Chapter 20 #2
He hesitated, just long enough for it to matter. “It troubles me that a child should suffer for another man’s folly, regardless of his name.”
She felt something coil behind her ribs. “Then she must not.”
Edward’s gaze flickered with surprise. “Meaning?”
“She should not bear the mistakes of others,” Beatrice explained, her voice low but firm. “Not Simon’s. Not anyone’s.” Her hand tightened almost imperceptibly around his. “If there is more to uncover, then keep searching. Until you are certain.”
He drew in a long breath. “You are asking me to continue.”
“Yes.”
“You are not… afraid of the answer? Afraid of what knowing the answer will mean for us?”
She met his eyes, and for a heartbeat, the world ceased to exist.
“I am more afraid of uncertainty,” she murmured. “And more afraid still that she will grow older without anyone knowing where she came from. Whatever the truth is… she deserves it.”
Her voice wavered only slightly on the last word.
Edward’s expression shifted into something warm and astonished. “Very well,” he relented. “I will keep searching.”
They finished the turn in silence, though the hand on her waist felt different now—gentler, almost reverent. She felt every inch of space between them, and every place where space no longer existed.
She told herself she was only flushed from the dancing. But it was a lie.
She was acutely aware of him—his nearness, his warmth, the quiet gravity of his presence. When he guided her through the final steps, her cheeks burned, and she was grateful the dance required them to look elsewhere for a moment.
The music faded, and the dance ended. Edward released her slowly, as if reverting to propriety required care.
“Thank you,” she managed, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
His eyes lingered, not improperly, but with a depth that made her pulse flutter wildly. “It is I who should thank you.”
They pulled apart, but her skin tingled with the ghost of his touch. And her heart… refused to settle.
The following evening, London felt heavier.
Edward noticed it the moment he stepped into the street, the way his coat felt too tight across his shoulders, the way every sound seemed amplified and grating.
He had spent the day pretending to work. Papers lay neatly aligned on his desk, inkpot freshly replenished, correspondence opened and answered with precision. Anyone observing him would have assumed he was perfectly composed.
Beatrice’s words from the ballroom echoed again and again.
“Keep searching. Until you are certain.”
The memory of her voice—steady despite her trepidation—refused to leave him. Nor did the feel of her hand in his, the faint, almost imperceptible tremors she had tried to hide.
By late afternoon, he could no longer sit still. So he had sent for Sebastian.
Sebastian arrived just before dusk. He took one look at Edward’s face and sighed. “Oh dear,” he said, shedding his gloves. “That look means you’ve decided something unpleasant and moral.”
Edward didn’t look up. “Get your coat.”
Sebastian paused. “That bad, then.”
Now the two of them walked down a narrow street just off Covent Garden, the sound of rowdy laughter spilling from the buildings ahead. Somewhere, glass shattered, followed by applause.
The air smelled of smoke, gin, and damp cobblestones—a far cry from the glittering ballroom of the night before.
Sebastian wrinkled his nose. “I had hoped marriage might at least keep you from dragging me to places that smell like spilled gin and regret.”
“You were required to come as support,” Edward said.
Sebastian snorted. “Please. You could have done it all by yourself.”
Edward did not reply.
Sebastian adjusted his collar against the cold, grimacing as his boot stuck briefly to the cobblestones. “You’re certain he’s here?”
“He’s always here,” Edward muttered.
“Ah, yes. Simon Pembroke, loyal to nothing but vice.”
He didn’t smile. “Tonight, he answers to me.”
“And you’re certain this won’t end with someone bleeding?”
Edward’s mouth tightened. “If it does, it won’t be me.”
Sebastian shot him a look. “You’re in a mood.”
“I am focused.”
“That’s worse.”
They stopped before a battered wooden door, its surface scarred by years of fists and boots. Music thudded from within, heavy and relentless.
Sebastian gave him a sidelong glance. “So this is it. You’re truly set on confronting him?”
Edward inhaled slowly. “Yes. If I delay, I’ll find reasons not to.”
Sebastian studied him for a moment, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let’s make sure you don’t. Let’s get on with it.”
Edward pushed the door open.
