Chapter 3
July
Five Years Later
"Mama! Mama!"
I look up from where I am carefully trying to mend a stocking and smile as I see the small grubby face of my niece appear at the door. Beside me, my sister, heavy with her second pregnancy, gets up from the rocking chair to meet her child.
Behind them, the child's governess is standing in the shade of the large rowan tree outside my front door.
I set my mending down, stretching my hands with a contented sigh. It is far too beautiful a day to be left inside, and I know Rosalie needs to walk every so often.
I stand, making sure my mending is tucked away. I pick up a basket near the entryway as I head outside to meet Rosalie and Charlotte.
"Shall we hunt for berries?" I ask, smiling at Charlotte.
She nods, her golden curls bouncing. "Yes! Yes!" she cries, reaching for the basket. I offer it to her as she toddles off to her governess. Rosalie stands, stretching her back with a small wince.
"Do you need to sit?" I ask her.
She shakes her head. "I will be fine for a small walk," she tells me. "Let us go."
I loop my arm through hers, and we set off slowly behind her daughter.
Charlotte will be four soon, and she has the elegance of her mother and the regal command of her father. Her frequent visits with Rosalie have been the only thing keeping me company over the last five years since my husband was sent away to war.
There has been no word from him. I do not know if he is even alive anymore. What was meant to be a months-long assignment has turned into a nearly fiev-year campaign. It is only when one of the duke's messengers appears at my door with new land titles for me and an announcement of another one of my husband's promotions that I hear anything at all.
The duke, true to his word, set me up on land with servants, but the isolation the first year nearly drove me mad. If it had not been for Rosalie's visits, I would have surely lost my mind.
Things got better after that, and though Rosalie could only spend some seasons with me, I have made friends with the staff of my house.
Ahead of us, Charlotte lets out a peal of laughter as she catches sight of a frog near the pond.
"You must come down for Charlotte's birthday," Rosalie says, looking at me. "I know it is sometimes hard for you to leave your home, but it would mean the world to have you there."
I glance at my sister. In the five years I have been living at Rowanberry Manor, I have hardly left. It has become a safe place for me, a place I have crafted away from the cruelty of the world.
"I will come," I promise my sister, even though telling her this makes me immediately anxious. She squeezes my hand a little.
The last time I left Rowanberry was when Charlotte was born. I could do it again for her birthday.
Under the willow tree, Charlotte is laughing, chasing frogs, the berries forgotten.
"Auntie!"
I lift my head, leaving Rosalie to sit on a low bench placed under the tree as I make my way to the water's edge.
"Yes, my Little Love," I say, squatting beside my niece.
She holds her muddy hands out to me. "Look!"
She cups her palms and slowly pulls them back to reveal a small green frog. The moment there is space enough, he leaps from her hands, making both of us squeal in surprise. We try to catch him, but he is bounding into the water before we can get hold of his slippery body.
I laugh, settling on the ground, and pull Charlotte into my arms.
She snuggles into me, her soft head nuzzling against my chest.
"He was a handsome frog," I tell her. "But I think he must be in quite a hurry to get home."
"Why?" she asks.
I hum. "Perhaps he has a family to get back to."
I do not really think about my words until they are out of my mouth. I feel the heaviness of them settle over me, though Charlotte of course does not understand what I have just unintentionally said.
I wonder if I shall ever see my husband again.
"Darling." I look up at Rosalie, who is watching me with a heavy gaze, and I realize she must have heard me as well. "Come. Let your auntie sit with me a while," she says. Charlotte nods, climbing out of my lap. I stand, brush my skirt off, and join Rosalie on the bench.
The moment I sit, she takes my hand in hers, patting it gently.
"He will come back," she says gently.
I glance at her. "But he will still be a stranger."
Almost five years married to a man that I can barely remember. It had not even been until months after he departed that I had learned his name at all. He was a stranger who left me the first morning of our new life together.
Rosalie pats the back of my hand.
"The duke says he is a good man," she says softly. "He has risen in the ranks too."
I nod mutely. I know this only because whenever he has been offered a promotion, Rowanberry Manor is gifted another parcel of acreage by the duke. What was once a cottage, now stands as a manor fit for a lord.
