Chapter Seven #2
She listened as he shared jests with his friends and she began to relax when they spoke about topics she could join in with, such as the gardens or the weather. The tension seemed to ease out of Edward too, though she didn’t think he was as comfortable as he had been that night at the inn with her.
Bea reached for the milk with her free hand and poured it into the bottom of her empty china cup, before pouring more tea on top. The conversation halted, and when she looked up, she realised everyone was staring. She stilled, instantly knowing she must have done something wrong.
‘Beatrice likes to take her tea in the modern way,’ Edward said, by way of explanation. ‘Milk first.’
‘I find it so bitter otherwise,’ she added, flushing over making a blunder.
She was so grateful when Edward followed suit, as if adopting her way in solidarity. His eyes met hers as he stirred his drink. It was such a small thing, and yet her heart swelled—it made her feel safer, more supported, as if he really was on her side. As if they were truly in this together.
When his guests began to tell her stories of when they had been at school with Edward—the numerous times he had got into trouble, or when he rescued Mrs Thorpe from a herd of cattle, she finally began to relax and enjoy herself.
At one point, she even laughed. When his friends revealed he used to box—for fun—and how Mr Webb had escorted him on his Grand Tour, it was as if she was piecing bits about him together, like a puzzle.
She was envious of the fact they all seemed to know him so well.
It was as if she had sketched the outline of a portrait of him when she’d first met him and was slowly filling in the details.
She realised if she wanted him to open up to her again, she would probably have to do the same and let him in a little.
She would have to pull down some of those walls she’d built.
‘Do you play?’ Mr Webb asked her, inclining his head towards the piano. ‘We should love to hear you.’
An alarm bell went off in her head, and she froze, realising, this was it—she was going to be found out.
Edward had said the women in the ton were expected to play.
‘It is seen as a prized accomplishment, tied to marriageability,’ he’d said.
And yet she could not lie—Mr Webb would want her to perform and she would not be able to.
‘I’m afraid not. My fingers are far better put to use elsewhere…’ she babbled. ‘In fact, truth be told, I am afraid to touch my husband’s instrument…’
There was a stunned silence for a moment, and then Mr Webb let out a loud, unguarded and most unexpected laugh—and then they all did. Even Edward.
Bea suddenly realised what she’d said. Her face burned and she tried to rectify her words. ‘I simply mean I should leave the playing to Edward as he is far more skilled with his hands.’
This drew even more laughter from the room, and it was like watching their silk gloves unravelling, their cravats loosening, their fans forgotten, as she watched, stunned, as they all hooted freely, their perfect veneers cracking, their ingrained prejudice shedding, to reveal the real people beneath the etiquette.
Bea sat back. Had she really won them over simply by being herself?
Mrs Thorpe wiped a tear from her eye and leaned in to pat Bea on the knee. ‘Do not worry. Edward plays so well, I suspect he was not looking for a wife who could compete anyway.’
Bea’s eyebrows rose.
‘Oh, do play something for us, Edward.’
He groaned reluctantly. ‘I am a bit rusty. I have not played for some while.’ But he rose to his feet anyway and walked over to the piano.
He sat down to the instrument and he began to play—without reading any music, just totally absorbed in the piece he had learned by heart.
A lump grew in Bea’s throat. She didn’t know the tune, but watching him run his strong fingers over the keys, becoming totally engrossed in the piece, she thought she was guilty of liking him more than she ever had before.
She was disappointed when it finally came to an end and he turned round on the seat to face them, taking a bow.
She thought she could listen to him and watch him play for ever.
‘Will you be attending the ball in Mayfair this evening?’ Mrs Thorpe asked, as they finally stood, readying themselves to leave.
Bea looked at Edward and he inclined his head. ‘We shall be in attendance, yes.’
Panic erupted at the thought of it. Who would be at this ball? It was a risk, wasn’t it, that she could bump into someone who might recognise her and shame her, exposing her for all that she was?
‘Wonderful. We shall see you there.’
And yet, she thought she had just secured his friends’ favour. It had bolstered her confidence. She wanted to show Edward she was capable.
‘Do save me a waltz, if your husband can spare you,’ Mr Webb said.
