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Chapter 18

I wake up feeling surprisingly rested.

Too rested, actually. Did I miss the alarm?

Oh, shit... please, no...

If I'm late again, Tanya's definitely going to fire me this time.

Panicked, I fumble through the sheets, searching for my phone. That's when I remember where I am—and everything else, too.

Including last night. Especially that.

Oh.

I blink as my brain finally kicks into gear. Why is it so bright outside, anyway? What time is it?

There's a knock on the door, and Fanny, Siobhan's kitchen helper who's taken over Jessica's duties for the last few days, peeks into the room. "Madame, it is almost noon," she says timidly.

Well, that's convenient.

Hmm… If Fanny is here, hopefully that means that Jessica's still at her mother's—thank God! I need more time to come up with a story to cover for the gown and the cut on my cheek. Which is still tender, by the way.

"Lady Buchan sent me to check on you and ask if you would be willing to join the ceremony," Fanny explains apologetically.

Right. The Boxing Day ceremony that's scheduled for noon… Shit, I am late.

"Yes, of course." I let out a sigh. "Please tell my aunt that I am coming downstairs in a few minutes."

"Thank you, madame." Fanny lingers in the doorway. Then her face turns a shade of pink and she hurriedly adds, "And congratulations!" With that, she awkwardly curtsies and runs out of the room.

What the heck?

I don't have time to think it over, though. Instead, I quickly examine my cheek in the mirror. The cut is definitely there, as well as a blue-purple bruise around it. Honestly, I expected much worse. Relieved, I rush through a shortened version of my morning routine—seriously, how many petticoats does a person need?! One is already one too many!—and race downstairs.

I find Maggie in the living room, looking tiny behind gift boxes of various sizes and shapes piled haphazardly on the coffee table. The boxes are wrapped in glossy brown paper and decorated with ribbons in every color of the rainbow. I know for a fact that the ribbons alone are quite expensive. No doubt, instead of being thrown away, they'll end up being used to trim dresses and skirts, which is part of Maggie's plan as well. All of our servants except Jessica are here, waiting patiently. As if on cue, they turn to stare at me—whether it's because I'm late or sporting a cut on my cheek, I'm not sure. Either way, I feel bad for holding things up.

Maggie greets me with oddly exaggerated enthusiasm and shoots me a wide-eyed look that I once again have no idea how to interpret. Finally, Alistair emerges out of the library, and the ceremony begins.

It's short and sweet, and for the umpteenth time, I can't help but feel ridiculously lucky to have ended up with the Buchans instead of anyone else. Alistair thanks each servant personally, acknowledging and praising their strengths and accomplishments. He knows how to speak, too; his words feel genuine, unlike the clichéd "we're one big family" nonsense that some managers still try to force on people in my time. It seems Alistair actually believes that these people are, in a way, part of his family. Everyone gets a present—a cloth or food item, or a book, as well as a small but not too small amount of money. No wonder that many of them have been in the house for decades, and some, like absent Jessica, are second generation Buchan servants.

After all the presents are distributed, and all the thanks and hugs are exchanged, Maggie grabs my hand and pulls me with her to the library. Alistar follows and closes the door.

I'm not nervous per se, but… okay, you got me, I am nervous.

What if someone saw me last night? Or Edward? The bodies?! Nah, Edward, with his heightened senses and mind-reading abilities would know, right?

Oh god, Edward. Edward, Edward, Edward…where's he? I miss him. I need… Okay, I'll think about him later, as soon as whatever my uncle and aunt want from me is settled.

"Isabella!" Maggie bursts out the moment the three of us are alone. "Our sincerest congratulations! What a most splendid surprise!" Her expression flickers between excitement and concern. "But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what happened to your cheek?!"

I glance at Alistair, who raises an eyebrow and waits for me to answer. I shake my head.

"Would someone please tell me what is happening?!" I ask exasperatedly. "And my cheek is truly fine. It appears far worse than it feels. I merely stumbled and fell on the corner of the dresser." This lie earns a solid C- for creativity, but it's the best I can manage right now.

