Trinity_Bride of West Virginia

by Carré White

  He had changed into a nightshirt, his hair askew. Rounding the corner of the bed, he came to sit beside me, his gaze sober. “You scared me half to death.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “If I had any doubts about my feelings for you, I don’t anymore.”

  “Nate.”

  “I don’t know what I would’ve done, if anything happened to you.”

  “I’m fine. It was a false alarm.”

  He touched my face. “You mean so much to me, Trinity.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I wish only for your health and happiness, but … I’m glad the baby’s well. I know you want this child. I can’t even begin to think this baby will be my stepbrother or sister. That’s too wild to contemplate.”

  “You should go to bed.”

  Leaning in, he kissed me, his lips feeling soft and warm. Not being able to resist, I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him in return. It was far too easy to lose myself in the moment, every cell in my body screaming out for him.

  “My love,” he whispered.

  “Go, Nate. Please go.”

  “I shall see you tonight.”

  “At your engagement party.”

  He groaned. “I don't need any reminders.”

  “I like Victoria. She’s a wonderful person. If you’re not absolutely certain you love—”

  “I’m leaving now.” His features revealed tension. “You’ve no right to lecture me on my love life. Look at your own, Trinity. Do you have any regrets? Are you happy? Who’s happy anyhow? Do you know any blissfully happy people? I don’t.”

  “Contentment is the most we can hope for, I suppose. It’ll have to do.”

  “Like I said, if I must wait twenty years for you, I will.”

  “Nate.”

  “Good night, Trinity. Sleep well. If you ever feel inconsolably lonely, please don’t hesitate to see me. I’d relish the prospect of sleeping with you in my arms.”

  His words never failed to hit their mark, my heart twisting. “Go to bed.”

  Casting one last look over his shoulder, regret filling his eyes, he slipped from the room quietly, closing the door behind him. I stared miserably at it, although I should rejoice that the doctor had proclaimed me healthy. I wasn’t going to lose my baby, at least not today.

  ***

  By early afternoon, I finally left the confines of the bedroom, wandering down the hall, listening to the sound of music being played below. Nathanial loved the violin, a sad melody filling the house. I found him in the parlor, seated on a stool with the instrument in hand. He slid the bow back and forth, his other hand plucking at the fingerboard. I couldn’t be certain what piece of music this was, but it sounded slightly melancholy, yet beautiful.

  I took a seat across from him, listening. I had not seen my husband today yet, wondering if perhaps he was still asleep. When Nathanial finished playing, he stared at me, his look aggrieved.

  “That was beautiful. What is it?”

  “Violin sonata No.1 in A, Trinity.”

  “Stop that.”

  “That’s the title. Do you want to know what it’s about?”

  “You needn’t tease me. Who did it?”

  “It’s all mine. I’ve been working on this piece for several weeks. It’s about a man who falls in love with a married woman. She spurns him at every turn. Out of desperation, he professes his love most ardently, yet she continues to deny him. Do you want to know what happens then?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “He drowns his sorrow in brandy.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Then he marries a harridan he cares nothing for and has six ungrateful children.”

  “Six?”

  “Well, there was a seventh, but it died in infancy.”

  “I see.” I smiled at the joke, feeling a wave of affection I wished I didn’t. “It’s a sad and sorry tale.”

  “But it’s only part one. I’m planning at least nine altogether.”

  “It will continue?”

  “Like a bad melodrama.”

  I sighed. “You’re in fine spirits. I thought you might be happier today. You’re having quite the party from the sounds of it.” Merchants had arrived all morning by the back door, bringing in crates filled with glasses and bottles of champagne. “It smells lovely.”

  “They’re preparing roast duck.”

  “That’s delicious.”

  “How are you?”

  “Embarrassed. I can’t believe I kept everyone up. I’m deeply sorry.”

  “Nonsense. You had stomach pain, and you’re pregnant. It was worthy of fetching the doctor. If he hadn’t been here, it might’ve been something serious.”

