Page 62 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

And in that moment, she realized something. She had spent so long deciding what was wrong with her. Edward was the first person in a long time to tell her what was right.

The night air stretched between them, charged and waiting. A breeze swept through the garden, and she shivered slightly.

Edward moved apparently without thinking. Shrugging off his coat, he stepped forward and draped it over her shoulders.

“Oh, not again. Edward….” Felicity looked up at him, stunned. Not by the action itself—but by the warmth of it. By the care in his gesture. By the way his fingers lingered, just for a moment, against the fabric.

She swallowed, her throat tight. “I was so ungrateful last time you gave me use of your coat. I left it on the ground.”

“It came to no harm.” The man kept his hands on her shoulders, moving them slightly up and down, as though to warm her through his touch. “Even if it had, I would give you another and another. All my coats are at your disposal, since you appear unable to think ahead well enough to wear your own.”

She laughed softly. “You see? Another thing that marks me ill-prepared for marriage. I cannot be bothered to look after myself.”

“Because you are too busy looking after everyone else,” Edward said gently, looking down into her eyes. Though the moon cast everything in a silvery-blue light, she had no trouble admiring the depth in his green-brown eyes. “Let someone else look after you for a change, Felicity. Let me look after you.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Edward exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “You have spent so long deciding what is wrong with you.” He bent closer. “Have you never considered all that is perfect and lovely?”

Felicity’s breath shuddered. Her fingers curled around the edges of his coat, holding it tighter around her. She could not speak; for the first time, she had no argument.

Edward’s eyes searched hers—but then, with a slow inhale, he straightened. “The garden is lovely at night,” he said at last.

She nodded, collecting herself. “Yes,” she murmured. “It is.”

A long moment of silence stretched between them.

Then, wordlessly, he took her hand and most inexplicably laced his fingers with hers. “But it is late. And you are cold.”

She could hardly swallow. Everything felt charged. If she said the wrong thing, if he did, she might well combust on the spot. And what was the right thing, with her hand in his?

“I should get you inside,” he said. “And send you back to bed.” Her cheeks flushed as his fingers tightened around hers. “Come, Felicity. All the troubles of the world will be there when you wake tomorrow. Perhaps you will confide a few more in me, that I might help you carry them.”

He gave her hand a gentle tug, and she stepped forward, walking together back toward the house. As they reached the doors, Edward gave her hand another squeeze. “I think… I think I will take one more turn around the garden. Perhaps to clear my own head.” Then he bowed and at the same moment raised her hand to his lips. His lips brushed her knuckles as he said, “Goodnight, Miss Felicity Price. And sweet dreams to you.”

Neither of them said another word as she withdrew, the skin of her hand tingly from where his lips had touched her.

Felicity tucked that hand beneath her cheek when she at last laid down, her cheeks warm, his coat carefully hung on the back of the chair in her room.

Chapter Twenty

Edward left home the following morning in a bright, agreeable mood. The exchange with Felicity the evening before had awoken something in him—something full of hope and excitement. The worries he carried weighed less upon him. The morning’s showers hadn’t lasted long, and when they tapered off, he betook himself to his club. There was a ball that evening, and he wanted to ensure Daphne would have an enjoyable evening, full of dancing and one way to do that was to speak openly about their attendance where gentlemen and their fathers would hear him.

He arrived at Blackstone’s Club fresh from an unexpectedly pleasant ride. As he had passed the dressmaker’s shop on his way in, he couldn’t help but think on Daphne’s matchmaking attempt, the memory of which only put him in a still better humor.

The club’s familiar hush greeted him upon entry, the smell of pipe smoke and leather-bound books wrapping around him like an old coat. He’d grown to like the place, even with its odd taxidermy collection which seemed ever in motion. A North American beaver stood on a pedestal near the doorway today. Wearing a monocle.

He bowed to it, on impulse.

Perhaps he would take a drink in the lounge. Perhaps a game of whist. Perhaps, for once, Edward would allow himself a moment’s enjoyment.

Then the doorman intercepted him. “Colonel Halstead, Lord Blackstone requests a word with you.”

“Oh? Of course. Lead the way, Plockton.” Edward followed the doorman with his hands tucked behind his back, mildly amused. Blackstone was an eccentric old man, fond of odd things, taxidermied creatures, and twisting a conversation in unexpected directions; but Edward had come to like the man as much as he had the club itself.

Therefore when he entered the viscount’s private study, he prepared for some jest, some cryptic bit of nonsense about membership fees or the finer points of cataloging stuffed rodents.

Instead, the moment he entered the office, he knew something was wrong.