Page 20 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #1)

Chapter Twenty

E dward left home the following morning in a bright, agreeable mood. The exchange with Felicity the evening before had awoken something in him—something full of hope and excitement. The worries he carried weighed less upon him. The morning’s showers hadn’t lasted long, and when they tapered off, he betook himself to his club. There was a ball that evening, and he wanted to ensure Daphne would have an enjoyable evening, full of dancing and one way to do that was to speak openly about their attendance where gentlemen and their fathers would hear him.

He arrived at Blackstone’s Club fresh from an unexpectedly pleasant ride. As he had passed the dressmaker’s shop on his way in, he couldn’t help but think on Daphne’s matchmaking attempt, the memory of which only put him in a still better humor.

The club’s familiar hush greeted him upon entry, the smell of pipe smoke and leather-bound books wrapping around him like an old coat. He’d grown to like the place, even with its odd taxidermy collection which seemed ever in motion. A North American beaver stood on a pedestal near the doorway today. Wearing a monocle.

He bowed to it, on impulse.

Perhaps he would take a drink in the lounge. Perhaps a game of whist. Perhaps, for once, Edward would allow himself a moment’s enjoyment.

Then the doorman intercepted him. “Colonel Halstead, Lord Blackstone requests a word with you.”

“Oh? Of course. Lead the way, Plockton.” Edward followed the doorman with his hands tucked behind his back, mildly amused. Blackstone was an eccentric old man, fond of odd things, taxidermied creatures, and twisting a conversation in unexpected directions; but Edward had come to like the man as much as he had the club itself.

Therefore when he entered the viscount’s private study, he prepared for some jest, some cryptic bit of nonsense about membership fees or the finer points of cataloging stuffed rodents.

Instead, the moment he entered the office, he knew something was wrong.

Lord Blackstone sat behind his grand desk, his expression unreadable. The usual amusement in his eyes was absent, replaced by something distant. Serious. The taxidermy menagerie loomed from the shelves—the owl with its ridiculous cap, the fox in its spectacles—but today, none of it felt remotely amusing. “If you would sit, Colonel Halstead?”

Edward’s pulse shifted subtly, though outwardly, his remained composed. He lowered himself into the chair across from Blackstone. “Is something amiss, my lord?”

“A troubling matter has come to my attention,” Blackstone said without preamble.

Edward did not move, nor jump to conclusions. He did not need to.

“It concerns your past.”

Still, Edward said nothing as his heart sank.

Blackstone studied him. Weighing. Measuring. “I have heard a rather disappointing account of you,” the viscount continued. “One I cannot ignore.”

Edward’s fingers curled slightly against the arms of the chair. “And what account is that, Lord Blackstone?”

“It is said that, in your youth, you ruined a young woman and immediately afterwards fled all your responsibilities. That you joined the army, rather than face the consequences of your actions.”

A slow, creeping weight settled in Edward’s chest. It was not rage that struck him first; it was resignation. At last, the past had come for him.

His jaw tightened, but his voice remained even, measured. “That is not how any of that happened.”

Blackstone tilted his head, an unimpressed gesture. “No?”

“No.” Edward’s explanation was necessarily brief, his words clipped. He would not reveal all. He would not harm Pamela, not after all these years. “I did not flee—I was sent away. My commission was not of my choosing.”

Blackstone made a noncommittal sound, steepling his fingers. “Perhaps. But intent does not alter the outcome, does it?”

“My only intent was to obey the wishes of my father and the express wishes of the young woman’s parents.” Edward’s spine went rigid. “What outcome do you speak of?”

Blackstone leaned forward, his gaze sharper now. “There is another rumor, Colonel. One more recent.” A pause.

Edward felt as frozen in place as the animals on display, desperate to move but entirely incapable.

Lord Blackstone spoke almost as though the words pained him. “It is said…you have been searching for a child.”

Edward’s breath stilled. For the first time, his control threatened to waver. “And?” he asked, his voice low. “It is no crime to make enquiries.”

Blackstone studied him for a long moment. “I wonder what I am meant to make of it.”

His teeth clenched together, his grip tightening the arms of the chair. “That is a private matter.”

“Perhaps,” Blackstone said quietly. “But reputation is not private, Colonel. It is instead very public—and reputation is what holds this club together. I have made it a point to only offer membership to men of upstanding honor, of high moral fiber. Men I am not ashamed to know.”

