Big shoutout to Katinki, who heroically edited this chapter while on a business trip, no doubt sacrificing her sleep. Thank you so much, my friend!

Chapter 23

I find Angela in her drawing room.

One glance at her confirms that there's still no news of Ben and that I won't be able to leave her any time soon. She looks… bad. Her nails are bitten down to the flesh, and her usually dark, shiny hair hangs in tangled, lifeless strands. Red, puffy eyes drift past me, barely registering my presence. Thankfully, a kind neighbor has already taken the children, along with their nanny, to her house for a 19th-century equivalent of a playdate and a subsequent sleepover. Angela must've been holding it together until they left, but now she's completely fallen apart.

I try to figure out what's been done so far to locate Ben, but she just cries inconsolably and says nothing. I pull her into a hug and hold her slim, willowy frame as she shakes in my arms.

Eventually, Angela's sobs calm down a little. She marginally relaxes and leans back on the sofa.

"Thank you," she says quietly. Her voice sounds broken—empty.

"Hey…" I hand her a handkerchief, one of the many scattered on the coffee table. "Angela, my dear. Listen… all shall be made right in the end. There is likely some explanation. Perhaps he was called to attend to a parishioner in distress somewhere outside of our quarter, with no means to send word to you." I internally wince at the weakness of my words. Even if this had happened, Ben would have surely left a note at the church before leaving.

And how would he travel without his coachman and carriage anyway? It's not like you can take an Uber here.

Reluctantly, Angela takes the handkerchief and blows her nose. Then, she inhales deeply, sits up straighter, and looks directly in front of her.

"Izzy," she says, "I simply know it in my heart. Ben is no longer alive. I can feel it."

The matter-of-factness of her tone gives me chills.

"Shhh… You cannot possibly feel it. Angela, please," I beg her. "Think only hopeful thoughts. Pray… Do not surrender like this just yet! More importantly, we must focus on finding him! Are the police involved? Have they started looking?"

For a while, Angela continues staring off into the distance.

"Yes…" she finally says. "Ben's father happened to be in London. He sent an urgent message to the Commissioner, who in turn dispatched several peelers to begin the search. They looked at the church, naturally, and at the area around it. We have received no news so far." She looks up at me, her expression withdrawn. "I cannot escape the feeling that this is the payment due… We were so unimaginably happy in these last years…" Tears stream down her face again.

"Payment?! What kind of nonsense is that?!" I grab her hand and squeeze it. "Angela… What is the plan? When will those, um, peelers return to inform you of their progress?"

She shrugs and closes her eyes.

It's heart-wrenching to see Angela like this. I get up and call the maid.

"Would you kindly make Mrs. Weber some tea? And bring a sandwich. She must eat." Then, a thought occurs to me. "I must also send a message..."

Five minutes later, the maid is back with "writing implements": an ink bottle, a piece of heavy parchment paper, a goose quill, and some sealing wax. I quickly scribble a note to Edward, predictably spilling a few drops of ink on my mint-colored gown.

My note says:

Edward,

Reverend Weber has gone missing. He was last seen at the church just after midnight. Might I request your kind help in determining his whereabouts?

Yours,

Isabella

I fold the note, not bothering with the wax seal, and hand it to the maid. "Take this to Lansdown Hall at once. If Maestro Masen is not there, give it to his brother, Dr. Carlisle Masen. Make haste."

Hours drag in heavy silence. Angela barely manages to drink half a cup of tea, ignoring both the sandwich and my attempts to get her to eat it. She just sits there, staring ahead, and all I can do is stay beside her and hold her hand. She only takes what I suppose is a bathroom break, after which she comes back with fresh splotches of red all over her face.

Around 2 o'clock, a footman finally arrives with a message from Edward. I step away from Angela and walk to the window to read it. The message is short.

Done.

P.S. Carlisle shall come to check on Mrs. Weber later tonight.

My stomach drops. Whatever it means, it doesn't look good. Done what? Searching? Has he found Ben? If yes, why not just say so… unless he found him dead, of course.