  “I’m well enough.” I smoothed my skirt, admiring the fabric. I wore another one of Nathanial’s purchases. “You don’t have to stop playing on my account. It was very pretty.”

  “Are you flattering me, or do you really like it?”

  That was unexpected. “I really like it. I … admire your skill. If you really did write that piece, then I admire you even more.”

  “I wrote it. It’s your sonata.”

  Words failed me. I waited for him to continue, wondering at the delay.

  “You inspire me.”

  “Oh, Nate.”

  “You do. I’m eternally grateful I’ve an outlet for these feelings, or else I might take a hammer and smash every window I see. What do they call it, the violence of passion or something like that?” He glanced at the instrument. “Playing this will get me into a lot less trouble, I surmise.”

  He did not wait for me to respond, driving the bow across the strings, the loveliest sound emerging—music he had apparently written for me. The melody brought tears to my eyes, but none of them had anything to do with joy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Clara fixed my hair, working it into a mass on top of my head, where she ran a thin strand of pearls artfully through it. I sat listening to the commotion downstairs, the servants preparing for our guests. I would meet Mr. and Mrs. Peterson tonight and their younger daughter, Doreen, who was engaged to a lord. I wasn’t certain he would be in attendance.

  “Thank you, Clara. It looks lovely.”

  She bobbed politely. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mrs. Witherspoon?”

  “No, I’m as ready as I’m going to be.” I stood, scraping the bottom of the chair on the wood floor. “It sounds like people have arrived.”

  “They have indeed.”

  “Tell them I’ll be down in a moment.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I glanced at my reflection, seeing a woman in an evening gown with puffed sleeves to the elbow. The floral trimmed skirt was fuller in the back than the front, the waist cinched. I wouldn’t be able to wear this outfit once my belly expanded. It would be imprudent to keep people waiting any longer, knowing many had arrived already. I left the room a moment later, taking the stairs down.

  My husband approached, carrying a cane. “There you are, my dear.” He smiled, creasing the edges of his eyes. “You look beautiful, as always. I’m a proud man to have you on my arm.”

  “Thank you. Where is everyone?”

  “In the parlor.”

  “Are the Petersons here?”

  “Yes.” He escorted me across the foyer, the chandelier casting light upon the artwork that hung here. “We’re still waiting on others. You’re not late in the least.”

  “Oh, good. I was worried. Clara took longer than expected with my hair.”

  He wore a dark dinner jacket with a white shirt and black tie, and, once in the parlor, I saw most of the men dressed similarly, including Nathanial, who stood in the back of the room with his fiancée and two other people. I presumed they were her father and mother. Mr. Witherspoon guided me in this direction, people glancing over their shoulders to look at us. A string quartet played in the corner, the music festive.

  I met Nathanial’s eyes, finding him unsmiling. A prickle of disquiet skitter
ed down my spine. An odd sense of foreboding made me ill at ease at that moment, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Peterson,” said my husband. “I would like to introduce my wife, Mrs. Trinity Witherspoon. Trinity, these lovely people will soon be a part of our family.”

  “How do you do?” I shook hands with them, smiling. Then I glanced at Victoria, who seemed a touch withdrawn. “Your dress is very pretty.”

  “Thank you.”

  I wondered if they had quarreled. “Have most of the guests arrived now?”

  “Are you hungry, my dear?” Mr. Witherspoon chuckled, “She’s far more ravenous these days, I dare say.”

  “Congratulations on your delicate condition,” said Mrs. Peterson. “We were quite surprised to hear about it. It’s all Mr. Witherspoon speaks of.”

  “We are looking forward to the baby’s arrival.” I thought of the scare I had last night, tucking the memory away. “I don’t show in the least yet, but I really am in … a delicate condition.” It was strange that Nathanial said nothing, staring icily at us. The atmosphere felt awkward and forced. “Such lovely weather this time of year. It’s usually horridly cold and icy.”

