Good Morning, Loves!

Thank you ever so much to Mel and Pamela, and thank you to you all reading!

Chapter 20

"Rosalie, are you certain of this?" My fingers touch the gold fabric of the gown she has loaned me, and I realize I have never felt anything as luxurious as this material. I do not know the name for it, though it flows over my skin like cool water. Real strands of gold have been woven into it, and when I twist, I am caught off guard by the sparkle in the candlelight.

"You look marvelous," she says, adjusting the heavy jewels around her throat.

"But it is too much, surely," I protest.

"Nonsense," she says with a shake of her head. "I would have worn it had I given birth already." She rolls her eyes before brushing her hand over her belly. Her gown is emerald and bears a striking contrast against the gold of her hair and the bright blue of her eyes. "Since I cannot wear it, you must."

Her eyes sweep over me again and a smile pulls at her lips. "You look like a queen," she says after a moment.

I let out a breath and shake my head. "Please do not say such things," I say quietly. My heart is still aching with worry about all that has happened this week. I do not need one more thing to fret about.

Rosalie's arm comes around my shoulders, squeezing gently. "You have never been fond of change," she says softly. "But I promise you, Bella, everything that is coming up is all that we have deserved in life, finally coming to fruition."

I look at her, uncertain but comforted by her confidence. "I trust you," I tell her.

She leans over and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. "Come, Bella. We must not keep the king waiting."

…

My hands are slick with sweat as I stand beside Edward before the king. My husband is dressed as he was when he returned home for the first time, his military uniform stretched firmly across his broad chest, showing him as a man of power and status.

Around us, the king's courtiers are bearing witness as the king presents us with papers, declaring Edward's new title. Edward is gifted with the duke's signet ring, and then the king grants a smaller ring to me. I take it in surprise, gazing down at the seal. The light from the candles is flickering, and at first it is hard to make out the design, but then I am able to trace the three lilies placed around a standing lion. I recognize the seal as uniquely the duchess' mark. I have seen it many times attached to my sister's letters.

If I could lean over, I would see Edward's ring bearing the duke's mark: two lions facing away from each other with three lilies between them.

The king is speaking, but for the life of me, I cannot focus on his words. I hear the room around me erupt into cheers, and I look up, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. This is all wrong. Edward and I were never meant for this life. We are not these people.

Beside me, Edward moves, and I turn to look up at him. He is gazing at me and seems as if he wants to speak, but before he can, the king is stepping forward and clapping an arm around Edward's shoulder.

"Come, my young duke. We must celebrate!"

He drags Edward off, leaving me rooted in my place. I look down at the ring once more, my chest shaking as I try to steady my breathing.

"Bella?"

I look up at Rosalie as she approaches me. I fold my fingers around the ring and take one deep breath, straightening my shoulders.

"Yes?" I ask.

She looks me over, her eyes roaming my face. "Are you ready?" she asks, motioning toward the ballroom.

I have to brace myself as I answer her. "Yes. I am ready."

…

I have never been to a ball before. I have heard tales from Rosalie, so I think I will know what to expect, but in truth, it is all foreign to me.

There is music coming from some point in the room, but it is nearly drowned out by the din of the guests. There is a dance floor where beautiful couples are sparkling and twirling together as they embrace, and around the edges of the room, groups of people are gathered, drinks in their hands as they exchange stories and laughter.

The room is too dim and warm with bodies moving around, and I feel utterly lost and exposed in a glittering gown and jewels that do not belong to me.

A hand moves over my backside, and I whirl around in shock, but whomever grabbed me has moved on, melting into the crowd.

I make a move to head toward the edges of the room, wishing to disappear from this event altogether.

It has been two hours since the ball began, and I have found so far no part of this that I enjoy.

I think about trying to find Edward, but I could not stand to be rejected by him again.

The music shifts, and somewhere in the room, someone lets out a shriek of laughter that turns into a frankly shocking moan. I whip around, my eyes scanning my surroundings, my heart thudding in my chest.

There is a shift in the air, a new energy coming in, and every hair on my body stands on end.

I need to get out of here.

Hands land on my hips, and I spin around, startled to see a man I do not know leering at me. He lets out a gruff laugh at the look on my face and makes a rude gesture toward me that makes me shrink from him.

A woman leans over the man's side, laughing at me drunkenly.