Edward’s shoulders locked. He had always known his membership here was tenuous. Probationary. Now Blackstone was making the terms very clear.

“If you cannot satisfy my concerns,” the viscount said smoothly, “I will have no choice but to revoke your membership.”

It was all he could do to exhale slowly through his nose. “You mean to say, I would be expelled.”

“I mean to say,” Blackstone corrected, “that you would no longer be welcome beneath this roof or mine, and that your fellow members would be informed of my decision…and why. They would be free to draw their own conclusions about your character.”

Edward’s pulse pounded, painful and swift. He could endure such a loss. He had endured worse. But this was not only about him.

If Blackstone cast such public doubt on his honor, others would whisper of it—nay, no longer fear to whisper it, but speak openly of their distrust. And if Edward was seen as a man of poor character, what would that mean for Daphne’s standing? For Felicity’s?

If doubt fell upon his name, would invitations to events quietly stop arriving? Would Daphne find herself excluded from certain circles, quietly left behind as others moved forward? Would the friendships of the Normans, the Montagues, all disappear? Would Felicity’s place in his home face greater scrutiny?

The worry churned in his stomach. He lifted his gaze to meet Blackstone’s directly. “I understand.”

Blackstone nodded once. “Good. Then you understand why I must ask: what explanation can you offer me that satisfies the matter?”

Edward squeezed his eyes closed. “None.”

Blackstone sounded confused. “None? What can you mean?”

Opening his eyes and focusing them on the bright gaze of the other man, he spoke in a firm voice. In a final one. “None.”

The viscount considered him for a long, long moment. Then, at last, he sighed. “That is unfortunate. But you may change your mind—I will give you a fortnight to come up with a satisfactory explanation or reason why I should not doubt your integrity, Colonel Halstead. Consider your reputation. Consider those under your protection?—”

Edward inclined his head stiffly. “If there is nothing else, my lord, I will take my leave.”

Blackstone waved him away, standing and pacing to the window in evident discontent.

It was a relief to rise and stride from the office. He did not look back.

But the moment he stepped out into the club’s main hall, the weight of what had just transpired settled heavily over Edward. He had not spoken in his own defense, but how could he? The story was not his to tell. There were others with reputations that could be ruined, lives hurt. And now, there might be tangible consequences.

The familiar comfort of Blackstone’s Club felt different now. Tighter. Smaller. Edward moved toward the exit, retrieving his hat and gloves with uncharacteristic urgency. Stepping out onto the pavement, he let the tepid London air wash over him.

For the first time in a long, long while, Edward did not know what to do.

* * *

Felicity should have been watching Daphne. She knew it. She had promised to keep a closer eye on her niece since the event in the garden, and yet her attention kept drifting to Edward on the other side of the ballroom.

Something was wrong.

He was not himself. He was too quiet, too measured. His usual sharp attentiveness was there, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

“The Colonel seems broody,” Mrs. Norman said at her side, from behind her fan. “Is anything amiss, my dear?”

“I cannot think so,” Felicity said, forcing a smile. Mrs. Norman might be a friend, but she was a recent one, and a lady could never keep some matters too close. “My, but Miss Norman looks lovely. That shade of yellow makes her hair look as though it is spun from gold.”

Mrs. Norman let her change the subject, and soon she went away to speak to someone else leaving Felicity free to fret over the colonel again.

Felicity had spent the better part of the evening stealing glances at him, trying to read the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled into loose fists at his sides. He appeared to be avoiding the gentlemen he had previously spent evenings speaking with. Most inexplicable.

Her first thought that something was amiss had been at Briarwood, and she meant to ask, intending to pull him aside and demand to know what troubled him so deeply.

But she had waited too long, and now they were in a public place. The Assembly Rooms. Edward had a friend who asked for a favor, and the favor meant vouchers for this evening at Almack’s. Looking glasses everywhere reflected the candlelight from the chandeliers and sconces, the windows above open to let the warm air drift out and encourage cool air to come in.

Truly, it was a wonderful achievement for a woman of Felicity’s age and background. Even if it was the only time she entered Almack’s for the Season, most would see it as a triumph. But she could hardly think on that with thoughts of Edward’s solemn expression on her mind.

But there was nothing to be done about it, presently. She took in a deep breath, nearly coughed on all the perfumes that entered her lungs at once, and turned her focus back to Daphne…and could not find her among the dancers.

