Chapter Eleven #2
She sat back against the seat, wounded. He despised her, she thought. That much was clear. He was vibrating with rage and she felt grief explode in her heart. Her worst fear was happening—he believed Lord Wintour and he was pulling away from her. She had dreaded the day that this would come.
She had begun to hope they could be happy.
But she had thought wrong—because despite trying her best to please him, now, because she’d kept this from him, she had ruined everything.
She could see no way of redeeming herself in the ton.
No one would ever respect her again. She had ruined her reputation, and in doing so, she had ruined Edward and ruined her son too.
She sniffed. Oh God, why did that awful man have to make an appearance tonight?
Just when things were starting to go well.
She had foolishly dared to hope she and Edward could be happy.
But she only had herself to blame. She should have told Edward about what had happened with Lord Wintour right from the start, and she was furious with herself for not having done so. For destroying it all.
It was the longest coach journey of her life, Edward staring out the window, not looking at her, freezing her out, and when they finally pulled up outside Longwood Hall, she felt cold all over. Her blood had chilled and her skin had turned to ice.
George opened the door and Bea gingerly stepped out, allowing the footman to help her before Edward jumped down after her. They entered the house in silence.
‘Edward—’
‘Not here,’ he bit. She had never heard him speak to her with such contempt. ‘I do not want the entire house to hear. Upstairs.’
They climbed the stairs and walked to her room, her body trembling in despair. She just wanted this over with now.
Pushing open her room, he stepped inside and she closed the door behind her.
He whirled round, his face furious. ‘We said no more secrets,’ he spat.
‘I know, but—’
‘You have lied to me. Kept a truth from me,’ he said, putting his hands on his hips. ‘You said you did not know the man.’
‘It is no different to you not telling me about your mother.’
He blanched; his face grew darker. Angrier still. ‘That was completely different and you know it.’
She knew his anger partly stemmed from the scandals that had befallen him in the past. Her deceit had threatened the fragile image they had so carefully crafted this past week. Now she would not be welcome in the ton. Her continued presence here would cause Edward no end of humiliation.
‘You kept this from me just like you didn’t come to me sooner to tell me about Thomas, instead keeping him from me for the first six months of our son’s life.’
Her heart clenched. She knew that had wounded him and he’d struggled to put his faith in her after that. But she had told him her reasons before. Had it not made a difference? Had he still not forgiven her? Her stomach hardened, for she could see, he wasn’t about to believe her now either.
Did he trust the words Lord Wintour had spoken? Did he think the absolute worst? She panicked, hating that he would think such a thing were true. Yet why shouldn’t he? She had given him no reason to rely on her.
‘Edward, I wanted to tell you. So many times.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘Because like you, and how you felt about your mother and what happened to her, I was ashamed.’
He reared.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Will you let me explain now?’
‘I do not think I have the stomach to hear it.’
He was too proud and her heart sank. But if he wasn’t willing to hear her out, how would he ever forgive her?
And slow, realisation dawned. Maybe he wouldn’t. Perhaps this was it. The end.
‘So you’re just going to believe what that man said?’
‘Everyone else will.’
She knew she had injured his pride, and yet his stubborn arrogance made her angry. After all, she had her own dignity to think of too.
Suddenly, she felt desperate. She would not stand here, waiting for him to utter the words she had for so long dreaded to hear—that he no longer wanted her; that he now thought she was the harlot his father had said she was and he was sending her away.
No. His cold distance in the coach had triggered her fears and she knew she had to push him away before he could reject her, just as her father had done to her mother.
Besides, why should she want to stay with a man who thought so poorly of her, who didn’t trust her—or at least give her the benefit of the doubt?
‘So that’s it then?’
She knew what she had to do. It was what she had been planning to do that very first day—to remove herself from their lives, no matter how much it hurt her to do so.
She had to put their futures first. She had always known she didn’t belong in Edward’s world, but she had been so weak and foolish and had let him persuade her to stay.