Alistair clears his throat. "Pray, exercise caution in the future, for scars are ill-suited to accompany wedding gowns. As for your question, this morning, while you were lost in the arms of Morpheus, Mr. Edward Masen paid me a visit. He told me that you and he had reached an understanding and he formally requested your hand in marriage."

It takes me a few seconds to process his words. I stare at him, eyes wide, mouth open and possibly drooling, and my heart pounds so loudly that I can feel it both in my chest and my ears.

Edward did what?!

What kind of understanding did we come to, and when did this happen? Did I sleep through that, too?!

Maggie misreads my reaction and hurries over. "Oh, my darling, this is most wonderful news," she croons, taking my both hands in hers. "It was so very clear to me that Mr. Masen took a place in your heart immediately. You should promptly dismiss any previous doubts I may have expressed regarding his ability to balance his music with family." She reaches to cup my cheek, and her tone is gentle and loving, as always. "That he is a man of dignity and true character, that is the most important aspect of any partnership, especially one as permanent as marriage. You shall find your happiness with him. I feel it in my heart."

"Amen," Alistair chimes in with a smirk. I suspect he doesn't feel things in his heart as strongly as Maggie does. "Now, let us return to the conversation. I told Edward that first and foremost, we must speak to you. Should this be your wish, I shall raise no objections whatsoever."

He turns to Maggie and they exchange a meaningful glance. "We did discuss the finances to a degree, however, and I am pleased to report that Edward received the news very well—better than I would expect from anyone."

At this point, I realize I've hit my limit. If they say anything else, like "By the way, the wedding is tomorrow"—which, mind you, wouldn't even surprise me right now—I might just have a panic attack or drop dead.

I whisper, "Please, give me a minute," and cradle my head in my hands, elbows resting on my knees, as I take slow, deep breaths. I focus on the rhythm of my breathing, inhaling deeply through my nose and exhaling slowly through my mouth. With each breath, I count to four, just like I was taught. Gradually, my heart rate slows, and I feel better—or at least not like I'm about to throw up. Alistair and Maggie patiently wait for me to pull myself together, not giving any indication that they find my behavior strange.

"Thank you," I say. "Please continue. About my… finances."

Alistair takes a deep breath and grimaces.

"About that. As you are well aware, following James's death and the revelation that his lawyer, Mr. Laurent, had deceived us with fraudulent documents, we were forced to sell most of the assets outlined in your marriage settlement to cover your late husband's debts. Only a very small fraction of your dowry was preserved." He looks at me somberly. "That is precisely what I told Edward. That if he expected a significant contribution from your side, that would not be the case. He countered that it did not matter in the slightest and that despite his modest upbringing, his finances were in order and quite plenty. That should you become Mrs. Edward Masen, you would live a very comfortable life."

Alistair sighs again, clearly feeling uneasy about the topic. "I informed him, with apologies, of our unfortunate history with your late husband and explained that I would need to request tangible proof of his current situation. He was very understanding."

Oh.

That's why Isabella lives with her aunt and uncle. Because she has no home and no money, duh—except for those dowry leftovers that weren't lost in the aftermath of her disastrous marriage. Isabella would have never been able to survive on her own, or at least maintain the lifestyle she was accustomed to. It looks like the Buchans have been paying for everything and keeping her own money intact in the hope that if she wanted to remarry one day, she wouldn't be a completely penniless bride.

I swallow a lump in my throat and nod. "I am so glad that Mr. Masen managed to make such a favorable impression. I am so very happy to be… united with him… in matrimony."

This is just insane.

I feel the overwhelming need to escape the stifling air of the library before I start hyperventilating again.

"Uncle Alistair, Aunt Maggie… thank you. I am certain that I have not thanked you often enough. For everything… for taking me in after… James… for sheltering me all this time. I am so very grateful." I let out a single embarrassing sob. Maggie pulls me into a tight hug, and Alistair joins in, embracing us both.

Then he pats me on the back and says, "Go rest, child. Your betrothed is expected to visit you in the evening."

XXX

I don't even bother trying to "rest," as Alistair suggested. Instead, I spend hours pacing my room, trying to wrap my mind around the sudden chaos in my life.

