Chapter Twelve

December 4, 1812

Frederick had agonized over every line of the note. It had to be perfect. It had to be—

Well. It had to be convincing.

There was not a study at Pernrith House in London. The place wasn’t big enough, so he used a writing desk in the corner of his cramped drawing room when it came to his correspondence. He had not expected to be writing something of this nature in his life—had never thought he would have the chance.

And if he got this phrasing wrong—or God forbid, if Lord Stewart saw it first…

The first two attempts were now balled-up paper just shy of the wastepaper basket. The third attempt was currently on the writing desk before him. Frederick examined it, eyes narrowed, trying to guess what Edie would think when she received it.

Dear Miss Stewart,

As our engagement progresses, I am certain you have felt the weight of the London Season upon you. With both of those factors in mind, I wondered whether you would accept my invitation to visit Wickacre Hall, my place in the country.

This will give you the opportunity to survey the country estate of which you will soon be mistress and escape the crowds for a few days.

Your father and Mrs. Teagan are, naturally, included in this invitation.

Yours faithfully, I remain your loyal servant,

Pernrith

Frederick tilted his head as he tried to guess what Lord Stewart would think of the letter if he happened upon it. He had been as polite as he could manage, and had even added in the sentence about her father and the chaperone just in case.

It was, all things considered, a polite request. An invitation.

Why his stomach was therefore lurching painfully whenever he thought about Edie’s response to such a letter was quite another matter.

“It is just an invitation,” Frederick muttered as he leaned back in his chair and read through the single piece of paper again. “Just an invitation.”

Why it mattered so much, he could not tell. The idea had come to him at the dinner Lord Stewart had hosted on their behalf, inviting all the Chance brothers and their wives. There had been a moment when he had looked over at the women sat together, and Edie had looked at him, and—

Well. Something had changed in that moment.

Precisely what, Frederick did not know. He had not had the opportunity to speak to Edie that whole evening. Not properly. They had been sat together at the dining table but with Alice on his other side and John on Edie’s left, it had been difficult to speak at all.

“It’s natural,” Frederick said aloud. It was a foolish habit, one he had got into when he had first moved to London and realized he was not going to be receiving many invitations. Talking to himself. How pathetic . “Completely natural. The world thinks we are engaged, so what could be more genuine than inviting my betrothed and her father to my country estate?”

Nothing , a small voice muttered in the back of his head. Except that you are not engaged. So why does this matter so much?

Edie’s opinion on Wickacre Hall itself was relatively immaterial. Frederick had been given the place—it came with the title. It wasn’t as though he had chosen it.

But he hadn’t chosen Edie, either, he tried to remind himself. He had not properly courted her as she’d deserved, had not set out to wed her. They were not actually engaged. And though it was starting to become remarkably pleasant, meandering about town with her on his arm, attending gatherings and feeling, knowing there was at least one person there who wished to see him…

It wasn’t real.

Heaving a sigh, Frederick folded the letter, sealed it with wax and his signet ring, then went looking for Mrs. Kinley.

She was, as ever, helping Cook.

“We need a kitchen maid,” said Mrs. Kinley firmly, looking beadily at her master with no hint of restraint. “And soon, if my elbows aren’t going to fall off!”

“It’s only a bit of dough!” called Cook from the oven. “Put your back into it, Mrs. Kinley!”

Frederick stifled a grin as Mrs. Kinley glared at the broad back of the cook. “Mrs. Kinley, if you would be so kind—”

“If you want me to polish anything or lift anything heavier than a feather, you’ve got another—”

“Just a letter,” Frederick said hastily, proffering the note he’d written. “For… For Miss Stewart.”

The ire disappeared from Mrs. Kinley’s eyes as she wiped her hands on her apron, glanced at them, then wiped them again. “Ah, well, that’s different. It’ll be wonderful to have a woman in the house—a mistress who understands the challenges of a home.”

Frederick nodded, swallowing hard.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mrs. Kinley. It was more that her loose tongue adored gossip—she read more of the scandal sheets than perhaps even Edie did. The last thing he needed was the truth to get out. No one could know—

Well. Lindow knew. Suspected.

His stomach twisted as Mrs. Kinley babbled on about how the future Viscountess Pernrith would quite understand the need for a kitchen maid.

Lindow wouldn’t… Well. He wouldn’t do anything rash, would he?

Surely not.

“—take it right along to be franked,” Mrs. Kinley was saying.

“Yes, good, excellent,” said Frederick hastily, seeing his escape. “I’ll be in the drawing room, Mrs. Kinley.”

