Page 37

William recoiled. “First, my cologne is not cheap. Second, I smell incredible.”

Edwin covered his face with his hands and groaned.

“Lord help me,” he said, his words muffled by his palms.

Laughing, Agnes said, “I won’t keep bothering you two. I was on my way to the kitchen to make some tea.”

“Well, Edwin and I were about to walk to the kitchen as well. I wanted to give my regards to your mother. Perhaps we should walk together, then,” William said with a barely contained smile.

“Yes, that’s only sensible,” Agnes remarked, wearing the same hint of an impish smile herself.

William headed over to the hallway. He and Agnes started toward the kitchen together, walking so close they were practically touching. Edwin followed, heaving an overly exaggerated sigh on the way. When they reached the kitchen, Edwin’s mother looked up from her half-finished pastry, and a smile split her face.

“Oh, William, what a wonderful surprise,” she said.

She moved to stand, but William rushed over to stop her.

“No need to exert yourself for my benefit, Mrs. Beasley.” He bent low to hug her instead. “Edwin told me about your recent struggles. If there’s ever anything that either I or my family can do—”

She kissed his cheek and rubbed his back.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you, though. You’re a good man.”

Edwin’s mother released William from the hug.

With a cheeky smile, William replied, “Oh, yes, I know I am.”

Edwin’s mother laughed and wagged her finger at him. Agnes was chuckling at William’s conceit, too, as she brought the kettle over to the water pump. William went to help her, probably relishing the chance to be close to her while equally eager to prove how considerate he was.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Edwin ran a hand through his hair and said, “So, Mother, William will be spending the night, as long as that’s all right with you. I know it’s been . . . years. And so much has . . . changed since then. Including the house. But we have a few sofas, even if not a spare bedroom, and—”

“Of course it’s all right,” she said with a warm smile before turning to William. “I hope you can pull my son out of this somber mood he seems to be in.”

Despite that somber mood (as well as a mild prickle of irritation at the fact that it had been so noticeable, even to his mother), Edwin couldn’t help but smile from her comment, gratitude swirling in his chest. It had taken his mother a few months to consistently call him her son, but now she never faltered. Edwin was still himself—that was what she had said to him when he’d first told her that he wanted to change his name. And it warmed his heart to know that his mother loved him for who he was, not who she wanted him to be.

He could only hope that her love would remain steadfast if she ever found out that there was more than one way in which he was . . . unconventional.

Edwin’s stomach soured as the thought entered his head, and the happy swirling, fluttery feeling he’d been experiencing only a moment before vanished completely.

“I brought a whole bottle of my finest liquor to help with his melancholia,” William remarked as Agnes took the kettle from him.

Edwin forced a smile, though the worry that was now churning in his stomach was making the pastry he’d eaten not one hour before creep back up his throat.

How would he even manage to enjoy the whiskey? Knowing that he’d have to tell William yet another secret about him? And knowing, too, that if William hated him for it, then he’d have to admit to his mother why his best friend had suddenly walked out of his life, leaving him without not only William’s companionship but the work at the Whitney Estate as well?

Perhaps Edwin wouldn’t tell him. Perhaps—

“Let’s settle in somewhere, Edwin,” William said, clapping him on the back. Edwin blinked slowly, still coming out of his thoughts, and only then noticed the two snifters and corkscrew that William was holding in his left hand. “Should we return to the front room or—”

“Uhm . . .” Edwin ran a hand over the lower half of his face and rubbed his chin as he thought it over. Agnes might remain in the kitchen a while longer. It might be better if they were farther away. “Bedroom, maybe?”

“Bedroom it is,” William said. He looked over at Agnes, who was still standing near the stove. “I hope you have a lovely evening, Agnes.”

Agnes blushed, and her eyes fell to the floor. William’s cheeks reddened a little, too, and Edwin had to fight the urge to thump his friend upside the head for continuing this ridiculously sorry excuse for a courtship. But then William started into the hall, pulling on Edwin’s sleeve twice to coax him to follow.

Looking over his shoulder, William said, “You too, Mrs. Beasley. Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Good night, boys,” Edwin’s mother called out as they walked away.