Chapter Nineteen

December 13, 1812

“And you are certain it has not arrived?”

Edie had not intended her voice to be harsh, but then, she had been waiting what felt like forever. Certainly all day.

She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the morning room. Oh. Well, a few hours, at least. It was ten o’clock, which was admittedly at least five hours earlier than she thought it was.

How was it possible that she had waited so very long and it was only ten o’clock in the morning?

“I will tell you the moment that it arrives,” said her father soothingly. “And I am sure it will not be long. It is getting closer to Christmas, after all. You know how everything slows down. The newspaper—”

“I thought it would be here by now,” said Mrs. Teagan absentmindedly. She was embroidering what appeared to be a large cushion cover, sitting by the window to get the little daylight that the wintery December morning afforded. “I mean, it’s past ten o’clock.”

Edie caught the warning glance her father shot the woman who would, in a week, become Lady Stewart. Unfortunately, her former chaperone was so absorbed with her embroidery, she did not notice.

“It is late, isn’t it?” Edie said wretchedly. “The one day I want to read it—”

“I’ve been saying for years that you should be reading the newspaper. It’s an excellent source of information about the world,” pointed out Lord Stewart mildly.

He was seated halfway between the two ladies of his life, a book open in his knee. It was a book of maps, as far as Edie could make out. There had been threats—mention, that was, of himself and Mrs. Teagan taking a tour overseas once they were married. It had been something Mrs. Teagan had always wished to do, apparently.

Edie had tried to smile when he had told her, though it had been a challenge. Was she to lose father and chaperone simultaneously? Where was she to go? Off in the company of some distant relative? Would her father hire her a companion?

“I read about the world,” she said aloud.

Her father snorted. “Those scandal sheets do not count as—”

“They certainly told me more about what was happening in Society than any of those newspapers of yours,” Edie said hotly.

She knew the irritation bubbling inside her was not truly directed at her father. Lord Stewart had done nothing to upset her, save, perhaps, for proposing matrimony to Mrs. Teagan yesterday—who had, according to her father, accepted in floods of tears. But then again, Edie herself had encouraged it. Well, perhaps, she had not encouraged the speed at which her father had moved.

Lord Stewart had taken great pains to ask Edie whether this was a good sign or a bad sign. “The floods of tears, I mean.”

And Edie had comforted him with the little knowledge she had about such things, mostly based on the novels she borrowed from the circulating library, and the paragraphs and paragraphs she had eagerly consumed from the scandal sheets.

“Yes, Father. Yes, I think that’s a very good sign.”

It wasn’t Mrs. Teagan’s fault, either, that she was getting her happily ever after and Edie was not.

In truth, Edie could think of much worse ends to the year. Christmas was almost upon them, and there was going to be laughter in the house from a happily married couple—something the Stewart house had not known for many years.

The new Season would soon be upon them, and some other flourishing rose would be named… But then, Edie hadn’t always liked the attention the title had brought her. This was good news, surely.

So why did her heart ache so painfully? Why was it impossible to sleep through the night without tears? Why was everything so difficult when she knew Frederick was out there in the world, believing she cared more about her reputation than him?

“You are certain it was not taken straight to the kitchens?” Edie could not help but ask.

Her father sighed. “You have asked me that already.”

“I know, but—”

“All the servants have been given strict instructions to bring the day’s newspaper to you, not to me, and most certainly not down to the kitchen to be ironed,” said Lord Stewart, turning a page in his book. “Honestly, I cannot remember why we started doing that. It makes no sense. It must be such a waste of time… “

Edie allowed her father to continue as she sighed and curled her feet under her in the armchair.

She had been certain her plan would work. It was foolproof—at least, it had felt so at the time. There was little she wouldn’t do to reach Frederick, but merely turning up at his house was absolutely out of the question.

After all, why would he even bother to see her? After she had hurt him so terribly…

The door opened and Edie’s head jerked up. “Yes?”

“The newspaper, miss,” said the maid nervously.

Edie had launched herself from the armchair and wrenched the carefully folded newspaper from the woman’s hand before anyone else could make a sound.

Only then did her father exclaim, “Edie!”

“Now that is hardly ladylike behavior,” tutted Mrs. Teagan.

But Edie didn’t care. Her pulse was thumping so wildly, it was almost impossible to hear what they were saying. She had rushed back to her armchair, fingers already thumbing open the newspaper, desperately searching for the announcements page. It had to be in here somewhere, didn’t it? They wouldn’t have forgotten—

“Ah,” she breathed slowly, slipping her feet back under her again as her gaze raked over the page.

