We’ve just had joyful news from Boston—Fern’s babe arrived, a little girl named Emily. Alexander cabled and said your sister was tremendously brave for the whole ordeal. I know you are hesitant to accept Sir Phineas’ proposal, but he could give you children, if not your own, then his. He’ll be on his way to the party by the time you read this—
She shoved the paper down into her lap. Her hand moved to her own abdomen, held as she searched for the phantom stirrings of a child that was never meant to be. With unapologetic celerity, memories of that horrible night swept through her, replacing the pleasure of her sister’s news with nausea.
She gripped the arm of her chair until her fingertips pulsed, then she stood on trembling legs. Her feet moved of their own accord, and she forced a weak smile as she passed her concerned hostess, willing herself not to break into a run.
Her breath sawed in and out of her body, so loud alongside her heartbeat she was certain everyone in Yorkshire could hear it. She ventured into the oldest part of the abbey, the medieval portion that once housed a priory. Turning door knobs at random, she found one that opened into a room that had once been a private prayer chapel but now served as a storage area.
She pressed her palm against the rough-hewn stone wall, focusing on the scrape as the cold seeped into her bones. The room held the preternatural silence of a sacred space, where the walls had heard generations of pleas for divine intervention. Light from thetall stained glass window painted the walls and floor in a kaleidoscope of colors, and Violet lifted her hand, letting the shades paint her skin in sapphire, gold, and scarlet.
At least one part of her life could have color. Her soul had been blackened before, scorched beyond recognition when she had finally begun to feel alive again. She was certain Gregory Townsend had never shed a tear for her or the life they created together. He hadn’t been there the night her body betrayed her, did not mourn until he was gutted, empty and inconsequential. She wondered once more, as she had so many times in the weeks following her crisis, what the baby would have looked like had it survived. Would it have his brilliant green eyes and tawny hair, or would it resemble her, with dark curls and full lips?
A sob burst from her throat, wrenching out whatever strength remained in her spine until she bent over, the crumpled letter clenched in her fist. Grief was an insidious snake, one that disguised itself as melancholy until it struck its victim unawares and derived a sick joy from destroying anew.
“Violet?”
Callum stood in the doorway, his hands braced on either side of the threshold. The stained glass painted him in shades of orange and red, like an avenging angel sent to protect her. She shook off the romantic thought as she dashed the tears from her cheeks.
“I’m fine,” she croaked. “News from home, and I—I needed a moment.”
Much to her frustration, he stepped into the room, stooping to fit inside the doorway. “Bad news?”
“It’s nothing.” The tremor in her voice betrayed her nonchalance, and his brow furrowed.
“What’s happened?”
He came closer, and she hated it, hated for a man to see her vulnerable again. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Nothing’s happened. I am missing home, that’s all.”
“Ye’re a terrible liar.”
She knew her scowl lacked heat; her throat was burning, and it took every ounce of her self-control to avoid succumbing to the tears that clouded her vision.
Before she could speak, Callum was by her side and leaning down to meet her eyes. He rested his hand on her shoulder, and the warmth of his touch swam through her. “What’s happened, lass?”
She shook her head with a wry chuckle. “You don’t want to hear it.”
“Ye’re wrong about tha’. Ye shared my burden yesterday, so it’s my turn to bear yers.” His voice was low and soothing, and she had the strangest impulse to throw herself into his arms and let him hold her while she wept.
What harm was there in telling him? Perhaps it would force some distance between them. From the moment he’d agreed to ruin her, a tether had latched them together, and instead of resenting his association with her, Callum liked her. As though he’d seen to the core of her and admired what he saw.
She couldn’t allow that, not if she wanted to keep herself safe. “My sister’s had a baby.”
Callum’s eyes narrowed. In the light from the window, they blazed gold. “Is that no’ good news?”
“It is, and I’m happy for her, but my mother…” Her lungs burned as she cycled through a breath. “My mother is encouraging me to accept an offer of marriage.”
“From the man ye’re trying to scare off?”
“Yes, not that I can tell her that. He already has children, and she thinks—”
When she hesitated, he stepped closer, tension set in the long lines of his body. “What does she think?”
She wanted to lie, to stop herself from opening the wound that had finally scabbed over, but as he held her gaze, she nodded. “She thinks it will do me good to have children to raise, as I am unlikely to have my own… after what happened.”
Callum’s nostrils flared. “Afterwhathappened, Violet?”
She chuckled without humor and turned to look out the window. If she had to see those silver irises while she told him about her past, she wouldn’t make it through. But he may as well know the truth of her, the type of woman he had agreed to help. “There isn’t much to tell. A man told me I was beautiful and that he loved me, and he convinced me to go to bed with him. And because I have cursed luck, I found myself with child.”
She paused, glancing in his direction. Callum’s his eyes darted over her face, as though assessing her for injuries. Pity he couldn’t see the damage that had Gregory had left.