His housekeeper raised an eyebrow. “You’re expecting a reply soon, then, my lord?”

Frederick grinned. “Today, if I’m lucky.”

He was. The hastily scrawled note that returned to him not three hours later was short, but there was all the excitement in the quickly written letter that he had hoped.

Frederick—

A visit to the country sounds wonderful, thank you. Shall we come to your house tomorrow at eleven o’clock, to depart at midday?

Edie

His pulse quickened. Frederick. Edie. Their names together on the small scrap of paper incited something deep within him.

Names that belonged together.

“Mrs. Kinley!” he called out.

The whole of Pernrith House was aflutter the rest of that day, and all the inhabitants rose early the following morning to get the last few things ready.

“—expense, hiring coaches,” Mrs. Kinley fussed as she checked his trunk sitting by the front door.

Frederick shrugged as he stared into a looking glass, adjusting his cravat. “I do not keep a coach, Mrs. Kinley. You know the expense is too great,” he pointed out. “And I could hardly ask Lord Stewart to bring his own.”

No, that would never do.

A knock at the door startled Frederick, his torso tightening with—what was it? Excitement? Anticipation?

“I’ll get it,” he said quickly, striding past his housekeeper. “You’re late, I was starting to—oh. Mrs. Teagan.”

Mrs. Teagan was blinking owlishly on his step. “Good morning, my lord.”

Frederick opened his mouth, then closed it again. Where was the baron?

“I am afraid my father is feeling a little indisposed,” said Edie, stepping around the figure of Mrs. Teagan to give him a bashful look. “I did not wish to postpone the visit to Wickacre Hall, so I thought… Well. Mrs. Teagan is an excellent chaperone.”

Mrs. Teagan’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, my dear, you are too kind—”

“And we are ready to depart,” said Edie, her focus never leaving Frederick’s. “If you are?”

Frederick beamed, leaning to take the handle of his trunk. “I’ll have the carriages brought around directly.”

It had been necessary, he had realized, to hire two. Though he himself kept no manservant, no valet, it was ridiculous to presume that Miss Edie Stewart would travel without a servant. And he was correct. A lady’s maid appeared with a quiet expression, and Frederick argued over Mrs. Kinley to take their housemaid with them, to help the minimal staff at the country estate and as company for the serving girl in the second carriage.

And in the first carriage, himself, Edie… and Mrs. Teagan.

The distance from London to Wickacre Hall was not so very large. Eleven miles had sometimes felt like a great ocean of time, of course, but then Frederick had never traveled with Edie before.

Edie was a delight. Her light chatter, combined with the rocking of the carriage, soon lulled Mrs. Teagan to sleep, and they were able to have more of an open conversation.

“I hope you liked the dinner,” said Edie quietly, staring out of the window as the carriage rattled along the country lanes.

Frederick forced himself not to snort. It would never do to wake Mrs. Teagan. “Something like that.”

In truth, he had liked it. It was always pleasant to spend time with his two elder brothers, and Lindow had been so curtailed by politeness—thanks to the presence of the Stewarts, and in part, the wives—that Frederick had barely been forced to interact with him.

“In fact, I thought it went well,” he confessed, jolted by the carriage as it turned a corner. “Thank you. You were an excellent hostess.”

Edie’s cheeks flushed. “Your sisters-in-law were very kind to me.”

“I saw they apprehended you the moment they could.” Frederick chuckled.

“They did, indeed! But thankfully, it was a relatively benevolent act. They… They think a great deal of their husbands.”

He supposed there was some hidden meaning in that phrase, though he could not for the life of him understand what it was. “Oh?”

Edie nodded, opened her mouth, appeared to think better of it, then closed it again.

Frederick waited. He knew Edie better than that, knew she was attempting to formulate the phrase in her mind, testing it out before she spoke.

And five minutes later—

“It felt like I was truly a part of your family,” she said in a rush.

Frederick’s jaw tightened, but only for a moment. “Odd. I don’t often think about them as my family.”

“They like you,” Edie said simply. “The wives, I mean.”

He snorted. “It’s easy for them.”

“They could easily have absorbed their husbands’ views,” she pointed out quietly, a quick glance at the still-sleeping Mrs. Teagan. “And yet they chose to think differently. I liked them. I… I would wish to know them better.”

Tension rippled across Frederick’s back.

Edie had spoken, though only slightly, of the loneliness she had felt in Woodhurst. How strange it was to step into Society and suddenly become its focus—and still feel alone.