This was one of the reasons she despised newspapers. How was one supposed to find anything in a thing this big? And the print was so small, it was a wonder anyone could read it. At least Whispers of the Ton ensured it was easy to digest every morning. Not a behemoth like this…

Ink smeared on her fingers as Edie brushed her fingertips across the columns, desperately trying to find it. But no matter how her attention flickered across each line, she could not find what she sought.

… announce the sad demise of…

… welcome the newest arrival to…

… has lately returned to town and is eager to return to…

Words flickered before Edie’s eyes, but none of them were the ones she had carefully penned.

What had gone wrong?

“You took my instructions to the office on Fleet Street, did you not, Father?” Edie asked, looking up.

Her father glanced up from his book of maps. “I beg your pardon?”

“The note and the instructions I gave you,” she repeated, as patiently as she could manage. Which in truth, was not that patiently. Could he not understand just how crucial this was? “You took them to The Times ’s office, did you not?”

Edie had wished to take them herself. What did she care about the expectations of Society? Caring too much about what the world thought, even for a fleeting moment, had only brought her into this mess—surely, the swiftest way to get out of it was to cease caring at all?

Her father was not sure about that, and Mrs. Teagan was quite certain of the opposite. No woman under her care was going to do anything so rash as walk into a tradesperson’s office! Even if that tradesperson was almost respectable.

“Office?” Lord Stewart said vaguely. “Oh. Oh, yes, I gave them the note and tried to explain as best I could.”

Edie’s hopes sank as her stomach lurched. “‘As best you could’?”

“Well, it was a tad unusual, my dear,” said her father fairly, as though she were being most unreasonable about the whole thing. “Truly, I had never heard of such a—”

“It was an idea I had, that was all. It was not supposed to be the sort of thing that you would have heard of,” Edie attempted to explain as a knock at their front door sounded through the house. “I never expected it to be a common thing. That was the whole—”

Both she and her father turned to the door to the hallway. A strange commotion was slipping under the door—a noise Edie had never heard before.

Shouting? In the hall?

“What on earth is going on?” asked her father blearily, his mind firmly in Rome, the map of which was open on his lap.

“I have no idea,” said Edie slowly, her gaze and attention dropping once more to the announcements page in The Times , which remained on her own lap. “Mrs. Teagan?”

“It sounds like trouble, whatever it is,” said Mrs. Teagan primly, her attention remaining on her embroidery. “And where there’s trouble—”

The door to the hall burst open and there, panting and with Jenkins the butler clutching his shoulder, attempting to remove him from the room, was—

“Frederick,” gasped Edie.

“Pernrith?” said Lord Stewart.

“My lord!” exclaimed Mrs. Teagan.

Her father blinked rapidly, then waved a hand. “That will be all, Jenkins.”

“My lord, he—”

“ That will be all .”

Jenkins let go of Frederick, then bowed stiffly before stepping away. The four of them stood there in silence, all staring at each other. It appeared none of them quite knew what was to happen next.

Edie could see the confusion. Mrs. Teagan was waiting for Lord Stewart to say something, but her father was evidently thrown by the fact that Frederick was not wearing coat or cravat, his shirt open at the neck in a manner quite improper. And she…

How could she say anything? What she had hoped for had occurred. Frederick was here, and he could only be here, surely, if he wished to speak to her.

But then why did his expression look so cold, so distant? Why did he not speak?

“What is the meaning of this?” Frederick said quietly, pulling something out of his waistcoat pocket.

Edie’s pulse was thundering painfully, but it skipped a beat when she saw what he was holding.

A scrap of newspaper. A scrap of a newspaper that looked, from this short distance, very similar to the one in her lap.

Silence fell in the morning room.

Then her father cleared his throat. “Ah, I have just remembered, I haven’t—”

“I believe I am needed elsewhere,” said Mrs. Teagan, rising hastily from her seat and depositing her embroidery upon it. “Somewhere else, at any rate. David—”

“I quite agree,” Lord Stewart said swiftly, offering her his arm. “Anywhere but here.”

Frederick watched, apparently bemused, as Lord Stewart and Mrs. Teagan pushed past him out of the morning room into the hall, the latter slipping the door shut between them.

And that left them. Just Edie and Frederick.

Her pulse was throbbing painfully in her ears, and it was all she appeared able to hear. Precisely what she had thought this conversation would be, she had not been sure—but she had never expected Frederick to arrive half-dressed and looking half-possessed.

