Chapter 27
Virginia remained in bed for the entire day, afflicted with a huge migraine and a malaise of the soul. She did not weep. She was too frozen with fear to do so.
She had the baby to consider now. Her unborn child had become her priority. It had been one thing for her to manage a relationship with Devlin, to somehow survive his ruthless obsession and his hard heart, but dear God, what kind of father would Devlin be?
If only she did not love him still…but she did, and she always would.
Virginia did not know what to do, and Devlin was leaving for his tour of duty—for his damnable war—in three more days.
Now she faced the closed bedroom door, dressed for supper.
She had not seen him even once since their argument yesterday.
He had chosen not to share their room or their bed last night and she had avoided him as well.
What should she do? She had no appetite, but that was not the issue.
He remained her husband and the child within her womb would always be his.
But she no longer wished to compromise herself for the sake of their marriage, for the sake of being with him.
It felt as if their marriage was turning to ashes before her very eyes.
Virginia opened the door and went downstairs, trembling nervously, her face stiff with tension and trying desperately to appear natural.
To her surprise and dismay, once in the entry hall she heard male voices that she recognized.
Tyrell and Cliff were with him, apparently having a drink before supper.
She liked both brothers but now prayed they did not intend to stay and dine with them.
Virginia slowly approached the salon. Its double doors were wide open and she saw all three men seated causally there, glasses of wine in hand.
Tyrell and Cliff saw her almost at once and came instantly to their feet. Devlin also stood, but more slowly, and he did not quite look at her. His brothers bowed, but in turn, their smiles faded as she came forward and she knew her distress was clear.
“Good evening,” she said, holding her head high.
“Virginia, you are as lovely as always,” Cliff murmured, but he had lowered his lashes over his blue eyes, a clear indication that he was merely being gallant.
She thanked him. “I hope you will be staying for supper,” she said, aware she was being as dishonest as him.
Cliff looked up, and then he and Tyrell exchanged glances. “I think we have other arrangements,” he said.
“I’m afraid that is the case,” Tyrell said. He then glanced somewhat darkly at Devlin, who stood as still as a statue. “Take care of your wife,” he said, and with a nod at Virginia, he and Cliff set their wineglasses down and walked out.
Alone at last with her husband, Virginia tensed.
He faced her, his expression that mask she knew so well and so hated, and he held out his arm. “I believe supper is being served, Madam,” he said.
She flinched. “You never call me ‘madam,’” she somehow managed.
His shoulders, already ramrod stiff, tightened even more. “I am not trying to offend you,” he said as if she were a stranger, not his wife.
“Don’t do this,” she breathed.
His face closed impossibly. “I hardly know of what you speak.” He gestured toward the hall. “Shall we?” And without waiting for a reply, he took her arm in his.
She recoiled. Was this how it would now be? A polite mockery of a marriage? A cold and formal relationship, at once tense and strained? “I only asked you to give up hatred, Devlin, for the sake of your child,” she whispered through stiff lips.
He started forward as if he had not heard her—clearly pretending that he had not.
But she refused to follow, tearing her arm from his.
He stopped and faced her. “Are we going in to dine?” he asked.
She hugged herself. “Not like this, never like this.”
He inclined his head. “Then I am going out,” he said.
She started in surprise.
“Madam? I believe I will join my brothers at White’s.” He nodded at her and abruptly walked out.
She stared after him in shock.
And that night, he did not return.
Dawn arrived, dark and grim.
Devlin had spent the past two days out of the house. He did not sleep at home, either, and Virginia learned from a servant that he was sleeping on his ship. At least, she thought, he had not gone to another woman.
But their marriage was over and she knew it. There did not seem to be any possibility of saving it.
Her depression knew no bounds. Her world had become dark and black. She could not sleep at night, nor could she get out of bed in the morning. She had no appetite, never mind the child growing inside of her womb. She wept frequently and ignored Hannah’s worried glances.
Now, clad in a lavender robe, she stared at her pale, listless expression in the mirror of her dressing room.
She had hardly slept last night, as had become the norm, but she had somehow roused herself from her bed, knowing that Devlin would soon set sail.
