Page 31 of A Tale of Two Dukes
Edward did not come back that day, and a great part of Viola cursed him for it – not that she wanted him there in the slightest, but because he had told her to expect him – and cursed herself and Richard for their excess of caution, and for the loss of time together that they’d never have again.
But in the end, she became reconciled, and in a numb way was glad to have a little space to herself, so that she might set her thoughts in some sort of order and face Edward with more composure than she felt she could manage at present.
Her courses were due in a little less than a fortnight.
She had always been regular, and the circumstances of her married life had made her take good note of them – when they arrived and how long they lasted; she made discreet marks in her diary signifying as much.
She thought it very likely that Edward also kept careful record of her cycle, though they had never spoken of it, naturally.
When she was suffering with her female complaint, she merely told him after dinner that she was unwell – nothing more – and he understood her perfectly and did not trouble her.
It was what her mother had advised her to do; it must be some sort of commonly used code, she supposed.
Certainly, he must be used to it by now, since he’d had so many years of it with one wife after another, month after weary month.
But one thing she knew: he was not welcome in her bed any longer.
Perhaps she could not keep him away forever, if she bled in a few days’ time and he knew himself disappointed again.
But he was damn well not lying with her, on her, touching her, while her whole body still tingled from Richard’s welcome caress, and her arms longed to hold him and never let him go.
She would feign some other kind of trivial illness – say she had a cold.
Something, anything. He might jump to certain conclusions about why her door was suddenly closed to him, but just now, she did not care. Let him worry; let him wonder.
But he did not come, she dined alone, and went alone to her chamber.
Her healthy constitution had a little mercy on her profound unhappiness; she slept heavily and long, and once she had risen, she went for a long walk about the estate, well wrapped against the chill.
She found rather to her surprise that she looked on it all with more fondness now, because she had shared the walks and rides with Richard; here they had danced together, here they sat on their horses and looked down at Winterflood and he had first shown her sympathy, here and here and here they had kissed and spoken words of love.
It still pierced her heart that he was gone, but whatever happened now, no one could ever take these memories away.
When she made her slow way back to the house, Wilkinson told her that Edward had returned a short while since, and was in his study. She would not wait for him to seek her out; she went to him. She had decided in her time alone that she would be braver than she had previously been.
He was reading when she entered – Richard’s letter, she supposed, or one of the others that had come for him in the days that he had been absent. ‘How were the sheep?’ she asked, not troubling overmuch to make it sound as though she cared.
He made to rise to his feet, but she waved off the instinctive courtesy.
‘The sheep…? Oh, there is still some cause for concern, but Thompson and the good farmers have it in hand. All possible quarantine precautions are being taken; I may have to go back in a week or two… I am sorry to see that Cousin Richard has left us. There is nothing wrong, I hope?’
‘He had a number of letters, and they seemed to worry him; at last, he said he felt he had no choice but to go back and deal with the matters that were piling up in his absence. He made his apologies to me for not waiting till you returned, and said he would write to you to make his excuses also. I presume he has done so.’
‘Yes, yes, he has. Well, I am sorry this should have happened; it will be sadly dull for you here without him while the weather continues so cold.’ She thought he was looking at her with unaccustomed attention and sharpness as he said this, seeking some reaction, and for a moment, she could think of no answer to make him that would not betray anything of what she felt; she only shrugged wordlessly and turned away.
He still could not know; it was perfectly possible for her to miss her pleasant companion, for her to cherish a tendre for him, even to be deep in love with him, and him with her, without anything in the least improper having taken place between them.
‘It will be a little quiet without him, that is true, until we grow used to his absence. But I have walked for too long,’ she said with hard-won, cool composure, ‘and I fear I have taken a chill. Excuse me, Edward, I am going to lie down for a little while in bed and get warm.’
He was instantly all solicitude, and urged her – so that she did not have to suggest it herself – to take her dinner in her bedchamber and be sure to keep warm.
The succeeding days passed in similar fashion, and when she was not in bed, she bundled herself up in shawls and had no difficulty at all in looking wan and miserable as she drifted about the house, coughing occasionally when it occurred to her to do so.
She was very tired suddenly, with no need for feigning, and slept a great deal.
He did not come to her, and when he suggested sending for the doctor, she told him that there was not the least need. She just needed to rest.
Nor did her courses arrive. By the time they were three days late, then four, she was tolerably certain that they were not going to make an appearance at all.
She felt the same, and yet different – her breasts were a little sore, as usual, but she had not a twinge of the dragging pain in her belly, her back and thighs that ordinarily accompanied her unwelcome monthly visitor.
She did now feel a compulsion to weep at odd moments in the long, cold days – but she could not wonder at it. Well might she weep, or rage.
Viola thought her husband must be on tenterhooks, but for several days, he dared not ask her in plain words how she did.
In other circumstances, she might have felt pity for his anxiety and the dawning hope that she saw him struggling to suppress.
But she had none to spare for him – after all, it seemed he was getting exactly what he wanted.
His wicked plan had worked to perfection, and if there was a price, he was not the one paying it.