Page 50 of A Tale of Two Dukes
Viola stood alone on the cliff by the castle and looked out at the stormy sea, her hair coming loose and whipping about her. It was morning now – a new day had started, full of possibilities both good and bad, but she had no idea how it might end.
She had called a halt to their painful discussion late last night and banished Richard from her bed, telling him that she was exhausted by emotion and needed to think, needed time away from him.
Just then, she could not find it in her to care what corner he might find to lay his weary head for the rest of the night, or if it would be cold, draughty and uncomfortable, as seemed likely.
That would do no more than serve him right, in fact.
The castle need not be such a ruin as it still was; it could all have been put right by now, if he’d been honest with her in the first place.
Had his world truly become such a convoluted mess that he could no longer distinguish between necessary and unnecessary deception?
She’d done this sort of thing once before, of course, a few weeks back – sent him away and then a short while later, fallen back into his arms all the same, despite all her doubts – but she was not sure if she would do so again.
If she should. They’d been so close to something that had felt precious and real, for a tantalisingly brief moment; normal happiness such as she’d never known in her life had almost been within reach, and now this fresh revelation had come crashing down upon her, casting everything she’d thought she’d been building into question.
Viola had never imagined that the revelation of her pregnancy, which should have been a joyful moment they would both remember forever – so unlike the last time she had had cause to pass on such news – would lead to such a conversation, and to the pouring out of so many confidences, both welcome and unwelcome.
It was a great deal to take in all at once, and hard for her to know what she should feel about it.
It would be all too easy to let the knowledge that Richard had never forgotten her, and worked so diligently and for so long to win her, to sweep everything else away. But should she?
She stood, and watched the sea crash onto the rocks in relentless motion, and the clouds moved across the big Yorkshire sky, and still she did not know.
She’d breakfasted in bed, and the boys had come in to see her, bringing gusts of bracing air, chattering excitedly about their plans for the day.
Richard was taking them to Whitby, they told her, and they’d been sent to ask if she wanted to come too; of course she would be very welcome.
If they considered it at all odd that her new husband had not thought to ask her himself, they made no mention of it.
She’d smiled with only a little effort and told them that she was rather tired, Lord Ventris having got back so late the night before.
She thought she would prefer to have a lazy day here instead, and rise later than they would like, and so they should go without her and be sure to enjoy themselves.
They’d run off without questioning her further, and their cheerful shouts had echoed up the stone stair for a while, until at last, the place had fallen silent and she must presume they’d gone, and their father along with them.
She wasn’t alone here, but in the oppressive silence, it felt as though she were the only person in the huge building.
At least she had a little precious space to think.
He was their father. He had fought for them and for her, risked his life, even, and won them at last, or so he’d thought.
He had always loved them even when he’d been deprived of the chance of knowing them, and they were coming to care for him, partly at least because he was being so careful and respectful of them.
Certainly, they enjoyed his company and were beginning slowly to trust him and value his opinions.
It was too soon to say that they needed him, but if they stayed much longer in his company, they soon would.
If she intended to leave him – and of course, she’d take them with her if she did, she couldn’t contemplate anything else – it had better be soon.
Long before this child in her belly stirred, long before he or she knew what it meant to have a father, or to be deprived of one.
It was all too easy to say that she could not do this cruel thing to Richard – but she should forget him for a moment if she could; he was a grown man and had made his own bed – or to any of her children, born and unborn.
Ned and Robin had lost one father already – must they lose another?
Must her third child never know one at all?
Yes, he was their father and yes, she could not doubt that he loved his little family, including her, as fiercely as one might hope to be loved.
But he wasn’t perfect, far from it – he had behaved recklessly, even thoughtlessly, and allowed the ruthlessness with which he’d had to conduct his dangerous daily existence for so many years to seep into his emotional life when, from her perspective, it hadn’t been necessary.
Of course she had been waiting for him all this time, though she’d never admitted as much to herself, let alone to anyone else.
But it wasn’t reasonable to expect him to know that – he could not.
Was she really going to throw everything that they were building together away because he’d cherished a wild, desperate hope about her underlying feelings for him that was, in fact, fully justified?
That was all very well, very feminine and noble, very much the way that women were expected to behave, always to forgive the transgressions of their men, always to put their children first above themselves, but of what of her in all this?
What did she need and want and deserve? It was very difficult to say, hurt and confused as she was just now.
Perhaps it was after all impossible to lose something you had never truly had.
Nobody could be expected to enjoy being manipulated, and she with all her painful history with Edward least of all.
And that he should have known. If in the end, she could not find it in herself to absolve him for what he had done, that would be why.
And so if she stayed for the children’s sakes, and only for them, without ever being able to trust him fully, would it be a sacrifice of herself, a compromise too far, and one that she would later bitterly regret?