How can so much happen in less than 24 hours? If this were a movie script, I'd be railing against the writers for their absolutely implausible pacing. First, I get almost raped on a nice late-night walk, then Edward saves me, unapologetically killing my assailants and in the process, revealing his inhuman nature. Then, we have a "talk" and a mini-makeout session, during which I learn that he's a vegan vampire with mind-reading abilities. Then, he sort of confesses his feelings, and the next thing I know is that we're already engaged, or so everybody thinks.

I mean, I'm no stranger to crazy, but this is a bit much even for me.

The more I ponder it, the angrier I get.

What was he thinking? Why talk to Alistair about something that hasn't even come up between us yet? What's the rush? Sure, Alistair might have taken on some financial responsibilities for me, but he's not my guardian, and I'm not some underage debutante.

I'm a widow, for fuck's sake!

Even by the standards of this time, I'm supposed to be an independent woman. Don't I have any say in this?

Is this how it's going to be between us now? I've never thought of myself as a hardcore feminist, but now I'm livid at this obvious highhandedness that no one but me seems to notice.

Edward arrives at 6 o'clock, and the moment I see him, I forget whatever I was obsessing about earlier. He looks just as gorgeous as always, if not better, with admiration and something else—incredulity maybe?—sparkling in his golden eyes whenever he glances at me. Alistair and Maggie are here, too, and we have a polite conversation, during which they congratulate Edward and me once again, and then leave the room under the pretense of having a "fiscal arrangement" meeting with Mr. Felps. Maggie closes the door behind her.

In a flash, Edward is beside me on the couch, cradling my face and kissing me on the lips. My heart races a mile a minute, and all I can think about is how I need to get closer to him, to drown in his maddening scent. He's bolder today, too. His hands roam over my back and shoulders, and I respond by repeating my earlier attempt to lick his lips. He lets me, unable to suppress a moan.

"Oh, Bella, what are you doing to me?" he whispers, and my skin immediately breaks into goosebumps.

Not without an effort, I pull back just a little, tracing the perfectly straight line of his nose with my fingertips before sliding to his soft, delicious lips.

"So, I hear we are engaged now… How? I don't remember being asked," I say gently.

His shy smile is glorious. "Forgive me. You were fast asleep, and I could not wait a moment longer, so I went straight to your uncle," he says, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my fingertips one by one. I shudder from the sensation. The urge to stop talking and resume exploring his magnificent body is very strong, but I know I can't.

"Edward." I cup his cheek. "Even in Jane Austen's novels, the hero always asks the heroine first. Before going to her dad or male relative. What possessed you to go to my uncle? What if I do not want to be engaged?"

He freezes for a moment and then leans back. Possibly regretting the loss of contact just like I do, he takes my hand.

"I considered the potential reservations," he assures me, absentmindedly circling my palm with his thumb. "It is true that I am unfamiliar with the customs of matrimony in your time. And I am eager to learn, should you be inclined to teach me. However, to achieve this, or have the pleasure of your company in general—which, as you told me last night, is your wish—we must be betrothed and ultimately married." His gaze is intense and searching. "Our society permits no other form of "friendship" between a man and a woman who are not related."

"Oh, I know that," I murmur. This is something I expected him to say, but it still makes me feel uneasy.

"There is another aspect… It is my greatest wish to make your life as secure as possible," he continues. "While your uncle and aunt are indeed most generous, I imagine that you desire a household of your own and a measure of independence. I must apologize for being privy to your, or rather, Isabella's, financial affairs. Rest assured, in a union with me, such matters will cease to be of any concern."

I take a deep breath. "Edward, it does make sense, and you're right in your own way. You are very generous, too. However… this doesn't change the fact that you should have waited for me to discuss this." I stand up and walk across the room, partly to create some distance between us and clear my mind and partly to channel my frustration. "If we're engaged, then what happens next? Not that you have proposed already, by the way… just saying. What happens after a month or two?" I have no idea how long an average engagement lasts at this time, but if you apply common sense, it can't be too long. "Edward, we can't get married."

I can't believe I'm saying this.

"And why is that so?" his voice cracks. "Are you married… then, too?"

I furrow my brows. "What? No, of course not. Why? I told you I was single."

