Cressida's Dilemma

Cressida smiled. “First I intend telling him how sorry I am not to have known how to tell him of my fears of conceiving another child.”

“Cressida—!”

“Then I intend to inform him that I’ve now resolved those fears and am ready to be the good wife he once loved—no, enjoyed—so much.” Cressida slanted a wickedly suggestive glance at her cousin. “He will soon be in no doubt as to where my affection and loyalty lie.”

She stroked her hands over her belly and breasts in a gesture Catherine had probably not seen before, and the shock on her cousin’s face made Cressida laugh.

“When did you last please your husband, Catherine?” she asked. She began to count on her fingers. “Let me think, your two sons were born less than a year apart. Baby William, your second son and final child, was born four years ago. Once you’d provided James with two sons, you felt you’d done your duty, didn’t you? You’ve denied James access to your bed ever since, yet you blame him for seeking his pleasures elsewhere?”

“How…dare…you.”

For once, Cressida felt no fear in the face of Catherine’s anger. She shrugged. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s speculated that. Of course, it is only speculation, but I’m not the innocent I was, Catherine.” Excitement bubbled inside her at the thought of what lay ahead. Taking another quick look at herself in the looking glass, she dragged down the lace-edged black silk at her décolletage, enjoying the fact that her behavior was, for once, scandalizing her cousin. She swung back to face her, not hiding her pleasure at the prospect of seeing Justin again. “You see, Catherine, I realize how lucky I am. I’ve enjoyed a love most women never experience, and I’m not about to squander the opportunity to take it in a new and exciting direction.” She raised her eyes heavenward and said in an adrenaline-fueled rush, “I went to Mrs. Plumb’s last week and again this week, Catherine, and I’ve seen things you’d not believe.” If she sounded like a schoolroom miss, she didn’t care, especially as she saw the effect her admission had on Catherine.

Yet all her cousin could manage was, “Oh, Cressida!” as she took a step forward, no doubt prepared to stop Cressida physically from leaving.

“So now that I am weary to the bone of listening to you tell me how to make my marriage as miserable as yours,” Cressida said. “I am leaving this very minute to go back to Justin.” She gave Catherine a challenging look. “And to show him what a loving wife he has, now that I have power like no mother, aunt, sister or cousin ever told me was possible.”

Catherine took a very slow, deep breath and a measured step toward Cressida, who was now halfway to the door. Her lips were a thin line in her gaunt, bitter face, like a smear of plum juice over a piece of gray leather.

“You’d do better collaring Madame Zirelli and forcing her to admit everything,” she hissed.

Cressida cocked her head as she contemplated the idea, one hand on the bell rope. “The trouble with you, Catherine, is that you always believe the worst. Someone is always to blame. Except you, of course. I used to pity you, married to philandering James.” She sighed. “Now I pity James. But, yes, I will take your advice and pay a call on Madame Zirelli, despite the late hour. I’m dressed for the occasion, after all, and Wednesday nights at Mrs. Plumb’s are always most intriguing.”

* * * *

Madame Zirelli had long since retired to her bed, but in her dimly lit little sitting room she graciously—and with little surprise—received her visitor. She’d thrown a thick paisley shawl over her nightgown, and now in her muslin nightcap with her dark hair braided over one shoulder, she looked very kind and motherly and very different from Catherine—or any kind of mistress.

“I thought—no, hoped—I’d see you before the night was through,” she said as she knelt by the grate to build up the fire. “I gather you’ve been held hostage by your ghastly cousin. At least, that’s how Justin described her.”

Cressida took the seat Madame Zirelli waved her into, and considered the woman whom Catherine would have her believe was the great threat that stood between her and her husband. Madame Zirelli might once have been Justin’s mistress, but regardless of whether she now was or not, the real barrier in Cressida’s marriage, Cressida realized, was not just her own ignorance but her lack of courage.

With a modest fire sending out a weak heat, her hostess eased herself into a chair opposite Cressida, clasped her hands in her lap and said, “I gather you’ve come to me for help and information, just as three weeks ago, I sought help and information from Justin. Information which he supplied and which tonight has brought me both joy and sorrow.” Her enigmatic smile brought mystery and youthful beauty to her face. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, regarding Cressida with interest. “So you see, it has been a momentous night for both of us. Do not apologize for disturbing my slumber, for I’ve been unable to sleep, on both your account and mine. I did so hope you’d come,” she repeated, adding with renewed energy, “for Justin’s sake.”

