Chapter 37
Dorothy lay in bed, propped up on pillows and buried beneath a heavy pile of bedding. In her arms, she held her newborn baby, which was red and wrinkled with the smallest tuft of golden-brown hair. After a long and difficult day, Alexander had come into the world.
“I did not anticipate being so tired,” Dorothy confessed. “I suppose that was rather foolish of me.”
“Maybe,” Bridget said.
Her sister certainly appeared exhausted. Dorothy’s face was pale, and gray, swollen shadows had taken up residence beneath her eyes. Bridget had never seen her sister look so worn or so happy.
Dorothy yawned, and her eyelids fluttered.
“Shall I take Alexander?” Bridget asked. “So you can rest?”
Dorothy nodded reluctantly. “Yes. I fear I might fall asleep otherwise.”
Bridget took the baby into her arms with the utmost care. “Sleep well, Dorothy,” she said.
Dorothy hummed and shifted a little beneath the bedding, burrowing into it like a great bear hibernating for the winter. Bridget quietly left the room, Alexander silent in her arms. She surrendered the baby to the waiting nursemaid, who would see to Alexander, so Dorothy could rest.
Then, Bridget walked into the drawing room, where she knew that Catherine and Elias were. Along with Gerard, Bridget and her siblings had taken turns sitting with Dorothy and tending to her and the child.
Catherine and Elias sat on the settee together, drinking tea. Bridget joined them and quietly made her own cup.
“How is she?” Elias asked.
“The same,” Bridget said. “I see Gerard has gone.”
“We finally persuaded him to sleep,” Catherine said.
After the birth, Gerard had seldom left Dorothy’s side. He had remained awake and alert, as if he anticipated some great calamity to occur at any moment.
“He needs the rest,” Elias added. “The poor man looks dreadful.”
Bridget settled into the chair and took a sip of the tea.
“Aside from William, I have never seen a man so devoted to his wife.” Catherine’s face softened with that same lovesick expression she often had when thinking of her husband. “They are a good match.”
Bridget clenched her jaw. Her sister and Gerard were a good match. It was unfortunate that Bridget had not been so fortunate.
“I do not suppose you received word from my husband, while I was tending to Dorothy?” Bridget asked.
Elias shook his head.
“Does he know that you are here?” Catherine asked.
“He must,” Bridget said. “I sent him a letter.”
“Perhaps it has not arrived.”
Bridget sighed. “No…I sent it three days ago, the same night that I stayed here. It is impossible for a letter to have not arrived in three days. And besides, the news of Dorothy’s baby has already appeared in the papers. I am certain Lewis would realize that I would be with her.”
“So why would he stay away?” asked Catherine, furrowing her brow.
“It is a marriage of convenience,” Elias pointed out.
“But even so,” Catherine insisted. “I would expect him to come here.”
“We recently argued,” Bridget said, sighing. “He has not come here because he is angry with me.”
“What happened?” Elias asked.
Bridget shook her head. “I already discussed the matter with Dorothy, and I know there is nothing that can be done.”
“Since when do you accept defeat so easily?” Elias asked, raising an eyebrow. “That is not the sister I know.”
“The sister who only cares about herself and her own happiness?” Bridget asked. “That sister? If Lewis has no desire to see me, I will not force his hand. I care about his happiness and peace of mind.”
Elias set his tea aside and crossed his arms, fixing her with an expression that was somewhere between confused and proud. “Marriage suits you,” he said gently.
“Elias,” Catherine said. “Perhaps Bridget and I should discuss the matter alone, woman to woman.”
“You believe I have nothing to contribute?” Elias asked.
“Well, you are the only one of us who is not married,” Catherine said. “Besides, there are some marital matters which are simply…strange to discuss with one’s brother.”
“I see!” Elias adopted a look of mock offense. “Seeing as I am so unwanted, I suppose I have no choice but self-imposed exile in Gerard’s study.”
“We will only be a moment. Then, you are free to join us,” Catherine said.
Elias bowed and left the room.
Bridget placed her cup and saucer on the table and leaned back in her chair.
“I do not want to discuss the argument with you either,” Bridget said quietly.
“I have had three long days to think about it, and I know that I am at fault. And it feels wretched. Nothing you can say will make me feel better or change my mind.”
“Indeed,” Catherine said.
Bridget narrowed her eyes. “Just like that? You are not going to argue with me.”
Catherine sipped her tea. “I think I will wait for you,” she said. “Elias is right. You have changed. However, you are also still my sister, and I know that you do wish to speak about it. You have always been somewhat contradictory.”
“I am not contradictory.”
The defiance came easily, even if Bridget did not entirely believe it. Being contradictory was an accurate description of herself, for it explained clearly the mixture of longing and frustration that her husband conjured within her.
“Fine,” Bridget said.
Catherine grinned. “Tell me everything.”
Bridget mostly did, omitting only the consummation of their marriage. Instead, she told Catherine that she had requested to spend the night in Lewis’s chambers, a statement that was accepted without question.
“It is not unusual for a husband and wife to sleep in separate rooms,” Bridget continued. “Rationally, I know that. However, his refusal still hurt me, much more than I wanted.”
