Chapter 1:

“Can I assist you with anything else, Ms. Eliza?”

The mention of my name jolts me awake from my drowsiness and I sit up, straightening the book that had managed to slide halfway off my lap. The steady fire crackling away had caused me to doze off as it provided constant warmth during this extremely cold winter.

“No, not at all Mr. Wingate. Thank you for being so patient with me. I believe the warmth from the fire must have caused me to doze off. What time is it?” I ask, slowly rising to my feet.

“Just past midnight,” he replies.

I frown. It's improper of me to be alone with Mr. Wingate at such a late hour, regardless of the fact that he's my late husband's older brother. He is family, but still a man.

“I hadn't realized it was so late. I apologize for any inconvenience,” I say quickly.

He has been kind enough to let me reside in his home after the death of my husband just two months prior. My husband had been of poor health towards the end of his life and had not worked in some time. His sickly disposition had led him to contract a fatal illness with a fever that took him from me within three short days. George had been too stubborn to ask for help or even to acknowledge the massive debt we'd accrued. So, after his death, I'd been evicted from the home we'd shared for eight years and in a strange turn of events had nowhere to turn to except to his estranged brother for help.

George and his brother Lewis, although having come from the same family and being raised in the same home, were completely different. Lewis was older by three years and was the son of his father's first wife, Elaine. Shortly after her death, his father remarried a woman by the name of Elizabeth and he sired another son, George, my late husband.

Both men took after their late father, Henry Wingate, with handsome features, tall stature and piercing blue eyes. Lewis, however, favored his late mother, or so I was told, with her golden locks, while George's hair was auburn like his mother's.

According to George, Lewis had been interested in business from a young age and as their father's oldest son, stood to inherit everything as his heir. This was something George had always been jealous of as he felt inferior to his older brother. It had been said that Lewis was the favorite son and his mother had been the favorite wife. I, however, only knew what George had confided to me. He'd told me that his brother was a proud and stubborn man, but from what I've seen, he's been nothing short of polite, kind, and helpful. He did not have to house his brother's widow and yet has done so, regardless of the rumors spreading in society about two single widowed people living under the same roof. From what I can tell, we are both victims of misfortune and tragedy. I, with the death of my husband, and Lewis, with the death of his family.

Lewis was a kind man who was eager to prove himself to his father at a young age and so he married at the tender age of eighteen and within four years, had fathered two children from his wife, Jane. A boy and a girl. The boy was named Henry after his paternal grandfather and the girl was named Anne after her maternal grandmother. Unfortunately his wife and children had succumbed to a sudden illness and died from fever nearly ten years ago and he'd never remarried. In fact, he'd spent these last ten years grieving their deaths in isolation.

Apparently, it was the same illness that took my George. What a cruel twist of fate. George and I had never had any children as I'd been unable to conceive and at the ripe age of twenty-eight, I'd given up on ever having any children at all. I'd resigned myself to the fact that I would remain a childless widow for the remainder of my life.

“No need to apologize. Things have been...less than ideal...the last two months. Stress will take a toll if you're not careful, regardless of your young age. And you don't sleep at night. I've heard it from the servants.”

It was true. I'd been having a hard time sleeping at night since discovering my husband's dead body in our bed. He'd been lying on his back, head back, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. It was weighing on me.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, Mr. Wingate. I will adjust and things will return to normal.”

“If you'd like, you may call me Lewis. I wonder, would you like a glass of wine, perhaps a sherry or even a brandy? As it's just after midnight, it's a new day....and my son, Henry's birthday. He'd be twelve today, had he lived.”

I feel an ache in my chest. An ache for his children lost and the ones that I had never been able to conceive. Although, I imagine it more difficult to grieve for a child born and lost than for one that never existed. I have always felt a huge part of me was missing due to not having children. I'd always felt it was my calling and had been upset when I hadn't been able to conceive during the eight years I'd been married to George. And although he'd never mentioned it to me outright, I knew George had been disappointed as well.

“A glass of wine then, perhaps,” I say.

“Excellent, right this way, Ms. Eliza,” he replies, holding the door open for me.

I oblige him.

Chapter 2:

I awake to a ray of sunlight shining brightly through a small crack in the window curtains. I'm immediately aware of a splitting headache.

I slowly sit up in bed and it dawns on me that the window curtains are unfamiliar to me, as well as the room I'm in. I look down at the bed covers and sheets and then cover my mouth to silence a loud scream that would alert the servants. There, lying next to me, is Lewis’ naked body. He's sprawled out on his back, exposing himself for all to see.

I then realise that I'm naked as well. “Oh no. No. No. No. No. What have I done?” my voice barely comes out above a whisper, but I want to yell.

There's a knock at the door and I don't have time to process this as I hear the servant's voice on the other side of the door.

“Mr. Wingate, you've overslept this morning. You told me to make sure you were up by nine, Sir. You have an important meeting with an investor. Mr. Wingate, are you up?”

He doesn't stir as he continues to sleep.

“Sir? Mr. Wingate? I'm coming in.”

I elbow him hard, harder than I mean to and he stirs awake.

“What---?” his eyes widen in shock as he catches sight of me.

“The servant,” I hiss.

“I'm awake!” he calls. “I'll be down shortly.”

“Very well, Mr. Wingate.”

