“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Your Grace?” Edward snarled.
“I can think of several places actually,” Berwick replied coolly and evenly. “However, I’m here to tell you to go after her.”
Edward’s head shot up off his arm where it had been laying, which was a very, very bad idea. He groaned and swayed in his chair, raised a hand to his throbbing temple and closed his eyes.
“You’re here to what?” he barked, and immediately regretted the loudness of his tone, thinking, (hoping?) that he must have misheard the Duke’s bald statement.
“I’m here to pack you off into a coach and send you back to Coventry,” Berwick clarified. “Before you drink yourself into an early grave.”
“Berwick,” Edward growled, trying his hardest to scowl at his interfering friend, which was a difficult feat, given the pain that was pounding through his head at the present moment. “When I want your… help I’ll-”
“Ah here we are,” Berwick interrupted as the door to the study swung open. Wilkins walked in, his nose high in the air, carrying a tray laden with tea and toast. “I thought you could use something to drink.”
“I could use something to drink,” Edward snarled, but Berwick ignored him.
“And something to eat before you leave.” He passed the plate of toast in Edward’s direction.
The Earl turned away looking green. “I’m not going,” he spat.
“No?”
“No!”
“You’re going to stay here?” Berwick mused, helping himself to a slice of toast.
“I’m going to stay here!”
“And receive your mother like this?”
“What?” Edward choked, holding his head in his hands as the pain redoubled when he shouted.
“Your mother,” the Duke nodded. “I saw her carriage pull up outside when I was drawing the curtains,” he explained amiably.
Chapter 22
It had to be Berwick’s idea of a joke, Edward prayed groggily. He got slowly to his feet and stumbled over to the window, cursing aloud when he realized that the Duke was not joking, that his mother was in fact just alighting from her carriage.
“Quick,” he barked, snapping his fingers at Berwick as if he was a private in his old regiment. “You’ve got to help.”
His friend looked mildly interested. “Help how…?”
Edward dragged Berwick after him, using the servants’ stairs to avoid his mother in the hall, they hurried upstairs, or rather Berwick hurried, and Edward tried to hurry. Wilkins had been given instructions by the Duke to inform Lady Margaret that her son was in the midst of a very important business meeting, but would be with her as soon as he was finished.
Edward stumbled into clean clothes while Berwick forced glass after glass of water down his throat. He reached fumblingly for his razor, but the Duke persuaded him to wait for his valet.
“She’s going to know,” Edward grumbled. His head was splitting, but at least the room was in focus now.
“Oh I expect so,” Berwick nodded cheerfully. He sat on the edge of Edward’s bed and started to peruse the paper that he’d brought upstairs with him. Edward meanwhile was sinking slowly into despair. Whatever his mother was visiting for, he didn’t for one moment imagine that he was going to enjoy their meeting.
It was going to be about Daphne.
Just the thought of his wife’s name caused the pain that was pounding inside his skull to shift and move to his chest. He missed her. If he had been sober enough to think about it properly Edward might have been surprised by just how much.
“Ready?” Berwick said suddenly, folding the paper again.
“Not r-”
“Excellent,” the Duke interrupted. “Let’s go down then.”
Edward moaned sickly as he was jostled out of his bedroom and made to walk down the main staircase. He hadn’t reached the halfway point before his mother’s shrill voice met his ears.
“Edward?” she sounded puzzled, no doubt wondering what on earth he and the Duke had been having a meeting about in the private, family rooms of the house. “Y-your Grace,” she added quickly, bobbing in a curtsy.
Berwick nodded his greeting and farewell to Lady Margaret before turning to back to the Earl. “So I’ll see you in Coventry this weekend, for that spot of shooting we discussed, Edward?” he said innocently, taking his hat off Wilkins, who seemed to be smirking conspiratorially, before Edward could answer.
“Coventry?” his mother cried instantly. Edward grimaced, silently cursing Berwick as his friend made a well-timed exit. “What did he mean ‘Coventry?’ Why are you racing off to Coventry, Edward?” Lady Margaret shot the questions at her son relentlessly. “To see that the chit stays there, out of the way I hope?”
“No, mother,” Edward said slowly, thoughtfully working through things as best he could in his present condition. “I don’t think that’s why I am going actually…”
“I don’t understand-”
“Neither do I,” Edward grumbled under his breath.
“Pardon?” Lady Margaret snapped, but her son simply shook his head and showed his mother through to the drawing room. “You don’t really mean to go down to Coventry this weekend do you Edward?” she began, the moment that they were both sitting down and her son had rung for refreshments.
“Why?” Edward asked suspiciously, there was something about the tone of his mother’s voice that he didn’t trust.
“I’m having a little dinner party on Saturday, I had hoped very much that you would come.”
Edward frowned (realized it hurt and so stopped.) He didn’t think that he was being told the full story somehow. “I’m sure you can manage without me,” he said carefully, unsurprised when his mother shook her head.
“My guests, that is one of my guests, made a particular enquiry as to whether or not you would be joining us, Edward. Surely you wouldn’t want to disappoint a lady?”
“What lady?” Edward puzzled.
