Edward appreciated the reprieve. The air near the refreshments table was cooler, less suffocating. He had acted without thought. That alone unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Instinct,he told himself firmly. A protective instinct. Perfectly reasonable, considering the whispers, the stares, the bold man who had leaned far too close?—
But the memory of her warmth beneath his hand rose unbidden. The sharp intake of her breath. The way her body had stilled, not in fear but in acute awareness.
He pushed the thought aside and crossed the room to where Beatrice was standing.. He spotted Beatrice at once.
She stood with Margaret, polite and composed, but her smile held the faint tension he had come to recognize. The one that said,I will endure this conversation with grace even if it kills me.
CHAPTER 20
As Edward and Sebastian wove through the crowd toward the refreshments table, Beatrice let out a slow breath she hoped no one noticed.
Noise pressed in from all sides—music, laughter, the occasional shrill burst of gossip—and beneath it all, the persistent awareness of eyes following her.
“Are you managing?” Margaret asked quietly, creeping to her side.
Beatrice nodded. “Of course.”
Margaret fixed her with a knowing look. “You’re lying.”
Beatrice sighed. “Only a little.”
Margaret turned fully toward her, fan half-raised, expression unreadable to anyone else. “You’re clenching your jaw.”
“I always clench my jaw in public.”
“No, you clench your jaw when you are irritated,” Margaret corrected. “This is something else.”
Beatrice huffed. “I dislike being discussed as though I’m not present.”
“Ah,” Margaret said dryly. “Then I fear you’ll dislike most evenings for the rest of your life.”
“That is precisely the sort of encouragement I hoped for.”
Margaret smiled faintly. “You look beautiful.”
“That makes one of us.”
Margaret’s eyebrows rose. “Beatrice.”
“I know,” Beatrice said, her voice softer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
“I know what you meant,” Margaret interrupted gently. “You meant this room feels like a tribunal.”
Beatrice swallowed. “Yes.”
Margaret looped her arm through Beatrice’s with casual possessiveness, her fan snapping open as a convenient shield. “I told Sebastian we should have stayed close from the start. The moment you walked in, half the room looked ready to faint from curiosity, as though they’d been waiting weeks for the moment.”
“Yes,” Beatrice said wryly. “How very charitable of them.”
Margaret snorted. “Oh, Bea. I know it’s difficult. All the talk. The looks. But it will pass.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Everything in Society feels eternal for exactly one week,” Margaret said, “then something shinier appears.”
Beatrice let out a quiet laugh despite herself. “I suppose I should be grateful we’ve had the stage this long.”