"He will come home, and you will find that he is more wonderful than your heart could have dreamed." Rosalie sighs. "And you will have one hundred beautiful little children."
I bark out a laugh and she grins at me. Rosalie is such a romantic, despite her own life not turning out quite as dreamy as the one she is painting for me.
The duke loves her in his own way, I am sure, but his affections have waned considerably. He is not the sparkling jewel she once believed him to be, nor has my sister been the sweet compliant wife he expected either.
There is friction in their marriage, but thus far, it has stayed minimal and is cured by Rosalie's excessive visits to Rowanberry.
We sit under the willow for a while longer before the air grows cool. The sun is still in the sky, but evening is on its way, and we decide to head back to the manor.
Charlotte, in her exhaustion, cannot walk, so I scoop her up, holding her tight to my chest as Rosalie strolls carefully beside me.
The sun is just beginning its descent when the manor falls into our view. There is a carriage outside and a host of horses that brings my feet to an abrupt halt.
Rosalie looks back at me in alarm, but my heart is racing in my chest, my grip tightening over Charlotte as I stare at the manor.
He is home.
A loud ringing starts up in my ears, and my palms grow sweaty.
I can hear servants calling out to each other as they scramble to welcome my husband home.
"Bella," Rosalie starts. I ignore her. I can barely hear her at all with how loud my heart is thumping in my ears.
I force my feet to take a step forward, then another, my heart picking up into a gallop as I approach the house.
When I am ten paces from the front door, there is a shout as someone says my name, and then he is there, filling the doorway as his brilliant emerald eyes seek me out.
The air leaves my body.
He is larger than he was when he left, broader and more defined. Where his cheeks were once smooth, there is now a coppery beard, making him look so much older.
He is no longer the boy who left. He is a man, and he is gazing at me like I am a storm on the horizon.
"Bella," he says, and I watch as his chest deflates slightly when he whispers my name. He rushes forward, his stride powerful and strong as he climbs down the manor steps. Before Rosalie can take her child, he is before me, pulling me into a crushing hug that takes my breath away.
It is the first time a man has ever hugged me in my life.
He smells of orange and woodsmoke and leather.
Before I can say anything, he shifts, his arms coming up to cup my face, and then his lips are on mine, firm and hungry, foreign and familiar. I gasp, and his tongue snakes into my mouth, stroking my own and provoking a nearly visceral response from me.
He pulls back, his hands still cupped around my face, his bright gaze searching my eyes.
"Bella," he says, his breathing slightly ragged.
I take my own shuddering breath. "Welcome home, Edward."
…
"Have we a daughter?"
I look up at Edward from where I am sitting in the parlor. Rosalie took Charlotte up to their rooms while I followed my husband inside to talk.
"What?" I ask, then belatedly recall Charlotte. "Oh, no. She is my sister's daughter."
Edward nods, pacing away from me to pour himself a glass of wine. "Good," he says.
I frown. "Good?" I prod.
He looks at me in surprise. "Yes," he says, nodding his head once. I can feel my temper snapping to the surface. The temper I did not know I had until I got out from under my grandmother's thumb.
"And why would it be so bad to have a daughter?" I demand.
He drinks his goblet of wine, his eyes fixed on me. When he is done, he turns to refill the goblet before looking back at me.
"There is nothing wrong with having a daughter," he says after drinking the second goblet. "In fact, I am hoping to have many daughters with you. Sons too, God willing."
I stare at him, feeling a little confused. He sets his goblet down and stalks toward me. "But I wish to be here for the beginning of their lives." He stops just short of me, his eyes flickering over my body. "And I wish to see you carry all of our children."
One of his hands comes up, resting against my hip, his thumb brushing over my stomach as he speaks. I flinch in surprise, unaccustomed to his touch.
I see regret flash through his eyes as he lets me go. I want to reassure him, but I do not have the words.
The tension grows in the room as we are both reminded that we are complete strangers.
Before things can get too tense, one of my maids enters the room.
"I beg your pardon, my Lady," she says, glancing nervously at Edward. "Supper is ready."
