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Chapter Eleven

November 30, 1812

“You know that it’s only right,” said Edie with a teasing laugh that flittered through her.

Frederick groaned. “I don’t want to.”

“But you know I’m right.”

“You don’t need to be wrong for me not to want to go ahead with this,” he said malevolently, though there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

Along with pain. Edie was not fooled by his overenthusiastic rolling of his eyes and clutching of his side, as though Viscount Pernrith had been mortally wounded.

What they were about to do… It was only right. It was what was expected. Indeed, she had heard muttered comments that had been most disconcerting wondering why they had not done so already.

Which was why, despite Frederick’s protests, the two of them were standing in the drawing room at the Stewart house, both waiting.

Waiting for what was to come.

“I see your father has managed to avoid the whole debacle,” Frederick said in a low voice, tugging at his cravat as he lingered by the window. Mrs. Teagan sat some distance behind him, working on needlework, though her gaze flicked up every so often, as if she might catch them in the act of something.

Edie was not sure why Frederick was so tense, standing by that window—the curtains were closed, night having fallen hours ago. Perhaps it made him feel as though he could escape at any moment? She certainly felt the flutter of excitement—panic—within her.

“He is about here somewhere,” she said softly, reaching to cup Frederick’s cheek.

What had possessed her to do such a thing, she did not know. Edie had moved on instinct alone, and though it was not an instinct she had felt before, it felt natural. His skin was soft, his cheek rough where he had not shaved today.

And though embarrassment shot through her at having done something so astonishingly bold, it did not appear to matter. Nor did Mrs. Teagan not-so-subtly clearing her throat.

Frederick placed a hand over her own and closed his eyes. “I’m just glad I have you by my side. That’s all.”

Edie’s pulse fluttered painfully. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“You mustn’t because I can hardly talk to these people on my own,” he said darkly. “You’re all I need, Edie. Just stay with me.”

Mrs. Teagan coughed, and yet neither moved.

The bleak intensity of his words was almost shocking, yet the intimacy felt precisely right. Edie leaned closer, hoping to bolster his nerves with her own presence.

They were standing close now. Very close. Edie could sense the heady scent of sandalwood, blackcurrant, and vanilla, the mixture she knew Frederick favored above all others.

It was what she smelled when she thought of him in the middle of the night.

Frederick was still holding her hand against his cheek. “Edie… “

She swallowed. Her hips were pressed against his now, his chest rising and falling against her own.

They had stood like this—well not exactly like this—when they had kissed.

“And yet… yet you could be closer.”

Edie knew the last thing she should do was kiss the man. Mrs. Teagan was right there. Their guests would be arriving at any moment and they would have to be on their best behavior.

And yet… well, they were engaged. If they were to kiss in front of her chaperone, no one would be particularly shocked, would they?

And she did greatly want to kiss that mouth, taste the need with which she’d only had a swift encounter before. Know what it was to kiss him again, discover if the heat of the moment and the rose tint of nostalgia had made Frederick’s kisses seem miraculous in her memory, or whether…

Whether he truly did curl her toes and make her want to rip all her clothes off.

Edie had just decided to lean forward and take the kiss she wanted when Frederick spoke in a low voice.

“I wish I hadn’t agreed to this.”

She leaned back.

There was such pain in his voice, such regret, that for a moment she wished the evening was not happening after all.

It had been her idea. She was the one who had suggested it to her father, and Lord Stewart had considered it a capital idea. In hindsight, she should have expected that. Naturally, he would wish to have people like that coming to his home for dinner. They were, after all—

“I think there is still time to cancel,” said Frederick pensively. “Don’t you think?”

“Not in the slightest,” Edie said. “You know, you don’t know how lucky you are to have them.”

He scoffed just as Lord Stewart entered the drawing room. “You haven’t even met them yet—ah. My lord.”

They sprung apart, Frederick grimacing. And then the guilty expression was gone.

It was miraculous, it really was. Edie was still getting used to it: seeing Frederick laugh and tease, a confident looseness in his shoulders and a delightful looseness in his tongue…

The moment he remembered another person was their sphere, it all changed.

Frederick straightened, all looseness gone. His spine would become a rod, the laughter would leave his eyes, and though the gentleness of his temperament would remain, there was little of the happiness she knew.

It was a protective gesture, Edie was starting to learn that. It was miraculous, the change that it wrought in him.

“My lord,” said Mrs. Teagan, standing, dropping her needlework into a basket beside the sofa. “Miss Stewart was just… She and Lord Pernrith…”

Edie raised her brows at her.

“Ah, well, I… I do wonder if I might be excused,” said the chaperone. “Another headache.”

Lord Stewart frowned. “Oh, are you sure? We shall be sorry to see you go.”

