Page 72 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

The third was that her parents were furious with her. Her father had not spoken to her, had not even come to her room. Her mother had come, but had said very little, disappointment shadowing her eyes. Her mother looked at her differently now, as if she were a lost cause, a broken toy, something that had to be handled gently for fear it would shatter completely. She had made a bid for her freedom, for independence and this was the result: her father could not stand the sight of her and her mother had decided she was to be treated as an invalid, confined to nightgowns and her bedchamber with a diet of laudanum to calm her nerves. This was not what freedom looked like.

Dove sat up carefully in bed, careful not to make the room spin by moving too fast. She was appalled by how weak she’d become in such a short time. Surely no more than a week had passed since she’d been bundled out of London. She would need to dress before her maid arrived. Right now, the effort that required seemed enormous. She would find a loose dress, one that didn’t require stays and underskirts, one of her country dresses, perhaps the green one she wore when she worked with the village children at the art school. She put her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, slowly inching her way to the wardrobe, one hand on the bed for balance the entire way.

* * *

She was dressed and sitting by the window when her mother arrived. ‘Darling, what are you doing out of bed? And you’re dressed.’ Her mother’s surprise contained both parts shock and concern over this turn of events as if people did not get out of bed and dressed every day.

Dove smiled as if this were the best of news, however. She’d decided the best way to deal with her mother would be to pick up the normal pace of her Cornwall life as if nothing had ever happened. ‘Yes, I have lain around too long. It’s time to get up. I have the art school to look after. I feel as if I haven’t seen the children in ages.’ The school would be her purpose now as she put her life back together after the disaster of London. ‘I was thinking I might teach them a little painting this summer.’

The plans flustered her mother. ‘Are you sure you’re well enough? Jeannie is coming with your breakfast and your medicine.’

‘I am fine, Mother. There will be no more medicine.’ She would stand firm on this today. ‘I am not an invalid.’

Her mother’s expression took on a pityingly look. ‘You have had a nervous collapse, we must be careful you do not stress yourself unduly or it will happen again. The doctor says some female constitutions simply are not strong enough to bear strain. You need the medicine, you must stay calm so you do not hurt yourself or become a danger to others.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘London was too much for you. I did not realise…’ Her voice trailed off in sincere regret. Her hand reached out to softly stroke Dove’s cheek, a gesture from childhood. ‘My darling girl, your father wants to send you away where you can get help, but I can’t do it. I want you here with us. We can keep you safe. It will just be the three of us, like it was before.’ Jeannie came in with the breakfast tray—beef broth and toast and the dreaded milky drink.

Pure terror ran through Dove as the depths of her situation rolled over her. Her mother believed it was true—that she’d suffered a breakdown from which there would be no recovery. Cornwall, this house, was to be her prison. There would be no more balls, no more anything. She was to live in seclusion until this fantasy of her mother’s became real in truth, until she became the invalid of her mother’s imagining. It was the doctor’s fault, of course. He had concocted this ridiculous explanation and in her grief over the disaster of London, her mother had believed it. What else could explain a destroyed daughter?

Dove fought back the panic that made her want to argue, to protest. She could do neither. They would only alarm her mother. Her best tool now was to stay calm. Any outburst would be used against her as proof of her instability, proof that she would be better off tucked away somewhere with other crazy women. And yet, she could not resist the pull to make one argument in her defence. ‘Mother, I did not have a nervous collapse. I fell in love,’ Dove ventured quietly.

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