It was barely eight o'clock but the day had already turned dark.
Madelyn sat alone within her chamber having sent Agatha and Mrs Mary away. No candle had been lit. She had refused everything, except the fire in the hearth, and even now the embers lay dying. Across the room, the curtains danced easily to the light breeze.
Her hands tightened in her lap and her fingers descended on themselves. Brand had not returned, not since he stormed out in fury. Her eyes stayed on the door.
Surely he believed the worst. That she had lied. That she had deceived him yet again, that even this child was some contrivance to bind him to her, to escape the punishment she deserved.
A tremor passed through her and she shut her eyes briefly, her throat tightening.
"I did not know," she whispered softly into the empty room.
But he would not believe her. Why should he? She had lied daily even though countless instances were given to tell the truth.