“Of course, it did,” Catherine said. “I think most women would be upset at having such a benign request refused.”
“It was not such a benign request,” Bridget said. “I knew that it was a marriage of convenience. Of course, he reacted poorly.”
“A marriage of convenience can flourish into something real and meaningful,” Catherine said. “Or have you forgotten about my marriage?”
Of course, Bridget had not forgotten. Her sister had married because their father promised a bride to the Duke of Sarsen. Catherine had married simply to settle the agreement, yet her marriage had blossomed into one of mutual affection.
“Not every marriage can be like yours,” Bridget said, sighing.
“My husband has not forgotten the way I behaved before we were wed. I made it clear that I had no desire for our marriage to be anything more than what it was, and I never concealed my distaste at being forced to marry him. Why would he believe that I had earnestly changed my mind?”
“Why not?” Catherine asked. “People change their thoughts and opinions constantly.”
“But about this,” Bridget insisted. “I worry that this is asking too much of him.”
“Maybe he just needs time to think about it,” Catherine said. “If your thoughts have changed as suddenly as you say, maybe he was surprised and reacted in a way that was hasty.”
“Or maybe he is avoiding me,” Bridget said dryly. “Purposefully. Because I have frightened him.”
“Frightened? That is an interesting word to use.”
“It is the best word,” Bridget offered. “Even if he believes me, which I suspect he does not, Lewis said that we cannot be affectionate towards one another, or we might develop into something else. He worries that he cannot love me forever.”
Catherine pursed her lips together and appeared deep in thought.
Bridget sipped her tea, grateful for the warmth of it.
Since that night, Bridget’s emotions were a tempest of contradictions.
She kept them carefully contained, so they did not bubble over to the surface.
But she still felt them, continuously threatening to overwhelm her.
The tea was normal, though. It was grounding and warm in a world that seemed to have gone all awry.
“Do you love him?” Catherine asked.
Bridget swallowed hard. “I do not know.”
“You want affection from him.”
“Yes,” Bridget said. “But I do not know entirely why. I am fonder of him than I thought I would be, but I do not know if that is love exactly. I want to be closer to him, but I do not know if that is enough.”
Catherine slowly nodded. “I understand your dilemma. Unfortunately, I think the uncertainty is a part of falling in love.”
“Ridiculous,” Bridget scoffed.
“But true, nonetheless. There were times when I was uncertain if I loved William,” Catherine continued. “And he was slower to realize that he loved me. Men can be remarkably stubborn when it comes to acknowledging their feelings.”
“Lewis has had three days,” Bridget pointed out. “I feel that is sufficient time.”
“He may not. After three days, you have not yet decided if you love him,” Catherine said.
Bridget wrinkled her nose, displeased with Catherine’s answer. “You make a good argument,” Bridget said, crossing her arms. “But how long do we wait? He cannot avoid me forever.”
Well, Bridget supposed that Lewis could, but the ton would certainly gossip if the Duke of Wheelton remained separate from his wife for too long. Her husband cared about his reputation, so he would inevitably have to see her at some point.
“You know him better than I do,” Catherine said. “But there is nothing preventing you from going to him and explaining how you feel.”
“Well…” Bridget trailed off.
“Oh?” Catherine asked, her face softening. “What is wrong? You have always been so brazen.”
“I know. Perhaps it is silly,” Bridget said, folding her hands in her lap, “but I fear he will not be welcoming. I do not know if my heart could endure being rejected by him again.”
Catherine reached across the space and squeezed Bridget’s hand. “It is not silly.”
“But I will inevitably have to face him,” Bridget said. “It is only a matter of whether I go to him or if he comes to me.”
“That is true,” Catherine said. “I have an idea, though. Decide how long you are willing to wait for him, and when that day arrives, if he has not come to you, you must go to him.”
“That is easier said than done,” Bridget said. “My fears can only be assuaged by him.”
“I know that. Take some time to think about it and gather your courage. Then, go see him after that day has passed—regardless of how you feel.” Bridget opened her mouth to voice an objection, but Catherine silenced her with a long-suffering look.
“While you are concerned about being received poorly, you are also tormenting yourself with these fears of what might happen. It is equally likely that he will be delighted to receive you.”
Bridget bit her lip. She considered that possibility. Rather than dismissing her again, she imagined Lewis pulling her into his strong arms and drawing her in for a deep and passionate kiss. He would tell her that he did love her and would apologize for rejecting her. And then—
In Bridget’s fantasy, everything would fall neatly into place like it always did in novels, but her marriage was proof that the written word was not a wholly accurate reflection of life.
“At least, you will give yourself a definite end to your suffering,” Catherine said. “You are driving yourself half-mad with fears that may never materialize. At some point, your worry must be worse than the rejection.”
Bridget sighed. “Maybe you are right. But if he is not ready to talk to me, it might only make everything worse. What if I damage what we are beyond repair?”
“Bridget, I do not think you could ever do that,” Catherine said. “You have grown since marrying Lewis, but you are still young. And I suspect you are making the situation far worse than it really is.”
Bridget did not really believe that, but she silently hoped Catherine was right.