Shit, shit…

I steady myself, trying to rearrange my face into a neutral, unconcerned expression. Hopefully, Angela's still dazed enough not to notice anything.

Well, no such luck.

"Izzy, what is it? What does the message say?" she asks in a barely audible voice.

"Um, it is from Edward. I asked if his brother, Dr. Masen, could come and bring you some tincture to raise your spirits. He replied that Carlisle should be able to pay a short visit tonight," I lie smoothly.

I expect Angela to protest, but she just nods and resumes her vigil. Another two hours pass stuck in the drawing room. Right as I start to consider a quick trip home for physiological purposes (under no circumstances do I want to use other people's, um, bathroom facilities), suddenly, there's a noise coming from the front hall, and moments later, two policemen are shown into the drawing room. Both are red-headed and middle-aged, with hats in their hands. Their weary faces and slouched postures give them away—they'd rather be anywhere else.

I grab Angela's hand, unsure if it's to support her or myself as a wave of nausea hits me.

"Mrs. Weber…" says one of the "peelers." "We believe we have found your husband. He was attacked by what appears to be a wild animal, and… most assuredly, he perished quickly. Lord Weber was promptly called to identify the body. He confirmed the identity of his son. Please accept our most sincere condolences." With that, they bow and quickly leave, almost running.

I hear a soft moan and turn to see that Angela has fainted. I've never witnessed anyone faint before, although apparently, I've done that myself twice in the last three months. Panic surges through me, and I freeze, unsure of what to do next. Smelling salts? Should I call the maid and ask for them? I reach for the bell when suddenly Carlisle appears in the doorframe.

"Isabella, help me," he orders. "She must have her legs positioned higher than her head."

I jump up to gather all the pillows I can find as Carlisle carefully repositions Angela on the sofa. He then lifts her legs, and I slide the pillows underneath. After that, Carlisle pauses, listening to something while I stare at him, trying to make sense of it. Is he checking her heartbeat? He then grimaces and closes his eyes for a second, as if he were just told some upsetting news. Before I can ask what the heck is going on and if he has any smelling salts in his bag, Angela's eyelids flutter, and she opens her eyes.

"Thank you… Izzy… Doctor Masen," she whispers.

Carlisle gives her a warm smile and says in his doctor's voice, "Mrs. Weber, you fainted but only for a short moment. I was just coming in to check on your well-being." Then he turns to me. "Did you ladies eat anything? This has been a trying day."

"Angela did not eat anything at all," I say, wiping her forehead. "Do you think her blood sugar is low?" Carlisle shoots me a wide-eyed look, and I belatedly realize that I should remember to filter what comes out of my mouth. "Um, that is something I read in a book…"

"Certainly, lack of nourishment can result in fainting spells, and quite often, the fastest way for a person to recover is to eat something small and sweet, like a spoonful of honey," he says. I'm already halfway out of the room, shouting to the maid to bring back the sandwiches, more tea, and a jar of honey.

Fifteen minutes and two little sandwiches later, Angela sips her tea while Carlisle quietly talks to her about something. His voice is so soothing that I can practically see how it relaxes Angela's features, if only temporarily. I nest in a chair on the other end of the room, giving them privacy and pretending to read. But of course, it's a doomed task.

Ben, Angela's young, intelligent, good-natured husband, is dead.

This is so horrible.

A wild animal? In the middle of London? What the actual…

Surely, Edward and Carlisle know more. I need to talk to them but I can't leave Angela. My dilemma is solved the next moment, however. The maid enters to inform us that Angela's parents have arrived.

Suddenly there's a crowd in the room. Angela cries in the arms of a woman who looks just like her but older, and there's a tall, lanky man with a mane of gray hair who must be her father, hugging them both. Carlisle and I introduce ourselves, as Angela is in no condition to perform such formalities. Then, we express our condolences once again and leave, but not before Carlisle gives Angela's mother a bottle of something, instructing her to give Angela no more than a teaspoon of it in case she has trouble sleeping.

