Chapter Six #4
He cursed. ‘Having a child out of wedlock with a woman was not exactly my intention, was it? I was in shock. Angry when I said that. Livid that you had kept Thomas from me, forcing me into being one of the things I despise the most—an absent parent. My faith in you has also been tested. I hate that I have missed so much.’
She baulked at his accusation and yet she couldn’t find the words to defend herself, as it dawned on her she had been wrong too, for keeping his son from him for so long, and her own guilt smarted.
‘Forgive me. I did not mean it, Bea. When I said the word mistake, I did not mean that the night we spent together was not a sound decision, but rather it was a slip of control, reckless, during an evening where emotion far outweighed logic. My actions were out of character, but I am certain nothing would have stopped me behaving so. I never meant to hurt you or make you feel as if that night had not been anything but incredible. That it had not been important to me too.’
He stroked his thumb over the top of her hands.
‘I will leave you now. I would never want to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. If that means keeping my distance and not kissing you, so be it. I want you and Thomas to be happy here.’ He inclined his head.
‘I see now, I have much to do to get you to put your faith in me once more, but as you know, I am not averse to hard work.’
He was asking the impossible. All men would use you, then leave you, wouldn’t they? So her mother had said. She had disregarded her advice the first time and look where it had left her. She must not ignore it again. She must not trust him again, even if she wanted to.
Edward held the bowl in one hand and brandished the loaded spoon of milk and barley in the other, swooping it towards his son, as the boy blinked up at him from where he was sitting on Martha’s lap.
‘Here comes the carriage,’ he said. ‘Through the tunnel. Open wide.’
Thomas raised his chubby little hand and knocked the spoon, the milk splattering onto Martha’s skirt.
‘Sorry,’ Edward sighed. ‘What a terrible dinner guest you are, Thomas! Shall we try that again?’
His son gurgled happily and this time, his mouth open, he accepted the contents of the spoon. Triumph roared inside Edward. ‘Good boy,’ he cheered.
‘What’s going on?’
He swung round to see Bea in the doorway, looking astounded at the scene before her. Their eyes met across the space, and he held her gaze for a moment—she looked beautiful, her hair neatly fastened, swept off her fresh face—before he turned back round.
‘We are breaking our fast, aren’t we, Thomas?’
‘You should have woken me.’
‘I thought you could do with the rest,’ he said. ‘Mrs Potter would have fetched you when our own food was ready.’
‘I can’t believe I slept through his cries. Did he wake you?’ she said, drawing nearer to them.
‘No, I was already up.’
The truth was, he’d barely slept—not after all that had been said between them last night.
It had taken every ounce of his control to walk away from her, when all he’d wanted to do was pull her to him and claim her as his wife.
There was nothing he’d wanted to do more than exercise his rights over her as her husband on their wedding night.
He had lain there wide awake, unable to shake the feeling that they had missed out on something spectacular.
Part of him thought if he’d returned to her room and tried to kiss her again, she might have relented—he could be very persuasive—but he was no brute.
He would get no pleasure from bedding a woman who didn’t want to be his.
He had enjoyed his wedding day far more than he’d thought he would.
He had been comfortable talking to her on their walk back from the church and liked giving her the tour of the house, seeing his home through her eyes.
He had relished getting to know her a little better at dinner.
Yet he had felt the tension smouldering between them all day.
He had determined to keep her at arm’s length, to avoid the intense feelings she ignited in him—but when it had come to it, he had wanted her, needed her, too badly.
He knew such passion, such strength of feeling could lead to loss—even punishment, in the case of his mother, and yet his resolve had been weakened on the very first night of their union.
But when he had tried to kiss her, she had rejected him.
It had been torture, knowing his wife was lying in a bed in a chamber just a few steps down the corridor from him.
He had been frustrated, his body rock hard, thrumming with desire all night, thoughts of her pretty face, her beautiful body, running through his mind, taunting him while knowing he was not allowed to touch her.
