“Then let us return home,” she agreed, responding to the squeeze of his fingers with a squeeze of her own.
Chapter Six
They exited thegraveyard holding hands, though if it seemed more like a temporary truce than a true reconciliation Edward couldn’t complain. His desire to protect her—and himself if he was honest—was misguided. Of course, a woman like Beatrice would not judge nor misconstrue. The thought of how close he’d been to losing her made him tighten his grip on her hand.
He glanced sideways at Beatrice. The thought of living a life separate from her made his heart clench.
The issue with Annabel might be resolved, but he anticipated that mending the divide created by his deceit would take some time. Nonetheless, it was of no consequence to him. He was willing to spend his entire life working to become the husband Beatrice deserved.
They walked in silence for a while. Beatrice stopped at the intersection of two narrow avenues of graves. Her hand fell away from his.
“You see that?” she said, nodding toward a lopsided structure at the crest of a low hill. “The mausoleum?”
Edward followed her gaze. The tomb was hunched over in the moonlight, all stone angles and sunken panels, its inscription so eroded that the family name was just a blur.
“It’s cracked,” Beatrice explained. “I could not stop thinking of it. Last week it was half the size.” She started toward it, and after a brief hesitation, Edward followed.
The ground rose under their feet, then sloped down so sharply that Edward had to adjust his stride. Water pooled in the hollows, reflecting the monument.
Beatrice reached out and traced the line with her bare finger. “It seems sad it has been left in such disrepair.”
He squinted at the grave through the gloom. “It looks like it was a tomb for two.”
She glanced at him. “Do you think they were happy?”
The wind picked up, rattling the branches overhead. Beatrice pressed her hand to the stone again, then crouched to examine the base of the column.
“Look,” she said. “The crack is open here, too.”
“Do not fall in,” Edward said, half joking. “I cannot climb down and save you, not in these boots.”
Beatrice ignored him, squinting into the gap. “It’s hollow. I think it’s collapsed a little.”
She reached out, bracing herself with one hand on the cold stone. The other she eased into the fissure, as though she might find something of interest inside.
Edward opened his mouth to caution her again.
But the ground answered first.
With a wet, grating pop, the earth at Beatrice’s feet gave way. There was a heartbeat of stillness, as if the world itself inhaled. Then Beatrice vanished.
“Bea!” Edward lunged forward to grab her outstretched hand and he felt the tips of her fingers graze his.
The scream that tore from her throat was cut off by a muffled thud, then silence. Edward dropped to his knees, hands scrabbling at the grass and clay where his wife had been. For a moment, all he could see was churned earth.
“Beatrice!” His own voice emerged strangled.
The moon glinted upon the dirt, revealing a gaping hole in the ground. Heart pounding, he peered into the chasm, careful not to shift any more dirt.
Dear God, let her be okay.
A few yards down, he could make out the shimmer of fabric and the pale blur of her face, upturned and shocked but—thank God—moving.
He braced his elbows on the edge and called again. “Beatrice! Can you hear me?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her limbs twitched, as though she were testing each one for damage.
He could feel his pulse behind his eyes.
