fountain at the heart of Piccadilly. Normally, Essie would not permit herself a glimpse of the naked statue of Eros set to stride across London. But this evening Essie studied the Greek god of love and remembered blushing when reading Greek myths late into the night by candlelight when Gertie had borrowed some books from Miss Barnes.
The stories had created the same stirring and tickling sensation along her limbs that she felt this very evening as she took in the line of the statue’s arms, the tensed muscle in his bronze legs as he stood poised to leap, bow and arrow tipped to fire.
Eros had Essie in his sights.
Essie’s head swam with emotion. Edward obviously had something urgent to tell her—to ask her.
I wish to discuss the arrangements in person …
Edward had apologised in the same note for the lack of contact, explaining it had been impossible to find a moment to write since his return from Boston. The flurry of new building works across Westminster and London were keeping Edward fully occupied. Also, Ma had been watching Essie like a hawk, sending Gertie or Freddie with her on errands as simple as fetching a bottle of peppermint oil.
It didn’t matter: Edward was on his way right now to meet her. Alone.
Dusk fell and the electric streetlights flickered awake.
Essie glanced back at Fortnum & Mason. Inside, wicker hampers overflowing with boxes of tea, cheese, chocolates and sweets were arranged between vases of pink and white lilies. Essie wondered if these were the same type of hampers the shop had famously sent to the suffragettes in prison who’d smashed these very windows a couple of years back. It had been all over the newspaper front pages at the time.
Evening started to fall, and she wandered from the window to stand beneath a lamp-post. Her feet were sore from the walk across the bridge, but she needed to shake the nerves—and excitement—from her legs, otherwise she’d be twitching at the table all evening.
Out of the evening mist an image of her twins appeared. Two smiling faces dimpled and filthy. One slightly fuller in the cheeks than the other.
She sighed and her chest tightened. She would give anything for a swift kick in the shins from Maggie as her skinny little legs twitched under the kitchen table while she mopped up her bread and dripping. Closing her eyes, she imagined leaning over Flora and pressing her nose into her curls smelling of sarsaparilla and soap as she sectioned the child’s wayward hair into plaits.
A sharp honk from a passing car startled Essie from her daydream. The giggling twins faded into the mist, leaving Essie’s heart cleaved and aching.
She never knew when grief would show its hand—or if grief would ever leave. Even in moments of happiness, sadness always seemed to lurk in the shadows just a couple of paces away. Essie closed her eyes, taking the damp London air deep into her lungs. With each breath, her chest loosened a little and her breathing eased.
Edward would be here soon and all would be well.
Better than well: it would be perfect.
Hearing a brisk footfall behind her she turned, and couldn’t help breaking into a smile when she saw that it was Edward striding towards her.
He was wearing a new three-piece suit and a bowler hat, but underneath a dark curl had escaped and was stuck to his forehead. He pulled up abruptly two paces short of Essie, and clicked his heels together. His shoes were glossy with nary a scuff.
Had he worn this new suit to impress her? She wasn’t one whose head was turned by a new outfit. All the same, she felt flattered by the gesture.
‘Edward.’ She nodded with what she hoped was a demure smile. She lifted her gaze from his new shoes to his dark eyes. But the brim of his hat cast a shadow over his face. Her eyes searched for his in vain.
Edward tipped his hat back and looked her up and down, pausing for a beat, before shifting his weight and straightening his shoulders.
‘Hello. Essie, I …’
He took a nervous step towards her and she could almost hear the thud of his heartbeat. His shoulders were pulled tight and Essie felt her stomach flip when she thought of the smooth skin underneath his shirt, the strong contours of his back. How safe she had felt when wrapped in his arms.
A familiar stirring started along her limbs, but she shook it off, not wanting to appear distracted.
Edward’s face