Felicity’s breath caught as her gaze swept the room quickly. Daphne—where was she, she could not have—then her heart slowed a moment. There . Her niece was not far, only a few steps beyond the main gathering, standing near the gilded looking glasses along the wall.

And she was not alone. A man stood too close, his body angled toward her in a way which appeared casual, but Felicity suspected was anything but.

Mr. Richard Arnold.

Felicity’s stomach twisted. Though the gentleman was, Daphne was not smiling. Her posture was poised, but there was a stiffness in her shoulders that Felicity recognized all too well.

She instinctively started forward, but Edward was already moving. He had been across the room mere moments ago but now, he was here. He cut through the gathered guests with precision, his every movement controlled but deliberate. He and Felicity arrived near Daphne at the same moment.

Mr. Arnold did not appear to notice him at first, but when he did, his easy smile faltered.

“Mr. Arnold,” Edward said smoothly, his voice quiet but full of unmistakable authority.

The horrid man straightened slightly, turning to face him. “Colonel Halstead,” he said, his smile returning—forced now, a little too unsteady. “I was making conversation with your charming ward.”

“Were you indeed?” Edward asked, tone pleasant but razor-sharp.

Felicity shivered. Daphne had taken a small, measured step away from Arnold and closer to Edward. It was a tiny shift, but it said everything. The way she looked up at her guardian, with trust and a tight-lipped smile, set Felicity at ease.

Edward’s expression did not change, but Felicity knew he saw it too.

“I would be very careful, Mr. Arnold,” Edward said, voice still too low to carry beyond the four of them. “London is not as large as one might think, nor is one’s reputation so untouchable.”

Mr. Arnold’s jaw flexed. A challenge had been made, though he knew better than to answer it. He gave a short, stiff bow, then turned and walked away. Only when he disappeared into the crowd did Felicity move to put herself between Daphne and anyone possibly watching the exchange.

Daphne turned to Edward, her face still composed, but her voice quieter than usual. “Thank you, Colonel.”

Edward studied her carefully. “Are you well?”

She nodded. “I am now.” Then, she hesitated. As though debating whether to say something.

Edward waited as Felicity’s heart hammered.

“I am afraid I was about to step on his foot,” she admitted finally.

Felicity covered her mouth to keep a sharp, relieved laugh from popping out.

Edward’s frown deepened. “You were what?”

Daphne’s mouth tugged into the smallest of smiles. “It is a trick I learned from Aunt Felicity. If a gentleman stands too close or refuses to move, one need only step onto his toes, hard enough to make him shift away, but not enough to be accused of an outburst. A swift apology always follows, of course, but the pain in the toes remains!”

Edward huffed a quiet, amused breath. He glanced at Felicity, his eyes sparkling. “Not a terrible idea.” He looked at Daphne again. “And if that had failed?”

Daphne lifted her chin slightly. “Then I would have asked, quite loudly, how he had enjoyed his time in debtor’s prison.”

Felicity’s brows lifted. “Mr. Arnold—was in debtor’s prison?”

Daphne’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. “No. But I doubt he would have liked others wondering if he had been.”

Felicity stared at her seemingly unknowable niece. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You were going to handle him yourself,” Edward said, a note of approval in his voice.

Daphne nodded. “I was.”

“But I arrived first.”

“You did.” Daphne reached out and squeezed his arm. “Still, I was glad for your rescue,” she admitted.

Edward said nothing, though Felicity saw him swallow, the movement tight beneath his cravat. Then he inclined his head. “You had better go back to your friends, my dear.”

“Yes, Colonel.” She beamed up at him, at his show of approval and trust. The young woman stepped back toward the gathering crowd, her usual poise returning.

Felicity watched her go, pride swelling in her chest. Daphne had not invited trouble. She had not needed rescuing, and she had been grateful for Edward’s presence all the same. Felicity turned to him, ready to comment on it, but the words died on her lips.

Edward was not watching Daphne. He was staring at nothing in particular, his expression dark and unreadable.

Felicity’s stomach tightened. All her concern for him returned. “Edward?”

His jaw tensed. “Not here, Captain,” he said, his voice lower now. “I cannot speak of it here.” Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Felicity watched him go, unease curling in her chest. Mr. Arnold was gone. Daphne was safe. Whatever could be troubling the man?

