38. CHAPTER 38
F ive days.
She had been gone five days, and Dalton had not come.
She kept expecting him. Every footstep in the hall outside her door, every carriage on the street below, every knock that turned out to be the maid with another tray full of food she would not eat.
It was she who had left. She had been the one to tell him to divorce her. And still she listened for him.
It was the right thing. He could be free of her now.
He could find a woman capable of giving him a child, and he could have the family he had been denying himself for years on her account.
That was what she had given him by leaving.
She told herself this in the small hours when the wanting was loudest. She told herself this when she opened her eyes in a room that still felt unfamiliar, despite having been hers in her youth, and when she felt the absence of his warmth at her back like a wound.
It did not help.
She had not eaten properly for five days.
Her mother had stopped trying to coax her at meals and had taken to leaving small things in her room: a plate of biscuits, a glass of milk, a slice of toast wrapped in a napkin.
Vivienne would find them later, untouched, and feel guilty.
She would take a few bites just to please her mother.
She wondered how long this despondency would last. How long before she felt enthusiasm for anything again. Before she could wake in the mornings without dreading the day ahead, when even dragging herself out of bed felt like too much effort.
And then her mother sent word up that she had a visitor.
She had not had any visitors since she moved to her parents' house.
Alice had written a tactful note that did not press. She had half expected Venus to call, but her sister-in-law had been conspicuously absent.
The name on the card was Dr. Paul Harrison.
She read it twice. She had been corresponding with Paul and Margaret since her return to England, mostly about the epidemic on the island. Paul's last letter had said the worst was over. She had replied from her parents' house. But she had not asked him to come.
He must have seen the change of address on her letter and drawn his own conclusions. The question was which conclusions.
She rose from the chair and went to the mirror.
She didn't recognize the woman who looked back. Smudges under her eyes, blotchy cheeks, messy hair. She rang for her maid, who did what she could in the time available, which was not much.
Paul was in the drawing room with her mother, who was peppering him with questions about Guernsey and about her time there.
"Gr — Your Grace." The correction was small and immediate, but she caught it. He had been about to say Grace . The only person in the world who still called her that. "I am relieved beyond measure to find you looking so well."
She was not looking well, and they both knew it. The kindness of the lie steadied her.
"Paul, my dear friend. You must call me Vivienne." She held out both her hands.
He took them and kissed them.
"Walk with me," he said. "Your mother has been generous with her tea, but I think you would benefit from the air."
She accepted because the house had become unbearable, and because she suspected he had asked partly to escape her mother's interrogation. She rang for her hat and umbrella, and they stepped out into the street .
The sun had come out. She lifted her face to it without thinking.
It was warm. It felt nice on her skin.
She smiled for the first time in five days.
D alton saw her lift her face to the sun.
His carriage was across the street, half hidden by a delivery cart, and she had not seen him. She was looking at Harrison. Smiling up at him. And what a smile. Full. Radiant. Full of hope and optimism.
Had she smiled like that at him lately?
Harrison offered his arm. She took it.
They walked together toward a waiting hansom. Harrison handed her up with solicitous care. They looked comfortable together. At ease.
She looked happy.
Harrison was steady and kind. He did not have a father who had put a pistol to his head. He would not flinch from giving her a child.
The hansom pulled away from the curb.
Dalton watched it until it turned the corner. Then he sat back against the seat and closed his eyes.
"Home," he called to the coachman.
The carriage moved off in the opposite direction.