Chapter Ten #2
He watched as Bea walked over to the woman and crouched down, speaking with her, offering her the coin.
Edward was aware that everyone was staring—strangers as well as acquaintances.
His wife was attracting attention, causing a scene, and yet he didn’t mind.
He couldn’t help but admire her, even though her actions threatened to certify the truth of the rumours of her own past. She was putting someone before her own reputation, and he thought they could all learn a thing or two from that.
An hour later, Edward had decided devoting the day to his wife was the best way he could spend his time.
And having his son there with them, happily kicking his legs on the rug, stretched out in the sunshine in the dappled glade in the park, completed the idyllic scene.
Just a week before, he doubted either of them could ever have pictured themselves here, together, like this.
Normally, he would have frowned upon putting a blanket down on the grass, but Bea had insisted, finding them a secluded spot, and when she’d clapped her hands with delight, laying out delicacies Mrs Potter had packed for them, he hadn’t been able to say no.
After all, picnicking with his wife was one of his favourite things to do.
They had taken a leisurely stroll through the park and the walk took twice the time it ought to have done, as they had been stopped by gentlemen and their wives wanting to congratulate them on their wedding, asking to be introduced to Edward’s new wife.
An earl had engaged him in conversation about how business was going at the mill, his wife delighting in playing peekaboo with Thomas, while exchanging pleasantries with Bea.
Edward noticed those who had ignored or mocked them at the ball now began to tentatively approach.
He wasn’t sure he could ever forgive their cruel treatment of his wife, but he was pleased to see that the judgement of the ton was slowly thawing to acceptance, even though he didn’t think he needed it now, as he had before.
Edward knew it wasn’t his doing. They didn’t like her because she was his wife, but for who she was. The very reasons he liked her too—her genuine kindness. As if she sensed it too, she seemed to walk taller, speak louder—and smile more than she ever had done before.
She was like Cendrillon, he thought. He knew everyone would fall under her spell eventually. Just like he had.
He still feared the way she made him feel, as if he couldn’t get a grip on his emotions when he was around her. He knew it was dangerous, for what if one day, it all went wrong? He buried the thought. He had to, because right now, he couldn’t resist her.
‘Do you mind if we make a stop on the way home?’ Edward asked her, as he helped her and Thomas into the carriage that afternoon.
A short while later, they pulled up outside McLean’s, the small printing shop in Haymarket. The one where she had admired the art through the windows.
Bea looked out of the window and gasped.
‘Now that you have the sophistication to appreciate such things, I thought you might want to step inside. Perhaps purchase something for the walls of Thomas’s nursery, or your chamber?’
‘Really?’ she asked him, eagerly sitting forward.
‘I never got you a wedding gift. I should like to buy you something.’
A little bell rang on the shop door as it opened, and Edward took Bea by the elbow and led her and Thomas inside.
Bea looked around her in wonder at all the beautiful pieces. She pointed out some she had seen before, which had previously been displayed in the window. She admitted quietly that she’d pressed her nose up against the glass to get a better look. Others she perused, keen to see what she had missed.
The owner approached them. ‘Lord Harrington, I thought it was you. I heard congratulations were in order. Is this…’
‘My wife, Lady Edward Harrington.’
Bea turned around to face the man.
‘How do you do?’ he said. The slight widening of his eyes was enough to betray that he knew her.
‘My wife is interested in purchasing a painting.’
The man cleared his throat. ‘It would be my great pleasure to be of service to you,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Have you made a decision?’ Edward asked her. ‘Which one would you like?’
‘There are so many beautiful pictures. I am grateful to have seen them up close. But,’ she said, placing a hand on Edward’s arm.
‘Would you mind very much if we saved our coin to purchase a smaller piece from the exhibition? We could also donate some to a charity for the homeless. For me, that would carry far more meaning—a memory of a happy day.’
Edward stared at her for a moment in shock—that she should be rejecting such a gift. But then he realised why. He had got it wrong. Of course she did not want to purchase anything from this shop owner who had been so prejudiced towards her before. Instead, she was reclaiming her dignity.
Why had he not thought of that? His admiration for her grew.