She knew the tides would be high in another hour or so, for she had asked Hannah to check for her yesterday.
But Devlin had slept yet again on the Defiance.
She assumed he was going to set sail for his war without coming to say goodbye.
He had broken her heart before, but never like this.
I simply cannot go on this way, she thought as she stared at her impossibly pale reflection.
A knock sounded on her door. She turned, making no reply, wondering what her maid wanted at this unholy hour.
The door opened and from her boudoir she saw Devlin in full dress, his black felt hat in hand, standing on the threshold of the bedroom. She felt her eyes widen and she trembled with surprise.
His expression was hard, but his nostrils were flared and tinged with red—from the cold, she thought. “I see I did not wake you.” His gaze quickly took in her untidy appearance. “I set sail within the hour and I have come to take my leave.”
She wanted to beg him to love her again, the way he had before. She wanted to tell him that she could live with his need for revenge, if it meant so much to him. But she did not speak because she could not. She did not move; she did not breathe.
His jaw hardened; his eyes darkened. “How are you, madam?”
She wanted to scream, I am dying inside, moment by moment and minute by minute. But she simply stared. Then, finally, she managed, “As well as can be expected.”
“How is the child?” he demanded sharply.
She inhaled and fought for some composure now. “Fine, I believe.”
He nodded, grinding down his jaw, and it was a long moment before he spoke, as if he had something to say that he was struggling with.
And she prayed.
But she was wrong. He merely said, “I will return in six months, I think. God keep you, Virginia.” And he bowed and turned and left.
She wanted to run after him and tell him to stay safe. But her damnable body simply would not move.
Oh, God. He would go away like this? And what if she never saw him again? What if this was the war that took his life?
Virginia ran to the window. Outside, she saw him striding toward his coach. She struggled to unlatch the panes of heavy glass and heave them open. He was already inside the carriage. Panting from the exertion, she stuck her head outside. The coach began to roll away. “Devlin! God speed,” she cried.
But she had no idea if he heard her.
Later that day, Virginia stood in a salon in Harmon House, wringing her hands nervously. Devlin’s departure had been a stunning blow—and she knew what she must do now.
Cliff entered the room, his stride long but unhurried, his manner as indolent. “Virginia? You wish to see me?” he asked with mild surprise.
She nodded, then wet her lips and said, “Could you close the doors?”
More surprise flickered in his sky-blue eyes. Cliff turned and closed the double doors. “This is very odd,” he said, moving toward her. He held out a chair. “Please.”
“I would rather stand,” she whispered, filled with desperation now.
“What is wrong?” he asked, his gaze intent and searching.
She did not avoid it. “I am with child,” she said. He started. “I am with child and I must go home to Sweet Briar, where I was born, and bear my child there.”
His expression was one of astonishment.
“You have a fleet of ships!” she cried. “Surely one of them will disembark for an American port? Please, my lord, I can pay for my fare, and I beg you to let me find a berth on that ship!”
He was clearly shocked. “Are you running away from my brother?”
She stiffened. That was not quite the case, but she had no delusions.
She doubted they would ever recover what they had so briefly had.
Still, her goal was not to leave her husband.
She simply had to go home. Her country was at war, Sweet Briar was being threatened, and she must bear her child there, where she would not be alone.
“Virginia—” his tone became kind “—I cannot aid you in such a feat.” Clearly he had taken her silence for an affirmative.
She inhaled harshly and sat down. Then she covered her face with her hands.
“I love your brother,” she whispered, not looking up.
“And I always will. But it was one thing for me to bear the brunt of his obsession with the Earl of Eastleigh.” She glanced at Cliff and held his gaze.
“I have begged him to give up his revenge for the sake of his child. He will not. I must think about our babe now. Our child comes first.”
Cliff was grim. “Of course I agree with you. I agree that Devlin must end his obsession—but I am doubtful that he can.”
“He can’t,” she whispered, fighting her tears.
“He has made that clear. And he is gone now, gone to war against my country, maybe even against my home. I am not staying here, Cliff. If you do not help me, I will find another way, another ship. I am going home to have my child, and if the war dares come near Sweet Briar, I will defend my land, even if I must defend it against Devlin. I have no choice now.”