I slip through the crowd, horrified when I come upon a group of men and women groping at one another. Men are kissing men; women are crawling on their hands and knees toward each other, all their eyes glassy with the drink.

I watch one woman grab another, lifting her skirts up around her waist and bringing the other woman between her legs. She lets out a long moaning laugh before reaching for a man beside her whose fingers are stuffed down another man's trousers.

It is a sight like I have never seen before, and I spin away, shocked and horrified by their public display.

I must find my sister. I will find her and tell her that I cannot stay. Even if it ruins my chances of winning the king's favor, I cannot take this a moment longer.

This is not shining civility; this is debauchery.

Across the room, I find Rosalie sitting beside the king. His face is red, his eyes glassy, and though my sister is sitting a little too close to him, there is nothing else seemingly amiss between them, for which I am relieved.

"Duchess Cullen!" the king crows, beckoning me closer. "Another successful ball," he says, waving his arms around. Does he know I have never once been responsible for any part of a ball before?

Before I can object, he brings a hand up, beckoning me closer.

"My dear friend Rosalie tells me you find yourself in an incompatible marriage," he says, his voice attempting a whisper but booming.

I wince, wishing I had the chance to object.

"I have come up with a solution," he proclaims. "You and your sister shall accompany me back to the capital. Perhaps a month apart will make affection once again bloom between your young hearts." He snickers. "And if not, I shall grant your dissolution and we shall find you a fine new match."

I am at a loss for words. Nothing is going according to plan. I do not want a new husband. I am not sure I even want to be separated from Edward. Though my heart is betrayed by his actions and cruelty of late, some part of me holds out ignorant hope that things can be mended between us.

But when I look at my sister, her eyes are wide, urging me to obey. I cannot tell if it is fear that lies behind her gaze, or something else, but her look does its job and moves me into compliance.

I turn back to the king and duck my head, sucking in a deep breath.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

…

One Week Later

My body is stiff from sitting in a carriage for two days. The capital sits east of Levenforth, and though we have passed entirely new countryside, I am tired of our journey.

I am adjusting myself on the bench again when Charlotte lets out a soft gasp, her face pressed to the small window in the coach door.

"Auntie, look!" she cries, tugging me toward her. I shift in the seat, my body aching as I bend to look out at the view. There are trees in our immediate eyeline, but just past them, I can make out a great hill, and on top of it, the shining citadel of the capital. Even from our distance, it is a greater city than any of which I have ever seen previously.

I run a hand gently over Charlotte's hair, trying to soothe her excited wiggles as she settles on my lap. On the other side of the carriage, Rosalie moans softly, rubbing her stomach. My eyes flutter to her anxiously. I worry about her traveling so late in her pregnancy. She could give birth at any moment, and it is a relief to know we are finally close to our destination.

The trees part again, and I fully catch sight of the citadel in all its gleaming glory. It is bigger than any town or village I have ever known before, with multiple spires reaching to the sky, and in the center, the royal castle which blazes brilliant and white in the sun. I am so very far from home.

After the ball, I was kept busy by the king's demands, unable to even try to talk to Edward. I thought I might be able to seek him out in our chambers, but the one time I had been able to slip away, I found the room emptied of his belongings. I do not know if he was moved into the duke's rooms or elsewhere, but seeing him gone from the room felt as if the final nail in the coffin.

I have not seen him since.

My heart still aches in confusion when I think back on our marriage. Edward showed me tenderness and patience that I had not known could exist between anyone outside of my sister, and in truth, he had given me a gift when he brought me to meet his family.

But then I recall the coldness he has shown to me since arriving at the duke's estate, and his rage. How can a man love as he claimed to and still hold such violence in his heart?

On my lap, Charlotte twists toward me, and I feel her reach for my hair, twirling it around one small finger. "Auntie?" she asks, and I blink, looking down at her.

"Yes, Little Love?"

She tilts her head back to lean against my shoulder. "Do you think we will meet the princess's dragon?"

My smile tugs up my lips, and I press a kiss to the top of her head. "I do not know," I say gently. "I hope so."

Charlotte sighs. "Me too," she murmurs.

Out of the corner of my eye, my sister catches my gaze. I look up to see her smiling at me. "One day," she says softly. "You will be a wonderful mother."

My heart plummets, my worries and fears circling back to me once more. I wrap my arms around Charlotte and squeeze her gently to my chest to ease the frantic beat of my heart.

