Chapter Four #2
‘We will just have to endure the scandal for a while,’ he said.
‘Feign being in love and try to win Society round.’ Given that kiss they had shared, perhaps it wouldn’t be too hard to pretend, especially when weighed against why they were doing this—to protect their reputations.
But also for a boy—a small, perfect boy who was yet to be tarnished by the world.
By going ahead with this, Edward knew he would also have to protect himself by keeping Bea at arm’s length. He would not allow himself to open up to her again and share his opinions so freely, but restrain his emotions and shield himself from danger.
Bea snatched a roll off the plate and began to nervously nibble on it. He was pleased to see her eat, but watching her perfect lips part and take a bite stirred his memories. His stomach tightened in unwanted desire.
‘How will I be treated here?’ she asked. ‘You have already burned my clothes without asking me.’
He slanted her a look. ‘They were filthy. Riddled with holes.’
‘They were still mine. If I am to be your wife…’
‘You will be treated as such.’ He respected her for setting out her terms early. This would be a big change for the both of them. ‘But you will also need to behave like my wife. You will require training in deportment.’
She put down the roll. ‘I see. You wish to change me—to teach me, to better me. I assume I will be given a coat of polish to ensure I look the part?’ she said, defiantly raising her chin.
He could tell his words had hurt her and it threw him a little.
He didn’t understand it. Most women would want to be bought a new wardrobe, pampered and preened, would they not?
And all women—well, the ones he knew—had grown up learning etiquette.
‘I am trying to help you.’ Taking her out in Society without doing so would be like throwing her to a pack of wolves dressed in silk gloves.
She sighed. ‘So we act like the perfect couple in Society—what about the rest of the time? Will I still get to spend time with Thomas?’
‘Of course.’
‘I will be left alone to do this?’
‘We will make joint decisions about our son and how we raise him.’
‘You won’t bring in staff to usurp me?’
He was impressed she wanted to look after the boy herself. It was admirable. His own mother had struggled to do so and had relied on the help of her staff. ‘Not if you do not wish me to. But may I remind you, you would have had no say at all if I had taken him and sent you on your way.’
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and a cold spark of fear rippled through him.
He saw now Thomas was her life. It made him question what she would have done with herself after she had left the child in his care and walked away.
His conscience prickled once more. He didn’t like the thought of it.
‘How did you feel when you found out you were with child?’ he asked, suddenly eager to know more about the woman who had given birth to his son. The woman he was to wed. He knew barely anything about her and he wanted to rectify the situation.
‘Shocked at first. In denial.’ He thought she must have been afraid, all alone.
If it had not been for him, she would not have been in that situation, he berated himself.
‘But what could I do? It was happening. I often felt nauseated, but there was a child growing inside me, I had to get on with it.’ She wiped her hands on the napkin.
‘I wanted to be a good mother. I swore I’d do anything to keep him safe.
I loathe myself that I haven’t been able to give him the best start in life. ’
‘You should have come to me sooner, Bea.’
She shrugged. ‘Since my mother died, I’ve always fended for myself.’
‘How old were you, when she died?’
‘I was ten.’
His scowl deepened. The same age he had been when his mother was sent away. ‘You have been on your own ever since?’
‘I was in a workhouse until I left for the role at the inn.’
Workhouse? He was appalled. He hated the thought of it. He shook his head. She was resilient, he’d give her that. To think he had ever had the audacity to moan about his own upbringing. He’d had it easy, compared to her.
‘You were treated well there, at the inn?’
‘Yes. Up until I realised I couldn’t look after Thomas as well as do my work. Serving the guests while trying to attend to his needs was impossible and the landlady eventually said she’d have to let me go.’ She leaned forward. ‘But whatever you might think, I have never once regretted having him.’
He stared at her, his hand toying with his cup. Did that mean she didn’t regret their night together? The memory of it hung heavily in the air between them.
‘Edward, that morning… Why did you not wake me and tell me you were leaving? Why didn’t you say goodbye?’
His heart lurched in reproach at his actions.
