She stared at him, eyes rimmed red. “Even you?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Especially me.”
Annabel sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her glove, and squared her shoulders in a gesture that was unmistakably her mother’s. “I don’t want to go back,” she admitted softly. “She’ll be so angry.”
Edward shook his head. “She’ll be relieved. Angry second.”
Annabel’s attempt at a smile was pitiful, but genuine. “Will you—can you—take me home?”
“Of course.”
He scooped up her bag and tucked it beneath his arm. He considered, briefly, the possibility of hunting down that boy himself and delivering a few choice words—or something else—but it would accomplish nothing.
Annabel was unharmed and unattached to the blackguard. That was the main thing.
With an arm about her shoulders, he guided her out of the slum and toward the waiting carriages. She clung to him, a small thing seeking refuge, and he did not shake her off. He was surprised to find the anger had ebbed, leaving only a raw ache in its wake.
They reached the curb, and Edward hailed a hack. After Edward gave the driver directions to Georgina’s, he climbed inside and sat next to Annabel.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For all of it.”
He adjusted his hat and met her gaze. “We all want things we cannot have, Annabel. You will learn to forgive yourself for it. Or, if you’re clever, learn to want better things.”
The dark interior of the carriage forced Edward to avoid looking at his pocket watch but he knew it was too late—that by the time he returned home, Beatrice would have been waiting for him.
Perhaps she would continue to wait? He could but hope.
Before the carriage had even come to a halt, the door to Georgina’s lodgings flew open. Georgina stared at her daughter for two full seconds before launching herself down the stoop, arms flung wide, seizing Annabel with a cry.
“Sweet mercy, you little idiot,” she gasped, hugging Annabel so hard the girl squeaked. “What in God’s name possessed you?”
Annabel flattened herself into her mother’s hold. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t—he said he would—”
Georgina cut her off with a sharp look, then pressed her daughter’s face between her palms, scanning her for wounds. “Have you eaten? Are you cold?” She looked to Edward. “You must come inside. It’s cold.”
He obeyed, stepping into the cramped entryway and closing the door with care. They made their way up to the lodgings and Georgina ushered them in quickly.
“The state of you,” Georgina muttered, shepherding Annabel into the sitting room and motioning for Edward to follow. He ducked his head to pass beneath the low lintel.
“What have you put us through?” Georgina muttered as she placed a kettle over the fire.
Annabel sank onto the threadbare sofa and sniffed, blinking at the hearth where a meager fire was losing ground to the damp. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”
“Promises,” Georgina huffed, but her hands trembled as she brushed Annabel’s cheek. “You’re safe, that’s what matters.” She turned to Edward. “Thank you. I know you didn’t have to, but…” Her voice caught. “Your father would be proud of you, truly.”
He found himself looking at the threadbare rug rather than her face. “It was my duty.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She eyed him for a moment. “I’ll make us tea.”
Annabel looked up at him, pink slowly returning to her cheeks. “I am sorry, Edward. For all the trouble. I will be good, I promise. Seeing what London was truly like…I see now how lucky I am.”
He shook his head. “I think perhaps it is time you explored London properly. But in a safe way.”
Georgina arched a brow as Edward turned to her. “Perhaps Annabel can spend some months with my wife and me during the year? That way she can experience all London has to offer.”
That was if Beatrice was still around. By his reckoning, he was dangerously close to her fleeing off to the country or the Continent and leaving them married in name only.
“Edward,” Georgina whispered, “the scandal.”