I pray I am not with child.

…

The king's castle is so much more vast than the duke's estate. I had not been able to imagine such a structure before, but now that I am within the walls of the royal residence, I find I am beyond intimidated and feeling much more than inadequate. Who am I to walk such grand and royal halls?

Charlotte has been swept up by her governess and brought to her new room, but Rosalie and I have been summoned by the king immediately upon our arrival. His own carriage was not more than a few hours ahead of ours, but it seems he wastes no time in settling in once he is back.

My sister is slow, her steps heavy and pained as she presses against her lower back. We stop frequently so that she can catch her breath.

"It will be soon." She moans, rubbing a hand over her belly. "My son is nearly ready to meet the world."

I do not ask how she knows this. I take it to be a mother's intuition. I wrap my arm around her waist and gently help her keep going.

By the time we make it to the throne room, I wonder how she will ever make it upstairs to her own room.

"Duchess Cross," the king calls, his eyes flitting over my sister. "Duchess Cullen," he adds, looking at me. "Are you well?"

I try to curtsy, but it is awkward with my arm around my sister. "I am, Your Majesty, thank you. But my sister is weary after traveling."

The king nods and motions for someone to bring her a seat.

As soon as she settles on a velvet cushioned stool, he nods in satisfaction. "Good, now that we are all settled, I wanted to inform you both of a small party that will be held in your honor this evening."

I stare at him, taken aback. "A party?" I ask, uncertain.

"Yes. We must introduce you both to the members of court. Duchess Cross is a very eligible widow, and doubtless hordes of people will be interested in tales of your husband's heroics, Duchess Cullen."

I try not to flinch under the king's heavy gaze. The last thing I want is to speak of Edward's heroics.

"What is more," the king continues. "If your marriage is truly to be dissolved, there will be no point in not knowing other members of the court. I am certain that I could help arrange a much more suitable match for you. There are always men seeking a young new bride."

My heart clenches. "Your Majesty," I start, wanting to protest. Rosalie reaches up, pinching my wrist, and I let out a soft gasp, looking down at her.

"Your Majesty is too gracious," she says on my behalf, her words steady despite her exhaustion. "We would be honored to entertain your guests."

The king flashes her a smile that looks a touch feral. "Excellent. Have one of the guards carry the duchess up to her rooms. I shall be cross if she gives birth in my halls." He waves a dismissive hand toward a servent near the door, who scurries out of the room.

I do not have time even to breathe, let alone beg the king to reconsider parading my sister and I in front of his court.

A guard steps up to us, and I start when I realize that it is Michael. He does not look at me as he offers my sister a hand. She stands on shaking legs, and carefully he hoists her into his arms. She lets out a low, pained groan as she settles in his embrace.

Without a word, he heads back out of the throne room, leaving me to scamper behind. Michael carries Rosalie up three flights, and though his presence has surprised me, I am glad for him. There is no way Rosalie could manage these stairs on her own.

The room he brings her to is beautifully decorated, with shell-encrusted furniture and opulent tapestries of what appears to be Eden hung along the walls.

Michael sets her down carefully near the red bed, and my sister sits, letting out a long sigh. "Thank you," she says, her eyes shut.

Michael nods to her, and glancing at me once more, slips out of the room. I turn to Rosalie.

"Do you need anything? I ask her.

She opens her eyes and shakes her head. "Sleep." She sighs. "I need sleep."

I help her lie back on the bed, pulling the blankets around her. Almost as soon as she's laid out flat, she is asleep.

Not wanting to disturb her, I slip out of her room, unsure of where I am supposed to go.

A maid passing by glances at me, and I motion toward her. "Excuse me," I say, feeling strange for having to ask her where I am meant to sleep. "My name is Bella Cullen—"

"Duchess Cullen," the maid says, dropping immediately into a low curtsy. "What can I do for you?"

I am taken aback by her formal greeting. "I just need to know where I am meant to sleep," I tell her.

Her eyes widen and she nods. "Certainly, please follow me, m'lady."

She leads me down the hall and up another half staircase to a room that faces the western sky. The tapestries on the walls are orange and gold, depicting a shining bird dancing with a tiger. I stare at the beast and feel my chest tighten, recalling Madre Maria's prophecy.

"Please let me know if you need anything else, m'lady," the maid says, her head dipping.