  “We’ve been given a temporary reprieve,” said Mr. Peterson.

  A servant came around with a tray of champagne, the flutes filled with gold, sparkling fluid. Nathanial took a glass, lifting it to his lips. He drank it down in one gulp. Oh, dear. Something’s bothering him greatly.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” said the butler. “Dinner is served.”

  We migrated into the next room, where a lengthy table stood, plates and sparkling crystal glasses arranged around artful centerpieces. The flowers gave off an aromatic fragrance. I sat next to Mrs. Peterson, with my husband across from me. Victoria and Nathanial sat opposite each other as well. The food arrived minutes later, roast duck with lobster and steak. The servants brought out each course, ending with shaved ice and dessert.

  Once we had eaten, the music began again, the parlor having been cleared of furniture in preparation for dancing. Nathanial had been mostly quiet during dinner, saying little unless spoken to. I avoided meeting his gaze, trying my best to hold conversations with those around me, putting them at ease. Even Victoria seemed unhappy, her look slightly dour.

  My husband escorted me to the parlor, his face ruddy from champagne. His gait had improved, the cane loosely in his hand. I wondered if he might dance tonight. We gathered in a group, standing in the center of the room, where the servants had rolled up the carpet and taken it away. Nathanial appeared then, striding towards the mantelpiece. Victoria joined him, standing by his side. Her parents and sister waited nearby, each holding a glass of champagne, preparing to celebrate the announcement.

  “You’ve all been more than kind to come,” said Nathanial. “Thank you for attending my little soiree. I … know you’ve expected a formal announcement of sorts. It was never my wish to disappoint anyone. This wasn’t how I had foreseen things. I must apologize to you all.” He glanced at Victoria. “You most of all. I’ve bungled this badly.”

  Mr. Witherspoon’s arm tightened around my back. “What in the blazes is he going on about?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  “I'm afraid there’ll be no formal announcement of any sort tonight. I do so grievously apologize. I am … very sorry.” He bowed his head. “Forgive me.” He stepped away from Victoria. People gave him space, moving aside to let him pass.

  “That imbecile!” hissed Mr. Witherspoon. “What in pity’s sake was that about?”

  “It seems he’s broken the engagement.” Victoria and her family wasted little time in making their exit, the butler hurrying to retrieve their jackets and scarves from the coatroom. I felt horribly for her and the way things had been handled.

  Mr. Witherspoon turned on his heel, the cane thumping into the floor. I followed him to the study, where we found Nathanial, sipping brandy from a rounded glass. He seemed unperturbed, his look bland, but a negative sort of energy emanated from him.

  “What was that?” demanded Mr. Witherspoon. “Do you wish to explain what just happened?”

  “It should be rather obvious.”

  “My leg might be feeble, but my mind’s still in working order. Did you just break your engagement?”

  “I did.”

  “Why would you do such a thing, Nathanial?”

  “Because I don’t love that woman.”

  “Why on earth did you go through all the trouble of hosting this extravagant party? Why couldn’t you have said something before?”

  “I thought I’d go through with it. I didn’t realize I’d be breaking things off until … this morning. Then it was too late to stop it.”

  Mr. Witherspoon sighed deeply, his forehead creasing. “This was poorly done, son. It’s a disgrace.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “I thought I’d brought you up with manners. You’ve expressed them badly tonight.”

  “There never would’ve been a good time to break things off.”

  “But not like this! That was inexcusable.” He frowned, turning on his heel. “I’ve nothing more to say on the matter.” He quit the room, his cane thumping on the floor.

  I glanced at Nathanial, seeing a man in a black dinner jacket, looking as impeccable as always … far too handsome. “Have you no heart?”

  “It’s been broken.”

  “You have to stop this. What you did was … terrible. That poor woman. She deserved so much better.”

  “I agree.”

