The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(83)

I knew that something had happened. I knew he must have found out. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my yellow dress and padded out onto the landing overlooking the hall, where I could see him looking up at me, red-faced and furious, his fists clenched, his fair hair disheveled, his uniform open at the neck, skewed and fraught.

“Venetia,” he yelled. I’ve never known Henry to be angry, but not in a thousand years would I have imagined him as ferocious, as crazed, as he was then. He’s always been so gentle, so dignified. It was like seeing a Labrador transformed into a wolf.

I walked down the great staircase slowly, holding my breath, praying for this encounter to be over quickly.

“I need to have a word with you, my girl,” he said under his breath, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the drawing room, where he closed the door so that Mama, who had been hovering in the alcove, couldn’t follow. As it happened, it made no difference, as she could hear every word out in the hallway. I never knew he could raise his voice to such a level. The whole house vibrated with his bellowing, the crystal chandeliers thrumming in his wake.

“Now tell me,” he demanded, shoving me down on the sofa, standing over me raging. “Are you pregnant?”

I nodded slowly. To be honest, Angie, I was so done in by the entire drama that I simply couldn’t find the energy to fight back. I was petrified of him, in a way I would never have thought possible, and frankly overwhelmed with relief that he was going to break it off. That I would be free, whatever burdens I knew this would entail. I knew then, at that moment, that I was strong enough to get through this, with or without my family’s support.

“Yes, Henry,” I said louder. “I am.”

“What?” he roared, his whole face red and contorted with rage. “You were going to marry me knowing that you had another man’s child inside you?”

“I’m sorry, Henry. It was a mistake. I can see that now.”

“Did you really feel you could get away with this?” He stood over me, looking down threateningly.

“I don’t know,” I said plainly, looking at my hands. “I thought it would be for the best, but now I see I was wrong.”

“We could have been married! We could have gone for years without me ever knowing! I wonder when exactly someone might have informed me, had not Kitty told me this morning?”

“It was Kitty,” I said quietly. Of course it was Kitty. She’s in love with him. She was using the only card she had left. Yet I couldn’t help feeling rather pleased she did it. Proud of her almost, in an odd kind of way. Although this was probably due to my immense relief that someone told him and put an end to this dreadful charade. I can’t believe I’d let myself think it was the best thing to do.

“Is that all you have to say? ‘Oh, it was Kitty!’ As if you don’t care at all?”

“I’m glad you know,” I said stiffly.

“Are you feeling some sense of remorse?” he said sarcastically. He sat beside me and leaned over, his face right in front of mine, threatening and vengeful. “Did you discover that deep down you may even have a conscience?”

“I suppose I do,” I said uneasily. “I felt that the whole thing was wrong.”

“Oh.” He stood up with a start. “The lady realizes that getting married while pregnant with another’s child is ‘wrong.’ Well, well, Venetia.” He laughed sarcastically. “Now I think of it, that was half of your attraction: your lack of conscience. Your complete, unremitting self-absorption. I wonder now how I never saw through it before. You’re nothing but an empty shell, Venetia. A beautiful girl without a soul.” He strode over to the veranda doors, looked out over the fading wisteria and broken cobbles, then added quietly, almost to himself, “I’m glad I finally see you as you really are.”

There was a gap, a silence, where I should have said something, defended myself, apologized, soothed him. But I didn’t. Alastair had shown me that I was a flesh-and-blood human, more than the fa?ade Henry thought he knew. Everything he said was irrelevant. He didn’t know me now, perhaps had never known me. I was only angry with myself for agreeing to marry him in the first place, silently wishing this entire ordeal were over. I was aching all over, my head was throbbing, and I felt the chill of an invisible wind whisking through the room behind my neck, under my hair.

“But, Venetia!” He turned, his voice different, now pleading, a sorrowful yearning. “Why did you do this to me? You know how much I love you. We’ve known each other all our lives. Why did you do it?”

Waves of nausea began rippling over me. “I thought it might be all right, Henry. I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing you a favor, marrying you—I know you’ve always wanted that. I know it wasn’t perfect, but I thought I’d get over the past, begin again. I’d get pregnant quickly, and no one would know the baby wasn’t yours. Lots of people do it.”

“But we aren’t ‘lots of people,’?” he roared, storming toward me. “I am an individual, Venetia. Sometimes I wonder if you’ve ever realized that.” He sat down on the sofa next to me. “Look at me, Venetia. Take a good, long look at me.” His voice was firm, abrupt, and he looked straight into my eyes as I raised them to his. He looked different from every other time I’d seen him; open, alive, as if bringing everything he had left to this moment.