Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Edwina walked down the dirt path, running her fingers over the wildflowers that bordered the trail. As she tilted her head towards the sun, she welcomed the soothing warmth, appreciating the contrast to the usual cloudy weather.

During moments like these, she almost forgot that her life was in utter shambles. She needed to find a way to move forward and let go of the lingering heartache of her past.

But it was proving to be entirely too difficult.

The Warrens' cottage emerged on the horizon, and accompanying the sight was the distinct sound of a goat's bellow resonating from overhead. Lifting her gaze, she spotted Matilda perched on the lower branches of a nearby tree.

Edwina let out a laugh. "What are you doing up there, Matilda?" she inquired, amused by the goat's antics.

In response, Matilda let out another resounding bellow, as if offering an explanation for her lofty perch.

Continuing towards the modest cottage, Edwina reached out and knocked on the door. After a brief pause, the door swung open, revealing the welcoming figure of Mrs. Warren, a short and portly woman .

A warm smile graced Mrs. Warren's face. "Lady Edwina, what a pleasant surprise," she greeted. "Do come in."

Returning the smile, Edwina stepped inside and inquired, "How is Mr. Warren today?"

Mrs. Warren let out an exasperated sigh. "He is awful. Just awful. Despite the doctor's advice to stay off his feet for a few days, he keeps trying to get out of his chair."

Edwina, holding up the book in her hand, suggested, "I hope a book might distract him then."

"One can only hope," Mrs. Warren responded. "Would you mind sitting with him while I finish preparing our supper for this evening?"

"I would be happy to," Edwina replied.

As Mrs. Warren headed towards a room off the corridor, Edwina followed and found the tall, heavy-set Mr. Warren seated on a chair, his right leg propped up by a bench. His once vibrant black hair that adorned his head had started to fade, now marked with streaks of white.

"Look who came to visit," Mrs. Warren announced cheerfully.

Mr. Warren glanced up, his kind eyes crinkling around the edges. "My lady," he said.

Edwina took a step forward, extending the book towards Mr. Warren. "I brought you a book that I thought you might enjoy."

Accepting the book, Mr. Warren studied it for a moment. "Thank you," he acknowledged. "I haven't read Robinson Crusoe ."

"I had hoped that was the case," Edwina said.

Gesturing towards a nearby chair, Mr. Warren offered, "Please sit. I could use the company."

Mrs. Warren interjected, "I will return shortly."

Mr. Warren's gaze followed his wife's retreating figure until she disappeared out the door. Then, in a hushed voice, he turned towards Edwina and said, "I think my wife is trying to kill me."

Edwina eyed him warily. "Pardon?"

"She is trying to kill me with boredom," Mr. Warren joked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "She won't let me leave this chair."

"That is per doctor's orders," Edwina reminded him.

Mr. Warren reclined back in his chair. "You sound like my wife," he said with a wry smile.

"Good, because she is a very wise woman," Edwina stated, daring him to contradict her.

"I am a smart enough man to not disagree with that remark," Mr. Warren said. "How have you been faring?"

Mustering up a small smile, she replied, "I am well."

Mr. Warren didn't look convinced. "I would prefer the truth, if you don't mind."

Edwina should have known that Mr. Warren would have seen through her facade. "To be honest, I am not well. My uncle says there aren't enough funds for me to have a Season alongside my cousins."

"He told you this?"

With a slight hesitation, she admitted, "No, but I may have overheard it in passing."

Mr. Warren gave her a knowing look. "You mean you were eavesdropping."

"Perhaps," she said, seeing no reason to conceal the truth.

"What does your aunt say?" Mr. Warren questioned.

Edwina smoothed the delicate folds of her black gown. "She is adamant that I am to have a Season, but I do not wish to upset my uncle."

"You have always put other people before yourself, which is admirable, but not at the expense of your own future," Mr. Warren counseled. "You deserve to have a Season."

"What if I have a Season and I don't get an offer of marriage?" Edwina asked .