At last, when the door closed behind their guests, she sagged.
‘You did well, Bea.’ She turned to look up at Edward, who was staring down at her, regarding her warmly. Her chest swelled at his compliment. ‘You made a good impression.’
She didn’t think it was possible he could be proud of her, but she was glad she hadn’t totally disgraced him.
‘They seem very pleasant.’
‘They are. They have been good to me, rallying round since William passed.’
‘I’m glad.’ She was pleased someone had been there for him. She bit her lip. ‘There were a few difficult questions.’
‘You handled them well.’
‘What did I do wrong with the tea?’ she grimaced.
He smiled. ‘We pour tea first, then add the milk. But it did not matter.’
‘And what I said about the piano,’ she winced.
He grinned. ‘You softened the room. They all liked you. How could they not?’
Hope bloomed. ‘Thank you, Edward. Are we really going to a ball this evening?’ she said, ringing her hands.
He stepped towards her. ‘This morning proved you are ready.’
‘But I made so many mistakes.’
‘Like I said, it did not matter.’
It didn’t matter if she was imperfect?
His words, his belief in her, introducing her to his closest acquaintances this morning, and now the fact he had decided to introduce her to Society, strengthened her resolve, making her believe she might just be able to do this.
‘The sooner we put a stop to the rumours about our rushed marriage, the better,’ he said.
‘Mr Webb pulled me to one side and said the people of the ton are calling it improper. We need to make an appearance—show them we are in love and silence any critics. I do not want this scandal affecting my father’s name, or my business, any longer than it has to.
I have been the subject of gossip before and the best way to face it is head-on. Just like with my friends today.’
She wondered if she should tell Edward her concerns—about being recognised, by one man in particular…
She shuddered. And yet their relationship was so fragile, she was afraid it would not survive her confession.
He would be appalled. He might send her away after all, terrified of her causing an even greater scandal.
Fear kept her silent on the subject.
‘So we need to make it look like a real marriage?’ she said.
His eyes narrowed on her. ‘Which is exactly what it is,’ he said.
Only she had put herself at risk of it being so, hadn’t she? For everyone knew a marriage that wasn’t consummated could be annulled.
He ran a hand around the back of his neck and stepped towards her. ‘Look, I am sure you are eager to return to the nursery, to get back to Thomas, but if you would be so kind as to give me a moment of your time before I head to the mill, I wanted to show you something.’
He was leaving her already, stepping straight back into his duties in the city, putting the distance between them he thought she wanted, and she found herself almost asking him to stay, but she shouldn’t; she couldn’t.
He walked her along the corridor to one of the ground-floor rooms, which just the day before had been full of furniture covered in sheets.
He pushed open the door and she saw it had been cleared and to her astonishment, in the centre of the chamber was a table stacked high with brand new sketch-pads and boxes of charcoal.
There was even an easel, with paints, brushes and blank canvases.
Her breath caught and her stomach fluttered. She swung to look at him. She couldn’t believe he had gone out of his way to do this for her. Perhaps he didn’t despise her quite as much as she thought.
‘In case you have the time and inclination to use them while I’m gone,’ he said.
She had promised to protect her heart against him. He hadn’t once mentioned his feelings towards her. But this…this was an incredible gesture.
She moved over to the table and began to examine the charcoals, in awe—she had never been given a gift before. It was so thoughtful of him. She ran her hands over the expensive paper. She was excited; she couldn’t wait to get started.
Hope bloomed inside her. She had thought Edward didn’t care, but did this show that he did? Even if he cared just a little, it was a start, wasn’t it? Maybe then this marriage might not be such a disaster after all.
She heard a bang and she whirled round to thank him, but he was gone. Panic darted. She raced across the room and out into the corridor. She flung open the front door.
‘Edward,’ she called.
But he had already mounted his horse and was galloping down the drive, riding away from her.
Watching him go, she felt more adrift than ever.
She wanted to call him back. She wanted to express her appreciation—and more.
Everything she hadn’t been brave enough to utter last night.
She was scared, but she thought she wanted to rekindle that connection they’d shared at the inn, when they had traded their dreams, their secrets and their desires.