Chapter Five #4
‘Through here we have the family gallery, with many generations of portraits,’ he said, moving to walk past a door without going in. ‘At some point, you will be required to have yours painted, I am afraid. There will be no getting out of it.’
‘Can we go in?’
‘Perhaps another time.’
‘Don’t you like your picture?’ she teased.
He looked at her sharply. ‘It is not that. I have not been ready to take a trip down memory lane this past month and see William’s face staring back at me.’
Of course! She felt like a fool.
‘You can come and take a look any time though. It is always open.’
When she’d broached the subject of his brother during their walk, Edward’s face had darkened, like a cloud passing over the sun, casting everything into shadow.
She could tell he was devastated by the loss.
Still hurting. She wished she could somehow help to take his pain away—she knew all too well what it was like to lose someone.
You never really got over it. She had never stopped grieving her mother; she missed her every day.
And what about his? She was still none the wiser about what had happened to her.
The woman had left—she didn’t know why—and she wondered what trauma that had caused Edward.
Did it have some bearing on why he had wanted to keep her in Thomas’s life?
Why he had been so angry when she had suggested leaving Thomas with him? She thought that it must.
‘This is the west wing,’ he said, leading her past numerous bedrooms and dressing chambers.
‘So many rooms!’ she said. ‘I shall surely get lost.’
‘You will soon get used to it. Now let me show you this. I think you will like it,’ he said, pushing open another door. He seemed excited to show her this most of all.
She stepped into a beautiful room, painted in a soft blue hue, and in the middle was a cradle complete with a canopy. The windows had cream velvet curtains and there were soft rugs scattered over the floor. In the corner was a small chest, filled with wooden animals, blocks and a hobby horse.
Bea turned to look at him.
‘This will be Thomas’s room. I bought him some toys. I know he is not old enough for them yet, but it will not be long…’
She felt the emotion rise in her throat, her eyes well with tears. It was more than she could have dreamed of. To think just a few nights before they had been sleeping out on the streets. ‘Edward, thank you,’ she whispered. ‘He is very fortunate.’
‘You do not have to thank me, he is my son.’
‘Will I be sleeping close by? Up until now, we haven’t been parted. I might like to check on him in the night,’ she said, suddenly feeling defensive, not really knowing why. She wanted to keep control but felt as if it was slipping through her fingers.
‘Yes. Come. I will show you. Then I will leave you to freshen up before dinner.’
‘Where is your father’s room?’ she asked, following him down the corridor. She wanted to prepare herself in case she should bump into the man. Perhaps she could avoid him.
‘He is in the east wing. Our chambers are in the west. Your paths will not cross here.’
Chambers. Did that mean two?
At the talk of their sleeping arrangements, she struggled to stay calm, her heart beating hard with anticipation.
She was so aware of him; the nearness of his strong body, the warmth radiating from his skin and his spicy familiar scent.
Finally, he led her into a room just a few doors down from the nursery and gestured for her to step inside. ‘This is your chamber.’
It was wonderful. A four-poster bed dominated the space, surrounded by soft muslin drapes that wafted in the breeze, and the walls were adorned with paper with soft pink stripes.
There was a desk, decadent chairs she could recline on, and there was a separate room to dress in, the walls covered with gilded mirrors. All hers? It was hard to comprehend.
‘Edward, I don’t need all this. It is too much. More than is necessary.’
‘It is appropriate, for your new position as my wife.’
She swallowed. Wrapping her hand around the bedpost, she glanced back at him. ‘Are we to have separate rooms then?’ she asked bravely. She wanted to understand his expectations. She hoped he would put her mind at rest—and the nervous flutters in her stomach.
‘It will allow us to maintain our own routines.’
She was relieved, so why did she also feel a strange stab of disappointment that he would not want to share; that perhaps he no longer desired her? Was the attraction she felt burning between them purely one-sided?
‘I thought that was what you would prefer.’ His gaze raked over her. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ she said. This was far safer for both of them.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked.
‘How could I not?’
‘I took the liberty of ordering you some more gowns, now the modiste knows your measurements. They are hanging in the dressing room.’
‘You have been too generous.’
He acknowledged her gratitude with a small nod of his head. ‘I shall meet you back down in the dining room when you are ready.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘You won’t hide away again, will you?’