“Justin’s sake?” Cressida dropped her eyes, accepting now that she was about to be severely shamed. “Please

tell me,” she said softly, “why Justin was here?”

When she found the courage to meet the woman’s eye, she saw only concern.

“You do know I was his mistress before he met you?”

Cressida nodded and said in a whisper, “I thought he’d returned to you when he found so little love from his wife at home.” She felt the color tickle her cheeks as she amended, “I mean, of the married variety.”

“Of course you’d have assumed the worst. I should have told Justin to acquaint you with the nature of the business with which I charged him—” She raised her hands, palms outward in that peculiarly expressive Gallic gesture, before adding, “But I was afraid you’d inadvertently reveal it to your cousin Catherine, or to Mrs. Luscombe, who are both on the board of the Sedleywich Home for Orphans. You see, until three weeks ago,” Madame Zirelli clarified, in response to Cressida’s frown, “I’d not seen Justin for eight years. Nor did I intend to rekindle our friendship, until a shock sighting of a young woman I believed to be my lost daughter gave me no choice but to approach him. I knew Justin was patron of the Sedleywich Home for Orphans, to which my baby had been sent a few days after her birth. I wanted him to look at the records and discover for me what had indeed happened to my baby. To that end, Justin has been assiduous in his task and a kind and understanding friend when I could reveal my secret and suspicions to no one else.” She closed her eyes briefly. “What you saw, Lady Lovett, was my gesture of gratitude toward your husband, who had just confirmed that my daughter still lives”—there was a catch in her voice as she continued—“but that, as a loving mother with her best interests at heart, I was barred from making contact with her.”

Cressida’s own breath hitched in her throat, her fears escalating rather than dissipating at the story so far. Madame Zirelli had had a child years ago? Madame Zirelli had been Justin’s mistress years ago.

“You told me you didn’t have any children.” Cressida studied her trembling hands. What had started as vague uneasiness had taken root and was fast growing until Madame Zirelli’s next words banished that fear. “My daughter is eighteen years old now, and her father, Robert, was the love of my life.”

With a sigh of relief, Cressida understood that this must be just the start of a painful tale. Justin was helping Madame Zirelli as an old friend, not with a vested interest. This business of discovering the identity of Madame Zirelli’s daughter was what had preoccupied Justin the past three weeks—coupled, of course, with Cressida’s erratic behavior.

“I’m listening,” Cressida prompted in a murmur, feeling the first surge of pity for the woman as Madame Zirelli closed her eyes and smiled, as if remembering happier times.

Cressida’s fears had been laid to rest, but Madame Zirelli needed to tell her story now, and the least Cressida could do was listen.

“Robert was the youngest son of a well-connected family in the local village, where my father had brought us to live from Spain when I was ten, after Robert’s father had employed him as singing master to Robert’s sisters. Though I knew Robert by sight, it wasn’t until I was sixteen that we spoke for the first time, after he offered me a lift in his carriage in the midst of a snowstorm.” The older woman opened her eyes, the joy of that memory transforming her face. “After that, we found many opportunities to meet. We were in love, but Robert was only nineteen, and we were both too young and powerless to direct our own lives. Robert wanted to marry me, but of course his father refused, while mine was furious at what he considered my trying to rise above my station.” As Madame Zirelli glanced at Cressida, her gaze falling to the smooth silk of Cressida’s gown, to the curve of her belly, her expression became bleak. “I tell you this to bolster the case that I was more than qualified to speak to you of the miseries we women face when we cannot control our ability to have children.” Her voice wavered. “For the sake of my father and, I believed at the time, Robert, I was coerced into not revealing to Robert that I was carrying his child, and I was sent away. Under directions from his mother, I told Robert I was taking up a position as a governess.” She clenched her fists and her voice thickened with emotion. “Robert swore that in two years’ time, when he was twenty-one and of age, he would gallop into the grounds of my employer on a great white charger and whisk me off to the nearest church to get married. He said if I loved him enough to be patient for just two years, all would be well.”

Cressida bit her lip. “But all was not well. You were carrying his child.”