“I will return next week,” Beatrice said, fastening her gloves. “Please tell the children.”
Mrs. Allen inclined her head. “They’ll be counting the hours, Your Grace.”
Beatrice gave a small, genuine smile. “Then I’d better not disappoint them.”
The little girl—Matilda—had followed her without sound and now stood close enough that the hem of Beatrice’s skirt brushed her shoe. She held up a crust of bread she had wrapped carefully in a scrap of cloth.
“For you,” she said earnestly. “Take, eat.”
Beatrice crouched, ignoring the protest of silk and knees. “That is very kind,” she murmured, accepting the bread as though it were a precious gift. “But I think you may need it more than I do.”
Matilda frowned, considering, then nodded gravely and tucked it back into her pocket.
Beatrice reached out, hesitated for only a moment, then smoothed the child’s hair—light, soft, warm beneath her fingers. Too warm. Too soft.
The ache returned, swiftly and without warning.
She stood up at once.
“Goodbye,” she said to the room at large, and was answered by a scatter of cheerful voices. Alice followed her out.
The moment she stepped outside, the air cooled her skin.
The sky had dimmed to a pewter grey, and rain had begun to fall steadily enough to soak hems and soften sound.
The street smelled of wet stone and cold earth. Her carriage waited at the curb, dark against the pale wash of the day.
Beatrice paused at the gate. It was strange how quickly absence made itself known. How the mind reached instinctively for what it expected to find.
No baby’s laughter waiting at home. No quiet domestic disorder. No Edward, no dry remarks, no infuriating taunt delivered just as she was certain of her ground. No presence at her shoulder, solid and unsettling and far too warm for comfort.
For a moment—only a moment—she let herself imagine him there. Leaning against the carriage door, rain in his hair, his mouth forming a comment he had been waiting to make.
You look triumphant, Duchess. Have you conquered the world this morning, or only half of it?
The thought struck so vividly that it stole her breath.
She squeezed her eyes shut, as though to banish the image. When she opened them, she straightened her spine and straightened her gloves with unnecessary firmness. Sentiment was a poor companion in weather like this.
As she moved toward the carriage, she adjusted her cloak against the damp, careful with her footing, Alice a pace behind her. The driver had just jumped down to open the door when her heel slipped, just enough to send her tipping forward.
She had time to think abouthow absurdbefore she fell.
Strong, firm hands caught her, pulling her up before her weight could slam her down. She gasped, her fingers instinctively clutching at a coat sleeve, her breath lodging in her chest.
For a suspended moment, she could not tell whether she was standing or falling, only that she was being held.
“I’ve got you.”
CHAPTER 31
Her heart lurched violently at the sound ofhisvoice, slamming hard enough to make her dizzy.
Beatrice looked up.
Of course, it was him. As though her mind had summoned him with the same reckless ease it had been doing all morning.
Edward stood before her, one hand steady on her waist, the other clutching her elbow. Rain darkened the shoulders of his coat and beaded on his lashes. His expression was intent, focused, as though he had expected to be exactly where he was.