"Oh…" There's a long pause that feels like an eternity. "It appears you are not entirely bereft of reason," Edward says quietly, his voice suddenly flat and devoid of emotion. His face is an impenetrable mask. "I am pleased to see that you have reconsidered your position. This is for the best, truly." He rises from the couch, not looking at me. "I shall explain to Sir Alistair that my rush decision is the reason… Forgive me, madame."
"Edward, can you stop it please?!" I almost shout and rush to him, trying to push him back into the couch. It's an unexpectedly difficult task but eventually, I succeed. "That's not at all what I mean! What I said last night? I still stand behind every word of it."

He says nothing and continues to avoid my gaze, staring into the distance, silently waiting for me to elaborate. I will myself to focus on the conversation and not on how my chest hurts.

"First of all, there are practical aspects… What if I spontaneously travel back one day, or even somewhere else? I still have no idea how it works, so that is a possibility. What if Isabella Dwyer is reinstalled in my place? You'd be married to her then. What would you do? There's no divorce, remember?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes for a moment.

"If you are taken from me prematurely, I shall remain eternally grateful for each day we shared," he says somberly. "As for Isabella… My kind has, over the centuries, devised various ways of feigning death. Should such a situation arise, she will be promptly relieved of the burden of our marriage."

I imagine poor Isabella Dwyer having to deal with another dead husband, and Maggie and Alistair having to deal with her, and wince.

"I can see that you have everything planned… without my input, though," I say with a wry smile. "Edward, I'll be honest. Marriage, in general, is not very attractive to me due to my personal history, but marriage in this century? Downright terrifying."

"And why is that?" he asks begrudgingly.

"Okay, if we're having this conversation now… One word: coverture. Ring a bell?" I ask him tersely.

"Ring... a bell?" he repeats exasperatedly. "I am lost, Bella."

Shit. "Um… I mean, do you know it? The word?"

"Oh… Oh, yes, madame," he replies, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "I'm familiar with the terms of English common law."

"Good, I just want to make sure you aren't confusing it with couverture chocolate. Because there's nothing sweet about it, really," I say, matching his tone. "So, correct me if I'm wrong, but a married woman here has nothing—no civil rights, no money… it all belongs to her husband, with whom they are "the same person," and that person is… drumroll… you got it, the husband!" I dramatically throw my hands in the air. "And at the risk of repeating myself, there's no divorce. Who in their right mind would want to marry here anyway?!"

Edward stares at me completely in shock. "Bella, I… You are incorrect… You are entirely misunderstanding the nature of marriage…" He presses his palms in the hollows of his eyes and chuckles humorlessly. "It is rather unusual to speak of it in such plain terms, yet marriage involves the husband caring for his wife, providing for her, and ensuring that life is tolerable for one another…"

I don't let him finish. "I just need you to understand that in my world, marriage is different. The wife is not an extension of a man that needs to be taken care of. She's an equal. A woman doesn't need to get married for protection or to be socially accepted, or whatever… She can have a family without getting married, too. It's not considered a sin or anything… although, many still choose traditional marriage for various reasons. I'm not saying that it's perfect there… But all I'm trying to say is that I can't imagine being in a union where I am considered a lesser human… And yes, I see the irony here."

Edward forcefully exhales and shakes his head. "But you are highly mistaken here! I would never, ever consider you a lesser human. How?" He cuts himself off, tugging at his hair with both hands in frustration. "Even the mere thought of it seems absurd! You mean everything to me, Bella, though you may not yet understand that. I recognize that only time will reveal my devotion to your happiness and well-being. I hope that as you come to know me more fully you will see this for yourself." His gaze is pleading and so sad that it breaks my heart to say the next words.

"Edward, I do not doubt your intentions. You do not need to prove yourself. You have already saved my life twice. What other proof do I need? I am talking about something different. We aren't even married yet, but you're already making decisions for the both of us. Why? Because you know better, or you lived longer? Because you're a man?" I pause for breath, making an effort to calm down. "This is how this society operates, and that's okay. But I just can't be a happy part of that."

There's another long pause. "This is a great deal to comprehend," he says quietly. "I shall require some time to reflect upon this. It is definitely most intriguing. Do I understand correctly that marriage is not a prerequisite for forming a family in your world? I presume there are alternative methods for establishing the paternity of one's children… otherwise, how would one preserve the bloodlines?" He walks to the window, graceful as ever, and then all of a sudden stops and glances back at me, his features marred by a new expression of pain.