He understood her reasons for refusing him.
He saw now, he had behaved appallingly back then—and when he’d met her again, calling her a mistake.
He had never been so livid with himself.
He was ashamed; he hated that he’d wounded her, acting as though she was something to be used and cast aside with his actions and his careless words.
He hadn’t once spoken to her with any tenderness and then with a click of his fingers, he had expected her to just fall back into bed with him. Fool!
He had thought he had made up for his misdeeds by marrying her.
He had given her an impressive roof over her head, a position in Society and the chance to raise her son.
He had risked his reputation, forcing him to face his fears and a fresh scandal.
But he wasn’t sure Bea cared so much for status and riches—she wasn’t like the people he usually surrounded himself by.
He realised it would take more than grand gestures to rebuild her faith in him.
He would take more care over his choice of words and his behaviour in future; he would do better from now on, because he didn’t want to be trapped in a cold marriage like his parents had been.
He would not subject his son to constant tension in the house.
He didn’t want Thomas to witness those same hostilities he had endured as a child, and he definitely didn’t want his son to grow up thinking his father had mistreated his mother.
That was unacceptable to him. So he would be patient and respect her wishes, treat her well and give her the time she needed to put her faith in him again.
He had determined he would demonstrate what kind of man, husband and father he could be. He would be reliable, responsible, respectful.
‘Isn’t this deemed woman’s work?’ she asked him, hesitantly lowering herself into the seat beside him. ‘You, feeding the baby?’
‘I am allowed to feed my son, am I not? Just don’t tell my father.’ He winked.
He brought the spoon down to Thomas’s mouth again, showing off his newfound skills at getting his child to eat, and he was delighted when the boy took the mouthful from him again. His pride soared. If only he could rebuild Bea’s trust as easily.
Thomas smacked his lips, refusing to let go of the spoon and they both laughed.
‘I thought after our guests have departed this afternoon, I might head to the mill. I have been away for a few days—I’d like to check on things. I thought you might appreciate some time alone to explore the grounds here, or to be with Thomas, without me crowding you both.’
Usually, nothing could keep him away from his mill.
He’d been overjoyed when Bea had recommended he keep up his work there.
It was everything he’d wanted to hear and he appreciated her support.
Yet for the first time ever, he was torn between staying at home and heading into the city.
If he had thought Bea wanted him around, he might have made a different decision.
‘Remember to sit up straight, Beatrice,’ Miss Linton said, as she made her way into the dining room. Had she arrived for their lesson already? They would have to eat quickly, if so. ‘Your guests will be here shortly and they will notice if you let your posture fall. Remember to smile.’
Edward glanced at Bea and she instantly righted herself. His heart winced at the movement. He hadn’t noticed her posture—he had thought she looked perfect as she was. And looking at her practised smile, he realised he would much rather see the real thing. Guilt twisted in his gut.
‘Edward,’ Bea whispered, placing a hand on his arm, her eyes suddenly wide. ‘I am worried about the questions these acquaintances of yours might ask this morning. We haven’t discussed what I should tell them, if they enquire about my background.’
He understood her concerns, for he too was anxious as to whether his friends would judge them; how they would treat her—if they would accept Bea as one of them. ‘If they ask, I will do the talking,’ he said.
‘I should keep your responses as short as possible,’ Miss Linton added. ‘It is better to be seen and not heard, Beatrice. Try to maintain a silent presence.’
He glanced sharply at the governess. That is what his father had always said to him as a boy and he’d felt he could never fully be himself.
His skin prickled with unease. He wanted his friends to like her, but he didn’t want to silence Bea to ensure that happened.
He enjoyed hearing her opinions—it was refreshing in a world where no one ever seemed to say anything real.
Was he doing the right thing by giving Bea these lessons in deportment? He was starting to think Miss Linton’s talents might be better employed elsewhere. He wasn’t sure he wanted to change the things he most admired about his wife.