Carlisle's carriage waits by the door, and when he offers me a ride, I gratefully accept. Thanks to the general chaos and confusion, nobody pays any attention to this glaring display of impropriety, but even if they did, I couldn't care less. After everything that's happened, I don't think I'll ever feel safe in the streets of London unless I'm in the company of someone like Edward or Carlisle.

Inside the carriage, I begin. "So… a wild animal?"

The moment I say the words, I know the answer.

There's a bunch of very dangerous predators currently staying in a mansion just a few blocks from the church, and they require food. I pray that it's a false hunch. It could have been some random, psychopathic murderer, right? Although I'm not sure how that would make things better, or worse, or if it would matter at all.

Because Ben is dead in any case.

Carlisle takes a deep breath. "It was not a wild animal. But you have guessed that already."

"I thought that was your brother's specialty—mind-reading," I murmur.

"It is, indeed. Your thoughts are always written on your face, Bella. It is a blessing and a curse, I suppose." He pauses. "Edward was following Benjamin's scent from the church when it suddenly interlaced with the scent of a vampire. It was… not subtle. Edward found the body in the sewer trench only a few steps away from the street. He then informed the police, anonymously, of course." He says nothing more.

"Jesus Christ… Who was it? Jane? Tell me it was her, and I'll kill the bitch," I snarl.

Carlisle smiles, but it's a weak smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Not Jane. We have an agreement with Aro. None of his people may hunt in the vicinity of Edward's and my residence. Jane has no respect for human life, but she would never disobey Aro. Regrettably, it was Eleazar."

"What? But… They said he was a vegan like you guys!" I cry out. I can't believe it. Eleazar seemed an okay kind of guy at the Opera. How could he?

"Eleazar is very new to our way of life. He only began his journey a year ago, when he met his wife, Carmen. Before that, he had been a member of the Guard for centuries and had followed the traditional diet. It is infinitely more difficult to change your course than to fight your nature from the beginning like Edward and I did. It requires enormous, constant dedication. He lost his focus for a fraction of a second." He sighs again. "Sadly, that was all it took to end a life."

We stay silent until the carriage stops at my house. Carlisle says goodbye and urges me to go to bed immediately because tomorrow will be another hard day. No way, I'm going to wait for Edward, I think as I climb the stairs, but the moment my head touches the pillow, I fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

XXX

The first thing I see the next morning is a gigantic black dress lying on the chair near my bed and Jessica, who is hastily mending something around the dress's pleated sleeve.

"Good morning, madame! Although, it is almost ten. Your Aunt and Uncle are downstairs having breakfast. You are to be on your way in three-quarters of an hour." Jessica sounds like a busy personal assistant.

"On my way where?" I ask groggily. I'm so not ready to face the day just yet.

Jessica's frown tells me that her opinion of my intelligence is not particularly high this morning. "To the funeral, of course!" she chirps.

"Wh…" I start but close my mouth.

The funeral? So soon?

Although, it makes sense. In the absence of refrigeration, they probably have to bury bodies quickly here. Not that it helps with the general reek of this town… It's a good thing, however, that Ben was a priest, so his coffin will probably be displayed in the church and not at home. The church's natural ventilation is certainly preferable in this case.

It shocks me for a second how calmly I think of Ben as a body now. Have I really become that hardened?

Until my time travel "adventure," I had only seen a dead body once—my grandmother Mary's. Here, I've already witnessed three, and soon, I will see another. All four were men in their prime who met an unnatural end, all killed by a vampire, though not the same one. And while I still believe that the three men who tried to rape me deserved instant justice, the death of a young and successful church leader, who left behind a loving wife and three small children, should have shaken me to the core, but here I sit, debating the current burial practices.

Maybe this is how shock works in my case. Who knows.

The funeral is just as solemn and heartbreaking as I imagined it would be. Almost every member of our parish is present here at the church. How did they arrange it all so quickly? Ben's family, including his three sons, sits in the front row. I consider going to Angela, but apparently, this is against the rules, so I stay in the back with Maggie and Alistair. Edward and Carlisle are here, too. A short sermon is given by an older priest whom I saw at the church once before. After that, every family approaches the coffin to say goodbye.

