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antagonized him. It seemed as if Damien enjoyed the company of everyone but me, and for the first time it occurred to me that perhaps if I did not satisfy Damien as a wife, he would look elsewhere for his pleasure and companionship. Perhaps he already had. Perhaps that was the appeal of town, those women of ill repute who would please a man for a few coins. Maman had whispered about such things to me, warned me that a wife must be biddable and accommodating at all times so as not to force a husband to seek comfort from another woman, but that was the extent of her instruction. In considering the matter, I conceded that while I might be disgusted, I could ignore a dalliance of Damien’s in town with a paid companion, but I could not abide a liaison with a lady, one of our neighbors, right under my nose in the country.
    Now fear was added to all my other concerns. What was tolerable would surely become intolerable if I had to be subjected to the disrespect of a faithless husband. My acquaintances were merely that, new superficial friendships that I could not confide my fears to, and our society was limited to a few close neighbors. Damien prefers that I stay here on the plantation, so there is no ability to attend Mass, and I was growing increasingly lonely, with nowhere to seek advice.
    The house, while lovely and sizable, is stuffy and close at all times because of the Louisiana heat, and the foliage, the swamp, the insects, all seem to close in around the house and press down upon it. It is a marvel, an elegant manse in the midst of such wilderness, but the household fights nature daily to keep its encroaching fingers away. With neither my maid nor I equipped with the knowledge to deal with the unfriendly climate, the constant damp made my hair an uncooperative disarray, and mold raced along the walls of my wardrobe with little provocation, ruining several costly gowns.
    When I fainted in July, I credited the heat, but Damien insisted a physician be sent for. I must confess I was pleased by this show of concern and took to my bed readily, allowing the maid to plump my pillows and fuss about me. Through the open gallerie windows of my bedchamber, I heard the hooves of the horse heading down the drive to summon the doctor, and I was suddenly, childishly glad for my weak disposition.
    There, I thought, now he shall be forced to pay positive attention to me. Damien will worry, will come to realize what I mean to him, and he will write my family back home and they will be shamed for sending me to this awful, suffocating, primitive country. Mean-spirited and juvenile though it was, I couldn’t help but feel it, and I hoped the physician would diagnose me with an ailment that would garner sympathy yet would not kill, maim, or disfigure me. An inflammation of the lungs would do quite nicely.
    But when the man took his leave, and spoke to my husband in the hall, Damien returned with something of a smile on his face.
    Damien’s smiles were never genuine, never loving or affectionate or wondrous. They were charming, insolent, coaxing, provocative, sly, and haughty. The one he gave me then was sly.
    “Why, Marie, I had no idea you were such an accomplished actress.”
    I cannot adequately express to you how apprehensive this made me feel, how his one short sentence robbed me of all hope, smugness, childish savant, and filled me with fear.
    “Whatever do you mean?” I sank back into my bedding.
    “The doctor tells me you are enceinte. Were you planning to tell me anytime soon?”
    “What?” A baby? I’d had no notion that I was expecting, none whatsoever. “Is he certain?”
    Damien nodded, stopping at the foot of the bed with his arms across his chest. “Yes, he is certain. Are you saying you didn’t know?”
    “No. How would I know? I’ve felt nothing…oh, my.” I put my hands on my cheeks. A baby. I was truly overjoyed at the thought. “Is he absolutely certain?”
    “He is certain. And I think this is the most