Mr. Warren shrugged, throwing his hands up. "And what if you marry a prince?" he inquired. "You don't know what the future holds for you."

"I don't aspire to marry a prince."

"My point is, it is all right to be a little selfish every now and then."

Edwina's gaze drew downcast as she admitted, "My uncle considers me a burden."

"Did he say this to you or did you overhear it?"

"Does it matter?" Edwina asked.

With displeasure in his voice, Mr. Warren said, "Since I am no longer in Lord Dallington's employ, I can speak freely, and tell you that he was wrong to say such a thing. You are not a burden."

"But he said it none the less."

Mr. Warren shifted in his seat to face her. "Your father loved you, more than life itself. I have never seen a father dote on his child more than he did on you," he remarked. "He would be furious by the ill-treatment that you are receiving from his brother."

"Uncle isn't entirely unkind to me," Edwina admitted. "I know he is under immense pressure since he assumed my father's title."

"That does not excuse his behavior."

Edwina clasped her hands in her lap. "I just wish things were different," she murmured.

"Don't we all?" Mr. Warren questioned. "But you can't look for your future in your past. You must move forward."

"And if I can't?" Edwina asked.

"Then you shall have a life of misery, not being able to let go of what once was," Mr. Warren said. "Your father wouldn't have wanted that for you."

Edwina grew silent. Mr. Warren's words resonated with truth, but the challenge of putting her past behind her felt overwhelming .

"But enough of me preaching to you," Mr. Warren said, his tone lightening. "I would prefer to speak on something else. Anything else, really."

Grateful for the change in conversation, Edwina shared, "I did see Matilda up in a tree on my way here."

"Of course you did. I can hardly get her down from there," Mr. Warren remarked, a touch of pride in his voice.

"I did not see Baxter though."

Mr. Warren turned his head towards the window and said, "Baxter is sleeping just outside the window. Mrs. Warren won't let him come inside to sit by the fire."

"Well, she is right in doing so since he is a goat."

"Shh," Mr. Warren urged, putting a finger to his lips. "Don't let Baxter hear you say that. He doesn't realize he is just a goat."

A laugh escaped Edwina's lips and she brought her gloved hand up to cover her mouth.

Mr. Warren lowered his hand and informed her, "Your cousin came by a few days ago to look in on us."

"He did?" Edwina asked, surprised by her cousin's thoughtfulness.

"Yes, which I was most grateful for, but I was surprised he didn't send one of his servants to complete the task," Mr. Warren replied.

"I am surprised as well," she admitted.

"Lord Dunsby has always treated us with kindness."

"I must admit that my cousin has made these past few months bearable for me," Edwina said.

Mr. Warren nodded. "He is a good man, there is no questioning that, but I am concerned about you. You seem troubled."

Not wanting to delve deeper into the conversation, she abruptly rose. "I should be going. I do not wish to take up too much of your time. "

"You can run all you want, but when you eventually come to a stop, just remember that I will be here," Mr. Warren said.

Edwina offered him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Mrs. Warren entered the room as she dried her hands off on the apron that was tied around her waist. "Did you have a nice chat?" she asked.

"We did," Mr. Warren confirmed.

Turning to face her, Mrs. Warren inquired, "Would you care for a biscuit before you depart?"

"That is kind of you to offer but I should leave now so I can prepare for dinner," she replied. "My cousin invited his friend to Brockhall Manor and he will be dining with us."

Mrs. Warren's eyes twinkled. "Is he handsome?"

An image of Lord Hilgrove came to her mind. Undoubtedly handsome, he possessed a square jaw, a straight nose, and dark hair that framed his face. But it wasn't solely his appearance that captivated her. No, it wasn't that at all. It was his eyes. They harbored a depth of sorrow, much like her own. And she knew there was a story in them, waiting to be told.

"He is tolerable, I suppose," Edwina lied.

"Well, you could use a handsome suitor, or two," Mrs. Warren said. "You are much too beautiful to go unnoticed for much longer."

