Her eyes flickered toward him—just a moment, tentative, searching—but he didn’t let himself meet them. He looked at the vicar instead.
Cowardly, perhaps, but safer.
“I’ll handle the guardianship documents,” he said. “The child will remain under our protection until after the wedding.”
“Excellent,” the vicar said with relief. “That resolves the only outstanding concern.”
Beatrice began gathering her notes. Her movements were tidy, efficient, yet careful, as though even her fingertips must not betray a tremor. When Edward reached for the last document at the same moment she did, she withdrew far too quickly.
Once, she would have rolled her eyes, teased him about being impatient, plucked the paper from his hand just to annoy him. Now, she simply stepped back.
“Thank you,” she said, addressing the vicar instead of him. “I’ll send a finalized copy tomorrow.”
The vicar rose from his seat, seeming pleased. “A pleasure as always, Your Graces.”
He left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
And suddenly the quiet rang between them.
Beatrice kept adjusting the stack of papers and it looked to him as though the alignment mattered. Edward watched her hands—graceful, steady, composed—and felt something twist painfully in his chest.
“You handled the meeting well,” he remarked.
His voice came out rougher than he had intended. He schooled his features into something neutral, as if that could pull his voice back into line.
Beatrice didn’t look up from the stack of papers. “It was only planning,” she said.
He nearly snorted. He almost said,You know it wasn’t, but he bit it back. What good would it do?
So, he nodded once. “Very well.”
For a heartbeat, he considered walking away. That would’ve been safer. Cleaner. But she was still there, and he still wanted?—
No. Distance.
He heard himself say, “You’ve always been good at more than planning.”
A mistake. He realized it the moment the words left his mouth.
Silence tightened, small and fragile.
When Beatrice finally spoke, her tone was smooth as glass. “We have to finalize the details. Together. The ceremonies are only a few days away.”
There it was—her boundary, neatly placed. He felt its edge.
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
Beatrice opened her notebook, her quill poised, her expression unreadable. “The chapel has been booked. The vicar has confirmed the hour—eleven in the morning. The wedding will be short. I thought it best not to overwork Pip.”
He swallowed. “Yes. Sensible.”
She scribbled in her notebook. “The chapel will be decorated with white lilies and rosemary. Rosemary for remembrance. Do you approve?”
Lilies. Of course, Lady Amelia would want lilies.
Edward cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“And the hymns?” she continued, businesslike. “The vicar asked if you preferred Hail the Day or Gentle Shepherd.”
