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But not Robert. No, he’d never desired her. She still wondered why he’d married her.
Her stomach clenched as she listened to the pair discuss the clinical details surrounding her incarceration—Madame Bradden’s sudden attacks of fear and frenzy. Lord, they’d terrified Lily too, but she’d never done anyone any harm. And each one had lasted only hours, leaving her wracked and depleted. But no less herself in the morning.
Now Robert was taking her back? He had relented?
Oh God, what other punishment did he have in store for her?
“She has displayed no insanity this past year, no.” Sister Bernadette sounded proud. “Not, in fact, since she came here. We work hard in this house to beat the devil out of our inmates though it is well known that insanity cannot be cured. I hope Lord Bradden has a sturdy lock on the door of the suite in which madame will be incarcerated. And I hope he has thought long and hard about the merits of undertaking her care, himself. Dealing with the feeble-minded and criminally insane is our specialty.”
Mr Montpelier nodded as he rose. “I believe he conveyed everything necessary in his letter,” he said, nodding at the missive that lay on the table in front of Sister Bernadette. “The carriage is waiting outside. We will leave once Madame Bradden has packed her things and, I hope, will make good progress so we can catch the dawn packet tomorrow.”
“Madame is ready to depart now,” Sister Bernadette said, flicking her a look that Lily would have described as gloating had she not known what a sainted being Mother Superior’s right-hand tormenter really was. “Our inmates are allowed no possessions.”
Chapter 2
Lily sat, shivering with hope and fear, opposite Mr Montpelier in the carriage as it jolted gently down the hill away from her place of incarceration.
She’d been given a brief opportunity to wash her face and hands, but she doubted she’d ever feel truly clean. Like the dirt and grit from the coal mines that polluted the air of the village, she could never wash away the sin that had caused her fall from grace.
Not that Robert had lived a spotless life.
But then, he was a man. He didn’t need to be free from sin to remain a pillar of polite society.
“When does my husband expect me?” she asked, breaking the silence as they passed through the cobbled streets of the smoky Belgian village in the lee of the hill upon which nestled the maison. Then, more bravely, “He has forgiven me?” For this man opposite her must be in possession of information that would help Lily craft the artful petition she’d rehearsed for two years to be granted her freedom. Robert might be bringing her home, but he’d not install her as his lawful wife; of that she was very sure.
He cast her a look that conveyed both irritation and disgust. “Your husband is not a forgiving man.”
“Then…it is someone else who has secured my freedom?” She couldn’t contain the excitement in her tone.
Mr Montpelier studied her a long moment before he looked away. Clearly, he was not the kind to humour her. Finally, he replied, “Your former lover is married now, with a child, and has, to the best of my knowledge, made no enquiries regarding your welfare.”
Lily tried not to reveal the extent of her wounding. The dismissive tone was as painful as the information. So, Teddy was not behind her removal. She was being brought back to the country of her birth where she’d spent the first twenty-three years of her life, to be reviled and incarcerated, simply in a different environment.
“Dr Swithins is not worth your tears.” Mr Montpelier’s tone was unsympathetic.
“He promised to secure my release.”
“He said what you needed to hear to make you go quietly with him. Channel your finer feelings where they are due, Madame Bradden.”
“And where are they due? Who has concerned themselves with my welfare since my husband took me as his wife and then beat me and suppressed my will?” Emotion threatened to overcome her as she leaned forward, tense and tearful. “Is it at his pleasure that I am being brought back to him? Does his conscience smite him that not once in two years have I shown the degeneracy of character that was the basis of him committing me to an asylum for the insane?” Her flare of anger was tempered by his look. Lily pressed her lips together, suddenly afraid. She must heed her words if she were not to be sent directly back from whence she came.
“Your husband has not spoken your name in two years. You are dead to him.” Mr Montpelier looked bored. “It was a marriage that was pressed upon him, but yielded him nothing but shame and misery. Not even the heir he required.”
“That was not entirely my fault,” Lily muttered. “Nor am I the vain, self-centred creature my husband painted me.” She said this as proudly as she could, though the response was predictable as he raked her with disdainful eyes, starting from the top of her hideous flannel cap, travelling down her emaciated body in its grey flannel tunic to her shabby boots.
“You have little to feed your vanity, it is true, Madame Bradden.”
Lily stared miserably down at her hands clasped demurely in her lap, the nails ripped and dirty. “For five years, I tried to be the wife he wanted me to be.” She looked up. “It is difficult to respond to harsh dealings and cold contempt with an abundance of good humour and…fidelity.”
“You traded your modest standing in society in order to deport yourself in silk and satin and jewels. Your husband spared no expense, I believe.”
“My father bartered me to a man I’d met but once. From the age of ten, I lived quietly with my aunt, then seven years later, having barely seen my father during that time, he told me I was to be married. It was a business transaction that suited them both, and I was the showpiece for my husband’s wealth. That is not the same as bartering my modest standing in order to deport myself in satin and jewels, though I’ve no doubt it’s what my detractors will tell you,” she softly.
“Marriage is a contract, Madame Bradden. Even at the tender age at which you married, you’d have been well-schooled in what your side of the bargain required of you.”
“My husband has clearly revealed a great deal about our marriage, Mr Montpelier.” Lily’s aversion to the cold-faced man opposite her grew.
“He has said nothing to me about you, or your marriage, Madame Bradden. This is what the gossips say.” He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “You appear as fond of your husband as he is of you. Do you really want to be returned to his tender care?”