The worst thing she could think of in that moment was Edward’s missing son. She had thought on the boy’s fate several times, but she had not dared broach the subject with him again. How could she? It was such a private thing. Having a child out of wedlock was an enormous scandal for all but the highest of classes. Those with money and power, the royal princes included, propagated without care for the legality of the child’s birthright.

But for someone like Edward? He would have to handle the situation delicately.

And what of the boy himself? A boy, to be sure, but given the distance of time, surely almost a man. Would he want a father who had known nothing of him for nearly his whole life? Would he be angry? Did he even know his true parentage?

It was all quite complicated, and Edward had no one to share that burden with. No one except his hired investigator and her.

She would speak to him. Tonight: she had to. Edward needed to know he wasn’t alone.

Of course, he might have said she spent too much time looking after everyone, and perhaps she did. But she did not begrudge the people she loved a single moment of her time. And Edward…

She did not begrudge him those moments, either.

* * *

The carriage ride home was silent, weighted in a way that made Edward uneasy. Daphne sat opposite him, her weary head resting on her aunt’s shoulder, her gaze drifting out the window. She seemed composed, but he knew she was still turning over the events of the evening.

Felicity, on the other hand, was not watching the passing streets. She was watching him.

Edward knew she had noticed his distraction. He had felt the weight of her gaze all night. Though she had not yet pressed him for answers, he knew her well enough to know that soon enough she would. He nearly smiled at the thought of their future tête-à-tête, already picturing the stubborn tilt of her chin when she demanded to know where his thoughts were.

What would he tell her?

He hadn’t the faintest idea.

When the carriage finally rolled to a stop, Edward stepped out first, offering Daphne his hand before doing the same for Felicity. He expected the older woman to release him immediately, to follow her niece upstairs and help the younger woman prepare for bed as usual, but she lingered a moment longer, fingers cool against his palm. He swallowed against the warmth that flickered at the contact, ignoring it as he turned toward the house.

Then Felicity’s voice stopped him. “Daphne, go inside and head upstairs. I will be in shortly.”

Daphne hesitated long enough to glance between them, her sharp mind no doubt piecing together the unspoken tension. She gave a knowing smile and did not argue. “Good night, Aunt Felicity. Good night, Colonel.”

Edward inclined his head in response, waiting until she had definitely disappeared inside before looking at Felicity. The carriage pulled away, leaving them alone in front of the house, the evening air a cool relief from the insipidity of the carriage. He already knew what she would say before she spoke.

“We need to talk.”

Edward exhaled slowly. “Felicity?—”

“No. Not later. Not tomorrow. Now.”

He hesitated, studying her in the dim lamplight. There was no use delaying the inevitable—and there was that tilt to her chin he had anticipated. How had he come to know her so well?

Without a word he turned and strode inside, leading her through the quiet corridor to his study.

The room was dark, save for the glow of a single lamp on the mantel. He lit its mate on the other end, the light flickering over the edges of the room. He did not look at her. Instead, he moved to the lamps near his desk, lighting them one by one.

“Edward, please.” Her voice was softer now, but no less insistent.

He hesitated. “I am thinking how to begin.”

She snorted. The beautiful, charming woman, snorted. It nearly made him smile until she said, “You are stalling.”

Apparently, Felicity had grown to know him quite well, too.

Edward sighed, running a hand along the edge of his desk, his back still to her. He did not want to do this now. Not while his thoughts were still out of order, not while the weight of Blackstone’s warning sat heavy in his chest.

He heard her soft approach, the slippers on her feet whispering against the rug. “You do not have to protect me from whatever this is.” Her words landed harder than he expected. He tensed, fingers curling slightly against the wood of the desk. “Tell me what is wrong,” she said again, quieter this time. “Please.”

“Captain—Felicity. It is not so simple.”

“I care for you.”

Edward froze. The silence between them stretched, humming with tension. Slowly, inch by inch, he turned.

Felicity was standing near him, no more than two steps away, her hands clasped in front of her skirts, her chin tilted upward in that way which told him she would not back down. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes met his with quiet determination, though he could see the slight rise and fall of her breath, the way she steeled herself for his reaction.

“I…I cannot have heard you correctly,” Edward murmured, his heart stuttering in his chest at the lie. He knew what she had said. But he desperately wanted to hear it again.

She swallowed but did not waver. “I care for you, Edward. Deeply. More than I have cared for any man before.”

For a moment, he could do nothing but look at her. He had heard correctly. She had taken a beautiful risk, a brave chance. And he adored her all the more for it.

