Page 81 of The Sound of Seduction
Andre lingered, his gaze sharp with concern. He stepped closer, leaning toward her. “Are you sure you can handle this alone?” His voice was low, the question careful, as though he was half expecting her to say no.
Wendy met his eyes, her voice steady. “Yes. If I need more help, I’ll call for you.” Her confidence wasn’t false bravado; it came from years of hard-won experience, from the quiet resolve of a woman who had faced worse than this and walked away stronger. They’d seen it before and knew what a miscarriage could entail. And Wendy knew that he’d be there if she needed his support. Andre hesitated only a moment longer before stepping back. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue further. “I’ll wait.” He tilted his head as if to say “within earshot” but it was understood. After all these years of working together, the location, the ball downstairs, their impractical evening attire—none of it mattered. There was a life at stake and the doctors and their nurse from Harley Street would step in.
“I’m going to fetch some medicine,” Alfie said from the doorway. He didn’t ask; he simply stated it, as though seeking to keep some tangible connection to the moment, some action to take. Wendy gave him a brief, reassuring nod, and with that, he followed the others out.
The heavy oak door clicked shut, and Wendy exhaled, the sound seeming louder in the sudden quiet. Her gaze swept across the now-empty room. It was resplendent in its elegance, the softly buzzing gas light glinting off the lacquered furniture and pristine silk draperies. Normally, she might admire the beauty of such a space. But now, her attention fixed solely on the closed bathroom door.
Sliding her hands down her skirts to steady them, Wendy reached the door and paused, resting her fingertips lightly on its surface.
She knocked once, her movements controlled. “It’s just me now,” she said, her voice even but gentle. “Violet, it’s Wendy. Can I come in?” Silence stretched thin between them. Wendy leaned her ear close, listening for any hint of movement. Her pulse quickened as she waited, bracing herself.
“Please,” she added softly after a moment. “It’s just the two of us. I promise.”
Then she heard the screech of the bolt and pushed the door gently open.
But even she didn’t brace herself for what she found inside.
*
Stan’s boots struckthe floor in measured strides as he followed the others to the staircase, the tension tightening like a coil in the air. Langley gripped the railing, his hands white-knuckled as he leaned forward, scanning the scene below. None of them were in the mood for a ball anymore. Andre stood nearby, arms crossed, a deep crease cutting across his brow.
“Why do you think she collapsed?” Stan asked, his voice low but sharp.
Andre shook his head, his reply clipped. “Hard to say. Pregnant women can be unpredictable. But this feels… wrong.”
“She seemed well earlier,” Langley interjected, raking a hand through his hair. “She didn’t seem ill, not even in the carriage.”
Stan’s chest tightened at the memory. “No, she seemed happy.” He inhaled sharply. “But something changed at the ball.”
Andre’s jaw tightened. “Spoiled food, maybe?”
“No.” Stan frowned, his mind racing. “I didn’t see her eating anything.” But then he blinked. “The punch.” His tone sharpened. “It smelled… off. Like something acrid, almost metallic, and yet sweet.”
Langley turned to him, his voice edged with alarm. “Poison?”
Stan nodded, the pieces fitting together in his mind. “She barely tasted it but handed me her glass. I set it down in the hall when we ran after her.”
Langley swore under his breath and pushed off the railing, already moving. “If it’s still there, Alfie can confirm. I’ll find it.” He dashed down the stairs, calling for the apothecary.
Stan exhaled, his pulse quickening as he met Andre’s troubled stare. “If she’s poisoned—what do we do? For her, for the baby?”
Before Andre could answer, Wendy’s urgent voice rang from the chamber. “Andre!”
Stan’s blood went cold, the sound slicing through him. He took an instinctive step toward the door, but Andre blocked him with a steady hand.
“This isn’t for you, Stan. Not now,” he said firmly, before striding toward the call.
Stan stood frozen, his fists clenched, every muscle taut as the weight of helplessness pressed down.
“If it’s Wendy, it’s always for me.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Wendy’s skirts brushedthe tiled floor as she pushed the door into the dim bathroom, revealing Violet curled on the ground, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her trembling was faint, nearly imperceptible, but the sight hit Wendy with the force of a blow.
The usually opinionated and energetic Countess of Langley was on the tiled floor, her face looked ashen, her lips dry, and her eyes were wide with horror.
“Violet,” Wendy said softly, her voice calm despite the panic pressing at the edges of her mind. She crouched down, the layers of her gown shifting as she settled on the cold floor beside Violet. The chill of the tiles seeped through the fabric, a stark contrast to the warmth of Wendy’s hand as she reached out, brushing a few damp strands of hair from Violet’s face. “I’m here now.”
