She went outside and wandered through the gardens, and then she ran to the stables, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it sooner.
She stared at Raven’s empty stall and tried to convince herself that Erik had just taken the horse out for a very long ride, but she knew, deep inside, that she was only lying to herself. He was gone, perhaps for good.
Back in the house, she went to his room and fell across his bed, certain her heart would break. Why, why, why?
He had never said he loved her, yet he had seemed to enjoy her company.
He had been pleased with the news of her pregnancy.
Hurt and confused, she wrapped her arms around his pillow. His scent surrounded her, kindling memories of days spent riding together, of nights in his arms. The tears came then, tears that burned her eyes and left her feeling weak and empty.
She was overcome with a sense of listlessness in the days that followed. She sought forgetfulness in sleep; she had no appetite, though she forced herself to eat for the sake of the child she was carrying.
She went to the stable to visit Misty each morning, tormenting herself with the memory of the hours she had spent in Erik’s company, remembering the day they had made love in the meadow.
Sometimes she felt as if time had stopped and she would be pregnant forever. Mrs. Grainger and the maids tried to cheer her, talking about how good it would be to have a babe in the house again, but even that failed to cheer her.
Erik had left her and all she could do was wonder why. Had she displeased him in some way? She went over every minute of the last few days they had spent together, looking for some clue that would explain his sudden departure.
She recalled the day she had told him she was pregnant. What was it he had said? Something about her being a delight and that he would miss her. She recalled asking him about the pain he was suffering, and his reply that there was nothing anyone could do.
Was he dying? The thought made her stomach roil with nausea. Was that it? Did he have some horrible wasting disease? Was that why he wore the mask, why she had never seen him unclothed, why he refused to let her touch him?
Determined to find the answers to her questions, she arranged to have Chilton bring the carriage around the following morning.
“Where to, my lady?” Chilton asked as he handed her into the conveyance.
“The convent,” Kristine said, “at St. Clair.”
Lady Trevayne received her in a small, austere room. Dressed in a severe black gown, her dark hair caught in a tight coil at her nape, she managed to look both fragile and regal at the same time.
At the wedding, Kristine had guessed Erik’s mother to be in her sixties. She realized now that Lady Trevayne was probably ten years younger.
“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” Kristine said.
“No. Please, sit down.”
Kristine sat on one of the hard-backed chairs, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “Thank you.”
“Why have you come here?” Lady Trevayne asked.
“I wanted to ask you about Erik.”
A shadow passed through the older woman’s eyes; her fingers went white around the rosary clutched in her hand. “What about him?”
“Is he ill?”
“Ill?”
“Yes, there’s something wrong with him, I know there is.”
“Have you asked Erik what it is that troubles him?”
“Yes, but he refuses to speak of it. I know he’s in pain, but he won’t tell me the cause.”
“I’m sorry, I cannot help you.”
“But you know, don’t you? Please, I just want to help.”
“You care for him, don’t you?”
“Yes. I love him.” She spoke the words without thinking, only then realizing that it was true.
“I’m sorry for you, my dear.”
“Sorry for me? Why?”
Lady Trevayne shook her head. “You are with child, are you not?”
“Yes, I am. Did Erik tell you?”
“I have not seen my son since the day of your wedding.”
“He left me.”
A soft sigh escaped Lady Trevayne’s thin lips. “It’s for the best. Go home, Kristine. Forget about Erik. Think of your babe.” She rose to her feet, a small, slender woman whose eyes seemed to hold all the sadness of the world. “God bless you, Kristine. Please send one of the boys to let me know when your child is born.”
Kristine stared after Erik’s mother, more confused than ever.
Heavy-hearted, she left the convent.
Because she didn’t know what else to do, she spent the next several days trying to follow Lady Trevayne’s advice. She spent hours sewing baby clothes, thinking of names, furnishing the chamber next to her own.
And yet, each morning, she woke hoping to find that Erik had returned. And each night she cried herself to sleep.