“Why Miss Winston of course,” Lady Margaret said airily.
Edward choked. He wasn’t sure what he choked on, disbelief probably, but he definitely started choking. His mother stared at him in a highly affronted manner until he had got himself back under control.
Why Miss Winston would ever want to lay eyes on him again Edward was sure he didn’t know – unless it was to inflict some sort of bodily harm. He was rather surprised to hear that she was still Miss Winston though, and more than a little confused as to what good his mother thought could be done by his meeting her again. He was a married man after all. It wasn’t as though he could renew his interest in her. It wasn’t as though he even wanted to renew his interest in her.
Edward cast his mind back to the last time that he had seriously contemplated a future with the young Miss Winston. It had been during dinner at Packwood House, that last dinner before his life spiraled out of his control. In all honesty, he had been so shocked at the change he had seen in Miss Hargreaves, and concerned at how much it affected him, that he had begun to consider that maybe his choice in Miss Winston wasn’t quite as solid as he would have liked.
That night, in his dreams, it had been Daphne’s face that had floated before him. It was her lips that he had sought in passion. Had he had forgotten that, or just denied that it had ever happened?
“Edward? Edward! Are you listening to me?” His mother’s voice snapped through Edward’s private musings. “I said,” she repeated hotly, “that you owe it to that poor girl to make an appearance at the very least.”
Edward sighed heavily. He had written to Miss Winston - one letter of apology and explanation. It wasn’t as though he had made her an offer, and circumstances had certainly conspired against him, but it also wasn’t as though he regretted her loss. It was strange that he’d never really thought about it in those terms before.
“Mother, if you could pass on my apologies to Miss Winston I would be most obliged,” Edward said slowly. “I really do think that it would best if I trave
l to Coventry and speak with my wife as soon as possible.”
Lady Margaret turned a nasty shade of red. She pinched her lips together thinly and scowled at her son. “Well of course you will need to make some sort of arrangement with the girl. No one is disputing that,” she said sharply, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “But you don’t need to do so immediately. No one expects you to go to her so soon after she abandoned you in London!”
Edward flinched at the way his mother chose to phrase things. He didn’t like being the centre of gossip, especially not the gossip that circulated among the ton. It was brutal and vicious, and more often than not grossly embellished. He wasn’t used to it moreover. He might have been talked about for the last six years, but he hadn’t been around to be touched by it…
He couldn’t stop his heart from feeling a pang of sympathy for Daphne suddenly. So this was what he had put her through…
“I think I should go immediately,” Edward said firmly.
“Oh but Edward! Do you know what people are saying-what they will say if you go so soon?” Lady Margaret frowned anxiously.
No, he did not know exactly what was being said, more to the point, he didn’t particularly want to, but Edward didn’t think that he was going to be able to stop his mother from sharing her news.
“That she, that girl-”
“She has a name,” Edward growled. Lady Margaret looked startled by this chastisement.
“Very well then,” she sniffed haughtily. “They’re saying that Lady Coventry has a lover, that she’s run away with him, or run away from you because you stopped her from seeing him.”
“That’s a lie,” Edward snarled, surprising his mother once again.
“Edward you’re not honestly defending that-Lady Coventry, are you?” she demanded. “She’s made you look ridiculous!”
“Maybe it was no less than what I deserved,” Edward muttered under his breath.
“Oh for goodness sake! Have you been drinking?” Lady Margaret asked suspiciously. She sniffed the air and reached her own conclusion. “I thought as much. Nothing else could impair your judgment so completely!”
“My judgment is not impaired,” Edward growled in response.
“Edward! Have you forgotten what she did to you?” Lady Margaret asked furiously. “Her behavior as a girl of just sixteen was scandalous!”
“I assume you’re referring to the kiss?” Edward said calmly. “You know, I can think of worse ways to fall out of society’s good books,” he mused. His mother opened and closed her mouth several times without making a sound before she finally found her voice again.
“I shall come back and see you when you are sober Edward John Joseph Everton!” she spluttered hurrying to her feet.
“You shouldn’t bother, mother,” he said kindly. “I’ll be in Coventry.”
Chapter 23
Riding onto his estate in Coventry the following evening, Edward felt strangely calm. He had settled on a course of action now and felt rather better for doing so – his poor head fervently agreed; it was still suffering twinges of pain from his alcoholic binge.
This was home, Edward decided, as Packwood rose before him. He had come back to the house first on his return to England, before heading into London even, before finding Daphne… Maybe he should have brought her here? Maybe it would have been easier for him? He could be himself here, relaxed, as he hadn’t felt able to be in the city.
He cantered up to the front of the house with his groom, but, knowing that a hot meal would be an hour or so away at the very least, and not yet feeling overly tired from his ride, Edward decided to trot his horse around the grounds before the light failed completely.
Whether it was by chance or design, Edward wasn’t entirely sure, but he rode in the direction of the Everton/Hargreaves boundary, walking his mount slowly along the border as he looked into the neighboring estate. He pulled his horse up sharply when he noticed it-her.
Daphne.
