Chapter 1 #2
Lavinia reached behind her back and attempted to untie the stays, but the maids had laced them too tightly.
She sobbed softly and tried again, but the knots would not loosen.
Looking around the room, her eyes landed on a writing desk.
She stumbled over to it, grabbed a letter opener, and slashed at the laces.
The knot pulled apart, and the garment finally fell off her.
She gasped, taking the deepest breath she had managed for the whole day. She then reached for the nightgown that had been laid out for her. Her body relaxed under the soft fabric.
Sitting on the end of her bed, Lavinia closed her eyes tight, her hands interlaced as she began to pray.
Please do not forsake me. Please spare me. Please do not make me endure this alone.
Just as she finished her prayers, the door burst open. She gasped and looked up. The duke grinned at her, his cheeks flushed from drink, his gait unsteady.
“There is my bride,” he slurred. “Waiting so patiently for me.”
“I—” she stuttered, standing up.
“I do not need to hear you right now,” he chuckled. “Come, let me see my dear bride.”
He stepped toward her, swaying slightly as he approached. Her heart thudded, and she stepped away from him, almost instinctually. Her mind screamed and rebelled at the idea of having to spend the night with him in any capacity.
“I—” she whispered. “I am not prepared, I need—”
He reached forward, snarling at her. She cried out and stepped back. Suddenly, she was looking at the ceiling, her head pounding.
A clock ticked on the mantle, indifferent to the scene around her. Somewhere beneath them, there were the muffled thuds of servants’ footsteps. She wondered for a brief moment, if any of them cared what their master was doing to his wife.
“Ah,” she groaned as she rubbed her head. She tried to sit up. Her ankle had become tangled in the bedsheets.
“Stay there,” he hissed, trying to lunge forward. She screamed and covered her head.
The weight and sensation she expected never arrived.
CRASH!
Lavinia looked up at the duke. He had swayed into the side table, smashing a vase on the wooden floor.
“Argh!” he shouted, clutching at his chest. His skin was pale and damp. The duke looked around wildly, his breathing rapid and shallow. “I…” he began. “Get the maids,” he managed to croak out.
“What?” she whispered.
“I said get the—AH!” he shouted, clutching his chest before collapsing to the ground.
Lavinia’s heart thundered in her chest. She watched the duke as he curled in on himself, clutching at his shirt harder. After what felt like hours, but could have only been moments, his body relaxed somewhat. She hesitated before scrambling over to him.
His eyes were open but glassy. His skin was gray. She swallowed hard and grabbed her pocket mirror from her suitcase, holding the reflective surface under his nose. No breath materialized on the glass. She bit her bottom lip.
He is dead…
Her hands were shaking. She was uncertain if they were shaking from horror, or something far more shameful. Something like… Relief?
The feeling was curling low in her chest, unwinding the muscles that had been so viciously tensed.
What woman feels relief at a death?
She looked down at her hands.
Not only that, what will others think if they see this? Will they believe I did it? I did not… I did not mean to…
She squeezed her eyes shut. All at once, a memory from the church surfaced. Her pleading thoughts to the crucifix.
No… This was not a murder. I did not murder him. This was an act of God.
She sat back on the floor, away from him and took several shuddering breaths, allowing her heart rate to calm. She closed her eyes.
Thank you.
When she opened her eyes, the room no longer felt small. It was as if she could finally see the world for what it was. The fear and the lack of air were no longer a concern.. She stood up, her legs still trembling, but she was not focused on that.
I need to call the maids.
Lavinia opened the door, leaning against the door frame.
“Help! The duke has had a fall,” she called out. Her voice was calm. Almost confident.
Servants appeared rapidly, gasping and shocked.
They worked quickly; maids surrounded Lavinia as valets and footmen scrambled to call the physician.
Lavinia was wrapped in a blanket, brought to another room, and served warm chamomile tea.
Her mind felt numb. Lavinia was convinced that was not happening to her, and was in fact happening to someone else.
The physician walked in shortly after, holding his hat in his hands.
“Your Grace,” he said gently. “I am so sorry, your husband, he is dead.”
Lavinia nodded slowly and took a shuddering breath.
“How… He…?” she asked, looking up at the physician.
“It was most likely a seizure of the heart,” the physician said slowly. He paused, glancing up at her. “Did he complain of pains before this evening? Did he drink or eat anything unusual with his supper?”
“I do not know,” Lavinia said honestly. “I was not at most of the wedding celebrations. I was under the weather myself.”
“I see,” the physician continued. Something flickered in his eyes that Lavinia dared not name. “These things can happen suddenly with men of his constitution. Still, I confess I find the manner of it a touch… irregular.”
She nodded, pulling the blanket around her tightly.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“I will contact the church and have a space ready for him. He will be kept here for a few days for mourning. Your maids will assist you with the preparations, and I would advise sending word to his relatives,” he explained.
Lavinia nodded numbly. “I see,” she whispered. “Then I am to go into mourning?”
“You are,” he nodded. She took a shuddering breath.
“Thank you for being here,” she whispered.
“You do not need to thank me, Your Grace,” he said. “I will leave you to rest. This promises to be a difficult evening for you.”
She nodded and watched him go.
In the days that followed, the maids carried out her instructions.
The duke had very few relatives. When she had written letters to notify the duke’s kin, she had taken note that the names were mostly female.
Women in that family seemed to live well, even if the males did not.
When she learned that, she allowed herself to breathe.
There were few male relatives who could challenge her position.
Briarwood Hall might truly remain hers. .
The only male names she wrote down, she discovered, were that of one distant relative who was not even in the country, and the other was a boy who had been born only two months before.
Lavinia did not go to the funeral. She claimed that it was due to her delicate sensibilities.
In truth, she did not wish to see the duke again.
On occasion, she would hear whispers from her maids, or from the people she passed in town. They called her a “black widow bride.”
In her past, she might have cared about what the people around her were saying. Not anymore. She knew it had not been her fault. In her mind, it had been an act of the Lord. Her conscience was clear.
What use do I have to concern myself with what they are saying? I lived through it. I am free of that disgusting man.
I am a widow now. Whether I remain a duchess in anything but name…
Only the Lord knows.