Heat hit them first, then came the smoke and the thick press of bodies. Lamps hung low, casting everything in an orange haze. Men shouted around card tables, women laughed too loudly, and dice clattered across stained green cloth.
“Charming establishment,” Sebastian muttered beside him. “Reminds me precisely why I never gamble.”
“You do gamble,” Edward reminded him.
“Yes,” Sebastian agreed. “But not anymore, especially not here. Here, the floor is sticky.”
Edward said nothing.
They weaved through the crowd until Sebastian nodded toward a far table. “There he is. In his natural habitat.”
Edward’s gaze landed on the far card table, where Simon sat in the center of a raucous group, grinning as though the world existed purely for his amusement.
Simon was handsome in the careless, disorderly way that always drew attention—dark curls slightly too long, coat unbuttoned, cravat loosened. He looked too much like Edward, except he was leaner and paler.
A woman perched on the arm of his chair, tracing circles on his shoulders with lacquered fingernails. He laughed at something she said and tossed a pile of coins onto the table without looking at them.
Edward’s jaw tightened. “We wait for him to finish the round.”
“Why?” Sebastian asked. “He won’t notice.”
“I will not drag him up mid-game like a common debtor.”
Sebastian snorted. “He looks like a common debtor.”
Edward ignored him and folded his arms, watching.
Simon’s cards were excellent—Edward could tell by the man’s careless smirk. He laid them down with a flourish, raking in winnings as the others groaned and cursed.
Only then did Edward step forward.
“Simon,” he said sharply.
Simon looked up, surprised, then broke into a slow grin. “Edward! Did not expect to see you in a place like this.” His eyes flicked to Sebastian. “Or your perpetual shadow.”
“My Lord,” Sebastian greeted, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he bowed slightly.
Simon dismissed him with a wave and leaned back, stretching. “Well then, what brings the mighty Dukes to this fine establishment? Come to wager your fortune away? I assure you, I’d be delighted to win it.”
“We need to talk,” Edward said.
Simon blinked. “Now? I’m on a roll.”
“Now,” Edward insisted.
Something in his tone finally penetrated Simon’s brandy-hazed good humor.
With a theatrical sigh, Simon muttered apologies to his table and rose. “Lead on. Though I warn you, I’m in no mood for sermons.”
They moved to a darker corner near the wall, where the music thudded through the floorboards.
“All right, Cousin,” Simon began, brushing ash from his sleeve. “What’s the matter? You look as though someone insulted your horse.”
“It’s about a child,” Edward said flatly.
Simon blinked. “A child?”
“Yes.”
Simon laughed once, the sound sharp. “You’ve come to the wrong man.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Simon frowned. “Whose child?”
“That is what I intend to find out,” Edward replied.
Simon stared at him blankly. “What does that have to do with me?”
“You were in London at the time the baby was delivered, with the Wrexford crest,” Edward explained. “You are known for… certain behaviors.”
Simon scoffed. “Ah, there you go. You think I’ve gone and—what? Left a child in the street?”
“I want to know if she is yours,” Edward said evenly.
Simon blinked again, then laughed—loudly, unhelpfully. “Good God, Edward. I’ve fathered no baby! At least… I don’t think—”
Edward’s expression darkened.
Simon held up both hands. “Let me think. Let me think. Affairs? Yes. Several. Quite a few, actually. But babies? No one told me about any baby.”
“Who were these women?” Edward pressed.
“How would I know?” Simon scoffed. “Actresses. Widows. One of them might have been a baron’s daughter, or a baroness. Can’t remember. But I have no idea who could have—”
“That is the problem,” Edward interrupted.
Simon fell quiet.
Edward leaned in. “You will find out. You will identify the mother of that child, whether she is yours or not. And you will take responsibility for it.”
Simon bristled. “Edward, really, this is hardly—”
“Hardly what?” Edward gritted out. “Hardly your concern? Hardly your fault? You’ve lived half your life escaping consequences. That ends tonight.”
Simon’s face reddened. “You have no right to dictate my life.”
Sebastian coughed lightly. “Actually, he does. He gives you an allowance.”
