Page 56 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Edward forced himself to continue. “As I said, she did not remain unwed,” he said, staring hard at the rippling water. “That much I knew. Her family sent her away and married her off to her distant cousin, a man with wealth enough to wipe away any stain to their reputation.”

Felicity’s hand clenched the fabric of his sleeve.

Edward exhaled slowly, deliberately. Her presence was somehow a greater comfort than he could have imagined. “I had no idea,” he said, his voice quieter. “For eighteen years, I did not know the most altering part. It was two years ago, on my father’s death bed, that he finally told me the whole of it.”

Felicity stared at him, her expression unreadable.

He forced himself to look at her, forced himself to meet her wide, dark eyes. “She had a child, early in her marriage.” he said quietly. “Too early. A boy.”

Felicity gasped softly and released him. “Oh, Edward.”

His chest felt like a vise had closed around it. “I have a son,” he said, voice shaking. “And I have never met him.” The words hung in the air, weighty and impossible to take back.

For a long moment, Felicity only looked at him. The shock had faded and in its place he had expected to see disgust. Judgment.

Instead, he saw something deep and quiet—something he hadn’t expected. Compassion. A moment later, as she stepped closer, understanding. Her fingers curved around his forearm. The touch was not light. It was steady.

His throat worked, but he did not pull away.

“You have paid for your mistakes, Edward—more than you ought to have. And now, I can see you wish to protect others from making those same mistakes.”

He looked out to the rowboat. He took in a deep breath. “I cannot fail Daphne, or her father, or you. History will not repeat itself.”

For a moment, Felicity leaned her head against his shoulder. The touch sent warmth through him, as though she had embraced him. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nodded tightly. “You see now why Daphne must be watched.”

“I see why you feel that way, yes,” she said, tone still soft, still understanding. “I think there is more we ought to discuss. But later. At home.”

“I agree.” And he did his best to ignore the way his heart fluttered in that moment. He was too busy feeling relief because she had not rejected him.

He did not have the energy to recognize the delight that she had called his house home.

Chapter Eighteen

It had taken far too little effort for Daphne to convince Edward to take her to Hatchards. He could not say no to visiting London’s most popular bookshop, a most respectable establishment. As the carriage left his country home and he observed her genuine enthusiasm, Edward wondered if she might possess more excitement than the literary pursuit merited. Perhaps Hatchards was too respectable, as it gave her an easy excuse to request an outing under the guise of wishing to read more.

Perhaps he should have said no.

But the way his ward’s face had lit up when he agreed had kept him from thinking anything was amiss, at first. It was rare that Daphne made requests so earnestly, and he had thought there could be no harm in it.

When they arrived, and she practically skipped through the shop door, Edward’s suspicions grew. He did not have any true reason to suspect her of more than wishing to leave the house, did he? He was being overly cautious, something Felicity had in her way attempted to warn him about. Surely that was all.

As Daphne drifted deeper into the shop, moving past the polished wooden shelves with the delighted ease of a young girl granted unexpected freedom, Edward could not quiet the unease settling in his chest.

She had been so keen to come here. Was it truly for the books? Or was she meeting someone?

Edward exhaled, flexing his hands at his sides. Felicity had been very clear—Daphne deserved trust. So why not test that theory? He would hang back, allowing her to move freely through the shop. He would let her wander without shadowing her. And he would see exactly what she did with her freedom.

Moving to the front of the shop, he set himself up near a shelf of periodicals where he could observe her without being too obvious. His back to the front door, he watched her go through a doorway farther back in the shop. Daphne browsed the rows of books, seemingly utterly absorbed. She lingered over a table stacked with poetry volumes, laying her hands on the slim books with quiet reverence. One could paint a portrait of her in the moment and capture a true reverence for the written word.

For a moment, he felt foolish. And then, the door chimed. Edward turned enough to see who entered from the corner of his eye.

Mr. Montague.

The young man entered, utterly at ease, glancing toward the counter before striding purposefully into the shop.

Edward’s pulse picked up. So. Here was the truth of it.