I dread this moment, but then I focus on the thought that it's my chance to get closer to Angela and say something supportive to her… to make sure she's okay.

She stands between her parents, tall and graceful, with a black veil draped over her head. I want to hug her, but it feels improper, and I can only manage a few formal words of condolence. Then, I allow myself a short glance at Ben. He looks… not as bad as I thought he would. A large cravat covers his neck and part of his chin.

He's so unbelievably, unfairly young to be lying in this coffin—like James Dwyer, Ben was just 28.

After that, I kind of check out until the end of the whole thing. Ben is buried behind the church under a birch tree that will probably look serene and peaceful during summer. I hear people quietly discussing how unusually warm it is for January this year, making the grave easier to dig and ensuring a decent burial depth. Angela's face remains covered, but I can tell that she's doing okay, considering. She holds her two boys' hands in both of hers, while her mother holds the youngest in her arms.

Finally, we all make our way to Angela's house, where food and hot mulled wine are served in the living room. I find a moment to pull Angela aside, and we settle into a quiet corner together.

"Please, tell me how I can help," I tell her.

She finds my hand and squeezes it. "I have everything I need. Benjamin's father is a hard man, but he loves his grandchildren. We shall have a comfortable life. Although…" she trails off.

"Tell me," I beg her.

"I was thinking last night…" she begins but falters. "I understand it was different for you with James, that your anger toward him gave you some strength at the start. But as time went on… did it worsen? Because truly, I cannot conceive how this can become even more difficult than it already is."

I sigh. It feels wrong to lie at such a moment, so I just tell her how I felt about "my" James instead. "There is no comparison. Everything between James and me was a lie. Realizing that has eventually healed me. Make no mistake, it was painful, but how can we compare it? Grief is an intimate, lonely affair."

"You must be right." She looks at me intently. "Have you heard of that ritual in India, where, upon the death of her husband, the widow throws herself on his funeral pyre?"

I flinch at the unexpected turn in the conversation and furrow my brows. Something stirs at the back of my memory. Around the World in 80 Days? I look up at Angela with a new worry.

"I believe so… Sati? Yes. That is an… unfathomable ritual," I say cautiously.

"That is what I once believed as well. Yet, now it feels… different?" Her gaze is dream-like.

"But you would never do it," I say softly.

She is silent for a moment. "No. Of course, I shall not. It is merely… The simplicity of it, the instantaneity of their reunion... I envy it, so very much." She takes a deep breath. "But no, it is not for me. I will never see him again if I do. And even if that were not a concern, it would go against everything he believed in. Nor would he forgive me for leaving the children. Perhaps, I might have a baby girl this time, God willing?"

I gasp. "You are with child?" I can barely keep my voice down.

All of a sudden, Carlisle's strange behavior last night makes sense. Did he hear two heartbeats?

She nods. "Rotten timing, but I am so blessed to have this baby." She smiles softly. "And I am happy for you, my darling friend. Look at you, all glowing and hopeful with your future husband. And look at him, watching you so devotedly." I glance back and find Edward staring at me from the opposite corner of the room. "All shall be made right in the end, dearest Izzy," she says, echoing my words from yesterday.

I look into her bottomless grey eyes and smile back. "Of course," I say, knowing all too well that nothing will ever be right.

That she will go on biding her time, living as a shell of a person that I've learned to love so much until she can be with her soulmate once more.

XXX

Edward and I meet in my room just after eleven.

The moment I see him, my mind suddenly and magically resets to peace. Despite the coolness of his body, his embrace feels warm, and I notice with surprise that I've stopped shaking for the first time today. As he caresses my cheek, I finally allow myself to relax and as a result, begin to cry. My tears are endless and profuse, and so very welcome. Edward doesn't say a word but just holds me, his lips touching my hair.

"You're not like a typical human man," I tell him in a groggy, raspy voice as I sniff and wipe my eyes. "Typical men hate when women cry because they feel like they're presented with a problem they don't know how to solve."

