Chapter Four
Edward flicked through The Times at the table as he washed down the sticky honey cake with his tea, but the news and financial updates couldn’t hold his attention.
It had been hard to concentrate on anything this past day, with Bea in his house, recuperating upstairs.
Plus, there was a small child who filled the cottage with intermittent gurgles and wailing.
It was taking some getting used to, especially for someone who had lived alone for so long, who had hoped to always be a bachelor.
‘Pardon me, my lord.’ Mrs Potter put her head round the door. ‘You asked me to tell you when Miss Puddifoot had awoken.’
His heart lifted.
‘She is up and dressed and saying she must leave. That she has outstayed her welcome and she cannot accept the garments you have provided. She has certainly regained her spirit. She is insisting you return her old attire to her immediately.’
Edward tried to avoid rolling his eyes. ‘Thank you. Send her down please, Mrs Potter.’
Moments later, the door swung open, and he rose out of his chair, steeling himself for a battle, as Bea stormed into the drawing room.
‘Miss Puddifoot, my lord.’
All thoughts emptied from his mind. Stood before him was the most enchanting woman he’d ever seen in his life.
His heart thumped powerfully as he stared in awe and recognition.
She looked like a different person to the woman who had walked in here just a day before.
The transformation was astounding. He had thought her pretty before, in her plain clothes, but now…
Her hair had been washed and fastened into an elegant up-do, glossy golden-blonde curls framing a fresh face that had been scrubbed until her clear skin shone.
His gaze roamed down and he saw she wore one of the gowns he had brought over from the hall, from his mother’s abandoned wardrobe.
It was simple and refined, made of soft teal muslin, which created a striking contrast with her coppery eyes.
He closed his dry open mouth and swallowed, trying to find his voice. ‘You look much better,’ he said. ‘It is amazing what a good night’s sleep and a bit of soap and water can do. Green is definitely your colour.’
‘Where are my clothes?’ she demanded, ignoring the pleasantries, her eyes flashing at him with anger.
‘We burned them,’ he said. ‘You will not be needing them again.’
‘Burned them?’ she asked, incredulous, her hands coming down onto her hips.
‘Yes.’ He shrugged, unapologetic. ‘They were no longer fit for purpose.’
‘But they were mine. That was not your decision to make.’
Actually, as she was to be his wife, then it was, yet looking at her furious face, he didn’t think she was in the mood to hear that right now.
When she’d collapsed in his arms, he had panicked, a sudden overwhelming sense of dread taking over him. Memories had floored him of one of his mother’s episodes, when he’d had to help her up the stairs, yelling out for assistance as he’d laid her down on the bed.
He had done the same with Bea, and he’d been frantic until the doctor had arrived—and even then he had continued to pace outside the room, impatient to hear the news that she had recovered.
Finally, the doctor had reappeared.
‘Well?’ he’d demanded.
‘I have examined them both with care. The child, I am pleased to report, is in excellent health.’
The rush of relief had been most welcome. Thank goodness for that.
‘The boy is a good weight and constitution.’
Edward’s chest had swelled with pride and gratefulness to Bea. He realised with an enormous sense of responsibility that from now on, he too would be in charge of the boy’s health. His heart gave an uncomfortable twist. Now he had something precious to protect. Now he had something to lose.
‘And the woman?’ he’d asked, equally as eager for positive news.
The doctor had inclined his head. ‘It is a good thing you summoned me when you did. It seems she has given herself over entirely to the child’s care, with little thought for her own.
Her health has deteriorated while the boy has thrived.
She has been surviving on too little food and rest for a while.
She needs a hot bath, plenty of sleep and a lot of Mrs Potter’s meat broth to restore her strength. ’
Guilt had assailed him—for being so focussed on his wrath, he hadn’t noticed that Bea was unwell. Remorse too, for what she had suffered these past months as a result of his reckless actions. And shame, for the fact he had kissed her, when she had been feeling so ill.
He thought she must despise him. He despised himself.
But the dart of admiration he’d felt when he had seen her soothe and nurse their son, the searing touch of her skin as she’d prodded him with her fingers…
it had transmuted into desire, and suddenly, all reasoning had been lost. He’d reached out for her, hauling her to him, and he had brought his mouth down onto hers.