He liked the fact she had pride—that she was beginning to believe in herself, and she didn’t want to give the man her custom, even though she now could.
Even though she now had status and wealth, she still had her principles. She was still that same girl beneath.
‘What can I say? My wife knows her own mind.’ He shrugged. ‘Thank you very much for your time.’
Bea was exhausted by the time they got back to Longwood.
She and Edward had barely got any sleep after the ball.
But it had been the most perfect night followed by the most wonderful day.
She had been apprehensive of going into the city, about who they should meet, but once they’d begun to look round the exhibition, she had forgotten all her fears.
She had loved seeing all the artwork—at times, she had needed to pinch herself.
That she was there. That it was real. If only her mother could have seen her.
‘How is my father?’ Edward asked, as they stepped through the front door.
‘He’s comfortable, drifting in and out of sleep,’ Mrs Potter said. ‘But I’m afraid a messenger came from the mill. There is a problem with one of the machines.’
Edward cursed. ‘No one is hurt, I hope?’
‘No, he did not say as much.’
He nodded. ‘Good.’ He turned to look at Bea. ‘I am sorry. I will have to cut our day short.’
‘That is quite all right,’ she said. ‘We have had enough fun to last the whole month, I should think, haven’t we, Thomas?’ she said, raising her boy up in her arms.
He gurgled happily.
Bea waved Edward off, before playing with Thomas in his nursery, giving him his bath and then feeding him his bread and milk. She told him a story as he stared up at her from his crib. One of her favourites—the tale of Phaeton and his golden carriage.
She went to draw the curtains, looking out for Edward returning, but there was no sign of his coach.
She loved the view of the rolling parkland.
The grounds were her favourite part of Longwood—the space, the wildflowers in the fields and the animals, left to roam free.
If only Edward had been allowed to do the same, might his childhood have been happier?
She hoped Thomas would grow up content. She was so glad she had stayed.
Edward had told her time and again how Thomas needed her and she knew, deep down, it was true.
She hoped he would think her a good mother when he was older.
She wasn’t flawless, but she did love him with every breath in her body and would always do her best for him.
She wondered if the Duke had carried out his threat and changed his will since she had arrived, or was Edward set to lose all of this because of her?
She didn’t think so. The Duke had not exactly turfed her or Edward out of his house.
But still, she understood the gravity of the situation.
Edward had risked a lot to marry her. Why?
Thomas eventually drifted off and Bea picked up her sketchbook, turning to a blank page. She hovered outside the Duke’s room until Mrs Potter appeared and she asked if the man was asleep. When the woman confirmed it, she crept inside.
She thought it might be nice if Edward had a few sketches of his father. She knew he had his portrait hanging in the gallery, but this would be a more relaxed pose.
The old man was propped up in bed, his breathing laboured and his eyes closed.
She took a seat on the settee at the far end of the room and began to draw the outline of his face. She knew he had been handsome when he was younger, much like Edward was now. Had he had a contented life or had the constraints of Society taken their toll on him too?
When she glanced up again, he was awake, staring at her, and she reared. She shot to her feet, flustered. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Edward has gone to the mill so I thought I’d sit with you for a while and keep you company. I will leave you now.’
‘No,’ he croaked. He beckoned her to come closer with his hand. ‘Come.’
Suddenly nervous, feeling as if she had disturbed him, she put down the sketchpad and teetered over to the bed. ‘Can I get you anything?’
He shook his head, but he began coughing. She reached for the water on the table and handed it to him. He took a sip and passed her back the glass.
‘The doctor says it is not contagious.’
She nodded, to explain she understood, unsure what to say.
‘What were you doing over there?’ he asked.
‘I like to draw.’
‘Is it a true likeness?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Then do not show me,’ he said. ‘I think I would rather not know what I look like right now.’
She heard the sound of Thomas crying and wondered if she should go. It was her perfect excuse to escape.
‘Is that my grandson?’ the man said.
‘Yes.’ She tensed, waiting for him to tell her to shut the boy up, but instead, he shifted on the pillows, as if trying to sit up. ‘Would you like to hold him?’ She didn’t know what made her say it and instantly wished the words back. She waited for his harsh retort.