Beatrice smiled. “Of course.”
As the door closed behind the Ravenscourts, she exhaled slowly, feeling the house—herhouse—shift in a subtle, welcome way.
Edward gave her a sidelong look. “They’re good for you,” he said simply.
She didn’t look at him, but she let the truth of it warm her all the way through.
CHAPTER 15
The second morning of the Ravenscourts’ visit dawned grey and cold, the kind of weather that kept the corridors pleasantly quiet until breakfast.
Margaret and Sebastian had settled easily into the rhythm of Wrexford Hall—Margaret trading gentle laughter with Beatrice over tea in the afternoon, Sebastian wandering the grounds as though he owned the estate, and both of them turning the house warmer simply by being in it.
It had been, objectively, a good visit. Yet Edward still found himself in the boxing room before noon, his fists wrapped, his muscles tight.
Sebastian was already stretching when he arrived in the boxing room. The man was insufferably cheerful for someone who had kept him up past midnight, drinking brandy and arguing with him about parliamentary reform.
“Took you long enough,” he called. “I thought marriage had softened you.”
Edward didn’t bother to answer. He stepped into the square space that had been cleared for sparring, the makeshift boundary familiar from years of bouts.
They touched gloves. And then?—
Edward threw the first punch harder than he intended. The padded glove struck Sebastian’s raised guard with a satisfying thud.
“Easy,” Sebastian drawled. “I need my face. Margaret would be inconsolable without it.”
“You hold your hands too low,” Edward muttered.
“I hold them perfectly. You, on the other hand, are trying to murder me.”
“You talk too much.”
“Someone must fill the emptiness of your personality.”
Sebastian feinted left, sweat already beading on his brow. Edward mirrored him, his shoulders tight and coiled, the long lines of muscle across his back rippling with each movement.The cool air in the boxing room steamed faintly where they drew close.
“That’s because you’re in a foul mood,” Sebastian replied, circling him with irritating agility. “Margaret says it’s because you’re married. A tragic affliction.”
Sebastian aimed a jab at Edward’s ribs, smug. Edward parried it, rolling his shoulders as he circled, light on his feet despite his size. He landed a blow on Sebastian’s raised arm with a sharp thud.
Sebastian winced. “Good God, man. Are you punishing me for visiting? Because Margaret insisted we come. I merely followed the woman who controls my life.”
Edward snorted despite himself.
Sebastian grinned, recognizing victory. He shook out his arms, his muscles flexing beneath the sheen of sweat. “There it is. A glimmer of humanity.”
Edward bounced back into position, his breathing slowing. His back stiffened, almost rigid with control.
“Oh, come now,” Sebastian goaded. “You should thank me. Margaret’s been desperate to see Beatrice again. And I”—he tapped Edward’s glove with his own—“wanted to witness firsthand how the notorious Duke of Wrexford is taking to domestic bliss after a full day beneath his own roof.”
Edward threw a punch at his friend’s shoulder. Sebastian dodged.
“Bliss,” Edward said flatly, “is not the word I’d use.”
Sebastian grinned, blocking a jab. He shook out his arms, his biceps flexing as he circled, the sheen of sweat on his skin catching the pale light from the high windows. “No? And here I thought you’d finally embraced domestic peace.”
Edward glared at him. “A child was dropped into my arms.”