“Yes, I… Please give my excuses.”

“Very well. I do hope you feel better.” The baron nodded as Mrs. Teagan exited, then glanced at the viscount. “Lord Pernrith.” He then swiftly stepped over to Edie and clasped her hands. “Now, I believe all preparations have been made. The footmen have been instructed—”

“I am sure they already know what to do, Father,” Edie said smoothly.

His hands were wrinkled in hers, creased. How had she never noticed how old her father had become? Had the years just slipped by without her realizing, stealing away time with the one parent still remaining?

Lord Stewart’s face was a picture of excitement. “I can’t believe it. All of them, here!”

Frederick groaned by the window.

Edie shot him a look before saying smoothly to her father, “Yes, it’s going to be a wonderful evening. Is it not, Lord Pernrith?”

She met his eye and saw with a sliver of pain to her chest that she had pushed too far. There was a haunted look in Frederick’s face, one he could not hide from his host.

“This is what is expected of us, I suppose,” she said hesitantly. “As… As an engaged couple.”

Perhaps this was too much. Maybe she should not have suggested this—or as a matter of fact, perhaps she should not have sent the invitations before speaking to Frederick about it. The tension around his mouth, it was as she had never seen before.

“I don’t feel well,” Frederick said blandly, his eyes begging her for escape. “Perhaps what Mrs. Teagan has is catching…”

Edie swallowed. There’s still time. “Father, Lord Pernrith does not feel well. And now Mrs. Teagan isn’t going to join us, a shame. Perhaps the viscount should go home. We can have the dinner another—”

A loud, clanging bell interrupted her words and Lord Stewart squeezed his daughter’s hands. “They’re here!”

“Oh, good,” Edie said weakly, regret already pouring through her.

This was a challenge of her own making, she supposed. It was only right that she was the one to attempt to fix it.

Slipping her hands from her father’s, she strode over to Frederick. There was a definite nervousness in him now, something she should have noticed. The excitement that fluttered remained, however, as voices, many voices, started echoing around the hallway.

“It is remarkable how clear those voices are,” Edie muttered, half to herself. “The walls must be made of paper.”

She glanced at Frederick, expecting him to agree with her—but her face fell as she saw his quick, shallow breathing, his panicked expression.

“I am sorry you do not feel prepared,” she whispered to Frederick, looking deep into his eyes. Behind her, her father moved to the door to welcome their guests. “I wish—”

“There’s no more time for wishing, I suppose,” Frederick said with a wry smile, and a flicker of the Frederick she knew appeared before sinking once more under the pressure of the evening. “But I will be glad when this is over.”

“‘Glad’?” repeated Edie, still slightly mystified as to his avoidance of the whole affair. “Frederick, they are your brothers!”

“His and Her Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Cothrom, the Most Honorable Marquess and Marchioness of Aylesbury, and the Right Honorable, the Earl and Countess of Lindow,” intoned Jenkins the butler behind them.

Edie’s heart skipped a beat. Well. This was it. This was the moment that she met her—

No. They weren’t going to be her family, were they?

Whirling around and stepping over to her father so the Stewarts could respectfully welcome their guests, Edie was shocked at how similar all three Chance brothers looked.

Very different to the gentleman still lurking by the window.

“So pleased to have you, long overdue,” Lord Stewart was saying.

The Duke of Cothrom had inclined his head politely but said nothing. His wife, however, appeared to realize something needed to be said.

“We are delighted to receive your invitation, Lord Stewart, and to such a delightful home,” said the duchess effortlessly. “Tell me, you commissioned this painting yourself?”

Edie watched, fascinated, as the duchess expertly led the host away from the gaggle of visitors—leaving her alone to face them.

“Ah,” she said aloud, somehow at a loss. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, and how pleasant to see you again,” said the Marquess of Aylesbury with a grin. “May I present my wife, Florence?”

Edie curtseyed before looking curiously at the woman.

So, this was the Bailey heiress. She had heard about the engagement and marriage—who had not? It had filled the pages of Whispers of the Ton for at least a week, which was a triumph for anyone who wished to be a little more well known.

“D-D-Delighted to m-make your… your… “ The Marchioness of Aylesbury swallowed and looked to her husband.

“We’ll avail ourselves of some drinks, if that is quite acceptable to you,” said her husband, as though there had been no interruption.

Edie nodded. “Yes, please. There’s a footman around here somewhere.”

“Cothrom, you rascal. I knew you’d find the drinks cabinet,” said the Marquess of Aylesbury with a snort of laughter as he pulled his wife off with him. “Which reminds me, you never did tell me… “

The noise in the drawing room was starting to become dazzling. Behind her, Edie’s father was speaking loudly of the sculptor they had commissioned to create the busts that lined their drawing room. The two elder Chance brothers were chatting loudly about a shipment of brandy, or something, with interjections from the marchioness—who, Edie could not help but notice, appeared to be much calmer in speech now that she was talking to family.