"Wait," I say, turning toward her. "What's your name?"

She stares at me with wide eyes. "Bree, m'lady. Bree Tanner."

I smile at her. "Thank you, Mistress Tanner."

It is perhaps an improper title to bestow upon her, but her eyes widen further and she gives me a small, uncertain smile.

"Someone will come to help you dress for the king's party," she says, backing out of the room. "Thank you, m'lady."

I watch her go before turning to the large west-facing balcony. I step out into the late afternoon air, and I find it is cooler than I expected.

Somewhere miles from here, my husband is busy running a duchy. A king in his own right.

I wonder if he misses me as much as my heart misses him.

Deciding that I cannot sit and long for him, I return to the room, finding a small writing desk stocked with parchment and a quill. Carefully setting the tools I will need before me, I get to work crafting a letter.

Dearest Mam,

My heart is burdened, and though I no longer know if it is appropriate to seek you out for counsel given the state of my marriage, I find I have no one else in whom I can confide.

Things have taken such a turn that I can scarcely breathe when I think of what has transpired. The husband of my sister, Duke Cross, is dead. The cause of his death has been mysteriously uncertain, but in my heart, I fear foul play has had its hand in his early demise. Since my sister has yet to deliver her child, the duke had no male heirs. Without any other male kin, his title has been appointed to Edward, kin to the duke through our marriage.

Edward, being the capable man that he is, has taken up the mantle without complaint. In this sense, I am proud of him, but I must confess, Mam, that things are not well between us. After you and I spoke, Edward and I found a way to connect, and for a time, I thought I could not know happiness greater than my life with him. But once we arrived at the duke's estate, he withdrew from me.

Strange rumors met my ears of his character, and I am ashamed to say, I witnessed with my own eyes the evidence of their truth. Edward, for all the good in his heart, is a man too accustomed to violence. I have never feared him before, but I have seen a wildness in his eyes that I shrink from.

It burdens my heart to confess to you how frightened of him I am. He is your son, your beloved, and I certainly do not fault your unconditional love. I fear that it is in my heart too, despite the truth of his character.

I have found myself, through circumstances not of my making, in the company of the king. My sister and I have left to join him in the capital. The king has informed me that if I do not change my mind about Edward in the next month, he will dissolve our marriage.

I do not know that this is what I want, nor do I know if this is not what I want. I have found family, true family, in your embrace and through your children and husband. I have never known happiness like I did in your home. I loathe to lose that, to lose you all.

But the truth is, I fear Edward. Though my heart still loves him, I do not know the man he has shown himself to be, and I cannot live a life subject to abuse once again.

I hope that, despite whatever happens in my marriage, you and I can remain fond acquaintances, though I do understand if your loyalty to your son does not permit it.

I wish to impress upon you the depth of my gratitude for your family. I have never known love before you all, and now I shall never forget it.

Your loving daughter,

Bella

…

I am on my way down to dinner when a maid stops me, a wild look in her eyes. "M'lady," she says, barely nodding her head in her haste. "Your sister is ready to deliver."

My heart thunders in my chest, and I turn away from her, racing toward Rosalie's room as fast as I can.

A nursemaid is there when I enter, along with a host of other maids. Rosalie is pacing around the room, her moans echoing off the walls.

"Who are you?" the nursemaid demands.

"Bella," Rosalie gasps. "That is my sister," she says, reaching for me.

I rush to her side, taking her hands in my own. "Rosalie, are you well?"

She nods, wincing. "Yes," she bites out. "My son is coming."

I watch her anxiously. I have never seen a birth. I have absolutely no idea what to expect.

"What can I do?" I ask into the room, uncertain of whom I am looking to for answers.

"Here," the nursemaid says, thrusting linens into my hands. "Set them down there, near the fire to keep your sister warm."

It is helpful to have a task, and I set about laying out the cloth. I am not sure of the purpose for it, but I focus on my work, letting it steady my breathing.

"I think I am near time." Rosalie moans, moving toward the bed. "Someone help me lie down."

"No," the nursemaid shouts, startling me. "To the hearth. You will squat."

Rosalie's eyes widen. "Squat?" she asks, her voice incredulous.

I look at my sister in alarm. I do not know better, but it seems Rosalie has not had this experience.

"I lay back with my daughter," she says, glaring at the nurse.