"Thank you, Angela," I tell her, drawing her focus back onto me. She nods once and retreats from the room, as if she is frightened of Edward.
Does she have reason to be?
I look across the room at him. "Are you hungry?" I ask him.
He stares at me. "Yes," he says finally. I nod, gather as much dignity as I can muster, straighten my back, and leave the room, expecting him to follow me.
He does, and I lead him toward the small dining hall located in the south end of the manor.
The table is laden with just a little more grandeur than usual. Platters of golden leeks and onions sit beside braised beef and pork pies. There is a pile of barley cakes and at least three types of pottage. I move to take a seat at my normal spot—the head of the table—but then pause, looking back at Edward. He is watching me silently, waiting to see what I will do.
Feeling a little bit impetuous, I yank the chair out and take a seat, making eye contact with him the whole time.
He covers a small smile as he takes the seat to my left.
Before I can say anything, other men are flowing into the room, eagerly seeking food. I recognize their uniforms, and I realize they must all be his men.
I am almost immediately embarrassed about the seat I have taken, and I move to get up, but Edward motions the men all to take a seat around the table. I see their eyes cutting between him and myself, and I feel my cheeks grow warm.
Finally, Rosalie comes down and takes the last open seat, three down from me. I wish she were closer, but she does not seem to mind as she settles in at the table.
As a duchess, my sister outranks all of us, but no one seems to be too worried about it as she laughs and starts reaching for food.
Edward's men take her cue and begin serving their own food. I can feel Edward's eyes on me, waiting for me to begin before he does too. I force myself not to look at him as I fill my plate.
"It is lovely to sit down to a civilized meal," one of the men jokes, giving me a gracious nod of his head.
I nod back. "We are happy to host you all," I say quietly. In truth, I wish they would all just go away. I miss the usual quiet of Rowanberry already.
"I am sure all these years away have left you with many stories," Rosalie says, her eyes, scanning the table. They land on my husband, and though she is still sweet and demure, I recognize the tight edge in her voice as she speaks. "Will not you regale us with tales of your adventures?"
I feel Edward stiffen beside me, feel the tension in his body as she speaks. Instinctually, I want to reach out, to shield him from the question that clearly makes him uncomfortable, but part of me is a little satisfied to see him like this. It serves him right for leaving for five years without word to his wife.
"Surely you do not want to be bored by stories of war," Edward says. While I do not know him well, even I can hear the tension in his voice.
"Come now, General," Rosalie persists. "Entertain us."
Something is shifting in Edward. I can feel his anger and annoyance, and it is directed at my very stubborn sister.
Before I can think better of it, I lean forward. "General?" I ask, and Edward's gaze lifts to me. "I did not know you had been made a general."
His annoyance is wiped clear, followed by his surprise. "Yes," he says after a moment. "It was a recent promotion."
He says it off-handedly, but even I know it is an impressive rank. Edward was far more successful on his campaign than I was led to believe.
Thankfully, one of Edward's men draws the attention of most of the table, his loud voice booming as he regales Rosalie with a story from their time away.
I ignore him, my attention on my plate as I try not to make it obvious I am really paying attention to Edward.
I want to know who this man is, for it is clear he is not the boy who left me five years prior.
"What is on your mind?"
I look up at Edward, surprised to find him speaking to me directly.
"Nothing," I say quickly then turn to my plate. I pick up a fig pastry with my fingers, taking a bite from it. I do not lean on the table manners I was raised on, and part of me is horrified by my rudeness.
But part of me is thrilled with this small act of defiance.
The fig is sweet, and the crust is flaky and sticks to my lips with the honey drizzle. I try to lick my lips, but before I can, Edward is raising his hand, his thumb coming up and brushing over my mouth. My breathing stops as he rubs at my lips, his gaze focused on his actions.
Five years gave me many things, but the one thing I did not learn was how to be comfortable with men. With my husband gone, I had been without any sort of intimate touch.
I do not know how to react, but my breathing goes shallow.
When Edward lets me go, I realize I am shaking.
I duck my head, grabbing a cloth to wipe at my mouth as I try to steady the trembling of my body. I do not know how I can feel so frightened in my body and not in my mind.