And that left…

The Earl of Lindow smiled, but it was an expression of reserve. “Miss Stewart.”

He inclined his head as his wife by his side curtseyed.

“Thank you for the invitation, Miss Stewart,” said the Countess of Lindow. “I estimated it would take eleven days and made a small bet here with my husband—”

“A bet that I lost, as you’ll see,” said the earl, his smile becoming a tad more relaxed.

“Naturally, you did. You did not calculate the odds at all well,” the countess pointed out seriously, as though this were a slight flaw of character but one that could be rectified. “Did you not think… “

Edie allowed their conversation about mathematics, of all things, to wash over her.

So many people. So much noise, so many conversations. It was a tad overwhelming—no, it was greatly overwhelming. She had never been someone who had lived in a loud, bustling house. For years, it had always been her father and herself—and the nanny, then the governess, then her chaperone—and the servants. Lord Stewart did not host house parties, and the Stewart household rarely hosted anything at all in town.

Not when there were so many other delightful invitations to accept.

Edie glanced over to Frederick. He had not joined them but was still standing by the window, ignoring his family.

And his family, she suddenly realized, was ignoring him.

None of his brothers had gone over to greet him. None had inquired how he was, or meandered over to him, or attempted to draw him into their conversations.

“All three boys were devastated at their mother’s death. And I was never made to forget it.”

Edie swallowed. She had always wished for a large family. For siblings, or at the very least, for friends so close in intimacy that they may as well have been siblings. And here was a family readymade—a family Frederick could have been enjoying.

But she should have recalled what he said only days ago.

“Half-brothers. The differences between us were… were stark. Different food. I had their hand-me-down clothes, never anything new. They had the best education, the best opportunities, and I… “

Always on the outside, looking in. Well, she could not have asked for a better example. All three Chance brothers and their wives had been invited by Lord Stewart to celebrate the upcoming marriage of the fourth Chance brother to his daughter… yet Frederick stood on the outside of his own celebration.

It was easy to be envious of something you believed someone had—to think that Frederick Chance, Viscount Pernrith, did not know what he was missing.

But perhaps he had been missing it all along.

“Now, I’m going to borrow Miss Stewart.”

Edie’s head jerked back to the Earl and Countess of Lindow. “You-You are?”

The countess nodded firmly. “I am. Come on.”

There was no possibility of disagreeing with her. Edie had never met a more decisive woman—nor one who would so confidently take her by the hand and lead her over to her own sofa.

The moment Edie sat down—or was placed down—she saw what it was.

An ambush.

“Wonderful, an opportunity to talk with you,” said the countess as she sat beside Edie on the sofa.

“It’s what we’ve wanted to do since the moment the engagement was announced,” said the duchess, who had somehow contrived to be seated on a stool opposite them.

The marchioness was seated beside her in an armchair. “Y-Yes. The m-moment we heard.”

Edie smiled weakly and turned ever so slightly to see what the men were up to.

Her father was discussing something clearly riveting with the earl and the marquess, while the duke had— finally , she could not help but think bitterly—gone over to speak to Frederick. The two of them looked awkward together.

Though not , she thought, stomach churning as she turned back to face the three ladies, as awkward as I feel.

The duchess beamed. “You must call me ‘Alice,’ of course.”

“Alice,” Edie repeated in a slight daze.

What would her father say, if he knew she was speaking so lightly to a duchess?

“You must call me ‘Dodo,’ and this is Florence,” said the countess decisively. “As we are all about to be your sisters, it is only right that you know our first names. Don’t you think, Edith? May I call you ‘Edith’?”

“Oh, I hear she prefers Edie, don’t you, Edie?” offered the duchess.

Edie smiled weakly. They could have called her “Your Majesty” and Edie wouldn’t have had the courage to correct them.

They were all so different, the three Chances wives. Alice Chance, Duchess of Cothrom, had that elegant and almost ethereal beauty that one did not believe could be found in real life—yet there was a very real charm about her that had already won over her father, Edie could see that.

Florence Chance, Marchioness of Aylesbury, had none of the confidence, but a great deal of elegance. She sat like an empress, regal and refined with red hair pinned with emeralds. There was a sparkle of true intelligence in her eye that made Edie wonder just what the woman would say if she felt comfortable.

The third, Dodo Chance, Countess of Lindow—and Edie was certain Dodo was not a real name—had the boldness of a woman twice her age, and a delicate power to her presence that made Edie like her, even though she knew so little of her.

And then there was her.

