Chapter Three

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Sadness welled up in her chest as she walked among the trees, looking at the cluster of teepees that were all but abandoned. She had left with the rest of them, had experienced the same horrors, but she had been lucky. With a sigh, Lavinia leaned against a tree, fighting the memories that flooded her mind, memories of a childhood quite different from the life she now led. She been five when the raiders had come, when they had killed those who had become her family. It was only her appearance that had spared her, her pale skin and light gray eyes. She had looked like them and so they had let her go, killing the other children her age. Bitterness filled her eyes as she surveyed the blood spattered teepees and abandoned cooking pots. She had sworn revenge when she had been too young to understand what it meant, but she couldn’t avenge her people without knowing who she was seeking revenge on. She only remembered one face, and that man was long dead; she had stabbed him herself.
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There was a faint sound of footfalls behind her, and she turned to face the woman she had been looking for. They stared at one another for a moment, trying to read eachother’s faces through the shadows that had gathered in preparation for evening. The older woman spoke first, her voice harsh and throaty.
“Lavinia.”
She nodded and folded her arms across her chest.
“What favor do you seek this time?”
Lavinia winced, feeling the judgement in the older woman’s scorching gaze.
“That is not fair.”
As always, she felt inferior and worthless when she was speaking with the herbalist. They were the only two left of their tribe, but Lavinia was always the least important. She was, after all, a half white bastard and had only survived because of that.
“Isn’t it? You appear before me wearing the clothes of the aristocracy that killed your brothers and sisters expecting a favor. Your guilt is written in the lines of your forehead.”
Lavinia bowed her head to hide the sting of shame that flushed her cheeks.
“Will you or will you not save the life I need you to save?”
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Ethel was waiting on the porch, her hands wringing the folds of her apron, forehead beaded with sweat. Lavinia hurried up the steps as fast as she could and pressed a small bottle into her maid’s hand.
“Give this to Beth right away. Her fever should break by morning.”
Ethel thanked her briefly and was gone in a moment, leaving Lavinia to compose herself and face Henry’s anger, which she knew would be nearly uncontrollable.
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He was waiting for her in their bedroom, anger written on his face and carved into the tight lines of his jaw. He didn’t speak, merely looked at her as she shut the door quietly behind her and approached him warily.
“She’ll be all right now.”
A muscle twitched in his forehead, the only warning she had before he had slammed her against the wall, holding her forearm with one calloused hand.
“You need to be taught your place. No wife has the right to be as willful as you are, but you…”
He struck her across the cheekbone, wrenching a hiss from her lips. Her eyes watered from the blow.
“You are a bastard. You don’t deserve your position. You need to be taught your place.”
Lavinia had seen this coming, had predicted it. She had, however, overestimated his boiling point. She allowed him to beat her, refusing to succumb to what he was trying to wrench out of her. With a discipline she had ingrained in herself long ago, she resisted the urge to stab him with the knife she kept concealed in her bosom. Instead, she pressed her lips together and endured his violence for close to a quarter of an hour. At last, he had finished. The room was silent save for their mingled and ragged breathing, then Henry turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
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She left the next morning without stopping to assess her injuries. She had long ago taught herself to ignore pain of all sorts. On the streets, she had been forced to ignore cold, to pretend away hunger, and to rid herself of the shame that came with pride. Now, she would ignore this too, at least until she was in a place that allowed her to recover. She mounted the horse gingerly, feeling the protest from her cracked ribs before shoving it to the darker corners of her mind. There was no point in staying. She had known this life would be temporary when she had begun, and now it was drawing to a close. She, unlike other aristocratic housewives, knew better than to allow her husband to control her life. She had long ago secured Ethel another position in case of this scenario and made provisions for all the servants she wished to protect. With a sigh, Lavinia tugged on the reigns slightly and turned to the west, burning her bridges once again.
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The house was as large as it was intimidating, spanning at least four acres and standing three storeys high. Lavinia took a deep breath, wrenching a pang from her ribs, and mounted the marble steps. He had extended this offer to her when she had gotten married, offering her sanctuary if she should need it. Now, she needed it, if only temporarily. It took every scant ounce of humility she possessed to knock on the enormous wood paneled doors.
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A maid showed her into a minimalist entrance hall, telling her that Sir Elliot would be with her in a moment. Lavinia declined a seat and stood, examining the lavish wood paneling and carpeted staircase, both of which were at complete odds with the unfinished floors. Elliot’s footsteps echoed down the staircase before he became visible, his voice preceding him into the hall.
“Lady Lavinia! To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
He placed a slight emphasis on the word ‘unexpected’, eyes drifting over her face to rest inquisitively on the bruises that adorned her countenance.
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He bent to kiss her hand, observing the formality, then lowered his voice, eyes piercing as they scanned her face.
“Have you come to pick up our relationship where it left off?”
There was humor in his voice, but not in his face as he awaited her response. She responded with an easy smile, a smile that stretched the cut on the side of her nose.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
With a sigh, she acknowledged his real question and allowed the teasing light to fade from her eyes.
“Two years ago, you offered shelter here should I ever need it.”
He nodded.
“I did.”
She glared; he was going to make her spell it out, make her ask.
“I have need of a doctor and a place to rest for a week or two. Henry has become…problematic.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, the only outward sign of his anger.
“I see. How bad is it?”
She glanced down at the floor, allowing herself to feel her injuries briefly.
“Some fractured ribs, perhaps a broken nose, and lots of bruising.”
His gaze was stony.
“First time?”
She sighed.
“Elliot, this isn’t an uncommon occurrence among married women, you know that.”
With an effort, he smiled tightly.
“Yes. Of course. I must say, I’m impressed at what you managed with your injuries. You should not even be standing.”
She smiled wryly.
“I have a high pain tolerance and a great deal of discipline.”
His face darkened as he noted how unsteady she looked.
“I will call the doctor. Come.”
He extended his arm, guiding her up the stairs glancing at her out of the corner of his eye every so often in case she fell.
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The room where he left her was lavish to the point of frivolity. Everything was pale wood and silk. After thanking Elliot, Lavinia’s gaze shifted to the bed, which was the most impossible structure she had ever seen. Eventually, she gave up on turning down the bed covers and sank down on the pile of cushions, wincing as pain lanced through her side. With a scowl, she resolved not to stay in this house longer than was absolutely necessary. Her relationship with Elliot was still far too romantic for her liking. He was being protective, and she was feeling the attraction that had never really faded when she had been married. Any feelings between them would inhibit both of their lives moving forward. Once again, Lavinia cursed the events that had driven her to call upon a favor offered when she had still been his mistress.