She didn’t look at him. “There was much that needed changing.”
“So I see.” His gaze flicked once more to the cradle. “Efficient as ever.”
She didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she rubbed her bare arm with a natural calm that made his throat tighten. She belonged in the scene far more than he ever would.
He tore his gaze away. “I’ll have Davens fetch you?—”
“No.” She turned to face him at last, her expression composed and resolute. “You are here now, and there are matters we must discuss.”
The shift in her tone instantly put him on guard.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice even, “we must speak about the child.”
His jaw clenched. “There is nothing to discuss.”
Her chin lifted a fraction. “A man who leaves his crest boldly stitched on a baby’s blanket should expect questions.”
The denial snapped out of him, harsher than intended. “The child is not mine.”
Beatrice stilled. For a heartbeat, she simply stared at him, disappointment blooming on her face.
Her grip tightened just slightly on the blanket, as though his denial had struck her hard. “You left,” she bit out. “Without a word. Without so much as a note. On our wedding night.”
Edward’s pulse thudded. Whether it was irritation at himself or her, he wasn’t sure.
“I had business in London,” he said.
“Oh?” she scoffed, the single syllable laced with scalding disbelief. “Business of so urgent a nature that you assumed your wife needed no explanation? That I should simply assume abandonment?”
His silence hung thick and damning. His breathing had quickened, and he hated that she noticed.
“While you were gone,” she pressed on, anger simmering beneath her composure, “servants came with supplies you ordered, and two cradles arrived. A wet nurse was engaged for interview. And this blanket…” She tightened her hold on the blanket. “Your crest, Edward. One does not accidentally mark a child so boldly.”
He looked, just once, at her flushed face and quickly turned away, as though burned. “I owe you no explanations,” he muttered.
“I was prepared for many things,” she continued. “I knew what the world called you—whatIcalled you. A rake, unreliable, led by whims rather than sense. But I did not think you would prove them right so quickly.”
His silence only fed her anger.
She took another step, close enough that he could smell lavender, milk, and something new. “If you expect me to raise a child under your roof while you live in denial, you will find I am not so easy to dismiss.”
Her eyes sparked like flint against steel, demanding truth.
Edward rubbed a hand over his jaw. Cornered, he reached for humor, the easiest armor he owned.
“You give me far too much credit for stamina,” he drawled, raising an eyebrow, “and far too little for sense.”
The retort hung between them, but Beatrice didn’t flinch.
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration loosening into something weary. His sigh surrendered before he did.
“Beatrice,” he said quietly. “I did not… disappear for pleasure.”
Beatrice frowned, her lips parting.
“I went to London to find answers.”
Her eyebrows drew together, tension fading into confusion. “Answers?”