Edie swallowed. It was all very well being declared the flourishing rose of the Season, but amongst these women, she felt nothing but eglantine.

“Your father speaks very highly of you,” said Alice in a low voice, though her eyes sparkled mischief. “He seems to be under the impression that you are the sunshine that lights the world.”

It was impossible not to laugh weakly at that. “I suppose most fathers are like that.”

“William certainly is with our Maudy,” Alice confided. “But as she is three years of age, I am not certain she has truly earned that accolade yet. You, on the other hand, are clearly a very kind woman. Gentle hearted.”

“Not always an easy thing—I have a father much like yours, and they can be trying,” said Dodo with a raised eyebrow.

Edie was not sure whether to agree or disagree. To agree would be her honest approach, but it would hardly do to tease her father.

Her indecision must have played on her face. “A l-loyal d-daughter, too,” said Florence, her shyness seemingly overcome by her forced words. “Now that is a good s-sign.”

“Yes, I believe Pernrith needs a loyal wife.” Alice’s words were even lower this time, and they struck a chord within Edie. “Given… everything.”

Edie swallowed and looked over her shoulder at her future husband.

The man everyone thinks I’m going to marry , she corrected silently, heat burning her cheeks. Obviously, everyone here was under the impression that she and Frederick—that they wished to marry.

Which was a complete sham.

At the other end of the room, still by the window, stood Frederick. He was talking with the Duke of Cothrom—William, though it was strange to think of him that way. The second Chance brother, the Marquess of Aylesbury—John—had joined them.

In fact, it was only the third Chance brother, George, the Earl of Lindow, who had refused to speak to Frederick since their arrival.

“I won’t subject you to the company of Lindow. You don’t deserve that.”

Edie’s pulse skipped a painful beat as she turned back to the wives.

Dodo was looking at her closely, and when their eyes met, she nodded. “You are an intelligent woman, Edie. Yes, my husband is avoiding yours. At least, yours-to-be. It is something we will have to work on together.”

It did not seem possible for her cheeks to flush any pinker, yet the burning sensation of her face certainly suggested that.

Yes, they would have to work together. If, that was, she were actually going to marry Frederick Chance, Viscount Pernrith.

Something strange was occurring and she could not quite put her finger on it. Something had been happening ever since she had sat with the Chance ladies, and Edie’s mind struggled to try to understand what it was.

“Wonderful, an opportunity to talk with you.”

“Your father speaks very highly of you… “

“A l-loyal d-daughter, too. Now that is a good s-sign.”

Edie sat, stunned, as the conversation meandered around her.

“—never thought he would ever marry—”

“But until he found the right woman—”

“—not seen him like this before—”

Each of the women had complimented her. Which was not shocking in and of itself. It was polite to compliment one’s hostess.

But they had not mentioned her sparkling eyes, or her pretty gown, or even the fact that she had been named this year’s flourishing rose of the Season.

On the contrary, their remarks about her had been about… her. Herself. Her person, her character, her intelligence—the person she was, not the beauty everyone else saw.

Edie had never known anything like it. Was this… Was this what it was like, having friends?

“You are fortunate indeed, Edie.”

She blinked. Goodness, she had become so lost in her thoughts, she had barely noticed what was going on around her. “I am?”

Dodo nodded, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Indeed. It is rare indeed in the ton , after all, to find someone to marry whom you love so deeply.”

“‘Love’?”

Try as she might, Edie could not help but glance over her shoulder at the man whom everyone in this room presumed she would soon be marrying.

Frederick appeared to have loosened up. The Marquess of Aylesbury had clearly said something amusing, for the three brothers were laughing together. The Duke of Cothrom had even put a hand on Frederick’s arm.

Viscount Pernrith looked up—and caught Edie’s eyes.

And a heat, the like of which she had never known, poured through her whole body, roaring through her veins, tingling along her arms, overwhelming all other senses. The room faded away. There was no drawing room, no other guests, no need to look at anything except him.

No need to think of anyone but him. The way he made her feel. The smile he gave her that was entirely her own. The kisses they had shared, yes, but also the intimacies. The conversations they’d had, the way Frederick had bared himself to her as he never had before. Never had to anyone.

Edie swallowed, hard, but it did not slow her heart rate or make it any easier to breathe.

Frederick grinned, winking at her across the room. And that was when she knew—perhaps she should have known earlier, but it was impossible to tell until this very instant.

She loved him. Despite all her plans, for Frederick’s sake, for a swift end to this false engagement, she had fallen completely in love with the man.

It was most inconvenient.

“How fortunate you have found each other,” Alice was saying in a quiet voice. “How fortunate that, in all the world, you two know you can be happy together.”

“Yes,” said Edie weakly, not looking away from Frederick as she spoke. “Very fortunate.”

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