Chapter 23 #2
Simon and Lady Amelia were speaking softly when Edward felt the room tilt in a direction that did not belong to him. Simon needed Lady Amelia. Lady Amelia needed Simon. And the child… the child needed them both.
His place was no longer there. Not at the center of that moment, at least. He should have kept his attention on them, but something shifted in the corner of his vision.
Beatrice stood beside Amelia, her face drawn too tight. Her eyes glistened, though she blinked quickly to hide it. He couldn’t ignore the strain in her posture—the precise way she held her shoulders, as though suppressing emotions she refused to show.
A faint tremor racked his body.
Before he knew it, Edward stepped away from the door and crossed the room. Quietly. He stopped at Beatrice’s side, close enough that his sleeve brushed her arm.
She didn’t look up at first, but she knew he was there. He saw it in the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, heard it in the softening of her breath.
Something in his chest tugged hard enough to unsettle him. He had never been this sensitive to anyone’s emotions. He was starting to recognize the discomfort of it now.
Simon said something, and Lady Amelia choked out a soft sound in response. As they continued speaking, Beatrice’s hand drifted toward him, her fingers brushing his sleeve.
It was the faintest pressure, but the meaning of it—the need in it—struck him with such force that he turned at once.
Her eyes met his, glistening as if she were holding in too much. The sight of her distress hit him like a punch to the gut, tightening something deep inside him.
Edward didn’t think. He wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her toward the door. She followed without resistance.
The moment the latch clicked softly behind them, her shoulders dropped. The corridor was warmer than the study, lit by candles that threw shadows across the walls.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. They stood there, warm light pooling around their feet, the house suddenly too quiet.
Beatrice pressed her lips together, swallowed, opened her mouth, and failed to speak.
Edward moved closer. “Beatrice…”
“I’m fine,” she whispered, her breath catching.
“It’s only—I should be happy. Truly. Pip has her family now.
A proper family.” Her laugh was thin, brittle around the edges.
“I can stop stealing into the nursery at midnight to check if she’s still breathing.
Mrs. Hart thinks I’m overly anxious, but I… I couldn’t help it.”
Her voice wavered. She blinked hard, and a tear caught on her lashes.
Edward stepped closer still, close enough to see the pulse at her throat. “Beatrice—”
“I shouldn’t…” She shook her head, the tear slipping free. “I shouldn’t feel anything at all. I knew she wasn’t mine. I told myself that every day. But it doesn’t make this any easier.” Her hand came up, covering her mouth, shaking.
Edward reached out slowly. He cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks. She froze, her breath trembling, her eyes wide and luminous in the lamplight.
“You love her,” he said softly. “You protected her when no one else dared to. There is nothing wrong with that.”
She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, leaning faintly into his touch, and his heart sped up.
Her eyes opened again, full of hurt, gratitude, and something warmer that made his pulse skitter.
“I don’t want to be selfish,” she whispered. “But losing her feels like losing something I never admitted I’d hoped for.”
“No,” he agreed gently. “But she was safe thanks to you.”
Her breath shuddered, and more tears spilled—silent, unrestrained now that he was holding her.
“And now she won’t need me at all,” she croaked.
His chest tightened painfully. “That isn’t true.”
“It is,” she insisted, her voice cracking. “And I shouldn’t—Edward, I shouldn’t feel like—like—” She choked on the words.
He tilted her face up a little, his hands warm. “Tell me.”
She shook her head, blinking fast. “No. I’ll only say something foolish.”
“Then say it.” His hands slid to her jaw, his fingers curling gently behind her ears.
Her gaze locked on his, raw and unguarded. “If I ever want children…”
She inhaled sharply, realizing what she was about to say. Her cheeks flushed, and her lower lip trembled.
Edward inched closer—too close, dangerously close—his breath warm against her cheek. “Beatrice,” he murmured, unable to pull back, “finish your thought.”
Her chest rose and fell with quick, uneven breaths. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, stirring a dull ache within him. He felt her tremble under his touch.
“If I ever want children,” she whispered, “you—”
The rest stuck in her throat.
The air tightened around them, electric and—God help him—impossibly intimate. His hands were still on her face. Her fingers curled lightly around his wrists. Their foreheads were nearly touching.
He leaned in—barely, but enough for the space between them to collapse into a single breath.
She felt it, too. And her eyes widened.
For one suspended moment, Edward forgot everything—the house, the baby, the reason they married. There was only her pulse beneath his thumb, her trembling breath, her unbearable proximity.
Then she pulled back abruptly. He dropped his hands slowly, reluctantly. The sudden absence of her warmth left him almost off kilter.
Her breath shook as she said, “Now that the baby’s parents have been found, there is no need for us to keep up the pretense.”
Something inside him snapped, but she didn’t wait for his response.
She turned around, and a sharp pain flared behind his ribs. She walked away quickly, her head lowered as though afraid he might read her if she met his eyes.
He didn’t call after her, but her departure hurt in a way he had not anticipated. It left a hollow sensation that lingered in his chest long after the soft sound of her footsteps faded.
Edward stood alone in the corridor, his heart pounding, his jaw tight, still feeling the warmth of her tears on his fingers.
For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go after her or if he feared what would happen if he did.