, the boy she was sweet on spent time there, yet no one had been able to track Annabel or the boy as yet. Edward reckoned it was about time to toss some large sums of money at the problem or even throw some fists around if need be.
Town in the early evening was a different animal with shopkeepers locking their businesses and people hurrying home. By the time his carriage finally reached the edges of St. Giles, women were already stalking the streets looking to sellthemselves and he moved past at least two drunken fights. He rapped on the carriage roof, climbed out and paid the driver who he knew wouldn’t go any farther into the area and pulled his hat low as he made his way into the warren of tightly knit houses.
This was not an area a man of his standing ought to frequent, certainly not alone and preferably with a stout walking stick. The filth and gloom quickly surrounded him as he marched purposely past tenements that held a dozen times more people than they should until he came upon the Royal Oak, spilling light and laughter into the fog. He was about to duck into the tavern when he spotted her at the nearby coach stop.
Annabel sat beneath the gas lamp at the entrance hunched over a travel bag and shivering in her thin coat. She clutched the bag as though it contained her life, not just a few changes of clothes. She looked impossibly small and young and any frustration he’d felt at her leading him on his merry chase fled.
Edward squared his shoulders and stepped into the glow of the lamp. “Annabel.”
She jerked her head up, eyes wide. For a moment, he thought she might bolt.
“Edward…I…I…didn’t…” She trailed off, her lips trembling as she tried to compose herself. The bravado he remembered from her childhood—arguing with tutors, sticking her tongue out at the neighbor’s dog—had drained from her face, replaced by the hollow look of someone who’d learned a brutal lesson about the world.
“He’s gone,” she said, her face crumbling as she rose from her spot on the ground and flung herself at Edward. “Gone,” she repeated against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her small frame. “I gave him money for our tickets and then—” She gave a shuddering gasp. “He never came back for me.”
He rubbed her back for want of anything useful to say. Annabel knew she’d been a fool. What was the sense in telling her so? Her breaths slowed and she finally glanced up at him.
“Are you not going to give me a telling off?”
“I think not.”
Annabel let out a strained laugh. “He said I was clever. That I was brave to run away. But in the end I was just a fool.”
He tried to remember what it was he was meant to say. Comfort was not his strong suit. “You made a mistake. That is all. Everyone does, eventually.”