‘I wasn’t naive enough to think it was ever going to be more than a one-night thing,’ she added. ‘I knew that it couldn’t be. But when I woke to find myself alone, it was as if that night; what we’d done, hadn’t been…important. You made me feel used.’
Guilt constricted his breath, the full force of his remorse squeezing his chest. He saw now how dismissive his behaviour had been.
Disrespectful even. He hated that he’d tarnished the memories of that one perfect night.
She must have thought him indifferent when that wasn’t true—quite the opposite, in fact.
He wished he could go back and change what he’d done—he would have woken her, spoken with her.
‘I never meant to make you feel that way.’ He drew a hand over his jaw, averting his gaze, focusing intently on his cup. He shifted in his seat. ‘I thought it would be easier. No awkward goodbyes.’
‘Easier for you, you mean.’
He scowled, wanting to dispel the feelings of inadequacy and shame rattling around in his chest. ‘I see what I did was wrong.’ He’d taken the coward’s way out, just like now, because instead of telling her the truth—that he’d wanted to stay—his pride kept him silent.
He cleared his throat. ‘Did you have proper care, while you were with child?’ he said, wanting to move the subject on.
‘I was content enough.’
He wondered what she had looked like as her belly had swelled with his child. ‘What about the birth?’ he asked.
‘It went as well as to be expected. Although I may have had a few choice words to say about you then, when I was in pain.’
His lips twisted. The birth of his son. He should have been there to witness it. The quiet ache of regret settled over him—that something so profound had happened and he hadn’t even known about it.
‘I can’t say I’m in any hurry to go through that again.’ Then she looked at him, aghast, her eyes wide, as if a thought had struck her. ‘When we are married, will we…’ She floundered. ‘I mean, what is expected of me?’ Was that a flare of panic or heat in her eyes?
He leaned in, following the direction of her thoughts. ‘Are you asking if we will be husband and wife in every way?’ His eyes didn’t move from hers. ‘It is not as if we have not been lovers before. As I recall, we were good at it.’
She flushed furiously.
‘Is that a requirement too, that I come to your bed?’
‘Would it not be a pleasure?’ he asked, his own body reacting to the thought.
He could feel the attraction simmering between them, and he realised, having her here, his temptation would be tested to its limits.
To be able to take her, whenever he wanted, free from compunction because she would be his wife…
It was risky. Surely he wouldn’t be able to resist? Would she?
It was concerning that his anger towards her was melting away, leaving him defenceless against his desire.
It would be far safer if he felt nothing at all.
This was what he’d been concerned about, the reason he’d truly left her that morning—that she was the only woman he’d ever met who made him put rational thought aside and lose his control.
With his words and his actions. He feared his passion would consume him, that it would sweep him away on a tide of emotion, pulling him under, the current so strong he would be left vulnerable.
And when the tide withdrew, when Bea pulled away, realising he wasn’t good enough, like everyone else he’d ever cared about had eventually come to understand, she would leave him, just like they had, exposed and broken on the sand.
He could count on his hands the number of times in his life he’d unravelled and allowed his feelings to erupt, affecting his actions. There were three he could recall.
One. When his mother had been sent away.
He’d been furious with his father, shouting through his tears.
It was as if all those times he’d witnessed his parents arguing and said nothing had come to the fore.
When the scandal had broken and the ton were talking about them, everything had been so volatile, himself so uncertain.
Like the spine of a book—on the outside, he’d seemed as if he was holding everything together, but inside, chaos raged.
Two. When William had died. After the funeral, he’d locked himself in his chamber, away from prying eyes, and he’d broken down, his grief overwhelming him.
Three. The night he’d met Bea. He’d lost control of his temper with his father, after years of feeling second best, after years of being constrained. He’d lost control of his vehicle—and he’d lost control with her.
He pushed himself off the table, rising to his feet.
Well, never again. He wouldn’t let it come to that.
He wouldn’t repeat his parents’ mistakes.
In fact, if he had her again, perhaps he would realise he had been putting too much weight on their previous encounter and they could merely enjoy this attraction, this spark between them, simply for what it was. Even if the flame wasn’t to last.