“We’ll manage a way around it. Perhaps Annabel can be a friend to my wife.”
Annabel looked at him with something like awe. “It sounds wonderful. Does it not, Mama?”
Georgina hesitated. “We will discuss it at length.”
Edward knew Georgina would agree in the end. Annabel had spent too long being hidden away for fear of creating scandal or upsetting his mother and it was not fair to Annabel, who haddone nothing wrong. A young girl needed to experience life, he realized, so he would have to ensure she did so.
Safely.
“Will you stay for a cup of tea, Edward?” Georgina asked, grabbing a cloth and wrapping it around the kettle.
He almost said yes. The room was warm and full of something he could not name, a feeling he hadn’t known since childhood. Perhaps bringing Annabel into his life properly would bring more of that sensation. But he had a wife waiting, or perhaps not waiting, at home. He pulled on his gloves, nodding toward the door.
“Another time,” he said. “I’d best be off.”
Georgina smiled. “Thank you again.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgment. At the door, Annabel caught his sleeve, just for a second. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything. You’re the best big brother a girl could ask for.”
She moved onto her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Edward couldn’t help but smile back. He didn’t agree with her assessment, however, he would try to do better by her in the future and embrace the connection they had through his father.
For now, though, he had to make haste and pray Beatrice had not given up on him.
Chapter Five
Beatrice sat alonein the dining room, back so straight it ached, refusing to allow the chair to claim any part of her spine. She tapped her shoes against the wooden floor rhythmically and avoided looking at the grandfather clock in the corner.
She wouldn’t look again. She couldn’t. It had likely only been minutes since she last eyed it.
Her emerald skirts jostled as she shifted slightly, her corset pressed against her ribs but her Grandmother’s pearls caused her more discomfort than anything. Her mother never wore them, declaring them too heavy. They were beautiful, though, and Beatrice had wanted to look beautiful.
“Silly me.”
Beatrice’s gaze tracked back to the clock and she stared at it, watching the minute hand shudder forward.
She couldn’t believe it. Edward was late.
Really late.
And though she should have expected it given his past behavior, she had been certain tonight would be different. She’d seen the need in his eyes and recognized the offer of dinner for what it was—a genuine gesture of intent. He wanted them to come together. Properly.
Escaping to the graveyard was not the most mature of acts and she recognized that. Tonight she was going to make an effort. Be mature. This was going to be a reenactment of theirearly days of courtship and a place of neutral ground where maybe, just maybe, they could work out how to move forward.
Together.
She tapped her fingers against the dining table. Clearly, this was not meant to be.
The fire had been set too high, and the room wavered with the heat. Beatrice dabbed her upper lip with a handkerchief, then tucked the linen away. Another glance at the clock. The big hand had not moved, though the pendulum swung behind the glass. Three hours past the time he’d said. Perhaps more. Was it her, or was the room growing smaller, the walls inching closer in the orangey glow?
Mrs. Prewett entered slowly, carrying a silver tray. She inched around the door as though afraid to disturb her.
“Tea, my lady?”
“Set it down, please.” She kept her gaze on the crackling fire as Mrs. Prewett arranged the tray on a low table, the china clinking merrily against itself.
Beatrice didn’t want her pity.
The housekeeper hovered, hands clasped, gaze lingering on the unopened bottle of champagne Beatrice had requested. A peace offering of sorts. Beatrice could feel the woman’s gaze trying to read her posture. She hated it.
