Chapter 20

Solving Problems

Edwin felt good. Not long ago, Beatrice had commented that he was similar to his father, and he had denied it. Yet, he was following in his father’s footsteps by being generous, and it felt wonderful to do so, especially when he saw the look on her face when he offered to buy the painting.

Perhaps there was room for a little more balance.

Edwin signed the receipt, and when he looked back to find Beatrice, he saw her running out the door. He scanned the gallery to try and determine why she was fleeing from the building, but he did not spot anything suspicious.

Still, his anger rose that someone or something had done this to her. He assured the gallery owner that everything was fine, and then he rushed out after her.

When he stepped outside, he saw her run toward the coach parked up the street, but then she flew straight past it. Then, she stopped, turned around, ran back to the coach, and climbed in. Edwin felt calmer, knowing she was not going anywhere else. He ran to the coach to ensure she was well.

“Beatrice,” he said when he opened the door. “What happened?”

He found her lying on the seat, crying. He closed the door behind him and knelt on the floor, placing a hand on her back.

“My dear, what is going on?”

“I want to go home. They are all staring at me and talking about me, and I just want to leave this place and never come back,” Beatrice cried.

“Of course,” Edwin soothed. He quickly instructed the driver to take them home, then crouched down beside her again. He would have someone come back later to retrieve the painting. “You must tell me what the matter is so I can help.”

“It is all lies,” Beatrice moaned. “It is all lies, but it won’t matter, will it?”

“Beatrice,” Edwin said sternly. “Get a hold of yourself and sit up. Please.”

The words seemed to shake a bit more sense into her, and she looked up at him before she sat up. Edwin took her hand, and that calmed her some more.

“Tell me what happened,” he instructed.

“This!” Beatrice hissed, holding up the newspaper. “Oh, my goodness! I stole it from him. I never meant to take it with me when I ran out of there, but I didn’t know what to do. Did I make a fool of myself? Did anyone notice?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Beatrice,” Edwin told her. “Everyone saw you run out of there. Let me see that.”

“Here,” Beatrice said, tapping the paper before handing it to him.

Edwin took the paper and read the article. It was all about Beatrice, or rather the Runaway Bride. It told the story of when she had run away from the first man she was promised to, the one who had married her younger sister in her stead. Her family had told everyone that she was sick, and that was why she had left London, but the writer of the article had other ideas.

The article suggested that Beatrice was not sick after all, and the entire story was a lie. It mentioned that she had fallen in love with a commoner and had lain with him before marriage, thus getting pregnant with his child. As a result, she fled to the countryside to have the baby, and then she gave the baby away to a local convent.

The article finished by wondering what the Runaway Bride might be planning for her next scheme.

Edwin let out a sigh, before he folded the newspaper and placed it on the seat opposite. When he looked at Beatrice, he knew exactly what she was thinking. She was ashamed.

“It is not true,” Beatrice said defiantly. “None of it is true except for the running away part. I did run away because I did not want to marry the Duke of Hayward, and I did flee to a friend’s house in the countryside, but I was not with child. You must believe me, Edwin. I have not slept with another man. We can ride to my friend’s estate, and you can talk to her. I know you will have to take her word for it, but I am sure she can convince you. Talk to my family also. If I were with child at any point in my life, they would have known. Talk to my father and mother and any of my sisters. Talk to the twins. If they knew, they would have teased me about it endlessly.” She took his hands in her own. “Please, I am not lying to you about this.”

Edwin held her gaze. “When I married you, I believed you were untouched, and now I learn you are lying with commoners. Is that why you used to sneak out at night?”

“No! I have done no such thing—I only snuck out because of boredom, but I never met any men in that way,” Beatrice pleaded. “I would not lie about this to you.”

Edwin smiled. “I am afraid I have made a rather inappropriate joke. I could not help myself. Perhaps the champagne was at play.”

“What?”

“My dear, I knew you were still a maiden the first time I took you. You have slept with no man other than me.”

Beatrice furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “I don’t…”

“I believe you,” Edwin stated. “I know through making love to you that I am your first. I might not have known you for long, and you do have a history of scheming, but I know you are being honest with me.”

Beatrice threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no reason to trust me, and it is all my fault. I don’t know what I’m going to do now, but I will make this right.”

Edwin pulled back and took her by the shoulders. “I have plenty of reasons to trust you,” he said. “Firstly, what happened before our marriage is your own business, and I was the one who made you marry me. Since then, you have been nothing but trustworthy. Secondly, this is not your fault. You ran off instead of getting married, and that was wrong—understandable but wrong—but it does not give someone the right to publish this. These are outright lies. Thirdly, you do not need to do anything. Someone is attacking you, and that means they are also attacking me. I will put an end to this.”

Beatrice blinked away the tears as she faced her husband. “You are far too good to me. I mess things up wherever I go, and you have only been decent and loyal. I am in your debt.”

“You are in no one’s debt,” Edwin assured her. “Come here.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I will take care of this,” he promised.

He did not know how he would take care of it, but he knew he would.