Alice, Florence, and Doris were fine women, and they would make fine friends for her. Fine sisters.

Except it was all a lie, wasn’t it?

Frederick had not considered it before, but it would be nigh on impossible for Edie to meet socially with the Chance wives after their sham engagement was ended. The discomfort they would all feel… It would separate them as potential friends, perhaps forever.

But Edie wanted her freedom. Had practically begged him for it. If only he hadn’t been so foolish as to rush into their entanglement. If he’d properly courted her…

“I think we’re slowing down.”

Frederick blinked. Then he glanced out of the window. “Yes, we are—we’re pulling into the drive.”

It was not a long drive. After a few minutes, the carriage came to a stop and Mrs. Teagan was jolted awake.

“David?”

Both the ladies flushed.

That had certainly confirmed some ideas he’d had.

“Let me help you out of the carriage,” Frederick said quietly, stepping out and giving both of them a moment to collect themselves.

By the time he turned back to them, Edie and Mrs. Teagan were calmer, though the latter was still pink. Offering his hand, Frederick helped the elder, then the younger of his guests out of the carriage. They stood and stared.

“Heavens above,” muttered Mrs. Teagan.

“My goodness,” whispered Edie as she stepped out of the carriage.

Frederick turned to see what they were looking at. “Ah. Yes. Wickacre Hall.”

It was a pretty, little place, he supposed. Nothing to Stanphrey Lacey—no Tudor turrets, spiraling chimneys, and elegant oriel windows. The grounds of Wickacre Hall were also nothing to Stanphrey Lacey—there was no deer park, no knot garden, and the lake that had been attempted by an earlier Viscount Pernrith had been filled in eventually due to expense.

But it was not a place to be sniffed at. The yellow stone appeared brilliant in the winter sun, and the windows glinted in a sort of welcoming way. The portico over the door was a relatively new addition. Frederick thought it suited the place rather well.

Though judging by the responses of the two ladies gawping at the place, it was far more impressive than he had given it credit for.

“This is yours?”

Frederick spoke before he thought. “Yours as well, soon.”

His cheeks burned, and he hoped to goodness Mrs. Teagan would prescribe it to the excitement of a future newlywed.

Not the shame of a man playing a trick on the world.

Edie seemed to guess what he was thinking, for she flushed too. “And will you… will you show it to me?”

“Of course.”

“My lord!” Mrs. Watkins, Wickacre Hall’s housekeeper, came to the door, a lock of her coiled silver hair escaping from her cap. “Welcome.” She beamed at his guests. She’d never seen him having any guests. “We got everything ready for you, my lord.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Watkins. Please welcome Miss Edith Stewart, and her companion, Mrs. Teagan.” Frederick gestured to each in turn. The door to the servants’ carriage opened up behind their own, the driver taking the place of footmen to help the young women out.

“We’d just asked for a tour,” said Edie, offering a slight head nod to his housekeeper.

Mrs. Watkins practically bounced on her feet at being addressed so civilly by a lady.

“I thought perhaps I could give them the tour,” Frederick said. “If you could help the maids inside?”

“Of course, of course,” said Mrs. Watkins, who had the grace to duck her head and curtsey despite the task taken from her. “Cook has a grand meal planned for this evening. I shall check to make sure it is all going smoothly.”

The tour ended up being far longer than Frederick expected. What appeared to him to be a humdrum design for the house, and mediocre or even dull furnishings, was apparently the latest style and most elegant taste. Mrs. Teagan did not cease to sing its praises, but to Frederick’s disappointment, Edie was silent.

That was, until they reached the last room of the house, the library.

“And this is where you read Whispers of the Ton , I suppose,” she said shyly, looking up through brown, almost-black lashes.

Frederick’s stomach lurched. “No. But I do read here.”

“I suppose we could read here together,” Edie said softly as Mrs. Teagan exclaimed at the number of botany books in his collection.

The charade was getting a little too real. Frederick could just picture the two of them here, reading quietly in armchairs side by side. Holding hands, perhaps. Or kissing—

“Well, then,” said Mrs. Teagan cheerfully, interrupting some definitely delicious thoughts Frederick was certain he was not permitted to have. “Shall we see the grounds?”

After a long meander through the hibernating gardens and what other land could be described as “grounds,” there was little daylight left. The three of them had afternoon tea, conversed lightly for a few hours, then retired for to change for dinner.

Dinner itself must have happened. Frederick was certain of it but could not remember a single mouthful. All he could recall was the shimmering candlelight, making Edie sparkle.

