Page 33 of A Tale of Two Dukes
It was her maid who spoke to her first, and really, she had no option.
‘Your grace,’ Mary said tentatively one morning, when in the middle of dressing, Viola was overwhelmed by a violent spasm of nausea that had her grabbing for the bowl she’d just used to wash, ‘do you think you might be… in a delicate condition?’
‘I think it’s just possible, don’t you?’ said the Duchess faintly, raising her head and then lowering it swiftly again.
It was folly, of course, to imagine that Edward, who so rarely spoke to her at any length unless it was entirely necessary by his lights, would not speak to her of this.
This was an event of great moment in his life.
She could not make out if Jennings had told him, though much later, she had reason to suspect that she might have done, or if he’d counted and noticed the signs himself; at any rate, he came to her in the sitting room one day and said tentatively, ‘My dear… my dear girl, you have been unwell, these last few days, and I wonder if you might possibly…’
‘I believe I am with child, yes, Edward,’ she said quietly. ‘Of course, I have no experience of it, other than what I have seen in my mama and my oldest sister, but Jennings tells me that the symptoms… Yes.’
There were tears in his eyes, she saw, and they stood in her own too, though not for the same reason.
He reached out a hand as if he might touch her, then thought better of it.
‘It is wonderful news, the best news in the world, but it is early, of course,’ he said gruffly.
‘We must take the best possible care of you. Dr McAllister shall attend on you immediately, just to reassure us that all is proceeding as it should. Does Jennings, do you…?’
‘Some time in November, she thinks,’ Viola said.
Seeing an opportunity, she added craftily, ‘My mother might be able to advise me better, having such great experience in these matters. If she came to stay and brought the girls, it would be a great comfort to me. There is none of my sisters preparing to come out at the moment, Allegra is still too young this year even by Mama’s standards, so they will not be constrained by the demands of the Season that will soon begin. ’
Edward had always been notably unenthusiastic about the prospect of having his mama-in-law, who was some six or seven years his junior, to stay at Winterflood with her large and noisy brood.
He and Viola had married in London and left immediately and alone for their honeymoon at Winterflood, and that had plainly suited him very well.
But matters were different now, it seemed – now Mrs Constantine could be of practical help.
He hastened to agree to his wife’s suggestion, letters were written and replies sent, and in an astonishingly short time, a vast, old-fashioned hired vehicle, paid for by the Duke and full to the brim of Constantines, plus Miss Naismith, the young governess, was to be seen pulling up in front of the grand entrance to the mansion.
The weather had grown warmer over the last few days, and it seemed that spring might be on its way at last. The ice on the reflecting pool where they had skated a few weeks ago had melted, and all the icicles that had decorated the statues and the grottoes were gone.
Swelling buds could be seen on the stark fingers of the trees, and tiny shoots were beginning to push up through the soil.
Noticing them, Viola felt a little embarrassed, almost as though she embodied a cliché, but pushed away the thought as fanciful.
The change of seasons was welcome, and her family were welcome too, and her dear friend Emily.
They could not replace Richard, they could not transform Edward into the husband she wanted and could never have, but the bustle and drama they created would make her life seem a little less empty.
Leontina had left her meek husband at home on his small estate just to the south of London; he would do very well by himself, she said ruthlessly, and it was probably true that he would welcome the unaccustomed peace and quiet.
But she had brought her four younger daughters with her: Allegra, who was almost sixteen, Beatrice, who was twelve, Cecilia, nine, and little Bianca.
They tumbled out of the coach in a torrent of femininity that made the Duke blanch visibly, and seized upon Viola to hug her fiercely and exclaim over her.
But they parted to let their mother and Miss Naismith pass between them.
Leontina looked her second daughter up and down and said, ‘You are pale, which is bad. I am positive your foolish husband has been keeping you wrapped in swansdown and not letting you walk more than a few paces at a time. And what is the result? You have no energy and no appetite! Yes, yes, I am sure you feel sick – of course you do; one does. But you need fresh air and some exercise. Only then can you thrive, and the child with you.’
The Duke was heard to murmur mildly that it had been excessively cold for exercise, to which Mrs Constantine retorted unanswerably that it was not cold now. They went inside, and for the first time since Richard had left, the young Duchess was smiling.
Viola knew it was possible that the Duke had harboured a suspicion regarding her family: once the Constantines moved in, they might – like mice, or clothes moths – never leave.
That was very likely one of the reasons he had been reluctant to invite them to stay previously.
As the weeks passed and then the months, his fears might be considered justified.
Mrs Constantine went back to London for a brief time, to be with Sabrina when she gave birth to her second child, but left her younger daughters and their governess behind at Winterflood in her absence and soon returned when it was plain that all was well with Mrs da Costa and her hearty infant son.
Edward, of course, had been visibly delighted at the news that his sister-in-law had presented her husband with another boy.
His own hopes were written sufficiently clearly on his face; Viola could scarcely bear to look at him.
Since the family’s presence made Viola happy, and a happy Viola was one who seemed likeliest to bring a healthy baby – a son, an heir – to term, which she knew was really all he cared about, Edward swallowed any distress he might feel, and stayed out of their way, at least in the daytime.
He wasn’t spending any more time with his duchess than he’d done previously – but at least she wasn’t alone day in, day out as she’d been before.
He had not visited his wife’s bed since Richard’s departure.
One day, when they were alone, Leontina asked her daughter bluntly if he did, and was given an equally blunt answer: ‘No. He married me to get a child, and he will do nothing at all that might put that child in jeopardy. God knows I don’t want him to.
’ That was an ambiguous statement, and she didn’t really care if her mother interpreted it correctly.
It was June by now, and Viola was beginning to show, though the current high-waisted fashions concealed a great deal.
She’d had no word from Richard, and had expected none.
He could not write to her and display honest feeling in case his words were seen by others, and what was the point of letters full of empty platitudes?
She didn’t even know if he had been told that she was in a delicate condition, and if he had written to his cousin at all – which seemed unlikely – she was not in a position to ask.
Edward never mentioned him. He might be abroad; now that a peace treaty had been signed, the opportunities for international trade such as he was engaged in were surely much greater than before, and she knew he spoke French fluently.
His absence was a secret pain that did not seem to lessen over time. But she could mourn it with nobody.
‘He is… displeasing to you?’ Mrs Constantine asked with rare delicacy. She meant Winterflood, of course. It was important to be alert, when speaking with her, not drift off into daydreams of Richard and answer all at hazard.
‘There is nothing to dislike about Edward’s embraces. But I do not miss them either. They neither please nor displease me, except in the most obvious physical, animal sense, which, Mama, we are really not going to talk about.’
Leontina shook her dark head. ‘Pleasing or not, if your child is a daughter, you will need to welcome him back into your bed after a time. If you cannot keep him away for long enough to ensure your health, or fear you cannot, I will speak to him, never doubt it, and make sure he heeds me and has some patience.’ This was an alarming prospect, but it was a sign of caring on her mother’s part, and Viola could only welcome it, knowing it was lovingly meant.
Other mothers might perhaps show their maternal affection in soft words and embraces; Leontina had a fiercer and more practical way about her.
‘That is a bridge that I will cross when I come to it, and not before,’ she said shortly. ‘Worrying about that now will make no difference to the outcome. If one could have a healthy boy child by willing it, we’d not be having this conversation, would we?’
‘And you would have a brother, or more than one. Indeed. What will be will be, I suppose,’ said Mrs Constantine, apparently recognising that sometimes, even she could do nothing to alter the course of events. ‘And you are young, if he is not. There is time.’