Before he could stop himself, before he could reason himself out of action—Edward had crossed the space between them and kissed her.

It was not a tentative or uncertain brush of the lips. It was all consuming.

His hand came to her waist, pulling her closer, while his other traced the curve of her jaw, tilting her face up toward him. Her fingers curled into his coat, gripping him as though she might anchor herself there. The warmth of her, the way she leaned into him, the way she had said his name—it was undoing him.

When he finally pulled away, the fiery kiss tangling his thoughts, it was only enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Felicity,” he murmured.

Her voice was breathless. “Yes?”

Edward exhaled, lifting his gaze to hers, searching. “I have a deep affection for you.”

Her eyes softened. “You do?”

His lips quirked in a wry smile. “You doubted it? After that?”

Felicity’s slight smile answered his, and her eyes danced as she gazed up at him. “I didn’t want to assume.”

His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek. “My stubborn, lovely Felicity. I did not even ask permission to kiss you.”

“Did I not give it to you with my words? With my look? Let me give it more clearly. You may kiss me as often as you wish.”

What could he do but kiss her again, after a declaration such as that? He pressed his lips to hers, one hand around her to draw her closer, the other cradling the back of her head as he supported it at the perfect angle for his much taller form to bend and taste her.

Oh, she tasted sweet. She felt soft in his arms, delicate. When his lips parted from hers, he placed a kiss on her forehead. “You will not stamp on my toes, then?”

Felicity laughed and shook her head. “No. Not this time.” She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes briefly, a soft smile touching her lips. For a moment, neither of them spoke, content to stand there in the quiet, in the flickering glow of the lamplight.

Edward marveled at his unexpected good fortune. Felicity cared for him, as he cared for her. She allowed him the privilege of holding her. The gift of her kiss.

But peace, as always, was fleeting.

Felicity pulled back slightly, searching his face. “Edward.”

He sighed, already knowing what was coming. “Must we?”

“Yes.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, reluctant to let the moment go. Then, because there was no point in avoiding it any longer, he exhaled. “Lord Blackstone.”

Her expression sharpened. “The man who owns your club? What about him?”

It had to be said, no matter how painful it would be. “He has heard rumors about me. About my past.”

Her brow furrowed. “What sort of rumors?”

His jaw clenched. “That I ruined a young woman and fled responsibility by joining the military.”

“It is an old story…with some truth to it.” Felicity inhaled slowly. “Is there more?”

Edward hesitated before meeting her gaze. “And he knows that I have been searching. For a child.”

Her breath hitched. “Oh no?—”

“He will not stand for someone less than worthy to belong to his club,” Edward stated in clipped tones. “He has informed me that unless I can prove my honor beyond doubt, provide an explanation both for my actions and the consequences, I will be removed from it.”

Felicity’s fingers curled into fists. “If you are removed, that would cause harm to you.”

“It will cast doubt on my reputation. Yes.” He did not need to say the rest. It would affect her. It would affect Daphne. Everything.

The woman he cared far too much about was quiet for a long moment. Then, her voice low and sure, she said, “That is not fair.”

“It is Society.”

“Ugh. Society.” She shook her head, disgust on her features. “I lecture Daphne about the strictures of Society almost daily, but the unforgiving hypocrites in charge of everything are always eager to dig their claws into someone. Especially someone good. Someone like you. So what shall we do?”

“We?” Edward repeated, looking down at her in bewilderment.

Her eyebrows raised. “Yes, we. Daphne is your ward. I am her aunt. We are a part of your household, your reputation is inextricably linked to ours. We are all in this together, Edward. I am completely on your side at every turn. If you say we ride at dawn, then I will prepare my musket. Or parasol.” She offered him a gentle smile. “Truly. What do you wish for us to do?”

He was silent, moved by her quick acceptance and her tender loyalty to him. It was more than he deserved.

Felicity stepped closer, resting a hand against his chest. “We will find a way through this.”

He looked at her, running his thumb along her jaw. “I believe you actually could, my darling.” He released a sigh. “Let me think on it. I have been given a fortnight to decide what to tell Lord Blackstone.”

Felicity nodded and stepped away, immediately leaving him to curse her absence in the cool air between them. “Do not hesitate to speak to me of it, Edward. Please.”

“I will not,” he promised.

“I had best go attend to Daphne. Good night, Edward.”

“Good night, Captain.” He watched her go, his chest lighter though his burdens remained the same.