He froze and watched her. She was seated at a portable easel, dabbing her brush into the watercolors by her side and staring off into the horizon as she painted. He hadn’t known that she liked to paint. Edward felt a kind of emptiness, a sense of deep regret wash over him at this realization. There was so much about his wife that he simply didn’t know.
He thought about leaving her, never revealing that he’d seen her in this peaceful, stolen moment, but his horse gave an impatient whinny at being made to stand still. Daphne looked around to locate the animal and saw them. Edward watched as the brush that she had been holding slipped from her fingers.
He gave his animal a gentle kick and trotted over to where his wife was sitting. He didn’t know what to make of the expression on her face. She looked like she’d seen a ghost, not her husband.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped, her voice breathless and shaky.
Edward didn’t know how to answer, so he dismounted and cast his eyes about as if he might find something to help him, oddly enough, he did. He stared at Daphne’s painting, a puzzled frown furrowing his brow. The heavy parchment did not boast a picture of the rolling English landscape that was in front of them, but seemed to bear an impression of the French alps, or something very similar at any rate.
“Don’t laugh!” Daphne blurted, so earnestly that Edward could not stop his mouth from curving into a kind smile, could not help forgetting the torture that she was putting him through as he tried to put her at ease.
“Why would I laugh?” he asked softly.
Daphne chewed her lip and glanced around, she however, didn’t find anything to save her from giving an answer. “Everyone else does,” she muttered, standing up off the stone boulder that she’d been using as a stool.
“I’m not everyone else,” Edward said gently. He bent down and picked up the paintbrush that Daphne had dropped down onto the grass, before offering it to his wife who took it from him hesitantly.
“No, I know that,” she murmured quietly, staring down intently at the brush in her hands. “Edward-Lord Coventry,” she corrected herself, to Edward’s frustration. “Why are you here? Really?” she asked nervously, peeking up at him with those dazzling silver eyes of hers.
“You’re here,” he said softly. There, he’d told her, and without revealing too much either. Edward watched as Daphne bit her bottom lip, trying to puzzle out his exact meaning no doubt. “It seemed like the right thing to do,” he added, when Daphne made no attempt to speak.
“Did it?” she whispered, sneaking another glance at him, before turning back to her painting. “There’s no real need to come out here you know,” she sighed, and Edward frowned.
“I beg your pardon?”
“For me, to paint, I could do it just as well inside,” she continued, and Edward could hear the sadness that coated her words.
“Why do you come out here then?” he asked, truly interested in hearing the answer she would give. Daphne blushed and looked hesitant to tell him. “Why?” Edward pressed, finding that he was smiling again.
“It’s easier to pretend that it’s real out here,” she confessed timidly. Seeing his look of confusion she added: “the mountains, or whatever it is that I’m painting, it’s easier to pretend that they’re real, that I’m really there.” She reached out a hand and touched the painting reverently.
“Do you want to be?” Edward asked in surprise.
Daphne gave a little nod. “All my pictures come from books, or other people’s stories, I want to see it all for myself,” she sighed. “When you-” she began, but stopped abruptly.
“Go on?” Edward pressed gently. “When I what?”
“You’ll think it’s silly,” Daphne said, shaking her head.
“I won’t, I promise!” Edward laughed-then caught himself laughing, and wondered at how that had happened. “Please, Daff?” he coaxed.
His wife sighed softly, but seemed to admit defeat. “When you were with your regiment,” she said, looking embarrassed, “I followed you all over the
world. I had Anthony buy me books on all of the countries that you visited so that I could see what they were like too. I told you it was silly!” Daphne said quickly as she finished.
“Where was your favorite?” Edward asked, marveling that she would have done such an amazing thing.
Daphne blinked, and looking up from her paint spattered fingers, which she had been studying. “My favorite?”
“Of the places you followed me?” he nodded.
She hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment. “India,” she whispered, as if confessing a long kept secret.
“Really?” Edward grinned. “I loved it in India. So completely different from here,” he mused reminiscently. “All the colors were so much more vivid it seemed, and the women’s dresses were so strange,” he paused, imagining how Daphne would look in a brightly colored sari… “and the smell of places, so spicy and hot…” Daphne, Edward realized, was hanging on his every word, soaking them up like a dry sponge.
“Books can’t help you with scent,” she said sadly, looking back at her painting.
“Maybe one day you’ll smell it for yourself,” Edward said slowly.
Daphne just laughed. “I hardly think so!”
“You never know,” Edward shrugged. Could he take her? Maybe on a honeymoon… he was only six years late…
Daphne just shook her head as though she thought he was crazy. She did smile, but then she looked up at the sky and sighed softly.
“I have to get back to the house,” Daphne said. “Anthony will worry if I’m gone for very much longer.”
Edward frowned. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. How had he forgotten, after so very short a time, that they would be going their separate ways?
“Let me take you back at least?” he said instantly. “You can’t carry all of this on your own,” he added, waving his hand in the direction of her painting things, “and it’s hardly safe for you to go traipsing back alone.”
“The house is less than five minutes away,” Daphne said, her lips quirking in a small smile. “I hardly think anything will happen to me. Nothing ever has!” she pointed out logically.
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