OLIVIA
Chapter Eleven

Olivia quietly closed the door to her sitting room behind her. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she refused to let them. She walked over to the dressing table and sat down on the cushioned bench. Her reflection caught her attention. Her eyes were wide and her face pale. She looked like she felt…numb.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her husband clutching the photograph of his beloved Rose. Betrayal, anger, and resentment flooded her until she could no longer hold it back. She grabbed a bottle of perfume as she stood and flung it across the room with a frustrated scream. After the release of it, she fell to the floor in a crumpled heap and cried uncontrollably until there was nothing left in her but dry, hacking sobs.

Every hope and dream she had fell away as she realized that she had never had Cal’s love. It was a sham, a cruel hoax, and it hurt more than she thought possible. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. She had trusted him, and more than that, she loved him. She still did, in spite of it all. Oh, dear God, what was she going to do? How could she stay, and yet, how could she leave? She was carrying his child, the Hockley heir. She was trapped–trapped in a marriage that was nothing but a lie.

Grasping the bench, she pulled herself to standing and tried to compose herself as best she could. A light tap on the door startled her.

"Who is it?" she asked, wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks.

"Angelina, ma’am," came the response. "I thought I heard something. Are you all right?"

Taking a calming breath, she padded over to the door and opened it. Upon seeing the girl’s concerned face, she smiled to mask her feelings. "I’m fine, Angelina. Nothing to worry about, I assure you."

The girl nodded, but Olivia couldn’t be sure if she believed her or not. She knew the servants loved to gossip among themselves, and she would rather not give them anymore fodder than she had to. She started to turn and shut the door, but stopped. "Could you please have a tray sent up? I’m still not feeling well and I’d rather not eat downstairs this morning."

"Yes, ma’am." Angelina gave a small curtsy. "Will Mr. Hockley be joining you?"

Olivia paused for a moment before answering. "No. I will be eating alone." With that, she shut the door and leaned back against it. She couldn’t face Cal just yet. It would be too hard. Her emotions were too raw at the moment.

She quickly dressed in a loose apricot caftan, pulled her hair back, and secured it with a matching ribbon. She had no intention of leaving her room today, so there was no need to dress in her usual manner. She was sitting on her chaise in front of one of the large windows when she heard the door open. Fully expecting to see Angelina, it was Cal who was bearing her tray instead.

"Good morning, sweetling." He smiled as he pushed the door shut with his foot. "I intercepted Angelina." He held up the tray toward her.

Olivia could feel her heart thumping loudly in her ears as he approached and set the tray down on her lap.

"I hope you slept well after your incident last night."

She couldn’t answer for a moment. She knew she had to remain calm. She couldn’t let Cal see how upset she was. As she looked down at the food on the tray, it suddenly looked extremely unappetizing.

"Olivia?" he prompted.

"Yes, I…I slept fine," she finally answered.

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he took the yellow linen napkin on the tray, shook it out, and spread it across her midriff. "I slept in one of the guest rooms so as not to disturb you."

Liar! she cried in her mind. She couldn’t bear to look at him, so she turned her head away to look at some unknown point out of the window.

"You still look a little pale this morning. I will have Dr. Covington come to look you over to make sure everything is all right."

When she didn’t answer, he hooked her chin with his finger and guided her face around to meet his. "Are you sure everything is all right, Olivia? You seem out of sorts. Is there something you’re not telling me?"

She licked her dry lips before answering. "No, Cal. I’m just not feeling well, that’s all."

Frowning at her, he leaned back and studied her features. "You are keeping something from me. Is it about last night? Did you remember what happened before you were found outside unconscious?"

"No." She shook her head. "I don’t remember what happened. I told you that."

"You aren’t being truthful with me, Olivia," he said in a low, callous purr.

She looked up at him, and the image of him holding Rose’s picture invaded her mind. She wanted to scream it out at him, to tell him what she saw and that she knew that their marriage was a lie. She wanted to lash out at him, to hurt him the way she was hurting, but she couldn’t. She was too afraid of his reaction.

"I’m not being untruthful, Cal," she finally answered. "I guess I’m weaker than I thought from everything that happened last night."

He stared at her for a few minutes more and then lifted his head slightly. "Very well, but don’t forget my warning. If I find that you have lied to me, I won’t be so forgiving. I must be able to trust you, Olivia. After all, you are carrying my son, the heir to the Hockley name."

Her eyes snapped then. "Why are you so sure this is going to be a son?"

He laughed as if she had asked the most ridiculous question. "Because, sweetling, I choose for it to be so."

Olivia cringed when he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

"Enjoy your breakfast. I shall be out for most of the day. Dr. Covington will be along after a while to check on you." He stood, straightened out his suit, and smiled unflappably down at her.

She watched as he strode casually across the room and exited it. Between the tension she felt and the aroma of the food before her, her stomach began to roll violently. She pushed it aside and stood, barely reaching the chamber pot before she was sick.

After a few minutes, she leaned back and wiped her face with the linen napkin. Glancing around the room, she felt so alone. In that moment, she would gladly have given up everything to be free from this life. She was only nineteen, and already her life was over. Everything she believed in was gone and she was left with nothing but this empty, cold feeling. How ironic that only a few short months ago, she thought she was living a fairytale, and now nothing could be further from the truth. Nothing at all.

Chapter Twelve
Stories