The Price of Deception Read Free Page B

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milk. Jacquelyn received her brew with her usual two cubes of
sugar.
    “Thank you, Rosalind. That will be all.”
    She curtsied, left the parlor, and closed the double
doors on her way out. Robert looked over at his wife and patted her
arm tenderly with the palm of his hand.
    “You look exhausted, Jacquelyn. Are you all
right?”
    She picked up the spoon from her saucer and began to
swirl the sugar cubes around and around until they were totally
dissolved. Her actions appeared to purposely delay her response.
Robert waited. He watched her thoughtfully with each movement of
her hand.
    “Well, I’m exhausted,” he finally offered. “I think
I’ll drink this tea, have a piece of cake, and then ask Giles to
draw me a hot bath.” He made sure that his personal attendant
traveled with him as usual, and Jacquelyn’s lady’s maid, Dorcas,
accompanied his wife.
    “I’m off to bed. You should—” Robert abruptly stopped
midsentence as he saw a tiny tear trickle down Jacquelyn’s cheek.
He looked at her for a moment and wondered why the display of
tearful emotion. It wasn’t long before she articulated the reason
for her distress.
    “I’ve bled.”
    “You mean—?”
    Jacquelyn bitterly interrupted. “Yes. When we stopped
in Calais before boarding the train and I excused myself to the
powder room, I . . .”
    Jacquelyn didn’t need to say anything else. She
pulled her gaze away and lowered her head. Tears freely poured over
her lower eyelids and spotted her lace bodice below. Robert knew
exactly what she inferred. Her menses had arrived, and another
month passed without conception. The scab, which had healed on the
wound of disappointment a month ago, had been cruelly ripped open.
Discouraged once more, he felt nauseated. He slowly put his teacup
down on the side table.
    He had consulted their family physician privately
some time ago to understand the process of conception. The doctor
explained to Robert that even if she skipped her menses on a
regular basis, they could never be sure of a viable pregnancy until
five months passed without the sign of blood. On the other hand, if
she bled it meant no pregnancy or possibly a miscarriage.
    The complex female body operated mysteriously, and
Robert felt uncomfortable with the term of menstrual blood.
However, he understood the consequences of its occurrence—it meant
no child had been conceived. He collected his thoughts and looked
at his broken wife. Her disappointment mirrored equally his
own.
    “I’m sorry.” He choked the words from his hoarse
throat. What more could he say? It would be the same sorry he had uttered every month for years—a never-ending disillusionment
that left him cold and empty inside.
    Jacquelyn wept silently. She stared at her cup.
Robert knew she needed more than tea. Perhaps a hot bath and tender
care would ease her pain. He stood to his feet and pushed apart the
wood-paneled double doors and headed down the hall. He found Dorcas
and called her aside.
    “Your mistress needs pampering, Dorcas. I believe
there are female matters to attend to.”
    Dorcas remained silent. She lowered her eyes and
curtsied, understanding exactly what he meant. All the servants
knew of their dilemma. Both staffs in London and Paris had followed
their lives for five long years. His wife’s barrenness had been
spoken of throughout the household, and each cycle the entire staff
waited for word that this would be the month of good news. It never
arrived.
    Robert allowed her to assist his wife. She would
remain in bed for a few days while she passed her menses in
depression. Dorcas would do as she always did on a monthly basis
for her mistress. Jacquelyn would be escorted to her bedchamber,
assisted with a warm bath, and then put to bed. Thank God for a
tender lady’s maid, who knew exactly how to deal with such female
matters. Robert could handle no such task, for he too often fell
into a few days of despondency after he heard the news.
    He left Dorcas to