She wore no jewels. She had no need for them. The simple, elegant, green silk gown was more than enough to set her off.

Frederick missed putting his fork in his mouth at least twice from staring.

It still did not feel real. What was a woman like that doing here?

Pretending to be your betrothed , he reminded himself. And ‘pretending’ is the operative word here. You may have the world fooled—you may even have the father fooled. But you mustn’t fool yourself.

And so before he knew it, the three of them were seated in the drawing room and time was flying and—

“Well, I think I am for bed.”

Frederick started. He had been so engrossed in conversation with Edie, a fire blazing merrily in the grate, he had almost clean forgotten there was anyone else in the room.

Most ungentlemanly of him. And a terrible move for a host.

He hurried to his feet. “Mrs. Teagan, you are tired?”

“Far too tired to remain here, I am afraid,” said the chaperone with a breezy laugh. “I am not as young as I look!”

Panic flowed through Frederick’s veins. What on earth was the correct response to that?

“Nonsense, Mrs. Teagan, we know you’re secretly one and twenty,” said Edie compassionately. “Though I understand if you wish to retire. It has been a long day.”

“It has, indeed,” nodded Mrs. Teagan, eyelids drooping. “Good night, my lord.”

“Good night, Mrs. Teagan,” Frederick said with a bow.

“Miss Stewart?” Mrs. Teagan clasped her hands together, staring down at her charge.

“Good night, Mrs. Teagan,” she said sweetly. Yawning with great—perhaps overexaggerated—effect and stretching her arms above her head, she added, “I shall join you shortly in retiring.”

Mrs. Teagan hesitated, her eyes going back and forth between her charge and Frederick.

“I shall ring for Evans to accompany me,” said Edie sweetly, referring, it seemed, to her lady’s maid. “After just a moment more. I’d like to warm up by the fire.”

Mrs. Teagan cleared her throat. She locked eyes with Frederick and frowned, as if warning him, then nodded and crossed the drawing room.

Perhaps the woman knew better. But she, like Edie’s father, assumed the two would indeed be married in the weeks to come.

What was the worst that could happen?

Frederick remained standing as the woman closed the door behind her. When he slowly lowered himself back onto the sofa he and Edie were sharing, his pulse was at least treble what it had been.

They were alone. Truly alone—for perhaps the first time since he had last kissed her…

“The only way to save my reputation is if that kiss was appropriate. It is appropriate to kiss if you are engaged.”

“Not the way we were doing it… “

Frederick attempted to force the memory from his mind, but by God, he was only human. Edie was sitting there, radiant as ever, smiling like—

Like she trusted him. Like she liked him.

“It’s a beautiful home, Frederick,” she said hesitantly.

“It’s a little more homely when decorated for Christmas—properly, I mean, not just the greenery.” He gestured at the boughs of holly and ivy that festooned the paintings in the room.

“I suppose it will be,” said Edie warmly. “I would love to see it.”

And she wouldn’t.

Because this couldn’t continue, could it?

“I hope your chaperone is not too tired,” Frederick said, venturing out on what he hoped was neutral territory. Need he remark that she had not, so far, called for her lady’s maid to take the chaperone’s place?

He knew Edie. She was never going to do that.

“She gets headaches, sometimes, but she brought her tonic with her,” said Edie quietly. “She’ll be as right as rain in the morning, as long as you have a copy of The Times for her to read at breakfast.”

Frederick chuckled. “Well, thankfully, Mrs. Teagan and I share a taste in reading.”

“Unlike me. I don’t suppose you have Whispers of the Ton delivered from London, do you?”

“Even if I did, I very much doubt it would arrive here before breakfast!” he retorted. “I can’t believe you read that rubbish!”

“‘Rubbish’? I will have you know that Whispers of the Ton is one of the most preeminent scandal sheets in the country,” Edie said with mock haughtiness.

Happiness poured through Frederick. “Well, that’s censure in and of itself. Whatever happened to you being furious at what they wrote about you?”

“I was furious about what they wrote about us ,” she said flatly. But then a smile cracked her impassive face. She tapped him playfully and something shifted between them. Something that made Frederick’s heart skip a beat.

“I suppose you only read that dull newspaper.”

“I read the factual events of the day around the world, yes.”

Edie rolled her eyes. “I’d rather have the excitement of the scandal sheets, if you ask me. Yes, I don’t particularly care to be written about myself, but they’re still usually quite fun. I’ve never had much adventure in my life. Not until… until you.”