Edwina appreciated Mrs. Warren's kind words, but she knew that she was no great beauty. With her brown hair and slightly tanned skin, she was forced to acknowledge that she didn't embody the traditional beauty associated with debutantes. At least, she wasn't entirely unfortunate to look upon.

Mr. Warren spoke up, drawing back her attention. "You look just like your mother did at this age."

"I wish I had known her," Edwina admitted.

"Your parents waited years to finally have you, and were overjoyed when your mother was expecting," Mr. Warren said. "It was a shame that she died so shortly after you were born. "

Mrs. Warren placed a comforting hand on Edwina's shoulder. "Your mother was kind and generous, and she would be proud of the woman that you have become."

"Thank you, Mrs. Warren," Edwina said, touched by her words.

Dropping her hand to her side, Mrs. Warren remarked, "Do not let us keep you. We would talk to you for hours if we could."

Edwina tipped her head at Mr. Warren. "I shall call upon you shortly to see how you are enjoying that book."

"I will be looking forward to it," Mr. Warren acknowledged.

Wearing a stern expression, she asserted in the firmest voice she could muster up, "And do not leave that chair for any reason until the doctor says you can."

Mr. Warren saluted her, his eyes holding mirth. "Yes, my lady."

"Good," Edwina said. "Then my work here is done."

Mrs. Warren gestured towards the corridor. "Allow me to walk you to the door."

While they approached the main door, Edwina said, "I hope I was able to convince Mr. Warren to remain in that chair a little while longer."

"I hope so," Mrs. Warren responded.

Edwina stepped out of the cottage and said, "Good day."

With a warm smile gracing her lips, Mrs. Warren informed her, "You are always welcome in our home. I hope you know that."

"I do."

Mrs. Warren waved her hand in front of her. "Now, off with you. Go enjoy dinner with that handsome gentleman."

"I never said he was handsome."

"You didn't need to," Mrs. Warren said as she closed the door.

Edwina started down the path, wondering what Mrs. Warren was thinking saying such an outlandish thing. It didn't matter that Lord Hilgrove was handsome. She had no interest in spending any more time than she had to with him.

Standing in front of a mirror, Miles meticulously adjusted his cravat before his valet helped him into his jacket. Bailey had been his batman during the war and they had fought side by side with one another on countless missions.

However, those days felt like a lifetime ago.

An image of Arabella flashed in his mind, and he quickly banished it. Dwelling on the past served no purpose. His wife was gone. Why couldn't he just accept it and move on? Yet the pain remained, taking hold of his heart and making him utterly miserable.

Bailey took a step back and asked, "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

"Not at this time," he replied. "You may go."

After Bailey had departed from the room, Miles walked over to the window and stared out into the gardens. He sighed as he dropped his head. It was a blessing and a curse to fall in love. He had created beautiful memories with Arabella, but in the end, he was just left with an empty heart.

Faintly hearing the dinner bell ringing, Miles knew it was time to put his mask on once more. If anyone saw how much he was hurting, they would pity him. And he didn't want anyone's pity. He was doing just fine on his own. But even he couldn't fathom his own lie.

Miles crossed the room and left his bedchamber. As he started down the corridor, he saw Edwina emerging from her own bedchamber. She was wearing a black gown and her hair was elegantly swept up into an elaborate chignon. She really was a pretty thing, but that hardly mattered to him. He had no more interest in looking for a wife than chewing glass.

He noticed the moment she caught sight of him, as her eyes widened, and she started fidgeting with her hands in front of her.

"My lady," Miles acknowledged.

Edwina tipped her head. "My lord," she murmured.

Miles came to a stop next to her, knowing the polite thing to do would be to escort her to the dining room. But was that what Edwina would want? He didn't want to do anything that would make her feel uncomfortable.

That was one thing he appreciated about Arabella. She was unapologetically forthright. He always knew where he stood with her because she would speak her mind. It was just one of the many reasons why he loved her so much.

