Sebastian smirked and turned toward the door. “Well then, shall we?”
CHAPTER 16
Beatrice spent part of the morning in the small nursery adjoining the guest chamber, watching Margaret’s little boy sleep after the journey.
Oliver was a cheerful child, rosy-cheeked and endlessly curious, and he had wrapped his tiny fingers around hers with such unquestioning trust that her breath had caught in her throat.
Margaret had laughed softly from the doorway. “He does that to everyone. He’s a terrible flirt.”
The moment had stayed with Beatrice long after she had left the nursery.
Now, she and Margaret retreated to the small sitting room beside the guest chambers, a cozy space Beatrice had always preferred to the grander drawing rooms.
A tea tray rested on the low table between them, though neither had grabbed a cup.
“We’ve only been here a day,” Margaret said lightly, raising her eyebrows, “but it already feels like a visit worth extending. If I had known, I would have dragged Sebastian and myself here a week earlier.”
Beatrice smiled, soft and sincere. “I’m glad you came.”
Margaret leaned forward slightly, her voice softening. “Tell me how you are doing.”
Beatrice hesitated only a moment before the truth pressed through. “It’s the baby.”
“I assumed as much. When I saw how your face twisted each time her name was mentioned, I knew something weighed on you. No one abandons an infant without reason.”
“It just hurts me that she delivered in such an ordinary manner… ,” Beatrice said. “At the front of the house. In the cold. There was nothing with her, not even a note. Only the blanket she was wrapped in.”
Margaret’s lips pressed together. “How awful, for her mother to feel she had no safe place left.”
“That’s what I keep thinking.” Beatrice looked down at her hands. “Someone must have been frightened. Or desperate. Orboth.” She swallowed. “Whoever the father is… I cannot make sense of any of it. And Edward—” She hesitated, the words knotting in her throat. “I keep wondering whether he’s simply shielding someone, or if there is more he isn’t telling me.”
Margaret’s expression softened. “Edward may be many things—infuriating, proud, and impossibly stubborn—but he is not a liar.”
Beatrice looked up, startled by the conviction in her cousin’s voice.
“And he is certainly not irresponsible,” Margaret continued. “If he says the matter is his to handle, then he believes it. He would never abandon a truth or a duty, no matter how difficult.”
A breath escaped Beatrice—half relief, half lingering doubt. “I want to trust that.”
“I know,” Margaret soothed. “And you can.” After a brief pause, she tilted her head. “Do you resent having the child here?”
“No,” Beatrice said at once. “No, I… I find I want to know that she’s safe. That she’s warm.”
Margaret reached across the table and patted her hand. “It is not frightening, Bea. It’s human.”
Beatrice swallowed.
Margaret squeezed her fingers gently. “May I carry her now? If she isn’t sleeping.”
“She woke up a little while ago.” Beatrice rose at once, relieved for having something to do. “I’ll fetch her.”
She returned moments later with the baby nestled against her shoulder, her small face warm and drowsy from sleep.
Margaret let out a breath, rising halfway from her seat before settling back down, her hands clasped. Beatrice transferred the baby into her cousin’s waiting arms.
Margaret’s expression softened. “Oh, she is a darling.” A faint smile touched her lips. “She gets lovelier with each hour. Sebastian tried to pretend he wasn’t charmed, but I saw his face when he held her. He melted like butter on a warm plate.”
Beatrice snorted softly. “I’ll treasure that image forever.”
