When the tears finally slowed, she sat very still, waiting for the ache to ebb. It did not. But she had learned how to carry it, the way she had learned to carry everything else.
She inhaled until her lungs ached, held her breath, then let it go. She wiped her face carefully. Smoothed her hair. Stood up.
By the time a maid knocked softly on the door, Beatrice had regained her composure. She placed the cap back into the basket. She smoothed the shawl on the chair. She adjusted the ribbon on the cradle until it lay just so.
Each movement was precise, controlled. Familiar. This was the part she knew how to do.
“Your Grace,” the maid said hesitantly, “His Grace has returned. He asked?—”
“Yes,” Beatrice interrupted. “You may show him in.”
The maid glanced at the cradle, then back at her. “Shall I?—”
“No, that will be all.”
Edward paused just inside the doorway. His gaze swept the room. The empty cradle. The chair. Beatrice standing by the window, her hands folded, her expression calm.
“I thought I might find you here,” he said carefully, as though the wrong tone might shatter something fragile.
“Yes,” Beatrice replied. Her voice was steady. Almost distant. “I wished to make sure that everything was in order.”
Edward stepped into the room and gently closed the door behind him.
For a moment, they stood in silence.
“You did not stay long at the church,” he noted.
“I thought Amelia would prefer privacy,” Beatrice replied. “There are some moments one should not intrude upon.”
Edward studied her face. Whatever he was searching for there, he did not find it easily.
“The house feels different,” he admitted.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It always does after a guest departs.”
A guest.
The word struck her hard.
“If you wish,” he offered slowly, “Mrs. Hart can have the room cleared before she returns to Bath.”
Beatrice shook her head at once. “No. Not yet. It’s not urgent. The nursery may remain as it is, for now. There is no need to rush.”
Edward nodded. “As you wish.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
He moved closer, stopping beside the cradle. His hand hovered, then rested on the wood, just where hers had been moments ago.
“You were very good with her,” he said quietly.
Beatrice turned to face him. Her smile was small and precise. “That does not mean I should have had her.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. “If you ever wished?—”
She lifted her hand. Not sharply, but gently. “Please, don’t.”
He stopped.