He decided to try a different approach with Edwina. "Seeing as we are going in the same direction, would you mind showing me where the drawing room is?"

Edwina nodded, albeit weakly. "Yes, of course. It would be my privilege."

They started walking down the corridor and he stole a glance at Edwina. Her eyes were downcast, and she appeared withdrawn.

He should have been satisfied with the silence, yet an odd feeling tugged at him. He typically favored solitude, but now he found himself desiring to engage in conversation with Edwina.

"Did Mr. Warren appreciate the book you selected for him?" he asked. There. That was a safe question.

"He did," Edwina said, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

"I haven't read Robinson Crusoe in years, at least not since my days at Eton," Miles admitted.

Edwina spared him a glance as she revealed, "My father used to read it to me before bedtime. It was a time that I greatly cherished. "

Taken aback by what she shared, he asked, "Dare I ask how old you were?"

"I was eight."

Miles gave her a curious look. "Was your father not concerned by the serious nature of the book?"

Edwina didn't seem concerned by his question. "My father encouraged me to think for myself and to find my own voice. He did not shy away from books that required much discussion on moral or cultural issues."

"Your father seems rather progressive."

"He was," Edwina agreed. "He felt education was important for a young woman to possess and would often sit in on my lessons with my governess." She paused before adding, "But I am still proficient at the usual pastimes for a lady."

"I had no doubt."

While they descended the stairs, Miles shared, "My parents sent me to Eton as soon as I came of age. My older brother was already there, but he refused to speak to me. He pretended as if I didn't exist."

"How awful," Edwina murmured.

Miles shrugged. "John had his group of friends and I had mine. It wasn't until we attended university that we became close, at least, somewhat."

"It must have been nice to have a brother, someone to rely on," Edwina said. "I always wished for a sibling to play with."

"Be careful what you wish for," Miles teased. "John used to put frogs down the back of my trousers whenever we were by the stream by our country home. He thought it was hilarious the way I would have to shake my legs to get the frogs out."

Edwina looked horrified by what he revealed. "What a terrible trick to play on one's own brother."

Miles grinned, finding amusement in that recollection. "That was tame in comparison to what John usually did."

"I can't imagine."

They stepped down onto the marble floor and headed towards the drawing room. He didn't truly need Edwina's assistance to locate the drawing room, but he was glad that he had asked her. She conversed with him, despite being reluctant to do so. But that had been enough… for now.

As they stepped into the drawing room, Miles saw Bennett conversing with his mother in the center of the room.

When Lady Dallington saw him, her eyes lit up. "Miles, it is so good to see you," she exclaimed. "It has been far too long."

Miles bowed. "Yes, it has, my lady." He had always enjoyed spending time with Lady Dallington. She not only exuded a welcoming warmth but also had a talent for making everyone in her presence feel cherished. There had always been a slight pang of envy towards Bennett, considering Miles had lost his own mother at a young age.

Lady Dallington shifted her attention towards Edwina. "You look lovely, my dear."

Edwina offered her an appreciative glance. "Thank you," she replied before moving to stand by her aunt.

Bennett approached him and said in a hushed voice, "I was rather surprised to see you enter with my cousin. Did she show you the way to the drawing room?"

"She did," Miles replied, choosing not to disclose that he had known the way all along. He was just being a gentleman.

"Did Edwina actually speak to you?" Bennett inquired.

"Yes, and we had a nice conversation," he admitted.

Bennett gave him a look of surprise. "That is rather interesting, considering my cousin is not one to talk with strangers."

"We aren't exactly strangers, as I was properly introduced to her," Miles pointed out.

"I recall since I was the one who introduced you two," Bennett said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Dare I ask what you two spoke about? "

Miles shook his head, trying to brush off the prying question. "Aren't you being rather intrusive?" he asked.

"More intrigued than anything else," Bennett replied.

Sighing, Miles gave in. "If you must know, we spoke about John."

Bennett's brow lifted. "You don't speak of John too often."