My stomach sinks. What now?

"This..." he begins dejectedly but again cuts himself short, closing his eyes for a moment. "This leads me to a matter of which I must ensure you are fully aware." He looks into the window so that I can't see his face, but his posture says volumes. "There exists another reason why you might wish to have nothing to do with me—if my very nature is not reason enough for you to flee without a backward glance. Surely, through your acquaintance with folklore and literature, you are informed that my kind are not born, but rather "made," and thus, we can neither bear, nor father children. Should this prove an insurmountable obstacle, you must inform your family that new circumstances have transpired, and I shall remove myself from your life entirely." He sighs heavily. "Rest assured, the knowledge of our supposed engagement shall not leave this house, as the servants have been instructed to maintain discretion."

Edward then meets my gaze, and I notice a deep line crossing his forehead that wasn't there before.

I blink several times as his words register.

Say what?

"Edward, this!" I exclaim. "This is what I'm talking about! This is important! How could you NOT tell me about that before speaking to Alistair?" I'm now shouting for real, and I don't care. "And no, it didn't occur to me to wonder if you can or cannot have children, because newsflash?! I only learned about your vam—"

He jumps to me and presses his palm to my mouth, eyes wide. "Bella, please be quiet," he hisses. "Half of the household is listening by the door."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whisper back. He upsets me more than I can say right now, but the last thing I want is to get us in trouble. "Anyway." I swallow and continue in a low voice, "I only learned about your… nature a few hours ago. I didn't have time to process anything. And although I have no plans of becoming a mother in the foreseeable future, you," I jab my index finger into his chest, "have no way of knowing that!"

He stands in front of me, head down, shoulders sagging, and there's such a mixture of despair and resignation on his face that I want to cry. My heart squeezes in pain seeing him like this, but I need to stand my ground. This is probably my only chance to set this side of our relationship straight—if there is a chance at all.

Then he speaks. "I am profoundly sorry for the disappointing manner in which I have approached this delicate matter. My behavior is entirely inexcusable. Mrs. Dwyer, please accept my sincerest apologies." With these words, he bows in a curt, military manner, and walks out of the room, not waiting for my reply.

XXX

It's past dinner time, and Maggie and Alistair are in the living room, pretending to be occupied by their respective books. Only Maggie shoots me worried glances every three minutes, and Alistair intermittently sighs and rolls his eyes, clearly not enjoying the family drama.

They both bombarded me with questions after Edward left but had to be satisfied with my, "Everything is fine," answer. Of course, I wasn't fine, and now, several hours later, I'm no better.

Did I make a mistake? Should I have taken things slower with him, gotten to know him better, and let him get used to me? It's too late to dwell on that now. He's probably gone again, relieved of his promise... Or maybe he's locked away in his piano room, playing his saddest compositions, pouring out his grief and frustration…

Damn it. What have I done?!

I feel like there's a large boulder, cold and heavy, embedded in my chest. Yes, he blindsided me, and I reacted strongly, but do I want him to hurt like I do right now? God, no… I can't bear the thought of it.

I get up from my seat and wish my aunt and uncle goodnight, trying this time to sound cheerful and not impersonate Isabella the Martyr—it's Christmas after all, and they deserve better. Then I head to my room.

There, I briefly consider giving in and running to Edward's house, but I've learned my lesson, although it took a few tries. I'm not going out there alone.

Then I have a thought. How good exactly is his super-hearing?

Should I find out?

I open the window and lean out into the cold. The air is chilly and fresh tonight—and just what I need. Hoping that no one around can overhear me, I call out, "I do want to be engaged to you. Please come back."

XXX

Edward is in my room in exactly five seconds.

Our kisses are frantic and greedy, and just like every time I touch him, I can't get enough. Pressing myself into him, I caress his chest and back and silently pray that the thin white shirt he's wearing tonight would just miraculously dissolve and grant me access to his bare skin. My hands are about to travel to his lower backside when he groans and steadies us, holding me by the arms so that I can't touch him anymore.

