“Please, Reggie,” I begged. “My head is pounding. I’d like to lie down.”
“Don’t deny me, my love,” he whispered as he began to kiss my neck.
Goose flesh rose on my arms. My stomach felt like it would toss up its contents. He turned my head and kissed my lips, his mustache poking into the tender flesh above my mouth.
I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t let me go. I wanted to call out, but who would come? Reggie was the lord and master of his home—of me. No one would interfere.
“Don’t fight me,” he said, between kisses. “I’m your husband, and I want you to know how much I desire you.”
“I’m not ready. I don’t want—”
My words were cut short as he kissed me again, and no matter how much I protested or fought, he would not let me go.
19
WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA
DECEMBER 25, 1774
I lay in bed long after Rebecca and Hannah rose on Christmas morning and went downstairs. Snowflakes fell from the dark clouds as I stared out the window at the barren branches. I felt numb. If I allowed myself to cry, I would not be able to stop, so I just stared at the lifeless scene outside my window.
After I left Reggie in the library, I had gone up to my room, where Edith had been waiting. Without saying a word, I had changed into my nightgown and climbed into bed, my body and soul weak and trembling. I suspected Edith knew what had happened, because I saw her tears.
Hours later, Reggie had entered his own bedchamber. He moved about in there for quite some time as Mr. Duncan, his valet, spoke in low, calming tones. Reggie had probably continued to drink long after I left him.
Silently, I had gone to the door that connected our dressing rooms with the intent to lock it but discovered there was no lock. I could not sleep with the fear that he would come tome again, so I curled up on one of the chairs by the fireplace, determined to run if he tried to get into my room.
I must have fallen asleep, because I had woken in Williamsburg to face a cheerless Christmastide.
“Libby!” Hannah ran into our bedchamber and jumped on the bed to shake me. “Are you ill? Why do you lie abed on Christmas morning?”
The last thing I wanted was to ruin her Christmas. It had been a difficult year, first with Papa’s passing and then with the onset of the Revolution. My family did not need more to worry about—especially Mama.
I hoped and prayed that there would be no baby, just like last time, and that there would be nothing for her or me to worry about. Why borrow trouble, as she had put it? What had happened to Anna Elizabeth Fairhaven had not happened to Libby Conant—at least, not physically. I thought about Mama’s admonition that I should not allow one life to dictate the other. I didn’t want anyone in 1774 to suffer because of a life thousands of miles and hundreds of years away, especially my sisters, who had been looking forward to Christmas for weeks.
“I am well,” I said as I turned to face Hannah. “’Tis a gloomy day, and I was overtired, ’tis all.”
Her mass of curls had yet to be tamed for the day. I placed my hand on her plump cheek and forced myself to be happy for her sake.
“Is Mariah making the plum pudding?”
“Aye!” Hannah’s eyes lit up. “And she’s roasting a duck. It smells so good in the kitchen. But Mama sent me up to tell you ’tis time for breakfast.”
I pushed aside my troubles and quickly got dressed. The last thing I wanted today was for my melancholy to dampen everyone’s spirits. I chose my second-best dress. After breakfast, we would attend church at Bruton Parish. Henry would be there, as would Sophia and many other friends and neighbors. Thenthere would be merrymaking in the streets, a marvelous feast for supper, and presents and games far into the evening. Mama had invited a few close friends to join in our celebration.
What I wanted most of all was to speak to Henry and tell him I was sorry. Even if he had made me angry, there was no cause for me to attack him and his intentions. My weary heart could not handle more pain or disappointment today. If he would not look at me or acknowledge me, I feared I would not have the strength to pretend I was well.
“Good morning, Libby,” Mama said when I finally appeared in the sitting room. “And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Mama.” I put a smile on my face and kissed her cheek.
She studied me for a moment, then turned her attention back to the table. It was laden with many good things to eat. Almond pudding, lemon puffs, strawberry jelly, ham, and boiled eggs awaited us. I forced myself to eat, knowing Mama had woken up early to help Mariah prepare the meal. Thankfully, Rebecca and Hannah were full of conversation and excitement. I simply smiled and listened, laughing with them and enjoying their anticipation.
Soon we were on our way to Bruton Parish Church on the other side of the Palace Green. The bells tolled as a rare Christmas snow continued to fall in a lazy descent. It gathered in the corners of the buildings and along the path.
We greeted friends and neighbors as we walked up the stairs and into the church. I watched for Henry but had not seen him walking down the Palace Green from his home. Had he returned to Edgewater Hall?
The thought made my spirits lag. I could not go for weeks or months without apologizing to him.
