"Than it shall double to twenty next Season," he said as cool as you please.
"I'm sorry," she said, forcing herself to stand. "I cannot accept your loan, after all."
"Of course you can," he said jovially.
"No. I can't." She moved toward the door. "If you'll excuse me, I need to be returning home. Baroness duties, and all."
His face hardened. "Then do you intend to tell your husband of your folly?"
"Yes." Enduring Edward's wrath had to be a better alternative than being in her father's debt. At least, her one saving grace was the items weren't to be delivered until after the breakfast.
~Chapter Nineteen~
"Regina, may I help you with the plans for the breakfast?" Edward said, joining her in the drawing room. At the request of the head schoolmaster, he'd spent all day yesterday and most of this morning at Eton sorting out exactly who had participated in which trivial misbehaviors and the extent of their punishment. Nonsense, if you asked him. But it was his responsibility to be there-even if he'd have rather spent the day with his wife. Not so today. He'd just arrived and didn't want to waste another minute outside her company.
"You don't have to help me plan anything. As the hostess, it is my responsibility."
"You're right," he acknowledged, looking at her curiously. Something seemed different about her this morning. "But I want to help."
She eyed him curiously. "You're not offering to help because you think I'm handling everything poorly, are you?"
"No."
Her eyes narrowed. "So help you, Edward Banks, if you're lying I will order the gruel right now."
"There is no need for such. Besides, per your own rules, I still have one mistruth left." He paused. "Or are we counting my minor omission at the beginning of our marriage as a lie?"
She swatted at him with a sofa cushion. "I ought to suspend your 'lying allowance' by ten years for that one alone."
"It's too late for that, madam," he said. "You've already agreed to the rules." He took the paper from in front of her and scanned the list she'd made. "So what do you say? Would you like my help?"
"But it is my duty."
Edward scoffed at her weak attempt at a protest. It would take more than that to sway him. "Your duty, you say? I don't remember seeing a line saying, 'Thou shan't accept help from thy husband, the baron, when planning a social event.' anywhere within the pages of Brazzel's Instructions for Baronesses."
"Are you certain?" Regina set down the quill she'd been using to make notes. "I specifically remember seeing that very line on page two hundred ninety-three."
"Two hundred ninety-three is mighty ambitious, don't you think?" he asked, leaning closer to her. "I'd have thought the duties of a baroness could have been summed up in a matter of one paragraph."
"And would the theme of that paragraph be? To do whatever it takes to please the baron?"
"Of course," he agreed with a grin, "including letting him help when he offers his assistance."
"What makes you think I'm in need of your help?"
He sighed. Her pride was both admirable and damnable. "Would you like the truth?"
"Yes, for I should hate to make you unwell in an effort to spare my feelings."
"Thank you. That's very considerate," he murmured, screwing up the courage to say his next words without sounding like a besotted fool. "I should like to spend the day with you today."
"Don't you have some experiment to attend to or a formula to test?"
"No." The truth was, even though he felt he was making remarkable progress with Regina, he didn't want to be locked up in his library working on his latest project today. Odd, that. He cleared his throat. "What do you say? Would you care to spend the day with your stodgy lord of a husband?"
"Can I tell you something first? Then let you decide if you'd like to spend the day with your biddy of a lady wife?"
He laughed. "With a statement such as that, I don't believe I wish to hear whatever confession you think you need to make." Not to mention that short of murder or adultery, both things he was certain she hadn't committed, there wasn't a single thing she could have done that would make him not want to spend the day with her. "How about a compromise? You can tell me whatever it is you believe will make me think of you as an old bird tomorrow; and as your payment for whatever ghastly thing you've done, today we go do whatever I wish."
A slow smile spread over her lips. "I'd love to."
He stood and extended her his hand. "Splendid."
"You cannot be serious," Regina said when they entered the carriage, and Edward requested she wear a blindfold until they arrived.
He doubled over the black silk stocking. "I want it to be a surprise."
"Then I shan't look out the window."
"How do I know you won't peek?" he questioned smoothing the silk over his thigh.
"It's just a chance you'll have to take."
"Unless, I keep you distracted with something else," he murmured. He folded up the stocking and shoved it into his breast pocket. "All right, you have been spared the blindfold, but will now have to suffer my conversation."
"I don't mind so much."
He couldn't stop his smile at her admission. "I'm glad to hear that." And he was. He'd grown quite fond of her in the past weeks and would be a bit saddened to find she didn't feel the same for him.
The carriage rolled on, taking this street then that. It was forty-five minutes before the carriage came to a stop. Booming voices and peals of laughter filled the chilly air.
"Where are we?" Regina asked, pulling back the edge of the red velvet curtain that hung over the window.
"Do you remember when I suggested that I should take you to go see some of your own kind?"
"Jesters, you mean?"
"Just so," he said with a nod, oddly pleased that she'd remembered that. "I thought today I'd take you to Covent Garden to see the jesters. And, of course, we'll be sure to see the jugglers, bearded ladies, rotten vegetable vendors, and two-bit actors, so you can decide which source of entertainment to hire for the breakfast."
"Thank you."
"Well, come along, then," he said, reaching for her hand. He hated being thanked. He didn't deserve it, especially where Regina was concerned.
Regina allowed him to help her descend the carriage then, without his prompting, put her hand on his arm.
Blood pounded in Edward's ear at her simple gesture. "I'm assuming you haven't been here before," he ventured after they entered the grounds and he caught sight of Regina's partially opened mouth as she stared at a man on stilts juggling his "wife's" apples while she chased after him, scolding him in front of a roaring crowd.
"You assume correctly. My father never made time for this sort of thing; he was far too busy. And it'd have been an offense of the highest order to even mention such a place at Sloan's."
"I do wonder why?" Edward teased, pointing to the left where a woman dressed as a barmaid and wearing a tall wig stood on a small stage and sang.
"Perhaps because the school used to be run by nuns before the ban of Catholicism?" Regina suggested, a teasing sparkle in her eye.
"Right. We're here to see your kind. I nearly forgot." He pointed forward. "They keep the jesters over there so not to scare the patrons."
She scoffed. "Scare the patrons? I think that dancing barmaid took care of that."
"Not these patrons." He led her slowly down the lane. "If we walk past anything you wish to see longer, let me know."
"Is that man juggling knives?"
Edward followed her outstretched finger with his eyes. "Indeed. Notice the black glove on his left hand?"
"Does he wear it so he doesn't cut himself?"
Edward shook his head then leaned in close to her. "Look carefully."
She leaned her head closer to Edward's, her silky hair brushing his nose. "What am I looking for?"
Edward inhaled her scent. She smelled of spring and honeysuckles. So intoxicating. "Just look closely and you'll see it," he murmured.
"Does it have something to do with his glove?"
"Mmmhmmm."
She gasped. "He has only four fingers!" She turned her head to look at him and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
***
There was an intensity in Edward's eyes she'd never seen before, quelling her words and thoughts. His body so close to hers, she could feel his heartbeat the same as she could feel her own.