She had allowed him to convince her to marry him because deep down, that had been what she had always wanted.
To be with him and her son. To marry the man she loved.
Because she realised now, she did love him. She always had.
A tear escaped down her cheek and she furiously brushed it away. She did not want him to see her cry. Instead, she turned and grabbed the portmanteau from the wardrobe and began to throw her clothes into it, although it was hard to see what she was doing, her eyes blinded by more tears.
Her heart was breaking, yet at least now she knew her son would have a good life here.
She hadn’t known that when she had handed him over to Edward in the street.
Now she had seen and experienced how Edward loved their son just as much as she did.
He was a good father. The best. Thomas would be warm and safe and happy.
Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
‘What are you doing?’ His voice was like acid.
‘Leaving.’
‘Leaving? This is your solution?’
‘I will be gone by morning. You won’t have to see me again.’
‘Whatever happened to talking things through calmly? Whatever happened to not being like my parents?’ he threw at her.
He stormed to the door and pulled it open.
‘I am so disappointed in you, Bea. I thought we were long past the stage where one of us deemed it all right to leave the other without saying goodbye.’
As if the night couldn’t get any worse, when Edward reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs Potter hurried to greet him.
‘My lord, the doctor is here. It’s your father. He’s dying.’
Edward wondered if the woman could hear his already broken heart shattering.
His emotions in turmoil, he tried to behave as the man of the house should. He stalked to his father’s chamber and pulled up a seat by his bed.
‘I shall give you both some time,’ the doctor said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
It looked as if the old man was sleeping, his breathing shallow, and raw pain clawed inside Edward’s chest. He put his head in his hands. He should have heeded Bea’s advice and spoken to his father sooner. There was so much that needed to be said. Now was he too late?
‘You deserve to be loved, Edward.’
He lifted his head, stunned to see the man awake.
‘I am sorry I have made you feel otherwise,’ the man rasped.
Edward’s throat ached with unshed tears.
‘I only ever wanted the best for you and William. I see now, I gave him all my attention, as he was to be heir. I should never have made you feel as if you were not as important as your brother. Your mother and I loved you very much, despite all that happened between us. You are not to blame yourself anymore for what happened between us. I should never have put that on you. Forgive me, Edward.’
He nodded. ‘I do, Father.’ His voice cracked.
‘You have proved me wrong in every way.’
Edward’s anguish threatened to choke him and a tear escaped down his cheek. He brusquely brushed it away.
‘It is only now, as I lie dying, I have come to see what is truly important. I thought status, our family name and reputation, was everything—more important than love. But I was wrong, Edward. I realise now, what is most important to me is right here.’ He held out his hand for Edward to take.
‘My son, I am proud of you. Of the man you have become. Of what you have built at the mill. That you followed your dreams. Your heart. My grandson—he will make a fine heir of Longwood one day. I am glad I got to tell you what really matters to me before it was too late. Make sure you do the same, won’t you?
Do not make the same mistakes I did, Edward.
It is too late for me, but you have time.
Let her love you, Edward. That girl, I see now, she is good for you.
Let her love you as you deserve. Then I will be at peace, knowing you will be loved now as you always should have been.
And love her back like you want to. Forget Society! ’
Edward’s joy and sorrow collided, and he choked out a laugh, tears streaking down his cheeks.
‘I love you too, Father.’
His father gave him a last squeeze, before his grip loosened on Edward’s hand and he died peacefully, slipping away in his sleep.
Edward sat there for a long while. He had no desire to move. He wasn’t ready to call for help, to let the man go just yet. Instead, he allowed the quiet devastation to ripple through him through the night, drifting in and out of sleep by his father’s side. He was bereft.
The room felt empty now. Cold. Still, as the sun gradually began to rise on a new day. The Duke’s absence was palpable. But he was pleased their last conversation was the best they’d had in years. Open and honest and raw, and the words his father had said kept running through his mind.
Bea…
‘Let her love you, Edward.’
Was he too late?