Had she done the right thing?

Yes. Edie had been unable to think of any other method to convince him that this, this whatever it was between us, was more important to her than her reputation.

Short of turning up at his house and banging on the door, pleading to be let in.

In fact, if her father had asked her mere minutes ago to justify her plan, Edie was fairly certain she could have done a good job at it.

All those arguments fled her mind as Frederick stood there, chest heaving as though he had run here all the way from Pernrith House.

With it went her certainty. What had she done?

Well, she couldn’t maintain the silence much longer. However this conversation was going to go, it needed to happen. She couldn’t live much longer in this limbo of hoping and not knowing.

“My lord,” Edie said formally. She rose, placing the newspaper on the armchair behind her with shaking hands. “H-How pleasant to—”

“Did you do this?” Frederick asked, thrusting a finger at the scrap of newspaper he was holding as he took a hesitant step toward her.

Edie swallowed but stepped forward in turn, her curiosity propelling her forward. “Oh, did you find it? I had the devil of a time attempting to find—”

She cut off her words as Frederick marched past her seemingly without a second look. She heard the rustle of paper.

Turning, she watched as Frederick picked up the newspaper she had so recently discarded, placed it on the console table just to the left of the fireplace, and spread out the announcements page.

“This,” Frederick said quietly, his voice soft once more, all fire gone. “Was this you?”

Hardly knowing how she was managing to walk, let alone breathe at the same time, Edie moved to stand beside him.

The intoxication of his presence almost overwhelmed her. Oh, it had been too long since she had been with Frederick. His scent, a medley of sandalwood and vanilla, was paired with the heat from his torso, the very evident strength in his arms as the tension in him roared.

Edie swallowed. Tempting as it was to look at what he was pointing at in the newspaper, a much greater temptation was curling itself around her heart, begging to be heard.

A temptation to take that hand and place it on her waist and kiss him—

“Miss Stewart,” Frederick said stiffly. “Did you write this?”

Edie swiftly forced her outstretched hand back to her side. Miss Stewart . Well, she had known what would happen when she had stormed out of Pernrith House all those days ago. She just had not known how much it would hurt.

Her gaze drifted to the announcements page, falling onto the small paragraph she had been seeking to no avail.

The engagement is announced between Frederick Chance, the Right Honorable Viscount Pernrith, younger son of the late Duke of Cothrom, Stanphrey Lacey, and the Honorable Miss Edith Stewart, only daughter of David Stewart, the Right Honorable Baron Stewart, and the late Lady Vanessa Stewart, Woodhurst. This second engagement is this time founded on love and affection, and the wedding will occur very soon.

A small smile curled around her lips. Well, they had put it in precisely as she had requested. That was something. One never knew with newspaper people.

Edie looked up slowly, half fearful, not knowing what expression she would find on Frederick’s face.

And her lungs tightened as she saw—

Hope. And pain. And confusion, and a longing that mirrored her own.

It had been a bold move. Edie would have been astonished at any other lady in the ton doing such a forward thing, but she’d had to do something. She knew how much Frederick relied on, trusted the newspaper.

“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.”

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

What better place to announce her love and affection?

“Was this you?” Frederick asked softly, his hazel eyes fixed on hers. “I thought for a moment… Lindow. But I don’t think he would do something so cruel.”

Edie flinched as though the blow had been a physical one. Cruel? He believed it cruel?

Well, there was nothing to do but confess. She had tried, and she had done what she had thought was right. She could not be blamed for getting it all so entirely wrong.

Swallowing hard, she whispered, “Yes.”

“Yes?” Frederick said, catching the word.

Oh, he was only a few inches away. If she just leaned forward—

Edie stopped herself just in time. “Yes, it was me.”

She expected remonstrances. She expected a critique. She expected Frederick to say just how cruel and unfair it was of her to do such a thing without his agreement.

What she did not expect was for Frederick to gently lift a hand as though to cup her cheek, only for that hand to fall back to his side.

Edie leaned closer toward him. All she wanted was a touch. To know he did not hate her. That though they evidently could not be together, because he so clearly did not wish it any longer, that he did not loathe her.

Then Frederick said something she could never have predicted. “You… You did not read yesterday’s scandal sheets, did you?”

Edie blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic. “You mean Whispers of the Ton ?”

“Yes, that one. Or another. Or any of them,” Frederick said, his voice soft.

Heat blossomed in her cheeks. She had not read a single scandal sheet since she had argued with Frederick.