"And you shall squat with your son and bring him into this world with far less violence," the nursemaid snaps. "Now move!"

Rosalie makes her way to where I am kneeling on the floor. She looks at me with wide eyes, and I do not know if I am too terrified to stay.

"Will you hold my hand?" she asks, and I know that for my sister, I will find my courage.

I reach out as she begins to squat, taking my hands to help her balance. Her fingers squeeze mine, and she lets out a long cry.

The nursemaid moves beside me and focuses on my sister. "Follow my words," she says gently.

I block out her voice as Rosalie's pain appears to grow greater. There is a look on my sister's face. It is a look I cannot quite name, one of utter pain and ecstacy. She is fighting for this moment, a warrior in the heat of battle.

I have never seen anything more terrifying or wonderful.

It does not take long, and soon, the nursemaid is reaching below my sister and guiding her child out into the world.

There is a breath of silence before a soft cry pierces the night. A euphoric wonder overcomes me as I study my sister's exhausted face and the babe she has just brought into this world. Her eyes are wet with tears as she eagerly looks down at her child.

"A boy," the nursemaid says as two maids help Rosalie lean back against a large pile of pillows. Rosalie falters, and the nurse swears, turning to me. "Take him," she commands.

I bring the baby into my arms, my hands shaking. He is ever so tiny, with perfect miniature features and light wisps of dark hair on the top of his head. He is crying, and on instinct, I lift him closer to me, pressing him against my heart. The sweet sounds of his small noises fill me with tears, and my eyes flutter shut. He is perfection, and in this moment, I know I will do anything to keep him safe for the rest of his life.

My eyes open, and I focus on the nursemaid who is tending to my sister. Rosalie looks exhausted, but otherwise, she seems stable enough. Her eyes are heavy as she gazes at me and her son. "Would you like to hold him?" I ask, leaning toward her. She nods, and the maids move her dress so that I can press the baby against her breast. Her eyes squeeze shut, and I see tears slip down her cheeks. "My son," she sobs. "Peter Alexander Cross the third," she says, her eyes opening. "Named after his father."

I smile at her, reaching up to brush my tears away.

May this Peter live a long and prosperous life, unburdened by the legacy of his father.

…

Rosalie and my nephew are asleep when I finally have the chance to speak with the nursemaid. "I was wondering," I say as she works to pack up her herbs. She looks up at me. "Is there a way to know if one is pregnant before the baby is large enough to see?"

She pauses her work, straightening her posture to look me over. "When did you last bleed?"

I blush. "It has been more than a month," I tell her.

Her lips purse. "Yes, we can tell. Come with me." She motions for me to follow as she snaps her bag shut. I glance once more at Rosalie to make sure she is still sleeping before I follow the nursemaid out of my sister's chamber.

We pass many people in the halls, but none of them stop us as she leads me down below the ground floor. There is a short hallway from the stairs, and then she is pushing open a cellar door. Inside smells of dried herbs and dank stone. It is freezing, and I wonder if she does work or merely stores things down here.

She sets her bag down and reaches from a bundle of barley. She puts some in a bucket then turns to me. "Piss over this."

I blink. "What?"

She wiggles the bucket before me, encouraging me to take it. "It will tell me if you are pregnant," she says.

I stare at the bucket skeptically and she lets out a loud sigh. "Do not waste my time, girl. If you wish to know, piss now or leave me to my work."

I take the bucket, blushing. "Shall I take it upstairs?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Go right ahead where you are standing."

My cheeks burn hot with shame when I think of doing that in front of her.

But then, I imagine, she sees most people at their worst. Surely relieving myself would not matter to her.

Awkwardly, I set the bucket down and gather my skirts, my cheeks still warm as I position myself over it.

It takes a moment for me to convince my body that this is something I wish to happen. To her credit, the nursemaid turns away from me, keeping busy as she sorts her herbs.

Finally, I feel a release, and I turn my eyes downward toward the ground.

When I am done, I am mortified at what has transpired.

"What next?" I ask, my voice small.

"Leave it," she says distractedly. "I shall be able to tell if you are pregnant in a day or two."

I frown, but when she offers nothing else, I let out a breath. "Thank you," I say, before slipping out of the room.

…

It is two days later that the nursemaid comes knocking on my door. It is early morning, and I am not yet dressed when she comes barging in.

"I have news for you," she informs me. Immediately, I feel my stomach drop as nerves swarm me. "You are pregnant."

