“Yes, Mrs. Savage,” I agree. Because what choice do I have? “I want him to have his father’s name, though.”
“Out of the question,” Eleanor retorts immediately. “The child will be a Savage. You are fortunate that I’m not throwing you out without a cent, and that I won’t hold your mother responsible for your sins.”
My reaction is immediately. “Please don’t blame my mother. Please. She needs you.”
Eleanor sits back in her seat, comfortable and content that she knows my Achilles heel.
“She does, doesn’t she?” Eleanor practically purrs now. “You shall have to be a good compliant Savage wife, won’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, fear for my mother’s well-being flooding through me. “Yes.”
“I thought so,” Eleanor says. “Your child will be a Savage. There will be no doubt, no question.”
Perhaps on paper. Perhaps on his birth certificate.
But in my heart, he’ll be a DuBray. He’s Phillip’s. And I’ll make sure that when he’s born, he knows it. I never want him to think that he comes from a monster like Richard.
Chapter Six
Days pass, then weeks, then months.
They blend into each other, every second into the next, and so on and so forth.
Richard is cold and unyielding. He spends hours away from Whitley, and when he comes home from wherever it is that he’s been, he showers and comes straight to bed. We share a bed, of course, but we don’t touch. He sleeps on one side, I sleep on the other, and we’re strangers.
That’s fine with me.
The halls are cold and echoing, and the servants glance at me. I see the knowingness in their eyes as my belly swells. They’ve known Richard since he was small. They know what he is, they know his preferences, and they know for certain that he doesn’t prefer me. They know that my child isn’t his.
I can’t help it when my cheeks flare scarlet when they stare.
I try to hold myself up like the Savage that I am supposed to be, but it’s more difficult than I ever thought. To act with such entitlement, with such arrogance. It’s not me, and it never will be. Lord help me, I don’t want it to be my son, either.
Mr. Savage hasn’t come home, and I don’t know where he is. I want to ask, but one doesn’t ask questions here. If Eleanor wishes you to know something, she will tell you. If not, then you’ll never know.
Everything is strange and foreign to me, and I hate it.
I hate it.
My child kicks against my hand, and in spite of myself, I smile. He is the one bright spot in my day, and he’s very active in my belly. He gives me constant reminders of his presence and I take great comfort in that.
No matter what happens here, my baby is alive and well.
They can’t take that from me.
I walk along in the rose gardens, and I inhale their sweet scent. They smell pure and innocent and heavenly, and the scent transports me from here, from this toxic, evil place, to a better place. A place where Phillip might be.
I allow my mind to drift and create and dream, and that is where I find Phillip.
He lounges against my bedroom window, and he waits for me.
His eyes twinkle and dance, black black blacker than night, and I reach for him. He pulls me close, and my belly comes between us and he laughs.
“Our child grows,” he whispers into my hair, and kisses my face. “That is good, Livvie.”
I laugh because it’s true. My body is nurturing our baby, giving it life, carrying it safely concealed. It’s a miracle, and that makes me a bringer of miracles.
Phillip nods as though he can read my thoughts.