Mandie Beaumont’s stomach lurched as the final hymn swelled through the church, the organ notes pounding in her skull. She gripped the edge of the pew, her knuckles white as she fought the rising nausea.
The moment the reverend finished the benediction and people around her began to gather their belongings, she stood and slid out of their row.
“Amanda?” Her mother’s voice called behind her. “Where are you going?”
She couldn’t stop to answer. Moving made the bile surge up to her throat. She had to reach the powder room before…
Pushing through the door to the ladies’ chamber, she barely managed to latch it behind her before everything inside surged out.
She gripped the cool porcelain of the basin as her body trembled with each heave. How much longer would this sickness last?
Two weeks now, and the nausea seemed to be worsening. Maybe she should call for Dr. Wilmont like her housekeeper kept suggesting.
At last, she poured clean water over her hands and wiped her mouth. When she dared straighten, a glance in the mirror showed a worse picture than usual. Her face, pale as parchment. Her eyes, rimmed red, and the shadows underneath, as dark as her hair.
She had to get back before her mother came looking for her. Papa would be off brown-nosing with his constituents, encouraging their votes in the mayoral election this fall. Mama would be doing the same with the ladies, but she would expect Mandie at her side.
She inhaled a deep breath, then cleaned up as best she could.
At last, she took in one more breath for courage and stepped back into the church’s main hallway.
Her mother stood near the portrait of the Virgin Mary, engaged in conversation with Mrs. Ashton and her daughter, Louisa, who had married last spring.
As Mandie approached, snippets of their discussion reached her ears.
“...been feeling so poorly, I can barely keep anything down,” Louisa was saying, one hand resting on the full skirts covering her middle. “Dr. Wilmont says it’s all quite normal in my condition, but I do hope it passes soon.”
Mrs. Ashton patted her daughter’s arm. “It will, dear. Why, when I was carrying you, I was indisposed for months. But it’s all worth it in the end.”
Mandie froze. A chilling realization crept through her, dulling Mama’s response.
Could she be...with child? The very thought made her ill all over again.
She’d missed her courses last month, but she’d assumed it was due to the constant stress and fear that Clayton would come for her again.
Perhaps it was more. Perhaps the horrible thing he’d done had left her with more than just nightmares and shame.
Mandie barely felt her mother’s hand around her arm, leading her away from the Ashtons with a polite farewell. Her mind reeled with the implications. What would happen if she was found to be with child too long after her husband’s death for it to be his?
How could she find out for certain? She couldn’t call Dr. Wilmont. He knew every family of their acquaintance. He would tell her parents. And they would…
She couldn’t think about what they would do. The scandal. It would ruin her father’s chances at the mayoral election, destroying everything he’d worked his entire life to achieve. His dreams.
And her mother...Mandie’s heart clenched at the possibility. She’d already been pushing Mandie toward Clayton Beaumont, her deceased husband’s brother. No matter that Mandie made it clear she abhorred the man. Would her mother now push harder, knowing Mandie carried his child? Even if she learned the awful way her condition had been forced on her?
Mandie’s breath stalled in her lungs. Fear choked her. But she pushed the panic down as her mother guided her through the crowd, smiling and greeting acquaintances. Her mother seemed to have a destination in mind, and Mandie had little strength to protest.
“Clayton, how lovely to see you.” Her mother’s cheerful greeting made Mandie’s chest seize.
Clayton’s tall form loomed before them.
No. His dark eyes raked over her in a way that made her skin crawl. The memory of his hands on her, his weight pressing her down, flashed through her mind, and terror clawed at her throat.
She couldn’t stand there and pretend everything was fine, not with the truth of what he’d done growing inside her. She had to leave.
She pulled from her mother’s grasp and spun away.
Nearly running, she wove between people, her mother’s voice calling from behind.