"No, I don't," Miles agreed, hoping to put an end to this line of questioning. Talking about his brother's death was far too painful.

However, Bennett either didn't care or didn't notice his discomfort. "I have thought of John often these past few months."

Miles scoffed. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think about his brother or Arabella. "Would you like a medal?" he grumbled.

He knew he was being rude but he couldn't seem to help himself. Opening up meant risking what he might reveal, and vulnerability was not something he could afford at the moment. Not here. Not now.

Undeterred by his brusque remark, Bennett persisted, "I hope you know you aren't alone in this. Many people share in your grief."

Miles stared back at his friend in disbelief. Bennett couldn't possibly understand the agony of losing a wife, an unborn child, and a brother, all within a few months of each other. His friend might offer sympathy, but the depth of pain Miles endured every single day went beyond anyone's comprehension.

His unrelenting grief had led his commanding officer to strongly advise him to sell his commission, citing distraction. It wasn't just the loss of his family. He had lost his career, something he had worked diligently to obtain. And it was all gone in one fell swoop.

As he debated on the words that he would unleash on his friend, Lord Dallington entered the room and greeted him. "Welcome to our home, Miles."

"Thank you, my lord," Miles said, hoping his words sounded cordial enough.

Lord Dallington approached his wife and kissed her on the cheek. "You look enchanting this evening, Wife."

Lady Dallington smiled, murmuring her thanks.

The warmth in Lord Dallington's voice seemed to diminish as he turned to acknowledge his niece. "Edwina," he said in a curt tone. "How did you occupy your time today?"

Edwina clasped her hands in front of her. "I called upon Mr. and Mrs. Warren at their cottage. Mr. Warren had a terrible fall and injured himself," she shared.

Lord Dallington barely seemed to listen as he spoke over her. "Good, good." He returned his attention back to Miles. "I was rather pleased when Bennett told us you would be visiting for a fortnight."

Miles gave a polite nod. "I appreciate you opening up your home to me," he said.

Growing somber, Lord Dallington remarked, "I was deeply saddened to hear that you lost John so closely to your wife." He paused. "Fortunately, with you inheriting a title, you were able to leave that blasted war behind."

Miles tensed as he worked to keep his voice steady. "Inheriting an earldom is not why I left the war," he asserted.

With a bob of his head, Lord Dallington replied, "Yes, but your influence will be much greater in the House of Lords than on the battlefield."

Miles struggled to keep a polite mask on his face as he revealed, "I have yet to take up my seat in the House of Lords."

Lord Dallington gave him a pointed look. "You must take your duty to King and Country much more seriously. You are an earl now and that comes with certain responsibilities."

Lady Dallington spoke up. Her soft voice carried a warning as she addressed her husband. "Lionel, you are being terribly inconsiderate to our guest, considering his situation."

"Forgive me," Lord Dallington said, his expression softening as he turned to his wife. "I often become overly passionate on a subject that is dear to me."

The butler stepped into the room and announced dinner was ready to be served.

Lord Dallington extended his arm to his wife and led her from the drawing room.

Bennett offered Miles an apologetic look. "I apologize for my father. He can be rather blunt in his assessment of things."

"I remember," Miles said. "And you have nothing to apologize for. Lord Dallington isn't wrong. I should take up my seat in the House of Lords."

"You need time to grieve…"

Miles put his hand up. "Enough talk about this," he said, speaking over his friend. "I am famished."

Bennett's eyes held compassion as he tipped his head. "Very well." He turned back towards Edwina. "May I escort you to the dining room, Cousin?"

Edwina stepped forward. "Thank you," she responded.

Miles remained rooted in his spot as he watched them depart from the drawing room. He wished he could say that Lord Dallington's reaction to the death of his loved ones was uncommon, but it wasn't. It was all too familiar. He had endured too many conversations where people dismissed his grief as inconsequential or couldn't comprehend why he was still grieving.

All he yearned for was not to feel so broken. How he could achieve that, he wasn't quite sure.