There was no joy, no excitement; instead she felt only grief and regret.
“Good-bye, Edward,” Mattie whispered. Tears choked in her throat. “I’m sorry.”
And basket in one hand, bandbox in the other, she set off for Gripton.
Anger stewed in Edward’s chest. He felt as if a coke mound smoldered there, giving off black and stinking smoke. The anger was as much at himself as at Mattie—Fool for being so easily duped!—and it kept him awake long past midnight. He heard the clock strike one o’clock, and then two o’clock, and then three, before sleep claimed him. It was almost noon by the time he woke. His head was heavy, his mood foul. He rang for Tigh.
The bâtman bustled in with hot shaving water and a fresh towel. “Good morning, sir.”
Edward grunted sourly. He glanced out the window. The sky