“You care too much about what the world thinks. You’ve read that scandal sheet, that Whispers of the Ton, and you think—”

His words had rung in her ears far longer than, perhaps, he had expected. Each time she had attempted to read one, a strange sense of sadness had overwhelmed her. She hadn’t even picked one up this morning.

“I haven’t read any of them,” Edie admitted, swaying as she stood. First away from him, and then… then toward him.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand here and not be touching him. After sharing so much with Frederick, the divide between them was distressing. An agonizing, uncrossable distance.

“How could you have known that?” she wondered aloud.

Frederick grinned, and it was as though a second fire had been lit in the morning room. Heat poured through Edie, a sense of comforting closeness she had desperately craved the instant she had lost it.

The moment she had walked out of Pernrith House.

“Here,” he said gently, moving his hand.

Once again, Edie thought he was going to touch her, and once again, she was disappointed. Frederick’s hand pulled something from another pocket—a scandal sheet, from the look of it.

He was still smiling when he handed it to her. “Look.”

Edie took it but continued to stare, unsure precisely what he was doing. How on earth had he known she had not read a scandal sheet since they had parted?

“I… I don’t underst—”

“The very bottom of the second page,” Frederick said gently, and there was a genialness in his eyes that softened every word he spoke. “Read it.”

Edie’s stomach lurched. Oh, no. What had happened—what had been written about her?

Frederick Chance, Viscount Pernrith, suffered on a daily basis from the gossip that people muttered about him, she knew. Had she now brought even more disrepute onto his head?

“Read it.”

Turning over the paper, unsure how she was still standing when such emotions poured through her, Edie let her focus meander to the bottom of the page. Past snide mentions of fashion disasters, past a hint that someone’s husband was in fact not as faithful as the ton believed, past a delicate reminder that so-and-so’s child had been born only six months after their wedding…

Her heart jolted.

It has come to our attention that a certain gentleman wishes to apologize to a certain young lady—and we say that advisedly, because the gentleman in question has done the unbelievable and actually written to us. Viscount P., whose recent engagement announcement surprised the ton, now wishes it to be known that he was an absolute rogue to the delightful Miss S., and he hopes that she will one day forgive him. His love, it appears, will continue whether he is forgiven or not.

Edie had forgotten to breathe. Inhaling a sudden gasp of air into her lungs, which were painfully crying out for relief, her eyes flickered over the paragraph once again.

His… His love?

Looking up, Edie saw that there was a quirk on Frederick’s lips.

“It appears we had much the same idea,” he said quietly. “I do love you, Edie.”

Somehow, his hands were about her waist. Edie could not recall him moving, but then, it did not matter. He was where he should be. Close to her.

“I am so sorry for what I said—more, what I did not say,” she said in a rush. “Oh, Frederick, I can hardly believe I acted in that—”

“I expected a great deal from you, and worse. I judged you the moment I thought you could not abandon everything you had ever been taught,” Frederick said fiercely, as though the blame were all his.

Which it wasn’t. Edie knew she shared much of the fault. “But I love you, Frederick, and I should have—”

“It’s how we were raised. Even I think like that sometimes,” Frederick said with a sigh as he pulled her close. “It’s not your fault. It’s—what did you say?”

Edie blinked, suddenly shy. “What?”

“You… “ He leaned forward, nuzzling her nose with his own. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you. You’re the most precious man I’ve ever met.” Edie gasped as she lifted her lips for a kiss.

It was like coming home. The searing heat of Frederick’s lips was matched only by the thrumming need to deepen the kiss that poured through Edie’s lungs. Pleasure tingled through her tongue and sparked at her breasts as she pushed them against his own broad chest.

This was it. This was everything. This was her Frederick.

How long the kiss lasted, she was not sure. All Edie knew was that when they finally broke apart due to lack of breath, her hair was mussed, his lips were stained, and she wanted to do nothing more than kiss this man, like that, every day, for the rest of her life.

“You really don’t resent me?” It was the fear that had remained with her for so long.

“Edie, you mustn’t—”

“Because you’d be within your right to. I behaved abominably,” she said in a rush. “I should never have hesitated. I should never have made you think—I did think, a little, about what Society would say. I know you said it’s how we were raised, what Society expects, but—oh, Frederick, I want to be better than that!”

“And we will be,” he said ardently, kissing her swiftly on the mouth. “Edie, I adore you. I could never have imagined… We will have the rest of our lives to be better. Better than the rest of them. Better to each other.”

Better to each other…

Edie sighed happily as she lifted her lips for another kiss. “I like the sound of that.”