When Edgar arrived back home, he informed Robertson that he was riding to Southend, since Mrs. Fairfield had already sent his trunk ahead of him.
Robertson merely nodded, his mask of implacability restored, but Edgar thought he detected a sparkle in his eyes.
“Very good, Your Grace. You may deliver this letter to Miss Perkins. It could be important, as it’s from a lawyer in Cheapside.”
Edgar accepted the letter. “Now I’m the postman?”
Robertson wisely refrained from commenting.
“Please say hello to Miss Perkins and the children for us,” said Mrs. Fairfield, bustling into the room.
“Would you like to come as well?” Edgar asked, thinking that his housekeeper could probably could use a holiday as well.
“Oh no, Your Grace. I’ll use the opportunity to inventory the silver. Do have a splendid time. I’m sure the Royal Hotel will be quite comfortable. Though it won’t be the same as the old house.”
Edgar hadn’t been back to Southend since the fire. The thought of seeing all the familiar sights filled his heart with longing, and a conflicting sense of dread.
He’d only been a little older than the twins when his father had attempted to burn the house down, with Edgar and India still inside.
Blinking away the memory, Edgar walked to the window. “It looks like rain. I’d better leave.”
“Does it?” asked Mrs. Fairfield, joining him at the window. “And here I thought that the sun was trying to pierce through the clouds.”
Chapter 25
“Miss Perkins, we’ve been expecting you.” The porter in his smart black livery bowed low, for all the world as if she were a duchess. “Master Michel, is it? And Miss Adele?”
The children nodded, too exhausted after the daylong journey in Edgar’s traveling coach for their usual chatter.
“Right this way please,” said the porter. “You’ve the entire uppermost floor of the hotel. I believe His Grace won’t be joining you?”
Mari shook her head. “He will not.” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, though she must have been unsuccessful because the porter glanced at her sharply.
He ushered them down a hall to an open-well stair with a wreathed handrail. As they climbed, their way was lit by the last rays of the setting sun, shimmering through a glazed, domed roof lantern.
During the journey the children had forgotten their disappointment in the general excitement of new sights and new roads. They’d talked the entire way, playing word games and singing songs.
She’d joined in the singing, but her heart hadn’t been present.
It wasn’t only Edgar’s occupation that kept him in London. It was a reluctance to allow their—whatever this was between them—to deepen, to evolve.
The sea had opened before her eyes, spreading its blue-green mantle across the horizon, and her heart had opened as well, letting her know in no uncertain terms that she longed for Edgar to be there with her and the children, witnessing her first glimpse of the sea.
Even inside the hotel the air smelled salty and there was a breeze from the sea in the very voices of the staff.
“Would you like to see the Assembly Room?” the porter asked when they arrived at the first floor. “There’s a very fine Venetian window.”
“We’ll explore tomorrow, I think,” said Mari. The twins plodded next to her, their movements wooden with fatigue.
He led them to the upper floor and into a handsome sitting room with mullioned windows that would no doubt have a splendid view of the sea in the morning.
“Oh la la la la.” Adele rubbed her eyes. “This will do, I’d say.”
The porter took his leave and a maid and two footmen arrived with a hot supper for them. The children were almost too tired to eat, their little chins nodding toward their chests.
Michel yawned.
“Bedtime for tired children,” said Mari, when the asparagus soup and roast pheasant had been devoured.