  “You could’ve told her in private. You didn’t have to humiliate her like that before her family and friends. How awful.”

  “Yes.”

  “You could’ve even made the announcement, then quietly broken the engagement later. Why ruin the night?”

  “I’m in that sort of mood. If I had a hammer, I’d smash everything.”

  “Nathanial.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyhow,” he murmured.

  “Miss Peterson is a dignified, accomplished woman. She didn’t deserve that sort of treatment. I know you’re sore about things, but hurting her was a deplorable thing to do.”

  “It was.”

  I wanted to strangle him for being so blasé about this. “Are you really so cold-hearted?”

  “I wasn’t until I met you.”

  “What about your guests?”

  “They’ll dine and drink and dance. The party needn’t end on my account.”

  It became clear that Mr. Witherspoon and I would have to entertain them. “And you? What do you plan?”

  He held up the glass. “This is not a bad Cognac.”

  Disgusted with his lack of remorse, I gave him a look. “You should be ashamed. You really should.”

  “It would do no good.”

  Not wanting to talk to him further, for fear I might lose my temper, I left the room, joining my husband and a parlor full of guests. We entertained them the best we could for the rest of the evening, dancing and laughing, while Nathanial drowned himself in a brandy bottle. After they left, I joined my husband in his room, having changed into a nightgown and slippers. Exhausted from having been on my feet all night, I crawled into bed with him.

  “He should be taken out and shot,” griped Mr. Witherspoon, his arm going around me.

  I snuggled into his chest. He smelled of cigar smoke, the odor clinging to his hair. “Do you have the energy to do it?”

  He chuckled at that. “I wish I did. What in the devil’s gotten into him?”

  I knew, but I could hardly tell my husband that his son was in love with me. “I suppose he had a change of heart.”

  “It was badly done.”

  “No one will argue that. He should’ve told her in private to save her the public humiliation.”

  “It’ll be all anyone’s talking about tomorrow.”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “His mother and I brought him up better.”

  “I … suppose pe
ople sometimes behave rashly. He said he changed his mind only a few hours ago.”

  “But still.”

  “It could’ve been done better. I agree.” I gazed at my husband, seeing an older man with grey hair, although I was slowly growing more attached to him. He wasn’t cruel or indifferent in the least. He adored me, showering me with affection and attention. His only crime was his age, and I could not hold it against him.

  “You were wonderful tonight,” he said.

  “I was?”

  “I think we pulled it all together rather well. We rescued a disaster. My leg feels better than I can remember. I tried my best not to embarrass you on the dance floor.”

  He led me in several waltzes. “You dance quite nice.”

  He kissed my forehead. “You’re an easy partner.”

  Although my affections lay elsewhere, I could not deny a growing closeness with Mr. Witherspoon. My emotions had been pulled in nearly every direction since the day I married him, the underlying theme that of grave unhappiness. I shouldn’t want anyone else in my life. I shouldn’t crave the arms of a younger man—my stepson. If I were to achieve any sort of lasting happiness, I had to make peace with my marriage.

  I would try. It wasn’t a lost cause. But … Nathanial … what would I do with him?

  Chapter Sixteen

  We left the next morning, Clara packing my bag. I dressed in a grey walking suit, with an ankle-length skirt and matching jacket. I expected Nathanial to see us out, but he remained oddly absent.

  “Where is Mr. Witherspoon?” I asked Gregory, as our bags were taken to the carriage that waited before the steps.

  “He’s indisposed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Under the weather.”

  Pursing my lips, I debated barging into his room and rousing him. Stern words lingered on the tip of my tongue. “I see.”

  “My dear. We’re ready now. We’ll miss the train, if we don’t hurry.”

  “All right.” I pulled my gloves on. “I’m coming.” I glanced at Gregory. “Please tell Mr. Witherspoon that we’re disappointed he didn’t come out to bid us goodbye.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good day, sir.”