Chapter 19 #2
Edmund’s jaw locked tight. He looked at Corinna, desperately wishing he could explain, wishing he could pull her away from the toxic orbit of this woman. But Corinna was already stepping back, her expression closing off into a mask of polite, icy indifference.
“Of course,” Edmund forced the words out.
He offered Cecily his arm. She took it with a triumphant little squeeze, letting him lead her onto the floor.
The dance was a nightmare of prescribed movements and forced proximity. Every time the steps brought them together, Cecily leaned in, the heavy scent of vanilla and cloves suffocating him.
“You look miserable, Edmund,” Cecily whispered cheerfully as they circled one another. “You really should relax. The ton is entirely blind.”
“What do you want, Cecily?” he ground out, refusing to look at her face.
Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the edge of the room. Corinna was standing exactly where he had left her. She was watching him. She wasn’t glaring, and she wasn’t crying. She was simply watching him dance with the woman who held the power to destroy his life.
“I want what I have always wanted,” Cecily replied smoothly as they joined hands to turn down the line. “I want you to stop this ridiculous performance and come back to your senses.”
“I am in my senses,” Edmund said, dropping her hand the absolute second the music allowed.
The final chord struck. Edmund did not offer a polite bow, nor did he offer to escort her from the floor. He simply turned his back on her and walked away.
He crossed the ballroom with single-minded, ruthless purpose. He dodged a waiter, sidestepped Lord Fife, and stopped directly in front of Corinna.
She looked up at him, her gray eyes guarded and wary.
“Will you take some air with me?” Edmund asked. His voice was ragged. He didn’t care who was listening. He didn’t care about the rules of the companion anymore. “Please.”
Corinna studied his face for a long, agonizing second. Then she gave a tight nod. “I will.”
They walked toward the tall glass doors leading to the terrace.
As they reached the threshold, a soft rustle of silk sounded behind them.
Arabella had detached herself from the crowd and fell into step slightly behind them, joining them without being asked, offering the necessary cover of a chaperone.
The three of them stepped out into the cool night air.
The doors clicked shut, abruptly cutting off the chaotic noise of the ballroom. The gardens were dark, lit only by the pale moonlight and a few scattered lanterns hanging from the stone balustrades. The sudden quiet was deafening.
Edmund walked down the stone steps, leading them toward a secluded path lined with tall, manicured hedges. He stopped, turning to face Corinna.
The moonlight caught the pale curve of her throat and the beautiful intelligence in her eyes. The urge to pull her into his arms was an agonizing ache in his chest.
“I am an idiot,” Edmund said. The words tore out of him, raw and unpolished. He closed the distance between them, stopping just inches away. “I am a coward, and I am an idiot, and I am so deeply, terribly sorry for everything.”
Corinna’s breath hitched. She looked up at him, her lips parting in confusion. “Mr. Marsh, I do not understand…”
“I am done,” Edmund interrupted, his voice shaking. “I am done lying to you. I am done pretending to be this… this hollow thing. You have to know the truth. You have to know who I really am.”
He reached for her. He raised his hands, intending to take hers, intending to strip away the disguise and lay his life bare at her feet.
A crunch of gravel sounded from the shadows directly behind them.
“I think that is quite enough.”
Edmund froze. The blood drained completely from his face.
Aunt Phoebe stepped out from the deep shadows of the hedges, and standing directly beside her was Lady Margaret.
Edmund’s heart stopped, as he stared at his mother.
Her expression was something he had never seen on her face before, and something he prayed to God he would never see again.
It was not anger. Anger would have been manageable.
This was something vastly older, colder, and infinitely more devastating.
It was the look of a woman who had just watched the foundation of her entire world crumble into dust.
She knows, Edmund realized, a wave of sheer terror crashing over him. She knows everything.
She adjusted the black lace shawl around her shoulders with hands that were perfectly, terrifyingly steady.
“I am feeling unwell,” Lady Margaret said. Her voice did not waver. “It is time to go.”
She turned on her heel and walked slowly back toward the terrace doors. She did not look back.
Edmund could not breathe. He felt as though the ground had opened up and swallowed him. He turned his head slowly, looking back at Corinna.
Corinna was staring at the retreating figure of the countess, and then back to Edmund, her brow furrowed in confusion.
She was desperately trying to read a scene for which she simply did not have the pieces.
She looked at his horrified face, trying to understand why a secretary was looking at a countess with such naked, familial devastation.
“Mr. Marsh,” Corinna whispered.
He took one desperate, frantic step toward her. He needed to touch her. He needed to pull her into the dark and explain it all before it was too late.
“Don’t.”
Phoebe stepped between them. Phoebe reached out and took Corinna firmly by the arm. “Vivienne is also feeling unwell. The evening is over. We are going inside.”
“Aunt Phoebe, wait…” Corinna protested, looking back over her shoulder at Edmund as she was pulled away.
“Not another word,” Phoebe commanded. She steered Corinna up the stone steps and through the glass doors, disappearing back into the suffocating light of the ballroom without looking back.
The garden was suddenly, terrifyingly empty.
Edmund stood on the gravel path, paralyzed.
The silence of the night pressed down on him, heavy and absolute.
Arabella was standing a few feet away, her hands pressed tightly over her mouth, tears spilling silently down her pale cheeks.
She did not speak. She simply stood in the quiet, bearing witness to the catastrophic collapse of his lies.
Edmund stared at the glass doors. He felt the full, crushing weight of the evening settle over him.
He forced his legs to move. He walked up the steps, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.
He found Phoebe standing near the cloakroom, waiting for the Ashwell carriage to be brought around. She was alone for a brief moment.
Edmund crossed the distance, stopping right in front of her. He didn’t care about his pride. He didn’t care about his title.
“Please,” Edmund pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please, do not tell her. Do not let her hear it from anyone else. Give me the chance to tell her the truth myself.”
Phoebe looked at him, her eyes completely devoid of sympathy. She saw the man, not the coat, and she judged him entirely wanting.
“You have one day to fix this,” Phoebe said firmly, her voice colder than the night air. “One day. After that, I will tell her everything myself, and I will ensure she never speaks to you again.”