Page 19 of Adoringly, Edward
The thought churned her stomach until bile climbed her throat. She didn’t know what to do. If their child was forced to live without its father?
“Lady Vivienne,” Clara said, pulling her back to the present. “Might I suggest we find a relaxing activity to occupy our time?”
Finally, she tore her attention away from the hallway and forced a smile to her face. “Of course.”
The next hours were filled with games, embroidery, and music, and each moment spent in the quiet stillness spiraled her farther and farther down her hole of worry. She perked up at every sound within the estate, hoping to hear Edward’s voice or eavesdrop on a servant speaking about him in hushed whispers.
But there was nothing. It was as if he suddenly didn’t exist.
After supper, she excused herself and tried her hardest not to flee from Clara’s constant presence and toward the safety of her room. But rather than disappearing behind her door, she knocked abruptly on her mother’s door and slipped inside.
A lantern lit up her mother’s bored expression from where she lay in her bed with her embroidery in her lap. Although hereyes lit up as if she were silently relieved for her company, she maintained the proper poise of a woman of good breeding.
Realizing they were alone, Vivienne moodily kicked off her shoes and loosened her corset. The lack of pressure against her belly gave her some measure of relief. At least until she could no longer hold herself back and ran for the chamber pot, making it just in time to vomit inside.
“Oh, Vivienne,” her mother murmured sympathetically, and when she climbed onto the bed and rested her head on her mother’s lap, her mother stroked her hair in a comforting manner. “I remember my first pregnancy. It was misery. I can’t imagine having to hide it.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, her voice muffled by the bedspread. “I imagined you to be angrier.”
“I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, too. I only wish my mother had been kind enough to help me through the worst of them. I could not fathom spurning you for being human.” And then her mother sighed. “Feigning illness is far more dreadful at someone else’s home than my own.” She chuckled and shook her head. “How did things go with Lord Beaumont today?”
“Terribly! I know he is attracted to me. I can see it in his eyes. He likes it when I touch him. But something is holding him back. He wants nothing to do with me.”
“You mustn’t give up.” Her mother continued to gently stroke her hair. “Men are not so complicated that a pretty face can’t hold them captive.”
Silent, angry sobs wracked her frame. “All this time, he has not bothered to search for me. He literally lives down the street!” Well, thirty minutes down the street by carriage was close enough.
Despite her outburst, her mother continued her calm administration. “Some men are harder to catch than others. You must keep trying. It’s not always easy.”
“What more can I do?”
“Well…” Her mother released a long breath, which managed to rattle the flame of her lantern sitting at her bedside. “You either try harder or find an easier man to catch. The duke—”
“Try harder?” she squeaked. “I have been trying my hardest to catch the man’s eye. Clara keeps ruining it.”
She got the distinct impression Clara was interfering on purpose, though she couldn’t fathom why.
Her mother took a deep breath and tried again. “The duke has asked for your hand, Vivienne.”
The breath whooshed from her lungs, and she shot up to a sitting position to stare at her mother. “Pardon?”
“At the ball last night. Your father arrived near the end. And the duke asked for your hand in marriage.”
Vivienne covered her face with her hand, a shuddering breath escaping her lungs. Denying a duke simply wasn’t done. She’d feared this would happen. And like she’d expected, her heart began to shatter piece by piece.
“What day can I expect to be married off to the oaf?” She bit her tongue until it bled, keeping herself from saying anything more. The duke was a kind man, she knew that. But he was also old enough to be her father.
After a moment’s silence, she felt her mother’s soft hand on the top of her head. Her reassuring touch was enough for her to lift her head to view her mother’s concerned gaze through blurry, tear-filled eyes.
“Your father has left the matchmaking to me.” The stroke of her fingers helped calm her melancholy heart. “I told the duke that you are still young. That he must first woo you until you accept his hand. It gives you more time to charm your viscount while still keeping the duke’s offer on the table.”
Emotion crashed into her as she threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you. I will try my hardest.”
Her mother scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I can hardly believe you’ve had to try so hard with Lord Beaumont to begin with. Does he not have eyes?”
She laugh-sobbed as she dried her tears with a swipe of her sleeve. “I will try harder. How long can you pretend illness?”
“A few days more at most. I’m the sickest I’ve ever been, remember?”