Frederick swallowed and shifted on the sofa.

Only slightly. Only to get comfortable. It was mere coincidence that the movement brought him closer to Edie Stewart.

His hand brushed against hers. For a moment, Frederick thought she would pull away, flush, then declare she was also tired and wished to retire to her bedchamber.

But she didn’t. Quite to the contrary, Edie moved on the sofa toward him, eyes never leaving him.

“It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind, hasn’t it?” she said lightly.

Frederick swallowed. “I suppose my invitation to visit Wickacre Hall was not—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Edie said. “And you know it.”

She had spoken with a delicate voice that belied the certainty in her eyes.

Attempting not to read too much into the line of conversation, Frederick nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do not think I could have supposed, when we were sitting there in your father’s study, that all… all this would have occurred.”

All this closeness. This sense that Edie was the one person in the world with whom he could be truly open. The happiness he gained whenever in her company.

None of that could have been predicted.

“You probably only wished for a kiss.”

Frederick’s look sharpened. Though her cheeks were pink, Edie looked at him steadily. “Only a kiss?”

“In that library, I mean,” she said, her voice hushed. “You could not have known all this would have followed what… what was the most intensely pleasurable moment of my life.”

Had she really said such a thing?

“I-I suppose not,” said Frederick, hating how his voice quavered. “But I would do it again.”

“You would?”

He nodded. By God, he would. Who could stay away from this woman?

Edie did not look away, though her cheeks reddened. “Would you do it again… now?”

Frederick needed no other invitation.

For invitation it was—and his instinct was proven right as he pulled Edie into his arms and brought his mouth upon hers.

In truth, he hardly needed to pull. Edie moved into his embrace, lifting up her lips to be kissed, and their intermingled moans of delight as their kiss deepened filled the spacious room.

Oh, God, this was what he had wanted for so long. The feeling of her body quivering against his, the taste of her mouth, all sweetness and heady promise, the way she melted against him, lips parting to welcome him deeper.

Try as he might, Frederick could not keep his hands idle. As one swept to her waist, pulling her as tightly to him as he could, the other had somehow managed to cup her buttocks.

Edie squirmed against his touch, and for a moment, he thought she was attempting to move away—but the whimper of sensual sensations that broke from her lips told him quite another story.

“Edie… “

Frederick had not meant to whisper her name, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed to provoke a response that matched his own.

Twisting her fingers into his hair, Edie kissed him furiously, as though all the pent-up desire he had felt himself was mirrored in her. “Frederick… “

How long they were there, he did not know. He did know how his jacket and cravat mysteriously ended up on the carpet, and Edie’s gown certainly would need a good going over again with the hot irons before it was presentable.

Even worse—or better—Frederick was throbbing with need. He was lying on the sofa now, covering Edie’s body with his own and wishing to goodness he’d thought about this earlier.

He only came alive when he was with her.

Frederick ended the searing kiss and stared deeply into Edie’s eyes.

She had no hint of shame or embarrassment. “Frederick.”

He hesitated.

Because in that moment, it was all so difficult. He loved her. Of course he did. How could anyone not love her, once they had grown to know the woman behind the title of “flourishing rose”?

Every day, he awoke looking forward to their next encounter. Every minute with her was one that he wanted to last forever.

And though he very much wanted to get under her skirts—his fingers itching to do that very thing—he also wished to get inside her affections. To know what she thought of him.

“Frederick?”

Edie sounded concerned, and no wonder. He was staring at her like a dolt.

But how could he speak? Frederick had never known such emotions pouring through him, thoughts and feelings getting entangled as he attempted to put them in order.

This wasn’t real.

But it could be—couldn’t it? Frederick wanted her, wanted Edie, wanted all of her.

Precisely how this had happened, he did not know. There was no moment other than now that he could pinpoint as to a greater understanding of his affection.

And now it could not be denied.

Frederick sat up and was delighted to hear a moan of disappointment. “I… I should stop.”

“Why?” Edie asked in a rustle of silk as she righted herself on the sofa. Her eyes were wide, her hands reaching for his. “Why?”

“Because… “ Inhaling deeply did not help. It did not give him the courage he so desperately needed to carry on. “Because otherwise, I’ll want things… things you can’t give me. I can’t do this.”

Frederick forced himself to meet Edie’s eyes, expecting censure, shock, perhaps even the decision to depart from his embrace and his drawing room immediately.

Edie held his gaze with one just as lust-filled as his own. “Can’t… or won’t?”