"This is too much... I require a moment," he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine.

I take a ragged breath and nod. I mean… When a vampire tells you it's too much, you should probably listen, right? No matter how much your overheated body disagrees.

"I am so very sorry," he says gently. "What you said to me is entirely sensible, and I must admit that I have acted like a fool. I am resolved to make it my utmost endeavor to improve. Please forgive me."

He lets go of my arms, and I caress his cheek. "Thank you for listening to me. And I'm sorry, too. Your intentions were good and honorable."

He hesitates. "Are you certain that you do not wish to remain unattached in the event that a gentleman of your liking appears, with whom you might have the prospect of children? That would be entirely understandable."

I scoff. "It's a little late for remaining unattached, Edward. As to the children, I was telling the truth. Becoming a mother is a beautiful thing, but it's not something I can see doing myself. If that ever changes, there are plenty of children in this world who need a home and love, so I could become a mother to them… Although I must stress that I do not imagine myself being in that place any time soon."

He looks at me with reverence, and I suddenly feel very shy. "You are truly extraordinary, do you know that?" He pulls back and takes a deep breath. "Will you…" His voice falters. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Bella Swan? The engagement can be extended as long as you desire."

He's not kneeling down, and I presume that the custom hasn't been popularized and romanticized just yet.

I lean into him and grin. "Yes, I will marry you, Edward Masen… someday. When we figure things out."

He positively beams.

I raise an eyebrow. "So… If I put it like that, do I still get a ring?" I laugh, thinking that surely Edward wouldn't have one on hand, given the timing. He's fast but not that fast.

He smirks, and I suddenly want to purr and crawl on his lap. Slowly, he reaches into his watch pocket and pulls out a ring—a sleek white metal band with a medium-sized, bright red stone, probably a ruby.

My jaw drops for the second time today. "Where…"

"My mother's… It is nothing short of a miracle that I possess it at all." He doesn't elaborate, and I make a mental note to ask him about it later, not wanting to break the moment. He takes my left hand and places the ring on my middle finger. "Beautiful," he utters almost inaudibly.

I must admit, the ring looks good on my hand.

"We're really doing this backward," I tell him. "But it seems fitting, doesn't it? After all, we're hardly an ordinary couple, what with being of different species and a 345-year age gap…"

Edward laughs and pulls me in his arms. "Indeed. Apart from that, it is no small task to set aside the possibility that my intended is residing in another lady's body. Although, if I am not mistaken, that remains an open question." He kisses me gently on the lips and then proceeds down the column of my neck, to my collarbone.

"I don't know about that… Like I said, this body looks and feels very much like mine, and what I see in the mirror is me, I have no doubt. But people who knew Isabella seem to notice no difference between us at all! Maybe I am Isabella Dwyer in my previous incarnation or whatever… I even have the same callous on my middle finger from writing. But maybe she has one, too?" I suddenly can't suppress a yawn. "Sorry!"

"You need to rest, Bella. It has been a hard day. Sweet dreams, my love." Without a warning, he cradles me in his arms in a movement that's become familiar and lowers me to the bed.

"Will you stay?" I ask him, my eyes closed.

"I must leave. My upcoming recital is but a month away, and I am far from prepared." He hesitates. "And I need to hunt."

"Now? Do you even sleep?" I murmur.

A pause. "No… I cannot."

"Oh," I smile without opening my eyes. "But of course… silly me. Tomorrow then. Tomorrow, Edward Masen, you're telling me everything."

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A/N

Coverture was a legal doctrine in English common law where, upon marriage, a woman's legal rights and obligations were absorbed by those of her husband. Under coverture, a married woman had no separate legal identity apart from her husband; she could not own property, sign contracts, or earn a salary independently of her husband. Essentially, the husband and wife were considered a single legal entity, with the husband having the authority to manage both his own affairs and those of his wife. Coverture didn't begin to be dismantled until the 1870s.

Couverture (chocolate) is a high-quality chocolate that contains a higher percentage of cocoa butter compared to regular chocolate. This type of chocolate is often used by professional chocolatiers and pastry chefs because of its excellent properties for melting and tempering, making it ideal for coating candies and truffles.

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