He hadn’t expected her to respond, but when she had… Damn.
He hated himself for being so weak. He had learned to shut off his feelings and keep control, so he was furious with himself he hadn’t been able to contain his attraction to this woman—back then, as well as now.
His desire was dangerous. It had got them both into trouble before, it might do so again.
He would just have to try harder to crush it, stamp it out.
‘Please, take a seat,’ Edward said.
Bea eyed him suspiciously.
‘Help yourself. There are pastries, fruit, cake…have whatever you would like.’
He lowered himself down into his chair, but she made no move to do the same. She was still angry, her eyes aflame.
Mrs Potter re-entered the room and went to place a tray containing a steaming pot of coffee and cups on the table. The tray wobbled and Bea tried to help her. The woman sent her a surprised glance and Edward realised this was probably the first time in her life Bea had ever been served.
‘I can do it, miss,’ the woman said. ‘You sit down.’
‘I’m not staying,’ Bea said.
They watched as Mrs Potter poured Edward his drink before disappearing, leaving them alone, the tension shimmering between them. The silence stretched.
‘I merely came to say thank you, for allowing me to stay here while I got back on my feet. But I have taken up far too much of your time and so now Thomas and I will be on our way. If you have indeed burned my clothes, perhaps you’ll be so kind as to let me borrow this gown for a while.’
Edward put his elbows on the table and leaned in. ‘It seems you are forgetting our agreement, Beatrice,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t remember agreeing to anything, Edward.’
He couldn’t help but smile. ‘The doctor said you were suffering from exhaustion and lack of food. He did not say anything about loss of memory. While you have been resting, I heard back from the archbishop—he has granted us a special licence. Our wedding will take place here on the morrow.’
She gasped and reached out to grip the back of the chair.
‘The sooner we make this official, the better, do you not think?’
‘Edward, I cannot be your wife,’ she whispered. ‘Look at me!’
His gaze held hers. ‘I am.’
‘But you said…you said that night at the inn that you never wanted to marry.’
‘I admit, it was something I never thought I would do, until recently.’
‘I do not want you to end up resenting me.’ She shook her head. ‘Besides, I have no experience of your world.’
‘Etiquette can be taught. Gowns can be bought. It is every woman’s dream to be a duchess one day, is it not?’
‘It was never mine!’ she exploded.
He could understand she felt out of place in her new surroundings.
That she might feel out of her depth, but so did he.
He had never been in this position before.
He had just learned he had become a father and he didn’t know how to act around the boy or how to care for him.
It would be a learning curve for them both.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘What you are doing—it is honourable, truly. But you must know, that was not my intention—why I came here.’
‘Did you really think I would turn you back out onto the streets? No. Bea, I am offering you a chance to stay with your son whilst ensuring he has the comfortable life he deserves. Surely that is what you want?’
He saw her throat work. He knew she couldn’t refuse him.
‘Good. Now, sit down,’ Edward said sternly.
She slumped into the chair.
‘Everything has been arranged. The modiste will arrive this afternoon with some material for your new wardrobe—and a gown for the morrow. We will marry in the church on the estate in the morning, then go to Longwood Hall to dine. I just need to tell my father.’
‘You have not yet told him about this?’ she gasped, wide-eyed.
‘No. It is my task after we have finished here.’ One he was not looking forward to.
He would have to convince his father that Thomas was the heir he had so desired to continue the Harrington family line—Edward just needed to make the boy legitimate.
There was no telling how the Duke would react, but Edward knew he couldn’t live with himself if he did anything other than this. It was the right thing to do.
Bea rested her head in her hands. She looked as if he was dragging her to her death, not up the aisle to be his bride.
Perhaps her reluctance came from the fact she resented him, blamed him, for her predicament.
But he would make amends for that. From now on, he would keep her and Thomas in a lifestyle fit for royalty.
‘What will people say about us?’ she asked warily.
‘The speed of our union—the fact that we have a child—will be sharply questioned, gossiped about, there is no doubt about that.’ He grimaced. ‘Though it might be possible to conceal your origins, if we stay silent on the matter.’
He heard her abrupt inhale, but it was better that she knew what he intended to say and do, to protect her from as much scrutiny as possible.