She caught herself glancing toward the door as if expecting a soft knock, a quiet request for conversation, a simple goodnight. But none came.
The house settled around her with a sigh.
She missed Edward, and she had no idea what to do with the ache of it.
Beatrice woke up before the sun, though waking up implied she had slept. She had not.
Her eyes burned. Her body ached. The house felt… hollow. A place holding its breath.
She dressed slowly, her lady’s maid brushing her hair in long, gentle strokes. She stared at her own reflection, at the pale skin and the slight puffiness around her eyes.
“Will you take breakfast in the breakfast room, Your Grace?” Alice asked.
Beatrice hesitated. Edward’s seat would be empty again. The sight of it had pricked her too sharply the day before, a tiny wound she had no business bleeding over.
“No,” she replied softly. “In the morning room. Something light.”
Alice curtsied and left.
Beatrice stepped into the corridor just as the butler rounded the corner to the stairs.
“Your Grace,” he said, “Lady Moreland has arrived. She is in the drawing room.”
Her mother? At this hour?
A sinking feeling curled low in her stomach. “Did she seem… distressed?”
He paused. “She asked for you at once. That is all I can say.”
Beatrice drew a steadying breath and made her way down the stairs. The drawing room door was open, and sunlight spilled across the carpet in a warm slant, catching the dust motes that danced in the air.
Lady Moreland stood by the window, her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles whitened.
“Mama? I wasn’t expecting you.”
She turned. Her eyes were red, as if she too hadn’t slept. “Beatrice. I know. I thought it best not to send word.”
The way she said her name—so soft—made Beatrice instantly wary.
“What is it?” she asked. “Has something happened?”
Lady Moreland hesitated. She took a deep breath, then another
“Mama, you’re pale. Sit down.”
“I don’t think I should.” Her gaze flicked to the chair, then away. “I won’t stay long.”
Beatrice’s chest tightened. “Very well.”
“I came to apologize,” Lady Moreland said.
Beatrice blinked. “Apologize? For what?”
Lady Moreland’s lips parted and closed again. She took a breath that seemed to cost her something.
“For the pain I caused you,” she murmured. “For the position I put you in. For the life you are now living.”
Beatrice felt a little uneasy, but she smiled nonetheless. “Mama, you needn’t apologize. None of this was your doing.”
