Page 33

“We should start to get ready,” Emily said quietly, after a moment. “It’ll be time for supper before we know it.”

Reluctantly, Edward opened up the proper dining room.

He’d always hated that room. It was huge, ugly, and always cold, no matter how high the fire burned. His father had insisted on the two of them taking their evening meal there every single day. The table was long and wide, and laden every day as if they were having a dinner party.

They never had dinner parties, of course. Edward would sit at one end of the table, and his father at the other, and the distance was such that no conversation was physically possible. They would have had to shout.

No doubt that was his father’s aim. When Edward got old enough to voice opinions of his own without fear of reprisal, he began taking his plate and glass down to his father’s end of the table and sitting beside him. The late Duke would always watch him approach impassively, saying nothing.

For a moment, Edward had believed that he had done it, that he was finally breaking through the walls the late Duke had put around himself.

At the next suppertime, he learned from the waiting staff that the late Duke had taken his meal in his study and intended to do that from now on.

Edward ate alone.

He had only set up the lower half of the table so that the seven of them could sit close together. He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but he had a feeling that his bride-to-be would be the sort of person to pick up her plate and walk over to wherever she preferred to sit and set it down there.

There was no musty smell in the room, at least. Perhaps it would be better to eat here with others instead of his father, who would have only glared at him down the length of polished mahogany.

“You poor thing, Edward. How you must be suffering.”

He flinched. “Clarissa. I didn’t hear you coming.”

He turned to face his stepmother, who was smiling at him.

“I do tend to creep around,” she answered, chuckling. “Where shall I sit, then? I suppose you’re sitting at the head of the table.”

“Of course. Um, Clarissa? I hoped to talk to you.”

His stepmother glanced up at him, her eyebrow raised. “Oh? This sounds serious.”

He winced. “I… I was sharp with you earlier. In the breakfast room, when you were speaking to Miss Belmont.”

I told you to mind your place,he added silently, feeling a rush of guilt.I told you that you weren’t my mother. Unforgivable.

He dropped his gaze, swallowing hard. “Please forgive me, Clarissa. I spoke out of turn.”

“You cannot speak out of turn in your own house,” she replied.

“Of course I can. You didn’t deserve that, and I certainly shouldn’t have spoken to you that way in front of the others. I am sorry, Clarissa.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then broke into a wry smile.

“It’s quite all right, Edward. I could never hold a grudge against you.”

He gave a relieved smile. “I’m glad, truly. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

She nodded, gliding closer. “You know how much I always wanted a child. I always thought of you as mine, but I think perhaps I made a mess of being a mother. I tried, though. Please believe me, Edward, but I did try.”

“Raising children is hard,” he snorted. “Trust me, I’m a terrible father to Alex. Sometimes I worry that—” He broke off abruptly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Clarissa bit her lip. “You can talk to me about anything, you know.”

He turned away. “I know. It sounds like they’re coming. Let’s hope this goes well, eh?”

It was clear that his guests were uncomfortable. He didn’t blame them. They didn’t know him, didn’tcareto know him, and perhaps they still believed that he hadsomehow kidnapped their precious Miss Belmont.

Miss Belmont herself had changed into a simple burgundy dress, and her twin sister wore an identical gown in grey. There was something eerie about the pair of them. They looked so alike, standing side by side with blank faces.