Instead of focusing on the fear coursing through my heart, or the confusing look on my husband's face, I turn my focus on the rest of the table, pretending to care about what is being said.
I am once again grateful for my sister who keeps the table entertained with her charm. Despite themselves, Edward's men are all tripping over themselves to please Rosalie, and she entertains them all with grace.
It takes an immense amount of pressure off of me.
After supper, many of the men excuse themselves to drink in the garden. The world is still warm from the summer sun even though it is dark, and the men seem eager to take advantage of it. Rosalie, exhausted from her evening of entertaining, excuses herself for bed, leaving me with Edward.
I want to escape him, to run to my room and hide and try to figure out what to do.
But there is no running from him.
We are still sitting in the hall as the servants come in to clear plates away. The silence is heavy, uncomfortable. I cannot take it anymore.
"I am going to retire," I whisper, brushing my mouth once more with a cloth before standing.
Edward climbs to his feet automatically, and my eyes rake over him warily. "I wonder if you might show me our room."
Our room.
My breathing goes shallow again, and for a moment, I am paralyzed.
Then I nod, stepping away from the table, and Edward falls into step beside me.
We are silent as I lead him upstairs in the manor to our room.
The room where I not once had thought about Edward occupying one day.
Inside the large double doors, the room is comfortable, though not overly lavish. The four-poster bed is tall and draped with emerald curtains that match the forest-scene tapestries on the walls. There is a small hearth across from the bed, and beside it, a dark red wood table and chairs where I often take my breakfast. It is a grand room to someone like me, though I know that compared to Rosalie's room at the duke's house, it is quite modest.
I turn anxiously toward Edward, suddenly wary to know what he thinks of it.
He steps into the room, and I watch his back as he takes in all the details. I have seen Rosalie's room, and I know that my chambers are missing a number of trinkets and preparations that Rosalie considers essential in her beauty regimen. Since I am mostly isolated, it did not occur to me to have my own.
Now, as I watch Edward make his way around the room, I wonder what sort of life I will lead now. Will it be expected of me to look and behave a certain way?
The thought makes me queasy.
Edward turns to me, and I realize his eyes match the curtains on the bed.
"You are trembling," he observes.
I clasp my hands around myself, trying to keep myself steady. "No man has ever entered this room," I tell him, watching for his reaction.
One of his eyebrows lifts, as if surprised, and he looks around the room again. "Then you have been faithful while I was away."
His words are not accusatory, but that is how I take them. They spark a fit of righteous anger in me, and I drop my hands from around myself.
"Why would I have not been faithful?" I hiss. He turns to look at me. "Were you?"
He seems amused by my temper. "I was in the middle of a war," he says, his voice dry. "What opportunity do you suppose there was for me to break my marriage vows?"
I scowl. "That is no answer," I point out, petulant.
"Are you accusing me of breaking our marriage vows?" His voice is low and dangerous, and for a moment, I hesitate.
But then my traitorous mouth keeps going without my permission. "Do men not consider such vows optional?" I think of my sister's marriage and the mistresses the duke keeps.
Edward strides toward me, his long steps carrying him to me far too quickly.
"What do you want to hear?" he demands, his body far too large this close to me. "Do you want to hear about the atrocities of war I committed, the nights I cried myself raw, longing to be in the arms of the wife I had to abandon immediately after our wedding? Do you want to hear about the way I dreamt of you, how you were the only beacon of hope that got me through the carnage?"
Tears are blooming rapidly in my eyes and falling down my cheeks as his words slam into me. He paces away from me, shaking his head. "The thought that I could ever even look at another woman." He groans. "I made a vow to you, and that vow saved my life, time and time again." He turns to look at me. "That vow brought me home."
My tears are flowing, relentless and unstoppable. I have no words, and guilt settles heavily into my stomach when he looks at me hopefully.
Like he is waiting for me to confess my undying love.
I cannot—the words will not come—and for a moment, I see it crush him.
He turns away from me, and I bite back a sob.
"I need a drink," he says, and before I can stop him, he is striding back out of the bedchamber. I am left standing there, weeping over feelings I do not even understand.