Page 48 of Beauty's Beast

She recalled the day she had told him she was pregnant. What was it he had said? Something about her being a delight and that he would miss her. She recalled asking him about the pain he was suffering, and his reply that there was nothing anyone could do.

Was he dying? The thought made her stomach roil with nausea. Was that it? Did he have some horrible wasting disease? Was that why he wore the mask, why she had never seen him unclothed, why he refused to let her touch him?

Determined to find the answers to her questions, she arranged to have Chilton bring the carriage around the following morning.

“Where to, my lady?” Chilton asked as he handed her into the conveyance.

“The convent,” Kristine said, “at St. Clair.”

Lady Trevayne received her in a small, austere room. Dressed in a severe black gown, her dark hair caught in a tight coil at her nape, she managed to look both fragile and regal at the same time.

At the wedding, Kristine had guessed Erik’s mother to be in her sixties. She realized now that Lady Trevayne was probably ten years younger.

“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” Kristine said.

“No. Please, sit down.”

Kristine sat on one of the hard-backed chairs, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “Thank you.”

“Why have you come here?” Lady Trevayne asked.

“I wanted to ask you about Erik.”

A shadow passed through the older woman’s eyes; her fingers went white around the rosary clutched in her hand. “What about him?”

“Is he ill?”

“Ill?”

“Yes, there’s something wrong with him, I know there is.”

“Have you asked Erik what it is that troubles him?”

“Yes, but he refuses to speak of it. I know he’s in pain, but he won’t tell me the cause.”

“I’m sorry, I cannot help you.”

“But you know, don’t you? Please, I just want to help.”

“You care for him, don’t you?”

“Yes. I love him.” She spoke the words without thinking, only then realizing that it was true.

“I’m sorry for you, my dear.”

“Sorry for me? Why?”

Lady Trevayne shook her head. “You are with child, are you not?”

“Yes, I am. Did Erik tell you?”

“I have not seen my son since the day of your wedding.”

“He left me.”

A soft sigh escaped Lady Trevayne’s thin lips. “It’s for the best. Go home, Kristine. Forget about Erik. Think of your babe.” She rose to her feet, a small, slender woman whose eyes seemedto hold all the sadness of the world. “God bless you, Kristine. Please send one of the boys to let me know when your child is born.”

Kristine stared after Erik’s mother, more confused than ever.

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