Page 119

Edwin

By March 18, a portion of the snow had melted or had otherwise been cleared from Albany’s roadways and sidewalks (though the occasional tunnel through six-foot-high mountains of it still remained in some areas). Edwin was with Agnes and Andrew, the three of them smushed together in the Whitney family carriage as they traveled north to the Whitney Estate. Edwin’s heart was beating ferociously, practically slamming against his rib cage, while he twisted his hands in his lap. Neither he nor his companions spoke as the carriage traveled north on Pearl. Andrew and Agnes seemed nervous as well, though likely not as nervous as Edwin was.

In less than an hour, Edwin would confess his secret to Mr. and Mrs. Walter Whitney, people whom he had known since childhood but who had gradually faded from his life, transforming from the somewhat influential and occasionally present people they once had been into mere phantoms of the past. Ghosts who, in some respects, represented Edwin’s former life. And, like the spooky phantasms haunting the pages of horror novels, they terrified him.

Edwin could barely believe that he was heading over to see them.

When the Whitney Estate came into view, Edwin’s stomach seized, and his hands, which he continued to wring together, began to tremble. Andrew grabbed one of them and squeezed it.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Edwin said in a whispered tone.

“You can,” Andrew promised.

He squeezed Edwin’s hand once more and then released it as the carriage rolled up the drive. Agnes patted Edwin’s knee.

“Remember, no matter how William’s parents react, William will protect you,” she said, her bright eyes boring into him and pleading for him to let himself truly hear her words. “You have people in your life who love you, Edwin. Even if, after this is over, it seems safest for you to leave Albany, then William, Andrew, and I will come with you. You won’t be alone.”

Edwin swallowed thickly. He prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Once the carriage stopped, the coachman opened the door. Agnes climbed out immediately. Edwin stayed frozen for a while, staring at the exit. Even back when he’d first told his mother the truth about who he was in his heart, he hadn’t felt this afraid. Because he’d known that, even if she never understood, even if she never saw him as her son, he was still her child, and Grace Beasley was not the sort of woman to reject him completely.

But who was Edwin to the Whitneys? Only the child of their former tailor. Even though they’d been friends with Edwin’s father, Edwin hadn’t been important to them back then. He had been—and clearly still was—important to William. But neither Walter nor Frances Whitney had ever cared for him very much, had they? Edwin’s memories of them were sparse. And none of them contained even a modicum of proof that they would be as accepting as William seemed to believe.

Still, Edwin had little choice in this. He wanted to remain in William and Agnes’s life. And not on the fringes of it, either.

Inhaling a trembling breath, Edwin scooted over to the edge of the seat and exited the carriage. His legs wobbled as he stepped onto the walkway, but he kept his head high as he smoothed his jacket and started toward the house. Agnes and Andrew followed.

Once inside, William hurried over to meet them in the foyer.

“They’re waiting for you in the conservatory,” William said.

Edwin removed his hat. “Do they know—”

“All I said was that our nurseryman wanted to speak with them.”

Edwin blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “About the plants, probably.”

Some of them had survived the blizzard, surprisingly, but not all of them.

“That’s exactly what they assumed,” William said. “And I thought it might be best if I let them continue to think that you wanted to discuss how to best revive the plant life, just in case you changed your mind.”

Edwin shut his eyes. “Oh, God,” he said under his breath.

“Edwin, if you’re not ready for this . . . or if you’d rather not tell them at all, I—”

“I have to.” Edwin took another breath and locked eyes with him. “I want to.”

William nodded once.

After Edwin finished removing the rest of his outerwear, he walked with William to the conservatory. Andrew and Agnes walked with them partway but then left for one of the libraries. Edwin wanted to speak with the Whitney family alone.

By the time Edwin reached the entrance to the conservatory, he was trembling, but still, he kept his chin up as he walked across the threshold.

William’s parents were waiting on one of the benches. William’s mother, Frances, was frowning at some of the plants nearby. Their leaves were practically translucent from them contending with what had probably been a prolonged period of cold inside the conservatory while the blizzard had raged outside its walls.

Edwin’s stomach tightened as William cleared his throat to speak.

“Father, Mother, you remember Edwin, our nurseryman,” he said. The tinge of unease in his voice was practically unnoticeable. It might have been, had Edwin not been listening for it.