Her breath caught, though her steps did not falter. “What about her?”
“Someone came to mind.” His jaw tightened slightly. “My cousin, Lord Simon Pembroke.”
Beatrice knew of him, though vaguely.
“Simon,” she repeated carefully, as though tasting the name. “Why do you suspect him?”
“He has a talent for causing mischief wherever he goes,” Edward replied dryly. “And he was in the area around the time the baby was dropped at Moreland House. He… keeps company where consequences are rarely considered.”
Beatrice swallowed. “You believe he could be her father?”
“I believe,” Edward picked his words carefully, “that it is a possibility I would be remiss to ignore.”
The music swelled and carried them into another turn. Edward’s hand remained steady on her waist, while the other held hers with a warmth that made her heart stutter.
“And how does that possibility sit with you?” she asked.
His jaw tightened, only slightly. “Poorly.”
“Because of scandal?”
“No.” His answer came too quickly. “Because of her.”
That landed harder than she had expected.
He hesitated, just long enough for it to matter. “It troubles me that a child should suffer for another man’s folly, regardless of his name.”
She felt something coil behind her ribs. “Then she must not.”
Edward’s gaze flickered with surprise. “Meaning?”
“She should not bear the mistakes of others,” Beatrice explained, her voice low but firm. “Not Simon’s. Not anyone’s.” Her hand tightened almost imperceptibly around his. “If there is more to uncover, then keep searching. Until you are certain.”
He drew in a long breath. “You are asking me to continue.”
“Yes.”
“You are not… afraid of the answer? Afraid of what knowing the answer will mean for us?”
She met his eyes, and for a heartbeat, the world ceased to exist.
“I am more afraid of uncertainty,” she murmured. “And more afraid still that she will grow older without anyone knowing where she came from. Whatever the truth is… she deserves it.”
Her voice wavered only slightly on the last word.
Edward’s expression shifted into something warm and astonished. “Very well,” he relented. “I will keep searching.”
They finished the turn in silence, though the hand on her waist felt different now—gentler, almost reverent. She felt every inch of space between them, and every place where space no longer existed.
She told herself she was only flushed from the dancing. But it was a lie.
She was acutely aware of him—his nearness, his warmth, the quiet gravity of his presence. When he guided her through the final steps, her cheeks burned, and she was grateful the dance required them to look elsewhere for a moment.
The music faded, and the dance ended. Edward released her slowly, as if reverting to propriety required care.
“Thank you,” she managed, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
His eyes lingered, not improperly, but with a depth that made her pulse flutter wildly. “It is I who should thank you.”
