4
"He seemed awfully nervous." Bella paused, her hand hovering over the bowl, the ladle full to the brim of steaming stew though not a drop was spilled in her practiced hands.
Her husband offered her a small smile. "Grief shows its face in many ways," he said wisely.
She arched a brow, but then finished pouring the soup into the bowl. She dipped the ladle into the pot again for more. "He wouldn't speak to me."
She could hear petulance in her tone, and she hated it. She wanted the men in her world to take her as seriously as they took her husband, and she knew her temper—and subsequent proclivities toward tantrums—did nothing to aid her.
She heard the chair scrape against the wood floor, and then his arms wrapped around her, his apple scent grounding her as his head rested on her shoulder. Her body sang at the contact between them, and she felt the tension leave her back as she sank into him.
"No one knows," he murmured, his lips running along her skin. "Just how lost I'd be without you." His tongue painted a picture on her neck, and her head rolled to the side, providing him better access to his favorite canvas.
Her breaths grew deeper, her chest rising heavily, and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the delicate bones beneath her throat. "They have no idea you are the brains behind any of my genius."
She turned to him, her whisky eyes bright with firelight and hunger. Not for the bowl of soup cupped between her palms, but for her husband. "You are the most skilled and passionate man I know," she whispered, her voice reverent. "You have more than earned your reputation."
His hands shifted over her body, gently wrapping under her jaw, cradling her head. His lips met hers tenderly, and they spoke more in their touches than they ever could with words.
He pulled back from her, his thumbs brushing her cheeks and lips before he let her go and took the bowl from her hands. She let out a small breath, turning to fill the second bowl.
With Bear happily gnawing a pair of chicken's feet in the corner, the two of them sat down for supper.
"His mistress has heirlooms," Edward said, a few moments after they started to eat. His wife looked up at him. "Heirlooms she doesn't wish to go to any of her descendents."
Bella nodded. "What sort of heirlooms?"
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It left a drop of soup at the corner of his mouth, and before he could make any move to wipe it away, his wife's fingers were there, gently rubbing him clean. He smiled, kissing her fingertips.
"Rings, a few pendants. One coronet that should be quite slim."
He watched his wife's eyes flicker to life, her mind racing with intricate and flawless designs. She really was the brains behind his unique coffins. It had been her idea, back when they were children, to build hidden places into his coffins. She had a mind for mechanics, and with his practiced hands, together they began to construct coffins with built-in compartments; places to hide family heirlooms or relics. Sometimes, people wanted to be buried with their things without the risk of being robbed in the grave, and sometimes people wanted to hide things from their loved ones. It was never their place to judge; the coffin maker and his wife only constructed per their client's wishes.
"The rings and pendants should be easy," Bella said slowly, her finger tracing absently over the tabletop. "The coronet might take a little more work."
The coffin maker loved watching her plan. She sparked to life when given a challenge, and he loved to see her passion bloom behind her eyes.
"Will we be able to get specific dimensions?" she asked, meeting his eyes.
He nodded. "Garrett said he would return in a fortnight to accompany us to Whitehall Manor."
Bella's eyes widened. "Whitehall Manor?" she asked, and her husband watched the emotions flicker over her face as she took in this information. "Nobility." The word was a whispered thought, not a question, though her husband nodded in agreement anyway. Bella blinked, tucking the information away as her mind ran over the rest of his announcement. "Us?"
Edward smiled, and his large, warm hand gathered up hers on the tabletop. "Yes, my love. Us. I told him I would not work without you."
A good man, her heart sang, every time she laid eyes upon her love. Such a good man.