will tell Mr. Norton that you were abducted."
"You must forget this. I'll lie. Tell him you lie."
"The truth always comes out no matter how carefully constructed the lies or the omissions. Your husband would rather hear the truth from you."
He plodded to the door. "You still suffer from the horror of it. No amount of pretense will take away your pain."
"What if he doesn't believe I was abducted? What if he just thinks that was a lie to cover an affair?"
"I believe you." Vicar Wilson leveled his hat and paced from the room. "Tell him, before it is too late."
What would her husband say, hearing the news from Vicar Wilson or Cynthia?
Her stomach soured. Barrington would hate it. And he'd hate Amora for keeping it secret.
A treacherous jade and a determined minister threatened to destroy her world. Nothing else she valued would be left.
Cynthia could be telling Barrington now. She took a breath and tried to find the right words to tell her husband he'd married a liar.
Amora paced out of her bedchamber into the hall. Her bare feet skimming across the silken weave of the carpet. It wasn't grass, but she felt a little like a hoyden. That's what her mother used to call her because she loved nature, and loved being in nature like her father. When was the last time she danced in the wind or even felt rain on her cheeks?
She stopped at the hall mirror and rubbed her eyes. She wished see saw a hoyden, the independent girl who knew her own mind.
Insides twisting, fighting over what words to use to break Barrington's trust, she went to the window and peered at the lonely street below.
From here, she'd waited hundreds of times to spy Barrington's carriage as soon as it arrived. Then she'd dash down to greet him, hear of his day, and entice him to bed. Having his arms about her kept the monster, most nights, from her dreams. Most nights. On those others, shivering against Barr's sleep warmed form made her realize she was safe and the monster hadn't taken Barrington away either as he promised.
She peaked again at the curtains. Always waiting for Barrington. Waiting for him to claim her hand in a dance at one of Mama's balls. Waiting for him to return from the war. Waiting for him to save her.
With a hand to her brow, she thought past this sorry state, but every sound of a horse's hooves shook her to the core. The truth would be out soon, and the rest of her world would be destroyed.
Maybe that was for the best.
The waiting needed to end.
She tugged at the creamy fabric and took one final look. Nothing but night and stars. What if accepting that he'd never come home again, that he'd abandon her for her deception freed Amora from this sorry state? If she lost everything, could she find herself?
"Ma'am." Mrs. Gretling's voice appeared out of nowhere.
Stopping her shakes, Amora turned. "Yes?"
Her abigail climbed the remaining stairs and now stood on the landing. "Would you like some tea? Something to soothe you? You've been anxious since the hospital."
"I, I'm not thirsty. But, can you tell me if Mr. Norton said he was to be on time?"
Mrs. Gretling wiped her hands on her apron. "It's not yet ten, ma'am."
Her brow shot up as she came closer. "Oh, I should've known not to take ye there yet. I'm sorry. I thought it would be good for you to be out, to be with the children. It usually makes you happy."
Amora cinched her robe. The snowy muslin that hugged her neck seemed to choke her. "I just need to be free… to speak to Mr.-–"
The sound of horses' hooves filtered inside. Amora turned to the window and peeked out in time to see Barrington descend from the carriage and head toward the portico. Her heart slowed to a normal rhythm. This was her last chance to tell him. "Inform Mr. Norton that I wish to see him in my chambers."
Creases filled Mrs. Gretling's forehead. "Yes, ma'am."
Amora watched the woman plod down the steps, and then closed her eyes. The fear of Barrington hating her over the truth would be
"You must forget this. I'll lie. Tell him you lie."
"The truth always comes out no matter how carefully constructed the lies or the omissions. Your husband would rather hear the truth from you."
He plodded to the door. "You still suffer from the horror of it. No amount of pretense will take away your pain."
"What if he doesn't believe I was abducted? What if he just thinks that was a lie to cover an affair?"
"I believe you." Vicar Wilson leveled his hat and paced from the room. "Tell him, before it is too late."
What would her husband say, hearing the news from Vicar Wilson or Cynthia?
Her stomach soured. Barrington would hate it. And he'd hate Amora for keeping it secret.
A treacherous jade and a determined minister threatened to destroy her world. Nothing else she valued would be left.
Cynthia could be telling Barrington now. She took a breath and tried to find the right words to tell her husband he'd married a liar.
Amora paced out of her bedchamber into the hall. Her bare feet skimming across the silken weave of the carpet. It wasn't grass, but she felt a little like a hoyden. That's what her mother used to call her because she loved nature, and loved being in nature like her father. When was the last time she danced in the wind or even felt rain on her cheeks?
She stopped at the hall mirror and rubbed her eyes. She wished see saw a hoyden, the independent girl who knew her own mind.
Insides twisting, fighting over what words to use to break Barrington's trust, she went to the window and peered at the lonely street below.
From here, she'd waited hundreds of times to spy Barrington's carriage as soon as it arrived. Then she'd dash down to greet him, hear of his day, and entice him to bed. Having his arms about her kept the monster, most nights, from her dreams. Most nights. On those others, shivering against Barr's sleep warmed form made her realize she was safe and the monster hadn't taken Barrington away either as he promised.
She peaked again at the curtains. Always waiting for Barrington. Waiting for him to claim her hand in a dance at one of Mama's balls. Waiting for him to return from the war. Waiting for him to save her.
With a hand to her brow, she thought past this sorry state, but every sound of a horse's hooves shook her to the core. The truth would be out soon, and the rest of her world would be destroyed.
Maybe that was for the best.
The waiting needed to end.
She tugged at the creamy fabric and took one final look. Nothing but night and stars. What if accepting that he'd never come home again, that he'd abandon her for her deception freed Amora from this sorry state? If she lost everything, could she find herself?
"Ma'am." Mrs. Gretling's voice appeared out of nowhere.
Stopping her shakes, Amora turned. "Yes?"
Her abigail climbed the remaining stairs and now stood on the landing. "Would you like some tea? Something to soothe you? You've been anxious since the hospital."
"I, I'm not thirsty. But, can you tell me if Mr. Norton said he was to be on time?"
Mrs. Gretling wiped her hands on her apron. "It's not yet ten, ma'am."
Her brow shot up as she came closer. "Oh, I should've known not to take ye there yet. I'm sorry. I thought it would be good for you to be out, to be with the children. It usually makes you happy."
Amora cinched her robe. The snowy muslin that hugged her neck seemed to choke her. "I just need to be free… to speak to Mr.-–"
The sound of horses' hooves filtered inside. Amora turned to the window and peeked out in time to see Barrington descend from the carriage and head toward the portico. Her heart slowed to a normal rhythm. This was her last chance to tell him. "Inform Mr. Norton that I wish to see him in my chambers."
Creases filled Mrs. Gretling's forehead. "Yes, ma'am."
Amora watched the woman plod down the steps, and then closed her eyes. The fear of Barrington hating her over the truth would be
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