I hear retreating footsteps and then he turns his full attention to me. “Ms. Eliza,” he begins, searching for the words. “I-I-I---,” he stutters.

“I am not entirely sure what happened, but we will not speak of this ever again,” I say, twisting the sheet around me as I maneuver out of his bed.

“It appears we have lain together,” he says, running his hand through his hair in embarrassment.

“This never happened, do you understand?” I ask, gathering my discarded clothing off of the floor.

“But what if you should come to be with child? What of your honor?” he asks.

His question causes me to flinch, which does not go unnoticed. “I cannot conceive,” I say curtly before stepping behind the changing curtain to dress. Once decent again, I carefully leave his room in search of my own.

Once back in my room, I quickly undress to wash and change clothes. His scent, his cologne, is all over me, as well as red and purple bruises and love bites from the chest down. There is no mistaking that we fornicated and it appears there was nothing gentle about it either. So why can't I remember it?

That morning I take breakfast in my room. My plan is to stay in my quarters and avoid Lewis until the shock of this incident dies down. So, I make myself busy with a bit of embroidery, writing, and some light reading. But by lunchtime, I'm completely bored and am dying for some fresh air.

Careful to avoid any unwanted meetings with Lewis, I inform the servants that I'll be taking my lunch out in the garden and head there immediately.

Usually, the fresh air, although now crisp and cool due to winter, calms me, but today my chest feels heavy and I feel like I'm suffocating. I try to push these feelings away as I stroll through the garden. The summer plants have died away and the ones expected to survive the winter are bundled up against the cold.

I keep walking, absentmindedly, listening to my footsteps against the gravel of the path. I realize I'm not alone and turn to see Lewis. I jump with a start, bringing my hand to my chest in surprise. “Lewis!”

“Forgive me, Ms. Eliza, it was not my intention to startle you, but I did call your name. Did you not hear me?”

“No, I did not.”

“You've been avoiding me.” He wastes no time in getting straight to the point. George was like that as well. Always straightforward.

“I-I, w-well yes,” I finally admit in a stuttering response.

“I know that my presence is not welcomed at the moment, but we need to talk about what happened between us last night. I fear that if we don't address this matter now, then it will never be addressed and I am not one to skirt around matters that need to be discussed.”

“There is nothing to be discussed.”

“Forgive my abruptness, but we have been intimate with each other and that is very much something that needs to be discussed and resolved.”

“Nothing will come of it and it will never happen again, so what must we discuss?” I ask. I'm losing my patience and my temper. I now wish to be somewhere else and away from him.

“Ms. Eliza, I fear you do not understand. We are not married.”

“I am aware of that. I was married to your brother for eight years and he's just recently passed. Or did you possibly think I could forget him already?”

“No, I was not suggesting that at all. Forgive me if I have offended you. I also know the pain of losing a spouse and it is not so easily forgotten.” He clasps his hands together and I can see a brief expression of pain cross his face. I am reminded, even in my own anger, that he too has experienced loss and today is a particularly hard day for him as it's his son's birthday. A lost son. A lost daughter and wife as well.

“Oh, Lewis, I--please forgive my attitude. I did not mean to insinuate that you had forgotten. You, more than anyone, understand the pain I'm going through. More so as yours is threefold. I just am not sure how to behave or how to react and am even unsure of what to say. This situation seems so unreal. How could we have possibly done this?”

“Grief does strange things to people. Especially when two people grieving find themselves alone late in the night and there is drink involved.”

“I don't remember what happened last night. What I mean to say is that I don't remember anything except for having a few glasses to drink. Do you remember?”

“Oh yes, I remember perfectly.” A smile plays at his lips and I blush.

“Well, I do not!”

“And you are better for it, Ms. Eliza. The things we did would make the devil himself blush.”

I feel my face turn a bright red and I continue walking.

“We will wait some time to be sure, but if you're with child, we must marry,” he continues as he follows me.

“I've already told you that I can't-----,” I don't get a chance to finish my statement as he interrupts me.

“How do you know that the problem was with my brother George and not with you, Ms. Eliza?”

“I-I,” I splutter. I'm at a loss for words. The idea had never occurred to me that the problem could have been that George was infertile and not I. “Oh, dear God.” I cover my face with my hands.

He comes to stand directly before me and gently pries my hands away from my face. He leans forward so we're on the same level. “Do not fret unnecessarily. We will wait and see what comes to pass. Do not worry until there is a need for it. Besides, should you come to be with child, it is not such a horrid thing to be married to me. Worse things have happened.”

“My husband is barely two months in the grave and I have lain with another man. What would people say to a hastily patched up marriage to his elder brother with a baby on the way?”

“People talk. Let them. They are not what concerns me. You are what concerns me.”

“I-if, and I mean if I do come to have your child and we marry, you should know that I'll never lay with you again. I shall never forgive myself for what I've done.”

“You say that now,” he teases.

“Either way, I shall never lay with you again,” I declare.

“If that is what you wish, Ms. Eliza. Oh, I believe the servant has arrived with your lunch. It is cold to be eating outside,” he remarks.

“I will be perfectly fine.”

“I can see that. I bid you a good day.” He tilts his head and takes off back towards the house.

Regardless of my words, the winter chill is a little bit more than I can bear and after apologizing to the servant, I usher her inside so that I can eat in the warmth of the house.