Page 82 of The Sound of Seduction
Violet turned her head slightly, her lips parted as though to speak, but no sound came.
Flushed skin.
Clutching her stomach.
Wendy’s fingers moved instinctively, pushing her pearl bracelet up and clasping Violet’s thin wrist. She pressed two fingers to the pulse point, her practiced touch catching the weak and uneven thrum beneath Violet’s skin. Her other hand pressed gently against Violet’s cheek—clammy and far too cold. Wendy’s jaw tightened.
The symptoms were…confusing.
“Oh, the baby. What about the baby?” Violet half whispered and half-cried.
“Breathe with me,” Wendy murmured, her tone deliberate, soothing. “Can you do that? Nice and steady.” But Violet’s faint shaking continued, and Wendy’s sharp eyes caught the faintest hint of greenish pallor beneath her jawline. Her mind hummed with focused energy, filing every detail, every clue.
“May I?” Wendy reached toward Violet’s stomach to feel for the baby.
The muscles were tense, and the belly felt hard.
“Are you bleeding?” Wendy asked but Violet shook her head.
Good.
Except that this meant something else was amiss. At five months, miscarriages were rare… unless the baby would come too early.
“Did you exert yourself too much dancing?” Wendy asked.
Violet shook her head again, covering her mouth with one hand. “Not even one whole dance.”
As Violet exhaled, Wendy’s stomach churned—a bitter, metallic scent tickled her senses. Her lips pressed together in a thin, firm line. No. This wasn’t a mistake. This was intentional, methodical.Poison.
Wendy let go of Violet’s wrist and she brushed the fabric of Violet’s dress down to touch her stomach. Her calm expression did not falter, though her heart thudded with urgency when she realized how tense her stomach was.
Distress in pregnancy could harm the fetus.
Wendy helped Violet turn to her side, rested her hand gently over the small swell of her belly again. Often, the uterus relaxed sideways, and the baby would shift.
Nothing.
The child.Her thoughts steeled, cutting through any hesitation like a surgeon’s blade.
“Violet,” Wendy began, her firm yet soothing voice pulling Violet’s glassy eyes toward her.
“What did you eat or drink?” Wendy asked.
Violet froze for an instant. She looked at Wendy but didn’t seem to see her. And then, she grimaced, and began to cry.
“Tell me what happened!”
“Sofia von List… the punch… it smelled bad.” Violet cried and curled back up, clutching her belly, and rocking back and forth. “Oh, Henry was so happy to have a child. Perhaps even an heir.”
But Wendy didn’t let her drop back on the floor.
Her next motions were brisk and decisive. She grabbed the bowl from the wash basin with one hand, poured the water into the bucket in the corner, and held the bowl in front of Violet.
“We’ve got to get the poison out before it reaches the baby.” Wendy positioned herself behind Violet so that she could support her chest for the heaving she knew would come.
But Violet sobbed, barely holding her limp form up.
“Violet, we’ve got to do this now.”