I gasp, falling into the nearest seat as my knees start to feel weak. "You are certain?" I ask.

She nods. "I could not determine gender, though." She pauses, looking at me critically. "I will guess now that it will be a boy."

My hands go to my belly. I can feel no evidence of a babe there, and yet my heart cannot deny the truth. In some part of my mind, I must have known that I was with child.

"What do I do?" I ask her, looking up.

"Do?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at me. "My dear, women have been growing babies for millennia. Do what they have all done, listen to your body." She pauses, eyeing me. "And be sure to eat more. You're too slight. A son will steal all your nutrients if you are not careful."

I blink, nodding. She gives me one last look before she turns on her heel and stalks off. I stand to shut the door, then pause, leaning against it.

Pregnant.

I must tell Edward.

My hand presses to my belly once more when I think about sending word to him. What will he do? How will he react? What if he insists on raising our son to be a warrior just like him?

My heart aches at the thought.

My child will know no violence so long as I have anything to say about it.

I secure my robe and move away from the door, slipping through it. It is a short path between my room and Rosalie's, and I find my sister reclined in her bed, a tray of food on her lap.

"Morning," she says exhaustedly. I do not see my nephew, so I guess him to be with the wetnurse.

"I am pregnant," I say in greeting.

Rosalie's eyes widen, and she sits up, wincing slightly when she moves too quickly. "You are certain?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes."

Rosalie lets out a long breath. "What do you want to do?"

I shake my head. "What can I do?" I ask. "I have to tell Edward."

Rosalie holds a hand out and I come to sit beside her on the bed. "Do not be hasty," she advises. "Pregnancies can be difficult in the beginning. It might be that the baby does not make it, and then you have set his hopes high for naught."

My eyes widen. "I can lose the baby?" I ask, my voice strained.

Rosalie nods grimly. "Yes." She pauses and looks me over. "It can be done, you know. If you truly wish to dissolve your marriage and walk away from your husband without the burden of a child, your pregnancy can be terminated early."

I am horrified at the very suggestion. "I could never," I protest, shaking my head. "What woman would choose such a thing?"

Rosalie shrugs. "Women must make all sorts of terrible decisions," she says, her voice sounding detached. I turn to study her face, but she shakes her head.

"If you are to keep it," she continues. "Then we must come up with a plan. Plenty of men will marry you if they can claim their child as their own," she points out. "It just might have to be soon."

My arms wrap around my stomach and I let out a long, shaky breath.

The truth is, I really do not know what I want anymore.

All I know is that now it is no longer just my life to worry about. Now, everything I do will be for the sake of my child.

I will do whatever necessary to keep him safe.

…

After much consideration, my conscience does not allow me to keep this news from Edward. The memory of the sting I felt after our last conversation attempt is still fresh, but I cannot allow myself to fear him anymore.

Not now when I have a baby depending on me to be strong for the both of us.

I pen a letter to Edward, imploring him to meet me in three days' time. It will be far easier for him to arrive in the capital within a day of riding since he will not rely on a carriage. I do not want to tell him that he is to be a father over parchment, so instead my letter is urgent and brief. When I am done, I give it to a passing maid, instructing her to dispatch a rider tonight. I watch her scuttle away and let out a long breath, resigning myself to wait.

The days that follow are excruciating. Rosalie is still recovering from labor, and though I absolutely love the time I get with my niece and new nephew, my mind is constantly on my own family.

What will I say to Edward when I finally see him? What will he say to me? Will I go back with him to Levenforth? Can I bring Rosalie and the children with me?

The questions are endless.

The day I am set to meet Edward, my stomach is in knots. I cannot stop pacing, my body strung so tight with worry and uncertainty that sitting seems a far-fetched dream. I go through the motions of the day, but at all times, my mind is on Edward.

I spend a great deal of time stationed near a window that faces west, waiting for any sign of Edward's arrival.

The day passes, and as night comes upon the capital, my heart and stomach plummet. There is no sign of Edward.

Upon sunset, I set out to find the maid to whom I gave the letter. After locating her and confirming she dispatched a rider, my heart sinks further.

Why has Edward not come?

Nearly a week, I wait at the window. With each day that he does not show up, my heart sinks lower and lower.

It seems I have my answer about my marriage. If he will not come when I need him most, what hope is there for us?