Chapter 5 #2
He looked impossibly composed for a man whose life had just been upended. His coat was neat, his hair infuriatingly in place. Only his jaw betrayed him—tense, as though he were holding the whole situation between his teeth.
She folded her gloved hands in her lap, her posture a careful study in composure. The countryside blurred past the window in soft greens and mist, the world quietly rearranging itself beyond her reach.
“You’re not going to look at me at all, are you?” Edward asked mildly.
“I thought it safer to look forward,” she replied, without turning.
He gave a soft huff of amusement. “Practical. You might survive this marriage, after all.”
“That is exactly my intention.”
Neither of them spoke for a while. The steady rhythm of the wheels filled the silence, underscored by the baby’s soft, even breaths.
“I suppose,” Beatrice said eventually, turning her gaze to him, “we should speak about what comes next. The rules.”
Edward’s expression was inscrutable save for the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth. “You mean besides exile?”
Her eyebrow arched. “Bath is hardly exile, Your Grace. Unless you find clean air and civility to be intolerable punishments.”
“On the contrary,” he murmured, his fingers drummed against is knee. “I find them suspicious. No one is truly civil unless they’re hiding something dreadful.”
She couldn’t help it. The smallest, traitorous smile touched her lips. “And what dreadful secret shall you hide, then? Your aversion to fresh air?”
“Among other things,” he replied smoothly. “Though I daresay you’ll uncover them all before the week is out.”
Her pulse jumped, absurdly. “I’ve no such intentions. I prefer peace and quiet.”
“Peace and quiet,” he echoed, studying her as though she had said something terribly curious. “Then we are already doomed.”
The air in the carriage shifted. It was no longer cold.
Beatrice turned back toward the window, though she could still feel his gaze on her like sunlight through glass. “Then we are, it seems, equally unfortunate.”
His voice was low, almost a drawl. “Or equally deserving of it.”
She did not answer, but her reflection in the glass gave her away. Her mouth curved, just slightly, as though she had heard a jest she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Edward leaned back slightly. “Very well. You wish to discuss terms.”
“Rules,” she corrected. “If we are going to live under the same roof, there must be rules.”
“Of course,” he said easily, gesturing for her to continue. “Ladies first.”
She took a deep breath. “We’re married on paper only. I see no reason to pretend otherwise.”
He tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “On paper. Such a dreary word.”
“Necessary,” she countered. “You keep your affairs—” She caught herself. “You keep your business to yourself, and I will do the same.”
His eyebrows arched, though his tone remained polite. “You wound me, Duchess. I hadn’t even begun my campaign for affection.”
“You will find me quite immune to charm,” she said crisply. “I have read too many newspapers.”
His lazy smile grew. “Ah, yes, Miss Verity would never fall for a rake.”
Her gaze snapped to his, and for a moment, the air thickened. Then she looked away, pretending to adjust the blanket over the baby. “I’m glad you understand.”
“Perfectly.” His voice softened in a way that caught her off guard. “Then allow me to set a rule.” He leaned forward, expression brightening with mischief. “No running away. Not when I offend you.”
She blinked. “I do not run.”
“Astride scandal, perhaps. Fast enough to leave a man dizzy.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, more flustered than furious. “Then here is another: no using our arrangement as fodder for gossip. No whispered jokes among your friends. I will not be a diverting anecdote.”
His lazy smile faltered—a small hitch, almost sincere. “Very well.”
“And,” she continued, gaining momentum, “we must sleep in separate rooms.”
“Adjacent?” he asked lightly. “For emergencies.”
“For propriety,” she corrected, her voice dropping. “Walls exist for a reason.”
“Doors exist to be opened,” he murmured, then relented at her look, lifting his hands. “Separate rooms. With walls most loyal.”
She did not thank him, but the subtle lowering of her shoulders betrayed her relief. He noticed—of course, he did—and something in his expression shifted, becoming quieter, almost thoughtful.
“Very well,” he said. “Since you have had your say, allow me one more rule, and I will grant you the same courtesy.” He tapped a finger against the edge of his seat, his eyes fixed on her. “You may live as you please, so long as we avoid any… unnecessary attention.”
She lifted her chin. “Such as?”
“Oh, the usual things.” He made a vague motion with one gloved hand, as though swatting away the absurdity of it all. “Peace under my roof. No essays. And no scathing observations about my character in the Clarion.”
Her head snapped up. “You read the Clarion?”
“One does not read it so much as survive it,” he said dryly. “I was its unwilling muse for a season—I had little choice.”
A startled laugh escaped her lips. “Surely not you.”
“Oh, quite me. Some inventive soul thought it amusing to sketch ‘a brooding duke with the emotional range of a teapot’ as a teapot.”
She pressed her lips together, her eyes dancing despite herself. “That sounds… accurate.”
His eyebrow arched. “Careful, Duchess. You’re perilously close to rule ten.”
Her eyebrow arched. “The rules aren’t even up to six.”
“Then I shall consider it foresight,” he said smoothly, leaning back with a hint of a smile. “I like to plan.”
She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You are insufferable. We have scarcely half that number. ”
“So I’ve been told,” he murmured, the warmth in his voice softening the words. “Are there any more rules?”
“There is. You will not interfere with the care of the child until her parentage is—”
Suddenly, the carriage jolted. Both instinctively reached for the small basket beside her. His hand barely brushed against hers, but the touch sent a strange flutter through her chest.
She withdrew her hand, too quickly. “Until her parentage is confirmed,” she finished, her eyes on the baby instead of him.
“That sounds sensible enough.” He inclined his head, a faint smile touching his lips. “Now we have what? Four rules in total?”
“Five, perhaps.”
He hummed. “An orderly marriage. I should’ve guessed you’d keep count.”
“It prevents chaos,” she returned lightly, though her lips quirked up.
Silence settled over them again, but it no longer felt brittle. The wheels rumbled beneath them, and the air seemed to lighten.
Beatrice leaned her head back against her seat, watching the passing scenery blur into muted gold. For the first time since the wedding, the knot in her chest loosened. Edward glanced at her briefly, then out the window.
Neither spoke for a while.