Edward didn’t even look away from Simon. “You depend on my money. You know it. And as of this moment, you will not receive a penny until you do what I’ve asked.”
Simon stared at him, stunned. “You’re cutting my allowance?”
“Yes.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
Simon looked between them, his mouth agape. “Edward, I swear—I don’t even know where to begin looking! These women—some I barely remember!”
“Then start with the ones you do.” Edward’s tone sharpened. “You will write to them, visit them, speak to every acquaintance you’ve charmed or ruined in the past year. And you will not come to me for a single shilling until you have the truth.”
“But I’m nearly ruined!” Simon sputtered.
“Then you have every incentive to work quickly.”
“Edward, please, be reasonable—”
“I am being reasonable.” Edward’s voice cut like steel. “For once in your life, do something responsible.”
Simon stared at him, breathless. “This is lunacy.”
“This,” Edward said, turning away, “is consequence.” He nodded to Sebastian. “We’re done here.”
Sebastian clapped Simon on the shoulder as they passed. “Cheer up. At least the Baroness won’t starve you.”
Simon glared. “You’re both devils.”
Sebastian smiled pleasantly. “Yes. But we’re devils who pay our bills.”
Edward did not look back as he left the gaming hall. The smoke stung his eyes, but the real sting came from something deeper—anger, frustration, and beneath it all, the faint, unfathomable fear of what the truth might reveal.
They stepped out into the cold night air, the gaming hall’s door slamming shut behind them.
The street was quieter, but the echo of dice and drunken laughter still clung to Edward’s ears like smoke. He drew in a deep breath, grateful for the crispness of clean air.
Sebastian walked beside him, hands tucked into his coat pockets, expression thoughtful rather than amused for once.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “that went as badly as we had expected.”
Edward huffed out a breath. They walked a few paces in silence. Lampposts cast long shadows on the cobblestones, and a carriage rattled somewhere in the distance.
Then Sebastian spoke again.
“You know, I remember when we were like him.”
Edward glanced at him. “We were never as bad as Simon.”
“Not as careless,” Sebastian agreed. “But close. I do recall a time when we spent every night in places just like that one.” He nodded back toward the glowing windows of the gaming hall. “We thought it was freedom. Noise, cards, brandy, and absolutely no one expecting us home.”
Edward didn’t argue. It had felt like freedom once, but not anymore.
Sebastian exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold. “Funny thing, though… life feels better now.”
Edward raised an eyebrow. “Better?”
Sebastian smiled faintly. “Much. Margaret. The baby. Quiet evenings. Knowing precisely where I’m meant to be.” He shook his head with a soft laugh. “If you’d told me five years ago that I’d prefer domesticity to debauchery, I’d have called you deranged.”
Edward looked ahead again. The street stretched long and dark, the kind of night where London felt impossibly large.
Sebastian nudged him lightly. “You don’t miss it, do you?”
Edward opened his mouth to say, Of course not. A simple, easy answer. But the words stuck in his throat. Because even as he considered the bright windows of the gaming hall, the noise, the hollow thrill behind them, something else flashed through his mind.
A quieter image. Beatrice.
Her tired smile at the carriage door, the way she had looked in candlelight last night. He thought about how her hand had felt in his during the waltz. And Pip—small, soft, impossibly trusting—sleeping in her cradle.
The strangest sensation washed over him. He wanted to go home.
The realization struck him with a force that made him halt mid-step.
Sebastian noticed at once. “Edward?”
“I’m fine,” Edward said too quickly, resuming his stride.
Sebastian’s eyebrows drew together in sympathy that he did not voice. But Edward’s thoughts churned. He had spent most of his life with no desire to return to any house.
Home had been a place to sleep, drink, and change clothes, nothing more. But now he found himself wanting to return. And dear God, it frightened him.
The last thing in the world he had ever expected was developing feelings—real ones—for a woman. Not desire; that, he had always understood. But this… this pull. He was not prepared for it.
Sebastian walked on, unaware of his inner turmoil. “Let’s get back,” he said lightly. “The ladies will be asleep, but I can’t wait to see my wife.”
Edward swallowed hard. “Yes,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”
He kept his voice steady. But inside, he was scared.