He smirks. "Indeed, I am not a human man, as madame so astutely observes," he says. Then he cups my face and leans into me so that our foreheads and noses touch. "But I do despise myself when you weep, for not being able to soothe your pain… So, I offer what little that I can give you."

My chest swells, and I grasp him by the neck to pull him closer, craving his touch. He responds by wrapping me in his arms even tighter, and for a minute, we kiss like two starved people, until I have to draw back and drop my head on the pillows, breathing hard. His scent makes me wild and single-minded, like it always does, and I nearly scream when he hovers above me, putting some of his weight on my lower body while his hand travels up my thigh.

I climax the moment he touches me, and although that spot becomes extra-sensitive right after, I know that I'll die if he pulls away.

"More, please," I beg, and he obliges. As he pumps his fingers inside me, I suddenly feel his hardness against my thigh, and the mere thought of it tips me over the edge once again. I let out a muffled moan, writhing around his fingers, watching him as he watches me. There's lust in his gaze, and wonder, and reverence.

"You are so beautiful right now," he whispers, and a shiver rolls down my spine.

"That was one hell of a quickie," I mutter as I gradually come down from my high. "Although, a very one-sided one… What about you?" I move my hand in the general direction of that impressive bulge, but he stops me.

"You are tired, my love. It was a trying day. Rest," he says gently.

I squeeze my eyes shut, suddenly feeling completely worn out. "It was, indeed. God, it was so bad. Poor Angela. She's a shadow of herself, and it's only the beginning…" I climb under the blanket and hold it open for Edward, but he just slides closer to me, staying on top of the sheets. I lay my head on his chest.

"You found all the right words with her. She thought that she would not have been able to survive last night without you by her side. And before you reprimand me for eavesdropping, I am in awe of you. Of your heart," he whispers in my ear.

I sigh. "Thank you, but I don't think anything could be said to take the edge off her pain. This is my worst nightmare. To find your soulmate and be torn away from him like that?" I shiver. "One could argue it would be better if they'd never met…"

He exhales. "This question is as ancient as Creation itself. Which is preferred: to know the heights of joy, only to lose it, or to remain ignorant of such joy altogether? What is your opinion, my love?"

His tone is light, but I know better.

I consider it for a moment. "Well, it is tempting to say, of course, it's better to experience something out of this world amazing, and damn the consequences, but honestly, I don't know. My therapist would probably say that that doesn't sound too healthy. The problem is, most of the time people don't really have a choice. They just have to work with what they've been dealt."

"Your therapist?" he asks.

"Um, yeah… In my time, it's a person whose profession is to help you improve your mental health. By the way, you would make a great therapist, being the mind-reader you are."

Edward laughs quietly. "Do I understand you correctly in that this therapist's counsel would be for you to pursue a respectable, though perhaps unexciting, marriage with a steady gentleman and not devote too much thought to brooding vampires masquerading as pianists? If so, I am fond of your therapist already."

I pull back to see his face and narrow my eyes. "I can't be absolutely sure, but no, I don't think that's what he'd say. Because for better or worse, it's already happened, as in, I am engaged to a brooding vampire and I'm ready to deal with the consequences. Bring it on!"

His fingers are on my jawline, his touch light as a feather. "Oh, Bella… If you truly mean your words, then we are not dissimilar."

"What? Of course, I mean it. Edward, there's no way I can ever be content in some hypothetical quiet existence with some hypothetical good man. You've sort of ruined me for every other man, you know. In both centuries. That's why I'm so scared—to lose you, or rather, that we won't have enough time together because you'll lose me." I search his eyes.

"You shall not lose me," he says sternly. "I shall always be here with you, as long as you want me, and I shall always protect you from whatever dangers are within my power."

His tone is final, but I'm far from being convinced. In an instant, my fatigue vanishes, and I sit up to face him, brimming with argumentative energy.

"That is a very arrogant thing to say. I'm human and breakable, and on top of that, we live in a time when the average lifespan is just 50 years—and I've already used up 27 of them. Yes, you can probably protect me from death by another vampire or another bunch of rapists, and chances are that I won't die in childbirth, but what about diseases? People here die from them like flies! Life expectancy is not much longer in my time, but it's still longer… Too bad it doesn't look like I can travel back and just meet you there."

