Faintly hearing the dinner bell ringing, Miles knew it was time to put his mask on once more. If anyone saw how much he was hurting, they would pity him. And he didn’t want anyone’s pity. He was doing just fine on his own. But even he couldn’t fathom his own lie.
Miles crossed the room and left his bedchamber. As he started down the corridor, he saw Edwina emerging from her own bedchamber. She was wearing a black gown and her hair was elegantly swept up into an elaborate chignon. She really was a pretty thing, but that hardly mattered to him. Hehad no more interest in looking for a wife than chewing glass.
He noticed the moment she caught sight of him, as her eyes widened, and she started fidgeting with her hands in front of her.
“My lady,” Miles acknowledged.
Edwina tipped her head. “My lord,” she murmured.
Miles came to a stop next to her, knowing the polite thing to do would be to escort her to the dining room. But was that what Edwina would want? He didn’t want to do anything that would make her feel uncomfortable.
That was one thing he appreciated about Arabella. She was unapologetically forthright. He always knew where he stood with her because she would speak her mind. It was just one of the many reasons why he loved her so much.
He decided to try a different approach with Edwina. “Seeing as we are going in the same direction, would you mind showing me where the drawing room is?”
Edwina nodded, albeit weakly. “Yes, of course. It would be my privilege.”
They started walking down the corridor and he stole a glance at Edwina. Her eyes were downcast, and she appeared withdrawn.
He should have been satisfied with the silence, yet an odd feeling tugged at him. He typically favored solitude, but now he found himself desiring to engage in conversation with Edwina.
“Did Mr. Warren appreciate the book you selected for him?” he asked. There. That was a safe question.
“He did,” Edwina said, keeping her gaze straight ahead.
“I haven’t readRobinson Crusoein years, at least not since my days at Eton,” Miles admitted.
Edwina spared him a glance as she revealed, “My father used to read it to me before bedtime. It was a time that I greatly cherished.”
Taken aback by what she shared, he asked, “Dare I ask how old you were?”
“I was eight.”
Miles gave her a curious look. “Was your father not concerned by the serious nature of the book?”
Edwina didn’t seem concerned by his question. “My father encouraged me to think for myself and to find my own voice. He did not shy away from books that required much discussion on moral or cultural issues.”
“Your father seems rather progressive.”
“He was,” Edwina agreed. “He felt education was important for a young woman to possess and would often sit in on my lessons with my governess.” She paused before adding, “But I am still proficient at the usual pastimes for a lady.”
“I had no doubt.”
While they descended the stairs, Miles shared, “My parents sent me to Eton as soon as I came of age. My older brother was already there, but he refused to speak to me. He pretended as if I didn’t exist.”
“How awful,” Edwina murmured.
Miles shrugged. “John had his group of friends and I had mine. It wasn’t until we attended university that we became close, at least, somewhat.”
“It must have been nice to have a brother, someone to rely on,” Edwina said. “I always wished for a sibling to play with.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Miles teased. “John used to put frogs down the back of my trousers whenever we were by the stream by our country home. He thought it was hilarious the way I would have to shake my legs to get the frogs out.”
Edwina looked horrified by what he revealed. “What a terrible trick to play on one’s own brother.”
Miles grinned, finding amusement in that recollection. “That was tame in comparison to what John usually did.”
“I can’t imagine.”
