Edward's attention returned to the lady at his side. "I have only made the arrangements this afternoon, Miss Watson. Is the news already about?"
"Of course. Do not doubt it." She smiled.
He should not, for this was a taste of what his life would be like in Cloverhill. He had given society much to digest over eight years, and once his daughter arrived he would be serving a veritable feast.
"Bellevue is lovely, though not very grand," she said, sounding disappointed.
"But then, I am not a very grand earl. It should suit me well. I shall only bring a few servants with me, who shall be sufficient for my daughter and myself."
"Your daughter? How charming."
"My daughter is a young lady of eight, as beautiful and willful as are most girls who are born with every advantage." Pearl was indeed that, and more. Whatever the circumstances of her birth, he was a besotted father. "I am bringing her to Cloverhill to play in the waves and to see the cottage that is now hers."
And then he saw Katharine enter the hall, her skin glowing in the candlelight and altogether too much of it on show.
It would have been so much easier if Edward's muscular frame had turned paunchy or if he had fallen on desperate times, and wore an old threadbare jacket with the sleeves let out. But he had grown into a very fine figure, and clearly was a man with deep pockets, none let out. Nearly every woman in the room gravitated into his sphere, and he managed to charm them all. No doubt, some now saw his defection as romantic, an escape from a youthful bit of puppy love, wildly passionate instead of boring and predictable.
Katharine's friends and family remained loyal to her. She saw Portia chat briefly with Edward and stare into his eyes, but guessed that was in service to finding out information. It was not long before her supposition was substantiated, for she soon heard the full report.
"I hope you are not engaged for the next dance?" asked Edward, suddenly appearing before her.
"I have no intention of dancing," she answered succinctly.
"Not to dance at a ball? Or not to dance with me?" he persisted. "It is very odd to attend a ball and not parta
ke of the entertainment."
Katharine did not think him the person to take her to task on how to behave in public.
"Lord Penfield, it is not so much that I do not wish to partake of the entertainment. I simply do not wish to be the entertainment."
In an instant, his hand was on her arm, igniting a flame through her body that might have seared his flesh. She looked into his eyes, knowing he felt it and wanted it.
"The music begins, Miss Wharton. Please save me the awkwardness of finding another partner."
"You were not so ..." she began, and stopped. She knew perfectly well what she should say. He was not so concerned about her finding another partner eight years ago, when he left her standing at Cloverhill Church with her bouquet of flowers and shells. But somehow, the words mattered little now. He was not a stupid man, and knew perfectly well how he had harmed her.
"I was not so good a dancer, you were about to say?" he finished the sentence for her in his own way. Then he laughed out loud, guaranteeing they now had the attention of everyone in the room. Katharine was so warm she thought she'd burst into flames. "I was a dreadful dancer and must have trod on your poor toes until they bled. But you will find I am much improved."
He had. But then, so had she, for on those occasions when she chose to attend an assembly or a private ball, she had not wanted for partners.
"We are allowed to speak while dancing, I daresay," he murmured circling around her. "Your necklace reminds me that you were always fond of gifts from the sea."
"I have little to say to you," she said. But, in fact, she did. She wanted to know why he left her to start a life with another woman. She wanted to know if he had regrets. She wished to console him over the loss of his cousin and older brother. Indeed, she had a hundred things to say to him, including asking why he imagined he could suddenly reappear and act as if nothing had happened in eight long years. And because he did, she had a great desire to preserve some fragment of her own dignity and hold him in abeyance.
"A pity," he said, certainly unaware of her warring emotions. "For I shall be your neighbor through the summer. I only signed the papers to lease Bellevue this afternoon, but I am sure the news has already made its way to France. Or Eastbourne, at the very least."
And then, as light and lovely as the sun rising over a still sea, Katharine's sudden laughter filled his heart with hope.
IT WAS A START. Edward walked around the crumbling folly at Bellevue, pausing to admire the view of the vast sea. He might be a fool to return to Cloverhill and thus subject his daughter to speculation and disparaging comments. But he had a great desire to move on with his life, and hers, and dared to imagine their future entwined with Katharine's.
She had changed, and he admired her even more as a woman of twenty-four than as a girl of sixteen. Her promise of beauty had blossomed, and her inquisitiveness developed into a quick wit and intelligence. He guessed the society at the Octagon House did much to further her education, and he might learn a few things there.
But he ran ahead of himself, for she offered him nothing. And yet she danced with him and allowed him to hold her. She wore the little shell she once promised to carry in her bridal bouquet. He made her laugh.
And she had not married in all these years, though she might have had a long line of suitors circling the Octagon House. If she had, or even if the line had been short, she had accepted no one else.
"Lord Penfield is here," Mrs. Moon said, raising an eyebrow. "Again."