He's silent for a while before he says, "I understand your meaning. You find yourself trapped here in a place with more dangers to your life than you could ever imagine and with no means of returning. You wonder if you might prefer a simple life in your time, knowing nothing of me—save as Mr. Cullen, your employer." He sounds… not bitter, but sad, resigned.

"No! You're wrong. I mean… not wrong, but… The point is, I already know you. God, I've said it so many times already. I want you with every fiber of my being. There's no alternative anymore, do you understand?" I wave my arms in the air, channeling my frustration. "I just want us to have more time together and, generally, more understanding of our future. What is our plan, Edward?"

"You know what my greatest wish is… that I can call you my wife," he says quietly.

"I know that. But then what? What are we going to do about Aro? He doesn't make the impression of someone who will eventually forget about me." I narrow my eyes at him. "You've already thought about that, haven't you?"

"Yes, naturally, I have," he says curtly. "Carlisle and I shall see to Aro's demands. You have absolutely nothing to concern yourself with."

I feel anger creeping in.

"Hard to believe, but if you say so… And how about that little problem of me getting older while you'll always look like you do now? Eventually, people will start asking questions. Or maybe you don't think I'll live that long?"

"Bella, please, lower your voice. You are being unreasonable. It shall never matter to me how you appear. My feelings for you will remain unchanged, of that I am perfectly certain," he says exasperatedly.

I huff a little louder than I should, just because I can. "I'm being unreasonable? I think it's you're the one being unreasonable by simply ignoring the most obvious solution, for reasons that I don't fully understand. Why exactly don't you want me to become like you? Is it because this solution is reserved just for Rosalie?"

Edward flinches and scoots away from me. "This is entirely impossible and utterly out of the question. I must ask that you refrain from ever mentioning it again," he snaps.

"Oh! And why is that? Is that because you enjoy having me like this—warm, fragile, and so very mortal?"

I don't know why I'm talking to him like this. I'm dead tired, and nowhere near in a condition to have such a serious conversation, but you know how it is.

It just happens.

"You do not comprehend what you are asking!" He jumps out of the bed and begins pacing, corner to corner, pulling mercilessly at his gorgeous hair. "I cannot fathom how we can be discussing this today, of all days, right after burying your friend's husband, whose life was just ended by a monster like me…"

"You are not a monster! And I won't be either. You will teach me how."

"Have you already forgotten that Eleazar, too, had no desire to be a monster? In fact, had he continued in the manner of a traditional vampire, Benjamin would still be alive, though it would have been another human who would have met their untimely end in his place." Edward's voice is bitter and incredulous. "Do you truly wish to bear even the smallest chance of causing another man or woman, or their children, the very same pain that Angela must now endure for the rest of her days? I urge you to consider it most carefully!"

His words hit me hard.

Suddenly, Angela's haunted gray eyes emerge at the forefront of my mind and stare through me.

I can't breathe.

Praying that it's not the start of another panic attack, I try to relax my throat muscles and carefully inhale.

"Of course, I don't want to cause anything like this. I'd rather die." My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. I pull my legs to my chest, shivering. "Damn it, Edward, what are we going to do?" I look up at him, despair spilling inside my stomach, dark and heavy.

Edward halts mid-step, his gaze locking onto me for what feels like an eternity.

Then he comes closer to kneel beside me, gently cups my cheek, and slowly kisses me. He starts at my mouth, then moves to my jawline, to my temple, and, finally, to my forehead. I let out a moan, and his lips, soft and full of promise, find their way back to mine.

He pulls away, only long enough to whisper, "I do not merely enjoy you. I love you. We shall find a way. All shall be made right in the end."

.

.

.

A/N

"Peelers" was a nickname for early British police officers, particularly those in London and Ireland. The name comes from Sir Robert Peel, who founded the Metropolitan Police in London in 1829. His officers were first known as "Peelers" or "Bobbies" (after his first name, Robert).