Celeste laughed at the surprise in Belle’s eyes. “Alex, ‘e was worried that ‘e was too old for me, the foolish creature!” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it was also that ... Well, ‘e ‘as a rather forbidding reputation.”
Belle nodded, having heard a number of rather disturbing rumours about the man.
“Much of it is true,” Celeste carried on with a smile as Belle’s eyes opened a little wider. “And because of that, ‘e did not want to ... to taint me with ‘is past, I think.” Celeste reached over and covered Belle’s hand with her own. “You understand, I think, ma chère?”
“Yes,” Belle replied, as the comment made perfect sense in the light of her experience with Edward. “Yes, I do.”
Celeste nodded and laid a protective hand over the gentle swell of her stomach. “These men, they think we are the weaker sex, and perhaps if we speak of just physical strength, that may be. But there are other kinds of strength, Belle, and women, we are much stronger than they, in ‘ere.” She placed a finger by her temple and smiled. “You are a strong and resilient woman, I see this in you. I ‘ave been where you are, Belle. So now, now you must be brave, and go and take what it is you want. Lord Winterbourne is your ‘usband, and ‘e must act like one. Go and show ‘im what that means.”
Belle drew in a sharp breath and nodded. “I will,” she said, feeling hope flicker in her heart. “At least, I shall try everything I can.”
Celeste nodded and gave her a warm smile. “Bien!” she said, clapping her hands together in satisfaction as she looked back at the tea tray. “Alors, is there any more cake?”
***
Edward stared out of his bedroom window. He felt like his head was a seething mass of revulsion, images of the past warring with the present, and now Belle was there, too. When he had seen the blood, her blood, staining the bed sheets, something had snapped. He had done that. He had lashed out and Belle had suffered because of it. Sweet Belle, who was trying so hard to be everything he wanted her to be.
She just didn’t understand.
She was everything he wanted her to be. She was everything he had never realised he wanted or needed. He hadn’t given much thought to marrying before the war, but he’d always wanted someone warm and loving, someone who would give their children the kind of home that his own parents had never had the slightest concept of.
Except he couldn’t be a part of it. Not any longer. He had married the right woman, the perfect woman, but she had married entirely the wrong man.
When he had seen her blood, suddenly Belle had been there with him. He was on the battlefield again with the cannons roaring in his ears, looking down on what remained of his broken comrades, their bodies smashed and broken, and Belle had been there too.
He had seen her bloody and lifeless and ... and his heart had exploded into pieces.
That would not happen to Belle. He would not allow it.
In some rational part of his brain, he knew that was impossible. They were no longer at war, and even if they were, Belle would hardly be anywhere near a battlefield.
But he also knew of many other things that could take her from him in a heartbeat. From disease to childbirth, there were any number of scenarios in which she could die, and leave him alone.
He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t suffer that loss. If he were to let her in, if he cared for her in the way she so clearly wanted him to ... Panic rose in his chest. He was too damaged by the past; he had nothing to give her, nothing of worth; he would hurt her, emotionally, at the very least; and going on his actions to date, maybe something much worse; or perhaps something would take her from him, and any one of those things was too much to endure. He would die. He would far rather die than see her come to harm.
Not for the first time, he wished he had been one of the fallen, as it would have been so much simpler. But then Violette would have been left alone and unprotected, and his cousin Gabriel would have forced her into marrying him, and every generation of Greystons to come would have been damned.
He put his head in his hands and found he was shaking, it was too much, everyone’s expectations weighted him down until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted nothing more than to run for the woods and curl up in that bloody hole until enough time passed that he was buried good and deep. But when he’d gone after that dreadful scene with Belle, all he could hear was frantic voices calling his name, echoing across the landscape until he wanted to howl at them to leave him be, for the love of God. Yet he knew he was hurting them, knew that they were afraid for him, and so he had returned.
He found himself unwilling, and angry at the need, to be anything they wanted him to be, and yet unable to inflict the hurt it required to tear himself away for good.
“Drink this.” Edward felt Charlie take his hands and press a cup of something warm into them. “Come on now, Eddie, drink it up.”
Charlie forced him to lift the cup, pressing it to his lips. Edward swallowed and grimaced.
“Too much sugar,” he grumbled and heard Charlie chuckle, though it sounded a long way off.
“Good for ye,” Charlie shot back. “Buck ye up.”
Edward snorted. “Didn’t need to dump the whole bloody pot in it.”
“You know what ye can do if you don’t like it, my lord,” Charlie said in his most dignified voice, though Edward knew well enough that Charlie would never leave. Charlie had suffered, too, he knew that. Charlie had the same nightmares, but maybe the man was stronger than Edward, for Charlie kept on, always smiling. Cheerful Charlie, they’d all called him - that daft bugger from the Dials. But Edward knew better. Charlie was tough and wily and brave, braver than he was, brave enough to keep living.
Edward looked up, thankful that Charlie had made it home, at least. That he had stuck around when Edward had given him blessed little reason to do so.
“Thank you, Charlie,” he said, and they both knew it wasn’t for the tea.
Chapter 26
“Wherein Christmas eve is explosive.”
Belle waited until well past midnight. It was amazing what a lot of noise the old castle made at night, with creaking and strange unsettling sounds. She had never really noticed it before, until tonight, when she was straining her ears, listening out to hear if the servants were still around.
Finally, she decided it was late enough, and Edward ought to be asleep. He hadn’t come down to dinner, of course, but Charlie had been by to tell her that he’d left the marquess in his rooms at half-eleven, and as far as he knew, Edward was retiring for the night.