Whatever it was must not have been important, or I must have scared her badly, because she turned and ran from the bathroom.
That was just what I needed. I stalked out of the shower, already canceling my plans to go into the village. There was no way, given the current state of things between my wife and I, that I was going to chance her hearing about this little encounter from anyone else, especially Nora. It had been innocent. A mistake. But I was a man walking on eggshells at the best of times. I might have no interest in Nora, but Belle had pointed out she found the nanny beautiful. I could only imagine how twisted this could become in her head, especially after the photograph of Margot.
I threw on a pair of trousers and a thick sweater ribbed with marled brown wool. I didn’t even bother running a brush through my hair or finding shoes. Hopefully, Belle hadn’t gone on another one of her sodding walks. I tore out of the closet, stopping dead in my tracks when I found her waiting for me by the bed.
“In a hurry?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I was looking for you,” I told her.
“In the closet?”
“Listen, beautiful,” I said hurriedly, in no mood to have this turned into another argument. "I was grabbing a quick shower when you sent Nora in for whatever it was you needed. I don’t want you to think anything happened.”
“Did something happen?”
"No,” I repeated. “I just wanted you to know that it happened.”
“But you just said nothing happened,” she said.
She was fucking infuriating. It was making me hard. “Yes. I mean, no. Jesus Christ, Belle, what do you want?”
“Some lotion, actually.” She abandoned her interrogation, strolling into the bathroom to dig in a vanity drawer. As she came out, she waved the bottle. “This is what I sent Nora in for.”
"Maybe advise her to knock next time,” I said dryly, stretching an arm toward her. Belle was in a surprisingly good mood—playful even.
She stepped backward, dashing my illusions about the situation. “She told me what happened. It sounded like an accident.”
“It was an accident.” I frowned, wondering if she was going to ever let me touch her again. I wasn’t being punished for the thing with Nora. This was about something else. The other night? Or had I fucked up worse than that?
“In that case…” Belle started toward the door.
“Are you going to keep punishing me?” I called after her before I could stop myself.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, remember?”
The dismissiveness of her tone needled me. No, I hadn’t done anything wrong, but that wasn’t going to stop her from continuing to give me the cold shoulder. Until I could get her to admit what was bothering her, I had no hope of actually doing anything to change it. But if she was going to persist in believing that I was keeping pictures of my dead wife in my desk or that I enjoyed having a young, beautiful nanny around the house, I didn’t know what I could do about it. I’d gotten rid of Margot’s picture. I had no interest in Nora. Did I need to fire her and hire some old woman from the village? I would do anything if it meant Belle would be happy again.
“If you think—” the chime of the front door cut her off mid sentence. She groaned, throwing back her head. “We’ve been getting deliveries all day. Jane sent something. Clara and Alexander sent gifts.”
"Your friends miss you,” I said carefully. “We never talked about going back to London for Christmas.”
"Everyone has plans by now,” she snapped, turning on her heel to walk out of the room. I was two steps behind her when a familiar, and very welcome, voice floated up the staircase from the landing below.
“Is this the welcome I receive? Usually I expect a parade.”
Belle’s head whipped around to me, surprise on her face and one name on her lips. “Edward?”
"I thought you needed your best friend,” I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. I swallowed against the sourness I felt, reminding myself that I would do anything for her, even if I wasn’t the one she really wanted. I stepped past her, brushing one hand across her forearm. “I wish I could give you everything you need.”
We stared at one another for a moment, me searching her eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman who felt so far from me now. She looked at me, her expression unreadable, before her eyelids shuddered close, and she whispered. “You have. Thank you.”
Something broke inside me. I’d given her what she needed, delivered her best friend—someone she might actually talk to—but the victory felt hollow. I wanted to be that person for her. Until the last few weeks, I thought I was that person. We lingered there for a moment, hearing the faint welcomes of Humphrey and Mrs. Winters, acknowledging Edward’s arrival below us. Finally, Belle turned and started toward the stairs. Without thinking, my hand lashed out, grabbing hers. “Find your way back to me, beautiful.”
She opened her mouth, but then her teeth descended into her lower lip, and she continued down the stairs without a word.
22
Belle
"Warning, Mrs. Winters can be a little testy,” I said under my breath.
Edward gave me a crooked smile. “You forget I was the peacekeeper in my family growing up. No one can resist my charms.”
I seriously doubted that, but I couldn’t help noticing how much more relaxed Edward seemed since his return home from Italy. He’d filled me in on his time away. Most of it he’d spent on the Riviera or bouncing about Tuscany in search of the best wine. Somehow, he’d even managed to stay incognito enough that no one recognized him. I still had a hard time believing that. Maybe people there were just less interested in the scandals surrounding his family.
As we sat down around the new dining table, it was clear that he intended to make good on his promise to win Mrs. Winters’s affection over dinner. When she sat the large shepherd’s pie in the center of the table, he whistled appreciatively.
“I missed real food,” he told her. “I think I’ve had enough noodles for a lifetime.”
"Well, it doesn’t show,” she said, eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion and pride. “But I’ll be glad to cook any of your favorites while you’re here.”
She bustled back towards the kitchen, humming happily to herself. She was still determined her place was there and ours was here in the formal dining room, but I’d never seen her look so self-satisfied. Edward tossed a wink in my direction as if to say see?
"She’s always asking me what I want to eat,” I said with a shrug, feeling my own lips tugging up.
“That’s because you’re the lady of the house,” he said, unfolding a napkin and placing it in his lap. “You’re supposed to dictate the menu.”
"As though I care what we eat. Who would? I’m just happy to be fed.”
"Clara made the same complaint when they moved to Buckingham.” The statement was out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. A gloomy silence descended instantly over the table, and I found myself shooting Smith a look, hoping he could think of something—anything—to say that would change the topic.